NO ACTUAL WARNINGS OR TAGS OR ANY OF THAT CUZ IT’S ALL A SURPRISE.
My warning: Yeah, they have sex Kaylee’s warning: “But there’s also beautiful writing!”
Special Note: Huge thank you to @kayleezra for being such a wonderful beta!
******
The university library on the Ephrate is your favorite place on this entire planet. Here, surrounded by the smell of old books and dust, you’ve found your home. You also managed to find your love, the soul you knew was the mirror of yours: Ezra. He was your definition of perfection. Intellectual, poetic, and a heart of pure gold. But he was also a rogue bastard, a silver-tongued devil who could charm the pants off of anyone. He could have anyone he wanted, you truly believed that. And yet, he assured you that his heart beat only for you, a sentiment you returned fully. He cherished you, cared for you like you had never imagined you deserved and you thanked Kevva herself every day for letting you two cross paths.
Jesus I’m a hot mess right now and it’s entirely your fault.
This was a work of art (and not just because it’s Ezra, and sorta a sex pollen fic ) honestly you blow me away with your talent with every story you write…..I can’t
“You wanna know what’s gotten into me? You wanna know the only thing I need at this moment, sweetheart… the only thing that will truly help me?” He asks, and it should be a cardinal sin how enticing his voice is. It’s an unholy siren, drowning every bit of your common sense in a sea of unbridled desire. You nod, and can feel his smile as he chuckles a little, the rumble of it making you overly sensitive as his torso leans onto yours.
Warnings:Fluff, mutual pining, Din being clueless, Established sexual relationship, live sick idiots, mild reference to smut.
A/N:req by @sturkillerbase for idiots in love. “You’re so cute. What did you just say? I said you look like a boot.”
Comments and reblogs really appreciated
Din couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t think, he couldn’t focus. He felt hot under all that beskar and he was vaguely aware that Cara was talking to him - rambling on about staying here, settling down. Why is that when she said that, all he could think about was you.
You, the mechanic he had taken on almost a year ago. You, who had broken down all his walls and pierced him straight in the heart. You, whose hands knew exactly where to touch to comfort him. You, who came along and filled that missing piece of his puzzle. You, who was currently playing with Grogu and the other children - putting thoughts of you holding a baby of your own in his head, his baby.
“If you stare longer, you’ll burn a hole into the side of her head.” He fell forward slightly, startled by what Cara had said before quickly recovering.
“What are you talking about?”
She smiled up at him - that sly smirk she always has around him - her eyebrow quirked. “The only person you’re fooling is yourself, Mando. Plain as day that you love her.” He’s just as bad as she is. She stood then, coming to stand beside him - her gaze drifting over to you.
“You better tell her before someone else snaps her up,” she says with a tilt of her head in your direction. Din follows her line of sight to find one of the local men talking to you. His hand reaches out for you and touches your arm and you laugh at whatever he’s said. It’s like a knife has been thrust into his gut - twisting around for extra effect.
You turn then - as if you can feel the heat of his gaze - and catch him staring. A sweet smile spreads across your face and you wave at him. Din clenches his fist as a wave of anger or jealousy - he’s not quite sure - washes over him. I can’t watch this. He moves away from Cara and storms off, leaving you staring after him with a confused look on your face. Your eyes meet Cara’s and she just shrugs before walking off. Maker, these two love sick idiots.
***
Sometime later, Din arrives back at the hut - having spent most of the day avoiding you - to find you dressed in a skimpy dress. He’s frozen in the doorway at the sight of you - dress clinging to the curve of your breast, flowing out at the waist. You look ethereal.
There’s a slit in the dress that he hadn’t noticed until you move. He can see the skin of your leg all the way up to your thigh and it’s making it impossible to breathe. Suddenly, the beskar armour weighs heavy on his shoulders - all he wants to do is reach out and touch you. Really touch you. Without the armour, without the gloves - without the barrier between you both.
“Din! Are you ok? You’ve been gone all day, Grogu was upset he couldn’t find you.” You’re standing directly in front of him now and he lets his eyes roam over you - hidden behind the safety of the visor. He can feel the heat coming off you - searing into his skin. Your scent - apples, cinnamon and something indescribably you - fills his nose from under the helmet and his brain short circuits.
“You’re cute!” He freezes. Did I say that out loud?
“What did you say?” You say with a soft smile on your face. You know exactly what he said.
“I said you look like a boot.” Trying not to laugh, you reach out to touch his arm but before you can - he pushes past you making his way behind the curtain separating your shared space. You stare at the space he occupied seconds ago, mind reeling. Does he feel the same way? Turning to follow him you’re interrupted by Omera and Cara entering the hut.
“Ready to dance and get drunk on spotcha?” Cara says as she wiggles her hips. They both stand staring at you, waiting for a response. “Eh..can you give us a minute?”
They share a look before turning back to you and nodding. “Can you take Grogu?”
“Sure”, Omera says as she bends down to pick him up. Once they leave you turn towards the curtain, heart racing. I need to know.
***
Din paced the length of the small space he occupied - embarrassment flooding his veins. Dank ferrek!
He’s ruined things now, he knows he has. You’ll think he’s an idiot and leave. Everyone leaves. The only one consistent thing in his life is Grogu and he doesn’t have much of a choice. I need to get out of this. Din begins pulling off his armour - piece by piece - throwing it on the ground haphazardly. He hears Cara and Omera talking and he figures you left for the celebration. It’s safe!
With both hands on either side of his helmet; he lifts it off. Holding it in his hands, he stands there and stares into the visor - his face reflected back at him. The mandalorians are his family, took him in when he was most alone in the world - he owes them his life. They are also his curse. Living by a strict creed that allows no one to see his face, not even the ones he loves.
You can never get too close. How could you when there is a barrier of beskar between you both. In the last couple of months he’s longed to find a peaceful planet somewhere in the galaxy - quite like Sorgan - and settle down with you and Grogu. Maybe you’ll agree to marry him and you can have a child of your own. She’ll never love you.
“Oh Din I’m…I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean…”
Din turns towards your voice to find you w or h your back turned away from him and your hand covering your eyes. She saw my face! You have two options here, kill or marry.
Din tosses his helmet. The loud thud as it hits the floor echoes throughout the hut. He moves toward you now, slow and steady - like any quick movements will spook you. He reaches out to touch you and his heart races upon contact. He loves the feel of your warmth under his touch. Searing into his skin.
“Mesh’la, it’s ok.”
“No! No, I made you break your creed. I’ve ruined everything Din. I’m sorry…so sorry,” you say with a sob. He turns you around and places his hands gently on your cheeks.
“Mesh’la please, look at me.”
“No. I can’t. I…I won’t. I can leave…I won’t tell anyone what I saw…please don’t kill me.”
His heart clenches tight. I could never kill you. “I won’t kill you. I can’t, even if I wanted to. I…I love you Y/N and I want you to see my face properly, so please look. He pulls your hands away but your eyes are shut tight. “You can’t be a Mandalorian anymore Din, I made you….I’ve ruined it all…”
“I can still be a Mandalorian. I love you and I want you to see my face. I want to give you that. Give you all of me. Marry me?” He whispers beside your ear.
Slowly you open your eyes and you’re met with the most beautiful brown eyes you’ve ever seen. You take him in. His hazel eyes, his brown hair that’s slightly dishevelled from the helmet and the light facial hair he has along his jaw. He was beautiful.
“Will you marry me?” Your eyes search his, and you see the sincerity in his gaze. A smile spreads over your face.
“I love you too Din. I have for a long time. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Din reaches down and his lips touch yours in a soft kiss. A moan slips past your lips and he devours it with his. Pulling back he leans his head against yours - his eyes gazing into yours. “Just repeat after me. Mhi solus tome, Mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde”
You repeat what he says word for word and then he reaches into his back pocket and places a ring of beskar into your finger. “What did we say?” Din smiles - his eyes glued to the ring, his ring, adorning your finger before looking straight at you.
“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors. They are mandalorian vows.”
“So we’re married now? That was easy.” He chuckles before his lips meet yours again in a heated kiss. His hands begin to roam a little and you can feel him harden against you. “Maybe we should start working on those warriors?”
A growl emanates from deep within his chest as he grabs your ass tight, pulling you close. “How long do you think we have?”
“Hmm, I’d say maybe an hour before Cara comes to find us.”
Just a few quick questions to find out what the reader wants from me and my writing.
Everyoneeee! I mean everyone needs to check this amazing kickass gorgeous writer’s work out!! You will not be disappointed at all, I promise youuu! And she gots new ones to come, so come along on the beautiful breathtaking ride!
Ps.
Ekkkk! I’m so excited and can’t wait to see what you’ll create with the other fandoms! I already know they’ll be amazingly breathtakingly badass! ( but always, never rush or push yourself to get stuff done.. Do what makes you happy and such. )
Aahhh stop you are amazing and I appreciate you so much. I swear you get a kick out of making me emotional
I’m excited to write for other fandoms (and a little nervous) but I will still mainly be a pedro girl
Warnings:Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, oral (both receiving), angst, mentions of drinking blood, cursing, enemies to lovers.
Summary:You and Max have been working together for the last year and there is only one thing you have in common - you both hate each other! Now you are both in competition with each other for Ted’s job. Who will win? Who will lose? Will you both realise that’s there’s a fine line between love and hate?
Max insisted on driving and honestly, you were grateful - your anxiety was becoming overwhelming and you would not have had the focus to drive safely.
