*sweeps All Of My AU Ideas Under The Rug* Why Must I Be Called Out This Way?

My Side of the Fence

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (no Y/N) Word Count: 6685 Warnings: Swearing, fluff, a small touch of angst, brief mention of death, brief mention of a terminal illness, drinking. Summary: When you move in next door to help take care of your ailing aunt, you and Frankie form a budding friendship as you live out your lives on opposite sides of the fence line, that maybe could be something more. A/N: Unbeta’d. Also, any Spanish is courtesy of Google Translate, so I profusely apologize to any native speakers if something is incorrect. This series has a Spotify playlist that you can find on the Series Masterlist. Some suggested listening for this chapter would be: Forever’s Gotta Start Somewhere by Chad Brownlee, Unbreakable Heart by JJ Heller, and Shallow by Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper.

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Next

It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon. The baby is down for her nap. Santiago is inside getting the two of them drinks. Will and Benny, as always, are late to arrive. It’s game day; the Marlins versus the Phillies. The countertops of his kitchen bogged down in an array of chips, dips, and other snacks. Frankie could be inside, relaxing in the coolness of the air conditioning instead of the buzzing heat of a Florida summer. But he’s not.

For the last fifteen minutes or so, he’s been sitting on a patio chair under the shade of his front porch. Watching you. As you hoist cardboard boxes from the dark green Chevy Trailblazer parked haphazardly in front of the house next door. The front passenger tire is rolled up over the curb, the guts of it stacked ceiling-high with moving boxes, baskets of laundry, and totes of random kitsch. A rickety trailer filled with mismatched bedroom furniture is hitched behind it.

He’s been watching, partly out of curiosity, while he’s been fumbling to string together the right words in his head. Words that would entice you to accept his offer of help without him coming off as some creepy old man. They taunt him, glued at the tip of his tongue, while he sits and broods over his continued silence.

“Your new neighbor is kinda cute, Fish,” Santiago comments offhandedly as he pops out of the front door, gawking over the top of the fence at you. He’s got two longneck beers fisted in one hand, the condensation dripping down the brown glass in thick beads while he stares. He diverts his attention back to Frankie, letting the screen door shut with a squeak-thunk as he strolls over. He drops into one of the wicker patio chairs beside him, holding out one of the beers.

Frankie grabs it as Santi takes a long swig from his, watching as you bound back towards your vehicle.

Santiago quirks an eyebrow and points towards the neighbor’s house with the mouth of his bottle, “What happened to the sweet lady who lived there? I liked her.”

“She’s still around,” Frankie shrugs, sipping his beer. The lady in question, Miss Robin, has lived beside him since he moved in, right after he got out of the service. A little eccentric, she’d quickly earned herself the title of his favorite neighbor. She’d cemented the sentiment further when she’d staunchly supported him after the spectacular failure of his marriage. They’ve had so many conversations he’s lost track of most of them.

She’s old school. Classic. Kooky, but fun.

He’s never seen her go a day without donning ruby red lipstick, an ornate flower crown in her hair, and cat-eye glasses attached to a chain around her neck. She and her wife, Virginia, used to throw the wackiest themed parties for their friends that carried on until the cops came out to shut them down. And every Christmas or birthday, she mails him a handwritten card, even though there’s, at best, ten yards between their houses.

Of course, the parties stopped when Ginny passed away from heart complications just before his daughter Viviana was born. The cards are shorter now, the penmanship less clear. Miss Robin’s health hasn't been doing so great lately. She used to greet him at the fence line when he’d get home from work. Give Vivi a smooch on her chubby baby cheek. A bright red lip print left behind. Matching giggles floating between them as they babbled together.

These days he’s lucky if they get a wave from the picture window out front. She’s gotten frail. Lipstick sloppy and flower crown askew from her shaky hands. She can’t go anywhere these days without a tank of oxygen. It was a shit hand she’d been dealt and he hated watching as her exuberance faded.

She didn’t have any kids of her own, but she had siblings and nieces and nephews aplenty. As her illness progressed, it was getting too hard for her to manage the dishes, laundry, yard work, and other chores by herself. He’d done what he could for her: mow the lawn, bring up her mail, haul her trash bins back and forth from the curb. It was kind, but in the long run, he knew there was no way he could manage both his side of the fence and hers. That’s why you were there.

She’d told him you were her favorite niece as he brought a bundle of bills and junk mail to her door one day. She’d ushered him and Vivi into her flower-laden backyard to explain the new face that would be arriving soon. She knew he would worry about a stranger flitting around her house every day. She’d sat with him on the back patio, sipping ice tea and soaking in the late afternoon sun. Vivi chased butterflies and bugs on her wobbly toddler legs while she told him near everything about you. By the time she was done, the pitcher of tea was empty, the sun was dipping below the horizon, and his daughter was dozing off in his lap. He’d left that day feeling like he knew you almost as well as she did.

That was part of the reason he felt like such a dick right now, watching you fumble with a too-large box as you twisted to fit it through the front door. He eyes the furniture in the trailer critically, wondering how you planned to get it inside by yourself.

“Where the hell are Ironhead and Benny?” Santi questions, checking his watch and glancing both ways down the block, “First pitch is in twenty minutes and-” he trails off when he realizes Frankie isn’t paying attention. He stares between his best friend and you, observing how Frankie’s eyes follow you with each trip you take from the car to the house.

He hums to himself thoughtfully and then chugs the rest of his beer. Smacking his lips with a satisfied “Aah,” before leaping to his feet with a clap of his hands. Frankie watches, dumbstruck, as he saunters to the fence line, leaning against the chain-link as he calls out to you, “Hey gorgeous! You need some help? I promise we don’t bite.”

You’re half-in, half-out of the backseat, reaching for a laundry basket of clean clothes when you hear him and turn his way. He’s handsome with his sharp jaw, dark wavy hair with streaks of silver, and five o’clock shadow. He’s got an almost cocky smile broad on his face while he waits for your answer.

You throw back a grin at him, “Uh, sure. Thanks!”

Aunt Robin has mentioned her neighbors to you. To give you the lay of the land, so to speak. Most were ho-hum, but there were some compelling characters mixed in. There was the nosy biddy three houses down, who eked out her old age gawking at everyone from her windows and reporting “persons of interest” to the neighborhood watch. Then there was the middle-aged couple across the street with two mischievous teenage sons. The boys like to swipe lawn ornaments and set them up in wildly inappropriate scenes across the neighborhood. Lastly, and Aunt Robin’s most-loved neighbor, was the divorced father who lived just next door. He always looked out for her, his daughter was sweet, and she found his friends to be such interesting young men.

