#or a plot device for their relationship with the reader or an oc

[lostsyren]

I think it’s funny when people say Sofia wasn’t developed enough or there wasn’t enough for them care about her…like I genuinely thought she was going to get less than what she was given.

In s3 I was fully prepared for her to have like one scene serving Rafe as a waitress in the country club and they share maybe one conversation. And when I saw the first pic of her waking up in his bed in his shirt I screamed!! Like yes they had sex?!?! Already??

And same with s4. I was excited but I genuinely thought she’d get the same treatment as Barry in the sense that she’d only showed up in scenes with Rafe. But when we got to see her bedroom? Her family? Her life outside of Rafe? I was ecstatic!! Like finally a side character that I’m irrationally obsessed with is getting something!!!

And even her relationship with Rafe, I wish we got to see them get closer, but from a purely superficial perspective: TWO kiss scenes? TWO ‘I love you’s? A morning after scene? A bunch of hugs? Him dressing her? A PROPOSAL? Like damnnn…thank you universe.

Though I agree she wasn’t as developed as she could’ve be, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy with what I was given– my expectations were so low. I’ve had experience favouriting the irrelevant side character in many stories and it’s not often I win😭

[lalalychee-x]

"1x1— I think I'm okay"

Angst! Rodrick Heffley x reader pt 1

"Hush your mouth, you talk too much..." romantic. + platonic

♡ Um! This whole series is SLIGHTLY a vent thing! But it's still an x reader! It's sfw unless labelled otherwise, but read the CW carefully!! I used the doawk fanfic "Dysfunctional Perspective" to help build around this story to give it some depth. Please check it out on r/loadeddiper on reddit! We have to establish some things first, though! So welcome to part 1 of "Think I'm okay!" CW: self harm (sh), weed/drug use, smoking, child-abuse, scars, healing scars, implied sexual assault (sa), obssessive disorders, classic crude teenage humour, skin-peeling metaphors?!, conflicted relationships, suicide attempts, suicide jokes, OCs or characters from Dysf. Perspective are included (even if they don't have the same plot-devices). masterlist of all parts: word count: 5223 song4this: 1x1" by Bring me the Horizon

This whole series is kinda to depict Rodrick closer to his cannon and less tiktok-ified version! It's also to convey two very different struggles of teenagers with similar coping mechanisms. Enjoy!!

♡ Rodrick and reader, School's fuck-up/Loser x School's Valedictorian/Popular Princess.

♡ Reader is depicted as popular, feminine, having a lot of friends.

♡ Rodrick is not depicted as popular but as well-known...but with few actual friends

♡ Reader is afab, female-dressing anyway, wearing skirts to fit a stereotype (it is a plot-relevant thing, I promise)

-------story starts here-------

It started as just another teacher’s errand.

You were used to them by now—the way your name always came up when someone needed a favour. Trusted. Organized. Sweet. Of course she’ll do it. She always does.

“Can you bring these up to Rodrick Heffley?” your teacher asked like it was nothing. Just a stack of notes and an excuse scribbled for his absence.

You paused. A little too long. “Sure,” you said, with that perfect little smile. The one you’d perfected to keep people from looking too closely. Too long.

You stared at the name on the top of the notes.

Rodrick Heffley.

The loser. The burnout. The guy who never showed up and when he did, never gave a shit. You didn’t run in the same circles—if anything, you existed in opposite galaxies. You were pink pens, honour roll, friends who planned everything two weeks in advance. He was torn denim, smelling like weed and rage, and scribbling band names on desks in black Sharpie. Everyone knew he was a mess.

And yet. You're sacrificing your hard-earned reputation, chipping away at it by rushing around and asking if anyone knew where the Heffley's even lived. Because fuck, what are other people going to think? You? Asking where his HOUSE is, running around like a neek with a stack of catch-up work in your hands. It was pissing you off.

Eventually, you did follow badly scribbled directions from a punk behind the school who knew his brother Greg, apparently from some disaster party that you didn't attend many months ago.

You sighed, walking up past the driveaway, up the pavement, knocking on the door. To your surprise, it creaked its way open under the force of your fist. It was open. You deadpan, cursing under your breath,

"Mrs, um, Mr. Heffley?" You think it's rude to intrude, god is this trespassing? Isn't it a crime—

You overthink for a bit longer when you realise it's been a bit too long... and there was no response. You peek in, the smell of Enigma Alexandra de Markoff perfume... do all white moms wear the same damn fragrance when they go out?

You scrunch your nose, then deduct that his parents were out. And you didn't know Rodrick very well but you were expecting some sort of sound from a noisy teenage boy... music or crude TV shows...

When passing him in the Music room in school, he was never quiet. He made his presence known, either by smashing drums like his life depended on it or yelling about some shit band no one else liked. But now? Silence. Eerie, suffocating silence.

You stood outside the cracked door, fingers curling tighter around the paper folder.

Then you heard it.

A noise—low, choked. Gurgled?

You spiralled up the stairs, pushing the front door to the Heffley house loosely shut and navigating across the upstairs hall.

And there he was.

Not sprawled on the couch with a smirk or blasting music so loud it’d rattle the drywall. Not throwing a dumb smirk at you like he always did when you passed him in the halls. No. He was slouched over the bathroom sink—in an unknown-band t-shirt, trembling, shoulders taut with some horrible tension. A single flickering bathroom light above him buzzed softly, and that was all you could hear for a moment, besides your own breath stuttering in her chest. The rest of the house had gone silent, like it, too, was holding its breath.

The sink was speckled red.

Bright, wet, and fresh.

His knuckles were clenched around the porcelain edge, his body swaying slightly like his legs weren’t even holding him up properly. Blood dripped from the underside of his arm, from angry, shallow cuts that hadn’t even stopped bleeding yet. His jeans hung loose on his hips, unbelted, and his hair was messy in a way that meant he hadn’t even tried to style it—it hung in his face, casting jagged shadows under his eyes.

He looked like a shadow. A ghost.

And when he blinked, slowly, blearily, then turned his head over his shoulder to look at you—you knew.

He wasn’t fully there. Was he high or something?

Eyes red-rimmed and distant. He looked at you like he couldn’t quite remember who you were. Like he’d forgotten how to process anything. A joint sat extinguished near the windowsill. The air was heavy with the stale tang of smoke and iron.

“Oh my god…” you whispered, and your voice cracked hard in the middle of it. It wasn’t pretty or elegant or composed like how you usually sounded at school—it was raw. It hurt to hear yourself sound like that. A way you knew all too well.

Rodrick blinked again. His brows furrowed, barely. He didn't even know you at first glance, only recognising you from your clothes, dolled out in glitter like a bad Regina George fashion trend.

“...What are you doing here?” His voice was gravel, slurred and slow, like he had to drag each syllable through his throat. Like his mouth couldn’t keep up with the rest of him. “You’re not supposed to—shit, go away.”

You didn't. Who would? Who could?

You chucked the manila folder of notes and handouts behind you, scattered across the carpet in the hall. Your heels clicked once—twice—as you stepped inside the bathroom and kicked them off so fast one hit the doorframe.

You would've whined usually, if anything happened to your precious shoes and outfit, but you couldn't care less. You were slipping on the tiled floor in your tights, hurriedly stepping in.

He was bleeding.

And you were the only one who gave a damn.

Your jacket soon followed, flung onto the counter before you even realized you were unzipping it. He looked alarmed, staggering back only to let more blood flow out of the cuts with the added pressure. Okay, maybe lunging at him out of panic wasn't the best approach, but what else could you expect a teenager to do?

“Rodrick,” you hissed, hands reaching for him, voice too high-pitched and breathless, “What the fuck—what the fuck are you doing?!”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, eyes rolling back as he tried to push her away with one limp hand, but his knees buckled, and you barely caught him before he hit the tiles. “Don’t touch me.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, something hot and ugly building in your throat; was it tears? Or rage or irritance? “Just—fuck—shut up!” Your hands trembled as they caught his bleeding forearm, flipping it gently over to see the damage. Your fingers hovered just above his skin, scared to touch him but even more terrified not to. “You’re not fine, you asshole—you’re fucking bleeding.”

Rodrick didn’t answer, with a slurred expression that said "No shit."

He didn’t need to say it.

Not when his body leaned heavily against the sink, head tilted down, breaths coming in shallow, embarrassed gasps like he was suddenly realizing how exposed he was. His skin felt cold—clammy—and you hated that you knew exactly how that felt. You'd been here before. Not in a bathroom with someone else, but in your own room, your own quiet hell that was ironic because your whole room was pink and covered in pop-band posters. It was so different to this, but it made the white lines on your legs throb.

Until now.

Now you were here, looking.

He turned slightly, just enough for the fluorescent light to catch the raw red slashes across his forearm. Still fresh. Still wet. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown too wide. Either high—or so out of it he still hasn't registered who you are and what you're doing.

And he looked so fucking tired.

“Come here,” you whispered, voice suddenly soft and shaking as you tried to guide him down to the closed toilet seat. You pulled paper towels from the holder with frantic, jerky movements, biting your tongue to keep it steady. “Let me—just let me help, okay? Please. Don’t be stubborn.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t.

And that scared you more than anything.

Rodrick Heffley, king of eye rolls and snide remarks, didn’t argue.

You swiped around the cuts, hands gentle and practised, the air too quiet now, too heavy with everything left unsaid. You pressed the clean cloths firmly against the bleeding gashes, and your eyes burned.

“God, you’re such an idiot,” You mumbled under her breath, voice breaking again.

"What'd I do—"

His voice sounded slow, hurt and it pissed you off. "Are you stupid?! Do you think I'm stupid, Rodrick?! What do you think you've done?"

It came off harsher than it should have and you realised after you'd said it; you had horrible communication skills.

Your voice cracked against the walls and in his ears, louder than you expected it to be. It echoed over the tense, suffocating silence between you, and for a moment, everything stood still—except for the blood running in slow trails down his forearm.

Rodrick flinched. Visibly. Like your words physically slapped him across the face.

His expression shifted instantly. From distant and dazed to bitter and defensive.

“Oh, of course, you’re not stupid,” he scoffed, attempting to pull away, his free hand clenching around itself in a tight fist... like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Why would you be? You’re perfect. You’re everyone’s fucking favorite.”

You blinked, stunned by the venom in his tone, the way his voice twisted the word perfect like it burned his tongue to say it. Speechless. What do you even say to that?

He laughed under his breath, low and humourless, a sound that didn't belong on someone like him, a face like his... “Must be nice. Being the pretty little princess with straight A’s and clean wrists and people who actually give a shit.”

You look up at him from the floor, angry. So fucking angry but you can't speak.

"You—” he gestured vaguely at you with a slightly bloody finger, and it smeared against the underside of the sink with his clumsy motions—“don’t fucking get it. You’ve never had to lie about where you’ve been, why your hands are shaking, or why you can’t stop fucking up everything you touch!”

You stood up off the floor, finding the words but no less furious. “Don’t pull that edgy bullshit with me. What RIGHT did you have to say that? But I’m still alive. And so are you.”

His eyes widened, lips parting just slightly. Like maybe—for the first time—he wasn’t sure what to say. You both paused, looking at each other like some sort of stand-off. He wouldn't take you seriously, usually, especially in that outfit that looked like everything pink from Hillary Duff. But for some reason, whether it was the light or the fact he's had one too many blunts today, the pink dulled out and you looked furious.

He looked away, jaw clenched so tightly it trembled. His hands flexed at his sides. He was still bleeding.

And you couldn’t let him sit there and rot in it.

Not even as your knees hit the cold tile with a soft thud, your skirt bunching around your thighs and your palms stinging from the fall. You were right there, sitting on his bathroom floor, breath unsteady, heart in your throat.

The sink was still running, the water pink with diluted blood swirling down the drain. But it smelled stronger of bleach in that corner of the bathroom since you chucked whatever cleaning product you could find into it to get the blood off.

Rodrick just stared forward, jaw clenched like a vice, as you reached for his arm. You didn’t flinch, even though your hands were shaking. Even though your stomach flipped at the sight of the fresh gashes and the way his skin burned red around them.

“God,” you whispered, fumbling with the sleeve of your jacket to press against his arm. “You’re such a fucking idiot. Looks like someone ran a cheese grater across your arms.”

“I didn’t ask you to come here,” he snapped, voice rough and tight. But he did crack a slight smile at the comparison. But again—he didn’t move. Didn’t rip his arm away from your grip.

“You think I give a shit?” Your voice cracked, fingers pressing into the bandage as blood soaked through it. “You’re bleeding all over the place, Rodrick, and you’re still trying to act like none of this matters?”

He scoffed, looking down at you with tired, red eyes and an absolute shit-eating grin. “What, you think you’re saving me? Is that what this is? Poor little princess comes to fix the fuck-up? Do you think you'll get extra credit for this?”

“I’m not trying to save you, because I frankly don't fucking care,” you snapped, trembling as your hands worked, your breaths shaky and fast. “I’m trying to stop you from dying in a bathroom next to a blunt, in a stupid band tee because that's a stupid way to die!”

That shut him up.

For a second, the only sounds were the faucet still running, the wind rattling the windowpane as evening fell, and your ragged breathing.

You looked up at him, tears burning your waterline, fingers still pressing down on his arm as if keeping him here—on Earth—with you, even if the cuts weren't that bad. Your whole body was cold from the tiles, knees numb, lips chapped. But you didn’t care. Not when he looked like that. Pale and distant, like he’d already floated a few feet above his own body.

Rodrick’s mouth moved like he had something to say, but all that came out was a low, choked breath. Like the fight in him had cracked somewhere invisible, and all that anger was just a shield for the real thing underneath.

“No one can just ignore...that,” you whispered, referring to how you found him. “What was I meant to do?”

He let out a bitter laugh. He thought you were unusually nice. “You are annoying.”

You bit your lip to keep it from quivering. “I know.”

“I still hate you.”

“You’re allowed to.”

"Do you want me to?"

"I'd rather you did, actually."

The air did settle eventually with dry chuckles and crude insults—but barely.

It wasn’t calm, not really. Just a different kind of heavy. The kind that followed the storm of yelling and blood and shaking hands. The bathroom was still freezing. You could feel the tile digging into your knees, cold biting through the fabric of your skirt. Your jacket was ruined—streaked with red, crumpled on the floor beside you.

Rodrick joined you on the floor, sat against the side of the tub now, slouched low with his arm outstretched as you carefully swiped antiseptic over the cuts. It stung like hell, based on the way his jaw twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Just stared straight ahead, chest rising and falling like he was still coming down from something—rage, maybe. Or a high. Or both.

You kept your hand steady, even though your fingers were still trembling.

“I need to let this dry before I bandage it,” you muttered, voice quieter now. Worn out. “Otherwise it’ll trap the bacteria and—”

“I’m not a dumbass,” Rodrick cut in flatly.

You glanced at him, rolling your eyes and standing back up. “I never said you were.”

