phandoz

[phandoz]

A drawing?!

This is just beautiful!

Absolutely loved drawing this one. I think it’s one of my favourites. I think I’ve finally got the Din Djarin head tilt down to a t.

My Art Masterlist

Join/be removed from my taglist here (or pop me a message/ask 😀).

#the mandalorian art #the mandalorian fanart #pedro pascal fanart #pedro pascal #din djarin #din djarin fan art

[phandoz]

All of the BDE 🙌

#the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian #din djarin

[phandoz]

The perfect set up doesn't exis-

Even knowing what was coming for them both it would still be such a shock. Din just standing there was hilarious but perfect.

You've got me hooked already and I look forward to reading more.

INEVITABLE

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: language, mild self loathing, mentions of the slave trade

word count: 3,679

Summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words 'I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.

a/n: The soulmate!AU won the poll (sort of, i know there's 8hrs left but i don't foresee the other competitors having an underdog moment here)! Happy 500/1000 followers celebration!! I'm thinking this will be less than 10 chapters, but it def will be more than the 3 I promised. B/c despite knowing I have no self control and learning from that I continue to make the same mistakes smh. Drabble ideas always turn into full length stories in my dumb head🤡 but I'm excited for this one.

01: UNSTOPPABLE FORCE MEETS IMMOVABLE OBJECT

.

"a soulmate isn't someone who completes you. no, a soulmate is someone who inspires you to complete yourself. a soulmate is someone who loves you with so much conviction, and so much heart, that it is nearly impossible to doubt just how capable you are of becoming exactly who you have always wanted to be." ⏤ b.s.

.

You weren’t sure what was worse: knowing for most of your life that you were destined for a life on the run, or knowing that the universe deemed your soulmate to be a bounty hunter. It was some cruel twist of fate, you supposed. The galaxy was bored and decided to entertain itself by creating the most ironic coupling of all time. Honestly, if you weren’t one half of the said coupling you’d probably find it funny.

The cantina you sat in was like any of the other thousand you had sat in before. Messy, loud, and filled with people you had no desire to speak to. This one was especially worse because it was situated in Cratertown on Jakku of all places. It was a scud cantina in a scud city on a scud planet. The only reason you were still here was because you were desperate⏤ desperately searching the entire galaxy for a person who may or may not exist. You just wished this mysterious figure hadn’t picked cantinas as their signature hideaway spot.

You tapped the table twice, and the server passed by to fill your drink once more. You shot them a grateful smile and thanked them. Despite having barely any credits left in your pocket, you’d have to leave the server a hefty tip. You’d been here hours now, and he had put up with you the entire time. With a grumble of annoyance, you pulled a crumpled paper out of your jacket’s inner pocket and began to scratch out the last cantina on this damned planet. Bad news, this was a bust. Good news, you’d never have to step foot on Jakku again. 

“I can bring you in warm,” A voice spoke from behind you, “or I can bring you in cold.”

There they were. The words imprinted on your left rib cage since you turned thirteen. 

If this wasn’t your twentieth time hearing it then you might be impressed.

You slowly turned in your chair, hands raised, and stood. Now, you faced the Trandoshan bounty hunter holding you at blaster point. He chuckled as if he had already won. You shook your head, feigning disappointment, “Would you really arrest your soulmate?”

The Trandoshan narrowed his eyes at you in confusion. “What?”

“Well,” You shrugged, “It’s bound to work and get me out of a mess one day.”

You kicked the chair forward causing it to slam into the bounty hunter’s legs. He stumbled, grunting in pain, and you grabbed his hand to twist the blaster in a direction that wasn’t your face. He tried to reach out to hit you with his other hand. Before he could land a blow, you tucked your boot under the chair and kicked it up so it slammed into the Trandoshan’s jaw. He fell back, the blaster coming loose in his hand so you could snatch it away, and then it was you holding him at blaster point. 

“First off, you bounty hunters need to get more creative with your opening line.” You said. The bounty hunter growled and began to sit up. “Second, I’ll give you only one opportunity to walk away with your life. It’s your choice⏤” He jumped up to lunge at you, and without blinking you fired his blaster into his chest three times. When his body lay on the cantina floor, twitching, you sighed and tossed the blaster to the ground. “You literally didn’t even let me finish my offer, you ass.”

You glanced around, dusting off your hands, and realized the entire cantina was staring at you. With an awkward chuckle, you raised a hand and offered a sheepish smile. “My bad. Sorry.”

Knowing it was past time for you to get the kriff out of here, you bent over and rifled through the Trandoshan’s jacket. You found the holopuck and rapidly blinking tracking fob⏤ tossing both into your pockets. Then you rose only to kneel down again and steal the man’s credits. You threw the entire bag of coins onto the table you were sitting at and waved at your server who stood behind the bar with wide eyes. It’s not like the bounty hunter needed them anymore.

Hopefully, you’d be done fighting bounty hunters for the night. As you stepped out into the chilly, desert night air you paused to scoop the tracking fob out. The holopuck you would keep to add to your growing collection, but the fob was better off destroyed. You slammed it into the side of the cantina and let the broken pieces fall into the sand.

Maybe the galaxy had actually done you a favor. You stopped believing in the magic of soulmates a long, long time ago. So fate choosing to make your supposed soulmate the worst kind of being who floated around the universe was the best deterrent you could think of.

Din Djarin wasn’t sure what was worse: knowing for most of his life that his soulmate was going to be a criminal of some kind, or knowing that it was going to be his job to bring you in. If he really thought about it, took the time to write out a pros and cons list, then he’d have to choose the former rather than the latter. Din didn’t like thinking about it for very long though because the thought that fate deemed him the kind of person only worthy of love from someone who had done something to make them deserving of a bounty was a bit depressing. For the longest time, Din liked to pretend that maybe it was all some kind of misunderstanding. Maybe you were an Empire bounty and the reason you were wanted was because you fought against some Imps. It wasn’t a solid theory because he had only picked up a bounty for the Empire once and it had been Grogu’s. Din didn’t plan on picking up an Empire bounty ever again⏤ not that they’d want him to considering his history with Moff Gideon and the absolute pain he’s caused them since finding Grogu. 

That didn’t leave Din with many better options.

For the longest time, Din had been nervous before a hunt. What if this was the time he ran into the person fate chose for him? After a while, he grew a bit numb to it. Hardened. The longer he worked as a bounty hunter the more okay he was with being on his own. The thought of having to care for a soulmate exhausted him. Din started to hope he’d find you just so he could be rid of the entire situation. After Grogu came into his life, he realized what a lonely existence he had backed himself into. Things changed then, but having a foundling⏤ having a clan⏤ was more than he had ever hoped for in life.

Now, Din just ignored the words carved into the skin overlying his left rib cage.

“Patu.” Grogu cooed from the satchel hanging from his shoulder. Din glanced down to see the little boy trying to wiggle out to reach for a stand where a merchant was grilling some kind of meat. Din chuckled and paused long enough to buy two sticks. Grogu chirped happily when he handed both to the boy, and then he kept on his way.

Nevarro had certainly improved since the shoot out with Moff Gideon ages ago, and according to Karga it was only supposed to get better. Speaking of, he finally spotted the man standing in a plaza where⏤ Din paused and tilted his head. Even Grogu stopped eating to stare up at the statue. IG-11 was coated in bronze and stood tall in the middle of the plaza like decor.

“Ih.” Grogu chirped.

“Huh.” Din added. This was a new addition to Nevarro.

“Mando!” Karga cheered and he turned to greet the man who was dressed in ornamental robes. Din smirked to himself. It was good to see the power hadn’t gone to Karga’s head. “Welcome!” When Karga was close enough he held an arm out and Din didn't hesitate to clap his arm in a shake for greeting. “What brings you here?” Din didn’t respond and just tilted his head. “Right. Of course. How about we… handle these matters inside?”

Din motioned for the man to lead the way then followed. The building Karga led him into was just as ornamental and fancy as the robes he wore. Din once again had to resist the urge to laugh under his breath. They went all the way up to what he was assuming was Karga’s office.

“This is nice.” Din nodded.

“It is, isn’t it?” Karga dropped into his desk chair with arms outstretched. Din stayed silent and Karga’s grin and arms both fell. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

 Din shook his head, glad to have his helmet covering his wide grin and keeping his tone dry, “Mocking the Magistrate of Nevarro is beneath me.”

“High Magistrate.”

“Mhmm.” Karga waved his simple response away and dug through a drawer to find a few holopucks.

Din nodded toward them. “So, is it normal for the High Magistrate to still dabble in guild work?”

Karga shuffled through them. “Only sometimes, and only for my favorite hunters.” 

“Well, in that case, I’ll take the one that pays the most.”

“You always do.” Karga picked one puck out of the masses and activated it. A woman’s picture appeared and Din’s first thought was that you were pretty⏤ beautiful even. The High Magistrate said your name and Din wondered if he had heard it before. Something about it felt… familiar? No, that wasn’t it. Din shook his head. It hardly mattered. “She’s a tricky one, I should warn you. Many hunters have tried and failed, Mando. She works in the slave trade.”

Din huffed. That was proof that a pretty face wasn’t everything. No amount of good looks could wash away the sins of someone dealing in flesh. If Din had to pick a flavor of quarry he hated the most, it would be this kind.

The sound of laughter followed you down the ship’s ramp as you trailed out with a smile. The Mon Calamari crew you had managed to hitch a ride with gave you a hearty farewell, and when your feet hit the landing pad you spun to point at them with a smile of your own.

“Thanks for the ride, you guys! Stay safe, and keep Horchobua away from the spotchka,” You teased the navigator of the ship’s crew, “He was one bad round of sabacc away from owing me his first born.”

Another rowdy laugh from the crew, and the captain called back, “Stay out of trouble!”

“I always try!” You replied. It just never seemed to work.

The stars had aligned and luck was in your favor when you left Jakku. Circumstances that had startled you as it was far from the norm in your case. You had been able to get a lift from Jakku to Bespin. The city in the clouds that the Mon Calamari crew had dropped you off on was gorgeous. Though maybe you were that much more impressed since you were coming from a shitty desert world that made Tatooine look clean.

You readjusted the small cross body bag you wore over your jacket. The triangular shaped bag held literally everything you owned. A spare set of clothes, a cloth bag filled with a dozen holopucks, a datapad that only held a simple map on it, some toiletries, and a small, silver jewelry box you couldn’t get open. Everything else you owned was on your person. A simple, worn down shirt and pants that had seen better days. A thick jacket that you were able to strip on and off based on the weather⏤ though you usually kept it on since the back and arms had some armored padding. Boots that were close to falling off your feet from use. A metal dagger strapped to your right thigh, and a weapon tucked away into a shoulder holster under your jacket that you never used. It was a simple existence, but you didn’t mind it. Growing up with absolutely nothing to call your own, this was actually an example of you thriving. 

Over the last seven months, you had gotten very good at sniffing out cantinas. It was a gift. Some people could sing, some could paint, you could be dropped off into any city in the galaxy and you’d be able to find a cantina in under half an hour. It was a bit of an old talent to claim, but you’d take what you could get. When you stepped into the cantina, eyes drifted to stare at you. Unbothered by the attention, you winked at the closet patron and pressed in further. 

At the bar, you claimed the attention of the Twi’lek working today and ordered a drink. While he poured it, you leaned forward. “I’m looking for someone. A man named Reaper.” 

The bartender set your drink in front of you. His eyes darted to your neck before darting back up to your eyes. He shook his head. “No.” You tossed the right amount of credits on the bar along with a small tip. Before you could walk away, the Twi’lek stopped you. “Hey, that it?”

Rather than cause a scene, you tossed a few more credits on the bar and wandered away while the Twi’lek muttered in his native tongue behind you. You dropped down at a table in the back of the room which would give you a clear view of the entire space. Absentmindedly, your hand lifted to brush against the band of solid gold wrapped around your neck. Anytime people saw it they assumed you had more credits than you actually did. That wasn’t even the part that bothered you most. What you hated was the fact that the attention it drew made it very hard for you to forget about it.

You took a large swig of your drink and then leaned back in your seat to wait. The information you had included three facts. The informant you needed to find was called 'Reaper' which you personally thought was obnoxious. He was hiding away in a cantina every day for the same amount of hours waiting for customers. And, he would only offer you the information you wanted in exchange for information of equal value. You had the right kind of tip to trade, now you just needed to find the bastard.

For the first couple of hours, you just sipped on your drinks and people watched. It was how you killed time while in these cantinas waiting for a person who might not ever come. Right now, the bartender was hitting on a human woman who had absolutely no desire to reciprocate the action. Two Rhodians sat at the table beside you gossiping about work. The back booth had a Wookie, who you initially was concerned would be after you, but a Trandoshan had joined them and their interaction had all their attention on one another. Most, if not all, the patrons of this cantina were of the upstanding citizenship kind. The exact opposite of Jakku. In fact, you were the only armed person in the room. 

It was during that third hour that a new face wandered into the room. Though, calling this stranger a new face seemed redundant considering the helmet he wore left him faceless. A thrill went down your spine at the sight of him. Wow. Mandalorian. You had met a man in Tatooine who wore Mandalorian armor, but he told you it didn’t belong to him so you assumed that didn’t count.

This man was covered head to toe in polished, silver beskar armor. Seeing the rare metal made you realize why it was valuable. A cloak, shredded and torn at it’s end, hung from around his neck and you clocked every weapon you saw. Blaster on his hip. Incendiary grenades on his belt. Rifle shells on the bandolier across his chest and around his right calf⏤ though you saw no rifle. Vambrace with no visible weapon, but you’d garner a guess it hid one. Floating in behind him was a circular egg shaped pram. It was closed and you wondered what kind of dangerous tool he hid away in there.

The darkened, t-shape visor scanned the room and you realized it stopped right on you. What were the chances this dangerous looking Mandalorian, who wore a pair of binders on his belt next to the grenades, wasn’t here for you? 