You’ve heard a lot about him, actually. More so than any of the others. If this is him, though, he’s different from how you pictured. Cheekier and less reserved than what had been described to you.

“Catfish!” Santiago turns to shout at Frankie, “Let’s help the lady out!”

Leave it to Santi to throw around his swagger and resolve the issue he’d been mulling over for too long.

Unlike his friend, Frankie abandons the barely drank beer in his hands on the deck of the porch. Broad hands swiping the silent baby monitor from the railing beside him as he shuffles down the steps. He’s still clipping it to a belt loop as Santiago is rounding the fence, swinging around the end post into the next yard.

“Pendejo,” Frankie mutters, lifting his well-worn hat off his head to card through his hair, and replacing it before he follows after. He loiters a few paces behind Santi, as you hand his friend one of the boxes from the backseat of the SUV.

He shifts it so he can hold it one-handed, flashing a charming smile as he extends a palm out to you in introduction, “Santiago Garcia.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, offering him your name in return and then glancing over his shoulder. The man behind Santiago is handsome too. He’s a bit taller and more broad than his friend, with coffee-brown hair that winds up around the edges of his ball cap in soft-looking curlicues. You can see a thin silver-white scar just under his left eye that stands out against his tanned skin. He’s got rugged salt and pepper scruff and a matching mustache that twitches along with his upper lip as his eyes meet yours. They are a warm, rich brown and they roam over you, examining your features the same way you did his. Between the two, you think he’s the more attractive one.

Santi follows your line of sight to Frankie, a little amused at being so utterly forgotten, “Fish, stop lurking back there and say hi.”

With that, he readjusts the box in his arms and heads towards the front door, not even asking where that particular parcel belongs. Frankie takes a reluctant step forward, scratching nervously at the nape of his neck. You’re damn pretty. He already knew that, sort of. Miss Robin had shared a few old photos with him, but boy, were they poor comparison to the real thing before him now. It sure as fuck made him more jittery as he reached to shake your hand, too.

You notice how your whole hand is engulfed by his palm and the curves of his fingers. Rough and work calloused, his hand seems a perfect match to the man before you. Beat-up ball cap, red t-shirt stretched out at the neckline from wear and washed out jeans. He has all the appearance of a hardworking, easy-going man. And you like that.

“So...Fish, was it?” you question, raising your eyebrows in unison when he remains silent.

It’s mostly because he can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you are.

“It’s Francisco,” he replies, clearing his throat and finally speaking, “or, uh, Frankie. Morales,” then he points to the house behind him with a jerk of his thumb, hoping you don’t notice the weeds in the flowerbeds or the porch rails with their chipping paint, “I live next door.”

As if that wasn’t fucking obvious. He mentally groans at his own stupidity, but you don’t notice as you hit him with a million-watt smile that shoots right to his heart.

“So, you’re the neighbor!” you say excitedly, pulling him into an unexpected hug that leaves him reeling as you continue, “Aunt Robin told me about how wonderful you’ve been to her since she got sick. You have no idea how worried we’ve all been about her being in the house by herself.”

“U-uh,” Frankie stumbles for a reply before one catches on his tongue, “I-It’s no problem. Neighbors are supposed to look out for each other.”

“Well, I really appreciate it,” you beam, pulling back to look him earnestly in the face, “Not enough people feel that way these days.”

Admittedly, he probably has an outdated view of urban Americana and maybe it might be suitable if he lived anywhere else. The neighborhood he lives in isn’t the greatest. Thirty or so years ago it was the ideal with its cookie-cutter houses and tree-lined streets. Nowadays too many families have been pulling out of the city for suburbia and the country. The houses ended up sitting vacant or converted to rentals, leased to sketchy college students looking for cheap rent off-campus. The ones that stayed behind were either too attached to their homes, like Miss Robin, or couldn’t afford to move, like him.

He offers you a lopsided grin that pulls a dimple into his right cheek as he motions to the back of your vehicle, “What should I grab?”

“Anything is fine,” you say, sweeping up the basket of clothes you had set down when Santiago had called out to you. Frankie pops open the tailgate to grab one of the larger boxes stacked back there and follows after you up the front walk.

The house is a quaint single-story two-bedroom affair, the outside a muted pastel blue with white trim and a dark gray roof. The age of its owner is more evident inside, with retro scalloped wallpaper, wood paneling, worn shag carpeting, and faded linoleum. A bright mix of tangerine, canary yellow, and walnut that would have been in vogue when the home was purchased.

Your aunt is seated in a plush velvet lounge chair across the room. Santiago kneels beside her, leaning on the armrest as she pats his cheek affectionately. He whispers something to her that makes her eyes go wide before she bursts into laughter. You give them both a wave as you and Frankie pass through the living room and take a left into a short hallway.

The first door on the right is ajar, the room lit by an outdated ceiling fan that swirls lazily overhead. You step inside, wiggle an elbow towards a pile of boxes in the far corner, and tell him, “Over there is fine,” as you plunk the basket in your arms into the bottom of the closet on the other side of the room. He stacks his armload with the others before the two of you retreat back through the house.

“Francisco,” Miss Robin coos at him as he passes, waving him over with her hands, “You come over here and give me a hug real quick.”

You linger at the doorway, watching as he crosses the room without hesitation, wrapping her petite frame in the broadness of his own. He’s careful of the tubing and nosepiece for her oxygen as he embraces her and you can’t help the grin that spreads ear-to-ear as you brush past Santiago as he’s heading in with another load.

“How’s our Vivi?” she asks Frankie in a soft voice as he pulls away again, “I miss her sweet face.”

He tells her all about how big his daughter is getting. Tall for her age. Her features seem less baby-like every day he picks her up from daycare. Growing into a miniature version of him, as his friends would tell it. Then there are the new words and colors and songs she’s learned.

Aunt Robin smiles softly, watching as his eyes flick up to look at you each time you cross the room with another load.

“The two of you will have to come have dinner with us sometime,” She pats the back of his hand excitedly, “My girl is a good cook. She’ll take care of us,” and then a sly grin pulls at her lips, “I hope you’ll look out for her like you have for me.”

“Of course I will,” he promises, pecking her on the cheek as he stands again, “I should get back to helping before Pope accuses me of slacking.”

With three of you put to the task, it’s quick work emptying out the back of the Trailblazer. A few small totes and a crate of bathroom essentials are all that remain, which are easy enough for you to get later. Frankie and Santiago make the decision to start hauling in the bedroom furniture next, unloading your dresser from the back of the trailer as a souped-up truck rolls into Frankie’s driveway.