Fidgeting with your fingers - something you did to try to calm yourself when you were like this, you closed your eyes briefly and took a deep breath inwards, trying to calm your racing heart. Please let this day go off without an incident from Dad.
Max threw a sideways glance at you, a worrisome feeling settling in the pit of his stomach with what he had just heard in your mind - he’s never seen you like this - and it wasn’t something he wanted to get used to either.
“Everything ok, toots? You seem a little on edge.” Opening your eyes and looking in his direction, you gave him your best fake smile. “I’m fine, promise.”
“Hmm, and if I believed that, I’d believe anything.” Max narrowed his eyes on the road and insisted that you share what’s on your mind without trying to pry it out of you. “Come on, you can talk to me, Toots. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye but I care about you and I want to help if I can.”
“I appreciate it, Max, I do, but you can’t help me. My family - more specifically my father - is a fucking pain in my ass and he hates me.”
“Come on he doesn’t hate you, parents don’t hate their kids - they can get angry, sure, disappointed, but not hate.”
“Ha, you don’t know my father. I’ve never been able to do anything right, not in his eyes anyway.” The words spilled from your mouth like it was normal, it was normal and it shouldn’t be, but it’s something that you’re used to now.
“Then why don’t we just say fuck it and not go. I’ll drive us anywhere?” Max countered with a different idea, a much better idea than attending this wedding that you’ve dreaded for months. If only it were that easy.
“I can’t. The irony of it all is that I’m constantly seeking his approval and if I don’t show up - I’ll be disowned.” Shooting down the suggestion, Max reaches over and places his hand on your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. “I could just kill him?”
Erupting into a fit of giggles, it really shouldn’t have been funny but your emotions were all over the place. You’re laughing so hard that you could barely see Max through your watery eyes. God, I love you.
The laughter died off with that thought, amusement had been replaced with another worry. You were so caught up in the moment that you forgot that he can listen in if he wants to, so the question was, did he hear it?
Max is frozen. He definitely heard it and he kept his eyes straight ahead with doubt circling his mind. Did she just say what I think she said?
***
Arriving at the venue - an overpriced hotel with too many sparkly chandeliers - you take a deep breath before exiting the car. Max appears at your side, wrapping an arm around your waist as you both make your way inside.
Fake smiles and formal greetings are made as you pass distant relatives and family friends; people that you only ever see at events like this. Max can already hear your heart begin to beat fast again and he leans down to whisper in your ear, “it’s ok, breath, I’ve got you.”
Fuck!If you didn’t already love the man, you certainly would after that. A simple yet meaningful gesture of reassurance in a time that you really needed it made you feel weak in the knees. You smile up at him with appreciative eyes. “Thanks, for coming with me. I’m glad you’re here, Max.”
There’s that flutter in his chest again and he battles with himself silently. Say it! Say it now before you lose your nerve. “There you are, you’re late.” Max’s thoughts of saying what’s on his mind were halted as he followed your gaze to see an older man approaching - small, slightly rounded stomach and the only resemblance you have to him are your eyes. Those gorgeous eyes that Max loves so much.
“We’re not late, half the guests haven’t even arrived yet by the looks of it.” You defended yourself and Max to your Dad, but he fired back. “Don’t take that tone with me-” Your father stopped mid sentence, looking at Max with scrutiny, “-and who is this?”
Immediately taking action, the vampire moves his hand from around you and goes to shake his hand, making sure to squeeze tight. Your fathers face scrunches in pain a little before you nudge his side. “I’m Max Phillips, Y/N’s boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to meet your sir.” He doesn’t say anything as he turns his gaze back to you. “Your boyfriend can’t sit up front with us.”
“Why not?” You realtialted, to which your father retorted. “He isn’t family.” Your blood boiled with the audacity of this man and you fought back, again. “Max is my boyfriend, he’s my family.”
“He still can’t sit with us,” your father states before getting distracted by some guests, turning away from you and ending this discussion. I’m going to fucking kill him. You try to storm after him but Max wraps his arms around your waist, stopping you. “He isn’t worth it baby. How about you go sit with them and I’ll find a seat at the back.”
“Hell no! I’m sitting with you, come on.” You wrap your hand in his and pull him along to the back where you take your seats. Max can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. I am so fucking proud of you.
***
The ceremony is beautiful. Your sister is a stunning bride and her husband Gerry absolutely adores her. Even though you’ve always been the shadow in her light, constantly compared against each other, you’re happy for her. “Ever thought about it?” Max whispers in your ear as you make your way to the reception hall.
“Though about what?” You asked. Turning to face him as he jerked his chin outwards with his answer, “This. Marriage?”
“Hasn’t every girl at some point.” He gives you an incredulous look and you roll your eyes with a half smile on your face. “Ok yes, I’ve thought about my wedding. Happy?”
“Yup.” He turns his attention away from you to the sign displaying the seating arrangements. What the hell, why is he asking that? “Have you thought about it, Max?”
The man laughs, sounding shy. “Not until recently.” What?He grabs your hand and leads the way to your table. Even though Max doesn’t need food to survive - for obvious reasons - he still has a few mouthfuls. I need to blend in sometimes toots he’d said, and you couldn’t help but smile at the concentration on his face as tried to act like a regular sociable human.
I could get used to this, you thought and ducked your head, forgetting once again that he can hear you. Though, Max looked at you, as if he were about to say something but a voice cut him off. “Y/N! There you are, I’m so happy you came. I know this was hard for you so I appreciate it.” Your sister - the bride was the voice that cut him off.
Pulling you in for a tight hug with a bright smile, she’s breath-taking, always has been. “Claire, this is Max my..”
“Her boyfriend,” he speaks for himself with a wink before pulling Claire in for a hug too.
“It’s lovely to meet you Max,” She beams, then pulls back to look at you, “my sister failed to tell her little sister she was dating. Don’t pay any attention to our father, he can be…well difficult. Anyway, better go mingle. Don’t leave without saying goodbye, ok?”
“I won’t.” Max nodded as the bride walked away. “She seems nice.” You glared at him then. “Well she’s married now, so hard luck.” Max looks at you with a confused expression. Without questioning it, he simply listens to your inner monologue instead. Everyone always thinks she is better than me - funnier, smarter, prettier. Of course Max would think the same.
“Yeah she’s pretty, I’d be lying if I said otherwise but in a cute way.” Acting quickly, Max tells you what you need to hear, “Definitely not my type. You are my type. You’re not cute, you’re gorgeous, you don’t put up with my shit and put me in my place, and you are amazing in bed. You do this thing with your…”
“Ok enough.” You say putting your hand over his mouth, a blush on your face. “Thank you.”
As the day progressed, your nerves slowly easing off with Max’s soothing presence and reassuring gestures, you started to actually enjoy the celebratory atmosphere and put your own worries aside, to be there for your sister.
Occasionally she and Gerry would lock eyes with you, raising their glasses with a nod and almost every time, your father would scowl. When dinner was served, you and Max just enjoyed your own company, giggling at his remarks about your dad. The champagne helped a bunch too, loosening up the tension in your body and mind.
“I need to take a leak, toots,” Max kissed your cheek and pushed his chair back to stand, “I’ll be back shortly.” Sitting alone with just your thoughts, you concluded that this day wasn’t all too bad and you were thankful that Max accompanied you, he made it better in every way possible.
However, with a quick glance over to the head table and noticing that your dad was not there, you instantly sighed with a plea under your breath, “Please Max, if my dad is in the restroom, don’t cause a scene.” Using his absence as an opportunity, you stood from your chair also and walked over to chat with your sister and brother in law.
“Hey, you. Getting lonely over there?” She leaned up from her seat, opening her arms wide for another hug. “Yeah, you could say that. Max is in the restroom,” you smiled and leaned in, kissing her cheek. “Please tell me Dad is at the bar?”
Pulling back and greeting Gerry, the look on your sister’s face confirmed your worries and you immediately started fidgeting with your fingers again. “Stop that,” Clair noticed your anxiety straight away, she always does, “and don’t worry. I’m sure Dad won’t cause a scene on my wedding day.”
It’s not Dad that I’m worried about. Nodding to her, you put on yet another fake smile and kept looking to the gents restroom, dreading for Max to reappear with blood dripping down from his fangs, but to your absolute surprise, the men walked out together - laughing?
Both you and Claire shared a look of concern, and even Gerry voiced his opinion on the sight, “Huh. That’s weird, a minute ago he wouldn’t shut up about Max now they’re best buddies.”
“Oh that’s good old Max. He has a way with… charming people,” Laughing to the couple nervously, you made an excuse to leave and go back to your own table while Max and your father stood at the bar, ordering a round of drinks and being rowdy about it. This can’t be good. What have you done Max?
The man turned to look at you with your thoughts, winking with a cheeky smile before turning his attention back to your dad. Clearly he has glamoured him, put him under some sort of compulsion. Though, you can’t complain considering how happy and laid back he looked, so Max must have said something right.
A couple moments later, Max came to join you at the table again, your father walking past with a waving smile and a glass of whiskey in his hand. No, you certainly can’t complain about the compulsion, he’s in a better mood.
“You’re not going to ask about your dad?” Max sat down and leaned into your side, placing a chaste kiss to your cheek. “No.” keening at his touch, your hands roamed the expanse of his thigh beneath the table cloth. “Don’t need to know, just really grateful for the result, Max.”
