Apr 1, 2021
PEDRO PASCAL APPRECIATION WEEK ↳ Day 4: favorite pictures/videos from his instagram and or twitter: pedro + oscar
seen from China
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seen from China
seen from Malaysia
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seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from Belarus
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PEDRO PASCAL APPRECIATION WEEK ↳ Day 4: favorite pictures/videos from his instagram and or twitter: pedro + oscar
My Home
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.
@forever-rogue @221bshrlocked @autumnleaves1991-blog @gearhead66
Wrong Number
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
Twitter Profiles Part 1/3
Twitter Profiles 2/3
@everythingisoverrated @psyched2b @shreddedparchment @bitsandbobsandstuff @after-avenging-hours @alexblrus @thinkingsofamadwoman @i-dont-want-to-be-called @thefridgeismybestie @fortheloveofallthatsholy @crazychaotic @pleasureoftheguiltiestvariety @redstarstan @justreadingfics @themistsofmyavalon @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @wkemeup @thiccbinch @glide-thru @elliee1497 @ellaenchanted91 @part-time-patronus @janeyboo @scarlettwitcher @thirstybitchqueen @stuckonjbbarnes @barnesandco @geeksareunique @nicoleplacee @lexshead @gambitsqueen @lokisironthrone @imanuglywombat @also-fangirlinsweden @ravenesque @murdermornings @countryrockmama @tinymalscoffee @kato-ptris
@bookishofalder
just be with me || frankie morales x reader
Read on AO3 | Masterlist
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! ♡
them old love songs || frankie morales x reader
Read on AO3 | Masterlist
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 ♡
let me know if you’d like to be added! ♡
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 ♡
series taglist: @kyjoraven, @sarahjkl82-blog, @remmysbounty, @bitchin-beskar, @cosmicbreathe, @prettyboyskywalker, @happyxdayxbitch, @radiowallet ♡
please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡
aay’han mar’eyce (bittersweet discovery): chapter five || din djarin x reader
Read on AO3 || Masterlist
chapter one || chapter two || chapter three || chapter four
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: You and Din struggle with your hurt in the wake of his decision.
Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff | Word Count: 2.2k
Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, pregnant reader
A/N: Drumroll please..... it’s the long-awaited angst! Which I have never claimed as my forte, but I think it works for our Struggling™ pair of idiots. They just love each other but they’re so mad at each other, god bless.
You were relieved to see the Crest’s familiar shape emerge through the haze and broken trees. Your feet hurt from walking, your baby was heavy in your arms, and you’d worked yourself into total hopelessness. The sight of your home was welcome and comforting, and you felt yourself breathe easier as you came closer to it.
You lowered the ramp with the remote control on the bracelet Din made you when you first came to live on the Crest, a pretty little thing that he’d modified to control the ship and, later, the baby’s bassinet. You wished you still had that bassinet; it made travelling easier, and there was always a safe place to put Grogu if you and Din had your hands full. You wondered if you’d need two cribs once your new baby came, or if your husband would have already shipped Grogu off by then.
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” you said to yourself, nearly tasting your bitterness. You tucked Grogu into his hammock with intentional gentleness and closed the bunk hatch, wishing you could curl up and sleep too.
You heard the ramp close again over the sound of the refresher tap; the cold water felt good on your skin, and you buried your face in a towel afterwards, hiding from everything for a moment. When you finally looked up, you saw Din in the mirror; you knew him well enough to know he was studying your face in the reflection.
“Cyare,” he said, his tone soft through the modulator.
You whirled around.
“Don’t cyare me, Din,” you snapped. “I’m not in the mood for it.”
You waited for the flare of frustration and annoyance in his body language; when it didn’t come, you felt a little off-kilter.
“I know you’re angry,” he finally said.
Oh, that did it. Maybe he wasn’t frustrated or annoyed with you, but you were livid with him.
“Angry?” you repeated. You marched over to him, an accusing finger pointed at his chest. “Let’s get one thing straight, Din. Angry doesn’t begin to cover how I feel about this. About you.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “And I’m sorry. But I — ”
“I don’t care,” you said, cutting him off, totally unwilling to listen to his explanation. You were finally, properly angry, and he was going to listen.
“I’m not sending our son to train with her or with any other Jedi, alright?” you said. “You can make as many deals as you like and come up with a million macho rescue missions to risk your life on. But he’s my son too, and I’m not letting him go with her.”
You realized you were practically yelling at him; while you weren’t concerned about how it would affect him - Din Djarin was made of sterner stuff, and could handle your temper - you didn’t want to risk waking the baby.
“Come up to the cockpit with me,” you said.
His helm gave a questioning tilt. “Why?”
You started up the ladder. “Because I’m not finished yelling at you.”