All three of you shoot looks over the fence as Will and Benny hop out of the cab. They’re bickering about something as the doors slam behind them. As you watch them you wonder if your new neighbor and his friends have cornered the market on good looks.

“Pope! Fish!” the younger of the two shouts, holding up a six-pack of fruity beer, “What are you boys doing?!” before he motions dramatically towards Frankie’s house, “The game’s already started.”

“More of your friends?” you question Frankie, as he and Santi gently set down the dresser on the walkway. The older one has already jogged over to where the three of you are standing, relieving you of the empty dresser drawer you were carrying.

“Will Miller,” Frankie introduces you to the man in front of you, “and that’s his brother Benny.”

Benny is still standing in his driveway, passing belligerent looks between all of you before his brother barks, “Get over here and help Benjamin!” and he heaves an annoyed sigh before setting his beer on the truck’s hood and hustling over.

You are a little taken aback by all of the unexpected help, as the four of them manage to unload your entire bedroom setup into the spare room in no time flat. Aunt Robin is thrilled over all of the extra visitors, who all greet her with kindness and familiarity. You glance at Frankie, who is laughing as your aunt pinches Benny's cheeks, and are overwhelmingly grateful for the fact that he has clearly done more than just check-in on her every so often.

You’re walking the four of them back to the fence line when a navy blue Kia slips into the driveway behind you, your best friend behind the wheel.

“Turns out I didn’t need you after all Liv!” you crow as she exits the vehicle, taking an appreciative look at your newfound company before nearly being barrelled over by your large Goldendoodle as he charges towards you in excitement.

She lets out an exasperated noise as he trots away, “I’d have been here an hour ago if your furry friend here would have gotten his ass into the damn car when I told him to.”

“My Gatsby?” you fuss, leaning over to scritch him as he prances circles around you before he skirts past you to investigate your neighbor and his friends with inquisitive snuffles at their legs, “Sounds about right for you, you hairy monstrosity.”

Liv takes a few moments to get through some introductions while you try to wrangle in your canine companion.

Gatsby decides that out of the four of them, Frankie is the most interesting subject. His two large paws scrambling up onto his chest, so he can sniff at Frankie’s scruff and slobber at his chin. You tug at his collar with an authoritative, “Get down!” but your neighbor takes it all in an easy stride, rubbing Gatsby down with both hands.

“I probably smell like my dog,” Frankie says aloud, talking to your dog and not you, “Little shit is going to be jealous if he finds out I’ve been petting you.”

As if on cue, a brown and black foxhound pops up into one of the front windows next door, a boisterous yowl sounding through the baby monitor at Frankie’s hip. You hear him groan moments before a shrill cry of “Papa!” carries over the sound of the dog. He nudges Gatsby back down onto all fours and waits for you to get a hold of him before he locks eyes with you, “That’s my baby girl. I gotta go.”

“No, of course,” you tell him, “Thank you so much for the help. I owe you.”

“It’s no trouble,” he smiles at you one last time, before retreating with his friends towards the house.

There are dishes in the sink that need washing. Laundry in the dryer, growing wrinkled and cold. The counters need to be wiped down and the floors swept. But you are in the backyard instead, enticed by the beauty of the day. It’s temperate and bright, dappled sunlight glimmering through the leaves of the maples, oaks, and cypress that spackle the neighborhood. The air is rich with the heady sweet florals of Aunt Robin’s garden and the resonating sounds of joy that drift over the fence.

Frankie’s back deck has been invaded by his friends. They take turns cracking jokes, choosing songs from a classic rock playlist, and rolling in the grass with his beautiful daughter. It’s heartwarming, watching these burly grown men love on that tiny, sweet girl. Which is part of the reason that you’re out here, planting blush pink chrysanthemums in the already overcrowded beds and letting the housework wait. You’ve been drawn in by your neighbor and his friends from the moment that you met them.

You’ve gleaned a lot, observing them from the quiet corners of your yard. Sometimes getting details straight from Frankie. Or through sly comments made by your aunt, who delivers them in breathy whispers against your ear when she catches your lingering looks when they turn up next door.

There’s straight-laced Will, with his clean-cut, all-American appeal. He’s tall and laid-back, with a no-nonsense take on life. Steady and cool no matter what chaos breaks out. His brother, Benny, is cut from a similar cloth, though his personality skews into goofiness. You get the idea he likes to be the loudest person in the room, dropping wise-ass remarks or instigating tickle wars with Vivi until she’s red-faced and lost in a giggling fit. Santiago, well, you could tell from the get-go that he fancies himself as some suave casanova. Full of honeyed words and cheeky grins, strutting around like a peacock looking to mate. He likes to crow to you over the fence, dropping saucy flirtations that always fail to bait you. Then there’s Frankie. He’s warm, smart, and uncommonly kind with a quiet, soft-spoken charm. In the last few months, he and Viviana have managed to stitch themselves into your life as if sewn in by an expert seamstress. It’s a delightfully unexpected symbiosis.

It started small. He’d bring up the bins on trash day if you got home late. Casually remind you as he leaned on the fencepost that you should park in the driveway at night not the street, otherwise the cops will ticket you. You would sneak Alamo, his hound dog, treats threaded between the gaps in the chain-link. Sit out on the back patio with your Bluetooth speaker blasting Disney songs, so you and Vivi could serenade each other while she blew bubbles or splashed in her kiddie pool.

It grew, with him offering to continue to mow the lawn when Aunt Robin’s ancient contraption refused to start. In exchange, you took his daughter on adventures to the neighborhood park where she would burn off most of her excess energy. Afterward, he’d sit at the back patio with you, downing an icy beer while you and Vivi sipped pink lemonade, watching the dogs sprint through their respective yards. You once spent an afternoon clearing his flower beds of weeds and coaxing his dying coreopsis and zinnias back to life. Carefully pruning and watering them over weeks until they bloomed in bursts of gold and garnet and magenta. He canceled a night out with the boys to sort out your washer when the drum refused to spin and it puddled water down the hallway. Sending you next door to use his, watching cartoons with Viviana while the clothes went through the wash.

It evolved into Monday movie nights at his. Some PG thing playing on the flat screen while his daughter wedged herself between the two of you. Gorging on popcorn and pretzels and soda. Then Wednesday night dinners at yours. You’d cook, he’d set the table. Vivi would read stories with Aunt Robin while you both cleaned up. She’d fall asleep on Gatsby's wispy haunches while Frankie waltzed with your aunt in the living room as Eric Clapton and Barry White played on her old 45s. You’d snap pictures of it all with a vintage polaroid camera you found gathering dust in the back of a closet. You’d walk them to the fence, twisting Vivi’s curls around your finger while you kissed her sleepy head goodbye.

