This is for @prettyboyskywalker‘s 500 follower celebration. A big congrats to her on her milestone! Be sure to check out the other entries into her #big tropey challenge.
Marcus Pike x GN!Reader (I’m pretty sure I didn’t miss anything but if I need to correct anything to make this more gender neutral, just let me and I’ll give it an edit. Please be gentle this is my first time attempting to write GN!Reader)
word count: 952, prompt: Home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling... or a person.
warnings: a lil angst, a lil fluff, talk of keeping secrets, alcohol consumption (just a little), please let me know if I missed any and I’ll add them.
You were strolling around the grocery store, searching for the last few items that you needed for dinner when you quite literally bumped into one of Marcus’s coworker’s wives.
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you murmured, looking up and then breaking into a smile at the sight of the woman before you. “Mary-Lynn, it’s been forever!”
The blonde-haired woman beams at you as she drops the box of cereal she was holding into her cart. “It certainly has been, how are you? Are you gettin’ excited for the move?” she drawls.
You furrow your brow and blink at her a few times, “The move?”
She blinks back, “Oh dear, you don’t know?
You cross your arms, “Don’t know what?”
She bites her lip, “Marcus hasn’t told you yet?”
“Told me what, Mary-Lynn,” you ask, feeling your palms start to sweat.
“Jack told me that Marcus got a promotion but if he hasn’t told you then, I bet he didn’t take it,” she murmurs, softly.
Her words stun you, but you’re more so stunned by the fact that Marcus hadn’t mentioned a thing about it to you. “Oh, I’m sure it just slipped his mind, he’s been awfully busy.”
She nods, “Of course, he’s got a lot on his plate.”
You clear your throat and then look back at your list. “Well, I must be going, got to finish up the last of my shopping so that I can make dinner.”
She smiles at you and this time you can’t help but notice that it seems pitying.
With one last nod, you push past her, clutching your basket and ducking into the next aisle. You clench your jaw and swallow back the lump in your throat before you suck in a wavering breath and finish your shopping.
You’re in the kitchen, pushing the sizzling veggies around the pan when you hear the front door open, and clink of Marcus dumping his keys into the ceramic dish by the door. You don’t move as you hear his footsteps grow closer and his arms wrap around your waist. You feel the scruffy kiss against your cheek.
“Hello, my love,” he murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Hi,” you murmur, reaching to turn off the burner and then moving the pan of veggies to a different hob.
“Dinner smells amazing,” he says, pulling away from you and moving to uncork the bottle of red wine that was sitting on the counter next to two glasses.
“Thanks,” you reply flatly, pulling the chicken from the oven and setting it on potholder on the counter.
Marcus’s brows furrowed, “Is everything okay?”
You turn to him and sigh, “I ran into Mary-Lynn at the grocery store today, you know Jack’s wife?”
He nods slowly.
“She asked me if I was excited about the move,” you murmur, watching his face fall.
“Baby, I—” he starts.
“When were you going to tell me?” you ask, the hurt clear in your voice.
“Baby, I promise I was going to tell you about my promotion. I just knew that if I told you, you’d want me to take it.”
You sigh again, “Of course, I’d want you to take it. It’s your career and if it advances you, I’m for it.”
“That’s the whole thing, I didn’t want you to have to leave your home for me, your job, your life that you have here just because my job wants to take me to DC.”
“This isn’t my ‘home’, Marcus,” you snap sharply, cringing immediately at the hurt that flashes across his face at your tone. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right.” You suck in a deep breath and cross the room, taking his biceps in your hands. “What I mean to say is, I don’t see this place as my home. It’s where I live, sure, but I guess I don’t think about home as a place, but rather a person or a feeling. You’re my home, Marcus. Wherever you are is my home, whether that be here in Texas, in DC, on the moon. As long as I’m with you baby, I’m home.”
Marcus’s big brown eyes flood with relief and adoration. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do. You deserve everything, Marcus Pike, including that promotion,” you murmur, running your hands up his arms, over his broad, strong shoulders, up his neck to cup his cheeks. “Do you want that promotion?”
He sighs and nods, “I do.”
You smile, “Then tell me all about it over dinner and when you walk into work tomorrow morning, accept it.”
His mega watt smiles spreads across his face. “Yes ma’am.”
You smile back, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips as his hands slip around your waist. “Never keep secrets from me again, alright?”
He nods, “I promise, never again.”
“Good,” you murmur, kissing him once more before pulling yourself from his arms. “Let’s eat before dinner gets cold.”
Marcus nods, turning to pour the wine and carrying the glasses to your small table. The two of you sit down, your knees knocking against each other’s as you dish out the food. Marcus smiles at you, “I am sorry for keeping this from you,” he murmurs, softly.
“Apology accepted, baby,” you whisper, lifting your glass of wine up. “Let’s make a toast.”
He smiles and lifts his glass.
“To us and our future.”
“To us and our future,” he repeats clinking his glass against yours and keeping eye contact with you as the both of you sip. While the night had started off rocky, you realize that no matter what may come, Marcus will always be your person, your love, your home.
This is my submission for @prettyboyskywalker's #Big Tropey Challenge. This is a social media AU for Poe Dameron because I absolutely love this man.
Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader
Warnings: mentions of one-night stands, jerks, and a strange crossover with Doctor Who characters. Listen, there just aren't enough Star Wars people to go around, ok?
My lovely mood board is made for me by the amazing and wonderful @tinymalscoffee
A/N: I’m not good with chapter titles LOL. Anyway...I have no excuses for why this one is taking so long to freaking update, my brain just wants to work on EVERYTHING but this. So...sorry about that. Hope it was worth the wait!
Warnings: F!Reader (sorry!), No Y/N, ReaderxDin, ReaderxBoba Fett, possible ReaderXFennec (havent decided yet), Canon Typical Violence, LANGUAGE
***
The lurch as the ship makes the jump out from hyperspace is what wakes you. It isn't the rough jerk into atmo that you are used to on the Razor Crest, even half asleep you remember holding your breath at every jump that ship attempted. Every jump had pushed your belly into your spine.
This smooth slip from hyperspace into darkness and a field of stars is silent, the lack of shuddering metal is enough to bring your memories flooding back.
The kid.
The Jedi.
The way you had spinelessly left Din when he needed you the most.
You are curled up into a ball on the co-pilot's seat, you didn't even realize you had fallen asleep until now.
The red orange planet on the viewscreen is close enough that you can already feel the heat of the double suns mirroring off the sands on your skin.
“Your weapon still charged?” Boba asks from his seat.
You turn slightly in his direction, catching a glimpse of Fennec Shand sitting behind you. Her hands are busy cleaning a pulse rifle on her lap.
“Always.” You sigh as you stretch your back, it’s not the best night's sleep but it beats the floor of the Crest any day.
“Good. You and Fennec will enter first, leave the one on the throne to me.”
You try not to bristle at the vague way he walks you through your task ahead, you still had no idea where on Tatooine you were even going. You can feel Shand’s gaze on you, like she's waiting for any signs of weakness or trepidation.
Maker what had you been thinking?! This was the dumbest thing your broken heart has ever dragged you into!
The ship breaks atmo near a rocky mountainside, a natural spiked wall of orange and yellow sandstone curls around a collection of cylindrical towers, keeping it hidden from sight from anywhere but above.
Oh fuck.
You close your eyes in realization and let out a small breath, the hiss you mean to be quiet instead echoes in the cockpit.
“Problem, Princess?”
“None.” You reply as you run your tongue over your canines, “Just not quite how I imagined my day starting.”
Fennec grins from her seat, the spark in her eyes dangerous. "It hasn't been under Hutt control for a long time, if that's what you are scared of."
You try to think of a way to answer and not sound like a petulant child. You shake your head as you come up empty, "Nothing worse than the Hutts out here?"
Boba chuckles, "Not yet."
***
Getting into the old Hutt palace wasn't a problem, a quick knock on the door and a well placed blaster bolt to the mechanical guard and the front door just slid open. You follow closely beside Fennec as you walk into the cool shade of the palace built in the mountain.
Two Gamorrean guards come to check on the sudden blast of noise only to be taken out with a quick shot from your and Fennec’s rifles.