He followed you up, giving you as much space as he could in the somewhat cramped cockpit. Despite fully intending to keep up your tirade, he was suddenly big, imposing; for the first time in many, many years, you felt intimidated by all that beskar.
“Din,” you said softly.
He reacted immediately to your change in tone, opening his posture towards you. “What is it?”
You shook your head. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this angry with him, and you certainly couldn’t remember the last time you’d been even the tiniest bit scared of him. All of a sudden, you realized you wanted your husband, not the unreadable Mandalorian standing in front of you.
You worried the hem of your shirt. “Can you please take off your helmet?”
“Yes,” he said quickly, moving to comply without hesitation. He removed his helmet and set it on the dashboard; his face was lined with worry and hurt. “Sorry, cyare.”
His expression crinkled in a wince as he remembered you’d asked him not to call you that. “I mean — sorry. Just — sorry.”
You felt your anger lessen by degrees — not enough to let it go, by any means, but enough that you were more willing to listen to him. Really, you wanted to know why he’d made such a decision; you wanted him to explain it to you, to show you that it really was in your son’s best interest, to convince you that your husband wasn’t suddenly a completely different person.
“It’s ok,” you said tiredly. “I’m not — I just don’t want you sweet talking me, ok? You need to talk to me. Really talk to me, right now.”
He nodded. “I am. I will. You have my full attention, and I will hear you out completely.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “But you’re not going to change your decision.”
His expression was pained. “No, cyare. I won’t. But I think you know that I can’t. We can’t.”
“We?” you repeated. “I didn’t make this decision, Din. You did, by yourself, and you completely ignored me while you did. Since when do you make decisions about our family by yourself?”
“I didn’t want to,” he said, and it frustrated you how sincere it was. “You have to know that. And I apologize for ignoring you — that’s not the way I wanted this to go, believe me.”
He ran a hand over his face, his remorse clear as day in his expression. “I had to. I didn’t know what else to do. She was going to leave, and we were going to lose the only Jedi we’ve managed to find.”
You wanted to say that it would have been a good thing, but despite your intentions of bringing him up here to yell at him, you made yourself hold your tongue.
He looked at you with a surprising gentleness.
“It’s not forever,” he said. “It’s only training. Mandalorian children leave for training, too.”
“He’s not going for Mandalorian training, though,” you said. You understood that he was trying to comfort you, but the length of time Grogu would be gone was only a small concern next to the kinds of people he’d be with.
“Didn’t you hear what she said?” you pressed. “I can’t think of anything more different from the Way than — than thinking loving your family is wrong.”
"She didn't say that," he corrected. "She said attachment makes you vulnerable, which is true."
You tried to reconcile his justification with what you knew him to believe, with what he'd lived out since the day you'd met him.
"Vulnerability isn't bad," you said. "You taught me that. And if our son goes trains with the Jedi, he'll be taught that it is. Doesn't that bother you?"
His expression, always so easily readable, flickered with uncertainty.
“It does bother you,” you said, and with the realization came a surprising wave of relief. To know you were at least agreed on that, even if he wouldn’t admit it, was reassuring to you.
His posture stiffened with agitation, and you knew you’d hit a sore spot. You knew he wanted to pace, but there wasn’t room for it; he drummed his fingers on the top of his helmet instead.
“It doesn’t matter if it bothers me,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself.
You balked. “How can it not matter, Din? You’re his father. Of course it matters.”
He shook his head. “What matters is that I honor the vow I made to him. That we honor that vow.”
He looked up at you, his expression starting to show the frustration you felt.
“Has that crossed your mind at all?” he asked. “That you made a vow to him? In front of me, in front of the armorer?”
You crossed your arms over your chest. “Of course it has. It’s why I don’t want him to go with Ahsoka.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” he snapped. “Our vow was to return him to the Jedi.”
“Our vow was to be his parents,” you corrected. “And I think that overrides the promise to return him to the Jedi. What kind of parents would we be if we watched him grow up thinking that attachment and love were dangerous?”
“We’re not going to watch him grow up at all,” he shot back, bitterness and anger pouring from his tone. “Don’t you get it? He’s older than both of us. Once we’re gone, he’ll be completely alone.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “The Tribe — it’s completely gone, cyare. If there’s anyone left, they’re scattered. I don’t even know where the armorer is. Grogu needs to be raised in a clan, or raised by his own kind. We were never going to be able to keep him forever.”
You knew what he said was true. His rate of aging wasn’t a problem now, when you and Din were both relatively young, but Grogu would live to be much older than either of you. Din was right. If you were a part of a bigger clan, Grogu could be raised as a Mandalorian — it might take a few generations, but he would never be on his own.