There was hardly a day that went by that you didn’t spend at least a few minutes in each other's company. Conversation between the two of you seemed easy, passed back and forth as you went about the routine of your days. It wasn’t hard to see why Aunt Robin was so fond of him. He was the best sort of neighbor to have and an ideal kind of man: respectful, honest, and hardworking. An EMS helicopter pilot for one of the local hospitals, who talked proudly about his job without being arrogant. A devoted father and friend. It was no great wonder that you were hiding a hopeless crush on him.

For all the time the two of you spent together, it felt like there was still a barrier between you, like the fence that separated your yards. Something unbreachable that kept you firmly apart from the realm that encompassed him and his friends. It was likely that Frankie was just doing the neighborly thing, looking out for you as he had your aunt and nothing more. Which only made you feel ridiculous when you imagined being invited into their inner circle. Instead, you would simply pretend you belonged as you eavesdropped on his life from here.

Across the fence, Alamo has been making a pest of himself, stealing snacks from Vivi’s tiny fingers and begging for handouts from the grill. Santi shoos him away with a stern, “¡Vete!” and a clack of the tongs in his hands until the dog retreats. He makes another round of the deck, nearly tripping Joanna, Benny’s fiancé, as he nudges against the back of her knees seeking to be pet. Then trying to scramble into Laura’s lap as she drops to sit beside her husband, until Will pushes the pooch down and playful swats at his hindquarters as he sulks away.

Thoroughly deflected by everyone in the nearby vicinity he skitters down from the deck and trots to the fence line. He plants himself inches from it, yowling dejectedly in your direction until you turn to acknowledge him.

“What’s the matter, pup?” you coo, setting aside your trowel and packing soil around the roots of your freshly planted chrysanthemums. You spread out a new layer of mulch around the stems before giving him a sympathetic look, “Are you being ignored?”

Frankie spots you as he’s returning from the kitchen, a Capri Sun in hand to soothe away his daughter’s tears since his furry troublemaker had gobbled up the last of her goldfish crackers. He watches you toss aside your gardening gloves and scoot up to the chain link to dote on the offending beast, sliding the patio door shut behind him. You beam him a radiant, pearly smile as his gaze lingers and catches your notice as he crosses the deck towards Viviana. You only break it when Alamo summons your attention back to him with a throaty whinge.

Still, he can’t look away as he passes the drink pouch to his daughter’s waiting hands, dropping into a deck chair. You let out a laugh as the dog licks at your fingers through the gaps in the fence. It’s a bright, tinkling sound that makes a tightness pull in his chest. To say that he’s infatuated by you is an understatement. You’ve engraved yourself into his quiet life. Though you may have come along to care for your ailing aunt, he’s found himself and his daughter often the equal recipients of your adoration and kindness.

There’s always a small part of him that feels unworthy of it. Despite regular visits with his therapist, he struggles to accept that he deserves the life he has, with his beautiful daughter, his strong friendship with the boys, and this newfound connection to you. He’s haunted by the demons of his past and a gnawing sense of inadequacy. Still, he tries to remind himself to be grateful. Especially where Vivi is concerned; his baby girl thriving with how you devote your free hours to her. It’s a tempered joy that makes his heart ache when he realizes how much she’s needed more than just his presence in her life.

He thinks about the way you teach her the names of the flowers in his yard, leading her slowly around the perimeter as her tiny hands brush across petals and fern fronds while she repeats them back in her soft toddler stammer. Or how you sit on the front porch with him in the cool hours of early morning as he takes groggy sips of black coffee. Pulling Vivi’s hair up into fancy ponytails, french braids, and poofy buns before he carts her off to daycare, while he listens half-awake to your instructions on how it’s done. You’ve even taken up your aunt’s place at the fence, waiting for them to get home in the evenings so you can smooch her cheek and tell them both goodnight.

It feels so perfect and natural at times that he’s constantly looking for more ways to be near you. To take a stroll around the block with him at sunset, take a day with him and Vivi at the beach, or to have you join in when the boys and their ladies come for a weekend barbecue. But just like the day you moved in, he’s hopelessly tongue-tied and unable to parse out the words, worried it will come out wrong or that his feelings will be on full display when he’d rather keep them close to the chest for now. His divorce has left him with a residual vulnerability that’s made him averse to emotional displays for fear of censure.

“Okay, I’ve got to get back to it, buddy,” you tell Alamo as you rise to your feet, wiping his slobber onto your jeans. He pouts and begins to pace in front of you, stopping to gaze expectantly at your back door and make small whimpers. You know he’s looking for Gatsby to keep him entertained, now that you have to leave him. The two of them like to run each other ragged, sprinting up and down the fence line together with reckless abandon for hours.

Normally your canine would already be out here with you, but he has a penchant for rolling in freshly tilled dirt, so you’ve kept him inside under Aunt Robin’s supervision while you did your planting. The hound dog seems disgruntled by this fact, continuing to pace and making a series of upset sounds at you. You murmur a “Sorry pup,” as you gather up your tools and move on to another section of the garden where you’d spotted some weeds poking up through the mocha brown mulch. He’ll just have to get over his disappointment.

You turn your back, plucking at the offending weeds as his pouting cries go quiet. You assume he’s gone back to being a nuisance to the people in his own yard until a loud bark shatters the quiet hum of insects and softly spoken chatter from Frankie’s deck. A cacophony of voices rise in alarm as you swivel back just in time to see Alamo take a flying leap over the chain link, paws nearly grazing the top as he crests to the other side. His body makes a soft whump as he lands in the grass.

“Jesus!” you shout at the sight of it before the dog is bearing down on you, his wet nose snuffling at your ankles as you try to grab a hold of him. He skirts from your grasp, backing away a few feet before leaning into a bow, rump raised playfully in the air as his tail swishes furiously behind him. You crouch and try to summon him to you, “What’s gotten into you, hm?”

Frankie stares, dumbfounded, for only a moment before he’s jogging in your direction to help. When the dog refuses to come to you, you step towards him instead, but he bolts at your approach. Meanwhile, your neighbor scrambles over the fence and into your yard much less gracefully than his pet. His brows furrow in irritation as he tries to sneak up on him, but the dog turns at the last second, spotting him and darting away as Frankie curses, “Alamo! ¡Maldito perro! Get your ass over here!”