You hadn’t been the only one to stop and stare at this towering man, and eyes seemed to follow him as he slowly crossed the room. Honestly, you were a bit insulted. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle. Did he think so little of you as a quarry? You knew you had a reputation. You had killed and escaped enough hunters to earn one. Yet, this bounty hunter didn’t hesitate while walking through a crowded room to arrest you. The absolute gall of this shiny Mandalorian.

He stopped right in front of your table⏤ a silent statue. You shifted on the bar stool and sat forward so your back wasn’t pressed against the wooden backing and the balls of your feet were planted on the floor. Your hand lifted out to your glass, and the Mandalorian reached for his blaster at the same time. You raised an eyebrow in question while slowly bringing the drink to your lips. As much as this last drink had cost you, you weren’t about to let a drop go to waste. The Mandalorian continued to stand stiff as his hand rested on his still holstered blaster.

Then came the words.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.” 

The Mandalorian’s hoarse voice drifted through a modulator and you felt the hairs at the back of your neck rise in response. It was silly what this man’s voice alone had done. A whisper at the back of your mind said this was different. This was not the same as every other encounter you had with those words. Your stomach churned nervously. Fear clawing its way up into your chest. Please, no. Maker, no, no. Not now. Don’t let this be the moment. 

“Would you really arrest your soulmate?” You replied, and you hated how the words came out hushed and quiet rather than confident and bold like you usually said them. The Mandalorian didn’t flinch. He didn’t do anything. The fear began to diminish and you let out a sigh of relief. Thank the Maker. He wasn’t your soulmate⏤ he was just an intimidating Mandalorian with a very attractive voice. You knew how to deal with that. Pasting a smirk on your lips, you shrugged. “You scared me for a second there, Mandalorian.”

You shoved the table forward, as hard as you could, while leaping up. It slammed into the man’s abdomen right below where his beskar chest plate provided protection. A grunt of pain left him as he doubled over, and you quickly grabbed the bar stool you sat on and swung it around to hit the Mandalorian. It made contact with his shoulder’s pauldron and helmet. The bar stool exploded into shards of wood⏤ losing it’s battle against the beskar⏤ but it succeeded in knocking the man to the ground. Without missing a beat, you sprinted for the door and then out into the night air. Based on that interaction, Mandalorians weren’t nearly as tough as the rumors stated, but, unlike him, you weren’t going to underestimate your opponent.

You didn’t slow your pace, slipping in and out of darkened alleys, and breathed a sigh of relief.

That had been close.

The pram floated closer, doors open, and Grogu leaned out to stare down at him in question, “Buir?”

Din laid on his back staring up at the ceiling in shock. ‘Would you really arrest your soulmate?’ Dank farrik. Shit. He let every single other curse word he knew ring through his mind and still it wasn’t enough. Soulmate. He found his soulmate. Din had a bad feeling the moment he stepped into the cantina and spotted you sitting at a table alone. The bounty puck didn’t do you justice, and Din had felt drawn in by your magnetic gaze. It only got worse when he got closer. He should’ve taken that as a hint and left⏤ called Karga from hyperspace and let the man know that he was turning down the bounty.

But, no. Din made the egregious mistake of speaking to you, and his punishment had been your timid response. Your voice was quiet, and it felt like a soft caress. An intimate whisper. In moments of weakness, he always wondered what those words would sound like, but he never imagined what fate actually gave him. Din had been starstruck. Face bright red in warmth yet frozen in disbelief as his mind reeled for an answer. 

You spoke once more, this time voice filled with confidence that matched the smirk you suddenly adorned, and before he could even register your words you were attacking him. If anybody Din knew had seen the fight⏤ if it could even be called that⏤ he’d have to hang up his armor and die in shame. It was embarrassing how easily you bested him with a table and bar stool, and if you hadn’t caught him so off guard it never would've happened. 

Grogu had hopped out of his pram and now stood on Din’s chest so his small, green hand could repeatedly pat his helmet in question. Technically, his son had seen that display, and for the first time he was glad Grogu wasn’t fluent in Basic.

“Yeah, ad’ika.” Din groaned. “I’m okay.”

He rolled to sit up and realized the entire room was still staring at him. Din rose stiffly and set Grogu back into his pram. Awkwardly, he gave the room a small wave and cleared his throat. “Sorry.” For good measure, he tossed a few credits on the table that had knocked the wind from him and made his leave. Din paused outside the cantina and opened his mouth to heave an annoyed sigh, a curse slipped out with it, “Dank farrik.”

Din Djarin had found his soulmate.

Well, fuck.

mando'a translations:

ad'ika: little one /// buir: parent (father)

taglist: @onceinamando @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @harriedandharassed @aheadfullofsteverogers @elfamosotoga @the-anchored-sailor-girl

(i've decided to start a separate list for this story b/c i just can't bring myself to post the AFS taglist in fear that someone on there doesn't want me spamming them with this story sorry i have anxiety lol)

[next chapter]

#the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x reader

[phandoz]

"Who’s teaching who? Who’s protecting who? Who’s saving who? There will be more of that." - Pedro Pascal on the relationship between Din and Grogu in season 3.

If we don't see Grogu force choke somebody next episode, I will be disappointed. I at least want to see him in the red mist to get Din back. If it's Grogu who brings the mythosaur into play, even better. That probably fits in more with Disney's family friendly vibe anyway.

#the mandalorian spoilers #jedi code? what jedi code #don't take that shit Grogu #go get your space dad #bring your space mum #bring your big ass horned space dog too

[phandoz]

That is the only response I can formulate right now 🥵

code breaker

premise: there’s always been something there, between the two of you. unspoken and filling in the cracks of those moments where joel is helping you out of a tough situation and your offering up a thank you and sweet smile. if only it didn’t take bloody knuckles and some bandaids to finally crack the code of that something.

pairing: joel miller x (f)reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected p in v, smut with feelings really, fem receiving oral, friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, mentions of violence and blood, alcohol mention, toxic exes and relationships discussed, dirty talk, biting and love marks mention, lots of banter, au (preoutbreak).

note: i meant for this to be darker but it turned out wayyy more fluffy and i’m actually really happy about it. i hella edited this but it still feels choppy so if it is i’m sorry ya girl has bad eyes lmao. gif made by me so don’t be an ass and steal it tysm <3

There’s words you should be saying right now. Expressing. Spilling from your mouth in a heap of thank you, I appreciate you, what would I do without you always being there for me…

But they just can’t seem to come out. The speech part of your brain—and your heart—aching and prompting you to speak. To show courtesy, your vocal cords refuse to let you get out. Like your mouth has forgotten its purpose, your throat hoarse from screaming Joel’s name in the chaos of thrown fists, people shouting, men trying and failing to haul Joel’s weight off of the bloodied body below it.

The blood on his knuckles pulls your eyes in like a neon sign: caked, dark, and drying the longer the air gets to it. If it hurts Joel doesn’t state it—show it as he grips the steering wheel. You’ve never thrown a punch before, have never seen something like this up close and personal. You excelled at resolving conflicts before they arose. Never let arguments get past the phase of unfair yelling. But you would assume his knuckles must be aching, even if only a dull pounding.

You know for certain your ex's face is.

Good. 

You hadn’t expected him to show up at the bar, your job. Hadn’t expected him to start in on the possessive act—coincidently the local patrons were less than surprised at the all-too-cliche behavior. The town having labeled him as bad news ages ago. Something you had to learn the hard way, when you finally took off those rose colored glasses. 

Joel had been staring at you for the duration of the exchange. Even after your ex left to hang out with a group of his buddies in the corner, his gaze lingered on you.

"You alright?" He asked as he slid his glass towards you, his forearm leaning against the bar. A wordless nod letting you know he wanted another. 

"Yeah, he’s not the first creep I've had to deal with. It's in our DNA as women to deal with the lesser species of the male population."

"Can’t tell if that makes me feel better or worse as a father."

"Oh," you send him a sweet smile. Setting his refilled whiskey in front of him, "no creep dare mess with Sarah. I’ve seen her make jocks cry."

"That’s my girl, taught her well." The grin he wraps around the rim of the glass makes something girlish—and foolish—spark in your stomach. 

Maybe if you had a man like Joel in your life, you would be less likely to keep making the same mistakes with no-good assholes who are good for a week and bad for the rest of the 358 days. 

A girl can dream. 

And she has. Embarrassingly. 

The two of you had continued to talk, your hip pressed against the bar as you cleaned a glass; perhaps you had been smiling and laughing too hard at what Joel was saying because your ex was back and grabbing you from across the bar in an instant.

An action that quickly landed him passed out and bloodied on the bar floor, and your boss trying to make sure Joel hadn’t taught him too good of a lesson to have him see God. 

And while the adrenaline of shock had been bruising your heart against your rib cage, your lungs devoid of air—when Joel had put his non-bloody hand against your arm, calling your name (the white noise of the commotion in the bar creating an impenetrable barrier to your ear drums), a warm thumb under your chin pulling your attention away from the limp body on the floor and up into his eyes—that adrenaline melted and turned into serendipity. 

Gratefulness. 

Those girlish sparks turning into an entire flame that quickly engulfed you as he asked if you were okay. As he comforted you with a barely there touch on your arm and chin, concern in his dark eyes. Concern for what? Frightening you? 

When your gaze is drawn to his knuckles, his body language responds with a grimace. When you see the gashes only bone against bone brings. 

He’s worried he’s upset you. As if he's done something wrong.

When he insists on driving you home you don’t argue. Wouldn’t dream of it even if the circumstances were different. It wouldn't be the first time he drove you home because your beat-up car wouldn't start or because the weather was bad and your anxiety was high.

That’s the thing about Joel. 

He was always there. 

If you needed help, he always seemed to find time. 

Because of this, and the aforementioned beating your toxic ex to a pulp, you shouldn't be allowing the silence to spread between the two of you like strangers. Like something in the air was making everything awkward, like you hadn’t sat in his truck a dozen times before. Like he hasn’t gotten you out of a pinch (minus the blood) before. 

And after he’s pulled into your driveway, engine turned off, the cicadas and crickets filling the silence, it’s Joel who finally speaks. 

Who cracks that barrier you have mentally been trying so hard to climb over. 

"I’m sorry if I," he clears his throat, flexes his fingers against the steering wheel. "If I overstepped." 

And the ridiculousness of him even apologizing has your mouth finally moving into action. "Joel, no, oh my gosh, no." Your palm presses against your chest as you look at him apologetically; you should be the only one saying sorry, thanking him, worshiping at his feet for this. "I should be the one saying that. I should have handled it myself or-"

"Or what?" He looks almost angry, shocked at your words. "He had a hold of you, and no disrespect, but I ain’t ever seen you kill a fly, let alone throw a punch at someone." 

"Hey! I could punch someone." 

"Could and would are two different things." 

"You sayin I couldn’t?" 

"I’m sayin' you wouldn’t." 

"Not tough enough?" 

"Your heart's too big." 

"If you knew how hard I was holding back the urge to prove you wrong by bruising that bicep of yours, Joel Miller, you’d think differently." Your scowl and threat only seem to amuse him because he’s grinning at you. "You’re lucky you’re injured." 

"I’m shaking in my boots." 

"As you should be." The laugh the two of you share makes your cheeks burn.  On the outside, many could and have labeled Joel as a complicated man. A man who takes a lot of nudging and persistence to get to know past that surface-level workaholic grump he sometimes displays. But he’s a man who would lend a hand at the drop of a hat. A man with honor embedded in his very DNA.

There’s a list you’ve kept in the back of your mind that has every bullet point filled out and doodled hearts around the edges of all the reasons Joel is a good man. A man you trust. A man you adore.

"Thank you, Joel." He starts to shake his head, but you stop him with your palm resting on his forearm, "thank you. "You're right, I don't think I even know how to make a proper fist, let alone connect it." Your soft laugh makes the corners of his lips tick up. "You didn’t hesitate to help me. You never do. It means a lot to me, I hope you know that."

He nods, his eyes only on your face. Listening. Taking in every word you’re saying, even if you know he hates the fact that you’re thanking him for this. But he deserves to know how much you appreciate him.

Your hand moves to his wrist, gently yanking it away from his vice-like grip on the wheel. Your index finger runs along a vein at the top of his hand—the one spot the blood didn’t cake on to. "Does it hurt?" 

"No. Between the callouses and the whiskey, it’s nothing more than a cat scratch." 

"You should still get it looked at."

"You’re looking at it, aren’t ya?" 

Your eyes roll. "I’m not a doctor, Joel." 

"All a doctors gonna tell me is to be more careful, hand me a bandaid, and charge me three hundred dollars."

"Well, in that case," you drop his hand and grab for the door. The dry summer air ineffective to your already burning skin from the man whose raising his brows at you, "I got band aids in the house, and I didn’t get to finish my shift, which means you owe me three hundred in tips alone sooo."

"There's barely three hundred people in this town, and you’re tellin me you make that in tips?" 

"Joel, just get in the damn house." You order, slamming the door of his truck and walking up the path to your front door. Smiling when you hear him huff and grumble under his breath as he gets out. 

A hiss—and a scowl so deadly it could scare away even the biggest and baddest of grown men—has Joel’s hand twitching in your hold as you run a wet cloth along the tops of his knuckles. The fabric pulling up the caked on flecks of dried blood, the surface of the cuts along the bone already starting the healing process from being clotted with red. 

"I thought you said it didn’t hurt?" You smirk playfully. 

"Whiskey’s wearin' off," he grunts. 

"Or," you dab the cloth in the small cap of saline solution you’ve pulled from your first aid kit under the sink. Bringing it back to his skin to press gently across his cuts, his body tensing. "You’re human after all," his eyes roll. 

"Don’t alert the press." 

"Oh, they’ve already been informed." 

His hand rests on your thigh as you ball up some tissues to dry the area around his knuckles. Enough to keep the bandaids—the only thing he would allow you to use because gauze would just get in the way at work, he informed you when you insisted—from falling off. The heat from his palm burns through your jeans, and it's a blessing in and of itself that you're ignoring how it makes your insides feel; how your body's warmth is no match for how hot he feels. His legs are spread, body slouched against your couch, his knee against yours. A closeness he’s never been before. A casual touch and directness between friends that shouldn’t be making you feel feverish and cheeky. 