“Let’s find another covert, then,” you said. “Or try to find Paz, or the armorer, or anybody from the Tribe who might have survived.”
Din shook his head. “No. There’s no telling where they are, and the covert on Nevarro is the only one I ever knew of. Besides, we have a Jedi right here he can go with. We’re not going to have this kind of chance again.”
“I don’t want him to go with the Jedi,” you said, for what felt like the millionth time. “Are you even listening to me? I don’t want him trained like that.”
“It’s not our choice how to train him,” he argued. “We didn’t vow to return him to the Jedi unless we didn’t like what they teach, and then, hey, I guess we can just do whatever we feel like doing.”
You frowned. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you,” he said, exasperated. “I’m just trying to make it clear that our opinions on Jedi training have nothing to do with the decision we need to make.”
“The decision you already made, you mean.”
He scowled. “Yes, and it’s a good thing I did, because you would have let her walk away.”
“Yes, I would have,” you shot back. “And I never would have dreamed you’d do anything different.”
“Then you’re not able to look at this objectively,” he snapped, his frustration rolling off him in waves. “Do you think I like the fact that he'll grow up learning the exact opposite of what I was taught? That I like sending him off to the people I grew up knowing only as the enemy? My father would be rolling in his grave if he knew. But I’m doing this because it’s what’s best for our son. I’m doing it because it’s what I vowed to do.”
Something inside you snapped.
“Then you care more about the Way than you do about your son’s well-being.”
Din flushed with anger.
“That’s not fair,” he said. “You knew I was bound to the Way when you met me, and you agreed to live by the Way when you married me. I'm not asking you to do anything you didn't already agree to.”
“I didn’t agree to abandon our son.”
“We’re not abandoning him,” he said, and you could tell he was quickly reaching the end of his patience. “You knew when we adopted him we had to return him to the Jedi. It wasn't like the traditional adoption vow. He's supposed to go back to his people, and we're going to honor that vow.”
“What if I won’t?” you said. Your last attempt, your last recourse. “What will you do then?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, stunned, and your challenge hung in the air between you. You’d never refused to go with him on something before, and he’d never had to answer such a question.
“Cyare,” he said, quiet and numb. The furious, sparking anger was all but gone, replaced by a stony determination and a bone-deep weariness.
“Djarins honor their vows,” he said finally. “As long as you bear my name, you’ll bear that vow.”
You sucked in a breath. “Din — ”
He closed the space between you, pressing a gentle kiss to your brow. “I have to go.”
“Din,” you said again. You put your hand on his arm and held tightly. “Don’t leave.” Not like this.
He gently pried your hand from him. “We need all the daylight we can get, cyare.” He was still for a moment, then drew your hand up to his mouth and kissed your knuckles.
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” you said, without hesitation. “Please don’t go. It’s not your fight.”
The shadow of a rueful smile crossed his face. “I made a vow to help her. I won’t back out on it.”
He held your hand for a moment longer before he let you go. He took his helmet from the dash and put it back on again, masking himself in that armor that had never felt so distant, so unreachable.
“Din,” you said as he opened the cockpit doors. He turned and tilted his head, and the beskar was familiar to you again, just for a moment.
“Come back to me,” you said.
He nodded once, solemn.
“I’ll always come back to you, cyare. You know that.”
And then he was gone, leaving to risk his life in someone else’s fight, and it took everything in you not to run out and beg him to stay.
pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekcryptid, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl, @stardust-galaxies, @theorganasolo, @qhbr2013, @willowtheewisp, @lori-tovar, @sarybennett ♡
series taglist: @kyjoraven, @sarahjkl82-blog, @remmysbounty, @bitchin-beskar, @cosmicbreathe, @prettyboyskywalker, @happyxdayxbitch, @radiowallet, @marvelous-glims ♡
please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡
aay’han mar’eyce (bittersweet discovery): chapter three || din djarin x reader
Read on AO3 || Masterlist
chapter one || chapter two
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: Ahsoka gives you a bittersweet gift.
Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst | Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, pregnant reader
A/N: You got me, I’m a sucker for Din and his bride working through angst together, especially if that angst has a lot of fluff and hurt/comfort mixed in, especially if they get emotional about how much they love their baby. I hope you like it! ♡
You stumbled backwards, both arms wrapped protectively around your baby, eyes wide as you watched Din block swing after swing of the blazing white swords. Each parry sent sparks flying from his beskar; he met his attacker’s downward blow with his vambraces and held them there for a moment, the contact ringing as neither would give way. Din regained his footing and held the swords off with one arm while he activated his flamethrower, and the forest was awash in an angry red blaze.
He threw his whipcord and bound his attacker, giving you your first real look at the Jedi you’d been tasked to find.