The hound likes this game of cat and mouse since it means the both of you are now giving him your full attention as you pursue him through the grass. Baiting you in by letting you get mere inches from him before he zips off at the last second.

“Mo!” you holler and he turns his head back at the use of his nickname but doesn’t slow down as you continue to follow him, “This is my side of the fence, not yours. Get over here!”

He’s unfettered by your statement, slipping through Frankie’s fingers as he loops back around the yard, stopping briefly to jump on your back door and paw at the glass. The excitement of it all has drawn Frankie’s company from the deck for a closer look and your aunt to the door to watch it unfold. You see Gatsby from the corner of your eye, fogging up the glass as his snotty nose presses against it. You can hear him whine, displeased that you’re out there having fun without him.

“Honey?” Aunt Robin asks through the screen of the door, “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine, Auntie,” you reply with a breathless huff, side-eying Frankie as he dives unsuccessfully towards his dog again, “Alamo just...came for a visit.”

He moves beside you, leaning onto his knees to recover from the chase, as Alamo pauses several feet from the two of you, grumbling an apology, “Sorry about this.”

“Not your fault he’s a pain in the ass,” you smirk, trying to form some kind of game plan to lure him in, “We could try to bribe him?”

Frankie gives you a nod as you quick-step towards the house. You keep treats on a shelf just inside the door as a reward for Gatsby when he does his business and doesn’t destroy any of Aunt Robin’s flowers. The pup in question is still watching you through the glass, alone now that your aunt has confirmed nothing is amiss, and returned to the other room.

“Back up Gats,” you warn, cracking the door open just enough to reach into the box without giving the Goldendoodle space to escape. Alamo hasn’t missed out on this though, yapping at him in an effort to incite his friend to join him in terrorizing you and Frankie. Which successfully spurs Gatsby on. He wedges himself against your legs, pushing with his full weight until you are stumbling back and he is barging out the door. You let out a sigh as you walk back to Frankie’s side, “And now there’s two.”

The both of them are running laps through your yard, letting out barks and yips and playful growls as they zip by at breakneck speed. Frankie takes a lunge towards Alamo as he passes by, but his reflexes aren’t a match for the canine. The hound easily avoids him at the last second, but Gatsby doesn’t pick up on his friend’s detour soon enough to do the same, trying to zip between Frankie’s slightly splayed legs and knocking him off balance. He throws his arms out for stability and you instinctively reach for him, but it only ends up in throwing him further off-kilter as his weight pulls you both down.

Frankie lets out an aggravated groan as his back slams into the ground, having tried to twist in a way that his body ends up as a buffer between you and the dirt. He takes the brunt of the fall, as you end up half across his chest, your head knocking hard into his chin. He tilts his head to look you over as you sit up, rubbing softly at the crown of your skull, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, brushing your hair out of your face. He watches as it cascades over your shoulder, dogs forgotten, as he’s struck by the thought of how easy it might be from this position to curl his fingers in the strands at the nape of your neck and pull you down to kiss him. Curious about what your skin might taste like if he were to pepper kisses down your jaw and lave at the pulse point of your neck.

His eyes bore into yours, rich orbs of hickory blazed with amber flecks as the sun catches in the iris. He smells of spicy cologne, charcoal smoke, and sweat. You give him the softest smile as you glimpse briefly at his lips and wonder if they’re as warm and soft as they look. Then up to his mop of curls that have come loose from underneath his cap in the fall. You briefly consider trying to twist them into ringlets like you’ve done with his daughter's hair, just as someone nearby clears their throat loudly. You both look up to see Benny leaning on one of the fence posts, a cheesy grin scrawled across his face.

“Fish!” He prods at his friend, “If you wanted to sweep her off of her feet, there are better ways to do it.”

“Fuck you, Benjamin,” Frankie spits as he flips him the bird, rolling onto his side before standing, his back and knees complaining at the effort. His other friends, at least, had the decency to keep their teasing comments to themselves. He leans down and offers you a hand up before scooping his hat off the ground and replacing it on his head. The dogs are still completely caught up in their game, tearing playfully through your backyard. He doesn’t want to impose on you, but after that last disastrous attempt, he doesn’t want to try and wrangle Alamo again until the furry beast has gotten this burst of energy out of his system. He pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance as he glances back to you, “Can he just, I dunno, stay over here until he gets bored? I’m too old to be chasing him all over hell and back. I’ll come back for him after he wears himself out.”

“I don’t think Aunt Robin will mind,” you agree with a small shrug of your shoulder, just as resigned to let them entertain themselves as he is. You’ll just have to go back to weeding the garden and gazing longingly into his yard. You try not to let your disappointment read on your face, plastering on a teasing smile as you motion towards the fence, “Are you planning on hopping back over that way, or do you want to go the long way this time?”

“I’ll go around please,” Frankie chuckles quietly, “My back can’t take any more abuse.”

Leaving the dogs to their own devices, you walk side-by-side with him towards the back door. You lead him through the house and out the front, a silent wave to your aunt as the two of you pass by. Just out of the front door he turns to you suddenly. He stumbles on the words for a moment, pink tongue peeking out between his lips before he speaks, “Listen, do you, maybe, want to come over for a bit? I at least owe you a drink for putting up with my menace of a dog. I promise the company isn’t terrible either. Benny’s a pain but the rest of them are decent enough.”

You beam him one of your million-watt smiles at the offer, “I’d love that! Let me just pop back in to let my aunt know.”

His eyes follow you as you disappear back inside, heart fit to burst. He’s not sure what this is between the two of you or where it might go, but this seems as good a first step as any.

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Next

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EVERYTHING TAGLIST: @green-socks @dihra-vesa @patternedlantern @writeforfandoms @ezrasbirdie @salome-c @kirsteng42

FRANKIE TAGLIST: @thegreenkid

MSOTF TAGLIST: @javierpinme @frankie-catfish-morales

If you want to be tagged in future chapters, send me an ask or if you're interested in getting onto the list for everything/specific characters, fill out my taglist form.