When he flexes his fingers a couple times and his fingertips run along the top of your thigh, you find yourself wishing you’d worn a dress to work. A skirt. Anything to have been able to feel him do that against your bare skin. A thought you chide yourself for. A thought you hope isn’t written all over your face when you look over at Joel and he’s staring at you. Eyes darker, expression unreadable and stoic, in that way you can never tell what emotion he’s feeling at that exact moment. He gives nothing away but still sends your stomach plummeting. 

After the bandaids have been stuck and you’ve cleaned up the mess on your coffee table you offer him a drink. 

"Unless you have to get back to Sarah, then I understand."

"She’s with a friend tonight." 

"You gonna tell her how you saved the day, all knight and shining armor style?" You tease as you walk back to the living room with two beers in hand, putting one in Joel’s outstretched one and the other to your lips. Taking a sip as you take your place beside him once again, this time a leg pulled under you as you face him. 

He snorts, "don’t know about all that."

"I’m sure word has already gotten around. Her friends are probably gabbing about how heroic Mr. Miller is, a real prince charming." You laugh when you see his grin. 

"Or," he says, swallowing the sip he's just taken. "She’ll give me that death glare that all teenagers possess after puberty, you know the one?"

"Oh, I know the one. Mine was so fierce my mother banned it from our house."

"It’s deadly."

"Truly."

"I’m sure prince charming will be the last thing connected to my actions. Rage and jackass sound more on the money." 

You frown. Watch as he stares down at the result of the rage he thinks will now be accompanied with his name. Tarnishing it that now people will forget the kindness that was once there, the man whose hardworking now turned into something vile all because of an act of heroism some might find obscene; with how much blood and possible damage it has caused to one mans face, you could understand why such an act would be. 

But to you—and those who knew how horrible your ex had been, how he had deserved every bone crunching punch, every spit of blood and teeth choked on—you knew that what Joel did was right. And maybe, somewhere deep down in those morals against violence everyone gets handed out to them at birth, you knew that Joel could be sitting in a jail cell instead of on your couch if those punches had been any worse. If it had been pure untamed rage like some will say. 

"You’re a good man, Joel. So you potentially hospitalized an asshole, who hasn’t?" Your heart leaps in your chest when he laughs, and you thank God that your joke landed. Thank him that this man with his disheveled hair that's begging to have a hand run through it, work shirt and jeans looking like they’ve seen better days—is in your life. Not every girl has someone willing to bruise another man's face while destroying the hand that's needed to do their job properly.

No one had acted as quick as Joel had. 

Joel Miller was a good man. 

"What did you see in him anyway?" Joel asks, taking another sip of his beer. His gaze is drawn to you from the hole he was burning into his hand. 

And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know. 

Couldn’t answer that question with the full truth because you didn’t know why you always went for the assholes. The guys who liked to scream instead of talk it out. Who liked to steal money from your wallet for booze or a habit they couldn’t kick. The ones who never remembered your birthday but made sure didn't forget theirs.

Your father had been a great man. Your mother an amazing woman. You couldn’t take the easy way out and blame it on family trauma. 

So you answered with the only viable reason that came to mind. 

"Loneliness makes you ignore all the bad stuff." You take a sip, swallow it down (washing away the pinpricks of potential embarrassment for being so brutally honest with Joel). "It makes you talk yourself out of throwing all their stuff to the curb or burning it in your backyard, because it’s not always bad. Some days are good. Some of them wait to be assholes before the novelty wears off; others wait until you're two years in and they’ve already slept with half the town behind your back. And some will bring you flowers every time they mess up, until one day you look around and realize you don't have any room to put this new vase and there's dried flower petals all over your floors. But hey, at least you’re not lonely, and your house smells really good." 

The smile on your lips fades when you see the look on Joel’s face. See that he’s finding no humor in this story. And the gulp that swallows down the beer in your hands burns your throat the entire way down. Your cheeks are burning, and you have to look away from him. Distract yourself by picking at the label on the bottle. 

"Or maybe it’s as cliche as saying I haven’t found the right one yet." You try to save, nervously chuckling under your breath. In hopes that he forgets everything you’ve just said and clings to this one shitty joke. 

"Look at me."

You do, and you wish you hadn’t. The roughness of his voice makes your stomach swoop and fall like a rollercoaster of emotions you did not prepare yourself for. Hadn’t imagined this being in your future when you’d walked into work. But you’re looking at him. Meeting his eyes. Seeing the stern glower in them before he speaks. 

There’s a million things you imagine him saying. Telling you how much better you are than that, than all of those meaningless assholes. How you deserve better, and you’ll find it someday. Hell, you expect him to scold you with how low his brows are.

What you don’t expect is to feel his lips on yours. His fingers digging into the skin at the back of your neck, his chest inches from your now-heaving one. And it renders you speechless. Still. Your brain not computing with the signals your nerves are giving off right now. 

When he pulls away and looks at you, it takes you several blinks to meet his gaze. The air in your lungs weighing your chest down. You shouldn’t speak. Should allow yourself to get your bearings in order. To catch your breath and sort through everything you’re feeling right now. "Was that a pity kiss?" 

"A what—pity kiss?" 

"Cause of the," you swallow, lick your lips, "of the aforementioned assholes?" 

Joel’s breath fans across your face when he chuckles, "anyone who’d pity kiss you deserves to be added to that list of assholes. And I might be on many asshole lists, but hopefully not on yours." The fingers on your neck skate forward to your cheek, thumb pressed gently along your jawline. His features grow serious again. "I didn’t just knock that asshole out because he had it comin'. And if you haven't noticed, I’m either working or at home with Sarah. Both keepin' me more than busy."

"Too busy to be making house calls for leaky faucets and tarnishing your good name with your fists?" 

"Exactly." 

There's a long pause between you two, as if you're both waiting for the other to say something, anything, to put these unspoken mutual feelings out there.

"Joel, are you saying you coming over to fix my faucet and staying for the occasional beer was you…flirting?" The grin he gives you makes you laugh, "who taught you how to flirt? And please don’t say Tommy."

"No. If I had listened to him we’d be–" he doesn’t finish. Just shakes his head and chuckles under his breath. 

And maybe affirmative action with your hands wasn’t your forte, maybe you couldn’t do what needed to be done when it came in the form of actions. But when it came to words, to saying what you wanted, needed, craved when it was right here in front of you being hinted and teased at, you didn’t hesitate. 

"Maybe you should have listened to Tommy." Your hand mirrors his own, resting on his cheek. You already knew he ran hot from his palm alone. But his cheek feels just as warm as you do, burning right through to your bones. His gaze falls to your parted lips, and a decision is made in the seconds it takes him to return his gaze to yours.

An agreement. 

"C'mere." His lips collide with yours in a heated kiss of knicks of teeth and tongue that taste like whiskey and beer and something that your brain will forever recognize as Joel. A taste you know you’ll be wanting to swallow down again and again. To feel the burn of his beard against your chin until your skin is raw and blotchy from how hard his mouth is devouring yours. An arm wrapped around your waist pulls you into his lap, and your forgotten beers spill and stain the cushions of your couch. "Shit, sorry, let me," Joel starts, but you stop him with your hands on his cheeks. 

"Leave it, just come here." You insist, lips returning to his. 

"Yes, ma’am." His smirk molds to your mouth, wipes away as his tongue runs along your bottom lip to press against yours. A hand on your ass squeezes and presses you forward so you’re grinding against his lap. The seam of your jeans rubs up against the wet patch that's quickly forming on the fabric of your underwear, becoming sticky and clinging to your pussy. Joel's other hand runs down the column of your neck, gripping and pulling you away from his mouth so that his lips can latch onto your sensitive skin. A gasp leaving your lungs, teeth and tongue making you shudder and cling to his shoulders. 

Shoulders you don't let go of until your back hits the mattress and you're both pulling your shirts above your heads, your fingers quickly working the clip of your bra, joining the discarded pile of shirts and shoes on your bedroom floor.

Your heart feels as if it’s beating a hole through your chest, like it’ll fall into Joel’s hands as he leans over your body, knees between your open legs, as his palms run down your chest, between your breasts. Over the globes of them, calloused thumb circling around your nipple. Your breath caught in your throat as you press yourself up into his touch. He’s taking you in, letting his eyes trail every dip, possible mole, scar, and marking on your skin. How your chest heaves in response to his hand. How your breasts fit in his palm. How you gasp and cry into the air when he leans down and swirls his tongue around one of your nipples before sucking it into his mouth, teeth lightly scraping against the sensitive flesh when he pulls off and does the same to the other one. 

His mouth finding its way back to yours again. His hips canting against yours; you can feel his cock digging into your thigh. And when you let your hand skate between the two of you to give him more friction. A dizzying desire to feel more of his heat and need for you burning through your skin and to your core, where you truly crave him. 

The deep grunt that falls from his mouth and onto your waiting tongue sends a shockwave of arousal through your entire body. Being. You want to hear it again, want to pull every noise from this man with your body and mouth until you are both drained and cursing yourselves for not doing this sooner. And you know he wants to do the same. Wants to catalog every pressure point and sensitive bit of your flesh so he can draw this out, can rile you up with a simple touch, scrape of teeth, run of his tongue along your jugular. Until you tell him how badly you can’t stand not having him inside of you. 

He's leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach, his fingers digging into the skin above your jeans, holding your hips still. Preventing you from moving them the way you want to from each press and prickle from his mouth and beard—scalding the nerves of your skin and making your insides whirl. 

"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart." Joel murmurs into your skin as his fingers curl into the waistband of your jeans. Your body feels barren and cool away from his heat as he sits back on his knees, your hips lifting as he frees your legs from their confines. His thumb runs along the lace of your underwear, dipping lower and lower until it’s pressing into that wet spot. A silent, smug praise tugs at the corner of his lopsided smile as his eyes look up to yours.

If your mind was working coherently and not filled with Joel Joel Joel (the way he smells woodsy and rugged, the way something deep and gruff reverberates in his chest when your teeth sink into the skin of his neck, and how he keeps looking at you like a fine art piece hung in the Louvre. Movements quick and gentle as he pulls your underwear down your thighs, making quick work to push your legs apart, fingers digging into the back of your thigh as he lets himself take his time adorning you fully on display for him) there'd be a sassy remark aimed at him.

The callus of his thumb nicks your swollen clit, eliciting a whimper from your lips, your hips following the descent of his finger as it spreads you apart. Trailing a line from your clit to dip into your entrance, gathering your arousal on the pad of his finger, his eyes on yours as he presses it against his tongue. A burning hunger in his eyes as he sucks your wetness from his fingers. 

You're a panting mess by the time Joel positions his head between your legs, arms wrapped behind your thighs, lips, teeth, and tongue trailing up your inner thigh. Your fingers clench the blanket in anticipation, need, and want. The closer his mouth gets to your center, the more you can feel his hot breath moving in, the potential love bites and marks he’s leaving on your inner thigh—all a certain type of torture you don’t think you’re strong enough to put up with right now. 

You lift your head to start begging, to plead with your torturer, but he’s speaking before you can. 

"Wanna take my time, sweetheart." His tongue swirls at the joint of your inner thigh. And just as earlier, the words you mean to get out, to speak from the storm cloud of lust in your head, die in the back of your throat when Joel runs the flat of his tongue up the seam of your pussy. The torturous muscle wraps you around his tongue, following the slowest path to your clit, until the tip of his tongue flicks, making a pattern of strokes and licks, until his lips wrap around the swollen nerve, making you feel delirious. Keeps pulling gasps, moans, and pants of pleasure and ecstasy from your parted mouth; head thrown back on pillows; legs trembling around his head from the blazing fire that grows and grows the more he consumes you.

The more his nose nicks your clit when he fucks you with his tongue, the more his fingers dig into your quivering legs to keep you anchored to the bed and his mouth. 

It feels like hours with how slowly he goes. Keeps you dangling from the ledge with every stroke and suck. Every soothing indent his fingers are leaving in your thigh. Your skin slicked with sweat, knuckles cramped from its grip in the blanket. When your moans go up in pitch he goes slower in that motion, that spot that has you seeing stars. Then he lets your breath come back to you with slow strokes of his tongue at your entrance, giving attention to the other parts of you that you didn’t think could elicit such erotic noises from your lungs. 

Your fingers find their way into those disheveled strands you’ve been waiting a lifetime to thread through. To pull and keep yourself from the feeling of floating away from the intensity of the pleasure. From your orgasm coming closer and closer until you’re panting his name, "Joel, Joel, Joel–fuck," your body shaking, the cries pulled out from this man burning your throat as you finally fall from the ledge and into him; his tongue coated in you, his chin wet with your essence. 

Your body sensitive and heavy as you come down, a sweaty heat making you feel sticky. Joel’s fingers seem to bypass every sensitive part though, as his palm caresses the tops of your thighs, your hips, your curves, the side of your breast. Until he’s reached your burning cheeks, mouth pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips. The kiss was slow and gentle. Your arousal coats your taste buds when his tongue meets yours.

The kiss feeling more intimate than before, more heady. Knocking you right back on that loop you just got off of. That ache and throb he just sedated starting again in your belly, moving to where your thighs are soaked. 

"You’re overdressed," you murmur against his lips. Joel kisses you again, your open mouths exchanging a breathy chuckle.

"Do you wanna change that?" 

The question holds more than just the surface level of a joke and an answer of "yeah, obviously."  There’s a seriousness to it that makes you pull back from his lips and stare up at him. His thumb traces a soothing pattern into the bottom of your chin, his eyes holding an unspoken reassurance that he’s fine with it ending right here. With him just pleasing you, getting to take you apart and reassem+ble you with tender touches and a torturous mouth.

It can be all about you.

It is all about you.

You deserve nothing less.

His eyes and soft grin speak unspokenly. 

Your nod is slow and reassuring. Your fingertips copy the motions of his thumb against the patches of skin in his damp beard. "Unless you’d rather help me get the stain out of my couch that you caused."