“Oh yeah? How grateful?” He smirked. Tensing with the touch of your deft fingers trailing up his thigh, Max hummed deeply and whispered sweet nothings against the shell of your ear, drawing out a soft sigh to escape past your lips. “I’ll show you later in the bedroom,” you say, biting your lip. “I’ll do that thing that you love.”
Max groaned eagerly, his gaze was intense with impatience for the night to hurry up and come to an end. You gave his thigh a quick squeeze before retracting your hand at the sounds of a microphone being tapped excessively, followed by someone speaking into the thing. “Can everybody hear me ok?”
Marc, the best man, prepared his speech. You and Max paid little attention as his hand kept sneaking up your thigh now, payback for your actions mere moments ago. Marc went on to talk about his younger days with Gerry, specifically of the time where he first met your sister and how he knew that his buddy was in love at first sight.
You did finally pay attention when your father made snide remarks here and there, fueled by alcohol no less. Or was it? As Max nipped a path of kisses along your neck, without a care for who sees, your eyes narrowed in on Gerry, on his red angry facial expression.
When he snapped his head to the side to reprimand your dad quietly, you knew something else was going on. It wasn’t just the alcohol. “Um, Max?” Tilting your head with a quiet whisper, you now want to know exactly what the vampire had done. “What did you say to my dad in the restroom?”
“Told him to relax, have a good time…” Placing a wet kiss to the back of your ear, your eyes threatened to roll shut as his hand inched closer to your heat. “…Told him to squash whatever quarrels he has with you and let bygones be bygones.”
“Uh-huh.” That didn’t sound too bad. However, it didn’t explain why your dad was being a bit of a dick about the best man’s speech, so you persisted with Max. “Anything else you might’ve said to him that you’re not telling me?”
“Hmm,” Max smirked against your skin. “Let’s say it’s my gift for you. A little payback.”
Just as you were opening your mouth to protest, you stopped to gasp when the man had made contact with your core, finding your panties hot and damp. Max’s touch had a much more prominent effect on you, far more than you yourself anticipated it would.
A broken whisper of his name bubbled up from your throat as he started to pull your panties to one side. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he slid a digit through your slick folds with ease. “Look at you, toots. So wet for me and I barely touched you.” Max degraded with a dark chuckle, pulling his hand back, you whimpered with the loss as he brought his finger to his lips and sucked the evidence of your desire.
At the sound of music filling your ears, you tore your eyes away from Max’s dark taunting smile and looked to the dancefloor. Claire and Gerry were rising from their seats and walking out hand in hand. It was the first dance and it couldn’t have come at a better time, Max was becoming feral. You’ve seen that look in his eyes before.
Max wrapped an arm around your waist, resting his hand to your hip with a grabbing squeeze and you leaned into his touch with a question. “Are you finished teasing me now?”
“Not even close, baby.” The man laughed. Looking at the dancefloor as cool as a cucumber, like he hasn’t just had his hand between your legs then tasted a sample of your juices off his finger, Max jerked his chin outwards, “But first we have a show to watch.”
“Don’t you mean the first dance? It isn’t a show Max,” You corrected him, jabbing a finger into his ribs playfully as your own little payback for him playing games with you. Giggling to yourself when he jolted with the action, he repaid the favour by tickling your sides, causing your hands to reach out onto his chest with a plea, “Ok-ok. I yield. Please stop that.”
Granting your wishes, Max resorted to just resting his hand on your hip again, but he brought his other hand up from under the table to look at his watch, sparking your intrigue, “What’s up?”
“I told you, we have a show to watch,” Max replied nonchalantly, “Patience, babe. Your gift is coming any minute now.” Instantly turning your head to face the head table, your father was not there and your stomach dropped with dread. Oh God, Max what have you done?
***
The sound of a mic tap draws your attention and you look up to see your father on stage looking around nervously. “Stop! Stop right now.”
Everyone gasps at your fathers interruption. Gerry is being pulled back by Claire who whispers something to him. “That’s it Claire, tame that beast of a husband. Bloody sham of a wedding. Cost me a fortune, ungrateful bitch. I need everyone to quieten down, I have something I want to say to my daughter, Y/N.”
You can feel people’s eyes drift to you and a worrisome feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. Max’s hand - the one resting on your thigh - squeezes gently in reassurance and you meet his gaze for the briefest moment before turning back to your father. Max hopes he’s done the right thing. That you won’t hate him after this.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I’ve always treated you. For making you feel like you were never good enough and always comparing you to your sister Claire. You are far better than her in every way. You’re beautiful, strong willed, independent and amazing at your job and any man would be lucky to have you.”
“John!” You hear your mother gasp out in outrage. The only thing you can focus on though is Max. How these are his words coming from your fathers mouth and how you want nothing more than to grab his face and kiss him hard. I love you. You let the words linger in your mind, knowing full well he can hear but you don’t look at him, you don’t want to see the rejection on his face.
Suddenly your father drops to his knees and starts barking. Barking!He begins to move around on all fours, licking himself and sniffing some of the guests’ asses. He throws himself onto his back and waggles his arms and legs in the air - looking for a belly rub?
Your hand shoots to your mouth and Max looks to you now, worried he’s gone too far but then he feels you shake beside him. Is she laughing? You can’t control it anymore, the laughter falling from your mouth as you hold your stomach. Max feels a sense of relief. “Did I do good?”
“That was amazing. I love you…” You gasp, having realised you said it out loud. It’s out there now and you can feel him stiffen beside you. Tears form behind your eyes threatening to fall at any moment. Well done, you’ve ruined it all now. Max’s hand grabs your chin and suddenly his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately. “I need you, now.”
“Let’s get out of here.” Max stands and reaches for your hand, leading you out to reception. “I need a room for the night.” What is he doing? Max leans into you - his breath hot on your skin. “I want you to fuck you so hard, everyone in that reception hall knows who you belong to.” A shiver runs through you and your cunt is aching with anticipation. Oh yes please.
Warnings: 18+. Adult Content, Dark Themes. There are angsty stuff in this fic. Reader experiences extreme paranoia. Mentions of sex. Dave calls reader sweetheart and smacks her ass. Pretty much no smut here, peeps. I can’t write smut for Dave .
AN: My first time writing for Dave so go easy on me . A little research went into this to create the plot, however I have changed up the details of things to fit the story. Also, I would like to give a big shout out to my mother as she helped me create the idea for this story,and even giving it a read before posting. And another big shout out to Naomifor creating this series for all of us to join in on. It’s been crazy fun!
We jump right in where Naomi left off, so enjoy the story my loves.
Two agents exit the vehicle to enter the home. They leave the home with whom you now know as Dave York in custody. He stares at you as you watch everything unfold. Never shifting away from your frozen form. A trained assassin, a contract killer, and he has his eyes on you.
And those eyes plagued your mind hours after you departed from the man.
After signing an NDA, stating that you wouldn’t discuss the things you learned or seen today, you were escorted home. However, once you were settled back into your little bubble of comfort and feeling safe within the parameters of your bedroom, Dave York’s eyes were still burned in your memory, leaving an everlasting disturbance in your gut.
You felt tense. On edge. It was the wayhe looked at you; like you were his next target, and shaking off that uneasy feeling was an uphill battle. You struggled relentlessly trying to rid the image of his two black merciless orbs. Barely sleeping a wink during the night, you sighed a heavy breath of relief the next day when seeing the man on the news.He is incarcerated - you are safe.
Although they left out a lot of details of why he was arrested, you can’t really say you are surprised. The whole ordeal was shady the moment you walked into that house on the island, but that was yesterday’s problem now. Today, you needed to get back to work at the local Red Cross Learning Centre and teach a class of forty about basic first aid and how to properly perform CPR.
Working in the medical field serves many great purposes, but the one you’re thankful for the most is the distraction it provided for you today. It was like slipping into auto-pilot. Check in, greet and welcome the guests, deliver the ten point programme with enthusiasm, then finish it off with the CPR dolls.
Time slipped by you during all of this and before you knew it, half the day was gone already. It was a good class, a lot of the participants actually looked like they were absorbing everything you were teaching so you were satisfied with the session, but now that it was lunch, you are ready to call it a day and go home to eat.
Clocking out and saying goodbye to your fellow volunteers, you headed towards your car outside, but once you reached your car, got inside and put on your seatbelt, you froze at the pair of eyes staring back at you in the rear-view mirror. They weren’t your eyes. That uneasy feeling began to creep back into your bones, sticking the tendrils up on your back the longer you looked at the reflection.
Forcefully tearing your gaze away, you turned the key in the ignition and focused on the road instead; giving yourself a distraction from the stranger in the mirror. Dave York apparently still had a lasting effect on you. That feeling came back quicker than a freight train and it didn’t go away, not until you were home and free of looking into the mirror of your car.
Entering your home hastily, you raced straight towards the TV in the lounge and turned it on. The news once again stating that the man was incarcerated eased your tensions a little, but even his mugshot on the screen stared at you. His eyes pierced through your soul the same way he did yesterday, still like you were his next target.
Changing the channel on the TV, you needed another distraction and walked into the kitchen to prepare lunch. A headache was now accompanying the disturbed feeling in your gut and you figured food would be the remedy. After you turned the stove on and set out a frying pan, you went to the fridge to grab some vegetables and the last cut of fish you have left.