He looked at you then—really looked. His eyes were bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in two days, dark circles bruised beneath them. His hair was a mess, falling into his face. Blood stained his hoodie sleeve and the hem of his jeans. But even now, like this, he looked defiant. Angry.

Or maybe just ashamed.

You turned away, hastily busying yourself with scrubbing the sink to avoid looking too long. Well, that's when you really clocked that there was a joint on the window sill.

"Well, there goes any idea of letting some fresh air into here." You mumble, setting the rag down with a wet slap against the sink.

"Huh?" Rodrick perked up.

"It's suffocating in here. But as soon as I open that window, the smell of weed gets out, the neighbours know then we're busted." You cock one hip, staring at him.

Rodrick scoffed, furrowing his eyebrows and putting the implication of your words together, "Why the hell do you care if I get busted for some indo?"

"Because I'm in here too, dumbass." You pause, looking away like you were hiding something, "...I wouldn't tell. Then you know... everyone would find out about all this."

Rodrick doesn't reply, silently noting your consideration for him.

"Don't get funny ideas." You felt the need to clarify as your cheeks burned. Then, without turning to him, you asked, “Is that why your eyes are red though, or is that just the part where you almost passed out in front of me?”

He gave a small, bitter laugh. “Does it matter?”

You turned your head to look at him again, brows drawn tight. “Yeah. Kinda does.”

Rodrick rolled his head back against the bathtub, letting it thud lightly as he sighed. “It was just a hit,” he muttered. “Helps me stop thinking about… stuff.”

You sighed.

Rodrick glanced sideways, catching the expression you were trying not to show—disappointment maybe, or maybe just that hollow, too-familiar look. He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t give me that face. You don’t know what it’s like.”

Your lips twitched. Not into a smile—god, no. But something colder. Something tired. “You think I don’t know what it’s like?”

He blinked at that. Like he hadn’t expected you to sound like that.

You wipe your hands on your skirt, half-heartedly since your fingers were already pruning up.

"The fuck does that mean? You know I'm stupid." Rodrick scoffs, staring at you in disbelief, like he's challenging you.

You froze.

The bandage in your hand suddenly felt like it weighed ten pounds. Like every heartbeat thudded directly in your palms. You stared at it for a second. Then let out a sharp sigh, your whole body tensing as you shoved the gauze roll into the sink cabinet with a dull thump.

“Fuck’s sake,” you muttered, rubbing your face with both hands.

Rodrick blinked at the sudden shift. “What?”

You didn’t answer at first. You just took a step back from him. Toward the mirror, where you could see your own reflection—frazzled, stained, still looking too perfect in all the wrong ways.

"Never planned on telling anyone."

Then Rodrick snorted lightly, like he couldn’t help himself. “Why the hell are you telling me, then?”

You let out a short breath—half-laugh, half-pain. “Because you’re bleeding in your bathroom sink, and I’m scared you’re gonna die.”

That shut him up. Again.

You didn’t look at him when you reached down to unzip your skirt. You just did it, stripping down to the sheer black tights clinging to your legs. And then, carefully—slowly—you hooked your fingers under the waistband and began to peel them down.

Rodrick sat up a little straighter. His eyes flicked down, brows furrowing in immediate confusion.

Because there they were.

Scars. Thin, faded, some pink, some darker. A few recent, irritated. And burns—scattered, angry little circles on your thighs. Like tiny ghosts of every time you'd lost focus, lost control. Like years of “accidents” that were never really accidents.

You stood there in your underwear, half-shivering, arms crossed over your stomach—but it wasn’t about modesty. It was about baring something else entirely.

"Um, yeah, it was like... punishment for myself, rather than trying to feel something."

He was flushed.

His mouth was slightly open, like he wasn’t sure how to react—still sitting there against the tub, shirt stained with blood, but now watching you like you weren’t someone he knew at all. Like you’d just peeled back your skin and shown him something holy and fragile and fucked up all at once.

You just stood there, exposed, breathing in the antiseptic air and waiting for something—anything.

And then he finally spoke, voice hoarse:

“…You did that while studying and with your friends and stuff?”

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah.”

He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, eyes flicking back to your legs, then up to your face. “That’s like… really fucked up.”

You genuinely let out a loud laugh. “You think?”

You sat back down on the cold tiled floor with a sigh, pressing your skirt into your lap like it would make this any less awkward. It didn’t. The silence felt like a thick fog between you. Still wearing your blouse and nothing else on your legs, your thighs out and marked, your expression deadpan.

Rodrick shifted where he sat. His knee bumped yours. You didn’t move.

The antiseptic on his arms was drying now. The sharp, sterile scent was losing its sting.

“You ever think about just… ending it?” he asked suddenly. Voice low. Almost thoughtful. Like he was wondering what it’d sound like out loud.

You didn’t even flinch. “You mean like… before or after I force myself to study derivatives for three hours a night?”

Rodrick snorted. “Okay, damn.”

You looked down at the bandages. “But yeah. All the time.”

He blinked. Then muttered, “Cool, cool, that’s normal, right? Like, ‘Oh, I got a D-minus on a quiz, guess I’ll swan dive into traffic.’”

You coughed a laugh that was definitely more like a sob. “Or when you walk into your room and see a curling wand and just start thinking about not curling your hair.”

“Shit, that's out of the box...” he muttered under his breath, eyes widening slightly. “You win.”

“I’m not competing with you for most suicidal, dumbass,” you muttered, pressing your forehead to your knees for a second.

He nudged you lightly with his elbow. “Yeah, well. If I die first, you owe me a funeral playlist.”

You lifted your head. Stared at him, completely straight-faced, referring to his clothing style. “You want your funeral to sound like a Hot Topic in 2007?”

“Hell yeah.”

“…What the hell.”

Another silence passed. You fiddled with a loose string on your skirt.

He looked down at his arms again. The blood was dry now. Scabs already crusting where the antiseptic had done its job. But he still looked hollowed out, like the inside of him was somewhere a hundred miles from here.

Then he looked back at you. At your exposed thighs, marked and silent.

And finally, a question, quiet: “Why the legs?”

You shrugged, voice dry. “Because people don’t usually check there. My skirt covers it and no one really stares there... you know? My mom doesn’t do laundry.”

He nodded slowly, like that made awful, perfect sense. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that. Most people wouldn't risk getting called a pervert.”

A few more seconds of quiet.

You shifted, groaning as your back hit the tub with a thud, "Fuck, this floor is cold."

"Well, sorry, I don't really hold mental breakdowns in style." He retorts back, not even looking at you as you scowl.

This back and forth went on for a while. The silence is deafening in that too-bright bathroom—white tiles, beige towels, that fake marble countertop that looks like every white-family suburban house ever. You’re sitting on the edge of the tub now, arms wrapped around yourself because you’re still kind of in shock, Rodrick perched on the toilet lid with his head down, bandages hugging his forearms, still damp with antiseptic.

You glance over at him, unsure what the next move is, and your mouth twitches.

“This is so fucking weird,” you say, breathless with disbelief.

Rodrick looks up, eyes red—not from crying, but from the leftover high, lids half-lowered. “You think?”

“I was supposed to be doing chem homework,” you mutter, then laugh. Really laugh. Head tilting back, the kind of breathless laugh that borders on manic. “Now I’m half-naked in your bathroom and I’ve seen your blood and your scars and you’ve seen mine. Like. What the fuck.”

Rodrick snorts. “Kinda romantic.”

You throw a balled-up, bloody tissue at him.

There’s a pause again, but it’s not the tense kind anymore. It’s… weirdly peaceful. Intimate. Almost like after a storm, when the world’s gone still.

You glance at the tub, then at him. “Y’know what would wake you up faster than that blunt?”

“What?”

“A cold bath. Like chuck a few ice cubes from the freezer in there.”

His head whips toward you like you just said the most evil shit imaginable. “Are you outta your damn mind?”

You’re already standing up. “Maybe. But you’re the one who said it was romantic in here.”

“I take it back.”

“You’re such a baby,” you smirk, turning the blue faucet handle hard until the water blasts out, freezing cold. “C’mon. We’ll scream together.”

He watches, dumbfounded, then lets out a breathy chuckle that he tries to hide. But he doesn't protest, swinging the door open and making his way to nip downstairs. To the freezer.

And somehow—somehow—the night ends with both of you screaming out your frustration into the echoey walls of his bathroom as ice water pours over your heads, both shivering and alive and messy and laughing at god knows what, because for once… you’re not alone in the weird, horrible way your brain works. You swear at some point you tried to see how many ice cubes you could stack on Rodrick's usually-hidden forehead like a deck of cards.

Soaked through and shaking, your skirt on this time, tights tossed across the room like shed skin. Because skin was a running theme apparently, cutting off layers of shame in the same way you both cut layers of skin.

Eventually, you both down as you sit opposite each other in the tub. Dripping. Shivering. You’re in your bra and skirt, which is plastered to your thighs and basically translucent now. Rodrick’s shirt is half off his shoulder, hair dripping into his eyes, lips slightly blue. You’re pretty sure this is how people catch pneumonia.

And then—then—it hits you.

You slap the side of the tub. “Shit!”

Rodrick flinches, wide-eyed. “What?!”

“The maths notes.”

“What maths notes?”

“The reason I came here, dumbass!” You throw your hands up, looking around like the notes might still be floating somewhere in the air. “I was supposed to give you the equations for Thursday’s test! You think Mr. Beaumont’s gonna believe this as an excuse?!”

Rodrick blinks, then breaks into a cackle. “Oh my god. You still care about school right now?”

You glare. “Yes? Some of us have reputations to uphold?”

“You just showed me your scars and helped me bandage my arms, then dragged me into a cold bath in your bra,” he wheezes. “I think ‘reputation’ left the building twenty minutes ago.”

You slap your wet hand over your face. “I’m going to die.”

“You’re already in my bathroom. Half naked. In my tub. You’re basically already in hell.”

You throw one of the thicker ice cubes that didn't melt yet straight at him, and he yelps as it knocks him square between the eyes.

The two of you stare at each other for a second—then start laughing again. Breathless. Tired. Shaky. But real.

And when you two finally get out? The bathroom is quiet now—just the dripping of water from your clothes and the sharp sound of your own breathing filling the space. Cold tiles against bare feet. Clothes stuck to wet skin. Neither of you speak, not really knowing how to shift from whatever the fuck that just was into something resembling normalcy.

You keep your eyes glued to the wall tiles as you change, tracing the cracks in the grout like they matter, like they’re not just old and chipped but deliberate. You can hear him moving behind you—zipper, shuffle, that little groan he makes under his breath like putting on clothes is somehow a personal attack.

“I should ask when your parents are getting home,” you mutter, voice flat but testing the waters.

There's a pause. One that lasts too long.

Rodrick snorts. “Why? So you can rat me out like the perfect little fucking narc you are?”

You roll your eyes, still not turning around. “Jesus, I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t wanna get caught soaked and half-naked in your bathroom, dumbass.”

He doesn’t laugh. Not really. Just lets out this low, bitter chuckle like it scraped its way out of his chest.

You pull your skirt over your thighs, still damp and clinging. It’s awkward, weird, way too intimate for two people who still hate each other.

“I mean... they won’t be back till late.” He sounds far away. “Probably.” Then quieter: “Hopefully.”

Something about the way he says it makes you freeze. You turn your head slightly, eyes catching his reflection in the mirror. He’s tugging his shirt over his head, jaw clenched, eyes low. That same tension from earlier. Like he’s bracing for something.

You chew the inside of your cheek. “They hit you?”

The silence that answers you is enough. Not a yes. Not a no. Just silence.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, the word tumbling out before you can stop it.

“For what?”

“For... I dunno. Asking. Assuming. Existing.”

He huffs, then finally turns to look at you. His hair’s still wet, dripping onto the stained collar of his shirt, and his eyeliner’s smudged—not like he meant to wear it, but like it’s just always kind of there, from two days ago or something. He probably doesn't have his own eyeliner, much less make-up remover.

“My dad thinks hitting me builds character,” he says finally. “Greg just—Greg doesn’t care. He’s got his own shit. And Mom... Mom just makes casseroles like every white American mom ever and tells us to stop yelling. Classic fucking sitcom family.”

You swallow. The air in the bathroom feels thick. You sit back down on the edge of the tub, wet and miserable and weirdly heartbroken.

He leans against the door, arms crossed. “What about you? Gotta be exhausting. Must suck when people find out you’re actually... kinda fucked up too.”

You glance up at him. “It’s not a competition.”

“No, but I’m winning,” he smirks, and for a second you wanna throw the empty antiseptic bottle at his face.

But instead, you laugh. Just a little. Just enough for your chest to shake and your throat to loosen.

Rodrick looks at you like he doesn’t understand why he likes that sound so much.

You both sit there for a second—just two messed up kids with blood on their hands, wet socks, and secrets sticking to their ribs.

“Okay,” you say, standing up. “We need to get out of this house before I start trauma bonding and make out with you or something.”

He blinks, surprised. “You wish.”

You grab the math notes still crumpled outside the bathroom. “No, you wish, you loser. I’m still delivering these. Like the good little girl I am.”

Rodrick watches you leave, eyes on your back, your calves, the little limp from your cold feet in wet shoes.

He doesn’t say it—but he’s already thinking about the next time he’ll see you, even if he knows it's going to go back to seeing your dolly-curly hair bobbing in the corridors from afar... and nothing else. But at least he’s not dreading that fact anymore.

click for part 1 click for part 2 click for part 3 click for part 4 click for part 5 click for part 6 click for part 7 click for part 8 click for part 9 click for part 10 click for part 11 click for part 12

♡ Please do not modify, steal, plagarise or post on other platforms without asking. Thank you! Please do leave requests!

[swaps55]

Just wanted to say, regarding female characters - one of the strengths of Opus is the combination of Aslany and Pendergrass. One of my pet peeves is the rule of The Trio - almost exclusively, two guys and one girl. Han, Luke and Leia. Harry, Ron and Hermione. Katniss, Peeta, and Gale. Aang, Katara and Sokka. Ash, Misty and Brock. Every 3-man cell in Naruto. And so on. There's some overlap with love triangles - Bella, Edward and Jacob, for example - but the upshot is that the main character relationships can only explore how the guys get along with each other, and how they get along with the girl. How girls relate to each other is skipped over entirely because there's only one girl.

Then, the one girl is often relegated to being The Girl. Answerable for all womanhood. Like when Ron gets offside with his friends, it's because he's being a dick. But if Hermione does, it's because girls are weird. It perpetuates the two genders of Normal and Girl, and the reader is invited to sympathize with how hard it is for the Normals to relate to the feminine mystique of girls. But of course, girls are mysterious when they're never portrayed together, just existing. Normally.

Opus has two wonderful lead female characters who aren't so easily pigeonholed, and the story is as invested in how they play off each other as how any of the others interact. The thoughtfulness in what makes all the characters tick, and how they serve the story really comes through and makes it more engaging. And then there's Hannah, a powerhouse of a minor character in just a few scenes, you know she's my fave.