The halls are silent again for a few more moments before another curious guard comes from the darkness of a staircase. Fennec gets him first, shooting the Rhodian between the chest.
He flails before he goes tumbling down a flight of stairs announcing your arrival to anyone in the throne room below.
"Fett like grand entrances?"
"If everyone thought you were dead, wouldn't you?" Fennec replies with a small smirk, as she pulls her rife close to her body.
The two of you make your way down the sandy steps, brushed somewhat clean from the body that just went tumbling down it only a few moments before.
The remaining grit crunches under your boots as you dip further into the darkness. Halfway up the steps another Gamorrean guard comes barreling up, one quick shot to the chest and he goes flying into a side room of the stairs almost comically.
In the middle of the dark pit ahead you can barely make out a white blob of a being sitting on a curved throne. A Twi'lek girl desperately pulls at her collar and chain as you approach.
Fennec is firing before your eyes have enough time to adjust to the darkness. As you touch down on the ground floor she has already taken out two guards to the right of the pale Twi’lek on the throne. You take out the Weequay to the left before he can steady his shot. The hall echoes with the harsh thuds of bodies as they drop one by one.
Fennec’s next target is the chains of a struggling Twi’lek girl on the floor. She tumbles over herself once she is freed from her chain and looks up to you two, eyes wide and wet with fear before she scurries away and disappears into a dark hall of the throne room.
The taking of the palaces takes moments, not even full minutes and when the only one left standing is the quaking Twi’lek you hear his footsteps slowly coming down the stairs.
You take a breath, eyes never leaving the target as Fett grows closer.
The old Twi’lek gasps at the familiar shadow that approaches from the stairs, “Boba!” He cries out with forced enthusiasm. He rambles on in Huttese, not your strongest language unfortunately, you can barely make out pieces, something about him being dead. Your eyes flicker to the man in question as he approaches the center of the room, coming to stand between you and Fennec, his weapons drawn.
The Twi’lek is barely done talking when the bounty hunter shoots him right in the chest, without a shred of hesitation. You let out the breath you were holding as the room falls silent.
The body has barely slumped over as Boba takes the side steps up to the platform the throne is sitting on, with a quick yank he tosses the deadweight to the floor.
Fennec smiles, a quick twitch of her lips and nothing more, as she motions you to follow her up the same sandy steps to the platform as Boba takes a seat on the throne. She leaves your side only to swipe a bottle of a bright blue drink from a nearby table. She uncorks it with her teeth before she takes a seat to Boba’s right hand. Her rifle held close to her hip.
You stand awkwardly a few feet from the throne, already questioning your place with these two.
Fennec belongs at his right hand. You’ve seen the way they work together, the short trip to Tython flashes through your memories. They are seamless when they fight, perfect complements to each other’s style. Something that you and Din had not been able to master in your short time together. Your mind wanders only to be brought back by Fennec clearing her throat.
Your attention snaps back as she motions over to Boba’s left side, his hand is up and extended towards you. Your eyes dart back to Fennec, panic plastered over your face.
Fennec makes the motion again, a little more stern this time as she points her chin towards his open hand.
You bite your bottom lip and approach, placing your right hand shakily into his once you are close enough.
He sets you down on the arm of the throne, Fennec to his right, you to his left.
Fennec takes a large gulp of the electric blue drink in her hand before she passes it to you, your fingers wrap around the slender neck as you bring it to your lips and down a swig before you think too hard about it.
“The easy part is done.” Fennec purrs.
“The rest of Tatooine will follow.” Boba replies.
“And if they don't?” You ask before you can stop yourself. Without even looking in your direction Boba reaches over to wrap his own hand around the neck of the bottle, easily covering your grip as he pulls the bottle closer.
“Then you get to earn your keep, ad’ika.” He replies.
You are unable to pull your hand away as he tips his helmet up and brings the bottle to his lips. Your heart races and heat rushes to your face.
You aren’t squeamish but it has been so long since you have been a part of anything even this close to intimacy, you try to push away the thoughts of Din but they come swarming into your mind. You would have killed to get this close to the other Mandalorian in the silver armor…
His hand leaves yours before you can make a bigger fool of yourself and you hand the bottle back to Fennec, all feeling leaving your body and you are sure there is a dumb expression on your face by the way Boba chuckles under his breath.
She knocks back another swig of the liquid as she stands and starts to look around at the fallen bodies on the platform, eyes sweeping over the objects on display.
You slide off the side of the throne sheepishly, still feeling completely out of place and instead you busy yourself with whatever is nearby.
"What was your trade?” Boba finally breaks the silence, “Bounty hunter like Djarin?" He removes the dark green helmet from his head and holds it over his knee.
"Nowhere near as good of one, I'm afraid." You sigh as your fingers trace over the knocked over bottles on a small shelf towards the back of the throne.
"She's lying." Fennec calls from the other side of the room, she pulls the lower drawers of a small cabinet open with the tip of her boot as she peeks inside.
Boba grins, "Fennec seems to think otherwise. What are you hiding, little loth cat?"
"Nexu, if what I heard back on Navarro is correct."
Your eyes shift over to the assassin, you try your hardest not to glare.
"Mercenary or assassin then?" Boba grows more and more amused the longer the conversation goes on.
"I only kill when the situation calls for it." You reply.
"Greef Carga used to put you in those situations an awful lot…"
You could swear Fennec’s grin was growing wider with every moment that she makes you increasingly uncomfortable.
"Jobs a job." You turn your gaze to another side of the room, this was becoming tedious and you are done talking about it.
"This wasn't a job," Fennec is suddenly pressed close against you now, your shoulders smashed together painfully, the tip of her finger pokes into the soft underside of your chin, pushing your gaze to meet hers, "This was personal." Her breath fans across your skin, only making your already warm face feel even more hot.
You snatch her hand away from you, "We haven't shared a bed enough for you to be asking such personal questions, Shand." You snarl before you can think it through, a rush of cool air runs across your heated cheeks as she steps away.
"Enough, both of you." Boba chuckles.
You both turn to face Boba, any tension instantly broken by the older man’s call.
"Fennec, check underground, find us any working transports."
She nods and leaves the room without another word, sliding her rifle snug across her back.
You turn to walk away from where Boba is sitting, your eyes scan the nearby door. You tilt your head as you follow the slope of sandstone steps that disappear to one side.
"Kyramud'ika...you go nowhere until I say."
"This palace is huge, we will have more places to clear-"
"I said you go nowhere."
"Then what was the point of inviting me here?"
"To keep an eye on you, in case Djarin wants you back."
"He had his chance," You snort back in Boba’s general direction in an attempt to push away any of those soppy wet feelings that still linger in your belly, "I was just body heat for cold nights."
Boba makes a sound that is half a soft sigh and half a sarcastic chuckle. "Out with it then, kyra'ika, what's Fennec going on about? What were you doing with the guild?"
You bite your bottom lip, scraping your teeth across the skin of your lip in annoyance, "Does it matter?"
"I won't send you to do things you can't handle."
"Can you let me be the judge of that?"
"No." He replies, "See this throne? This throne says what I say goes, and I say no."
Fuck. You have only met three Mandalorians at this point in your life, and you were starting to think this level of stubbornness is bred into them. "Yes then, I'm considered an assassin for the guild."
"No questions asked?"
"No." You reply, "I only kill one type of garbage."
He is silent, his gaze studies every flinch of your features.
"Snatchers." You reply with a shaky breath, "I only hunt those monsters who steal you away."
Boba is silent, his dark eyes boring into yours, “You were sold-”
“For parts.” You reply, “I wasn't young enough to be a plaything for the elite, so I nearly became spare parts. Until a Mandalorian accidentally took out the facility I was being housed in."
"Djarin?"
You shake your head, "No, another. I've felt in debt to the covert since then."