Your mind was in a haze, too distracted by all your emotions as of late and you started grabbing everything from the shelves. Jam, yogurts and cheese. Things you definitely didn’t need for pan fried fish and before you could even comprehend what on earth you were doing, your hands were full of junk. “W-what the?” You stuttered to yourself, looking over all of the items. “What the fuck am I doing?”
Putting them back one by one, your brows furrowed with even more confusion when putting the jar of mayonnaise back. You grabbed everything but the actual items that you require. The fish still sat on the shelf and the vegetables in the little draw. Your brain must have hit a switch and reset itself. Finally retrieving the food that you intended for, you shut the fridge and stood before the stove.
You opened the packet and lay the fish down in the sizzling hot pan, eliciting a mighty flame to kick up in your face but you didn’t step back, not when your mind produced an image of a explosion erupting, not when you heard distorted voices yelling commands in your right ear and not when you felt a stinging pinch in your shoulder. Radio static from what you can only describe as an ear piece was replaced by the sizzle of the food cooking, snapping you back to reality. The flame died down and the images you saw were gone.
It was two seconds at most, but you had a glimpse of something in those two seconds and whatever it was exactly, was enough for you to abandon lunch all together. Turning the stove off, you turned quickly and b-lined straight for your bedroom, the headache now raging a war in your head, it was amplified by tenfold and crippling you so much that you just wanted to bury your head into the pillow with the sheets pulled over your face.
And that’s exactly what you did. Climbing into bed and laying under the sheets, you buried your head into the pillow before pulling the covers over, however you no longer felt that safety and comfort within the parameters of your bedroom any more. It felt foreign, just like those eyes in the mirror of your car.
They were your eyes, but they belonged to someone else.
One Month Later.
To say your problems eased off over time would be a crock of bullshit. They get worse. So much so, that you had finally reached the breaking point.
Headaches progressed into mind clustering migraines, scarring a seemingly permanent fog in your brain. They never faded. Normal everyday activities became a nuisance, like you were in a repeating cycle. It was boring. The only sense of excitement you got was from watching your favourite action movies, but they too became old and boring, until you took a drive one day and found yourself in the bad part of town. Accidental or fate?
The place was filled with delinquents, sinners and killers. And it felt like home, like you fit right in, but on the third drive into this part of town, you had an… incident. It was bound to happen, someone would notice your expensive car, notice how it didn’t belong here and act on that piece of information alone, but you were prepared for that. How?And why?
You were inadvertently seeking conflict and when it approached, you took them out like blowing out a birthday candle. It was easy. Skills and expertise locked deep within your muscles broke free like a reflex and you beat down four men, leaving them all a groaning, whimpering mess on the tarmac below. When you came to, realizing what you had actually done, you jumped back into your car and hurried home.
Your breaking point was when you looked in the mirror. The woman that looked back was not you. Eyes dark and sunken into the sockets, flecks of blood splashed across your face with bruising around the knuckles on both of your hands, you didn’t recognise who you are anymore. You should have been horrified by what you did, but instead, you felt alive. More alive than you ever felt in your entire life, and you wanted to feel that again.
That was your cognizance breaking through the hysteria, the jolt of reality you needed to seek answers. Dave York, a trained assassin looked you in the eyes, triggering your fight or flight response and your body chose to fight but your mind chose the latter. You’ve been at war, with yourself.
Why did he have this momentous affect on you? It all started with him and what better person to ask than the very man himself. It took you one month of hell to bite the bullet and pay the man a visit in the Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center, to physically see him incarcerated.
Fear and anxiety drove you out of the city of Boston and into Worcester County where he is being held in a maximum prison. You need answers. Needed to see that he was chained up and definitely not out to kill you. That’s why you’re going batshit crazy, why you’re seeing a different person in the mirror. After a quick frisk search from the officer, you stood outside of the big metal door ready to enter. Your heart was erratic, pumping ferociously in your ears with terror but the demand for answers was soaring above every emotion that your mind could ever comprehend.
When the buzzer chimed and the officer opened the door, you looked inside to see the man himself lifting his head with an unreadable look. However, as you approached, a smirk started to appear on his lips. Tormenting and provocative, his smile got under your skin, boiling your blood with rage, and then he spoke. “Took you long enough, sweetheart.” Dave practically snickered, his chest falling with a sharp exhale. He leaned back into his seat, the chains around his wrists and ankles clinked with the action as you took a seat opposite him. If only looks could kill, the man would be dead with your expression, yet he still smiled. “Thought you’d never come around, Y/N.”
He knows my name. Your eyes narrowed with the thought, confirming your suspicions of being his next target. He must have someone on the outside doing their homework on me. “Why are you doing this?” You finally broke your silence with a question, but the dam burst and more spilled out. “Why am I on your radar Dave? Why do you - a contract killer - know my name and what the fuck do you mean it took me long enough!”
The man’s eyes widened with your outburst and for a second you thought he was surprised that you raised his voice but his expression slowly turned into what you can only describe as bewilderment. Knitting his brows together tightly, he tilted his head and looked you up and down like you were crazy. You are going crazy! Your eyes twitched with a rampaging desire to hurl yourself across the table and do things that you never thought you could possibly do with your bare hands.
“This was a mistake.” Muttering under your breath, you are done. Done with this conversation and done being made a fool. Your chair squeaked as you pushed back from the table, but his shackles clinked again, harshly this time as he tried to reach out. “No. Wait.”
“Why should I?” Retorting with a bitter tone, you didn’t even hear the sincerity cracking through his own voice. You crossed your arms, waiting for him to answer you but the man still looked at you with perplexity. He was pissing you off, wearing the only patience that you have left even thinner.
“Why did you come here?” Dave asked. His voice was now laced with concern, which you found odd, though you were intrigued as to what kind of game he was playing. He’s toying with me. You concluded. “Ever since that day…” but you took a chance on answering him, “…I’m different and it’s because of you that I am losing my mind. You have someone on the outside keeping tabs on me? Is that it? Is that why I’m out on the streets looking for a fight? Because I sense one coming?”
Shaking your head as you exhaled heavily, you lowered your gaze from the man and stared at the little chip on the edge of the table. You zoned out, thinking back on the last thirty days witnessing yourself going through these changes and not understanding why. Stupidly, you thought Dave would have all the answers but it seemed he just liked to watch you suffer.
“You’re seeing things, aren’t you?” He cut through your thoughts, calling your attention back to him, but you didn’t answer as he listed off some more of your symptoms.“Hearing things too? Intense headaches? Lack of sleep and extreme paranoia?”
After a few seconds contemplating what his intentions were, you reminded yourself as to why you’re here - to get answers. With a subtle nod of your head, the man leaned back into his chair with a chuckling sigh. He shook his head in disbelief before locking on with your gaze. “I know your name because I know who you are - who you really are.”
“W-what?” You stammered, rubbing your tired eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Dave tilted his head again, as if examining you before asking. “You really don’t remember do you?”
“Remember what god dammit!” You barked at him, to which he snapped back. “The Marine Corps! The DIA!” You looked at him like you had absolutely no clue what he was talking about, those things meant nothing to you, yet he leaned forward in his chair, speaking verycarefully.“You’re a DIA agent, or former DIA. I thought you were undercover that day you showed up on the island but apparently not.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You laughed, giggled actually. “I think you’re even crazier than me.”
“You joined the Marines when you were nineteen, transferred to DIA when you were twenty five and got put on my unit two years later. You don’t remember all of that? Don’t remember me, Kovac, Ari, and Resnik?”
“Oh, wow.” Shaking your head while laughing, you couldn’t believe you drove all the way out here for this bullshit. “Next you’re going to tell me I’m an astronaut.” Now you’re definitely done. Pulling back from the table and standing, you said farewell. “See ya later, Dave. Thanks for the laughs at least.”
“08, Middle East, Operation Green Sword…” He began yelling nonsense as you walked away, but you didn’t pay no mind to it. “2012, Korea, Campaign Z… 2014, The Congo, Project Alpha… 2017, Russia-” You halted at that one though. You recognise it, and Dave knows you do. “Of course you remember Russia. How could you forget?”
Releasing your hand from the handle of the door, you turned to face him, intrigued to know more. The year calls to you. The location brings a sense of familiarity, but you were in a coma the year of 2017, and the doctors said that when you awoke, it was kicking and screaming a name. That name has always bothered you, not knowing who they were or why you yelled for them.
“2016. Elista, Russia.” Dave expressed a thin lipped smile. He’s gripped your attention, but didn’t look happy that he has. “Buddhist Region hiding a high profile target. Operation-”
“Nighthawk.” You and Dave said the word in unison. Narrowing your eyes, you shook your head with a bafflement tone in your question. “How do I know what the operation is called?”
“Because… it was your operation, sweetheart.” Dave whispered softly. You could hear traces of remorse in his voice, as if he was apprehensive to speak. “And it was your last one.”
“Why? What happened?” You didn’t even know if he was telling the truth, if you were actually in the Marines or in the DIA firm, but one thing you definitely knew is that Dave York could shed some light on that name. “Who is Gemini?”
“He was your Russian target. Code name Gemini, birth name Ivan Stepanov.” You gasped as the words spilled from his mouth. Closing your eyes with an overwhelming flood of memories breaching the surface of your brain, you stumbled backwards when remembering whyoperation Nighthawk was your last. The mission was compromised; your failure was the cause. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” Dave apologized as you fell to your knees.