Fanfic is an adjustment after conventional fiction - it's more diverse, and the sheer novelty can provoke a kneejerk "why did they make that character [anything other than straight cis white]?" Not because there's anything wrong with it, but because it's new. But in sci fi especially, there's a verisimilitude to diversity.

This unexpectedly turned into a bit of novel, sorry! Aslany and Pendergrass are great!

Oh gosh, thank you!!!

Aslany and Pendergrass are so much fun and so very important to me, and it's absolutely incredible that they strike such a chord with others. I share your frustration on how often a solitary female character is expected to represent all women. "The Two Genders: Normal and Girl" is an amazing way to put it.

I've probably mentioned it before, but I have rules in Opus when it comes to supporting and background characters: they cannot be cis, white, male unless I have a good argument for why they should be, and to combat my biases when it comes to defaulting to male background characters (and BioWare's inability to conceive of female alien who aren't a sex fantasy), I try to start with female as default and then argue for why someone should be male.

And Opus, of course, is a story centered around a male/male relationship, which means I need to make a concerted effort to include women and their stories around that central through line. I wanted some of Sam's primary influences - good and bad - to be women. Hence Hannah Shepard, Guthra Tulak, and Anya Oseguera.

When it came to the 'Yang, I knew I already had two male lead characters, so I wanted to balance them out. Of the primary 'Yang OCs, only Clay Beaudoin is male, and he isn't white.

Okay, there's Wong, but because he's a plot device and effectively got fridged, I wanted him to be male. XD

Hannah Shepard is a lot of fun (I love how much you love her SO MUCH) because she takes so much blame for things most male characters don't. In many ways she's a parallel to Thane, who never takes much flak for being an absent father. Now, that's not something the reader should be blamed for: the ME2 narrative centers around Thane's perspective, which makes you sympathetic to him, while Opus very much looks at Hannah through Sam's lens, which makes her very unsympathetic. Which is why I so enjoy her occasional POVs when you realize that the world looks very different through her eyes, and maybe everything you're led to believe about her isn't the whole picture.

But Aslany and Pendergrass are really special, with their own motivations and complexities and strengths and flaws that, while sometimes making Opus more challenging to write, make it better. I'm really glad people have latched onto them, because it gives me more freedom to expand their role in the overall narrative.

[tianasficrecs168]

Kimetsu no Yaiba fic recs

Some of these are juvenile and silly (case in point: "Right here, on my phone", Zenitsu uses flirt: it's super effective!) but I like them.

Also, any reader stuff you see that's on my list is quality - as in, the character that's supposed to be the reader (us) has just enough of a personality that I really just consider this an OC fic with weird pronoun use.

On a completey unrelated note, I'm going to strangle Surveycorpjean specifically. Their fics are so fuckin good omg, I lose my shit every time.

Anyway, you know the drill.

A black dot • means it’s a one-shot

A heart ♡ means it’s focused on Sexy times (it’s pure filth PWP, or like, a plot focused on getting to the porn part lol)

Brackets (…) means it's still being updated/not done/WIP – and I'm paying close attention to it

Esselle: “Fuwafuwa” (Tanjirou/Inosuke) • Inosuke likes it when people tell him he's great at things, because it's true, and they should all acknowledge how powerful he is. But whenever Tanjiro does it, it makes him feel… weird. -- ふわふわ (fuwafuwa) can mean several different things: 1. Fluffy; soft. 2. Light and airy. 3. The way Tanjiro makes Inosuke feel.

Perliegrimm: “Tempura” (Tanjirou/Inosuke) • Inosuke’s habit of ranting to Nezuko is one borne out of the available knowledge that she can’t gossip to anyone- thus making her the perfect confidant in aiding (and concealing) his secret feelings for a certain swordsman. At least… That’s what he thinks. (Not that Inosuke necessarily thinks.)

Horae: “The Boy in the Box” (Tanjirou/Zenitsu) Nezuko didn’t think much of the boy sobbing in the road, until he protected Tanjiro. Tanjiro knew Zenitsu was different when he first met him, and couldn’t help but chase the scent peaches and kindness, literally. It’s only fair that he take care of Zenitsu, after he got hurt protecting him, right? Role Reversal AU: Where Nezuko is a demon slayer and Demon!Tanjiro immediately takes an interest in Zenitsu. Takes place from Nezuko and Zenitsu’s meeting to the gang's recovery in the butterfly estate.

Kinyve: “Right here, on my phone” (Tanjirou/Zenitsu) Zenitsu has a magical device that keeps track of his relationships in real life with cute hearts, kind of like an otome game! Wait, why does Tanjirou have bombs? what do the bombs mean does Tanjirou hate him oh fuck Tanjirou hates him wh-

Kinyve: “Lean on” (Tanjirou/Zenitsu) • Zenitsu's about to get a stiff neck if this guy doesn't get a move on.

 Kinyve: “The Transmigration of Kaigaku Inadama” (...) (SI!OC/Rengoku) Kaigaku thought that was it. After jumping off the bridge, he’d be dead. Or at least, he should be. Instead, he woke up staring up at a dazzling blue sky, the sickeningly sweet scent of peaches wafting through his nostrils, and his head on a particularly sturdy rock.

Bonsaiy: “Worship the flame” (Sanemi/Giyuu) •♡ Sanemi encounters a demon with a pesky lust-related Demon Blood Art in the south of Honshu, and heroically exterminates it before it can make prey of anymore innocent humans. This fic is not about that. This fic is about the aftermath, and about Giyuu finally becoming closer to Shinazugawa. Just... not in the way he probably first thought about.

Bonsaiy: “The troposphere in his eyes” (Sanemi/Giyuu) • Shinazugawa Sanemi, Tomioka Giyuu, and approximately 25 cliché fanfiction tropes.

Grenades: - “So full of love (I could barely eat)” (Sanemi/Giyuu) • “...Do you think I’m a bad cook?”  A gust of air pushes its way through Sanemi’s open mouth. “What?”  Tomioka flushes- no, he blushes, ears and cheeks dark- and looks away. “The ohagi. Was it bad?”  Sanemi was expecting Tomioka to kill him, or mock him- but this is so, so much worse.

Bloodsbane: - “Warm Body, Soft Breath” (Tanjirou/Inosuke) “What are you two doing?” “It’s just cuddling, Inosuke.” The strange eyes of the boar mask tilted back in the Kamado siblings’ direction. “What’s cuddling?”

Novashyperion: “There’s Room Here For Two” (Inosuke/Zenitsu) • Inosuke has no sense of personal space, and Zenitsu learns that the hard way. It becomes a lot easier as time goes on. - 3 Times Inosuke used Zenitsu as a bed/pillow, and 1 Time Zenitsu did the same.

Glueskin: “They say there’s good grief” (Sanemi/Giyuu) but how can you tell it from the bad? or, giyuu begins the painstaking process of trying to remember how to be a functional human being.

Favspacetwink: “Peace in your violence” (Sanemi/Giyuu)♡ • “Mmnh - mmnh - mmnh-” “Better keep it down, Tomioka,” Sanemi breathes in his ear. Giyuu groans into the hand covering his mouth. “What did I just fucking say?”

JuniRiceBall: “Rip and tear” (Sanemi/Giyuu)♡ • For a mission, Tomioka Giyuu has to borrow one of Shinazugawa Sanemi's yukatas. Too bad it causes one of them to overheat.

Neoqueenserenity: “Jealous of the Moon” (Sanemi/Giyuu) • "Shinazugawa, I'm not taking your last name unless I'm getting something out of it." Before he realized what he'd said out loud, he noticed the wind pillar's face contort in rage. “WAIT NO THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT—” He ducked on instinct, barely missing the fist aimed for his skull. Or: Giyuu and Sanemi are sent on a mission together to take down a demon who targets brothers, and they pretend to be siblings. It does not go well.

Orenji: “Home is with you” (Sanemi/Giyuu) • Sanemi’s face crumples. “Fuck,” he says, huffing out a short laugh, throwing his head back. “You’re gonna make me cry. I hate you.” “You don’t,” Giyuu says, confidently, fondly. “You love me. Just as much as I love you.” (Giyuu has never believed in fate, but meeting Sanemi again hundreds of years later seems like the Universe is giving them one more shot to get it right.)

Pinkichor: “Comfort of a Storm” (Tanjirou/Zenitsu) • Zenitsu’s entire body seemed to drop like he was exhausted without the will to take another step. “Tanjiro...doesn’t your blanket smell good enough? It’s certainly less weird.” Tanjiro wrapped his arms around Zenitsu, shaking his head, pulling cloth with the movement. “This is better.” Zenitsu tried his very best to walk forward with Tanjiro affectionately attached to his back, but Tanjiro picked up his feet when Zenitsu did, and the only thing he succeeded in was bringing Tanjiro to his chosen futon.

Frogsterz: “To be special” (Tanjirou/Inosuke) • “Shut up!” Inosuke wants to scream, but then he realises Tanjirou absolutely must not wake up and settles for a death hiss, hands curling against his sides. Stupid thinking stupid foresight stupid— “I don’t think about those kinds of things! They’re a waste of time! And pack means family!" “Well a pack doesn’t have to be blood-related, I don’t think,” Zenitsu flops onto the grass and stares at the sky. “I think having someone to love would be a very nice thing to have, you know. The whole—not being alone thing, not being given up on thing.” (Or, Inosuke is special to Tanjirou. Tanjirou is special to Inosuke. They've really got to work on their communication.)

 Frogsterz:��“Christ, just hold still” (Sanemi/Reader) There are many things that after a year of being in the Demon Slayer medical corps you’ve gotten used to. The stench of ash and blood in the air. The sight of half-eaten, half-chewed bodies strewn across the floor. Applying tourniquets, lopping off limbs when they’ve been beyond saving, patching up the lightly and the grievously injured. You can handle just about anything now. But this? This asshole who keeps running away from you and your attempts to stop him from fucking bleeding out in a forest? He really pisses you off.

Kenmagoesblep: “Human manners 101” (Tanjirou/Zenitsu/Inosuke) • Being an uneducated feral boy, Inosuke gets thrown off, confused and overwhelmed over the smallest, stupidest things. It’s really embarrassing. So, while they’re not obliged to do any of this, Tanjiro and Zenitsu have this nonverbal agreement that they’d do their best to teach Inosuke some basic human knowledge. Building pillow forts, however, doesn't qualify as such, yet here they are.

StrawBunni: - “Zenitsu uses flirt: it's super effective!” (Tanjirou/Zenitsu/Inosuke) Sensing that the conversation is done, Zenitsu pushes away from the door and continues heading towards the roof, thinking through what he just heard. Flirting to get what you want, huh? Would that actually work for someone like him too? or High School AU where Zenitsu decides to try and use flirting to get Inosuke and Tanjiro to follow the dress code and ends up with two boyfriends instead, which for some reason he didn’t see coming.

Redyarns: - “Acoustics” (Zenitsu/Tanjirou) • “Well,” Zenitsu sighed, finishing the wrap and tucking it with a good pull. He needed to thank his Gramps for teaching him how to treat minor wounds. “Be more careful, okay? You’re the best one out of all of us, we can’t lose you to a minor demon.” “I love you,” Tanjirou said, and it came out breathy, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Zenitsu snorted and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Love you too,” he said sarcastically. “Huh?” Tanjirou said. “I love you too?” Zenitsu repeated slowly, now getting confused when Tanjirou’s sound became sour with disappointment. “Uh, right? We’re friends? We are friends, right?” He said, suddenly nervous. “Yes, of course we are,” Tanjirou said immediately, and though there was still that sharp twang of sourness in his sound, at least he was smiling. Weird. *** Five times Tanjirou confessed and one time Zenitsu got it.

Kagshina: “Ignite” (Tanjirou/Zenitsu/Inosuke) • Inosuke’s chest clenches without explanation. Whatever this feeling is, he doesn’t like it. Tanjiro’s not supposed to cry. Tanjiro’s supposed to be strong, like him. He punches Zenitsu’s shoulder. “Why the hell is Tanjiro crying?! That’s supposed to be your thing!” (In which Inosuke witnesses affection and there’s lots of crying.)

xtwilightzx (blackidyll): “Daybreak” (Tanjirou/Giyuu) • Giyuu is asleep on his side, head turned towards Tanjirou, close enough that Tanjirou would barely need to stretch to touch him. Tanjirou just looks— —and the wonder sets in slowly, like dawn gradually seeping colour into the darkness of the night.

Surveycorpjean: “Killer Downpour” (Inosuke/Tanjirou/Zenitsu) Once again, the world feels so small, and Tanjirou’s heart feels so big.

[koinotame]

hiii so. i have an important question for you guys re: my ocs, particularly the villainess. basically some of the lore/plot stuff in my original idea doesn't really hold up bc i didn't think it through at the time and i want to change some of it so it's more coherent and works better with the other otome isekai/game characters. so i have two options:

option 1: make the body reader isekais into a separate person from the villainess altogether pros: muuuch easier to make reader 100% gender neutral, the simpler option, allows me to focus on your relationship with the other characters with less complications, i was thinking of making the reader('s body) chronically ill which would only be possible w/ this option. since a lot of otome isekais get weird abt this and i rarely see realistically ill characters/reader inserts cons: the original concept was more unique and this feels much more generic, previous owner of the body becomes largely obsolete/plot device which i feel is kind of boring, makes worldbuilding a bit harder since the reader isn't perceived as any particular gender (which is fine, the medieval (...not really) fantasy world can have normalised diversity, i'd just need to think abt how i would want to go about it bc i've been envisioning the world being a bit more rigid)

option 2: keep the original idea and make the reader isekai into the villainess' body—with the caveat of when she manages to return the two of you need to share it pros: the cooler option, would make worldbuilding a bit easier, previous owner of the body is a properly fleshed out character, the characters would have a lot more relations/interactions between each other both pre and post reader's arrival cons: harder to make the reader properly gender neutral (well the reader themselves is fine but. the villainess. yeah), your relationship and interactions with the villainess will be pretty noticeably different from the other characters. which i don't mind but idk if that'll maybe be a bit too complicated + as a result the reader's interactions w/ the other characters become more multifaceted, however i would need to rethink a couple of their relationships bc i just realised this would really fuck with several of them :sob:

[majycka]

Hello!! I just wanna drop by and say i enjoyed your Utahime thoughts! And i wanna share s couple of my cents if that's alright? Here we gooo

So I'll start by saying that i have nothing against anyone that ships gjhm, that's the beauty of fandom and aus and stories. however, i have tried to see the appeal in a realistically speaking sense within the context of the actual story and i just cannot. for the life of me. Like it's pretty evident that Utahime does not like Gojo, and that he's very disrespectful towards her, however, there is the trust they share because of their roles as teachers and their ideology. it's not that Utahime is an unreasonable person that would turn down an offer that would put her students in harms way right? but the thing is, I don't think the story ever set up any sublots for them to like each other you know? And I don't wanna be a killjoy when i say this altho i probably am, but rather that it's just not something author has envisioned for them?

i do think Gojo likes Utahime, but just not in a romantic sense, and this sort of dynamic is really reminiscent of that i would find in siblings, where one is endlessly annoying and the other wants to strangle the younger. i think if the story went the other way instead of the one it went now, Utahime and Gojo should cooperate and be understanding of one another as in good colleagues/friends? but given how Utahime was written and her limited appears in the story, luckluster and underwhelming sometimes, it's nearly impossible, and it's mostly on gege because all these characters have so much potential yet he only utilizes them as plot devices, in short it's not about the characters unfortunately.

and frankly i can't blame people for creating aus, in fact go ahead, it's what makes shipping so great! like i love to ship gojo too, mostly with geto or sometimes shoko heck i even like to pair him with ocs or readers too! but idk why i just can't picture him and Utahime ever being in a relationship at least within the story like context. again i don't wanna undermine anyone who loves this ship, i am all supporting but i just wanted to get out how i see it. Hope this wasn't confusing!