****
Kyramud'ika - Little assassin
Kyra'ika - Same, but shortened
***
<<Back to List II Part 1 II Part 3 (Coming soon maybe...I dunno *snort*)>>
This is how we bond!! I will be doing this every Sunday night I am able and if I am not I will hopefully move it to another night! Here are some things you can send my way:
✨general:
how was your day?
need to vent? let it out!
advice? i can try to help!
anything honestly like let’s chat!
book, music, tv show and movie recommendations (i am a sucker for books and music ones)
would you rather or have you ever
this or that
✨nsfw:
fmk
kinks/fantasies
would you rather or have you ever nsfw
✨writing:
headcannons, blurbs and concepts
if i can get a drabble out of it i’ll post it!
send all the fluff, smut and angst
let’s talk pedro characters! (everyone expect dio, max phillps, marcus pike, tovar or dave york. i will talk javi to an extent. also no pedro himself unless it’s basic stuff but please be respectful)
✨random things you should know:
will be added to my masterlist so it’s easy to get to
certain tags for certain things so if you want to read about a certain character or you want to stay away from smut stuff will be tagged accordingly
everything to do with this will be under the ‘Sunday night shenanigans’ and ‘sns’ tags
Summary: It's been a terrible day, and you let yourself be held by your husband.
Pairings: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Wife!Reader
Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort | Word Count: 886 (she's babey)
Warnings: light depiction of depression
A/N: This is just a short little thing I whipped up to self-soothe, and hopefully y'all will find it sweet as well ♡
“Cariño.”
You started a little at your husband’s voice, even gentle as it was; looking up from your book to meet his eyes, you were surprised to see a flicker of concern in his expression.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. He moved closer to you, your old couch creaking with the movement. “You alright?”
You sighed. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
A frown tugged at his features. “You haven’t flipped a page in fifteen minutes,” he said. “Either that book is suddenly really hard to read, or something’s going on.”
You closed your book with a snap, a bit more harshly than you’d intended. “I’m fine.”
You felt his gaze on you as you got up from the couch to put the book away on the bookshelf — you weren’t really interested in it, but you’d needed a distraction and hadn’t wanted to aggravate the headache dancing at your temples by looking at your phone. Frankie’s concern was obvious, hanging between you and waiting for an answer, and you felt a flash of irritation.
“Quit staring at me,” you said. “You haven’t flipped a page in fifteen minutes either.”
He held up his newspaper. “That’s because I’m reading all this little bitty print. Besides, I’m not the one being grumpy.”
You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not being grumpy.”
A soft smile drew up the corner of his mouth. “No?”
You huffed. “No.”
Without waiting for him to ask you if you were ok, again, you went to hide from his terribly kind, terribly observant gaze in the kitchen. Rummaging through the pantry to justify leaving the living room, you settled on having a cup of tea.
“You sure you won’t tell me what’s wrong?”
You sighed. “Frankie...” You turned to look at him, seeing him leaning against the doorframe with his ball cap a little crooked, and felt a wave of emotion so strong it nearly took your breath away. You couldn’t decide what emotion it was; it had felt like this all day, like you were slogging through an exhausting gamut of emotions or lack of them. You just didn’t feel well, and you were nearly at the end of your rope with it.
You must have shown your distress in your face, because his slightly playful expression quickly changed to one of sympathy and tenderness.
“Sweetheart,” he cooed, pushing off the doorframe to come over to you, taking you in a gentle bear hug. You let yourself be held, finally relaxing for the first time all day against his warm steadiness.
“What’s wrong, querida?” he asked. He ran a soothing hand up and down your back, gently kneading where he knew you carried the most tension.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from crying. “I’m just depressed, and I don’t even have a reason to be.”
“Now, come on,” he soothed. “You and I both know that’s not how it works. Have you felt like this all day?”
You nodded against his chest. He sighed and held you closer.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, and you knew how much he meant it. “You can always tell me if you’re feeling like this — you know that, right?”
You wrapped your arms around his waist. “Yeah, I know.”
“I want to help however I can,” he reminded you. “God knows you’ve helped me through days like this, and I know I wouldn’t have gotten through them without you. You’re tougher than I am, though, and you could probably get through it without me, but — ”
“I don’t want to,” you said.
He gave a gentle laugh. “You don’t have to, cariño. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. Just tell me what you need.”
You snuggled closer to him. “Just be with me.”
He kissed the top of your head. “Okay, honey.”
He held you for a while, rocking you gently, humming “Desperados Under the Eaves.” The weight of your heartache eased the longer you stayed in his arms, feeling the warm rumble of his voice and held safely against his broad, gentle body. You remembered how you’d reacted when he tried to talk to you in the living room and felt a guilty sting of tears.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier,” you said, your voice muffled in his t-shirt.
“Shh, baby, that’s ok,” he soothed. “It’s alright.”
You shook your head. “You don’t deserve that, Frankie.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, cradling your face in his big hands.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I love you so much, Mrs. Morales. Bad days and all. You hear me?”
You nodded. “I hear you.”
He brushed his thumb over your cheek to catch the few tears that fell, leaning in to kiss you gently, all sweet and tender touches.
“Thank you, Frankie,” you said.
He hummed. “What for?”
“Everything,” you said. “Loving me. Just... I love you.”
He smiled and kissed you again. “No thanks needed, cariño. I love you too.”
You gave a peaceful, contented sigh as he drew you back into his arms, smiling a little as he started to hum again. No matter how bad things got, Frankie was your home, and you knew he would always be there to hold you close.
pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekcryptid, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl, @stardust-galaxies, @theorganasolo, @qhbr2013, @willowtheewisp ♡
please send me an ask if you’d like to be added! ♡
Summary: Frankie takes you on an early-morning drive and shows you just how much he loves you.
Pairings: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Wife!Reader
Genre: Fluff, smut | Word Count: 4.3k
Warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, mention of PTSD
A/N: This is just my domestic yearning to be Frankie’s wife and give him some good lovin’ in the early morning while we listen to old honky tonk music. Very soft married smut. I hope you like it! ♡
You woke to an empty bed.
Propping yourself up on your elbow, you ran a hand over Frankie’s side of the bed and found it was cold. No wonder you’d woken up - Frankie was a furnace when he slept, and you were missing his warmth. You noticed that he’d taken the throw blanket from the foot of the bed and laid it out over you when he got up to make up for the loss of his warmth, and you smiled to yourself. Small acts of kindness like that came as easy as breathing to Frankie.
You glanced at the clock; the red numbers showed it was just shy of five in the morning. You tried to remember if Frankie had said he was going in early to the shop - some mornings, when he had paperwork to catch up on, he liked to go in before Catfish Auto opened and have the shop all to himself. He’d worked hard after Colombia to open up his own shop, and he was more at peace with his work than you’d ever known him to be. He had a steady income, work that he enjoyed and was very good at, and he got to come home in time for dinner every day. His handful of employees were loyal and hardworking, and Frankie was a good boss; he knew what it was like to be away from your family, and created a work environment that allowed his mechanics to make decent money and prioritize their families.
When Frankie came home to you in the evenings, he was tired in a good way, happy to be home and able to unwind in a way he hadn’t when he was in the Army. He helped you make dinner and sang while he did; he curled up with you on the couch and read books aloud to you, most recently To Kill a Mockingbird. He slept soundly, with few nightmares, holding you close until he kissed you goodbye in the mornings to head to work. To anyone else, it might have been boring; to you, it was a greater blessing than you could have hoped for. Your husband was happy, finally, and you loved watching him settle into his newfound peace.
He still wrestled with his PTSD, and he would for the rest of his life, but you weren’t going anywhere. Frankie knew that, and he knew he could lean on you when it got bad. He had Santi and Will and Benny too, and the five of you had become a tight-knit group.
You were supposed to go over to Santi’s for dinner tonight. As you got out of bed and wrapped the throw blanket around your shoulders like a cape, you thought that might be why Frankie had decided to go in early, so he could get off a little earlier. You followed the aroma of coffee and expected to see him in the kitchen, but the lights were off except for the warm bulb above the stove.
You frowned. He never left without saying goodbye, and he wasn’t anywhere in the house. You pulled the cheery floral curtain back from one of the living room windows and peeked out, trying to see if he’d left already.
He was hard to see in the predawn darkness, but you saw with a bit of relief that he was leaned up against the hood of his truck, coffee mug in hand. You let the curtain fall back and opened the front door, wrapping your blanket closer around you as the cool morning air breezed in.
“Frankie?” you called, keeping your voice quiet for your neighbors' sake.
You heard the truck groan a little as he pushed off of it. “Right here, honey. You alright?”