Ivan Stepanov the leader of the Sanitater-88 Division, an international right-wing extremist and Neo-Nazi terrorist network, was your first case file. You had been tracking him down for two years before narrowing in on the small remote town of Elista in Russia. Severe the head of the head of the snake and the body shall fall, that was your plan, to take Ivan out.
Operation Nighthawk was a solo Op, undercover and hush hush. Only the top brass knew about it, but you failed your task and the mission was compromised. Ivan, was not alone. You found him lying in bed, beside his wife and three young children, and you couldn’t kill him. Although the man was a monster, you couldn’t go through with killing a father in front of his kids. Abandoning the mission for a later time, a time when he wasn’t using his family as a shield, the man went on to kill hundreds the very next day, women and children included.
Your judgment call to spare three innocent children the trauma of watching their father die, cost the lives of so many others. Ivan got away after that, your only chance to eliminate the threat was snuffed out like a light. When you flew back to the states, you handed in your resignation and left.
You weren’t in a coma the year of 2017. You were in a scientific lab that had the facilities to replace your memories of that night in Elista, of your time in the DIA and the Marine corps. They replaced your memories with fake ones, as per your request, because you couldn’t live with the grief and guilt.
Now, all of those memories came back. Not just the memories of your mistakes, but also the many nights of passion you had with Dave. That’s why he thought you were working undercover that day on the island. The man thought you had come out of the shadows to save him.
Lifting your head to look in his eyes, the fear and anxiety long gone now, you no longer have that unsettling feeling in your gut. The look Dave gave you that day was not like you were his next target. He looked at you like you were his saviour. His golden ticket out of this hellhole mess that he got himself into. The same look he is giving you right now.
“There she is.” He says with hope and optimism. “You’re back, sweetheart.”
A smile appeared on your face and it grew wide as you began to laugh, the sound demonic and twisted. “Hello, Dave.” Pulling yourself up from the floor, you winked at him with a curt nod of your head. “Hm, it’s sure been nice catching up, but I best be going now.”
You had great pleasure watching his expression drop with disappointment before turning and rapping three knocks on the cell door. “Y/N, wait! Please, wait! You gotta get me out of this shithole, I don’t belong here! You hear me! I don’t fucking belong here!” His pleas faded out as you walked down the hallway towards the exit.
Dave York, is right where he belongs.
-
Three months passed by like days before you saw the man again. You found him sitting on your chair in the dark, waiting for you to get home.
Life has been good as of late, things have gone back to normal - sort of. You do a little contract work on the side here and there, taking down vigilantes, but you wonder why Dave York has broken free from prison, came here and not home to his wife and children.
“Come for revenge?” You say jokingly while emptying out groceries from the bags. He’s looking for a death wish if he’s actually here to kill you.
“Hello, sweetheart.” Dave chuckled. Still sitting in the dark corner of your lounge, he switched the lamp on and smiled at you. “Nope. It’s not revenge that I’m seeking.”
“Um-hum.” Humming away without so much as a care in the world, you grabbed two whiskey glasses and joined him. “I don’t care, Dave. Here, have a drink with me, it’s been a while.”
Perching yourself on the sofa opposite him, you placed the glasses down on the table top before popping open a bottle of whiskey and serving. Dave groaned deeply when standing. Taking the glass and tossing back the contents, he savoured the taste for a second before swallowing.
“Nice stuff.” He put the empty glass down then looked at you. “There, I’ve had my drink. Are you ready to hear why I’m here?”
“Hm, no not really but whatever.” Leaning back into your seat, crossing one leg over the other, you took a sip on your drink and relished the taste with closed eyes. When the name ‘Ivan Stepanov’ slipped past his lips, you reopened your eyes and looked at him with disdain.
“I’m back to work now - naturally, you know me and it’s been brought to my attention that the Neo-Nazi is on the radar again. Arms deals, wired transactions and other bad guy stuff.” Dave explained, to which you snickered in return. “Yeah, you know all about bad guy stuff don’t you.” Finishing off your drink, you sat up straight and rubbed a hand across your face with a sigh. “So what are you here for? You have info on him or what?”
“I’m looking to partner up. Help me get back on my feet and I’ll help you take down Ivan in return.” There it was. That’s the catch. Laughing to the man, you shook your head and stood up to face him. “Goodnight Dave, show yourself out.”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Same mud, same blood, remember? It’ll be like old times.” He reached out for your hand and pulled you into his chest. “Minus the sex of course… unless you want to?”
“Ugh.” You scoffed, but didn’t pull away. His grip was strong, assertive, although you could break free if you wanted to. Sensing your hesitation on the idea, he countered with a different suggestion while lowering his hand to your hip. “Ok. I’ll help you take down Ivan, but I get to keep whatever we find along the way. It’s expensive being a bad guy, so he will have money, you know?”
“No, I wouldn’t know.” Pulling away from his hold, he was getting too comfortable with letting his hand wander to the expanse of your ass, but you seriously considered his counter offer. “Hm. I suppose it would be nice to finish off what I started.”
“Great!” Dave clapped his hands together, then slapped your ass as he walked towards the door. “Pack your bags, I have a jet ready to take us to London.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself there, bubba.” Shaking your head at him, you rolled your eyes when gave you a wink and warned. “I’m going to kill you for that when this is over, Dave.”
“You’ve said that before and how did that work? Couldn’t walk for the rest of the day after I was done with you.” He jibed in return. With a smirk growing on his face, you ignored his comments and headed upstairs to pack for London.
Ivan Stepanov, is now yours and Dave’s target- a dangerous duo when together.
Din Djarin has lost everything. Grogu is gone, his ship was destroyed, and he’s alone again. Unsure of what lies next for him, and questioning his Creed deeply after revealing his face to Grogu during their emotional goodbye, Din heads back to Nevarro to see his friends, Greef and Cara.
When he arrives, he finds Letos’ Grack, a merciless bounty hunter he’d crossed paths with in the past, trying to hand off his latest capture—you. Well aware of how cruel Letos’ could be and having heard his declaration of executing you if he does not receive the reward for your capture, Din kills him.
After setting you free, you make it clear you have no where to go and Greef offers both you and Din a safe place to stay. Although grateful, you refuse to reveal anything about yourself to Din or the others, including who had the bounty out on you. And as he gets to know you, his feelings evolve into something he doesn’t understand, until Din begins to reassess his options and lay everything on the line.
Based post season 2 of the Mandolorian, slightly off cannon because I’ve kept out the bit where he gets the Dark Saber and is ruler of Mandalore.
… “You know the operator here, so certainly it isn’t assistance in finding a better ship then the hunk of junk you just landed in our city.”
Din grunts, unamused at her teasing but far from offended. It was just the way she was, he knew from their short alliance not too long ago. “I killed Letos’ Grack.”
Her eyes widen in surprise, her usually cool mask slipping at his revelation. “This just got a lot more interesting…”
Follow up Series to Little. — Frankie Morales had gone through a lot in the last few years. First, he gets his ex pregnant around the same time he dabbles in cocaine, unable to deal with the PTSD he suffered from since retiring from the Special Forces. He gets clean, only to find that Elena doesn’t want anything to do with him—or the beautiful baby girl she brings into the world.
Now a single father, Frankie leans heavily on his best friends and mother for support raising Rosie, the light of his life. And then Little introduces him to you, and he’s smitten at the first bashful bat of your eyelashes. When Santi and Little get engaged, Frankie is asked to be the best man, a duty which requires him to plan and work closely with the maid of honour—you. Nicknamed Star for your talented singing voice, you’re one of the most incredible women he’s ever gotten to know.
Too bad both Frankie and Star are too shy to confront their feelings. But they do say, weddings are the most romantic occasions…
Follow up Series to Little. — Frankie Morales had gone through a lot in the last few years. First, he gets his ex pregnant around the same time he dabbles in cocaine, unable to deal with the PTSD he suffered from since retiring from the Special Forces. He gets clean, only to find that Elena doesn’t want anything to do with him—or the beautiful baby girl she brings into the world.
Now a single father, Frankie leans heavily on his best friends and mother for support raising Rosie, the light of his life. And then Little introduces him to you, and he’s smitten at the first bashful bat of your eyelashes. When Santi and Little get engaged, Frankie is asked to be the best man, a duty which requires him to plan and work closely with the maid of honour—you. Nicknamed Star for your talented singing voice, you’re one of the most incredible women he’s ever gotten to know.
Too bad both Frankie and Star are too shy to confront their feelings. But they do say, weddings are the most romantic occasions…
Part Two coming soon—make sure to read the drabbles before it does!
“Fish, it was an accident. Stop beating yourself up.” Santi keeps his voice low, watching Little retreat into the house to look for you half an hour after you had gone inside to rest after your fall.
You hadn’t returned, and he was concerned that you were in pain or more injured than you let on. Little had rolled her eyes before stating she was going to check on you, giving Frankie a pointed look he didn’t understand before heading to shore.
Frankie and Santi were sitting together at the end of the dock now. Will and Benny were in the water with Rosie, taking turns at attempting to teach her how to swim. He turns back to watch them, nods to confirm to Santi friend that he heard him, but makes no reply.
He’d just admitted, quietly as Little moved out of ear shot, that he’d lost his grip on Rosie’s hand because he’d been absolutely blown away by how gorgeous you looked. She was a good kid, usually stayed close to Frankie, but the sight of the ocean seemed to have overwhelmed her and she’d taken advantage of his loosened hold to rip away, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the dock.