I see what you're coming from, Anon! People have varying preferences/opinions, and that's the beauty of it! I know Gege wouldn't draw out a romance plot line because he stated he ONLY sees it for mutamiwa. I can be delusional with gjhm BUT realistically, I’d never trust Gege EVER to handle a romance plot line cuz it will probably end tragically lol.

Imma try to speak from gojohime pov and give some insight why I personally love the ship.

I think the gjhm fans that I've seen doesn't ship them just because its ability to be canon but instead the dynamic that gjhm offers. Like you said Utahime does hate him while Gojo seems to like her, and the most funny part for me is that Gojo genuinely believes her "annoyance" is a joke between them. The way I see it, it offers this a slowburn romantic comedy potential with Gojo learning to get over himself, step up, and have this massive realization of falling for Utahime. I had this convo with my moot ola and moot said how basically Gojo just went “shit, she CAN fix me!” with Utahime (Because ya know how Utahime is everything Gojo isn’t) thus he continues to bug her xD

There's just so much to "play" with their dynamics honestly if you take them out of the canon story. You'd think that a slow burn romance would be two people earning each other's trust then doing all the slowly loving/liking part, but since the story already has set up that gjhm have each other trust because they share the goal of teachers fostering the new generation of sorcerers plus their decade of familiarity with each other, it makes you think what's more to this slowburn romcom?

Well, the way I see it, their opposing teaching beliefs can help them learn from each other and be better teachers. Gojo will be forced out of his emotionally constipated ways. Utahime's strength in her patience and ability to connect with other will be highlighted. They can be such a fun colleagues to lovers slowburn romcom type of story ya know which I honestly find hilarious xD So yehhh thats basically why I ship these two fuckers :^)

[cheekybarnes]

hello, you sweet chaotic marvel-loving friends!

i write bucky barnes / marvel x reader fics on this blog and yes—i do accept requests when open! but before you sprint into my inbox, please read this first. it'll help us both!

what to send me

specific scenarios → i thrive on details! setting, mood, a line of dialogue, a moment or plot idea you want explored, give me a spark!

absolutely love any ideas with a big emotional core (i need stakes! i need yearning! i need to feel something!!) you can always check out my tagged #fic request to see requests i've filled!

reader dynamics → i usually default to gn!reader unless specified. you can request a specific vibe (established relationship, secret relationship, enemies to lovers, etc).

what i don’t write

smut for smut’s sake. respectfully, no. if it doesn’t serve an emotional arc, it’s not happening here!

fwb, non-con, dub-con, incest, underage, ddlg, anything even remotely in that realm

oc x canon, or character x character ships

reader insert fics with no emotional or narrative substance (see above re: yearning)

requests that treat the reader like a one-dimensional plot device

important notes!!

sending a request =/= guarantee i’ll write it i write what inspires me. if your idea grabs me, i’ll probably add it to my what i’m working on post. otherwise, it may just live rent-free in my brain until further notice. but i promise i read and consider all requests!

i’m one human with an adult job and a tragically overactive imagination. sometimes i write fast. sometimes i stare into the void for days.

i tag all completed requests with #fic request!

tl;dr

be weird, be detailed, be emotionally invested!! i love writing character-driven, narrative-rich marvel fics that make you feel like you've been emotionally tackled.

thank you for respecting my brainspace, and thank you even more for being here 🫶🏻

[stormglitch]

Woo! First posting and it's basically porn lmao 😂 i have a while ass plot dedicated to this oc and working on the design but I couldn't help myself making this

Words : 1300~

Warnings : ratchet is in good mood (my cover up for anything that might be ooc lmao), vibrator used, genitals aren't mentioned, you could read this as an x reader, my grammar is probably horrid

*They are in established relationship they had there sappy omg I thought you were dead but now I know that I need to tell you I love you spiel*

*Pov of oc who, is a bot of sorts, is but I use human terms cause they aren't a cybrotronian*

“Please Ratchet I really want to have a nap with you! Naps with you are the best. And we both know that you need rest as well, plus you always love taking naps with me!” I begged. Try to use the puppy dog eyes but it looks more like sad pouting. Which is close, I guess.

“No, and no I don’t. We both know that I have lots of work to-do.” coldly stated Ratchet.

Hmph. 

“Then at least let me help we both know I’m more than capable.” I stood with both hands on my hips.

There is a pause of compilation from Ratchet then a small smile. Uh oh. I know that smile this is going to be an interesting day for sure.

“Under one condition.” Ratchet starts. “Get the ‘equipment’ that I helped you make” He smirks.

My engine revved a bit at the boldness of Ratchet. But there was little hesitation from me moving towards my ‘room’ that was an old office when the silo belonged to the humans before the auto bots made it their base. 

It was not long before I came back to Ratchet who was still working on his synth energon formula and a few other projects of his.

“Why did you want me to get this? Hm?” I coyly stated. My hands held behind my back.

“You have such confidence in your ability to help I would like to give you a challenge.” Ratchet had turned around and had something in his hand. A bullet vibrator. Oh, ho ho this is a ‘challenge’ that I am so excited for. He hands me the vibrator. With it in my hand I look at him questionably. 

“Put in it you, you want attention? Ill give you some while you help and if you do good enough, I’ll reward you, latter tonight.” Firmly states Ratchet.

“You seem to be in a good mood. You enjoy this proposition, don’t you?” I smirk. His vents kick up a bit betraying his straight face. “Hehehe it’s nice to see you feeling better, I’m more than willing to accept your challenge.” I walked towards my room. He grabbed my shoulder. 

“Wish to see you put it in.” a pause and a stammer “uh to make sure you actually put it in.” he looks shy fully to the side.

“Of course.” He picked me up and I squeaked.

“You still aren’t used to being so small in comparison are you hm?” He almost smiles.

“No, I think that it’ll be a while before I am.” I bashfully state while removing the cover plating to put the device inside. My legs are on either side of his palm. He leaned slightly closer while I put in the vibrator. A 3d rendering is plastered on my screen I can see and feel the device enter and settle in a spot. Once inside I place my cover back on and minimize the rendering, but it stays in the back of my processor continuously updating the rendering.

“Alright what would you like me – heeii! – Rachet! ~” he cuts me off by turning the vibrator on low then turning it off almost immediately.

“What you like me to do, doctor?” I restate regaining my self-control. I know he doesn’t particularly like the title, but his vents kicked up a notched. A smirk landed on my face.

“Well doctor~ what is it you need?” I said the title with a bit more flirting tone.

“I uhm I need a few data pads from my berthroom that have notes.” He stutters then centers himself.

“Due to my size, I’ll only be able to grab a few at a time, just so you know.” I state as I walk towards his room. The only response was a smirk.

As I arrive, I notice the massive pile on his desk that is about a foot or so above my head. I looked around to find a box to climb on to get to the pads. As I was looking for said box the rendering shifted, and anticipation crept inside me. I took a physical metaphorical breath to center myself. 

‘Aha! A box!’ I move the box that is the size of me towards the desk. I climb on the box. A shift in the device. A low groan falls from me. I stand still to recenter myself again. I climbed on the table ‘finally’. I start moving the pads down onto the box. As I let the last one down, the vibrator turns on to what I would guess as medium strength. More intense than the last one, at least. A moan rips through my throat before I can stop it. My knees buckle little and small whimpers leave me as I try my best to recenter myself at the new sensation. It takes a few ‘breathes’. 

I climbed all the way down to the floor. There was a total of 10 pads.

‘I’ll only be able to reasonably carry two at a time don’t want to push myself when in this situation, five trips it is then.’ I carried two pads back towards Ratchet’s station. They were like the large print book I had as a kid, they were just larger than my torso, slightly awkward to hold but manageable. 

“Ratchet! I’ve got your first delivery!” I giggled to myself at the silliness of my statement.

Ratchet just rolls his optics at my antics.

“About time what took you so long?” he questioned.

‘You know damn well why.’ “I had to find a box to climb on to, to get to the table.” I say instead of what I wanted to say.

He grabs the pads from you and smirks. “Of course, I sometimes forget that you are so much smaller than me.” 

“No, you don’t, you never fail to mention it when you pick me up.” I say before I could stop myself. As soon as it was out of my mouth the vibrator picked up a notch. My eyes widen slightly at this. I had somewhat forgotten that that was there. Having it processing in the back of my mind to try and focus.

I was determined to show a straight face.

“Ill go and get the rest of the pads.” I state and walk away before he could bump it up another notch. There was a slight flux of the vibration as I was walking away. There wasn’t much talking as I grabbed and gave the data pads. Expect each time, he grabbed them from my hands he bumped the vibrations a notch higher. I guess that wasn’t medium at the start. It was harder and harder to walk straight and hold in my moans but damn it if I didn’t try my hardest. 

The last straw of my composure was as I delivered the last set of data pads. As he bumped it up again. I couldn’t stop the moan that left me and the buckle of my knees to the floor. On my knees I panted as I started melting in the pleasure of the vibrations. 

“Ratchet please I did as you asked, please.” I begged.

“What is it you would like?” He asked.

I looked around to really make sure we were in fact alone in the base. It was late at night and most everyone was asleep. 

An almost whisper “your spike.” My engine rumbled in embarrassment. 

“I couldn’t hear you could you repeat that?” He asked if I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or legit. 

“Your spike, Ratchet, I want it.” I said a bit louder and more confidently.

He chuckles. “As your reward, little one.” He gentle scooped me up off the floor and walked toward his berthroom. 

[anamelessfool]

I have four major fics planned. There's going to be smaller, lighter ones along the way but four will be an overarching dramatic plot spanning almost 44 years. Maybe I'll do other stuff in other fandoms in the meantime, who knows. I feel married to these characters I've built and I want to put it all up there.

The first one is winding down, I can't believe it.

Each little other fic I've published sheds a very small light on the main mystery. These little threads will pay off.

Violence & Gentleness (1979)

Primo-centered fic. Sets up the world, sets up the mystery. Sets up the brothers' relationships.

Lead the Way Into the Void (2017)

This one is Terzo and Omega focused, but through the eyes of an OC who runs away from an abusive relationship and is picked up at a satellite Church. I debated having this be Terzo's POV, but he knows way too much. I thought about having this one be Reader POV but I found it confusing that she comes back later on as a major plot device and she has an appearance? It's Terzo leading the way into the Void so we learn more about what goes on in the alternate dimension. With Omega's help, of course. It's going to be a perfectly normal, safe romp through an alternate dimension.

Crossroads (2018)

Secondo fic. Focused on his family relationships, especially with his brother Terzo. A mystery buried forty years in the past bubbles forth, out of Secondo's tight control. And it's Secondo so all the regular guy confusion about how magic works that Primo experienced is out the window. Secondo is going to do some really odd, surreal things. Think "Inception." Pretty sure Terzo makes it out ok after this one. (He doesn't, sorry)

Maternal Slave (2022)

Copia is now Papa Emeritus, and everything is going great. He's having an amazing time. Especially if he closes his eyes and pretends things aren't going on. He's definitely totally fine after watching Primo waste away, Secondo leave the Church, Nihil drop dead on stage and Terzo get axed. And that's the end of the story. /sarcasm

My Fic List

[catwings-writes-things]

do you have a favorite character to write?

That’s such a difficult question to answer, because I love them all for different reasons! So, the short answer is “no,” but the long answer (rambling about why I like writing each of them) is below the cut.

Jon is probably the easiest character for me to write, for the simple reason that I already talk like that. His character voice, word choice, and dark humor and sardonic observations come very naturally to me. It’s also fun to write him when his thinking about something is completely off base—canon Jon is the “not lying, just wrong” variant of unreliable narrator to fascinating effect, and I’ve had a lot of fun playing around with that.

Helen is fun for the opposite reason: her mode of thinking is so completely alien to me that writing her has me constantly questioning my most fundamental assumptions about the world (and occasionally getting frustrated when I recognize that I’m stuck in an assumption or thought pattern that Helen wouldn’t share, but have literally no idea how to move beyond it). Helen reminds me a lot of one of my dearest friends, and one of my goals in writing this fic was to externalize my efforts to understand—or at least accept and make peace with—her point of view. Well, it’s working. (You know who you are. I love you so much.) And, of course, there’s the eternal struggle that is writing a Spiral creature’s movement and mannerisms. I’m doing my best 😂

Mike is great fun to write for a combination of the above reasons—a lot of his thought processes and style of intelligence is deeply familiar to me, but other aspects of his thinking (and especially speaking) are deeply unfamiliar. I share Mike’s logical/patterns-based intelligence, his tendency to respond to fear by researching the hell out of whatever is frightening him, his tenacity to the point of obsession, his messed-up relationship with pain and his body in general, his horror of the Spiral, and his love of the Vast, especially the sky/heights/falling aspect (the paragraph in Mike’s statement about his feelings on fairground rides is one of the most relatable things I have read in my entire life). However, while we’re both very autistic, he’s semiverbal and I’m hyperverbal with only occasional periods of speech loss. Writing Mike’s dialogue is always a challenge, and one I generally approach by writing out what he’s trying to say and then taking out all unnecessary words and sentences (and then some, depending on the situation and how much time he’s had to think about it, if any). I sometimes forget to do this, and I’m sorry about that. But I love writing Mike because noticeably disabled autistic characters (or characters with any sort of mental/emotional/cognitive disability, really) who are actually characters and not just plot devices are so, so rare in media, to a deeply frustrating extent, and I’m happy to contribute even a tiny bit towards fixing that. Also because he’s awesome and I love him.

Harriet is fun because at this point, she’s basically my oc, but does technically exist in canon, so I do have something to go on. Talking too much more about why I love writing her would be spoilers for upcoming chapters 😈, but for now, let’s just say that she’s full of contradictions, and that, of all the members of the Squad, she’s both the kindest and the cruelest. She’s fascinating and I adore her, and I’m so very proud of how she’s turned out.