She’s beautiful, you thought foolishly, unable to process how quickly the fight had started. Her skin was the color of candlewick flowers, and the head-tails that draped over her shoulders were dusty blue and white. She looked slightly stunned by the whipcord that confined her, but only for a moment; she gave Din a smirk and leapt upwards. Your shocked gaze followed her as she drew the whipcord over a branch and hoisted Din up by his vambrace. He cut himself loose and drew his blaster as she drew her swords again.
“Ahsoka Tano!” he growled. She stilled at her name, studying him warily.
Din’s shoulders rose and fell with rapid breaths, and he held a half-defensive, half-placating hand out to her out to her even as he kept his blaster trained on her.
“Bo-Katan sent me,” he said, and you heard how he struggled to keep his voice calm. “We need to talk.”
They stayed frozen for a moment, each considering the other, perhaps gearing up for another round - then her gaze snagged on you, and the baby in your arms.
She turned off her swords and straightened, her posture relaxing.
“I hope it’s about him,” she said, surprise and genuine interest coloring her voice. Din turned, slowly holstering his blaster; you gave him a pleading look as your baby cooed at the two of them.
She took a few steps towards you, and you reacted in panic; whatever truce she and Din had come to, you didn’t know what her intentions were. Adrenaline and fear still coursed through your body, and you stepped back from her and held your baby closer.
She stopped when she saw your expression.
“Wait,” she said, her hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt either of you.”
You looked to Din. She’d just attacked you, out of nowhere, and you couldn’t believe he was so willing to trust her.
“Din,” you said, willing him to understand your hesitation, your fear. You saw from the set of his shoulders that he wasn’t completely at ease with her, but he also hadn’t tried to stop her from coming over to you. What if she tried to take your baby? Your hands shook, and you couldn’t get your heart to stop pounding.
He closed the distance between you, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “It’s alright, cyare.”
“Alright?” you snapped. “She tried to kill you.”
Ahsoka put her hands on her hips. “In my defense, I thought you were coming to kill me.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. It was probably best not to mention the Magistrate’s deal.
She nodded to your baby. “Are you... the little one’s mother?”
“Yes, I am,” you said, more confidently than you’d said anything else in this exchange. You met her gaze and held it, speaking to her not as a warrior, but as a woman and as a mother.
“I made a vow to protect him,” you said. “And even though we both know I can’t fight you, I will gladly let myself be the last protection he has from you, if I need to.”
You made no mention of your husband, nor of his far superior skill in fighting her if the need arose. You also didn't tell her you were pregnant, which made the act of self-sacrifice a more complicated thing. None of it changed the point you were trying to get across to her: she must be very careful to earn your trust where your son was concerned.
She nodded, her expression serious and sincere. “I know you will,” she said, and there was nothing patronizing in her tone. “I promise you won’t have any reason to. Not from me.”
You saw nothing but honesty in her eyes. For the first time since she’d drawn her swords, you felt your tension and fear ease. You relaxed your hold on your baby, and he reached out to Ahsoka and babbled at her.
“Hello, little one,” she said, and the smile that eased her expression was kind and gentle. She looked over at Din.
“We should head to my camp,” she said. “We don’t want to be caught out here after dark.”
He nodded. “Lead the way.”
You and Din walked beside each other, following a few paces behind Ahsoka as she led you to her camp. His body language was a little reserved, and he kept an uncharacteristic distance between you as you walked.
“Are you angry with me?” he finally asked.
You looked up at him. “No,” you said truthfully. “I’m not angry with you. I’m... sorry if I was a little harsh, earlier. I was just scared.”
“Me too,” he said. He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to try and rush you. She and I came to an agreement when we stopped fighting, without having to talk about it. It’s a little hard to explain. You just sort of... know that you’re not enemies any more. But it was wrong of me to try and force that on you.”
He put his hand to the small of your back as the path steepened. Steadying you, lending you his strength - that came as easy as breathing to your husband, and you felt a sudden rush of gratitude and tenderness at the way he continually showed you his willingness to protect and care for you.
“Thank you,” you said.
He looked down at you. “For what?”
You shrugged. “Everything. Taking care of me. I love you.”
“Oh,” he said, and he affectionately nudged his shoulder against yours, a little bashful. “Well, you’re welcome. I love you too.”
You took his forearm in a gentle grip and raised it to examine his armor. “Did she hurt you?”
He shook his head. “No. Well - ” He rolled his left shoulder. “Dangling from the whipcord isn’t nearly as fun as it looks. But otherwise I’m fine.”
You moved your hand down to his, and he twined your fingers together.
“Your armor was sparking like crazy,” you said. You tried to shake the memory of him bracing his arms together against her death stroke. “Did you know it would hold up like that?”