If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking, he doesn’t know what would have happened.
Frankie was hard on himself—everyone agreed, and told him as much. Always reminding him that he’s an amazing single father and doing more than his best. But if that were true, why was Elena so eager to leave? He knew it wasn’t love that they shared, but once Rosie was born he was smitten, ready to commit to her for life in order to stay with his little girl.
It was clear very quickly after bringing the baby home that she didn’t want to be with him, and had no illusions that they would make it work. He tried to transition things as amicably as possible, biting his tongue every time she flounced away on a girls weekend or didn’t answer his calls after forgetting to pick Rosie up for her scheduled visits.
Elena had been too generous when it came to dividing the parental rights, and it had been Little who had reviewed the paperwork and pointed it out to Frankie. He’d been elated to be the primary caregiver, and hadn’t put too much thought into what that really meant. And then the months started going by and she became even less involved in Rosie’s life, weening her from breast milk and cancelling her weekends completely at the last minute.
But Frankie had held out hope all that time that she would get through the phase and want to be Rosie’s mother. Until the day that she sent over the final papers, releasing her from all parental rights.
He’d seen it coming…but it had been a huge blow, nonetheless. And while he still mourned the loss for Rosie’s sake, he was much happier with her no longer in the picture. It had taken time, but then Little and Santi got engaged and he found himself growing closer and closer to you.
“I don’t know about you man, but seeing a person completely disregard their own well-being to save a kid…I mean, she didn’t even hesitate,” Santi smacks his hands together loudly, “I thought she’d broken something until you pulled her out of the water.”
Frankie grunted, “So what’s your point? I know I can never repay Star for what she did.”
Santi shakes his head, his gaze settling on Frankie. “I just mean, holding yourself back from a good person—I did that for years Frankie. I’ve loved Little for years and the whole time you tried to convince me to just admit it to her. Well, now it’s my turn to say the same thing to you.”
“Not everyone gets that happy ending, Pope. Even if Star did like me,” Frankie sighs roughly, glancing around to ensure no one was listening, “I’m a recovered addict, PTSD ridden old man with a toddler. She’s young and talented and her family is fucking loaded. What would that look like? I’d be saddling her down with far too much baggage.”
Santi is silent for a minute, just long enough that Frankie hopes he made his point but when his friend finally speaks again it’s clear he has a lot more to say.
“You can’t keep punishing yourself for Elena’s failings. She never deserved either of you, and you didn’t do anything wrong. You deserve to be happy and Rosie deserves to grow up with a father who finds joy in life,” Santi’s hand stretches out to pat Frankie’s leg, “Star might not be the one—although I have good money on a bet that she is. But closing yourself off from these things, it ages you. Makes you tired and resentful. Just think about it, Frankie. You deserve to be happy.”
touched by his friends openness, Frankie reaches down and briefly grips his hand. When he pulls away and looks back out to watch Rosie in the water, she’s giggling so hard it makes them all laugh, and he feels something inside of him chip away. Like a last fragment of guilt, blowing away into the wind.
Din Djarin has lost everything. Grogu is gone, his ship was destroyed, and he’s alone again. Unsure of what lies next for him, and questioning his Creed deeply after revealing his face to Grogu during their emotional goodbye, Din heads back to Nevarro to see his friends, Greef and Cara.
When he arrives, he finds Letos’ Grack, a merciless bounty hunter he’d crossed paths with in the past, trying to hand off his latest capture—you. Well aware of how cruel Letos’ could be and having heard his declaration of executing you if he does not receive the reward for your capture, Din kills him.
After setting you free, you make it clear you have no where to go and Greef offers both you and Din a safe place to stay. Although grateful, you refuse to reveal anything about yourself to Din or the others, including who had the bounty out on you. And as he gets to know you, his feelings evolve into something he doesn’t understand, until Din begins to reassess his options and lay everything on the line.
Based post season 2 of the Mandolorian, slightly off cannon because I’ve kept out the bit where he gets the Dark Saber and is ruler of Mandalore.
Summary: Star is content to spend time alone relaxing (and daydreaming about Frankie) after Little and Santi’s destination wedding. But toddler Rosie Morales ensures that’s not how the vacation goes…
Warnings: Language, adult themes, injury, mention of blood, (eventual smut).
A/N: Here we go, part one of the follow up to my Little mini series! Can’t wait to hear your thoughts!!
You dreamt of Frankie Morales when you went to sleep. The way his eyes fixed on you as you sang with Santi on the beach, his gaze warm and kind. How he had looked in his suit, and then how handsomely disheveled he became as the night wore on until he was rid of his tie, a few buttons undone, revealing the tan, hair-speckled chest beneath. How gently he’d held you as you danced together, as though he thought you were delicate and his large hands had to be extra careful.
The sunshine woke you late the morning after the wedding, golden rays filtering through the California shutters you forgot to properly close in your haste to fall face-first into bed when the reception had wrapped up. You were naked, save for your underwear, and a quick pass of your hand over your face reminded you that you had managed to wash away the makeup before going to bed. When you finally rise from the luxurious sheets and pad to the en-suite bathroom, you see your pretty dress pooled on the floor, a set of false lashes next to it, and your heels kicked against the nearest wall.
It looked as though you had evaporated, and you laughed to yourself before freshening up. You took time to hang your dress, then changed into a comfortable lounge set. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a few minutes, eyes drawn to your chest.
You had promised yourself that this week was a vacation, where you were staying among friends, and that meant you didn’t need to wear your usual bras. You could get away with wearing this looser, insanely comfortable sports bra. But as you gazed at your reflection, you felt that twist of self-consciousness that always arrived just before you were to be around others. Your chest had been the biggest, in every sense, target for bullies growing up. And now as an adult woman, it was all the men seemed to find interesting about you.
Usually, once they stopped admiring your tits, they didn’t stick around much longer.
This was one of the many reasons that had brought Little and you close when you went to school together. She was beautiful, curvy and busty and unapologetic—you adored her confidence, her determination to ignore the ‘standards’ and just be herself. And she sensed your anxieties pretty quickly, promptly spending the formative four years of university encouraging you to love yourself, pulling you out of your comfort zone at times. And she was just there for you, supporting and loving you no matter what.
But her confidence only rubbed off so much, and while you looked at yourself now and saw a gorgeous figure, you still cared too much about what others thought when they looked at you. It was impossible to completely ignore the intrusive thoughts, especially when, time after time, men usually proved to be thinking exactly what you suspected them of. You had been ‘accidentally’ groped or brushed against too many times to count, which was why you had formed the habit of wearing constricting bras and avoiding low-cut shirts. You wanted to fully love yourself, but sometimes you thought it would just be easier to get a reduction and slink into the background.
You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard some laughter filter in from outside your open windows and promptly pushed away your concerns—it was vacation. You weren’t looking at a normal bra for seven more days.
Based on the direction of the laughter and voices, you guessed there was a larger group in the kitchen and dining room now. Santi had done a great job on securing this place because it came with everything—even a large staff dedicated to attending to all the guests’ needs. You had poured over the online brochure for the AirBnB during the flight to Hawaii, and know that there was a number you could text for room service. You found the number, already saved into your phone, and ordered a light breakfast and dark coffee. When it arrived, you happily wheeled the cute breakfast cart out onto your private balcony and relaxed with a podcast as you ate and watched the earlier risers settle in on the beach.
The balcony had dividers between it and the rooms on either side, but they didn’t fully extend so you could, in theory, walk next door. But Little, in all her match-making efforts, put your room right next to Frankie’s, stating it was ideal for the best man and maid of honour to be close to one another. And while she wasn’t technically, wrong, you still knew her well enough to know that wasn’t her primary motive.
She had sensed the chemistry between you and her friend straight away, but you denied it at first. You’d almost walked into a wall when you had first seen him at the wedding of a mutual friend he, Santi and the Millers had also attended, but you knew immediately who he was and that he was certainly not going to be interested in a much younger woman. He had a kid, for fuck’s sakes. But the more you got to know Frankie, the harder it became to deny that there was something there between you. And the harder you had fallen.
It hadn’t helped that, for the last six or so months, you’d been helping her plan her wedding. Which meant that you and Frankie saw a lot of one another. Eventually, you had started texting on the regular—always about the wedding, even if sometimes it evolved into sending memes back and forth or making jokes at your engaged friend’s expense. And you might have sent him a dozen-ish photos of your rescue pit bulls, Anna and Elsa, while he sent cute shots of Rosie being adorable.
You were friends, it was normal banter really. Even if every time he messaged you, a warm sensation would fill your belly it was entirely platonic.
You’re sipping on the final dregs of your coffee when Little appears below, holding a large mug in hand and appearing to be speaking. You pull your AirPods out and stand, catching her eye.
She grins up at you, “Morning, Star!”
“Oh, good morning Mrs. Garcia!”
She giggles at this, and Santi steps into view and spins to look up at you, his grin an extension of Little’s. You don’t miss the way his hand secures to her lower back. “That’s the first time today anyone has said that! I love the sound of it.”
Little rolls her eyes at her husband, then adds to you, “We’re going to relax at our little cabana on the beach, come join us whenever okay?” She gestures over her shoulder, where a small, mint-painted beach cabana sits among the spattering of shaded loungers.
“You’ll see me once I’ve had my second cup of coffee. I’m still recovering.”