Oliver is delightful for several reasons, and one of them is that he’s probably the closest thing this group has to a normal person? Which kind of helps normalize avatarhood in general, both for the readers and for Jon (you can see this most clearly at the end of chapter 2). My joke about Oliver’s character concept is “guy who got appointment-in-Samarra-ed so hard he just stopped driving,” and I really do think that’s at the core of it—Jon is still struggling with his situation and with what he is, to some extent, but Oliver tried everything he possibly could to escape his own and it backfired spectacularly. Oliver has had it driven in again and again that he can’t change anything, that what happens will happen and there’s no point in fighting it, and he’s made his peace with that and decided to be content with his life anyway. Very Stoic of him, in the original Greek philosophy sense. I appreciate that.

Which leaves Karolina. She’s fun to write for a multitude of reasons, including but not limited to her blunt approach to comfort (which, for Jon, tends to be remarkably effective). If I want someone to just say what everyone’s thinking already, it’s gonna be Karolina. Her extremely matter-of-fact style of dealing with problems (and the positive and negative consequences thereof) is fun to explore, and—yes—the fact that someone in-universe can recognize the Dracula parallels brings me an unreasonable amount of joy.

Thank you for the ask, friend! Best!

[nobodysdaydreams]

Hey, Bods! Sorry this took me a while to get to, it's been a busy week on my end. I hope you are doing well!! As always, fee free to ignore as many/all of these as you want to :)

Rhonda Kazembe 2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to ths character? Something you don't like?

Pedalian :) 20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

Rhonda Kazembe

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

How strong she is. She's so young (especially in the books) and loses so much, but she's still an adult figure to those kids. I admire that.

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

For Rhonda...I don't really have a song. (sorry, if I think of one I'll add it!).

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

Emphasize how young she was, because I think that's important. She's only in her early 20's (in the books anyway).

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

Yes...but I think at some point she's get a little annoyed about cleaning up after me. We'd very much fall into a Rhonda and Number Two vs. Nicholas dynamic.

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

That the show version of Rhonda also met Nicholas when she was very young. Might have more to say on that later.

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

Number Two of course. They're still sisters in the show, idc what anyone else says about it. They are family.

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to ths character? Something you don't like?

I like that people emphasize her relationship with Number Two, and how young she is (as previously stated). As for something I don't like...not really sure? Again, can't think of anything but if I do, I'll let you know.

Pedalian :)

I was so excited when I saw you put my OC on here, Sophie you don't even know.

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

Hahahaha... well I WOULD say Curtain but um...we all know how that turned out (spoilers). But honestly, Nicholas and Nathaniel. Pedalian would have gotten along really well with the Benedict siblings if he'd had the opportunity to meet them all. That's about all I'll say on that for now.

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

Favorite thing to do? Why have him haunt the narrative of course!

Least favorite? Trying to come up with a first name. Not fun. Why could the show not just give us character names?

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

This is an odd question to ask because...this is my OC. I'd didn't meet him, I created him. But, it's also a perfect questions so good job Sophie. You see, at first, he was more of a plot device. He ends up dead pretty quickly, his purpose is to explain the backstory the show failed to clarify, namely, Curtain's relationship with SQ's birth parents. But now that the story has taken off more than expected, and I've realized the power I have to do flashbacks and other fun stuff, the brain bees have been buzzing. That's all I have to say for now.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

I've noticed how you're one of the few writers who never use Alys as someone Aemond cheats on the reader/oc with, like I was so worried when she was mentioned in dépaysement thinking he will definitely cheat, but like oh my god? You added the slight angst without him actually cheating and you portrayed her in quite a positive light as well.

AND I WAS EXPECTING THE READER TO START PULLING OUT HATE WHEN AEMOND WENT 'My alys' but she literally did none of that and instead understood the reason and cause.

I love this sm.

But i have a question, will you ever make Aemond cheat on the reader or OC with Alys?

And will you ever make a fully fledged Alys fanfic?

Hello! I don't really use that plot in fanfics mainly because I'm a firm believer that Aemond is extremely loyal to the woman he loves, whether it be the reader, an OC, or alys herself.

Unless it's a silly little one shot that isn't a slowburn and Aemond x Reader related, like for example my alys one shot "Better Than Revenge"

And tbh, I try to leave her character as ambiguous as possible in all of my stories, but i do write positive stuff about her cause you know.. She's my fav. Even in dépaysement, in that fic, this is aemond's alternate life, the one where the reader interfered between canon events, though it's a different life, there's still a subconscious connection between him and alys because in the world where the reader did not exist, aemond loved alys, which is why he feels somewhat connected to her, and wasn't able to kill her but instead set her free, and the reader understands why and doesn't blame him for it, her only request to aemond was to not cheat on her, because she was worried about the connection too, and aemond was true to his promise while letting alys go.

And to answer your 1st question, I'm not really sure if I will ever do that, if I were to, it would not likely be an aemond x reader fic, but rather someone else x reader and it would probably be a plot device to get the reader with the said character and get rid of aemond out of the way in a lazy manner HASHHW 😭😭

And the 2nd question, I definitely will once her character is fully out on the show!! I can't really write a full fledged fanfic on her yet because we know so little about her, but once she's revealed in the show I will, but for now it's just going to be oneshots <3

And don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the creators who write the troupe, it's fanfic after all, you do you! they just wanna use it as a plot device and that's alright ig, once again, it's just fanfic, and since we know little about her character, motives, and her relationship with aemond, it leaves the door open for such troupes in order to get their plot going and i don't blame them, because one more time, it's just a fic!! the fanfiction cannot alter the canon events that will unfold in the show 🩷🩷 and on this note, do not send hate or harass the authors that do write this troupe, if you do not want to like it, just stop reading & ignore the fic! 💞

[growing-pains-1994]

Okay here's the post. How I imagine the average fandom would mischaracterise the protagonists: extended edition (couldn't fit it all in the tags).

Renee

Angst. Like, just angst.

Her hobbies, interests, dislikes, relationships, etc. would be totally ignored.

They'd make 'whump' or whatever. Just make her go through even more shit.

Or, alternatively, they would only pay attention to her relationship to one specific person. Yes, I mean shipping.

The angst would still be there, but now it would be used so the person she's shipped with can 'fix' her with love or whatever

There'd probably be a group that calls her a bitch for being aggressive and impulsive.

Lucas

He'd be called toxic. My boy is not toxic!

He ends the story at fourteen years old. He has issues. He's a goddamn teenager.

They'd make his interest in Super Space Sailor his only passion.

Or, they'd make shipping his whole thing. I can see the tween/teen fangirls from a mile away.

Building on this, they may make him a fan favourite in some areas because he's a guy and he's funny and cool

Oh my god. He'd be that-one-skeleton-guy-from-the-hit-indie-game'd.

No, I'm not saying his name. This post stays out of his tags. I still fear the community.

But yeah. He'd be fangirled and AU'd upon until he is literally unrecognisable. And the portion that don't like him would fucking hate him.

Ally

Reduced to comedy relief and somehow made 'dumb'.

She would have zero depth.

Building on that, I know her whole family would be shat on for being 'absolutely terrible'.

They're not, really.

Also, they'd make her frequent intense crushes her only other personality trait.

Would they make her all flirty? Maybe. Or, they'd make her absolutely pathetic around her crush.

Neither is true.

Mary-Anne

So. She's Catholic, right? Yeah, I don't see that going down well.

Yes, some Catholics have issues, but she's a good person. Fandom would ignore that.

They'd make her a bigot and I would cry. Then, they'd demonise her for it and I would cry more.

On the flip side, I do imagine a smaller portion that say she does no wrong or whatever. Though I think this would be way smaller.

She might just be used as a plot device.

People would just use her hobbies as plot devices and that's it. One of her hobbies is, admittedly, very important to the story. But they'd just use her for that and that only.

Oh, and, she has a problem that arises within the story. They'd make this her whole thing. No personality whatsoever. They'd probably even take away her hobbies if it meant 'whump' or whatever!

I can see the /reader fics making the reader the saviour who suddenly 'fixes' her. Like, no.

Lola

Lola, I'm sorry.

She'd be so heavily demonised I can't even begin to imagine it.

She's a teenage girl who's emotional and has some other issues. She does things wrong sometimes. Fandom would tear her to bits.

I can see her 'defenders' (read: those with reading comprehension) getting harassed by the majority of the fandom.

She's already gotten the 'I don't like her' comments so I just know she'd get it rough.

Jack

Jack...How do I explain Jack.

1), 'small bean' treatment. He is shy and socially anxious and people would take this as an excuse to infantalise him. No, I'd never condone weird shit about my OCs (even including the adults, honestly), but they'd act like he's never heard a 'deez nuts' joke or something.

2), autism jokes. Yes, he is autistic. Yes, he's shy and awkward and stumbles over his words. Only stumbling over his words did he start life with. No, he's not a genius. Yes, he can get some jokes and sarcasm. Ugh.

They'd just make him completely clueless. And, yes, I know some people on the spectrum are more unaware of things like sarcasm and the like and that's valid. I'm just saying he's not and they'd likely remove the actual 'spectrum' part of it.

It's just...I know this would be tied in with the infantilisation. I couldn't care about autism jokes if they weren't tied to the infantilisation. And I know they would be.

(Also it'd be an excuse for them to demonise Lola more.)

3), he'd be called gay. Guys. He's not. He's straight, I'm sorry.

For context, he likes theatre and can sing. And he's shy. That's all they'd need.

They'd make him a gay boy who blushes around his 'crush' (I know damn well who that would be, and it's a big no).

Or, he'd be shipped with Mary-Anne. Not a huge no or anything, I just know that would start some fights, to say the least.

[zepskies]

@luci-in-trenchcoats You absolutely MADE my night, hun!! 💕💕🥰 It is a beast of a fic, and I'm so grateful that you read through it all and gave me such a lovely review.

Diving into your comments:

Lol so I created an OC version of this story on Ao3, and it clocks BMD as just shy of 100K words. 😂 But something I worked very hard on was the pacing of this story. I didn't want the "enemies to lovers" aspect to be rushed, as it really can't be if done right. So I'm very glad you thought it gave "everything time to breathe."

This very much feels like it properly exists in the world of The Boys while being it's own thing. I love the inclusion of Supe Affairs as a plot device. It brings things together from canon but gives us something new to explore too.

I just love this show, its characters, the grittiness of the world. I tried my best for this to feel like an extension of season 3 while still being a "what if" story: as in "what if" Soldier Boy was able to defeat Homelander and escaped custody. How the hell would the Boys deal with that? And insert a sassy reader character to Liam Neeson her way through it. 😂

I love the missions the reader and the team goes on. There's clearly been a lot of thought put into not just the obvious Ben/Soldier Boy & reader relationship but how you get there, how you keep Ben as Ben and keep the reader as the strong capable person she is and have them as clear enemies at the start.

Thank you for shouting this out because that aspect was very important to me as well. I thought Jensen did a great job with SB. I wanted to stay as true as possible to his characterization while giving room for a long-winded redemption arc lol.

And with the reader, I try to create reader characters that feel like OCs. I love that you said she's an absolute badass but you still feel her humanity -- because that's exactly what I was going for. She's got a traumatic past, but it gives her the unique perspective of identifying with Ben while helping him grow.

I love the different locations throughout the series! It feels like a global adventure you go on and each place brings with it a different vibe (although the first safe house is always gonna be my favorite for obvious reasons).

Oh fair enough, hun. 😘 The first house in Medellin is my favorite as well. Even though it's the stage of her kidnapping, it does become quite idyllic in a way lol. But you're right, that does become a kind of motif throughout the whole story -- the various "homes" they share with one another before finally choosing how they're going to spend their life together.

And the original side characters! They're fleshed out and add great value to Ben and the reader's development as the story goes (ngl was so happy with how these guys got some proper conclusions to their own stories).

Omg thank you!! A piece of writing advice I've gotten and held onto ever since: treat minor characters like the protagonists of their own stories. (And I couldn't not give them the ending they deserved. 🥰)

As for Ben and the reader? Fucking kudos for the writing of the two of them. This is the Soldier Boy from the show if we had more time with him. This is him with fears and growth and the mouth of a sailor. And you fucking adore the "bad guy" because maybe the bad guy ain't so bad after all. He's a dick but the way he changes for the reader, in obvious and not so obvious ways, makes you root for someone who does some pretty bad shit.

So I love every bit of how you phrased this. As I said, I tried my very best to get Ben's characterization right. He's the quintessential John Wayne/John Winchester archetype, so it was familiar to me in that sense, with the strengths/weaknesses of emotionally deficient men. (Not unlike Butcher.)

I'm a sucker for it, unfortunately, but it was fun trying to figure out how push him to his emotional limits and give him a partner who gets under his skin in the best and worst of ways, and who has a heart big enough to work with him lol.

I remember someone commented on a chapter that they "didn't know who to root for," Ben and his team or the Boys, and that was honestly one of the best compliments ever because the situation is messy. And making Ben sympathetic is hard to do lol.

The reader is a force to be reckoned with. She's a straight up badass. I loved the balance of her strength and her humanity, of the calculations of trying to escape and the slow realization Ben isn't what she first thought. As she tells everyone, they just don't know him yet.

I grew to love her as a character as much as Ben, tbh. She's a combo of tough as nails and deeply flawed and emotional and giving. And once you have her loyalty, you have it for life. Actually, funny enough, I loosely based her personality and background as a sort of female Dean Winchester. 😂

The non-relationship relationship between these two, the refusal to put a label on it even if it's clear what it means to them both, is a joy to watch unfold. Hatred turning into carnal need, loose friendship, protection, life-saving, a need for each other...the way Ben refuses to say, even think, how we know he feels about the reader. The growth of this man is something I will not get over.

They both go through a denial of the highest form lmao. And yet they can't help but gravitate toward each other like magnets. I wanted to create undeniable chemistry, and I so appreciate how you phrased this as well: "Hatred turning into carnal need, loose friendship, protection, life-saving, a need for each other...the way Ben refuses to say, even think, how we know he feels about the reader."

Half the reason this story is so long is because I felt his growth arc literally needed this much story. Anything less felt rushed to me.

There's just so much to this story I can't possibly get it all down. I didn't even mention the stellar smut scenes which are a plenty! There's action, angst, slow moments and fast ones, betrayal and enough cliffhangers to make you grateful you're not waiting for new parts to drop. Even the fluff suits the story beats and feels natural, not like it needs to be shoved in.

Oh I know I frustrated and angered many of the readers who were following along when I was posting chapter by chapter loll. They were only a week a part, but I love a good cliffhanger. 😂😂 I will admit, smut writing is my greatest challenge, but I'm happy you enjoyed them! loll Along with all the other magical moments in the rollercoaster that is this long-winded story. 😂 (And I love me a good bit of fluff. 💓)

This is the best Soldier Boy x reader story I've read out there and I only wish I'd found it sooner! If you're looking for something to sink your teeth into and get lost in, read this story!