"I caused?" His brows shoot up. 

"It's to be expected when you can't keep your hands off of me," you say before shrieking as he pinches your side. His lips kissing your scowl away—a problem you foresee in the near future.

The kiss lasts for minutes (centuries you wish). Your fingertips never lift from the other's face, moving along jawlines, chins, and cheek bones. His chest comfortably against yours, giving you that heat you missed so dearly. His cock still stiff and hot in his jeans, grinding slowly against your pelvis. 

Is this how it’s supposed to feel? When feelings haven't even been discussed yet, but you just know? Already know what each touch, kiss, and caress holds behind it. Telling a wordless story in the way he had wanted to give you pleasure first—to taste—and take his time making you feel everything his mouth could do. Everything he wanted to do to you.

He wasn’t thinking about himself after the fact. Wasn’t rushing to put you in a position that made it all about his pleasure. Giving you little to no space to cool down, regain your bearings, and have that fire slowly relight and become more tantalizing, as he is right now.

You really did date assholes. 

Your fingers move to his chest, splaying your palm along his body until you’ve reached where he’s hard and pressing against you. Your fingers curl around the outline of him. Stroking, massaging. 

"I want you, Joel." You breathe into his mouth. 

He growls against your lips in something akin to frustration and agony. It makes something inside of you sink, overthink that maybe he doesn’t actually want to push it past the points you’ve already reached. Maybe it’s too much, all too soon, for this new territory of your friendship—even if it already seemed a little too late with the couch confessions and his saliva still coating your center. 

He must see the thoughts volleying in your head because he’s scolding himself under his breath and shaking his head. A soothing touch placed on your skin. "I feel like I’m some horny teenager again, with how bad I want you." His chuckle soothes your heart, "I don’t have-"

And you can't help but laugh at his waving hand towards his pockets and the sentence he's about to finish.

"Jesus, Joel. Bless anyone who's ever thought you were the ungentlemanly type." Here you were worrying about whether or not he wanted you, the proof being clearer than just his dick against your fingers. While the only thing on his mind was protection. 

"Glad I’m amusin’ to you." 

Cupping his cheeks, you pull him back to your lips. "All a girl wants is a decent man to make her laugh, not break her heart, and be able to make her come. And so far you’ve done all three." You let your tongue slip between your mouths and run along his bottom lip, "I’m good if you are." 

I’m clean.

I take a little pill every day because life is chaotic enough and I don’t want any surprises. 

We’re protected.

Now take me already.

The drag of your tongue, the roll of your hips against him, the little whimper you let out when he bites your lip—speaks for you.

It’s all either of you needs to rid Joel of his jeans: hands tangled in belt loops, tugs, pulls, pushing until he’s completely bare in front of you. Your breath hitches when you feel the underside of his cock spreading you and running along your clit slowly and languidly. The heat of him feels nothing compared to your own, the throb and ache of requisite in every roll and drag. 

And when neither of you can stand it anymore, when he’s grunting and you’re begging, he leans up on an elbow, hand wrapped around his cock, lining himself up to your entrance. Your breath leaves your lungs, stomach falling falling down to where he’s pushing into you. Stretching you, filling you until there’s no telling where either of you ends or begins. Attached by that intangible string of pleasure and bliss of only being able to feel each other.

"Fuck," Joel groans. Mouth finding your shoulder, breath hot and heavy. His thrusts start leisurely, taking his time in that way you’re learning he loves to do. Loves to compartmentalize up what you need—more, faster, harder. Going off of the moans panted into his neck, nails digging into his back. 

There's a hand gripped in the pillow beside your head, another at your breast, his mouth connected to your neck, your jaw, your chin, your lips. His hips slamming against your open thighs, thrusts deep, sharp. His cock hitting places that make your back arch, his name strung together with pleas for more. The slapping of skin and wet squelching of bodily fluids between the two of you making a symphony of lewd delight. 

When the hand at your breast hikes up one of your legs, the cry you let out is swallowed by his mouth. The deeper he fucks into you, the more your body shakes, the more you feel him completely consuming you. turning you into someone who will never get enough of this. Of him. Of how good he's making you feel. 

"Sound s’pretty," his tongue brushes against the underside of your chin, teeth nipping at the bone. A trail of him brought down to the shell of your ear. Where his heavy breaths and grunts fill you just as his cock does. Fills you to the brink of pain turned satisfying pleasure, as each stroke brings you closer to a precipice he’s already pushed you from. "Can’t believe I held myself back from you."

"Joel."

"I should knock out every asshole who thought to hurt you, t’not love you the way you deserve. Put you first," he slips his hand between your slick bodies, palm hot against your pelvis as his thumb rubs fast tight circles around your clit. His words getting filthier, ragged. Becoming heaving breaths against your ear as he fucks you faster. As his thumb matches the pace, as you grow closer and closer. Led by his words and pushed over by his cock. 

"That’s it, sweetheart." He’s encourages as you come. As he fucks you through it, as that white-hot heat makes your body contort against his. Cling and squeeze around him. The string of groans and curses, your name mixed with something incoherent but soft and deep, makes your chest swish—bit into your skin as Joel comes not long after. 

And after the two of you have cleaned up enough to call it satisfactory, two new beers condensing on your night stand. Your cheek pressed into his chest as your bodies lay pressed together under your sheet. His chin resting atop your forehead, a soft brush of fingertips at your spine—there’s cheesy grins on your faces, "Tommy’s going to have a heyday."

"He owes me fifty bucks."

There’s faux shock on your face when you turn and lean on your elbow to look at him, "excuse me?"

"He didn't think I'd ever tell ya," Joel shrugs as his hand caresses your shoulder. A fondness in his eyes, "I never do anything for myself." You press a kiss to his thumb, "I think we both deserve something good for once though." 

"I guess I solved the mystery of how to get Joel Miller to be soft," you joke. Nip at the skin of his thumb playfully. 

"I ain’t soft." He grumbles.

"Postcoitous Joel disagrees with that statement," you say. The dramatic roll his eyes do makes you laugh. Your teeth nipping his thumb harder, a bite this time, you shift so you’re on top of him. Sitting up on your knees. "Since this bet is half at my expense.."

"Expense, huh?" His palm grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, causing you to rock in his lap. His cock already twitching to life again.

"I think we should get you your money's worth," you smirk.

"That's the smartest thing you've said all night," his fingers tangled in your back hair, pulling your mouth down to his in a hard kiss, before you get the chance to at least pretend to be offended.

#fic rec #tlou fanfiction #tlou x reader

[phandoz]

For science

ELIO’S 2.5K PARTY ★ DIN DJARIN: HELMET ON OR OFF — for anonymous

#din djarin #the mandalorian

[phandoz]

Writing Tips

Punctuating Dialogue

✧

➸ “This is a sentence.”

➸ “This is a sentence with a dialogue tag at the end,” she said.

➸ “This,” he said, “is a sentence split by a dialogue tag.”

➸ “This is a sentence,” she said. “This is a new sentence. New sentences are capitalized.”

➸ “This is a sentence followed by an action.” He stood. “They are separate sentences because he did not speak by standing.”

➸ She said, “Use a comma to introduce dialogue. The quote is capitalized when the dialogue tag is at the beginning.”

➸ “Use a comma when a dialogue tag follows a quote,” he said.

“Unless there is a question mark?” she asked.

“Or an exclamation point!” he answered. “The dialogue tag still remains uncapitalized because it’s not truly the end of the sentence.”

➸ “Periods and commas should be inside closing quotations.”

➸ “Hey!” she shouted, “Sometimes exclamation points are inside quotations.”

However, if it’s not dialogue exclamation points can also be “outside”!

➸ “Does this apply to question marks too?” he asked.

If it’s not dialogue, can question marks be “outside”? (Yes, they can.)

➸ “This applies to dashes too. Inside quotations dashes typically express—“

“Interruption” — but there are situations dashes may be outside.

➸ “You’ll notice that exclamation marks, question marks, and dashes do not have a comma after them. Ellipses don’t have a comma after them either…” she said.

➸ “My teacher said, ‘Use single quotation marks when quoting within dialogue.’”

➸ “Use paragraph breaks to indicate a new speaker,” he said.

“The readers will know it’s someone else speaking.”

➸ “If it’s the same speaker but different paragraph, keep the closing quotation off.

“This shows it’s the same character continuing to speak.”

#writing advice #writing tips #writing

[phandoz]

The way she helps Chucho, I really think Javi would be such a sucker for that. And the way you worked the aviators in is just perfect.

friday night fever??

im thinkinggg javi peña,, long time best friends and he moves back and just kind of fluff when they’re reuniting. can be platonic or there can be a confession. idgaf i just love your writing darling, kisses kisses /p. okay thank u love have a good night!!

oh my GOODNESS I love this so much and I had an obscene amount of fun writing this. Javier Peña truly lives rent-free in my mind all the time these days and this idea is just 😙👌

thanks for the submission bby hope you enjoy it ❣️

🔥friday night fever!🔥

Javier Peña has always been your best friend.

Ever since you were little, two gangly kids sprinting down dirt paths, sneaking horseback rides after sunset, stealing popsicles from the icebox before darting over to the other’s back porch and tapping on the screen door. You were joined at the hip, the closest of friends even well into your teen years. Things had changed some when you’d graduated high school, both of you leaving Laredo for one reason or another. Javier disappeared for months at a time, while you were home almost every weekend, unable to cut your ties with your old life completely, trying to hang on to something that even slightly resembled the past.

You knew what was happening in Colombia, saw the fear and concern in Chucho’s eyes whenever you walked over to the Peña ranch house, leftovers from your mother in a container, some whiskey from your dad. It haunted you, the piles of newspapers with less than friendly headlines and scarier photos printed below, the names of dead police officers and agents seared into your brain. Chucho kept every one, some of the articles mentioning Javier’s name cut out and stuffed in a file folder.

“Does it help?” you asked him one night, the two of you sharing the apple pie your mother had sent you over with, a bit of whiskey in each of your glasses. 

Your parents’ ranch bordered the Peña’s, and you’d grown up at the Peña dinner table just as much as your own. After your father got sick, when you moved home to help your mother with the ranch and the house and the…everything, you felt Javi’s absence just as much as you saw it, often wandering over to the Peña’s land to help Chucho catch a runaway horse or mend a falling fence, helping both sides of the land as much as you could. Chucho often griped that you shouldn’t be working the ranches, that you went to school for bigger and better things, you shouldn’t be spending your day as a ranch hand, but you’ve brushed him off every time.

“Reading about what he’s doing,” you continued, gesturing to the stack of papers on the table. “Does it help?”

“It can’t make it any worse, chica,” he answered, tipping his whiskey glass in your direction. “To Javi.”

You lifted your own glass. “To Javi.”

It gets to the point where all you seem to do is eat, sleep, work, and worry. Your mind wanders to Javier every chance it gets, playing over the last conversations you had, the last time you saw him, the last thing you said to him.

“Don’t miss me too much.” You were trying to be coy, trying to play it off like your heart wasn’t shattering in your chest at the idea of him leaving. It wasn’t the first time Javier Peña had broken your heart, and you knew for a fact it wouldn’t be the last, but you were clinging to him all the same. Behind you, the sun dipped low in the sky, a classic Laredo sunset the backdrop for your farewell. 

Javi had held you tightly, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, one palm pressed to the middle of your spine. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Fine, then I’ll miss you just the right amount.”

The words had just made the tears come harder, and your hands were fisting in back of his linen shirt, gripping him as tight as you could.

“Look out for my dad, will you?” he asked, and you nodded into his collar, pulling your head back slightly until your forehead was brushing his cheek. “Stubborn ass won’t ask for help, but he needs it.”

You’d laughed and Javi had reached up, wiping a tear from your face.

“No tears, querida. I’ll see you again before you know it.”

You’d stared at him, the nickname familiar, but the tone in his voice, the warmth and the…love not something you were used to. The words were right there, the confession hanging in the air, ripe for the taking. It would have been so easy, to tell him how you truly felt, to beg him to stay in Laredo, to stay with you.

But you’ve always been able to read Javi like an open book, and beneath the sadness of your goodbye, there was something more. He was excited, raring to go, his skills honed to perfection and his aim better than any man you’ve ever met. He needed to go to Colombia, needed to go hunt the bad guys that kept him up at night, needed to go make the world a better place.

He had to go, even if that meant leaving you.

So instead, you said nothing. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and hugged him back, hoping to god that maybe he’d understand through your touch alone, that the words didn’t need to be said. But then he was letting you go, before you were ready, your grip still too tight as he disentangled from you, a soft kiss brushed to your cheek, your hand squeezed in his once more before he was retreating, disappearing across the dirt road that separated the Peña ranch and your own. The Laredo sun lit his back as he departed, and you waited until he clambered into his truck, started the engine, and drove off, tires kicking up dust in their wake.

Just like that, he was gone.

But just as easily as he’d left, he was back again. Well, maybe not as easily. You know what he’s been through, the hell he’s seen, the danger he’s been in. But the moment Chucho got the call that his only son was coming home, you were desperate for details, wanting to know exactly when his flight got in, what day, what gate, so you could be there. For Javi.

He looks tired, when you first see him, suitcase trailing behind him and bag on his hip. There are bags under his eyes, scruff lining his chin, the line between his brows deeper. Those familiar yellow aviators — a gag gift from you when he announced his move to Colombia — are tucked into the top of his shirt, a few buttons undone and showing off that broad chest, skin turned impossibly more bronze by the further South sun.

You’re standing on the other side of the gate, bouncing on your toes, and you see it, the moment his eyes find you. His entire body softens, the crease in his forehead disappearing, bag nearly slipping off his shoulder as he closes the distance between you.

“Querida,” he breathes, both arms around you, the same as they had when you’d said your goodbyes. He smells different, his cologne foreign to your nose, but his body feels the same against yours, his warmth overpowering. He buries his nose in your hair, bringing you close to him, and you sling your arms around his waist, pulling him close as well. “God, I missed you so much.”