You closed the door behind you and padded over to him, wanting his warmth; he collected you in a tight hug and ran his free hand over your back.
“Hi,” you said, resting your chin on his chest and smiling up at him.
He chuckled and kissed your forehead. “Hi. You’re up early.”
You snuggled closer to him and buried your face against his chest. “I got cold without you. I thought you left.”
“And go to work without my morning kisses? No way.” He took a sip of his coffee. “The weather’s so nice, I wanted to have my coffee outside. Sorry you got cold, honey.”
“It’s ok,” you said, your voice muffled by his shirt. “I’m not cold any more.”
He absently rubbed his fingers over the places he knew you held tension, and you melted against him. He smelled like Old Spice and Gain, comforting and homey; you traced your fingers over the Catfish Auto logo stitched into the breast of his shirt.
“You’re going in early?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Probably. I was going to, so I could duck out early for Santi’s tonight.”
You pulled back to see his face. He kept his arm around you, and you took one hand out from under your blanket to loop your fingers around his belt.
“You’re not now?” you asked.
He smiled down at you, the fading moon just bright enough to let you make out his soft features.
“Maybe,” he said. “I like spending my morning with you, Mrs. Morales. I might hang around if you’re staying awake.”
You closed your eyes when he kissed you, all soft touches and tenderness. If you’d thought of going back to bed, you forgot all about it as his kiss warmed you clear to your toes.
You gave him a dreamy smile when you came up for air. “I’ll stay up if you keep kissing me like that.”
He chuckled and ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “I’ll make you a deal. If you go on a ride with me, I’ll kiss you as long as you want.”
Your brow crinkled in confusion. “A ride? To where?”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Anywhere. Wherever. Let’s go get breakfast or something.”
You considered that. Frankie loved to drive, be it on a cross-country road trip or down the street to the grocery store. His happy place was driving his beloved old Ford with the windows down, an old rock ‘n roll or honky-tonk song playing, one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh. You’d spent countless hours when you were dating just driving, to nowhere in particular, until Frankie couldn’t stand to keep from kissing you any longer and pulled off to slide you across the seat and into his arms.
You smiled at the memory of a much younger Frankie on the night before he’d left for basic training. He was nervous and brimming with excitement, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. He asked you to marry him that night, even though he didn’t have a ring and was about to be gone for months. You said yes, and the first time he came home, he’d had a ring to put on your finger.
You felt his ring as he brushed his knuckles against your cheek.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked affectionately.
You leaned into his touch. “Just thinking about the night before you left for basic. I thought you drove me out to the middle of nowhere to have your way with me, and you proposed to me instead.”
He grinned. “If I remember correctly, I did end up having my way with you too.”
So he had, and the memory built a flicker of desire in you even now. You tugged on the lapel of his jacket and brought him down to kiss you, fanning that flicker into a warm, comforting flame.
“I’ll go on a drive with you,” you said against his mouth. “If you have your way with me.”
You felt his smile. “It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Morales. Let me go get my keys.”
You followed him inside and took a moment to freshen up, brushing your teeth and making your hair less of a mess. Frankie loved you any which way, just rolled out of bed or all dolled up, but you wanted to be a little bit more put together for him if you could.
You saw he’d fixed you a cup of coffee and grabbed a few blankets and pillows. Taking your coffee with a quick kiss to thank him, you raised your brow at the bedding he had tucked under his arm.
“What are those for?” you asked. You’d assumed you were going the classic cramped, back seat route when it came to your early morning lovers’ tryst.
He tapped your nose. “How about you mind your business, nosy?”
You smiled, content to let him go through with whatever plans he had. Frankie was nothing if not attentive in his romancing, and he’d been that way from your very first date.
To make room for the pillows and blankets, you sidled up next to Frankie and leaned your head on his shoulder as he cranked the truck. You didn’t need the heat on; Frankie radiated warmth, and his hand on your thigh kept a different kind of warmth running through you. You cradled your coffee in one hand and turned on the tape player to see what he’d been listening to.
“It’s Waylon Jennings,” Frankie said. “You can change it if you want.”
You let it play, the strains of honky-tonk drawl mixing with the cool morning breeze coming through the open windows. You and Frankie had very similar tastes in music, and the tapes he kept in his truck had been there for as long as you’d known him; almost every track had a memory tied to it, some of them sad, most of them happy and comforting. You rested your arm on his shoulder and brushed your fingers through the curls that stuck out from under his baseball cap.
You studied his profile as he drove down the near-empty roads, each of his features very dear and beautiful to you: the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, the kiss-sized patch in his scruff, the slope of his Roman nose.
“Are we almost there?” you asked. You didn’t know if he even had a place in mind, but you were impatient to touch him, to shower his face with kisses. He gave you a smile that told you he was just as impatient for you, and you almost blushed.
You did blush when you saw where he’d taken you: a spot off the beaten path under the shelter of huge oak trees, well known for being a place young lovers went sparking. You were the only ones there at that hour, and a thrill of excitement and giddy nervousness went through you like you were a teenager.
“This ok?” Frankie asked as he put the truck in park, waiting to turn off the ignition.
You grinned up at him. “We’re not too old for this, are we?”
He smiled. “We’re too old to come out here late at night,” he said. “Now that I’m a regular working man, you know I like to be in bed at a decent hour.”
“I know,” you said affectionately. You pushed his hat back a little to brush your fingers through his curls. “Kiss your woman, Mr. Morales.”
He did as you said, responding to your touch and your words with a gentle eagerness that made you smile. He took your coffee from you and set it in the cup holder, freeing up your hands to drape over his shoulders as he took you in a bear hug and kissed you soundly.
You loved it when he held you. You’d always thought Frankie would be good at giving hugs, and the first time he took you in his arms, you’d felt more at home than you had anywhere else. His love language was physical touch, and whether he was showing you how much he loved you or needed some comforting, he’d bury his face against your shoulder and hold you close to him like he couldn’t bear to let you go.
You kissed his cheek, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. “I love you, Frankie.”
He held you closer. “I love you too.”
After a minute, he finally pulled away. You didn’t want him to go, and pulled him back - he obliged you with another long kiss before he disentangled himself from your embrace.
“I’ll be right back, honey,” he said with a smile. “Sit tight.”
You reluctantly let him go. He turned the truck off but left the music on, reaching over you to grab the pillows and blankets. You watched through the back window as he made a cosy pallet in the bed of his truck, smiling at his attention to detail in smoothing out the wrinkles as best he could.
“Your honeymoon suite, my lady,” he said when he came back around, offering you his hand in a gallant gesture. You giggled and took his hand as he led you to the back of the truck; he picked you up by the waist and sat you on the tailgate, standing between your knees to kiss you.
“I sure do love you, Mrs. Morales,” he said, cradling your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over your temples. “You know that, don’t you?”
You smiled. “Yeah, I know.” As if you could be unaware of the great gentleness and patience and kindness of his love, the depth of his devotion to you. “I sure do love you too.”
You kissed for a long while, long enough for the birds to start singing their morning arias as you fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. His hands found their way under your shirt, cupping your breasts in his big palms, his ministrations gentle and wanting.
“Get up there,” he said breathlessly, nodding behind you. You did as he said, leaning on your hands so you could watch him make quick work of his shirt, undershirt, and work boots. He took his cap off and tossed it heedlessly, his expression dark with desire and love as he climbed up into the bed of the truck with you.
“Beautiful,” he said, hovering over you. You laid back on the pillows, thankful he’d thought to bring them, and let yourself relax against him as he kissed all over your face and down your neck.
“Frankie,” you breathed, tilting your head back to give him better access to your jaw. His scruff rasped against your skin, and you drove your fingers through his thick curls.
He hummed at his name. “What is it, querida? ”
You kissed him again. “Let me take my shirt off.”
He pulled back and gave you just enough space for you to pull your shirt over your head. He grabbed the big quilt he’d taken from your bed and draped it over both of you, his touch less teasing for the moment and more intended to warm you up. While his hands roamed, he pressed kisses against your skin, between your breasts and all over your stomach. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cool air.
“Alright, sweetheart?” he asked. “Warm enough?”