He shrugged. “It’s sturdy stuff, this beskar. I haven’t met a thing yet that it couldn’t hold up against. I’ve never had to use it against laser swords, but it seemed to do the trick.”
You glanced at the sword hilts strapped to Ahsoka’s waist. “I’ve never seen weapons like those before,” you said. You wondered if she was the only person who used them, or if they were a traditional Jedi weapon. Though you had always known Din would likely teach your son how to fight, that had always been a long way off, and you wondered how young Jedi were when they started training in combat.
“Me either,” Din agreed. “They’re powerful, there’s no doubt about that. I’d be afraid to use one of them, let alone two.”
You smiled. “No you wouldn’t.” Whatever he said, you knew your husband was skilled enough to be effective with a weapon he’d never used before and could become proficient with it if he put his mind to it.
“You can’t fool me, Djarin,” you teased. “You want to try them out, don’t you?”
He chuckled. “Maybe. It would certainly be an interesting look, wouldn’t it? A Mandalorian with a laser sword?”
You gave a soft laugh. “I think you could pull it off.”
You kept a hold of him as darkness fell; the roots grew more tangled and the fallen logs more numerous as you went deeper into the mountains. For all the times Din had gotten snagged on something earlier, he was much steadier on his feet with the night vision in his HUD. You, on the other hand, felt like you were stumbling over something every other step.
“Dank farrik,” you bit out, grabbing Din’s arm to keep from falling flat on your face. No sooner had you steadied yourself than he swept you off your feet, scooping you up bridal-style and holding you close to his chest.
“Din!” you squeaked, grabbing onto his shoulder for dear life. The baby giggled at the sudden swing upwards, and your husband gave a warm laugh.
“Relax, cyare,” he said. He gave Ahsoka a nod when she glanced back to see what the commotion was, and you thought you saw a smile on her face as she turned back.
Din kept pace behind her, seemingly no worse for wear with both his wife and baby in his arms. You relaxed and circled one arm around his neck while the other held your baby, who was absolutely delighted to be carried around by both his parents.
“You don’t have to carry me, Din,” you said, amused and affectionate. He was really quite the romantic under that tough exterior, and it had always been something you loved about him.
He hummed in agreement. “I know, but I figure it’s better than you twisting an ankle,” he teased. “And you’re probably tired, aren’t you?”
You nodded. It was very nice to be off of your feet for a moment; you’d been walking all day, and you knew Din must be just as weary of it as you were.
“My camp’s just ahead,” Ahsoka called over her shoulder. Your baby offered her a pleasant babble in response, and you smiled at the sound of Din’s chuckle.
“We sure did get a friendly one, didn’t we?” he asked.
You brushed your fingers over your baby’s ear, feeling an almost impossible amount of love for him when he smiled and cooed at you.
“Yeah, we did,” you agreed. You hoped that no matter what happened - whether he trained under Ahsoka or another Jedi, or stayed with you and Din - nothing would dim your little one’s bubbly and inquisitive personality.
As promised, you arrived at Ahsoka’s camp before long. Din set you down as she turned on her lantern, the warm golden light spilling over the ground in a small circle. You let your baby down to stretch his legs, and he toddled over to the lamp and greeted it with a curious babble.
A shiver took you by surprise, and you rubbed your hands over your arms as you realized how cool the night air was. You saw Ahsoka fasten her cloak over her shoulders and wished you’d thought to bring something; it had been warm when you left the Crest, and you didn’t know you’d be trekking through the mountains after you left the city.
“Here, cyare,” Din said from behind you. He unclasped his cloak and draped it over your shoulders. “Better?”
You snuggled into the warmth that enveloped you and gave him a grateful smile. “Much better. Thank you.”
Ahsoka perched on one of the small boulders near the lamp, watching your little one with a smile. You were unexpectedly endeared to the way she watched him with such obvious affection; though part of you wasn’t surprised, as your baby charmed everyone he met, you also hadn’t ventured to hope that she would even like him. You didn’t know how you felt about it; it would be much easier to justify not leaving him with her if she was unkind to him.
You watched as your baby clambered up onto the rock across from her; he sat still, uncharacteristic for your usually energetic and adventurous little one, and cooed up at her. He cocked his head and gestured with his little claws, something that still made you smile even if you’d seen him do a hundred times.
“Look, Din,” you said. You nodded to your baby. “It’s almost like they’re talking.”
He watched them for a few moments; Ahsoka certainly seemed to be nodding in response to your baby’s gestures, but didn’t everyone do that to a baby? You were a little surprised when Din pulled you aside a few paces.
“What?” you asked, your voice low. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment; you put a hand on his arm.