I made it

i was thinking this morning about how i categorize fanfic authors that i enjoy like AKC breeds and decided to share my rubric with you:

the specialist: this author has a favorite kink or trope and has written 80% of the content in that tag. you know exactly what you’re getting. they have A Brand™️. no matter what other traits they display, dedicated rare pair authors belong here.

the chocolate box: essentially the exact opposite. this author will try anything once. they have 80+ works in the fandom with no discernible pattern. the shortest one is 268 words and the longest is well over 100k. this breed of author may or may not be related to:

the renaissance fan: they’ve written three things in your fandom: your favorite fic, your notp, and a bizarre crossover with a show you’ve never heard of. you hit “expand fandoms list” on their author page and have to scroll down twice to reach the bottom. whenever you curse the fact that you can’t legally commission fic writers, this is the author you’re thinking about.

the horn dog: they’re here for one thing and one thing only. if someone’s dick is not in another character’s mouth within 500 words, they apologize for it in the author’s notes. they have one (1) g-rated fic.

the rookie: this writer is usually young, new to fandom, or just got a beta-reader for the first time. their fics are a little all over the place, quality-wise, but you’re excited whenever their name pops up because their unique voice gets stronger every time. you feel a personal investment in their development, like you’re an old man reading the local high school sports page and saying “this kid’s the one to watch.”

the live streamer: the most prolific author in the fandom. their works are all over the front page when you sort by kudos. you have no idea how they generate this much work, and have seriously wondered if they have access to an extra-dimensional time portal. their stories are usually un-beta’d and the characterization varies wildly, but their best works are inspired and you’ve read them 30 times.

the cryptid: this one comes out of nowhere every two years, drops the best fanfic you’ve ever read, and disappears. fifteen months after you left a three paragraph comment about how they changed your life, you get a message in your inbox that just says “thanks.”

the novelist: we talk about “filing off the serial numbers” when someone reworks their most popular story to pitch it as an original novel; this author somehow does the reverse. their fics are excellent, usually long-reaching multi-chapter AUs that have almost nothing to do with the on-screen characters except their names. i’d like to extend my personal thanks to this breed of author because it’s the closest i get to reading an actual book.

the reunion tour: this author wrote some of the most popular works in the fandom, but either moved on to k-pop or burned out when canon took a turn for the worse. they put out one new thing a year, often an old draft that’s been haunting them from under the floorboards. their last six author’s notes all say they never thought they’d write this pairing again and “this will probably be the last time.”

who did i miss?

Princess

Boba fett x bounty hunter reader

Request: Could I request you something Boba Fett x Female!Reader... some very tender, fluffy? But still, I would very love a real tender Boba for maybe his long time partner ? Like his precious little princess, even if not official but his only one... See ?

Warnings: soft boba fett, but still the grumpy stubborn ass we all love

👉👈🥺💕 FLUFF EXTRAVAGANZA!!!! language. Short(I'm sorry it's short)

Tags: @anilynworlds I'm sorry if it sucks it was a bit rushed because every time I try and write everyone around me decides to make my life a living hell😣

The green and lush planet was by far the most peaceful planet you've been to yet, it was calm, nature making its own soothing melody as you sit by the crackling fire, watching the dancing flames, the Amber's wafting into the night air and dissappearing. You was seated on the ground, back leaned on a log as your partner in crime cleans his blaster pistol. Dark eye's focused on the thing while he was still wearing his beskar armor, his helmet discarded beside him. You couldn't help but admire how the dancing flames casts a beautiful glow on the man, highlighting his features as he concentrated on the blaster, brows furrowed as he cleaned every crevice of it.

The orange hues made his tan skin glow, he looked ethereal under the moon and fires light. The mere sight of him sending your heart into a fluttering mess.

It was merely hours ago when you and him returned to the remote area you had landed Slave I, you having talked the man into building a small fire and joining you outside for the night. For this planet was beautiful and you dread going back to tatooine to return the quarry to jabba. So with much begging and pleading, you convinced boba to sit outside with you.

"you're staring..." he muttered while his gaze was still on the blaster, a smug grin slightly tugging at the corners of his mouth. Boba fett was no fool, he knew that your feelings ran deeply for him, it always left him baffled that someone as gorgeous as yourself could love a ruthless, merciless bounty hunter like himself.

"no... I'm admiring" you correct him with a smile, his eyes finally looking over at you. His blaster now laying with his helmet as he stands up. Walking closer to you. You watch how he plops down beside you, his back leaned against the log now.

"so you're not mad anymore?" he asked with a lifted brow, referring to today's events. Ah, the ever lingering annoyance of how boba flirted the information he needed to find the bounty out of a rather pretty worker at the cantina you both stopped by in search of the quarry that laid prisoner in your shared ship. Although boba refused to label whatever it was you both had in fear of putting you in danger, because everyone he ever loved was taken from him...you knew you was in love with the bounty hunter. And with his tender actions and displays of affection, you knew he felt the same. Especially when you laid in his arms at night drifting to sleep, or when you'd awake to the taste of his soft lips against your own, muttered words of affection.

You scoff at his word's and shake your head, "why would I be mad?" you spoke bitterly, more harsher then intended. Boba simply gives you a amused smirk.

"you tell me princess, I'm not a mind reader" he said, his voice more melodic then the sounds of nature around you. Sighing you simply give him a side glance and almost melt at his damned amused expression, it was cute. And here you was calling the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy cute.

"I don't see how flirting with that woman was the right way to go about getting information" you let the words slip before you could think them over, but it was to late now. For they tumbled out.

Boba, although wanted to laugh at the fact you was feeling a little envious, found himself staring at you blankly. For you shouldn't ever feel that way, his heart belonged to one person in the galaxy and she was sitting beside him.

Boba leans closer to you and cups your face, making you look over at him. "you've basically ignored me the whole day because of that? Mesh'la..." he trailed off, admiration sparkling in his dark eye's. You sigh and feel like an idiot for hating how his gloved hand left a fleeting touch on the woman's face, modulated voice spewing compliments at her. But why should that have made you feel like you did, annoyed and upset.

Especially when you have the privilege of hearing his raw, natural voice, feeling his warm skin on every inch of your own. The feeling of His lips engraved in your memory. You was the luckiest woman in the galaxy, for you heard sweet words roll of his tongue every morning when you woke in his arms. Eye's looking at you with pure love.

You smile at boba and avoid his gaze, feeling like a fool for acting like you did when all he was trying to do was make this hunt quick.

"you do realize that you're the only person in the galaxy I can tolerate right?" he said, adding humor to his loving words. "you're the only one for me princess, I know I may not show it that much but... I care about you mesh'la" he muttered, eye's flickering from your eyes down to your lips that slowly lift up in a smile.

"you show it boba... I'm just an idiot sometimes and get annoyed when you flirt with other people, even though I know you really don't mean a word you throw at the them" you say and Lean into his warm touch. Heart melting at the way his eye's look over you with adoration.