Little and Santi laugh, send you friendly waves and make their way along the path, away from the concrete and grass surrounding the infinity pool and into the sand. You watch them with a small smile, your heart swelling with happiness at the sight. Little had been in love with Santa for a very long time, and when she’d called to tell you they had gotten together because she’d overheard him admitting his feelings over the phone—to Frankie, no less— you had been over the moon for them both. Helping her plan this wedding was one of the great honours you could have been given.
You contemplate the rest of your morning because in reality there is a lot to do. Or a great number of places to go ahead and do nothing, including a tranquillity room, movie theatre, onsite RMT, steam room, private beach, pool and hot tub—the list went on. It was paradise, and you were momentarily overwhelmed with all of the options laid out before you. You had to remind yourself that you had seven days left to enjoy this place, so you didn’t need to get all of your relaxing squished into one day. You decide to make your way down for another coffee, changing so that your bathing suit is on under your lounge set, the green of the suit peeking out from beneath your peach-coloured shirt and shorts. You pack a bag with the essentials, including a book, water bottle and sunglasses, and head for the kitchen.
You give your room a final once over, ensuring you haven’t left a big mess for the housekeeper. It is a beautiful room, filled with rattan furniture and live plants, soft white linens and orange accents throughout. The bathroom is open to the bedroom area, the only thing hidden behind a door was the toilet itself, so you could see the large soaker tub and tiled shower, and couldn’t wait to take advantage of both later that day.
As you wander downstairs, happy that you can’t hear any voices, you think of Anna and Elsa. This was the first trip you’d taken since rescuing them two years before, and though you trusted your veterinarian parents to care for them perfectly, you still ached for them and wished they could understand why you had left, that you’d be back before they knew it.
When your turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs, you barely take two steps before slamming into a wall. The wall grunts, hands shooting out to steady you as you reel back in surprise, and you look up to find a tousle-haired Frankie standing before you.
Oh, Christ. He looks good.
“Shit, sorry Frankie!”
He smiles at you shyly, a hand reaching to rub the back of his neck. “No worries. How are you?”
He still hasn’t taken a step back, though neither had you for that matter, and you catch his masculine scent now; an intoxicating blend of freshly mown grass and cedar. “I was worried that Rosie wouldn’t sleep well, being in a new place,” He replies, his smile widening, “But she’s taken to it fine, which means I’m sleeping well. So I’m great, how are you?”
You laugh, happy for him because, with all he had been through with his ex, you knew he deserved to relax more than anyone. You remember suddenly what you’re wearing and blanch because your figure is more accentuated in this outfit, but his eyes haven’t strayed from your face for even a beat. Whether he finds you attractive or not, you appreciate how Frankie was a true gentleman.
“I’m really good, thanks. Slept like the dead, now I’m going for another coffee to take down to the beach.”
“I’ll see you there in a little bit. My mom and Rosie are on the same nap schedule,” He lowers his voice teasingly, and you giggle. You try not to notice how his eyes brighten. “I’m just going to wake them up, and then I want to take Ro swimming.”
You nod, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you soon, in that case.” You part ways from him and resist turning to watch him make his way up the stairs. It wasn’t about checking him out; you just really liked looking at Frankie, memorizing the ways he moved, the expressions on his face, what made him laugh.
Yes, you had it bad for the man.
You’re relaxing in your lounger, grateful for the shaded canopy and enormously comfortable cushions, reading one of several books you’d brought on the trip. Others filter by, most saying hello but giving you your space. Recognizing that as maid of honour, you were more than due for a good rest.
Benny stops by on his way to tease Little and Santi, who are swimming in the blue ocean water, and you end up having a fun conversation with him. You’re retelling one another the best moments of the night before, and agreeing on the parts you hope made it onto the wedding video—and the ones you hoped didn’t. You’ve always really liked Benny, he seemed to sense the type of person you were in that same way that Little had, and he had a way of making you feel normal. Where you and Will had a friendly enough relationship, Benny felt more like a brother. Protective and encouraging and just really nice.
When Will comes along, he says hi to you before Benny—who gives you a quick hug—leaps to his feet and bounds towards his brother, ready to wrestle in the water. You laugh, watching them dunk one another, then a large splash hits Little and Santi jumps into the tussle, and your friend makes her way out of the water shaking her head in exasperation. When she plops down next to you on the lounger, you’re both snorting with laughter.
“It’s like they’re twelve. Santi literally said ‘don’t be a butthead’ to Benny,” Little giggles, and you both watch them for another minute before she turns to you and lowers her voice. “So, how are you doing today?”
“I’m supposed to ask you that, Mrs. Newlywed.”
Little doesn’t take the bait, and you never expected she would. “You know what I mean, Star. Are you having fun? Can I do anything for you?” This was the thing about Little. She was not just a good friend, she was a thoughtful and caring one, the kind that you could call at midnight and ask to move a body and she’d show up with shovels. Which was basically what had cemented your friendship several years before, though you weren’t going to think about that right now. You were on vacation.
You lean in and press your forehead to hers briefly, “This place is incredible, I’m extremely happy. Please stop worrying.”
“I just…I know you never get time for yourself. Or to have some fun and unwind,” She takes hold of your hand and applies light pressure, “I know you have busy shifts with the rescue, long hours. I just want this week to give you the break you deserve—the wedding was absolutely perfect and that’s in great part because of you, Star.” At this, you sigh softly and pull her in for a proper hug.
She was right that you barely had time for yourself, you worked a lot at the rescue as a vet tech, a job you loved and wouldn’t change for anything. You were hoping to get a couple of new techs hired and trained so that you could reduce your hours in the next year or so, but it wasn’t an urgent thing. You just wanted a little more free time, because currently, you were operating on hardly any, always either working, sleeping or making your way to and from work. Around the time that Little had asked you to be her maid of honour, you had made the permanent switch to daytime shifts, and your life had greatly improved with the steady routine.
But you still had a dismal social life, only occasionally going out with Little or spending time with your parents. And dating? You literally would have to give up sleep to bother with it, and since you were hung up on a man completely out of your league, that wasn’t happening anytime soon either. So you understood her concerns entirely.
“Little,” You pull back from the hug and give her an encouraging smile, “You don’t need to be so worried, I’m having fun. I’ll try to socialize, I promise.”
She grins back at you, then glances down at your outfit, “Is that the swimsuit we picked out together?” She’s beaming with pride that you’ve worn it, and you shrug with a smirk pulling at your lips.
Little coaxes you into the water, and after applying another layer of sunscreen and ridding yourself of your clothing, you follow her into the cool ocean. You love the water and sink into it quickly as you glance back toward the beach, instinctively seeking out who might have seen you in your swimsuit. Will and Benny are sitting in beach chairs in the shallow water, deep in discussion, while Santi is back at the cabana, cracking open a drink. His eyes are on Little in that rapturous, protective way that makes your heart swell with joy for them. They were perfect for each other, there was no way around that.
You spend a good half an hour swimming and chatting with Little, who tells you about the new woman in Benny’s life that he’s insisted is just a friend, but she suspects there may be more to it. And when it came to Benny, both of you knew that if he was feeling something for someone, he would deny it. He liked to be the bachelor, the ladies man because he was afraid of commitment. You tell Little that he just needs to find the person he won’t be afraid of doing anything for.
Eventually, her brothers grow bored and begin taking turns jumping off the end of the dock situated at one end of the beach. You aren’t surprised when Little takes your hand and leads you out of the water, eager to join in on the fun. You let her pull you along, happy to break out of your comfort zone and, other than her brothers and Santi, no one else is around. You glance back to see if he’s coming to join in and almost stumble in the sand.
Frankie is standing with Santi, his eyes locked on you as he speaks with his friend. Rosie is in his arms in a cute little one-piece swimsuit that has the Little Mermaid on the front, and she’s craning her neck to look towards the noise the boys are making on the dock. But all you can focus on is how Frankie watches you, even as you meet his gaze, and you feel heat flood your cheeks. “Jesus,’ You turn away as you speak, and Little looks at you, eyes searching your face before she looks back.
“Oh,man, Frankie looks like he got hit over the head. You realize that you look like a goddess right now, Star?” She slows her pace so that she can keep her voice quiet, her head leaning closer to yours.
You scoff, “Please, Little,” But she cuts off your protests before you can even begin.
“He looks at you like that all of the time. Like you hung the moon,” You glance back at him again, trying not to look too obvious, and find that he is making his way over to the dock now too, being tugged along by a giggling Rosie, her little feet sinking into the sand. Looking away, you smile to yourself, but you can feel Frankie’s eyes on you, your senses in overdrive, and you wish you could be brave enough to just look around and smile at him. Toss a flirty wink, just like Little would do with Santi.
But you were no Little (Miller) Garcia. And Frankie Morales was most definitely not interested in you. You try to ignore the swell of misery within—Frankie was the perfect man. The universe seemed to enjoy dangling him in front of you, showing you everything you wished you could have was just out of reach.
The Miller brothers make more noise at the end of the dock as you and Little step onto the warm wood, drawing your attention their way as they do elaborate jumps into the water. You gaze along the side of the dock, into the shallow water, where you can see several large rocks piled. There’s a little sign on one of the dock posts here, advising to walk along this first section, and you can see an orange line painted across the dock just ahead, the indicator that the water deepens and clears starting there. You’re so focused on the line that you lose track of your feet and stub your toe on a slightly raised plank, hissing in pain.