You nodded. Between Frankie’s warmth and his fingers tracing over the waistband of your pajama bottoms, it could have been below zero and you wouldn’t have cared.
“Let me take your shorts off, honey,” he said gently. You lifted your hips so he could tug off every last scrap of fabric you had on you, leaving you vulnerable and needy under him.
“I love you so much,” he said, almost reverently. “Hermosa, mi amor.”
He kissed you for a while, worshiping you with his hands, praising you for your beauty, your loveliness. Both of you laughed as he tried to get his jeans off, wrestling with his belt and the sturdy denim; once they were off he eased himself down next to you, tucking you close to his chest. You traced your fingers over the familiar planes of his body, each dip and swell like a map to a treasure only you had the privilege of knowing. You pressed kisses to his old army scars and paid special attention to the thin white scar on his cheek he’d gotten in Colombia.
“You’re beautiful,” you said, kissing the spot on his jaw where his beard stubbornly refused to grow. His cheeks pinked a little, warm against your skin.
“Thank you for spending your morning with me,” he said. He ran his hand down your thigh, gently drawing your leg to rest over his. “Eres el amor de mi vida, cariño.”
You sighed against his mouth as his fingers dipped into your heat. “You’re the love of my life too, Frankie.”
He kissed you and nuzzled against you as he drew circles between your legs, easing one finger into you, then two. He drew you out with tenderness and skill, capturing the breathless moans tumbling from your mouth as he kissed you deeply. You carded your hands through his hair, rocking against his hand, giving little whines as you neared your orgasm.
“Love to hear you like this, querida,” he murmured against your skin. “So beautiful for me.”
“'M close,” you sighed, the sound catching a little as he crooked his fingers inside you. “Frankie, please.”
You pressed close to him as he tipped you over the edge, pleasure washing over you with a comforting, languid satisfaction. Frankie was very good when he did you quickly, every movement decisive and strong, but he was downright talented at slow lovemaking, drawing you to orgasm like it was an act of worship. He groaned a little as you moaned and tightened around his fingers, enjoying your pleasure as much as you did. He cradled you close as you came down from your high, pressing kisses everywhere he could reach.
“I want to be inside you, amor,” he said, sucking love marks into the base of your neck. “Take me inside you, please.”
You moved to lay on your back and pulled him with you, his skin pressed against yours, running your hands over the muscles of his back. He hovered over you again, rolling his hips against yours, humming along to the soft song that spilled from the radio.
“Wish I had me a true fine woman,” he sang as he nuzzled your jaw. “Let her rock me all night long. Baby we could get it together, like people do in them old love songs.”
You smiled at the sound of his voice, warm and soft and comforting. You loved it when he sang to you; he did it all the time, when he danced you around the kitchen or when he washed your hair for you in the shower or when he made love to you.
You pushed his boxers down, taking your time in running your fingers over his waist, his hip bones, the softness of his tummy. He buried his face in your neck and laughed a little; he was very ticklish, and you beamed at the sound of his laughter.
“I love you,” you said, pressing your cheek to his.
He pulled back to look at you, laugh lines crinkling by his eyes, bumping your noses together. “I love you too, pretty lady.”
He kissed you and settled between your legs; he eased himself into you, steady and sure until you were completely joined. He held you there for a moment, both of you basking in the feel of each other.
“Oh, Frankie,” you sighed when he started to move. You raised your hips to meet him, finding that familiar rhythm of your bodies together, pleasure rolling over you in waves with every press of his hips against yours. You held onto him with one hand and ran your fingers through his curls with the other, telling him how good he was, how much you loved him.
He groaned and sighed against your neck, and the sounds of his pleasure unraveled you completely. It was always like this with Frankie, both of you falling to pieces with each other, mending each other with every kiss and touch and movement. You held him close to you, feeling complete with him inside you, like he was the missing piece in the jigsaw of your heart.
“I love you, I love you,” he said, over and over, and you felt yourself tighten around him, drawing him close as you neared the crest of the wave building through your whole body.
“Baby, please,” he gasped, the roll of his hips needy and desperate. “I need you, I need - God, querida, you’re so good, so good for me.”
You held him tight enough to leave bruises as his praise brought you over the edge, moaning and tightening around him as your orgasm crashed over you. He followed quickly, praising you through it, kissing you even though both of you were breathless.
He lay close to you as both of you settled, resting his head on your chest, running his fingers over your hip. You brushed your hand through his hair, gently untangling his soft curls as you rested in the feel of him. Dawn was peeking through the hazy blue of early morning, pinking the sky and waking the rest of the rest of the birds that flitted to and fro in the branches above you.
“‘M gonna fall asleep,” Frankie mumbled after a while.
You moved your hand down his neck and across his shoulders, scratching lightly. “That’s ok, honey.”
He chuckled and snuggled closer to you. “You want me to take a nap out here with you with no clothes on?”
You smiled. “Okay, maybe not. But we can go home and lay down if you want.”
You knew he wouldn’t take you up on the offer; he was a morning person, and once he was up, he was up. You’d probably go back to bed for a few hours once you got home, or else take a while to actually be up and a productive member of society, but Frankie wouldn’t mind. He often said he liked you all sleepy and soft in the mornings, even if you were a little grumpy before he put a cup of coffee in your hands.
Like you’d expected him to, Frankie gave you one last squeeze before he sat up and started getting dressed. You splayed your fingers over his back, a parting touch to the sun-kissed skin that got covered by his undershirt and then his work shirt.
“Can you grab my clothes?” you asked, sitting up and holding the quilt to your chest. He rifled through the blankets until he found your pajamas, and stopped with his hand halfway stretched out to you when he turned to give them to you.
You blushed. “What?” He was studying you awfully hard, like a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just...”
He shook his head, his expression softening with a smile. “You’re gorgeous. I don’t tell you that enough.”
You tucked your hair behind your ear. That was categorically untrue, as Frankie told you every single day how beautiful you were. It never failed to make you blush and feel butterflies like it had the first time he’d said it, and you gave him a slightly wobbly smile.
“Thank you,” you said.
He grinned at you like you were the dearest thing in the world to him.
“You sure are pretty when you blush, Mrs. Morales,” he said. He gently tweaked your cheek and kissed you; when you gave a little huff of protest at getting just one kiss, he laughed.
“Get dressed and I’ll give you some more kisses, honey.”
You did as he said and helped him gather up the blankets and put them back in the cab. You stole his ball cap and put it on your head, turning to him with a grin for his approval; he tapped the brim and said you looked better in it than he ever had.
True to his word, it took him much longer than it should have to get the truck cranked and on the road because he paused to give you as many kisses as you wanted. He put his arm over your shoulders and drew you close, one hand draped over the steering wheel with that effortless cool that drove you wild when you were younger and made you smile now that you knew how much of a goofball your husband really was.
You kissed his cheek and put his hat back on his head, where it belonged. “I love you, Francisco.”
His expression crinkled in a confused smile. “Francisco?” he repeated. You hardly ever called him that.
“Yeah,” you said, grinning up at him. The first rays of sunshine caught in his hair, bringing out a honey golden color to his curls. “Or... how do you say ‘catfish’ in Spanish?”
He winced. “Bagre. But don’t call me that. Santi thought it was the gold standard of comedy for a few weeks in basic.”
You laughed. “Oh, I definitely will now, especially since Santi started it.” You softened and patted his chest.
“Frankie, then,” you said. “My Frankie.”
You touched your fingers to your lips, then to his. “I love you, Frankie Morales. I’m really glad I’m your wife.”
His smile was a little bashful. “Aw, honey.” He stole a kiss, quick and sweet.
“I’m really glad I’m your husband,” he said. “I love you too.”
You cuddled close to him, resting against his solid warmth as the sun spread pink and gold over the sky to welcome a new day. With the music playing softly, the windows down, and Frankie beside you, you couldn’t think of any place you’d rather be.
pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekcryptid, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl, @stardust-galaxies, @theorganasolo, @qhbr2013 ♡
aay’han mar’eyce (bittersweet discovery): chapter four || din djarin x reader
Read on AO3 || Masterlist
chapter one || chapter two || chapter three
Series Summary: In search of the Jedi you’ve been tasked to find, you and Din wrestle with the bittersweet discovery of your little one’s past and destined future. || Part Three of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)
Chapter Summary: Grogu shows Ahsoka his powers, and Din makes a decision that rocks your little family.
Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff | Word Count: 5.2k
Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, pregnant reader, brief morning sickness
A/N: Hello!!! Bet y’all wondered if I’d ever come back to this series! Of course, I could never abandon Mr. and Mrs. Djarin - I merely needed to let my muse gather her thoughts. I’m very excited to be writing for this series again, and I hope it’s worth the wait!
Kriff, you’d forgotten how uncomfortable it was to sleep on the ground.
Your little one seemed no worse for wear; after a last snuggle in the cradle of your arms, he toddled off of your lap and happily chased a lizard across the ground.
You and Din indulged in a few minutes of commiseration as you set to making a simple breakfast of portion bread, sharing a few bites with your little one whenever he could be coaxed away from chasing the critters he found. Din sat next to you, lifting the bottom of his helmet to eat; it was too risky to take it off when he wasn’t absolutely assured it was only you and your baby watching.
“You don’t ever sleep with your helmet on anymore,” you observed. You knew he must have many times while on a hunt, but most nights found him asleep in your bunk with no armor on.
“No, thank the Maker,” he agreed. His morning voice was impossibly deep through his vocoder. “It’s fine to have on during the day, but it’s a little annoying to sleep in. It’s like sleeping with your boots on.”
You stroked your fingers over the shiny beskar; it would be smudged with dust by the time you got back to the Crest, and it would need a good polishing.
“At least your morning voice is even deeper,” you teased.
He chuckled, and the sound was so gravelly that you flushed.
“You like it, hm?” he asked, knowing full well the effect he had on you. You gave his shoulder a light shove, and he laughed; you drank in the sound of it and the feel of him next to you.
“Ad’ika,” Din called when your baby had wandered a little too far. Grogu responded to the nickname as easily as he had his own name the night before, and you felt a bit of relief and comfort that he was just as familiar with your name for him as his given name.
“Come back over here,” Din said, crooking a finger. “You know better than to wander off.”
With a slightly disgruntled coo, your baby came back closer to you and contented himself with collecting as many little rocks and pebbles as he could fit in his tiny hands. One would tumble out as soon as he found another one, and you smiled at his diligence in collecting them.
Din stood, stretching a little as he did, a soft groan coming through the modulator. "I’m too old for this.”
He offered his hand and helped you to your feet, and you suddenly felt a twinge of morning sickness.
“I’m too pregnant for this,” you said with a weak laugh.
Din’s whole demeanor changed as he stepped closer and hovered around you. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”
You huffed a laugh and closed your eyes. “I’m fine, honey,” you said patiently. You would never have characterized your husband as a nervous man, but this pregnancy had brought out a fair bit of anxiety in him, and he fussed at every little thing.
“Morning sickness?” he asked, offering you his arm to lean on.
You nodded and steadied yourself against him. “It’ll pass.”
“Hey,” he said suddenly. You heard him rifle through something, probably the pocket on his belt. “I have some of those Kismet biscuits you liked on Nevarro. Would that help?”
You opened your eyes to see a slightly crumpled packet of honey-colored cookies in his outstretched hand.
“You... you got more of those?” you asked. Cara and Greef had given you the grand tour of the city, and you’d had morning sickness then too - at Cara’s suggestion, you got Kismet biscuits and nibbled on them until your rocky stomach settled.
Din shrugged. “I thought they might be good to keep handy. I talked to a nurse droid at the school, and she said there wasn’t much you could do for morning sickness, but maybe these will help.”
You softened. “You talked to a nurse droid for me?”
He cocked his head. “Yeah.” He seemed to think it was a little thing, but it wasn’t a little thing to you. You knew how uneasy it must have made him to talk to a droid, even a nurse droid, but he’d done it for you. He’d also cared enough to pay attention to what helped and what didn’t, and to keep it on hand. You could just imagine your tough Mandalorian husband double-checking everything before you left the Crest - rifle, blaster, vibroblade, cookies for his wife’s morning sickness. You smiled at the thought.
“What?” he asked, amused.
You shook your head. “Nothing.” You took the packet from his outstretched hand and gave him an intentional smile. “Thank you for getting these for me, love.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”
“You know what else would make me feel better?” you asked.
You could almost see his smile. “What’s that?”
You tapped your forehead. “A kiss, please.”
He chuckled and obliged you, resting his helm against your head for a moment. The beskar was nice and cool against your skin and helped ease your headache.
“Take it easy for a bit, ok?” he said when he pulled back from you. “I’m going to try and find Ahsoka and ask her what kind of tests she has in mind.”
He sounded a little uneasy at the thought, and you didn’t blame him. You weren’t sure what kinds of tests would be necessary to determine the extent of your son’s powers or previous training, and you resolutely refused to let him do anything that would hurt him.
But, it was early yet, and you were determined to make the best of this. You gave Din’s chest plate a comforting pat before you fished out one of the Kismet biscuits and broke off a piece of it, popping it in your mouth.
“Is that helping at all?” he asked.
Actually, it was - the sharp, bittersweet taste made the morning sickness fade to a dull racket.
“Yeah, it is,” you said. “And they’re good, too. Thank you again.”
He chuckled. “You’re welcome, again.” He touched a few fingers to your cheek in parting as he stepped around you to hunker down to your son’s level. Grogu abandoned his collection of rocks and gave his daddy uppy arms, cooing happily.
“Hi, buddy,” Din said sweetly, and you could hear his smile. He took Grogu in his arms and stood. “Be good for mama, ok? I’ll be back in a little bit with the nice lady, and then you can show her your powers.”
Grogu’s ears perked up, and he babbled a response.
“I know, it’s exciting,” Din said. “You need to be on your best behavior, and mind your manners.”
You smiled. That was your husband’s go-to philosophy for raising kids - before anything else, teach them to be respectful and to mind their manners. You liked it, and the admonition had become part of your parenting vocabulary as soon as Grogu came to be with you.
Your little one gave an affirmative coo, and Din gently rubbed the tip of your baby’s ear between his gloved fingers.
“Okay. Go see mama.” Din handed your baby to you. “Be right back, cyare.”
You and Grogu waved to him as he left; even though Din would be back shortly, your baby always waved bye if someone put so much as two feet of distance between them. Din secretly loved it, and always made a point to wave back whether he was really leaving or not.
You sat on a fallen tree trunk and held your baby in your lap, and he gave a happy babble when you took another cookie from the packet for him. You put the rest in your pocket, hoping you wouldn’t need them later; you were feeling better with the cool breeze on your face. Most of the smog from the city was cleared away this far into the woods, and the forest was a little greener too; you wished you could have seen it in all its glory, before the magistrate had ordered it destroyed.
Grogu looked up at you, giving a soft chirp as he cocked his head. You smiled.
“Hi, my love,” you cooed. “You like your cookie?”
He held up his treat and grinned; you gave an affectionate laugh and brushed your fingers over his ear.
“I love you, Grogu,” you said. “And daddy loves you. And no matter what happens with these tests, your daddy and I are so proud of you.”
You hoped he understood you; if he didn’t understand the words, you hoped the tone of your voice told him how much you loved him. Ashoka wanted to test his powers, to see how much he remembered of his Jedi training - would she be disappointed if he didn’t know enough? You knew your little one was never more upset than when you or Din expressed disappointment when he got into mischief or disobeyed. It was especially noticeable with Din: your husband could scold from sunup to sundown and it wouldn’t really make a difference to your baby, but as soon as Grogu heard that shift from frustrated to disappointed in Din’s voice, he was immediately chastised and apologetic, and wanted assurances that Din loved him.
Your husband would scoop your little one up and remind him he was loved despite the trouble he’d gotten into. Din had told you that his father had dealt with him the same way when he was a youngling, and he had always been thankful for the compassion that accompanied the chastisement. You never got the chance to meet Din’s Mandalorian father; he died before you knew Din, but Din spoke of him with great affection and respect and often said he would have loved you and the baby. You wished you could have known him and told him how proud you were of the man he’d raised.