Your reply is muffled in his shoulder, and you’re blinking tears back, squeezing your eyes shut when he plants a kiss on your cheek, much firmer than the one he’d given you when he left. That same warmth swims through his voice, and you let him tuck you under his shoulder, grabbing hold of the handle of his suitcase.

“C’mon,” you murmur, leading him towards the exit. “Let’s get you home.”

Chucho is a mess when you arrive back at the ranch, and you deposit Javi’s bags on the porch before retreating, wiping the wet from your lashes as you slip through your own front door. Your house is quiet, your father asleep on the couch and your mother puttering around upstairs. You make your way to the sunroom on the porch, sinking onto one of the couches and peering out the window. You’re not quite sure how long you’re sat there, watching the afternoon sun slowly sink into evening. Part of you wants to head across the road, to talk Javi’s ear off well into the night, but you don’t want to intrude, wanting to give father and son to catch up.

The moon is just starting to make an appearance when there’s a soft tap at the screen door, and a familiar shadow lurks on the other side. Javier gives you a small smile as you pull open the door, two popsicles in his hand, one brow raised. It makes you laugh, the past returning to the present, and you step through, joining him on the uncovered portion of the porch. The land unfurls before you, rolling grass and pasture, fenced on either side of the dirt road.

Javi sinks down on the porch step, and you follow suit. When you sit, you leave a few inches between you, but he closes that distance almost instantly, shuffling over until you’re pressed together from hip to shoulder. He hands you one of the popsicles, and you eat them in near silence, the chirping of crickets echoing through the night.

“I gotta tell you something, querida,” he starts, his voice cutting through the quiet, nearly making you flinch as you lean forward, bracing your arms around your knees.

You’re expecting him to say something about Colombia. That he’s only home for a visit, that he’s going right back, that there’s still work to be done. “It’s okay, Javi,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t have to say any—”

He doesn’t actually say anything, but his actions are telling just the same. In an instant, your cheeks are enveloped by his warm palms, his thumbs swiping across your skin, and he tilts your head up gently as he leans towards you. The kiss is soft, softer than you could ever have imagined, his lips plush and the tickle of his moustache much gentler than you’d think. He kisses you slowly, taking his time, exploring your bottom lip and then the top, hands never leaving your face, holding you in place as he kisses your lips. After a moment, he’s kissing the corners of your mouth, the tip of your nose, the apples of your cheeks.

Your eyes flutter shut, instantly blissed-out by the attention, the gentleness in his touch making heat swell in your chest. Every time you thought about it, his coming home, your reunion after so many years apart, so many miles burned between you, you never imagined this. Dreamt it, maybe, but never imagined it as actually happening.

“It’s you, querida,” he says, and you open your eyes, finding him staring at you with reverence, those dark chocolate eyes roving over your face, thumbs swiping along your lashes. The corner of his mouth pulls into a grin, and he leans in again, giving you a kiss that’s even softer, the dipping sun painting you both with colour. “It’s always been you.”

—————

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[phandoz]

Taglist reblog

@joel-mlller @theewokingdead @littlemisspascal @aliwritesfic

Cin Vhetin - Chapter Eight

Pairing: Din Djarin x OFC (eventually…)

Warnings: None this chapter I don't think. It is my writing though so there are probably some swears in there somewhere...

Din and Cara stop for help on their mission.

See notes at the end for mando'a translations.

Chapter Seven > Chapter Nine

Chapter Eight

It was early morning on Tatooine when Din's ship touched down in the Palace's hangar. The temperature was pleasant with the suns still low in the sky, far from the oppressive dry heat that Din knew would only be hours away.

It hadn't taken much convincing to get Cara to agree to ask Sana for help. He had assured her that he would not only vouch for her, but Fett and Shand would as well.

The latter of those two now stood at the bottom of the ship's ramp, hands behind her back as she watched them descend.

"Back so soon, Mando? Anyone would think you crave our company."

"Just one of you for now."

Din clasped Fennec's hand as they met while the two women shared a nod.

"We have a job for Sana if she is interested."

Fennec's head tilted in interestat Din, a knowing smirk spreading across her face. "Oh, I'm sure she will be very interested."

"Do you know where we could find her at this hour?"

"Of course. This way."

Din and Cara fell into step behind Fennec as she lead them lower into the palace. They had gone down so many sets of stairs that Din was beginning to wonder where exactly they were going.

"You're in for a treat." Fennec teased over her shoulder.

"How so?" Cara took the bait.

"She and Boba are sparring. It's always good for a laugh. Those two really know how to push each other buttons."

As they descended down yet another flight of stairs Din could begin to hear the tell tale clack of wood on wood. Spears of some sort then. Sana had said she favoured a staff so perhaps that. Regardless he found himself quickening his step as they finally rounded a corner into an open room. Various melee weapons lined one wall but his eyes were drawn to the fighters in the middle of the room. They arrived just in time to see Sana knocked hard to the floor.

Dust flew up from where she lay on her back in the dirt.

"Where is your mind Verd'ika?" Boba's gruff voice called out to her.

Despite being early in the day, it was already growing uncomfortably warm in the lower levels of the palace. Boba was breathing heavily as he held the training staff out to Sana so she could pull herself up from the floor.

She eyed the staff with distrust, twisting it from Boba's hand before he could use her own weapon against her. "I know your tricks, Fett."

"Not all of them. Where are you today? What is going through that head of yours?"

"Nothing of your concern." Sana replied cooly as the two began to circle each other, waiting for the other to move first.

"I can spar with one of the children if this is too much for you today."

At this Sana was the first to attack, the staff a blur as it swung at Boba's torso. To make the fight even the older mandalorian had shed his armour, making him unable to block with his vambrance as he usually would. Her strikes were relentless, the staff twirling with an elegant precision, but the grunt from Boba with each strike he blocked with his own staff gave an idea of the force behind each blow.

It was mesmerising in a way, watching her move almost as if it were a dance. Her anger had clouded her judgement though and Fett saw the opening at the same time as Din, Sana leaving her right side open as Boba quickly swung back, cracking his staff against her ribs.

Sana dropped to one knee and Dins hand twitched at his side.

"You're getting sloppy. Maybe you can get some lessons, I know a Mandalorian who would be more than happy to help." Boba tilted his head in question.

Fennec was right when she said that the two fighters knew how to push each other's buttons. Sana quickly stood at this with a renewed determination and the pair began circling each other once more.

This time it was Boba on the offensive, raining blows down on Sana in quick succession, her arms shaking with the force behind each hit.

"You're getting worse the longer you stay in that head of yours. I know you're better than this" Boba now blatantly taunted.

Sana snarled in annoyance and now it was Boba on the defensive as Sana advanced. She struck high before feigning low. Boba fell for it, stumbling backwards to protect his armourless legs. She raised her training staff high, looking like she was going for the final hit to which Boba raised his own for a block. It was in that moment Sana swung low and fast, sweeping his legs clean out from underneath him. Boba hit the deck hard and could barely lift his head before the blunt point of a training weapon was pointed at his throat.

"And you're getting slow in your old age." Sana bit out.

His head fell back to the ground with a dull thud, dropping his staff and raising his hands in surrender. "You got me. Much better." he smiled proudly.

Beating Boba was no easy feat but Sana simply smiled back, chest heaving in exertion. Din watched a bead of sweat trail down from her collarbone, her tank top sticking to her like a second skin, until it disappeared from sight. Fuck.

"Drinks on the old man tonight then!" Fennec began a slow clap, finally drawing Sana and Boba's attention to the newcomers in the room.

"Like they wouldn't have been anyway..." Sana laughed under her breath as she held her hand out to Fett. Helping him up off the ground, Boba embraced her in a rough half hug around her shoulders.

"You're not half bad when you pay attention."

Sana just grinned as she shrugged his arm off, rolling her eyes at Din and turned from them to place their weapons back in the rack.

"Mando, Marshall Dune." Fett nodded in greeting and Din's attention was torn from watching Sana's back. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Marshall? Sana's back stiffened where she stood facing away from the others. Shit. She didn't think her chain code was linked to anything these days but she couldn't be sure. This woman though, a shock trooper judging by the tattoos that were proudly on display, she looked familiar.

"We were hoping to speak to Sana." Mando finally spoke up as he looked to her.

Well, shit. "Is now the time to say that I didn't do it?"

The Marshall laughed before extending her hand. "Cara Dune. Marshall of Nevarro."

Nevarro. Ah, that would be it. Sana strode forward and shook hands with the woman in blue. She had a firm handshake, enough for Sana to know that she would be hard to beat in a fight without weapons. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. It appeared that her and Din were friends at least.

"I don't even want to know what I could bring you in for. I'm here on Mando's recommendation. He assures me that you're good for a job."

Thank the maker. "Does he now?!" It didn't go unnoticed to Sana that Mando stood straighter at her raised eyebrow. He seemed... nervous.

"Well, It's disgustingly hot down here already so lets move upstairs, I'll be with you once I've changed. Meet me in my rooms in say fifteen? Mando knows the way."

Boba and Fennec were snickering at some unheard joke between themselves that must've been at Sana's expense. Sana shouldered Fett into the weapons rack on her way upstairs which only caused him to laugh even louder.

"Children..." Sana muttered before she disappeared round the corner.

Sana and Fett were like brother and sister with the way they constantly needled at each other. It was teasing on the surface but Din knew they both cared for the other deeply, just as siblings would. He envied them in a way. He turned from watching Sana leave to find Cara looking at him, brow arched in question to which he simply shrugged.

After Cara spoke with Fett and Shand for what felt like long enough, he and Cara made their way to her rooms. Din had long since been given access to a majority of the Palace by Boba, including the floor where Sana's rooms were. He knocked gently once they reached her door.

At her muffled "Come in!", he and Cara entered her rooms, coming to stand in her kitchen. Sana appeared from her bedroom and gestured they sit through a mouthful of hair pins. Din watched as she tied her hair back, her fingers twisting expertly and placing pins here and there. It was still damp from the fresher and he could smell the faint scent of her shampoo through the filters of his helmet. It smelled of citrus and some spice. Ginger, perhaps. It suited her. He wondered what it smelled like without his helmet.

"So, this job?"

That snapped him out of his, whatever it was, and he cleared his throat, sitting up straighter in the plush chairs where they were now seated.

"Intel." Cara began and Din was glad that she took over the conversation.

"And it's for the Republic?"

"Strictly speaking, no. Not officially at least."

"What do you need?"

"I'm certain we were in the right place for the information we need but the locals were pretty tight lipped. We need someone that will blend in, see what they can find out that we couldn't.

Sana lowered her eyes to Cara's tattoos and badge and back up. "Strange. Between you and the walking mirror over here you're about as subtle as they come."

Din simply sighed.

"Then you can see our problem here." Cara laughed before getting to the serious details. "There are rumours of a trafficking ring..."

The three of them were in hyperspace not even two hours later. Din had a gut feeling that the planet from which they had just left before coming to Tatooine held the information that Cara was after. After all of his years of bounty hunting he knew when to trust that feeling.

From where he sat in the cockpit he could hear the two women speaking back in the kitchen, the conversation broken with laughter every so often. It hadn't taken much convincing for Sana to agree to help them. He thought it was just an opportunity for her to get off world again, but once Cara explained why they were after the intel a look had crossed her face, and Din knew that she would agree.

An emerging trafficking ring in the Outer Rim that was making big enough waves to be picked up on the Republic's radar. The Republic didn't hold as much sway in the Outer Rim as they thought they did. There was an avoidance if not straight out distrust of them so it was no surprise that people were hesitant to speak to a Marshall.

And for Din? Well, he was used to people avoiding him as much as possible. In fact he normally enjoyed it. Until it interfered with his work.

Once he was done checking their progress and that their course was still set correctly, Din headed back to join the others. They weren't far out now.

"So, I left him out front of the very same establishment. Cuffed him to the column closest to the door. I got an extra thousand credits from the Madam for my 'thoughtfulness'."

Cara was broken, in tears of laughter, and even Din was intrigued at the conversation he had stumbled into. "Do I want to know?" He announced his presence.

Sana's face was lit up, eyes bright, when she turned to him from where she and Cara sat at the kitchen counter of his ship. The only explanation she gave him being a "Probably not."

"I'll take your word for it. So," he leaned back against the wall opposite the two women and crossed his arms. "What's the plan?"

Wiping a tear from her eye, Cara finally spoke up. "Well," she cleared her throat before turning to Sana. "Mando and I haven't had much luck getting anything out of the locals, but everything points to this planet being where things started. People must be desperate if they're willing to contact the New Republic in these parts, but they're scared enough of whoever it is that they aren't willing to be seen talking to us. There's been multiple reports of women going missing."

"I can try and get myself picked up?" Sana suggested but was quickly cut off by Mando.

"Absolutely not."

"Give me a tracker," she shrugged, "I'm happy to do it."

"No." Mando was firm. "We need information but not at that much of a risk."

"Right..." Cara glanced between the two of them where they stared at each other. "But I'm with Mando on this one, we just need information for now."

"We're about twenty minutes out. I'll give you the coordinates for a cantina that we tried when we were last here." Din had already started punching buttons on his vambrance. "It was sketchy and the people there were nervous. They know something and they weren't willing to share with us. That will be your best starting point."

"Alright, let me see what I can do."

Sana was perched as daintily as she could manage on the edge of a stool at the cantina Din had directed her to. She'd shopped briefly for a change of clothes that was far from her usual attire and allowed her to blend into the dull planet.

Sketchy was a kind description of the cantina but she agreed with Din. Somebody here knew something.

"Excuse me," She raised her fingers meekly to be served. Once she received her drink, Sana merely sat and observed. Any eye contact she made with fellow patrons she quickly broke by staring down at her feet. Slouched in on herself and trying to project weakness, it made her skin crawl to see how that appealed to at least one of the men here. Fortunately she wasn't the only one who noticed this either.

"You need to be careful around these parts." The old woman next to her at the bar looked down her crooked nose at her. Sana guessed that the scowl on the woman's face was permanent. "A young woman like yourself is an easy target for those who frequent this place."