You're so very sweet. Thank you so SO much!! I hope you enjoy the other BMD stories whenever you get to them. They're on this masterlist of course, but there are also a few BMD-verse stories labelled under my Soldier Boy Masterlist under "Imagines." Those were requests that I fit into the world. 💕💕

And truth be told, I'm not done with these two just yet. They have more story in them, and as long as I feel there's more to explore (and as long as people still want to read about them), then BMD will never truly be done. 🥰

Series Masterlist - Break Me Down

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

AN: For those of you who enjoyed “Checkerboard,” here’s the requested prequel series! It’s gonna be a long road to get to that version of Soldier Boy. Technically this is an AU set post-season 3.

Series Tags/Warnings: **Rated M. (18+ only.) Enemies to frenemies to lovers. Angsty, messy, moral quandaries galore. This is a romance, but it’s a dark world with morally gray and dark characters, including Soldier Boy, of course. **Smut, language, misogyny, violence, and other chapter-specific tags.

Chapters:

Prologue

Part 1 - The Game Begins

Part 2 - You Move Me, Baby

Part 3 - Somewhere Down Below

Part 4 - On the Inside Out

Part 5 - Morning, Night & Day

Part 6 - A Hot Meal

Part 7 - Until Midnight

Part 8 - Something in the Way

Part 9 - Breach

Part 10 - Caught in the Balance

Part 11 - The Lion's Den

Part 12 - All Your Wicked Ways

Part 13 - A Generous Deal

Part 14 - Safe House

Part 15 - The Tower

Part 16 - Soldier Boy

Part 17 - More Than Words Can Say

Epilogue - All My Living Time

Series Complete!

Read More In the BMD-Verse:

Not done reading this version of Soldier Boy x Reader? Well, there's more to their story.

(**Denotes 18+ only)

Love Actually** Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 - Complete

Checkerboard** You’re not a supe. You’re breakable. Soldier Boy sometimes forgets that.

Strong As Blood** - (Soldier Boy x Reader) After you accidentally break through a solid wood table, you know there’s something wrong with you. You begin to have your suspicions, but can you keep it from Ben long enough to find out? 

(In other words: This is the story of how you and Ben discover that you’re pregnant.)

Part 1 || Part 2 - Complete

Moodboard below created by @chernayawidow:

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[aquagustd]

RECORD(ING) - MYG

yoongi decided that it’s time to have you as a special guest on his ASMR channel, however with your shirt off, you end up recording on a different site with a totally different concept.

𓃠 yoongi’s birthday drabbles⁹ 𓃠

⤷ drabble for subscribed

pairing — asmr artist/camboy yoongi x reader

genre/rating — R | fluff, smut, crack, pwp, college au

word count — 2.3K

warnings/tags — new relationship, strong language, ginger yoongi hnng, hand kink, filming during sex, overuse of the word ‘sticky,’ explicit smut — mentions of hickeys, strength kink, exhibitionism, breast kink, spanking, fingering, edging, dirty talk, hair pulling, degradation/praise, pussy slapping, name-calling, objectification, brief handjob, boob job, spitting, choking, unprotected sex, overstimulation, squirting, cum shots

a/n — this was the original plot for subscribed (since it’s the same au as ‘whipped’) but I couldn’t get enough of this yoongi so enjoy it as a drabble x

Knowing why he wordlessly places the laptop next to your head on full brightness, you suck in a harsh breath, but no matter how much you try to calm your racing heart with deep inhales, you can’t prepare yourself for his…idea.

He clicks on the full-screen option so you can watch the way his long, dexterous fingers play with the band of your shorts as well as feel the warmth of his touch, teasing you till you’re squirming.

“What do they say about you, baby?”

And there’s that. He wants you to read the comments for him. A part of you is afraid of where this might go, because if he starts following their orders, knowing how wild they can get from your experience – watching from the other side of the screen – you’re incredibly nervous.

How did you end up here? Topless in front of nearly ten thousand, no, fifty thousand viewers as your boyfriend records the way he’s pressing his knee into your clothed pussy?

Initially, you were to be a special guest on his ASMR channel on Youtube, a nice, relaxing video where he would massage and scratch your back, neck and head. But you should’ve known from the moment his hand slid down to pinch your nipple, you should’ve known that it would go a completely different route. To have you witness him open up another site, that damn blue butterfly appearing before you’re being tossed onto the bed.

After he asked politely, of course. How could you say no to that face?

But Yoongi’s comforting hand is there to cup your waist like he always does when he can sense you’re a bit doubtful. His gums on display as he smiles down at you with the incriminating device in his other hand, tracking the way his fingers make a slow ascent to the underside of your breasts, cupping and kneading the flesh.

‘I’ll keep the camera low,’ he promised. Not wanting to expose his or his girlfriend’s identity.

Your boobs look weird from that angle, the angle that only he loves. But at least they’re cute. All perky and erect, nipple caught between his fingers. Caught off guard, your eyes screw shut when he pinches down hard, pulling the bud up and out so your entire breast bounces back against your chest, hand coming down to slap the flushed skin harshly.

Of course, you knew it wouldn’t be long before he loses his patience and reverts to his usual ways.

Either way, you’re soaking through your shorts.

“Hm?”

He towers over you, his eyebrow jumping as he guides the camera down between your legs, large palm cupping your pussy.

Eyes fluttering shut, you reach up to grip his arm, moaning at the friction against your clit, and if you listen closely, you could hear the way your lower lips press into each other, wet and sticky when he dips his hand under the band of your panties.

“They—hmmph—” you grind into his hand, lip tucked between your teeth as he slides his fingers up and down the sides of your swollen bud, not a single touch for your throbbing clit yet “—wanna see me. Wanna see your fingers inside me.”

He sits up on his knees, using them to spread your legs apart because both his hands are occupied, but you know that if they were available, you would have bruises on your hips by now. Left there intentionally, just like the bright, flower-shaped marks on your neck, so you can reminisce the next morning. That way you’re always thinking of him. As if he doesn’t occupy a large fraction of your mind already.

His hot breath hits your glistening folds, gruff voice asking you to keep your eyes open. You’re met with the sight of his pout against your clit, pecking the hood before his thumb pulls it back, a large glob of saliva splattering against it to drip down and join the mess between your legs.

You’re too far gone to care about being ashamed of the way your pussy is on display for nearly one hundred thousand viewers. It feels and looks even more arousing when he spits again, spreading your slick around before he finally sinks in two fingers, dragging it in and out as you shudder and clench around them.

“That’s what you wanted—” he growls, earning a shaky nod from you when he adds his thumb to the mix, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “look at how well she takes my fingers, slipped right into her tight little cunt.”

Oh. You’re gushing, drenching his palm with each clench and drag because he’s not talking you, but talking about you to them. That turns you on a lot more than you expected.

“More,” you moan, voice a choked whine when he twists his wrist to rub at your sweet spot, rings nudging at your ridged walls deliciously, “please.”

“What do you think? Should I add another finger? Won’t be long before she’s cumming on my hand,” he chuckles, making sure the camera catches each twist and turn of his hand, how the veins under his skin bulges, the lewd squelching echoes in the room along with your needy moans. “Isn’t that right, baby? You love it when I fuck this slutty pussy open with my fingers?”

“Yes,” you cry, back arching as your hands fly to your nipples, stomach stirring in a familiar heat when he begins to pick up the pace, his words filthier than you’ve ever heard before.

“Look at her,” he grunts, fingers tucked deep inside your pussy as he wiggles it from side to side, thumb nail snagging on your engorged clit to have you mewling, biting your lip when a moan of his name nearly slips out, “such a desperate little whore, will three fingers be enough for you, hm?”

Your head tilts to the side, eyes cracking open to read the comments when he nudges your knee.

‘Fuck he sounds so daddy.’

‘I promise I’ll be better for u gloss.’

‘She’s so fucking hot. Her tits are perfect.’

Along with a twinge of jealousy, you feel your head inflate a bit at the last comment, squeezing and smashing your tits together which catches Yoongi’s eye, tongue sliding across his lower lip before he takes it into his mouth.

Your hips jerk into his hand, feet planted on the bed as you chase the sweet end of your high, sweat building on your ass but his hand stills, thumb falling away from your clit as you’re dragged right to the edge only to be yanked away, pleasure simmering into short tremors.

“No,” you whine, legs falling flat against the mattress tiredly, “why did you—ah!”

Your entire lower half vibrates when he smacks your cunt, rough fingers tapping your folds slowly before he draws his hand back and does it again, hot and wet drops hitting your inner thighs with the action. He scoots up the bed, not an ounce of care on his face as he pulls down his boxers, angry, erect cock hitting his abdomen before he grips the base, gesturing for you to read the comments.

Assuming position, you hold your tits together, a smirk playing on your lips knowing just how much he loves it.

“They want you to fuck my tits. Want you to cum all over my tits, please.”

He guides the thick head of his cock to your mouth, jaw clenched, “spit.”

Pink lips parted, you drool even more at the sight, spit hitting the bead of precum gathered at the tip, smearing through the valley of your breasts. He moans on the way in, head lolling back and forth to watch the way your soft flesh welcomes him with slow strokes, your hands on either side guiding them up and down, hot and heavy against your skin.

“Spit some more, come on slut. You can do better than that.”

Heat budding between your legs once again, you purse your lips, spit dripping down your chin as he swipes his thumb along your neck, getting you wet and sticky as he rocks his hips back and forth in time with your strokes, thick veins twitching with the movement.

“Nice and sticky,” he groans, thrusts growing erratic when you suckle around the tip, staring directly into eyes, just above the camera lens, “that’s how I like her. My sticky—” thrust “—little—” thrust “—bitch.”

You mouth out his name, watching the way his eyes flicker from the laptop screen to your face, not knowing where to look when both has his cock leaking onto your flushed skin, mixing with your sweat and saliva. His eyebrows furrow, groans tapering into whimpers which signals that he’s close.

“Gonna cum all over her tits, yeah? Is that what you want? Get you nice and messy for me. Show them what a filthy whore you can be just for me.”

“I—” you love the look he has on his face, face screwed up in pleasure, yet still concentrated on the screen, glued to the way your tits hug his rock-hard cock. “Fuck me. Please, need your cock inside me.”

Immediately, he’s readjusting his position on the bed, one hand holding you up so his cock aligns with your entrance. Nothing but pure, unadulterated lust sparking in his eyes as he catches your gaze, lips tilted in a smirk when you moan at the rough way he’s handling you.

“Look at this tight—” he props the camera between your legs, now gripping you with both hands “—fuckhole. So ready for my fat cock.”

You wiggle your hips, feeling yourself clench around nothing as you feel the heat of his body weighing against yours, breaths ragged and sharp.

His ginger hair is slicked back against his scalp, sweat beading along his hairline while you’re impatient for the toe-curling stretch of his cock, needy moans falling from your lips when he makes you wait longer than usual. You whisper his name, staring at him from between your breasts with the angle he’s keeping you in, ass on his lap instead of the bed.

“Fuck me.”

With a drawn-out groan, he slides into you, giving you some time to adjust before he sets one foot on the bed and begins to pound into your quivering walls, still sensitive from having your first orgasm ripped away. He’s losing himself in the warmth of your pussy, tip of his cock reaching deeper and deeper, making it to kiss your cervix which has a trail of sensations running down the length of your body. You gasp when his fingers curl around your throat, cutting off your oxygen supply momentarily.

“Fuck!”

Your eyes scrunch yet, fingers twisting the sheets as you cum around his cock, a low beat thrumming into your clit when he falls forward, hands on either side of your body as he continues to flex his hips, nearing his end.

“So…” He tries for words, but your walls are snug around his cock, pushing him to the edge of bliss before he wills himself to pull out and give his cock a few tugs, nodding wearily when you press your tits together and urge him on with low praises of his name.

White, hot ropes of cum hit your boobs, slipping between them as if they weren’t already slick with him. You take a moment to admire the smooth expanse of his chest, nails dragging down his happy trail before taking his cock in your palm, rolling it up and down to extend the sensation of his high, a smile creeping onto his face.

He’s bent over your body, tilting his head to look at the screen before he snaps back, legs like jelly caught by his hands.

“Wha—” A mix between a sob and moan jumps out of your throat when he begins to rub at your clit furiously, unbothered by your sharp tug of his hair as you try to move away from him.

“Wanna watch you squirt,” he sighs, eyes zeroed in on your sensitive pussy, “give it to me, baby.”

Nearly puncturing your lips with how hard you bite down on them, a number of sensations ripple through you as his fingers work your clit at breakneck speed, tongue going dry when you feel the knot grow tighter and tighter for the third time tonight. He presses on, the only sounds that can be heard are your shrieks and his laboured breaths. Then nothing but a ringing sound in one of your ears as white flashes behind your lids, thighs shaking around him as the knot snaps.

“Fucking hell,” he chuckles, patting your clit twice as if to say ‘good job’ while you’re searching for the last thread of your sanity, “you are amazing.”

He wraps your arms around his neck, pressing his lips to yours while you mutter incoherently, tremors receding into light shivers as he kisses you slow and passionate. He’s hot and sticky, wet body meshing with your own. A satisfied hum rumbles through one of you, you don’t know who exactly because you’re too exhausted and he’s practically smothering you with his sinewy body.

“You okay?”

You break away from the kiss, “yeah. That was…fun.”

He chuckles, sitting up to turn off the camera but pausing just before he closes his laptop.

“They’re saying we should add a vibrator next time.”

Rolling onto your side, not wanting to think of a next time just yet, you yank his arm, beckoning him to you. He comes willingly, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the back of your neck.

“Okay, Owen Gray. If there is a next time.”

His arm winds around your waist, pulling you flush against his sweaty, toned chest.

“There will be.”

a/n — please send in feedback, I’d love to chat to you & hear what you think <3 which drabble should I post next?✉️

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Out of This World Chapter 8:

Island in the Suns

Author’s Note: The bitch is back! My life’s been a little topsy turvy as of late so this chapter took me way longer to finish than originally anticipated. My schedule is about to change, but worry not as I fully intend to ride this story out until the ending I have planned out. Also, I may start doing little one shots set in this universe. So keep an eye out for those! As I said before, this story is going to be spicy from chapter 7 forward so be prepared!

***** = A break in the scene or a switch between character pov.

Mando’a phrases:

Ad’ika - little one Aliit - Family Jate Ca - Goodnight Jate Vaar’tur - Good morning Yooba solus mesh’la, ner cyare - You are beautiful, my beloved

Summary: The relationship between the Mandalorian and the Earthling blossoms as they make their way to Tatooine in search of the mysterious Mandalorian last seen in Mos Pelgo. Once on the infamous desert planet, the plot thickens.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Female Earthling Reader/oc

Warnings: Cursing, FLUFF! SMUT! 🌶️ If you are under the age of 18, you are prohibited from this work of fiction.