You knew Din would be crushed when your baby left. Being a father was everything to him, and he was so good at it - he loved Grogu more than anything, and even among Mandalorians he was known for the lengths he’d gone to in order to keep his child safe. Din would let Grogu go with Ahsoka if that was what was best for him, you knew that without a doubt; he would never stand in the way of what his son needed and deserved.
And yet, the pain of losing him would be unbearable for both of you, a gap that nothing would be able to fill. Your new baby was a blessing and an incredible joy to both of you already, but you sometimes wondered if that joy would be overshadowed by the grief of losing Grogu, or if you would feel guilty loving your new baby when you missed your first so badly.
You brushed crumbs from Grogu’s shirtfront and touched a few fingers to his cheek.
“You’re gonna do great, ad’ika,” you said, trying to infuse your voice with confidence and excitement even if you felt more like crying. “Just... show Ahsoka what you know. Daddy and I are excited to see what you learned at Jedi school.”
He waved his hand in front of him.
“Yeah, that’s right,” you said with a gentle laugh. “The magic hand thing, just like Uncle Greef said.”
He looked pleased that he’d made you laugh and cooed up at you. He babbled something for a moment before he turned and looked towards the direction of Ahsoka’s camp; you’d heard footsteps too, and you saw the telltale shine of beskar through the dense trees.
“Alright,” you said quietly, holding him close as you stood. “Don’t be nervous, okay?”
He looked up at you with an expression that made you question if that reminder had been more for you or for him, and you kissed his head.
“Fine, I’ll try not to be nervous either.”
You followed Din and Ahsoka as they came through the trees and cut through to a raised portion of the clearing. A verdant carpet of moss covered the ground and crept up the stones, springy against the soles of your boots; Din went first up the rise and offered you a hand up.
Ahsoka turned to you and offered you a smile, genuine if not a little crooked, like she hadn’t had occasion to smile in a long time. You returned it and felt a little more at ease, angling Grogu towards her as she came closer.
“Let’s see what knowledge is lurking inside that little mind,” she said, tapping your baby’s nose. He cooed at her and her smile grew wider; your little one had always had the talent of drawing out smiles from people who’d long since forgotten how it felt.
She gestured to a small, flat stone and stepped a few paces from it. You set Grogu down, giving him a little pat of reassurance, and came to stand beside your husband. Both of you were nervous, jittery; Din hid it better than you did, and took your hand in his own to try and steady you with the gentle pressure.
Ahsoka picked a stone from the ground and held it out to Grogu. You watched in fascination as the stone drifted from her palm towards him, landing in his outstretched paws.
“Now return the stone to me, Grogu,” she said, and you were surprised at how gentle she was. He didn’t make a move to send the stone back, though, and you suppressed the urge to say something.
Your husband couldn’t help it. “He doesn’t understand.”
“He does,” she corrected. She looked back at your little one.
“It’s ok,” she said. “The stone, Grogu.”
You bit your lip and waited for your baby to do as she said, wondering if he was nervous, hoping he wasn’t intimidated. Din tilted his head towards Ahsoka in encouragement.
Grogu let the stone fall from his hands, and he looked so discouraged that you knew he hadn’t done it to spite anyone. You hated trying to perform under pressure and always ended up doing a worse job than you would have if no one had been watching you, and you couldn’t help but think your son was feeling the same way. You were all circled around him, after all, watching in silence for him to do something amazing; the pressure had to be uncomfortable, and you wished there was something you could do to ease it.
You watched as Ahsoka knelt in front of him, taking his little hand in hers. He didn’t meet her eyes.
“I sense much fear in you,” she said softly. A thread of worry pulled taut in you. What was your little one afraid of?
He did look up at her then, and realization flickered across Ahsoka’s face as they communicated in the way only they could understand. You wished you didn’t feel so jealous.
“He’s hidden his abilities to survive over the years,” Ahsoka said, looking up at you and Din. She stood and paced a few steps, thinking; you offered your little one an encouraging smile, hoping to ease whatever fear he felt.
“Let’s try something else,” she said. “Come over here.”
Din nodded towards Ahsoka again, urging your little one to do as she said; when he didn’t, Din shook his head.
“He’s stubborn,” Din said, and you were a little surprised at the hint of affection and amusement in his voice. While disobedience wasn’t a Mandalorian trait, stubbornness most certainly was, and it seemed your husband walked a fine line when it came to your little one’s unwillingness to comply.
Your little one was like his dad in a lot of ways; he’d picked up certain traits of Din’s, like the questioning tilt of his head, and was very attuned to Din’s moods in a way he wasn’t with yours. You didn’t mind how close they were - in fact, it was one of the things you liked best, seeing how much Grogu loved his dad and wanted to be like him.
Ahsoka seemed to see the bond between them; she looked from Din to his son, reading the communication of fondness and gentle exasperation from one to the other.
“Not him,” she told Din. “You. I want to see if he’ll listen to you.”
Din seemed to close in on himself, suddenly nervous and hesitant.
“That would be a first,” he said, and you knew him well enough to hear the edge of defensiveness and warning to his voice. Din was open and warm and comfortable with you and your baby, but it was very hard for him to be vulnerable around others, and you knew he felt nervous at the thought of his bond with Grogu being the center of attention.
He did as she said, though, and stepped over to her. Ahsoka gave him a soft smile.
“I like firsts,” she said. “Good or bad, they’re always memorable.”
You watched as she placed the stone in his hand.
“Now hold the stone out in the palm of your hand,” she said. “Tell him to lift it up.”
Din’s body language spoke of his discomfort, and he shifted his weight onto the other foot.
“Alright, kid,” he said. “Lift the stone.” His tone was oddly detached even considering his nervousness, and you felt wanted to tell Ahsoka this wasn’t how Din talked to him normally, to explain that Din was never this uncomfortable with affection. She seemed to understand, and a touch of sympathy softened her expression.
“Grogu,” she reminded him, knowing he knew his baby’s name but hoping to coax out that affection she’d seen earlier. Din set his shoulders and held the stone out again.
“Grogu,” he said, and your little one’s ears perked up. “Come on, take the stone.”
Again, your baby made no move to take it; the set of Din’s shoulders was taut with frustration and something a little like fear.
“You see?” he said to Ahsoka, tossing the stone to the ground. “I told you, he’s stubborn.”
There was no pride or amusement in his voice that time, and you realized with a wave of sympathy that it was more than just Din’s natural shyness that was making this so hard for him. Din knew as well as you did that if your little one did well enough with these tests, Ahsoka might decide to train him.
“Try to connect with him,” she said, and you knew Din would rather do anything else. To have his connection with his son be the very thing that could bring about their separation - you knew it was painful for him, and he was desperate to control it, somehow, even if that meant closing himself off.
“Din,” you said, before you could stop yourself. He looked over at you, tilting his head in question, undoubtedly studying your face. You searched for something to say to encourage him, to offer him comfort in a way that stayed between the two of you.
“Ne chaabar, cyare,” you said. Your Mando’a was rusty as best, but you knew that phrase from how often he’d said it to you - do not be afraid, beloved. You hoped he knew everything you were trying to tell him: I’m sorry, I love you, I’m worried too. It’s okay.
The set of his shoulders relaxed. He didn’t respond to you verbally, but his body language spoke volumes, as it always did: he looked more steady, less hesitant. He sighed as he looked back to your son, both of them tilting their heads at each other.
Din reached into the pocket of his belt and pulled out the gear shift handle, the thing tiny in his big hands. You softened and felt the strangest sort of ache in your chest. Din knew his little boy, and you knew Grogu would finally do as he was told if it meant getting to play with his dad.
“Grogu,” Din said, much gentler and more playful than he had before. He hunkered down and held the ball between two fingers. “Do you want this?”
Your baby’s expression was completely transformed, his eyes wide with wonder and excitement, his ears perked all the way up. He made grabby hands towards the ball, and you couldn’t help a smile.
“Well, go ahead,” Din encouraged. “That’s right, take it. Come on.”
Grogu looked curiously at Din, perhaps trying to puzzle out why he was able to have it now when he hadn’t been allowed to before.
“You can have it,” Din assured him. “Come on.”
So quickly you almost missed it, your baby used his powers to pull the ball from Din’s hand and catch it in his own.