“Talk to me,” you said. “What is it?”
He looked over at your baby, then back at you. His shoulders were tense, and you wish you knew the reason for his discomfort.
“What if they are speaking?” he asked. “What if... it’s some language only Jedi speak? What if that’s the only way he communicates?”
You frowned. “He’s only a baby, Din,” you reminded him. “He’ll learn Basic. He’s just little, that’s all.”
He gestured over to the two of them. “But what is that? It’s not Basic, and it’s not just baby talk. He’s saying something to her, and she understands it.”
You looked back over at them. You had thought there was something different, more intentional about your baby’s gestures and coos as he sat with Ahsoka, but you’d dismissed the idea as quickly as it occurred to you. With Din’s concern, though, it came back in full force - were they speaking? Could Ahsoka understand your child in a way even you couldn't?
The thought made you pale with a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite identify. Grief, guilt, and sadness were among them, and something even a little like jealousy.
“They can’t be,” you said, even as it became clear that they were. “He’s not - he can’t...”
You and Din had been interacting with your little one every day, talking to him like you would a human baby. Had he been trying to speak to you, and you just couldn’t understand him? Had you been parenting him inadequately this whole time, thinking you knew what was best for him?
Your chest tightened. How could you know what was best for him? You and Din weren’t Jedi. It was why you had been tasked with returning him to them, why you had been looking all over the galaxy for a Jedi - your baby belonged with them.
You looked over at Din, who had started to pace back and forth, agitation rolling off him in waves. You weren’t a pacer, but your discomfort needed somewhere to go; you worried the fabric of his cloak between your fingers, twisting and pulling at the well-loved cloth.
“Have we been doing this all wrong?” you asked.
He didn’t stop pacing. “What do you mean?” he asked, cautiously, as if he knew already.
You bit your bottom lip, feeling closer to tears than you wanted to be. “What if we - ” You shook your head. “What if we’re not what’s best for him, Din?”
That did stop his pacing, but he seemed no less tense.
“We are,” he said. “Of course we are, cyare. Don’t talk like that. We’ve done the best we can.”
You felt a flash of frustration and guilt. “Isn’t that the problem?”
You thought of your other little one, the one growing inside you. You had considered yourself a decent mother - rough around the edges, perhaps, without your own mother’s help, and capable of making mistakes like everyone else. But with Din’s help, you were trying so hard to be the mother your babies needed - one who taught kindness and virtue, one who protected and cared for them above everything else. And you loved your son, like you already loved this baby you carried. You truly hadn’t considered a misstep of this magnitude, nor the idea that your son would really be better off with the Jedi.
“We can’t even speak to him, Din,” you said desperately. “How many other things are we doing wrong? How many other things am I doing wrong?”
Din read your distress easily and closed the distance between you. He put his hands on your shoulders, something he did when he really wanted you to listen to him.
“You haven’t done anything wrong, cyare,” he said. His voice was gentle and firm. “You’ve loved him as your own. You’ve taught him and protected him and loved him like he came from you. You can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t know.”
Your vision blurred in a wash of tears.
“I knew he didn’t belong with me,” you said quietly. “Deep down, I must have known - I did know, and we were always supposed to bring him to the Jedi. I was never supposed to be his mother.”
His grip on your shoulders tightened.
“No, cyare.” He sounded hurt, heartsick. He released your shoulders; his hands hovered near you, as if unsure how best to comfort you.
“How can I convince you?” he asked. “You’re a wonderful mother, cyar'ika. He belongs with you. He belongs with us. He’s supposed to train with the Jedi, but - we’re his family. We’ll always be his family, even if we have to let him go.”
You pressed your hands to your face, hiding behind them as a few tears fell. You leaned against his chest, and he gathered you in his arms.
“He’s your baby, cyar’ika,” he said gently, holding you close. “You’re his mother. You took the adoption vow just like I did. He belongs with us.”
You remembered the day you said the adoption vow, both you and your husband repeating the words after the armorer. Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad - I know your name as my child. Din had explained to you later that adopting a foundling was a very serious thing and a cause for great celebration: a parent and their foundling shared gai bal manda, name and soul. You had kissed your baby then, cradling him in your arms as Din held both of you close, calling him Djarin’ika - little Djarin.
You felt a wave of peace at the memory. He did belong with you. Whatever happened, he was your son, the little one who had made you a clan of three. Your little Djarin.
You took a deep, steadying breath and looked up at your husband.
“He belongs with us,” you said.
Din cradled your face in his hands and rested his helm against your head.
“Yes, cyare. No matter what happens, no matter how far apart we are. He’s still our son, and he’ll always belong with us.”
You rested against his touch for a few moments, both of you drawing strength and comfort from each other. You were so thankful for Din, for his kindness and honesty and unwavering love for you and your family.