Music Inspiration:

Island in the Sun - Not really an inspiration aside from the chapter title, but this song just makes me think of Tatooine

Aerials - Loosely mentioned in the chapter thanks to a conversation with @missbabyjay

AO3

*****

Din Djarin is seated alone in the pilot’s seat of the Razor Crest, setting a course for a nearby star port to refuel again as he gazes upon on the vast multicolored star field before him. Because of your presence aboard his ship and the mystified wonder with which you still treat life in space after all these months, Din has gained a newfound appreciation for the beauty this galaxy has to offer. Every so often, Din will take a moment to stop and admire his surroundings rather than go about his business without paying it much mind. Among all of things you’ve brought to his life and the ways you’ve changed him for the better, that is surely one of his favorites.

Gor Koresh had practically been on the other side of the galaxy from Tatooine, so the planet of sand and sun is still nearly two weeks away, even with the speed of hyperspace aiding in the Razor Crest’s travels. It’s been six days since the fight in Koresh’s arena, and since he’d consummated his romantic connection to you. In those six days, the parameters of the relationship have changed dramatically. 

There’s no need to pretend that this isn’t a real thing between you anymore. Neither of you is concerned with timid behavior or caution in the way you address one another as both companions and lovers. Din feels so proud to have you openly by his side in that way, and you seem to be over the moon with the fact. The kid also seems to be on board with this, acting happier than usual around the two adults in charge of his care. You take the concept of belonging to one another very passionately, which Din admires a great deal. Loyalty is the most attractive attribute one can have to a Mandalorian. 

As your daily training continues on, Din is aware that the reverence you display for his lessons has increased exponentially. He hasn’t caught you daydreaming about something in the middle of an explanation once, which is something he used to catch you doing all the time. It never really used to bother him before, but the increased displays of character mean a lot to him. Because of this you’re also genuinely improving, and that in it of itself fills Din with so much pride for you. Keeping up while lightly sparring with him is something you hadn’t been able to do up to this point, and now you seem to hold your own against him quite well. Din still has much to teach you, but your progress is undeniable.

Seeing how seriously you take the act of learning about his culture, Din has decided to take equal steps in learning about yours. He’s been asking you to teach him more things about Earth, and he’s taken to using your personal device more often.

You dote on him even more now, treating him with the utmost affection as you constantly offer to do little things for him. Usually he declines your offers, all except for one. You like to bring him a mid day caf without being prompted almost daily, and he’s come to look forward to the ritual of it. Sitting in the pilot seat at the correct time (even if he has nothing ship related to do), hearing the cockpit door swish open, feeling your hand rest upon his shoulder, the cup of caf coming into view as you lower it in front of him, and finally, the kiss you place upon his beskar covered head. It’s the same each day, and you always whisper something sweet about him before you continue on with whatever it is you’re up to. Nothing makes him feel more loved. He’s been on his own for most of his life, and not a single person has ever wanted to take care of him in the way that you do. 

Then there’s the matter of sex. 

Din cannot get enough of you physically, just as you cannot seem to get enough of him. The two of you have stayed up well past the child each night, spending a few hours together up in the cockpit enjoying each others bodies. As soon as the child is tucked away in the cot, Din is practically tearing the clothes from your body and the helmet from his head, ready to feel your walls clench around him and taste you on his lips once more. As the days go on he starts to slowly learn what makes you tick, and vice versa. Getting to know your sexuality quite intimately is something Din has begun to treasure. Aside from Xi’an, which was only a handful of times, this is the most he’s ever had sex with one person. The most he’s ever gotten to know another’s body so intimately, and vice versa. 

On the second night, you’d been the one to put the child to bed and Din had used the opportunity to strip down to just his helmet. The way you reacted to his naked form waiting in the pilot seat, legs spread with your blindfold already in his hands, is a reaction he’ll cherish for many years to come. 

On the third, it had been you who stripped down to nothing and waited in the pilot seat with your legs spread. One hand playing idly with one of your nipples while the other slid two fingers into your slick entrance, you’d made desperate little noises and begged him to blindfold you. Hyperspace whirling behind you, it had truly been a sight to behold.

The theme of the fourth night had been exploration, when you’d grabbed his hand and brought it to your throat before begging him to choke you a little bit. Helmet still on, Din was amazed by the reaction this caused in you, eyes rolling back in your head as your muscles clamped around him in mini bursts of intense pleasure. He’d been a little worried at first, but you seemed to adore the feeling of your air supply being partially cut off as he thrust into you at full force. The strangled noises you made had been indication enough, let alone how much you’d soaked him. Your entire body convulsed and twitched until he could tell you’d had enough and gently pulled his hand away. Then in a moment wanting to fulfill his own sexual fantasies, he’d grabbed the cuffs from his utility belt and asked for your permission to use them on you. With a gorgeously deviant smile playing at your lips, you’d agreed to this and Din could tell that he’d uncovered a similar dark desire within you. The blindfold never even came out that night, and Din felt pleased with himself that he was able to bring you to orgasm without the need for it. 

The fifth night had been more loving and soft than the rough neediness of the night before. Both participants seemed to be in the mood to treat each other’s bodies with delicacy, gently causing pleasure through the act of admiring one another. Dirty talk on that night sounded more like showers of doting compliments rather than lewd remarks and lustful demands. You’d declared to him in basic that you loved him so sincerely while at the peak of an orgasm, that Din knows he’d been blushing. Heat in his cheeks and fluttering in his belly an unmistakable sign.

After you’ve had more than enough of each other, the two of you will retreat down to what Din now considers to be your shared bed. Cramped as it may be, there is no “taking turns” in the cot anymore. The two of you have slept in it together every night. The kid almost always makes his way down from his hammock to snuggle with the two of you. As much as it still scares him to admit it, the three of you truly do feel like a family. 

The only real problem with this current schedule is that neither adult has been getting enough sleep. You in particular do not seem to be handling the lack of rest well, having looked so worn out during caf this morning that Din feels as if perhaps tonight a break will be in order. It would probably do the both of you better to just get a good night of sleep.

Din suddenly hears the familiar little sound of his foundling saying something that sounds like  “patu” from behind him, and he swivels the pilot’s seat fully expecting to see you standing there with the child in your arms. His gaze is pointed upwards, so when he doesn’t see you at all he tilts his head down to see that the child is standing in the center of the cockpit all alone. 

“Hey ad’ika, you okay? Did you climb up here all by yourself?”

The kid looks both unsettled and unwell, which raises the alarms in Din’s head. A small green hand reaches back to point to the door he just came in from and he makes another little “patu” sound. 

“Show me what’s wrong, buddy,” Din says as he rises from the chair, scooping the kid up in his arms.

Making his way down to the deck below the cockpit, Din can hear the unmistakable sound of your voice as it groans in pain. Tucked in his arm, the kid looks up at Din with worry in his dark eyes as he points again. This time he points to the fresher. 

Din’s eyes flick to that direction, where he finds you laying on the floor beside the toilet. Your eyes are open and you’re holding your stomach as you curl up on your side, face scrunched in discomfort.

Din puts the kid on a crate and comes to kneel beside you. “Cyar’ika? What’s wrong?”

“Sick,” you grumble out, face contorting as if struck by a sharp pain.

“Sick how?” 

“Fever, and I just threw up breakfast.”

“Shit,” Din curses, ripping a glove off and moving to place his hand on your damp forehead. Your skin is on fire. “When did this start?”

Struggling, you prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him. “When we woke up. My head was pounding and something didn’t feel right.” 

“Sounds like a stomach flu of some variety,” Din says matter-of-factly. You look at him with a shocked expression before laughing, and under the helmet his brow raises in surprise. “Why is that funny?”

“I just figured you’d have a cooler name for it here. Ugh,” you stop to groan again, clutching at your belly, “I feel like ass.” 

“I’m sure you do.” Din chuckles a little when you glare at him, “What? I’m just acknowledging your pain.” 

“Make it go away,” you plead miserably. 

He feels truly bad for you, brushing the hair from your eyes as he cups your cheek. “I can give you bacta pills, but I’m worried you won’t be able to keep them down.”

“Yeah I don’t know if I can keep anything down right now.” 

Just as you say this, the kid makes a pained little noise from where Din left him, and the Mandalorian turns his head just in time to watch the kid vomit a sickly orange color all over the floor. He looks up at Din with weary eyes, wobbling until he falls back on his little bottom. Then he starts to cry.  

“Shit,” Din curses again, “If both of you have this it’s probably contagious.” 

“Go comfort him,” you say, “I’ll be okay for a moment.”

So Din moves over to the wailing green child, scooping him up to cradle him over the beskar chest plate. “Shh,” he soothes, “I’m here buddy. I know it hurts, but I’m here and I’ll take good care of you.” 

The child then looks up into Din’s hidden eyes and lets out a little sob before clinging to his foster father’s shoulder as hard as he possibly can. A fatherly feeling of warmth washes over Din Djarin, and his overwhelmed heart encapsulates this child so completely that his brown eyes fill with tears behind the beskar. Seeing his foundling like this, sickly and in pain, is heart wrenching.

And so Din makes quick work of making up what is essentially a sick room on the first floor of the ship. He gets a small bucket and sets it up for the kid to throw up in, then he sets up a comfortable little space for the two of you to lay together on the floor. Not wanting to risk either of you getting sick in the cot, he figures that the floor is probably the best option for now.

Once the two of you are as comfortable as you can be, he gets each of you water and insists that once the liquid can be kept down for a half hour he’ll give out doses of bacta pills. After treatment is given, the symptoms will be gone in two hours and the illness itself should completely go away within a twelve hour period.

At first you can’t even keep a sip of water down for longer than two minutes, rushing for the fresher as soon as the bile in your throat rises once again. Din rubs small circles into your back as you dry heave and cry. The kid can’t keep it down either, so Din spends a good part of his day rushing back and forth between the two of you as you each take turns vomiting up the minuscule contents of your respective stomachs.

The vomiting eventually starts to slow down to a halt, so he’s got you both laying down with cold compresses on each of your foreheads. The kid shivers so violently in the throws of his fever that Din decides to stick him in the shower under cold water for a few minutes. Poor little guy seems to be getting the worst of whatever this sickness is, possibly due to the difference in species or his young age. Afterwards Din has him wrapped up in a towel, cradling the child lovingly as he hums a Mandalorian chant. 

“Quit fussing over me,” you say as you later throw back the bacta pills, chasing them with a generous sip of water, “I’m an adult, Din. I’ll be fine after these kick in and I go to sleep. Take care of our sweet little boy. I appreciate you so much, but he needs you more than I do right now.’ 

Soon enough you’re passed out in the cot, and Din is left alone with the sick little child in his arms. Redressed, full of bacta, and wrapped up in his blanket, the kid is also finally starting to fall asleep. 

“I’m so glad that you came into my life, ad’ika,” Din finds himself whispering to the sleepy child, “You’ve changed me for the better, kid. No matter what happens, I want you to know how important you are to me.”

The child seems to understand this, smiling up at him as his huge eyes slip closed. A little hand reaches out, so Din lets him hold onto his bare index finger until he falls asleep. Once the kid is out cold, Din gently places him next to you inside the cot. Sitting on the ground just outside of the open sleeping chamber, Din finally feels his shoulders begin to relax. Jupiter appears out of nowhere then, jumping into his lap to rub her neck along the beskar on Din’s chest as she purrs. Scooping her up, Din takes comfort in the vibrations of her purring while she lets him hold her and stroke at her head.

And then Din feels it. Chills all over his body, and waves of nausea low in his belly. The back of his throat starts to heat up, mouth watering. In record time Din is closing himself in the fresher, tearing the helmet from his head as he curses, “dank farrik,” before emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

*****

A few days later, once everyone is no longer sick aboard the Space RV, you find yourself examining your naked form in the fresher after taking a quick shower. Training with Din had been particularly vigorous today, and the need for hot water on your skin was completely necessary. You felt great going from what was essentially a hard workout session to a what was about to be a relaxing shower, but you when you caught a glimpse of your reflection while undressing, something in you shifted. You can’t get it out of your head enough to enjoy the heat and the steam, so once you’re out and clean you wipe down the fogged up mirror for another glimpse at yourself. 

Moving towards the mirror above the sink, you frown at your body’s reflection. Swiveling to examine your thighs and ass, your gaze starts shifting up to your stomach, and then to your breasts. You stop there for a moment and feel them, wondering why in the hell a man like Din Djarin finds them so attractive. Why he finds any part of you attractive. 

Leaning forward, you take a good look at your face. Poking here and here, pushing your cheeks up before dragging them back down under your palms. Smiling, frowning, sighing. Then your hands move to the still purple hair atop your head, a little longer now that many weeks have past since you’d gotten it cut. Your natural hair color has begun to show in the inch or so of roots that have grown out. You’d wanted to change your look drastically, almost as if in some way to erase the version of you from before. Now you’re used to the alteration, but a part of you worries that the dramatic shift in appearance had been a mistake. Do you actually look as good as you thought you did or had that been in your head?

It’s not lost on you that your period is only about a day or two around the corner. Your breasts are sore, you’d felt as much just a moment ago, and your body feels incredibly bloated. Weighed down, even. The sudden change in mood after a good day is also a major indication.

“Ugh, just get over it and move on. You’ll feel better once you start to bleed,” you say to yourself quietly. This isn’t the first time that a long bout of confidence has been rivaled by the hormones of your monthly cycle, and you know that listening to your own advice is the best bet. Reaching for your change of clothes, you find that they are not hanging on the hook that you usually use. Looking around the room, its quite obvious that you’d forgotten to bring anything to change into with you to the fresher. 

“Fuck,” You mutter, irritated as you begin to wrap up in a towel. As the moments tick on you are growing increasingly more annoyed by your own presence. 

The fresher door slides open when you hit the little control pad to the right harder than you mean to, hissing as you shake your hand and poke your head out of the passageway. Coast clear, you rush over to where you keep your clothes in a compartment by the cot and start rummaging around for something comfortable to wear. 

“What are you doing?” 

The Mandalorian’s voice is suddenly behind you and you jump, nearly dropping the towel all together. The last thing you want is him to see you naked while you feel so uncomfortable. 

“I forgot my clothes,” you say awkwardly, not turning around to face him just yet. You even pretend to pick through the small amount of clothing you own for an extra few moments after finding what you want to wear. 

“Are you okay, cyar’ika?” Din moves in closer to you, so you finally turn to face him.

Standing there looking as he always does in his beskar armor, which is handsome as hell, you feel even less confident. “I’ll be fine,” you say, avoiding his gaze. Even though you can’t see it, you know it’s fixed upon you.

“Something is wrong. I can see it in your eyes,” he says confidently, looking you over. 

Feeling him look you up and down makes your skin want to crawl right off of your skeleton. “I’m fine,” you repeat, firmly this time. 