"you're not an idiot" he chuckles, placing a kiss on your forehead before leaning his own forehead on yours. Eye's closed as yours flutter closed. "if it was the other way around I'd kill the person you flirted with... So it's understandable that you was annoyed with me" he muttered, you snort at his words and pull back to smile at him.

"trust me boba I know you would, you nearly killed that man who looked at me in that damned place" you muse, remembering how his hand twitched to grasp his blaster pistol and shoot the man who sent a wink your way.

"I know I've never said this out loud princess, but I - I think i love you" he whispers and his eyes gaze into yours with a sparkle you've never seen before.

You felt your heart do a flip and a smile spread across your face, "I love you too boba" you say, placing a hand on the back of his neck, fingers slowly running through the dark curls, his hair soft as silk.

Boba pulls you in for a soft slow kiss, his lips fitting perfectly against your own as he takes his precious time. This kiss wasn't like the usual rough paced lustful kisses he usually gifted you, his movements wasn't rushed. The kiss was gentle, delicate. Languid as he slowly trailed his hand that rests against your cheek to the back of your neck, causing you to hum into the kiss.

But boba fett was ever the tease and pulls away all to quickly for your liking and smiles at the pout on your face. "we should probably get some sleep, we have to leave early in the morning" he reminds you, causing the pout to deepen.

"do we have too?" you whine, and whenever he gives you a stern look you know you wasn't getting your way.

"unless you want to deal with a very pissed jabba, I'd suggest you get ready for bed" he said while standing up, scooping his helmet into his arms and picking up the blaster he had discarded. "be sure to put the fire out" he gives you a nod and heads to the ship. You watch him walk away with a fond smile.

After putting the fire out and making your way to the ship, you walk inside your sleeping area and spot boba in the cot and already under the furs. His beskar neatly set aside by the foot of the cot while he looks up at you, arms opening beckoning you to join him. So after taking your weapons off and uncomfortable pants you quickly crawl in bed and into his awaiting arms.

You snuggled into his warmth, head rested on his chest while your palm was pressed to his heart, feeling its beating. His arms wrapped around you tightly, cradling you against his chest as if he was afraid if he didn't you somehow drift away.

Though boba fett was a man who never showed emotion, he always displayed affection and love for you. His precious love, his princess.

And just as you was drifting off to sleep his words of sweet little things was the last thing you heard.

Hide and Seek: A Mandalorian Fanfiction - Chapter 1

“W-what are you going to do with me?” you asked, forcing your voice to remain steady, “I’m assuming that you’re not turning me in?” “No,” said the Mandalorian, “I’m not. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. But I know that you’re not dangerous. There’s been a mistake…“

You are the Mandalorian’s first quarry after the events with Moff Gideon in Nevarro. He cannot bring himself to turn you in, and instead proposes marriage for your protection.

Rating: T Word count: 4,288 words Chapter warnings: Discussion of death (including death in childbirth), a kidnapping attempt.

Tagging (requested and those I think will enjoy): @dindjarindiaries​  @goldafterglow​​ @marvel-and-mischief​​ ​​ @hopelikethesun​​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​ @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ @absurdthirst​​​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @forever-rogue​ @thewaythisis​ @f0rever15elf​​ @aerynwrites​ @tiffdawg​ @lose-eels​ @hdlynnslibrary​ @fleetwoodmactshirts​ @opheliaelysia​ @din-damn-djarin​ @ezrasarm​ @fioccodineveautunnale @pajamasecrets​ @wille-zarr​ @poenariuniverse @auty-ren​ @mandohatesdroids​ @profkenobi​

Please let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my future writing!

Self Check-Out

Title: Self Check-Out

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x reader/you (no y/n) (f!reader)

Word Count: 1260

Rating: T

Warnings: Language.

A/N: For @brandyllyn for my Back To Action Prompt List the prompt was “Marcus Moreno: asking a stranger to hide you”

Marcus Moreno Masterlist – Author Masterlist – Taglist– Tip Jar

You knew she was following you.

Dammit.

Shit.

Fuck.

All the curses.

Turn right at the next aisle and — shit shit shit they were stocking, the whole fucking thing was just covered and you couldn’t get the cart out and you couldn’t….

You backed up fast, so fast the little boy in your cart said Wee and nearly dropped your phone onto the floor.

Your eyes were darting around and you nearly bowled into some very nice guy minding his own business and debating on a breakfast cereal.

“Shit! Sorry!”

He smiled and oh well hello.

“No worries.”

Now this wasn’t fair.

You were trying to escape and this man was hypnotizing, utterly unfair. Completely not ok.

Your mouth opened and closed like a dying fish and you fumbled with, “I’m sorry, I’m….escaping.”

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Nemesis (Marcus Moreno x reader)

Summary: When you end up drugged and unable to look out for yourself, you show up on the doorstep of your nemesis, goody two shoes Marcus Moreno, hoping that he’ll take you in.

Rating: I’d say this i pretty safe for all.

Word count: ~ 1900 (more of a ficlet than a fic, really)

Warnings: None.

Notes: There has been no beta for this so all mistakes are my own. If you spot any, feel free to point them out.

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Failure

Din Djarin x Reader

Gif credit: @saltybatman

A/N: I couldn’t get this thought out of my head so I just had to write it. I’m still grieving btw

—————-

“Stay here with him, I’ll protect you both. Head to the ship once he’s done” you blankly stare at his visor a death grip on his gloved hand, your breath heaving.

You think you’ve gone into shock. This wasn’t supposed to happen. How did they know where the child was? This was not-

“Y/N are you listening to me?” his stern voice cuts through your racing thoughts. He grips your shoulders. “I need you and the child safe. Promise me when he’s done you return to the ship immediately.” you nod rapidly finally breaking from your trance.

He nodded in approval and takes his blaster out of his holster, “Be careful, Cyar'ika” your hands start to tremble. You weren’t scared for yourself. You were scared for your lover. You were scared for the child that you considered a son. You have to be strong. For both of them.

“Din” he stares at you for a moment. “Come back in one piece please” you begged.

He tilts his helmet as saying “I will”, and takes off down to the stormtroopers. You watch him run, nerves settling at the pit of your stomach. You turned around to face the child, his face still scrunched in concentration. The force field still rising towards the sky in full force. He needs to snap out of it, but till then you had to protect him. 

You took your blaster out of your own holster and gripped it tightly in your hand. Beats of sweat dripped down your forehead, as your eyes dart around the surroundings no stormtroopers insight. For now. Your hand flexes around the gun, as you walk from left to right and around. It felt like hours. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes before a sound catches your attention. You look up to the sky, your eyes squinting adjusting to the light. You couldn’t tell what it was-oh no. No.