“Our son is lucky to have you as his father, Din,” you said, holding his wrists in a gentle grip. “Your dad would be very proud of you.”
Din cleared his throat, the sound thick with tears. You pressed closer to him.
“Thank you, cyare,” he managed after a moment. “That means more to me than you know.”
You held him for a moment more, then pulled away just enough to press a kiss to his helmet, right over his cheek. “I love you.”
He released a shaky breath. “I love you too, cyar’ika.”
He held you for the space of a few heartbeats, seeming to collect himself; when he straightened, you could see from his body language how tired he was. The light of the huge moon shone weakly through the clouds and reflected dully off his beskar.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” you asked, looking over at Ahsoka and your baby.
Din shook his head. “I don’t know. I think that’s what we’re about to find out.”
Both of you watched as Ahsoka lifted your baby into her arms, carrying him with one hand and holding the lantern with the other. She made her way over to you, the lantern light swaying gently over the ground; you took Din’s hand in yours and tried to keep yourself from asking the hundreds of questions that ran through your mind.
She set the lantern down and placed your baby on the stone nearest Din. Your baby looked up at his father with a sweet little smile before he looked back at Ahsoka, babbling to her again as she sat across from him.
Din shifted his weight onto the other foot; his impatience, his nervousness, was easy to read.
“Is he speaking?” he asked her. “Can you... understand him?”
Ahsoka tucked her hands under her cloak, considering his question.
“In a way,” she said. She looked up at you. “Grogu and I can feel each other’s thoughts.”
You felt a wild, sudden thrill in your chest like the beating wings of a caged bird.
“Grogu?” both of you asked.
Your baby swung his gaze over to you, his little ears flopping with the movement. He cooed and looked up at you with those big, starry eyes, and you felt a deep ache in your chest.
“Yes,” Ahsoka said. You almost didn’t hear her. “That’s his name.”
Oh.
You couldn’t say anything. You couldn’t think anything. You squeezed Din’s hand, tightly.
“Grogu,” he said again. Gentle, wondering. Your little one looked up at him and gave him a curious coo.
You couldn’t help your beaming smile, then, nor the rush of tears that accompanied it. You knelt in front of him and extended your hand to him; he took hold of your finger and waved it happily.
“Hi, my love,” you said softly, only for him to hear. “My little Grogu.”
His ears perked up and he showed you a toothy grin, and you thought your heart might break with love for him.
“That’s right,” you said, and your voice was wobbly with emotion. You ran your thumb over his fingers. “Your mama loves you, Grogu Djarin.”
He giggled when you pressed a kiss to his head, touching your cheek with his little hand.
You felt Din’s hand on your shoulder; he knelt next to you, but kept his gaze trained on Ahsoka.
“What did he say?” he asked her. “When you were talking?”
You looked up at Ahsoka; her expression was calm and somber.
“He was raised at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant,” she told you. “Many masters trained him over the years. At the end of the Clone Wars when the Empire rose to power, he was hidden. Someone took him from the temple.”
You sent a silent thank you to the jate’kara for keeping your little one safe, for whoever had hidden him from those who sought to do him harm.
“Then his memory becomes... dark,” Ahsoka said. “He seemed lost. Alone.”
You wondered how long he had been alone before Din found him. You knew he must have been lost before he came to you, but you didn't like to dwell on it. To know he had been raised with the Jedi and had Masters train him and care for him, only to be taken away so suddenly and left all alone, tracked by bounty hunters and hunted by the Empire - you wished you could protect him from everything that had ever hurt him.
“I’ve only known one other being like this,” Ahsoka said. “A wise Jedi master named Yoda.”
Your baby - Grogu - looked over at her at the Jedi master’s name. She smiled.
“Can he still wield the Force?” she asked.
Din cocked his head. “You mean his powers?”
As much as you wanted to know more about Grogu’s past, you let your husband carry the conversation; your little one was tired, and his head nodded as his eyes fluttered shut. You gathered him into your arms and held him close; he grabbed a fistful of your shirt and snuggled close to you.
“The Force is what gives him his powers,” she explained. “It is an energy field created by all living things. To wield it takes a great deal of training and discipline.”
Din considered this. “I’ve seen him do things I can’t explain. Both of us have.”
His grip on your shoulder tightened, a warning and a comfort.
“Our task was to bring him to a Jedi,” he said.
Ahsoka shook her head. “The Jedi order fell a long time ago.”
“So did the Empire,” Din countered. “Yet it still hunts him. He needs your help.”
She looked at the baby in your arms for a long moment, the barest hints of sorrow and regret lining her face. However long ago the fall of the Jedi order had been, you knew she had not yet healed from the loss.