"I don't know," Sana spoke quietly. "You could probably say the same of any planet in the galaxy."

"You could, but not like this."

Sana's eyes widened slightly in fear and let the silence hang. She had come into the cantina under the premise of asking for work, anything to try and gather the information that Din and Cara were seeking. This woman would tell her what she needed to know.

As if on cue the woman straightened her shoulders, her stern eyes glancing around the room before leaning in closer.

"Folk have gone missing. Well, women. Around the age of you, more specifically."

"Missing?" Sana made her voice quiver. "What do you mean?"

"Taken."

"By who?"

"Smugglers." The old woman looked around again before adding even more quietly. "Smugglers with links to Imperials."

"But- But the Empire is gone."

"And you believe that?"

"I- Yes, yes I do." Sana whispered, keeping up the act.

"Then you're more naïve than I thought."

"But what would the Empire want with a bunch of women?" Sana fished for more.

"Look, I don't know and frankly, I don't want to. I don't have any work for you, but I do have some advice. Don't hang around here. Get yourself off this maker forsaken planet before you end up on Jakku with the rest of those poor souls."

Jakku. Bingo.

Thanking the woman, Sana lifted her cloak over her head and made her way back to the ship where Din and Cara were waiting. Taking the long way and doubling back to make sure she wasn't being followed she finally slipped into the hangar. The ramp was down and waiting for her, Din no doubt watching her approach. Pressing the panel to close the ramp she turned and was greeted by the pair.

"You weren't followed?" Din spoke first.

"No. I took the long way and doubled back. We're clear."

"Good." He leaned back against the wall behind the shock trooper looking far more broad than should be allowed. Why must he insist on standing like that? Maker, it was distracting.

"So, how did you go?"

"Good." She drew her eyes back to Cara.

The Marshall brightened at this, glancing over her shoulder at Din where he pushed off the wall, thumb hanging on the holster at his hip. Fucking hell...

"Jakku." Sana swallowed before adding. "That's where they are taking them."

"And you got that information how exactly?" The modulated voice came from over Cara's shoulder.

"When you look harmless people will tell you anything."

"You are far from harmless."

"But they don't know that." Sana smiled. She could feel heat rising in her checks at his words. "I will take that as a compliment, you know."

"As you should. I highly enjoyed watch you put Fett on his ass." Sana could hear the grin in his voice and smiled more widely back at him before Cara cleared her throat and she was reminded that there was another person in the room.

She needed to get out of here. "I'm going to get changed before we lift off. I'll give you the full run down then." She announced before excusing herself to her usual quarters on Dins ship.

Alone in the hold, Cara broke the silence between her and Din

"Well, that was fruitful."

"It was."

"So Sana?..."

Din simply looked at Cara. He managed to hold in his sigh at the direction this conversation was taking.

"A friend huh?" Cara pushed.

"Yes."

"You look at all your friends like that?"

"Like what?"

"You tell me. You're the one who won't stop looking at her."

"I wasn't aware you could see my eyes." He tried his best to avoid this line of questioning.

"Oh, I don't need to." She let that comment hang for moment before putting him out of his misery. "Come on, let's get out of here before I have to watch you flirt with anyone else."

"Excuse me?" He wasn't flirting. Was he? Din didn't even think he knew how to flirt.

"You heard me, come on lover boy..."

"Imperials?"

They were running through what information Sana was able to gather for what felt like the fiftieth time.

"That's what the old woman said." Sana confirmed. "Was pretty certain of it too."

"I mean it does make sense that if there were any remaining supporters around that they would be hiding out here in the Outer Rim. But Trafficking women?" Cara looked thoughtful. "It doesn't seem like their style. Why?"

Sana was equally as stumped. Cara was right, it didn't add up. "Normally I would agree with you but I really don't think she's lying."

Din was however noticeably quiet at the mention of Imperials. Understandable, given his past, Sana thought. He had excused himself to the cockpit to begin their landing in Nevarro.

"I'll report this to the higher ups and see what happens from there."

The ship jolted lightly as they came to a rest on the barren surface of Nevarro. The two women walked to the ramp, Cara waiting for it to meet the ground in a cloud of black dust before making her way down.

Sana paused before following her. She was almost hesitant to leave the safety of the ship. Nevarro held... memories, and not many of them were good.

"I really can't thank you enough." Cara broke her from her thoughts before they could spiral any further. "Are to sure you won't stay for a drink?"

"I should get back to Tatooine." Nevarro still felt a bit too raw. "Thanks for the invite though. And the invite for the drink."

"You can thank Mando for that first one. I couldn't hut him up from singing your praises."

Sana heard Din's deep sigh from behind her. She hadn't even heard him make his way from the cockpit.

"You know what he's like." Sana played along. "So dramatic." The two of them laughing at Din's expense.

"Are you done?" He grumbled

"Yes, your highness."

"Dune..." Din growled in warning

Cara held her hands up in defence before turning to Sana. "If I need your help again, are you in?

"Of course."

"Good to know." The Marshall hiked her pack higher on her shoulder before casually saluting over her shoulder with an "Until next time."

Sana and Din stood at the bottom of the ramp and watched Cara's retreating form until it was swallowed by the crowds. Nevarro had changed even more from when she was last here. For the better by the looks of things.

"I have to meet Karga briefly." Din spoke from behind her. "He's the Guild Master here. You're welcome to join me."

"Thank you, but I might stay here." She wasn't sure that she could face the town today. "Catch up on some sleep before getting back."

"Of course." He glanced at the busy crowd in the distance. "I'll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything you can comm me from the cockpit. Lock the ship behind you."

"You are such a Dad." Sana smiled until she realised her mistake. Din's shoulders sank slightly and he swallowed deeply.

You idiot, Sana.

"I won't be long." was all he offered in response before striding towards the gate into the town alone, his tattered cape blowing in the suplhur scented breeze behind him.

Notes:

So I haven't posted anything since April...

*pokes head out from under rock*

I have finished off a major project at work now so my life now has significantly more free time and I'm looking forward to getting back into writing.

The last paragraph of this fic just popped into my brain while working the other day and I had to drop everything to write it down. Now I have something to aim for but I also have to get there. Shit...

As always, if you’ve made it this far and would like to read more, let me know and I’ll add you to the taglist for future chapters.

Translations:

Verd'ika: Can mean private as in the military rank or affectionately, often to a child to mean ‘little soldier’. Boba’s nickname for Sana is him being facetious.

[phandoz]

Cin Vhetin - Chapter Eight

Pairing: Din Djarin x OFC (eventually…)

Warnings: None this chapter I don't think. It is my writing though so there are probably some swears in there somewhere...

Din and Cara stop for help on their mission.

See notes at the end for mando'a translations.

Chapter Seven > Chapter Nine

Chapter Eight

It was early morning on Tatooine when Din's ship touched down in the Palace's hangar. The temperature was pleasant with the suns still low in the sky, far from the oppressive dry heat that Din knew would only be hours away.

It hadn't taken much convincing to get Cara to agree to ask Sana for help. He had assured her that he would not only vouch for her, but Fett and Shand would as well.

The latter of those two now stood at the bottom of the ship's ramp, hands behind her back as she watched them descend.

"Back so soon, Mando? Anyone would think you crave our company."

"Just one of you for now."

Din clasped Fennec's hand as they met while the two women shared a nod.

"We have a job for Sana if she is interested."

Fennec's head tilted in interestat Din, a knowing smirk spreading across her face. "Oh, I'm sure she will be very interested."

"Do you know where we could find her at this hour?"

"Of course. This way."

Din and Cara fell into step behind Fennec as she lead them lower into the palace. They had gone down so many sets of stairs that Din was beginning to wonder where exactly they were going.

"You're in for a treat." Fennec teased over her shoulder.

"How so?" Cara took the bait.

"She and Boba are sparring. It's always good for a laugh. Those two really know how to push each other buttons."

As they descended down yet another flight of stairs Din could begin to hear the tell tale clack of wood on wood. Spears of some sort then. Sana had said she favoured a staff so perhaps that. Regardless he found himself quickening his step as they finally rounded a corner into an open room. Various melee weapons lined one wall but his eyes were drawn to the fighters in the middle of the room. They arrived just in time to see Sana knocked hard to the floor.

Dust flew up from where she lay on her back in the dirt.

"Where is your mind Verd'ika?" Boba's gruff voice called out to her.

Despite being early in the day, it was already growing uncomfortably warm in the lower levels of the palace. Boba was breathing heavily as he held the training staff out to Sana so she could pull herself up from the floor.

She eyed the staff with distrust, twisting it from Boba's hand before he could use her own weapon against her. "I know your tricks, Fett."

"Not all of them. Where are you today? What is going through that head of yours?"

"Nothing of your concern." Sana replied cooly as the two began to circle each other, waiting for the other to move first.

"I can spar with one of the children if this is too much for you today."

At this Sana was the first to attack, the staff a blur as it swung at Boba's torso. To make the fight even the older mandalorian had shed his armour, making him unable to block with his vambrance as he usually would. Her strikes were relentless, the staff twirling with an elegant precision, but the grunt from Boba with each strike he blocked with his own staff gave an idea of the force behind each blow.

It was mesmerising in a way, watching her move almost as if it were a dance. Her anger had clouded her judgement though and Fett saw the opening at the same time as Din, Sana leaving her right side open as Boba quickly swung back, cracking his staff against her ribs.

Sana dropped to one knee and Dins hand twitched at his side.

"You're getting sloppy. Maybe you can get some lessons, I know a Mandalorian who would be more than happy to help." Boba tilted his head in question.

Fennec was right when she said that the two fighters knew how to push each other's buttons. Sana quickly stood at this with a renewed determination and the pair began circling each other once more.

This time it was Boba on the offensive, raining blows down on Sana in quick succession, her arms shaking with the force behind each hit.

"You're getting worse the longer you stay in that head of yours. I know you're better than this" Boba now blatantly taunted.

Sana snarled in annoyance and now it was Boba on the defensive as Sana advanced. She struck high before feigning low. Boba fell for it, stumbling backwards to protect his armourless legs. She raised her training staff high, looking like she was going for the final hit to which Boba raised his own for a block. It was in that moment Sana swung low and fast, sweeping his legs clean out from underneath him. Boba hit the deck hard and could barely lift his head before the blunt point of a training weapon was pointed at his throat.

"And you're getting slow in your old age." Sana bit out.

His head fell back to the ground with a dull thud, dropping his staff and raising his hands in surrender. "You got me. Much better." he smiled proudly.

Beating Boba was no easy feat but Sana simply smiled back, chest heaving in exertion. Din watched a bead of sweat trail down from her collarbone, her tank top sticking to her like a second skin, until it disappeared from sight. Fuck.

"Drinks on the old man tonight then!" Fennec began a slow clap, finally drawing Sana and Boba's attention to the newcomers in the room.

"Like they wouldn't have been anyway..." Sana laughed under her breath as she held her hand out to Fett. Helping him up off the ground, Boba embraced her in a rough half hug around her shoulders.

"You're not half bad when you pay attention."

Sana just grinned as she shrugged his arm off, rolling her eyes at Din and turned from them to place their weapons back in the rack.

"Mando, Marshall Dune." Fett nodded in greeting and Din's attention was torn from watching Sana's back. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Marshall? Sana's back stiffened where she stood facing away from the others. Shit. She didn't think her chain code was linked to anything these days but she couldn't be sure. This woman though, a shock trooper judging by the tattoos that were proudly on display, she looked familiar.

"We were hoping to speak to Sana." Mando finally spoke up as he looked to her.

Well, shit. "Is now the time to say that I didn't do it?"

The Marshall laughed before extending her hand. "Cara Dune. Marshall of Nevarro."

Nevarro. Ah, that would be it. Sana strode forward and shook hands with the woman in blue. She had a firm handshake, enough for Sana to know that she would be hard to beat in a fight without weapons. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. It appeared that her and Din were friends at least.

"I don't even want to know what I could bring you in for. I'm here on Mando's recommendation. He assures me that you're good for a job."

Thank the maker. "Does he now?!" It didn't go unnoticed to Sana that Mando stood straighter at her raised eyebrow. He seemed... nervous.

"Well, It's disgustingly hot down here already so lets move upstairs, I'll be with you once I've changed. Meet me in my rooms in say fifteen? Mando knows the way."

Boba and Fennec were snickering at some unheard joke between themselves that must've been at Sana's expense. Sana shouldered Fett into the weapons rack on her way upstairs which only caused him to laugh even louder.

"Children..." Sana muttered before she disappeared round the corner.

Sana and Fett were like brother and sister with the way they constantly needled at each other. It was teasing on the surface but Din knew they both cared for the other deeply, just as siblings would. He envied them in a way. He turned from watching Sana leave to find Cara looking at him, brow arched in question to which he simply shrugged.

After Cara spoke with Fett and Shand for what felt like long enough, he and Cara made their way to her rooms. Din had long since been given access to a majority of the Palace by Boba, including the floor where Sana's rooms were. He knocked gently once they reached her door.

At her muffled "Come in!", he and Cara entered her rooms, coming to stand in her kitchen. Sana appeared from her bedroom and gestured they sit through a mouthful of hair pins. Din watched as she tied her hair back, her fingers twisting expertly and placing pins here and there. It was still damp from the fresher and he could smell the faint scent of her shampoo through the filters of his helmet. It smelled of citrus and some spice. Ginger, perhaps. It suited her. He wondered what it smelled like without his helmet.

"So, this job?"

That snapped him out of his, whatever it was, and he cleared his throat, sitting up straighter in the plush chairs where they were now seated.

"Intel." Cara began and Din was glad that she took over the conversation.

"And it's for the Republic?"

"Strictly speaking, no. Not officially at least."

"What do you need?"

"I'm certain we were in the right place for the information we need but the locals were pretty tight lipped. We need someone that will blend in, see what they can find out that we couldn't.

Sana lowered her eyes to Cara's tattoos and badge and back up. "Strange. Between you and the walking mirror over here you're about as subtle as they come."