You pause and bend to inspect it, ensuring there are no slivers. “All good?” Little says, patting your arm with concern, and you smile at her, opening your mouth to respond.
When Frankie’s panic-stricken voice cuts through the air, you both turn in alarm. He’s at the end of the dock, now rushing forward because Rosie had pulled from his grip and was darting toward Little happily, her giggles in stark contrast to the horror on Frankie’s face. She’s not much of a runner at her age, so Rosie teeters back and forth in a way that would be adorable if it weren’t for how close she was to the edge that drop into the rocky shallows.
“Rosie stop!” Frankie’s voice is strained in an effort not to sound too scary to his daughter as he yells, but she glances backward anyway, her legs still moving, and you react before you think. It’s probably because you’d spent years dodging kicks and bites and swats from your animal patients, that your reflexes work the way they do.
Frankie isn’t as fast as you, and you have the advantage because she’s moving towards you and Little—you shoot forward as fast as you can, and just as she sees her dad chasing her and loses her footing at the edge, you drop down and shove your arms out, catching her in the chest so that she’s knocked toward Frankie.
You see him catch her, hear her confused whimper, but the momentum you created darting toward her so quickly gives you no ability to correct yourself, and you skitter, then plunge right off the dock, falling face down into the water.
You hear the way your leg smacks off of a pointed rock, and then pain is lancing through your face as it glances off of another one. You’re dazed, but still aware enough to feel the splinter of pain in your thigh, and you cry out—only you’re underwater, so it’s garbled and you push your hands out to try and get your bearings and raise yourself—
“Mi amor estas bien?” Frankie’s rumbling voice fills your ears as he lifts you, turning you in the water before pulling you up and into his arms, and you don’t even register what he said, really, but you lock onto the fierce concern in his expression and the words begin to sink in. “Cariño? Jesus Christ, Santi get the first aid kit!” He yells, and you feel him moving out of the water and tilt your head, looking down your body.
You can see the brutal gash on your leg, and immediately recognize it’s not as bad as it could have been—but it gushes a decent amount of blood, and it stings from the saltwater and you whimper again.
“F-Frankie—is Rosie-?”
“Cariño, she’s perfect thanks to you,” You look at him again, surprised at the strain in his voice. He sounds wrecked, and you want to ask him if he’s okay but you don’t know how, and something about the way he’s holding you as he carries you—your instincts say that he’s not okay, and to let him take charge here. He reaches a lounger and begins to lower you down carefully, but your leg is jostled and the pain peaks; you start to cry, short sobs that you try to hide—Frankie makes a noise in his throat, and then his hands are cupping your face gently. “Mi amor, I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you. Please don’t cry.”
You stare at Frankie because this time, the words smack you right in the face and you can see that he means them. That he called you his love, twice now, and as you realize this, you see understanding flash in his expression and he doesn’t correct himself or try to deny it. Instead, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and then the others are surrounding you and a first aid kit appears and you can only slump back and cover your face.
The man of your dreams just said something that might change your life, but you couldn’t do shit about it right now. And then realization sets in that you just fell off a dock in front of him, and you want to die of humiliation.
You tilt your head to look away and your eyes land on Little, who has Rosie in her arms and one hand over her mouth—but you recognize the way she’s trying to hide her smug smile, and you glare at your friend. Her expression changes, and even though she doesn’t speak, you know exactly what she’s saying.
‘I told you Frankie loved you, didn’t I?’
Please consider commentingandreblogging if you enjoyed this story YOUR FEEDBACK IS GOLDEN!!!
Frankie Morales x Anxious!Fem!Reader (Coming soon)
Part One ⭐️
Part Two
Follow up Series to Little. — Frankie Morales had gone through a lot in the last few years. First, he gets his ex pregnant around the same time he dabbles in cocaine, unable to deal with the PTSD he suffered from since retiring from the Special Forces. He gets clean, only to find that Elena doesn’t want anything to do with him—or the beautiful baby girl she brings into the world.
Now a single father, Frankie leans heavily on his best friends and mother for support raising Rosie, the light of his life. And then Little introduces him to you, and he’s smitten at the first bashful bat of your eyelashes. When Santi and Little get engaged, Frankie is asked to be the best man, a duty which requires him to plan and work closely with the maid of honour—you. Nicknamed Star for your talented singing voice, you’re one of the most incredible women he’s ever gotten to know.
Too bad both Frankie and Star are too shy to confront their feelings. But they do say, weddings are the most romantic occasions…
The first time Frankie officially met you was unplanned. He’d seen you that once, months ago, at a friends wedding. Little had teased that you said to her you thought he was cute, but you’d left before introductions could be made.
Then there was the time he was out with Rosie and Little shopping. You had appeared and helped shoo away a man who’d been attempting to hit on her, Frankie had seen you drop your arm around her shoulders as he was making his way over to intervene.
But that was actually the second time he’d met you.
It was well after Little he moved in with Santi, but before they got together. He had dropped by after getting a text from his longtime friend to help with some maintenance to the washer. Frankie was the handy friend, a jack of all trades, and happy to shoot the shit while fixing something.
He was standing in Santi’s driveway, replying to a text from his ex Elena when you had appeared. He hadn’t heard you at first, fixated on the screen—Elena’s latest excuse typed out like she had them preplanned. He was tired of playing this game with her, but terrified of the inevitable; she was going to leave permanently. And she wasn’t going to be Rosies mother anymore.
He must have had a scary expression on his face, because when you had walked from the front door and around Little’s Jeep and found him standing there, you had reacted immediately.
“Oh shit, are you okay?”
Frankie’s head snapped up and he gaped momentarily; he remembered you from the wedding, though you were dressed more casually today. Your hair was down, and you wore skinny jeans with a soft pink shirt—he would never forget it. You’d looked so feminine. Soft.
The biggest difference though was the smeared makeup around your eyes. It was minimal, but paired with your long, wet lashes he guessed you must have been crying. He sees you notice his assessment and you give him a sardonic smile.
“I guess we’re both having bad days,” You introduce yourself, smiling softly now, “Or Star, if you want. Even my parents call me that.”
Frankie pockets his cell. “It suits you, but so does your real name,” He replies, meeting your gaze, “I’m Frankie, I served with Santi. Frankie Morales, or Catfish.” He gestures at his moustache to explain the nick name and you grin.
And fuck, the way you smile up at him makes his heart beat race.
“Frankie, nice to finally meet you. Little speaks very highly of you.”
Frankie rubs the back of his neck, heat blooming across his cheeks. He wasn’t very good at this sort of thing—meeting someone new, trying to be interesting and not make an ass out of himself. And he’s thrown by how pretty you are, unable to tear his gaze away from your bright eyes.
After a pause, during which you smile at him patiently, he asks, “Are you good? Sorry it’s just—you’ve been crying.” He wants to kick himself in the head, the question hadn’t come out as smooth as he’d hoped.
If you’re bothered, nothing in your reaction signifies it. You sigh and nod, glancing back toward the house before replying. “Just uh…talking to Little about a friend who—well, I guess the point is they aren’t her friend any longer,” you shrug, “Anyway, she needed to vent so I came over after work. Santi mentioned the washer needed some work?”
You’re eyeing the toolkit on the ground next to him, and he nods. “That’s why I’m here. I’ll check in on Little as well. Is she alright?”
“You know her, she bounces back pretty quickly.”
The response was polite enough, but Frankie sensed there was something you weren’t saying, something you wouldn’t share with him and it piqued his interest. He left it alone, however, since he barely knew you.
He smiles again and you seem to survey his features briefly before your eyes dart away. You draw your lower lip between your teeth and he immediately has an image of doing that himself. He clears his throat. “Well I won’t keep you, Star.”
“Oh,” you start, as if just remembering that you were having this conversation in Santi’s driveway. “Right. Yes. Fue un placer conocerte también. Ya nos veremos, Francisco.”
He stares at you for a beat in surprise, “You speak very good Spanish.”
You begin to walk away, that shy smile still tugging at your lips. When you reach your car—which he notices now is a Tesla—you glance back at him and reply softly, “Don’t look so surprised, that’s the least interesting thing about me.”
With that, you drop into your seat and Frankie is left frozen on the gravel, staring as you back out and drive off. You throw up a little wave, which makes him grin, and then you’re gone.
After that moment, Frankie never does manage to get you out of his head. But all thoughts of Elena are long gone.
You’re nearly hyperventilating as you drive away, resisting the urge to speed. You turn a few corners out of Little and Santi’s neighbourhood, then pull over at the first park you see.
You sit there for a solid ten minutes replaying every word you exchanged with Frankie Morales, cringing internally at your awkwardness, at the basic outfit you were wearing, and the Spanish that slipped out. You don’t know what the fuck that was—yes, you spoke it fluently, but you didn’t need to show off out of the blue like that.
“Christ, Star,” You grumble to yourself, dropping your head into your hands. You forced yourself to stop over analyzing the interaction, which led you to instead create a list in your mind.
Reasons Frankie Is The Perfect Man:
1. He’s the sweetest, most genuine person you’ve met in a long time.
2. He never once checked you out in a rude or obvious way, his gaze remained on your face.
3. His. Fucking. Hands. They were huge.
4. Speaking of huge, how tall was he? Because holy hell, the way he towered over you had you acting silly.
5. His eyes. Brown eyes that looked right into your soul.
When you finally began to drive home, you’d come to the conclusion that you were well and truly fucked for Frankie Morales.
Little was going to lose her mind when you told her.
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