“Shit” you hissed at the sight of what you assume are troopers. You turn to the child, still sitting on the magic rock.

“Kid, we gotta go!” you rush over to him, he doesn’t move from his place.

“Grogu! Come on! They’re coming! Snap out of it!” your words don’t affect him. 

You huffed and look back at the sky, they’re getting closer. You look back at the force field, “Fuck-here goes nothing” you stretch your arms and inch closer to the child. 

You feel yourself being pushed, pushing at your frame. And maker does it hurt. You grunt as you attempt to inch closer to the child. Your fingers bend at the pressure, but it doesn’t stop you. You inch closer and closer-you feel like you can practically feel his robe, then you felt nothing. You hear yourself let out a scream, your body being thrown mid-air. 

You were launched much further than Din was. You felt your body land on rock, a loud almost crunch ringed in the air as you felt your head come in contact with the hard surface. Your body rolls down the hill, tumbling through the rocks the small amount of grass. Stoping at the bottom, you let yourself lay there. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t feel anything. Not the cut on your temple, that’s slowly dripping. Not pain on the side you landed on. Nothing. But you did feel something. You felt sorrow. Greif. Failure. It hurt more than physical pain. You knew by the time you finished tumbling down the hill the child was gone. If you had just stood there and fought off the troopers then maybe you could’ve made it back to the crest with the child in your arms. It was your fault. No one else could tell you otherwise. You felt yourself become dizzy. Your eyes fluttering open and close, fighting to stay open. You soon let yourself give in. No longer wanting to feel.

Din races up the hill, his heart practically beating out his chest. He tried to convince himself that he could make it. Make it to the both of you. But he knew it was too late. By the time reached the temple, the troopers had already taken off. He watches in anguish seeing his son be taken. But wait-they just have him. He whips his head around, his eyes darting around the temple. He runs to the edge, frantically looking around.

“What is it?” Fennec questions the sudden actions.

“They’re gone” he seethes out but worried.

“Who-”

“Y/N!” he growls. They took the child. His child. And they possibly killed you. All because he wasn’t fast enough. No. They’re not dead. They can’t be. He can’t lose them too. He tries to convince himself to think of the best scenario. He walks around the edge, hoping to see them walk out behind a rock or at least…their body.

“Maybe they went back to the ship” Fennec tries to the calm the distraught Mandalorian.

Yeah maybe. He did tell them to go back. He sighs and starts rushing over to where the crest was parked. He runs, the crest slowly coming into view.

Before he could take another step, a loud boom rings in the air. He looks up to see a blast shoot through the clouds and before he could process it the blast had already made it to the crest.

“NO!” he hears himself yell out. He rushes to the edge, his heart dropping at the sight. 

His beloved home now erupted into flames, parts being thrown left to right. You were in there. You were in the crest when-his knees buckle beneath him. He kneels to the grown roughly, his chest constricted. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His mind swirls with thoughts. He lost his home. He lost his child. He lost you. He’s lost everything he’s ever cared about.

A tear escapes his left eye, as his bottom lip trembles. He didn’t know he was crying till he felt a hand on his shoulder. He shakes himself from the shock, he roughly pushes the hand off him. “Don’t touch me” he seethes out. He pulls himself back to his feet and turns to Fennec and now Boba.

“They might’ve not been in there-”

“They were”

“Mando-”

“NO! They were in there-where else would they be?!” he yells, his voice cracking at the end. He turns back around and huffs attempting to collect himself. He takes several deep breaths, as he stares at the now-demolished crest. Caught up in his grief he didn’t hear the sound of stumbling footsteps coming down the hill.

“Mando?” he swears it’s only his mind playing games. That you are not calling out to him. He refuses to turn around.

“Mando” his stomach drops at how clear your voice is. He finally turns around in direction of the voice.

There you stood. Like an angel that just dropped down from the sky, even in your state. Your clothes were covered in grass and dirt, cuts lingering your thighs and arms blood seeping through the fabric. A semi-large cut lingered your temple, dry blood surrounding it. Your eyes held a daze but beat red.

“Cyar'ika ” he gasped out, rushing over to you. He pulls you into him, his hands grasping your body as if making sure you weren’t going to just disappear in his arms. He pulls away and cups your face,

“Cyar’ika I-I thought you were dead-”

“Din-” you spoke hushedly when speaking his name.

“I thought I had lost you too-”

“Din, I’m fine” You barely held a smile, tears gathered in your eyes. The dam broke, a sob escapes your lips,

“I failed” you sobbed out.

“I failed and they took him-” He shakes his head, “No-no Cyar'ika, I failed not you-” “No! It was me! I was supposed to protect him and-and make sure he’s with me and take him back to the crest-” “And in a way, I’m glad you didn’t” you shake your head confused.

“W-what do you mean?” you hear him sigh softly, as he attempts find his words.

“It’s gone”

You continue to shake your head “I-I don’t-” “They destroyed the crest” you gaped at him, not fully comprehending what he said.

He takes your head and pulls you to the edge. You stare mouth agape at the sight of the ruins. You snatch your hand away from his grip and turned around. Din’s helmet snaps to your figure in surprise.

“Cyar'ika where are you going-” you ignored his question and proceeded to make your way off the rock.

Your feet carried you to the ruins, somehow tears drying up. You slowly approach the wreckage, your eyes darting around searching for remains. You hear the familiar clink of Din’s boots behind you, slowly approaching you. You walk around aimlessly but stop when something catches your attention. Kneeling, you dig your hand into the dirt grasping a small sphere. You held the ball in your hands, as you stare blankly at it. You feel a gloved hand on your shoulder, then feel him kneel beside you.

“Cyar'ika ” you didn’t lookup.

“Y/N, look at me” your eyes snap back up to him. Your eyes void of emotion, but a fire is lit in them.

“I’m going to kill him” Din is taken aback at your tone. He’s never heard you speak like this. So full of anger. He knew immediately who you spoke of.

“He destroyed our home. He took our child I-” you shake your head and glance down at the ball then you look back at Din.

“He’s going to pay"

——–

Tags:

@66wookies @kiss-evans @kiwi-the-first @theoutsidelandhere @generation-zero @dindja @phoenixhalliwell @godohammers @apples-of-february @chicken-nugget-puta @chicken-ona-stick @dindjarinscape @strangelittlenobody @seasonschange-butpeopledont @din-damn-djarin @wille-zarr @lovelyasfcuk

Markus Moreno: SuperVillain

oops I made a really long multi chapter thing

-

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