Din simply sighed.

"Then you can see our problem here." Cara laughed before getting to the serious details. "There are rumours of a trafficking ring..."

The three of them were in hyperspace not even two hours later. Din had a gut feeling that the planet from which they had just left before coming to Tatooine held the information that Cara was after. After all of his years of bounty hunting he knew when to trust that feeling.

From where he sat in the cockpit he could hear the two women speaking back in the kitchen, the conversation broken with laughter every so often. It hadn't taken much convincing for Sana to agree to help them. He thought it was just an opportunity for her to get off world again, but once Cara explained why they were after the intel a look had crossed her face, and Din knew that she would agree.

An emerging trafficking ring in the Outer Rim that was making big enough waves to be picked up on the Republic's radar. The Republic didn't hold as much sway in the Outer Rim as they thought they did. There was an avoidance if not straight out distrust of them so it was no surprise that people were hesitant to speak to a Marshall.

And for Din? Well, he was used to people avoiding him as much as possible. In fact he normally enjoyed it. Until it interfered with his work.

Once he was done checking their progress and that their course was still set correctly, Din headed back to join the others. They weren't far out now.

"So, I left him out front of the very same establishment. Cuffed him to the column closest to the door. I got an extra thousand credits from the Madam for my 'thoughtfulness'."

Cara was broken, in tears of laughter, and even Din was intrigued at the conversation he had stumbled into. "Do I want to know?" He announced his presence.

Sana's face was lit up, eyes bright, when she turned to him from where she and Cara sat at the kitchen counter of his ship. The only explanation she gave him being a "Probably not."

"I'll take your word for it. So," he leaned back against the wall opposite the two women and crossed his arms. "What's the plan?"

Wiping a tear from her eye, Cara finally spoke up. "Well," she cleared her throat before turning to Sana. "Mando and I haven't had much luck getting anything out of the locals, but everything points to this planet being where things started. People must be desperate if they're willing to contact the New Republic in these parts, but they're scared enough of whoever it is that they aren't willing to be seen talking to us. There's been multiple reports of women going missing."

"I can try and get myself picked up?" Sana suggested but was quickly cut off by Mando.

"Absolutely not."

"Give me a tracker," she shrugged, "I'm happy to do it."

"No." Mando was firm. "We need information but not at that much of a risk."

"Right..." Cara glanced between the two of them where they stared at each other. "But I'm with Mando on this one, we just need information for now."

"We're about twenty minutes out. I'll give you the coordinates for a cantina that we tried when we were last here." Din had already started punching buttons on his vambrance. "It was sketchy and the people there were nervous. They know something and they weren't willing to share with us. That will be your best starting point."

"Alright, let me see what I can do."

Sana was perched as daintily as she could manage on the edge of a stool at the cantina Din had directed her to. She'd shopped briefly for a change of clothes that was far from her usual attire and allowed her to blend into the dull planet.

Sketchy was a kind description of the cantina but she agreed with Din. Somebody here knew something.

"Excuse me," She raised her fingers meekly to be served. Once she received her drink, Sana merely sat and observed. Any eye contact she made with fellow patrons she quickly broke by staring down at her feet. Slouched in on herself and trying to project weakness, it made her skin crawl to see how that appealed to at least one of the men here. Fortunately she wasn't the only one who noticed this either.

"You need to be careful around these parts." The old woman next to her at the bar looked down her crooked nose at her. Sana guessed that the scowl on the woman's face was permanent. "A young woman like yourself is an easy target for those who frequent this place."

"I don't know," Sana spoke quietly. "You could probably say the same of any planet in the galaxy."

"You could, but not like this."

Sana's eyes widened slightly in fear and let the silence hang. She had come into the cantina under the premise of asking for work, anything to try and gather the information that Din and Cara were seeking. This woman would tell her what she needed to know.

As if on cue the woman straightened her shoulders, her stern eyes glancing around the room before leaning in closer.

"Folk have gone missing. Well, women. Around the age of you, more specifically."

"Missing?" Sana made her voice quiver. "What do you mean?"

"Taken."

"By who?"

"Smugglers." The old woman looked around again before adding even more quietly. "Smugglers with links to Imperials."

"But- But the Empire is gone."

"And you believe that?"

"I- Yes, yes I do." Sana whispered, keeping up the act.

"Then you're more naïve than I thought."

"But what would the Empire want with a bunch of women?" Sana fished for more.

"Look, I don't know and frankly, I don't want to. I don't have any work for you, but I do have some advice. Don't hang around here. Get yourself off this maker forsaken planet before you end up on Jakku with the rest of those poor souls."

Jakku. Bingo.

Thanking the woman, Sana lifted her cloak over her head and made her way back to the ship where Din and Cara were waiting. Taking the long way and doubling back to make sure she wasn't being followed she finally slipped into the hangar. The ramp was down and waiting for her, Din no doubt watching her approach. Pressing the panel to close the ramp she turned and was greeted by the pair.

"You weren't followed?" Din spoke first.

"No. I took the long way and doubled back. We're clear."

"Good." He leaned back against the wall behind the shock trooper looking far more broad than should be allowed. Why must he insist on standing like that? Maker, it was distracting.

"So, how did you go?"

"Good." She drew her eyes back to Cara.

The Marshall brightened at this, glancing over her shoulder at Din where he pushed off the wall, thumb hanging on the holster at his hip. Fucking hell...

"Jakku." Sana swallowed before adding. "That's where they are taking them."

"And you got that information how exactly?" The modulated voice came from over Cara's shoulder.

"When you look harmless people will tell you anything."

"You are far from harmless."

"But they don't know that." Sana smiled. She could feel heat rising in her checks at his words. "I will take that as a compliment, you know."

"As you should. I highly enjoyed watch you put Fett on his ass." Sana could hear the grin in his voice and smiled more widely back at him before Cara cleared her throat and she was reminded that there was another person in the room.

She needed to get out of here. "I'm going to get changed before we lift off. I'll give you the full run down then." She announced before excusing herself to her usual quarters on Dins ship.

Alone in the hold, Cara broke the silence between her and Din

"Well, that was fruitful."

"It was."

"So Sana?..."

Din simply looked at Cara. He managed to hold in his sigh at the direction this conversation was taking.

"A friend huh?" Cara pushed.

"Yes."

"You look at all your friends like that?"

"Like what?"

"You tell me. You're the one who won't stop looking at her."

"I wasn't aware you could see my eyes." He tried his best to avoid this line of questioning.

"Oh, I don't need to." She let that comment hang for moment before putting him out of his misery. "Come on, let's get out of here before I have to watch you flirt with anyone else."

"Excuse me?" He wasn't flirting. Was he? Din didn't even think he knew how to flirt.

"You heard me, come on lover boy..."

"Imperials?"

They were running through what information Sana was able to gather for what felt like the fiftieth time.

"That's what the old woman said." Sana confirmed. "Was pretty certain of it too."

"I mean it does make sense that if there were any remaining supporters around that they would be hiding out here in the Outer Rim. But Trafficking women?" Cara looked thoughtful. "It doesn't seem like their style. Why?"

Sana was equally as stumped. Cara was right, it didn't add up. "Normally I would agree with you but I really don't think she's lying."

Din was however noticeably quiet at the mention of Imperials. Understandable, given his past, Sana thought. He had excused himself to the cockpit to begin their landing in Nevarro.

"I'll report this to the higher ups and see what happens from there."

The ship jolted lightly as they came to a rest on the barren surface of Nevarro. The two women walked to the ramp, Cara waiting for it to meet the ground in a cloud of black dust before making her way down.

Sana paused before following her. She was almost hesitant to leave the safety of the ship. Nevarro held... memories, and not many of them were good.

"I really can't thank you enough." Cara broke her from her thoughts before they could spiral any further. "Are to sure you won't stay for a drink?"

"I should get back to Tatooine." Nevarro still felt a bit too raw. "Thanks for the invite though. And the invite for the drink."

"You can thank Mando for that first one. I couldn't hut him up from singing your praises."

Sana heard Din's deep sigh from behind her. She hadn't even heard him make his way from the cockpit.

"You know what he's like." Sana played along. "So dramatic." The two of them laughing at Din's expense.

"Are you done?" He grumbled

"Yes, your highness."

"Dune..." Din growled in warning

Cara held her hands up in defence before turning to Sana. "If I need your help again, are you in?

"Of course."

"Good to know." The Marshall hiked her pack higher on her shoulder before casually saluting over her shoulder with an "Until next time."

Sana and Din stood at the bottom of the ramp and watched Cara's retreating form until it was swallowed by the crowds. Nevarro had changed even more from when she was last here. For the better by the looks of things.

"I have to meet Karga briefly." Din spoke from behind her. "He's the Guild Master here. You're welcome to join me."

"Thank you, but I might stay here." She wasn't sure that she could face the town today. "Catch up on some sleep before getting back."

"Of course." He glanced at the busy crowd in the distance. "I'll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything you can comm me from the cockpit. Lock the ship behind you."

"You are such a Dad." Sana smiled until she realised her mistake. Din's shoulders sank slightly and he swallowed deeply.

You idiot, Sana.

"I won't be long." was all he offered in response before striding towards the gate into the town alone, his tattered cape blowing in the suplhur scented breeze behind him.

Notes:

So I haven't posted anything since April...

*pokes head out from under rock*

I have finished off a major project at work now so my life now has significantly more free time and I'm looking forward to getting back into writing.

The last paragraph of this fic just popped into my brain while working the other day and I had to drop everything to write it down. Now I have something to aim for but I also have to get there. Shit...

As always, if you’ve made it this far and would like to read more, let me know and I’ll add you to the taglist for future chapters.

Translations:

Verd'ika: Can mean private as in the military rank or affectionately, often to a child to mean ‘little soldier’. Boba’s nickname for Sana is him being facetious.

#the mandalorian fan fiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x ofc #din djarin x ofc #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fic #din djarin x original female character

[phandoz]

Words to describe facial expressions

Absent: preoccupied 

Agonized: as if in pain or tormented

Alluring: attractive, in the sense of arousing desire

Appealing: attractive, in the sense of encouraging goodwill and/or interest

Beatific: blissful

Black: angry or sad, or hostile

Bleak: hopeless

Blinking: surprise, or lack of concern

Blithe: carefree, lighthearted, or heedlessly indifferent

Brooding: anxious and gloomy

Bug eyed: frightened or surprised

Chagrined: humiliated or disappointed

Cheeky: cocky, insolent

Cheerless: sad

Choleric: hot-tempered, irate

Darkly: with depressed or malevolent feelings

Deadpan: expressionless, to conceal emotion or heighten humor

Despondent: depressed or discouraged

Doleful: sad or afflicted

Dour: stern or obstinate

Dreamy: distracted by daydreaming or fantasizing

Ecstatic: delighted or entranced

Faint: cowardly, weak, or barely perceptible

Fixed: concentrated or immobile

Gazing: staring intently

Glancing: staring briefly as if curious but evasive

Glazed: expressionless due to fatigue or confusion

Grim: fatalistic or pessimistic

Grave: serious, expressing emotion due to loss or sadness

Haunted: frightened, worried, or guilty

Hopeless: depressed by a lack of encouragement or optimism

Hostile: aggressively angry, intimidating, or resistant

Hunted: tense as if worried about pursuit

Jeering: insulting or mocking

Languid: lazy or weak

Leering: sexually suggestive

Mild: easygoing

Mischievous: annoyingly or maliciously playful

Pained: affected with discomfort or pain

Peering: with curiosity or suspicion

Peeved: annoyed

Pleading: seeking apology or assistance

Quizzical: questioning or confused

Radiant: bright, happy

Sanguine: bloodthirsty, confident

Sardonic: mocking

Sour: unpleasant

Sullen: resentful

Vacant: blank or stupid looking

Wan: pale, sickly

Wary: cautious or cunning

Wide eyed: frightened or surprised

Withering: devastating

Wrathful: indignant or vengeful

Wry: twisted or crooked to express cleverness or a dark or ironic feeling

#writing tips

[phandoz]

For science...

Din Djarin for StarVogue Magazine, 9ABY pt.1

#din djarin #gifs

[phandoz]

#i feel attacked

[phandoz]

It's that time of week 🙌

Week 11

Another wonderful submission, this time from @lady-of-glass-and-bone who is also the photographer, who is happy to provide any information should you have questions as to the location and what. If you’re interested in sending in a submission, check out our pinned post for details.

If this prompt inspires you, here a few guidelines to keep in mind when participating:

1. Remember to tag @writer-wednesday and #Writer Wednesday, we want to see all the amazing stories you create. This also gives us a chance to reblog on this page, so others can enjoy as well.

2. Tag your fics correctly. If you’re writing a reader insert please note if it is a Female, Male, Gender Neutral, etc… Some content may be triggering to readers and we want to respect that, so tag all warnings appropriately.

3. Share this post, so other writers can play too!

4. HAVE FUN! (And remember to reblog, comment, and like).

#writer wednesday #writing challenge #write something #any fandom #all are welcome #support content creators #support writers #reblog and boost please #submission

[phandoz]

He wanted to know until he didn't...

Thank you so much for reading ❤️

Morning Debrief

For Week 8 @writer-wednesday

Summary: Benjamin Miller is a better gossip than cook.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only folks

Warnings: Some swears and brief mentions of sexy times

A/N: Gave myself half an hour to vomit this idea out of my sleep deprived brain at 1am and for that, I apologise.

"I'm sorry about the eggs."

Benjamin Miller apologised sheepishly from where he sat opposite you.

You smiled down at your plate. As much as he tried, he really was a terrible cook.

"Don't worry about it," you managed to get out through a half chewed mouthful. "They're a bit like my brain at the minute," You speared a chunk of the white rubber that was once an egg. "A bit rough around the edges."

"I heard you get in late." He mentioned offhandedly. "Good night?" It seemed like innocent, light conversation but you knew Ben well enough to know better.