“Good job!” Din said, genuine excitement and pride in his voice. “Good job, kid!”
He stood and looked over at you. “You see that?”
You nodded and gave him a glowing smile. You were happy, but Din was ecstatic; he was so proud of his little boy, and Grogu beamed when Din knelt in front of him.
“That’s right,” Din said, taking the ball when Grogu offered it to him. “I knew you could do it. Very good.”
Your baby held onto his dad’s finger and cooed happily at him, and you knew Din was smiling under the helm.
You glanced at Ahsoka; she seemed hesitant, of all things, and you felt a sting of worry.
“He’s formed a strong attachment to you,” she said, her tone unreadable. Then, after a moment, “I cannot train him.”
You and Din spoke at the same time. “What?”
Din stood and approached Ahsoka as you moved to pick your baby up, a thousand emotions running through you at what she’d said. I cannot train him. A bigger part of you than you wanted to admit had been hoping for that very answer.
“Why not?” Din demanded. His tone was tight with frustration and confusion, vastly different from his earlier expression of happiness; Grogu read the change easily and gave a quiet, distressed coo.
“Shh, ad’ika,” you said softly. “Daddy’s not angry with you.”
“You’ve seen what he can do,” Din said to Ahsoka, gesturing to his son. Grogu cuddled closer to you.
“His attachment to you makes him vulnerable to his fears,” Ahsoka said firmly. “His anger.”
Nothing could have been more distinct from the Mandalorian way of life, where family bonds were a source of strength. Though you could tell it had taken Din off guard too, he merely shook his head, unwilling to argue.
“All the more reason to train him,” he insisted.
“No,” Ahsoka said, her expression wide with unease and hurt like a wounded thing. “I’ve seen what such feelings can do to a fully trained Jedi knight. To the best of us.”
Her pain was raw, but your sympathy struggled to overcome the concern her words elicited in you. What feelings? Affection? Love? You balked at the idea of sending your son to train with people who considered a child’s bond with their parent to be dangerous, something that inevitably led to ruin and loss.
“I will not start this child down that path,” she said, and despite everything, you felt it was out of some curious sense of concern for Grogu’s well-being. You wondered if she ever questioned Jedi teaching. “Better to let his abilities fade.”
You wanted to protest, to challenge her supposed responsibility to her vow - didn’t Jedi take care of their own? And yet, you knew nothing of the Jedi way of life; your notions about honor and accountability came from your own upbringing and the Mandalorian Way. She may not be bound to help your little one at all.
Besides, you didn’t want her to train him. You’d known from the moment you set foot on this planet that you didn’t want him taken from you to train, and this new understanding of the Jedi way rooted that even more deeply in your heart.
“I’ve delayed too long,” she said, cutting off any further debate. “I must get back to the village.”
She walked to the edge of the rise, intending to leave without another word; your baby gave a sad coo as he watched her go. You looked over to your husband, wordlessly asking what you should do.
He looked to Ahsoka. “The Magistrate sent me to kill you.”
Your eyes widened and Ahsoka stilled, his words having the intended effect. He stepped towards her.
“I didn’t agree to anything,” he said as she turned to face him. “And I’ll help you with your problem, if you see to it that Grogu is properly trained.”
You flushed with surprise and anger.
“Din,” you said sharply. He kept his gaze on her but held a hand out your way, and you couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be placating or silencing. Either way, you had to bite your tongue from yelling every curse you knew in Basic and Mando’a at your husband.
Ahsoka looked from Din to you, undoubtedly reading the tension between you.
“Very well,” she said after a moment, her need for assistance outweighing her apprehension in training your son. “I cannot train him. I will not. But, in exchange for your help, I will try and find someone who will.”
“Thank you,” Din said, and you couldn’t believe how relieved he sounded. “We’ll need to return to my ship. I need supplies, and I’m not taking my wife and child back into that city.”
Any other day you might have thought his protectiveness was endearing, but all you felt at the moment was the distinct, infuriating sense of being completely ignored. It was so unlike Din that you were almost concerned, but anger and incredulity outweighed any other feeling. You would have bet your life you and Din had come to the same conclusion about letting your son train with the Jedi after hearing her refusal and the reason behind it. That you hadn’t - obviously - left you reeling.
No matter. Ahsoka and Din would have to go through you to get Grogu and ship him off to train with the Jedi, and if nothing else brought them pause, surely that would.
Ahsoka nodded. “Lead the way.”
Din looked to you then, his body language clearly hesitant. Good, you thought bitterly. Let him fear the worst about what was going on in your head. You certainly weren’t of any mind to ease his discomfort, not when he’d so blatantly ignored you earlier. You weren’t going to confront him, at least not now - the last thing you wanted was to have a fight with your husband in front of Ahsoka, and both of you made it a point not to argue in front of your baby.
“Let’s go,” you said curtly.
A quiet sigh slipped through his modulator, and you could just imagine the downward pull of his brow as he frowned. He started in the direction of the Crest, and Ahsoka quickly followed.
As you walked, you kept some distance between you and your husband as Ahsoka drew him into a conversation of strategy for their attack on the city. Despite yourself, you missed his steady presence beside you; not even your anger with him could erase your desire to have him near. You held Grogu close and drew in on yourself, bitter and hurt, tuning out most of what they said as your own thoughts gnawed at you.
How could Din want your son to train with her, or with any other Jedi? How could he offer to risk his life to secure it? If your son’s powers came at the cost of his ability and freedom to love, you’d gladly let them fade. You couldn’t believe Din thought otherwise. Even more than your anger with him was your confusion, a desperate need to ask him what in the galaxy he could be thinking.
Your husband wasn’t a foolish man. He had never been given to thoughtless, reckless decisions, and in your marriage, he had never made a habit of making decisions without asking for your input. That he had now, especially about something as important as your son’s future and his own life, was a stunning blow. You were hurt and dismayed at how disconnected you felt from him; by his own actions, he’d separated himself from you, and you had rarely felt a deeper wound.
So consumed were you with your own thoughts that you didn’t notice Din had stopped walking until you nearly crashed into him. You instinctively put a hand to his back to steady yourself; when he looked back at you, you snatched your hand back like you’d been burned.
“Don’t underestimate the Magistrate either,” Ahsoka was saying. You’d failed to follow the first part of their conversation and couldn’t say you were sorry to have missed it.
Din tore his gaze from you and looked back at Ahsoka. “Who is she? She offered me a staff of pure beskar to kill you.”
Ahsoka crossed her arms over her chest, an almost smug expression crossing her features at the high death-price she warranted.
“Morgan Elsbeth,” she said. “During the Clone Wars, her people were massacred. She survived and let her anger fuel an industry which helped build the Imperial Starfleet. She plundered worlds, destroying them in the process.”
Din looked around you at the barren forest. “Yeah, it looks like she’s still in business.”
Ahsoka fixed Din with a questioning gaze. “When you were in the city, did you see any prisoners?”
Din nodded. “We saw three villagers strung up just outside the inner gate.”
Despite your own turmoil, you shuddered at the memory and held Grogu closer.
“We must find a way to free them,” Ahsoka said. You knew it had already occurred to your husband that those prisoners needed to be saved; he had probably already planned out how they should do it.
All three of you stood in silence for a moment, thinking about the upcoming attack on the city.
“A Mandalorian and a Jedi?” Din mused. “They’ll never see it coming.”
You resisted the urge to say something childish along the lines of No, how could they? Not even your own wife could have seen it coming. You still had a long way to go before you reached the Crest, and you weren’t keen to make the tension in your party any more difficult to bear than it already was.
You dutifully trudged along behind them as they started fine-tuning their strategy, the steady rhythm of your walking eventually lulling your baby to sleep. You had to accept Din’s help every so often as the terrain grew unwieldy; as soon as you were steady again, he let you go. Part of you was glad his touch didn’t linger. The other part of you wanted him to keep your hand in his even when you didn’t need his help; maybe then you could have been a way of being close to you, loving you, instead of just being a responsibility he felt obliged to uphold.
You felt as though the forest threatened to swallow you without your husband by your side, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so terribly lonely.
Read chapter five!
pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekcryptid, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl, @stardust-galaxies, @theorganasolo, @qhbr2013, @willowtheewisp ♡