“Let him sleep,” she said gently. “I’ll test him in the morning.”
She rose, hesitating before she turned away. She looked at the three of you.
“He doesn’t feel lost or alone any more,” she said. “Not with you.”
You knew from her voice that she was telling you the truth. You searched her face, gratitude and sympathy warring as you saw the complicated mix of emotions across her expression.
“Thank you,” you said sincerely, your voice tight. “You’ve given us a great gift, Ahsoka. We’re more grateful to you than you know.”
Her smile was genuine, if shadowed by sadness. “You’re welcome.”
You watched her go, her figure enveloped by shadows as she stepped out of the light of the lantern. You wondered if she had any family, if she too had been lost and alone after the Jedi order fell.
You looked down at your baby.
“Grogu,” you said softly, not intending to wake him. It was a good name, fitting for your little one. Grogu of Clan Djarin, sharing name and soul with you and Din.
“Come on, cyare,” your husband said, his voice low so as not to wake the baby. He helped you to your feet and held you close for a moment, you and Grogu held safely in the circle of his arms.
“I can’t believe we know his name,” Din said softly. He brushed a finger over his son’s ear. “Grogu. Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, ad’ika.”
You swallowed. Your adoption vow meant that much more now that you knew his name. Din tapped his helm against the crown of your head, like a gentle kiss.
“We should try and get some rest,” he said. “I know you didn’t plan on being away from the Crest so long, though. I'm sorry.”
You shrugged. “It’ll be like the old days, right?” you said. You gave him a smile. “You forget I went with you on lots of hunts back then, and we ended up sleeping under the stars more than once.”
He put his hand around your waist and drew you close as he steered you towards a small clearing in the brush.
“Oh no, cyare,” he said, an edge of teasing to his voice. “I haven’t forgotten those nights.”
You felt your face warm a little despite the cool night air. Back then, when the two of you were newly married and chasing the rush of bounty hunting, you rarely spent your nights under the stars just sleeping. That desire for each other had never dimmed, but becoming parents had cut down on your opportunities to be spontaneous, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had such a... risky liaison with your husband.
Din settled himself on the ground, his back propped up against a broad tree trunk. “We should do that again, sometime.”
You curled up next to him, resting against his chest and drawing his cloak around you and your baby. Din put his arms around you slowly ran his hand up and down your arm.
“Do what?” you asked. You hid a yawn behind your hand and leaned your head on his collar. “Start hunting again?”
He hummed in agreement. “Or just fly somewhere and go at each other as many times as we can before we get caught.”
You laughed. “Din,” you chided. You weren’t necessarily opposed to it, but you were less adventurous in that way than you had been back then. You preferred to make love to your husband somewhere you wouldn’t get caught.
He chuckled and drew you closer. “I’m only teasing,” he said. “But, we are going to have a new baby soon. Our chances for something like that are about to be few and far between.”
You hadn’t really though of that - bounty hunting would become more difficult than ever with two babies. Though you had enough credits saved that you didn’t need to hunt now, it was something you would have to work out eventually. But you were already overwhelmed with everything that had happened today; there was no use worrying about your future when you couldn’t do anything to change it right now.
You cuddled closer to your husband for warmth. “Sorgan,” you said.
He gave a soft grunt as he got comfortable. “What about it?”
Despite the darkness, and your back turned to him, you smirked. “You can go at me as many times as you want before we get caught, when we go back to Sorgan.”
“I thought we were going back to Sorgan to have the baby,” he said. His voice was intrigued, though, and you knew you’d piqued his interest.
You gave a half-shrug. “I guess you’ll have to take me back before then,” you said cooly. He would have taken you back regardless, if you asked and he thought it was safe; but you kind of liked the idea of getting back to your more adventurous days, even if it was just in the woods on a backwater planet rather than on a high-adrenaline bounty hunt.
He gave a soft laugh. “Alright, cyare,” he said. “You’ve still got a little shereshoy in you, hm?”
That was a Mandalorian word for living life to the fullest, having a zeal for the enjoyment of each day, no matter what it brought. You and Din had lived like that before Grogu came to be with you, in the traditional way; you still believed you lived it out now, even if it looked different than it had back then. You were a wife and a mother, and you loved it and wanted to do it for the rest of your life. It was a different kind of shereshoy, but one you liked just as much.
A little bit of adventure wouldn’t hurt, though.
“We’ll go back to Sorgan,” he promised. “Sometime before the baby’s born.”
He didn't say whether Grogu would be with you, and you didn’t ask. There’d be plenty of time for working through that with Ahsoka tomorrow, in all its confusion and sadness and worry. For right now, you were together - and that was enough for all of you.
Read chapter four!
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