"You could say that. What is this, your morning debrief?!" Your eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"That's exactly what this is and you are trying to avoid the question. You pulled, didn't you?!" He waggled his eyebrows at you, thoroughly pleased with himself.

"You could say that."

Your eyes remained on your plate but you could see Benny lean forward in anticipation. Here we go.

"A lady never tells though I suppose..." He trailed off dramatically.

"You know, I think that's one of the nicest things you've ever said to me."

He held his hand to his heart in a mix of sadness and offence but you both grinned like idiots at each other. Your efforts to dodge his prying would only last so long. You knew this from experience.

You had originally stumbled into each other's lives when you had moved to town and were looking for somewhere to live. You needed a room and you suspected that he needed to fill a lonely house with some company more than anything. Regardless, the two of you had fast become close friends.

The kitchen was quiet bar the sound of cutlery on plates as you both persevered in eating Benny's abomination. The silence didn't last long as he tried again for more details.

"So, who is this mysterious stranger you met after my fight?"

"After your fight?! You're taking credit for it then?

"You could say that."

Using your own words against you. He was feeling cocky today. You scoffed as you took a sip of your now lukewarm coffee.

Benny wrinkled his nose at the mug in your hand. He gave you shit for it ever since sending you some stupid BuzzFeed article that said people who drank black coffee were more likely to be psychopaths. You might just prove that this morning.

"All I'm saying is that he must be a massive fan of mine if you met him at the bar during my celebratory drinks."

You smirk. If there is one thing that will make him back down it is playing him at his own game. If he wants details, he'll get them.

"He was massive alright." You replied nonchalantly.

Benny's eyes widened and he choked on the last of the eggs he had been shovelling into his mouth. "I didn't think anything could make this breakfast taste worse, but there you go. I think I've lost my appetite."

He pushed his chair back, deliberately letting the wooden legs grate over the floor like nails on a chalkboard. He smiled innocently as he stood, knowing the noise made your eye twitch in annoyance every time, before turning his back to you at the sink.

"Good for you though. It's about time you got back out there after that last asshole."

He was right about that.

"Well, I'm glad I have your blessing, oh wise Benjamin" you joked, trying to lighten the serious turn the conversation had taken.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah I do." Did you ever. "Thanks Ben."

You saw a shadow cast from behind you appear on the floor. This should be good. The figure crossed the threshold silently into the kitchen and you soon felt warm arms slide down to your waist before giving you a light squeeze. You let your head fall back until it hit a solid stomach, closing your eyes as a warm smile spread across your face. You felt pleasantly loose this morning despite the late night activities you engaged in with the man now stood behind you. Late night, early morning, it was all a blur. One hazy, sweet, orgasm filled blur that left you wondering why the hell you hadn't done this sooner.

"I just want you to be happy." Benny continued none the wiser, the sounds of him viciously scrubbing the blackened pan filling the room. "We've been living together for like, what, three years now?"

"Mmmm," you replied distractedly as the arms around you slid up to your shoulders, "Best three years of your life, right?"

"Obviously, but you're like a sister to me."

A nose in the crook of your neck gently nudged your head to the left so plush lips could latch on to your neck.

"You deserve to be happy. I keep saying the same thing to Fish you know. You two are as bad as each other."

Teeth grazed across your skin before a tongue darted out to sooth along the same path. "Oh yeah?" You managed to smother the waver in your voice. Why hadn't you done this sooner?

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure I caught him checking out your ass the other day though, that's a step in the right direction I suppose."

"Francisco Morales..." you tsked in mock scandal before a calloused hand squeezed your breast through your tank top in response, thumb flicking across the nipple teasingly.

"You know if lover boy were still here, he would be more than welcome for breakfast, right?"

"Oh, he knows." The man behind you stood up straight and moved his hands innocently to the back of your chair as he finally announced his presence.

Ben's back straightened immediately. "Fish." He turned, hand on one hip in his best attempt at an overprotective brother stance. "You old dog." It might have been intimidating if not for his shit eating grin.

Frankie bent down to redirect your fork of eggs to his own mouth. After chewing for far longer than expected he politely declined any future offer of Benny's.

"I think I'll pass on the offer of breakfast. Jesus Christ Ben, you still can't cook for shit."

"Well you're more than welcome to do better."

"I can and I should. But, I actually had something else in mind for breakfast and it doesnt involve you."

"Ugh, in my own house Fish?! This is a kitchen. People eat here."

"I can eat here if you want."

You happily watched the back and forth between the two friends over your coffee as Benny's jaw dropped the moment he got the innuendo. You also found yourself subconsciously rubbing your thighs together under the table, the skin there anticipating that same delicious scratch of facial hair from the night before. This confidence. It was a good look on Frankie and damn if it wasn't doing something for you right now.

"You know what, I'm going to the gym and then I'm going to Wills. I can't deal with this right now."

"Don't hurry back." You chirped

"You sure?" Benny looked right at you as he stage whispered. "Fish is getting pretty old these days."

"It's not so bad," you shrugged. "Flying for all those years has really paid off for him. Great with his hands. He does this thing-"

"Alright. Just stop." Benny held a hand up, the other hastily snatched his keys from the counter, and headed for the door. "Just message me when it's safe to come back or something."

"Fine." You conceded, "But as I was saying-"

"No! Bye!" The door slammed shut and Ben's truck could be heard starting up only moments later.

You looked up to Frankie where he stood at your side as you sipped your coffee, licking your bottom lip for the stray drop that may have been intentional on your part.

"You know," Frankie cleared his throat, dragging his eyes from your lips back up to your eyes, "I read somewhere that coffee before sex gives you better orgasms."

"Honestly, what is it with you guys and your shitty BuzzFeed articles." You rolled your eyes.

"Benny sends me at least one a day." Frankie shrugged.

"What is he, like fifteen? Of course he does."

You swayed your hips just a little bit more than usual as you crossed to the sink, placing your dishes inside for later when you could think about anything else besides what Frankie had planned for you.

Before you know it he is behind you, hands gliding down your sides before slipping into your sleep shorts, grabbing a handful of each bare cheek.

"Well, their research wasn't conclusive. You going to finish that?" He nodded to your mug.

"And you are nothing if not thorough are you. Bottoms up, Morales" You wink over your shoulder as you tip your head back onto his shoulder to drink the rest, the angle giving him a clear view of your cleavage while pushing your ass back into him.

"Mmm, bottoms up." His voice rumbles next to your ear, giving your ass a playful slap. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

Tags:

@tuskens-mando @littlemisspascal @asta-lily @radiowallet @aliwritesfic

#francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fic #frankie x reader #comment reblog

[phandoz]

My first thought was "Shit, I hope that plant is all good"

The Book of Boba Fett 1.04: The Gathering Storm

#the book of boba fett #tbobf #gifs #the mandalorian

[phandoz]

The shit talking is real. At least I imagine it to be. Thank you so much for reading xx

Morning Debrief

For Week 8 @writer-wednesday

Summary: Benjamin Miller is a better gossip than cook.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only folks

Warnings: Some swears and brief mentions of sexy times

A/N: Gave myself half an hour to vomit this idea out of my sleep deprived brain at 1am and for that, I apologise.

"I'm sorry about the eggs."

Benjamin Miller apologised sheepishly from where he sat opposite you.

You smiled down at your plate. As much as he tried, he really was a terrible cook.

"Don't worry about it," you managed to get out through a half chewed mouthful. "They're a bit like my brain at the minute," You speared a chunk of the white rubber that was once an egg. "A bit rough around the edges."

"I heard you get in late." He mentioned offhandedly. "Good night?" It seemed like innocent, light conversation but you knew Ben well enough to know better.

"You could say that. What is this, your morning debrief?!" Your eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"That's exactly what this is and you are trying to avoid the question. You pulled, didn't you?!" He waggled his eyebrows at you, thoroughly pleased with himself.

"You could say that."

Your eyes remained on your plate but you could see Benny lean forward in anticipation. Here we go.

"A lady never tells though I suppose..." He trailed off dramatically.

"You know, I think that's one of the nicest things you've ever said to me."

He held his hand to his heart in a mix of sadness and offence but you both grinned like idiots at each other. Your efforts to dodge his prying would only last so long. You knew this from experience.

You had originally stumbled into each other's lives when you had moved to town and were looking for somewhere to live. You needed a room and you suspected that he needed to fill a lonely house with some company more than anything. Regardless, the two of you had fast become close friends.

The kitchen was quiet bar the sound of cutlery on plates as you both persevered in eating Benny's abomination. The silence didn't last long as he tried again for more details.

"So, who is this mysterious stranger you met after my fight?"

"After your fight?! You're taking credit for it then?

"You could say that."

Using your own words against you. He was feeling cocky today. You scoffed as you took a sip of your now lukewarm coffee.

Benny wrinkled his nose at the mug in your hand. He gave you shit for it ever since sending you some stupid BuzzFeed article that said people who drank black coffee were more likely to be psychopaths. You might just prove that this morning.

"All I'm saying is that he must be a massive fan of mine if you met him at the bar during my celebratory drinks."

You smirk. If there is one thing that will make him back down it is playing him at his own game. If he wants details, he'll get them.

"He was massive alright." You replied nonchalantly.

Benny's eyes widened and he choked on the last of the eggs he had been shovelling into his mouth. "I didn't think anything could make this breakfast taste worse, but there you go. I think I've lost my appetite."

He pushed his chair back, deliberately letting the wooden legs grate over the floor like nails on a chalkboard. He smiled innocently as he stood, knowing the noise made your eye twitch in annoyance every time, before turning his back to you at the sink.

"Good for you though. It's about time you got back out there after that last asshole."

He was right about that.

"Well, I'm glad I have your blessing, oh wise Benjamin" you joked, trying to lighten the serious turn the conversation had taken.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah I do." Did you ever. "Thanks Ben."

You saw a shadow cast from behind you appear on the floor. This should be good. The figure crossed the threshold silently into the kitchen and you soon felt warm arms slide down to your waist before giving you a light squeeze. You let your head fall back until it hit a solid stomach, closing your eyes as a warm smile spread across your face. You felt pleasantly loose this morning despite the late night activities you engaged in with the man now stood behind you. Late night, early morning, it was all a blur. One hazy, sweet, orgasm filled blur that left you wondering why the hell you hadn't done this sooner.

"I just want you to be happy." Benny continued none the wiser, the sounds of him viciously scrubbing the blackened pan filling the room. "We've been living together for like, what, three years now?"

"Mmmm," you replied distractedly as the arms around you slid up to your shoulders, "Best three years of your life, right?"

"Obviously, but you're like a sister to me."

A nose in the crook of your neck gently nudged your head to the left so plush lips could latch on to your neck.

"You deserve to be happy. I keep saying the same thing to Fish you know. You two are as bad as each other."

Teeth grazed across your skin before a tongue darted out to sooth along the same path. "Oh yeah?" You managed to smother the waver in your voice. Why hadn't you done this sooner?

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure I caught him checking out your ass the other day though, that's a step in the right direction I suppose."

"Francisco Morales..." you tsked in mock scandal before a calloused hand squeezed your breast through your tank top in response, thumb flicking across the nipple teasingly.

"You know if lover boy were still here, he would be more than welcome for breakfast, right?"

"Oh, he knows." The man behind you stood up straight and moved his hands innocently to the back of your chair as he finally announced his presence.

Ben's back straightened immediately. "Fish." He turned, hand on one hip in his best attempt at an overprotective brother stance. "You old dog." It might have been intimidating if not for his shit eating grin.

Frankie bent down to redirect your fork of eggs to his own mouth. After chewing for far longer than expected he politely declined any future offer of Benny's.

"I think I'll pass on the offer of breakfast. Jesus Christ Ben, you still can't cook for shit."

"Well you're more than welcome to do better."

"I can and I should. But, I actually had something else in mind for breakfast and it doesnt involve you."

"Ugh, in my own house Fish?! This is a kitchen. People eat here."

"I can eat here if you want."

You happily watched the back and forth between the two friends over your coffee as Benny's jaw dropped the moment he got the innuendo. You also found yourself subconsciously rubbing your thighs together under the table, the skin there anticipating that same delicious scratch of facial hair from the night before. This confidence. It was a good look on Frankie and damn if it wasn't doing something for you right now.

"You know what, I'm going to the gym and then I'm going to Wills. I can't deal with this right now."

"Don't hurry back." You chirped

"You sure?" Benny looked right at you as he stage whispered. "Fish is getting pretty old these days."

"It's not so bad," you shrugged. "Flying for all those years has really paid off for him. Great with his hands. He does this thing-"

"Alright. Just stop." Benny held a hand up, the other hastily snatched his keys from the counter, and headed for the door. "Just message me when it's safe to come back or something."

"Fine." You conceded, "But as I was saying-"

"No! Bye!" The door slammed shut and Ben's truck could be heard starting up only moments later.

You looked up to Frankie where he stood at your side as you sipped your coffee, licking your bottom lip for the stray drop that may have been intentional on your part.

"You know," Frankie cleared his throat, dragging his eyes from your lips back up to your eyes, "I read somewhere that coffee before sex gives you better orgasms."

"Honestly, what is it with you guys and your shitty BuzzFeed articles." You rolled your eyes.

"Benny sends me at least one a day." Frankie shrugged.

"What is he, like fifteen? Of course he does."

You swayed your hips just a little bit more than usual as you crossed to the sink, placing your dishes inside for later when you could think about anything else besides what Frankie had planned for you.

Before you know it he is behind you, hands gliding down your sides before slipping into your sleep shorts, grabbing a handful of each bare cheek.

"Well, their research wasn't conclusive. You going to finish that?" He nodded to your mug.

"And you are nothing if not thorough are you. Bottoms up, Morales" You wink over your shoulder as you tip your head back onto his shoulder to drink the rest, the angle giving him a clear view of your cleavage while pushing your ass back into him.

"Mmm, bottoms up." His voice rumbles next to your ear, giving your ass a playful slap. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

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@tuskens-mando @littlemisspascal @asta-lily @radiowallet @aliwritesfic

#frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fic #comment reblog