Din then says your name in a vulnerable tone, “I don’t think you are. Have I transgressed in some way?” 

“No, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then please let me help.” 

“I’ll just go get dressed.” You try to push past him and he stops you with an arm out. He’s careful not to touch you, at least that’s how it comes across. 

Din’s voice shifts octaves as he speaks to you very tenderly. There is no firmness to the tone, only gentle support from your partner. “We do not pull away from one another, remember? We talk about it.” 

Damn him for quoting you back to yourself, because once he says that you realize that he’s completely right. If you expect him not to shut you out then you owe him the same courtesy. With a great sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again as you tell him, “I don’t feel very attractive right now.” 

“Huh?” Din says, clearly confused. 

“I feel gross and unattractive,” you say, using additional language to further your statement along.

“But you are neither of those things,” he replies matter-of-factly, tilting his head. 

“Ugh,” you groan as this back and forth becomes tedious, “I didn’t say I was. I said I feel like I am.”

Din’s silence worries you for the prolonged moment that it exists, and then he surprises you with the commanding tone he occasionally uses during sex, “Take the towel off.” 

“What? Why? Where’s the kid?”

“Sleeping upstairs,” Din answers quickly, “Let it drop, and let me remind you that you are ner mesh’la.” 

“I’m not in the mood for that,” you say firmly.

“This is not about sex. This is about worship,” Din matches your firmness. "I would never try to force that on you when you're feeling vulnerable."

After a moment of hesitation, the towel drops from your person. Being in the main living space of the Razor Crest like this feels alien. It feels even stranger when Din slides the gloves from his hands and moves to stand in front of you. His fingertips gently rest upon the curves where your shoulders end and your arms begin. Instinctively, a hand starts to reach up for him and he shakes his head.

“Hands down. Chin up. Eyes on me.” Din adjusts you to stand a little straighter, better posture in your neck as you look at him. A finger comes to rest under your chin as you position your eyes to look directly into the black visor. In your mind you’re trying to imagine the brown eyes on the other side of the beskar barrier, locking onto them.

The pads of his fingertips begin to gently sweep over your skin, touching all over as he makes his way around your upper half. It feels so good and you’re barely being touched. Lids trying to slip closed as little sparks of pleasure find you, a shudder runs through your body. Through every sensation, you keep your eyes locked on him.

Din leans in slightly, brushing beskar against your forehead. “Tell me something you don’t like about yourself, and I will tell you why I love it.”

And so you do. You run over the entire list of things you’ve had a problem with since your teen years. Superficial little things that don’t truly matter or take away from your natural beauty, but things you wish you could change nonetheless. Din responds to each of these small grievances by ghosting his hands over the area, describing what about it he finds so endearing. 

By the end of this worshiping of your form, Din is again standing at full height with his hands on your shoulders. His left hand slides down your right arm, taking your hand and moving it towards his tented groin.

Before you can say anything, the Mandalorian quells any worries of his intentions, “I do not wish to do anything, but I want you to feel what you do to me. Feel how much my body yearns to be connected to yours. Yooba solus mesh’la, ner cyare.” 

His hardness beneath your hand causes none of the heat to rise in your core or wanting in your mind. It serves it’s intended purpose, to solidify everything that Din just said to you. Every compliment, every kind remark. All for you and all real. Tangible. So many emotions flood your system after such an experience, and you feel even more spent than you would have if you’d had sex with him after all. Leaning most of your weight onto him, it feels like you may collapse if he were to move away from you. Cramps are starting to swell down in your belly, waves of pain and physical exhaustion rolling through you.

“Thank you, ner burc’ya. Have I told you that you’re my favorite person?” 

“Not in those exact words,” Din sounds so playful, and your heart swells for him.

“Oh,” tittering, you turn your head so that your mouth is positioned right under the edge of his helmet, “Well, you’re my favorite person, Din Djarin.”

“Mm,” Din’s hum greets your ears, sounding almost like it does when you’re blindfolded because of how close you are to the lip of beskar. 

Then a small little panic attack tries to break through the sense of calm Din just helped you achieve, body quivering. “I really need my best friend right now. What you just did helped, but I’m still not okay.” 

With his metal clad forehead pressed to your bare one, Din offers little shushing noises of comfort, “I’m here. I’ve got you. Get dressed, let me go get the kid, and I will hold you in our bed.” 

*****

The following week it finally occurs to you why things with Din are so different to you. You’re mulling this over during the morning caf routine, mixing the bitter but sweet hot beverage as you think about how it feels like things between the two of you are moving incredibly fast. Din’s treating you as if you’ve been together for a significant amount of time. Like a spouse, one might say. Under different circumstances the pace of the relationship would worry you. Oddly enough, you conclude that you’re honestly very okay with it. 

That’s when it hits you. It’s because on Earth you would have had to jump through all of the awkward, uncomfortable hoops of dating before a relationship would have ever progressed this far. Months worth of time, if not more, would have been spent trying to figure out if the two of you were even a good match. Putting on airs to impress one another, fumbling through weird social situations, fitting time in for each other between careers and personal lives. 

Here, in the galaxy, dating doesn’t seem like a concept that makes any sense. Not with a nomadic Mandalorian, at least. Just saying in your head sounds fucking silly. If you had never come to live on his ship, care for his foundling, and ultimately become his close friend, Din probably would have never considered you in that way. You’ve known him for nearly half a year at this point, lived with him for nearly half a year. Aside from the hunts he would leave you behind for, almost every single day in that six month period has been spent in the presence of one another. With him, this must be a very significant thing. Din Djarin seems very much the type that would not jump into something frivolous. He only feels comfortable being like this with you because there is real trust and love involved. 

You’ve never experienced anything even close to this in your life. Not a single time. Any boyfriend back on Earth had either been an aloof dick, or a sex hungry moron. You’ve never taken the time to truly become friends with someone prior to dating them. 

So yeah, things have been hot and heavy with your Mandalorian while somehow also being the most meaningful emotional connection you’ve likely ever had or ever will have with another person. The kind you used to pine for when you’d stay up all night reading romance stories only to just bum yourself out the next day when you realized just how lonely you were. But now you're with someone who matches what you need both physically and emotionally. With Din it’s like you’re getting to have your cake and eat it too. 

“Din, caf’s ready!” You call up to the cockpit. When he doesn't answer you frown and call for him again. He still doesn’t answer, so you make your way up the ladder, forsaking the steaming cups of caf down in the galley. 

When you reach the top and make your way into the cockpit, the sight before your eyes stops you in your tracks. 

Din’s flying the ship with the kid in his lap, and he’s bobbing his silver head as he lightly sings to himself. What gets you, is that you can see the white chords of your headphones sticking out from under the base of his helmet and that you know exactly what song he’s singing to himself. When you step further into the room, you see that the kid is holding the iPad in his little green claws. Din doesn’t notice your presence at all, in fact he starts to sing even louder as it would seem that he’s actually getting into it. 

Clearly, he’s been stealing your iPad and listening to your music more than you'd realized. For how long, you couldn’t even guess. Long enough to for him to learn the words to one of your favorite System of a Down songs, as he’s been singing it correctly this whole time. On key and everything. The biggest grin stretches across your features, heart melting as you hear your Mandalorian’s beautiful baritone sing the chorus. 

Not wanting to disturb him, you listen for a moment before you turn to go back downstairs. But then the kid notices you, making little noises of excitement as he waves his right hand at you. 

Din sees this, and stops singing to turn around and look at you. He pulls on one of the chords attached to his ears, and you watch as the little white bud falls out from under the helmet to limply lay across his beskar chest plate. 

“Hi,” you greet both them, moving in to close the distance between you and your two favorite boys.

“Hi,” Din replies, reaching a gloved hand out to graze over your hip before leaning his head on the same area and wrapping his arm around your thighs. 

Turning your attention to the child, you reach a hand down to stroke his head. “Hey Green Bean. You want breakfast, buddy?” 

The kid nods his head and reaches up for you, so you scoop him up in your arms. Din chuckles and sits back up straight. “If he ever says no to food, we should be worried.”

“True. So… looks like you’ve developed a taste for Earth music,” chuckling, you grin down at Din.

“Some of it is very pleasant to the ear,” he agrees, gesturing to the iPad in his lap. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve taken the liberty.”

You shake your head, telling him, “Exchanging cultural information with each other is never something I will mind. You’re welcome to use that thing whenever you want to. If I’m learning all about the life of a Mandalorian, it’s only fitting that you learn about the life of an Earthling. Use up all the battery and it’s your responsibility to charge it, though.” 

Din chuckles, “Fair enough.” 

*****

It isn’t until your group arrives that you truly realize how unbearably hot Tatooine is going to be. With twin suns (a concept you had yet to consider until Din had explained it to you) heating it’s vast desert surface, the planet is sure to be stifling during the day. Risk of not only sunburn but severe skin damage is an issue, and the planet is supposed to be chilly at night, so wearing shorts and a tank top isn’t really an option. You’re forced to wear the thick clothes you normally need out in space, and you know that you’re going to be drenched in sweat within the first hour. How Din can manage these conditions covered in full armor you will never know. 

“I have to warn you,” Din says as the hatch begins to open, “Peli is a trusted friend, but she is a little… eccentric.”

“I can get down with eccentric,” You reply, laughing at Din when you realize he’s confused by your phrasing. You don’t bother to explain, grinning up at your cosmic companion.

He simply shakes his head and begins making his way down the ramp. You can hear a woman’s voice speaking to a group of small droids, and when you exit the ship you are greeted with the sight of a short little lady who looks to be in her late fifties or early sixties. She’s got a wild mane of dark curly hair, either no eyebrows or ones that are very faint, and she’s wearing a dark red jumpsuit much like the ones mechanics wear back on Earth.

“May as well let them have at it. The Crest needs a good once over,” Din says as he reaches the bottom of the ramp, turning back to take a look at the ship’s outer hull. 

“Oh,” the woman says with her arms splayed out as she looks over the small group of intelligent robots, “so he likes droids now. You heard him! Give it a once over!” 

As you make your way down the ramp, smiling as you watch Din avoid the little droids running by him, Peli finally stops to realize that Mando did not travel to Tatooine alone. She looks you up and down, and then back to Din with her non-existent brows raised. 

“Who’s that?” The engineer asks skeptically, jabbing a thumb in your direction.

“This is my companion,” Din replies. Your heart is ready to burst from your chest upon hearing him say that. You hadn’t expected him to announce you in such a way, which indicates to you that he truly views this woman as a trusted friend. He tells Peli your name, and you nod to the woman as he does so. 

“Nice to meet you, Peli,” you say politely, squinting in the suns. 

“Yeah yeah, likewise,” she waves at you almost dismissively before squinting at the Mandalorian, “Since when do you have a companion? You never came off as the romantic type, Mando. I guess a lot has changed since you were last in Mos-” 

In what you assume is an effort to save himself from having to explain further, Din pulls his satchel out in front of him to reveal the green child nestled inside of it to Peli. She cheers with her hands in the air and the kid makes happy little noises upon recognizing her. Din holds the satchel out to her and she begins peeling the kid from the bag, practically forgetting that either of you exist.

“Oh thank the force! This little thing has had me worried sick! Come here you little womp rat.” Peli holds him out in front of her as the green baby makes happy noises up at her. “Huh! Looks like it remembers me. How much do you want for it? Just kidding, but not really. You know if this thing ever divides or buds, I will gladly pay for the offspring.”

Your eyebrows raise as you look over to Din, who shrugs at you in a silent response. He wasn’t kidding when he called her eccentric. Just then a loud clanking noise comes from the Razor Crest behind you, and Peli turns to yell at her droids.

“HEY! Oh jeez. Watch what you’re doing up there! He barely trusts your kind. You want to give all droids a bad name? Thank you!” 

Din interjects then, “I’m here on business. I need your help.”

Peli nods, “Ah, well then business you shall have. Care for me to watch this wrinkled critter while you seek out adventure?” 

“I’ve been quested to bring this one back to it’s kind,” he explains.

The Tatooine resident rocks the child a little as she replies, “Oh wow. I can’t help you there. I’ve never seen any like it. And trust me, I’ve seen all shapes and sizes in this town.”  

Din explains why your group is there, and why finding another Mandalorian is necessary to navigate through the various hidden coverts in order to chart a path. She argues that he’s the only Mando that’s been on Tatooine for years, and he asks her about Mos Pelgo. 

An old beat up droid named R5 wheels out to display a map of Tatooine, and Peli explains to Din why Mos Pelgo, an old mining settlement, isn’t on any of the maps while pointing out its general vicinity. She then points out that the Space RV is basically going to stick out like a sore thumb, so Din asks if she still has her speeder bike. 

Obliging, Peli gets the bike out for your group to borrow. You’re both surprised and not surprised that it’s basically a motorcycle that hovers off the ground. While Din is preparing it or travel, the odd little woman takes the opportunity to approach you as you’re surveying the odd little desert workshop.

“So how in the hell does a pretty girl like you end up as Mando’s companion? What does that even mean for a guy like him?” 

Looking at her, you smile a little, “It’s a long story. The short version of it is that I needed transport and he needed help with the child so we exchanged services. The rest of it, the companionship, just kind of fell into place on it’s own. No one was searching for it when we met.”

“Ah, as it usually does with those things,” Peli nods, chuckling a little as she throws you a knowing glance. You briefly wonder how many dalliances this woman has had in her day. “I just would have never pegged him as the sort to get involved with another. You seem very sweet, and he’s always been so… grumpy.” 

“He’s still a huge grump,” you laugh, glancing over in his direction to see him working so diligently to make sure that the bike is drivable and that there are enough provisions packed to last a few days. Watching his armored body move around with precision is mesmerizing. The way he tilts his head, squatting down to adjust something at the back end of the bike. Each movement is worth admiring. Eventually, though, you stop ogling him and tun back to Peli, “but sometimes I get to see a side of him that he doesn't show to anyone else in the galaxy.” 

“And you don’t care that he’ll never take that beskar helmet off in front of you?”

“Nope,” you reply honestly, blushing as your mind wanders to the night before when he’d made you cum twice in one sitting as you laid there with your blindfold on. You plan to take his almost nightly tasting of you to the grave at this point, knowing full well that Din upholds his privacy just as much as his creed. 

“Must be the real thing, then. I’ve only known him for a short while, but I’m glad to see that he’s got someone who cares about him,” Peli says sincerely, “Everyone deserves that.” 

“I couldn’t agree more,” you reply, noticing that Din seems to be ready to go. “And I hope that you find or have already found that for yourself. You’re a nice woman, I’m glad that I got to meet you today.” 

“Likewise,” Peli agrees with a nod, handing the child over to you. She hasn’t let go of him since Din let her take him and that was nearly an hour ago. You appreciate the fact that she seems to genuinely love your little green bean so much. The kid is popular, you’ll give him that.

Walking up to Din, you see that he’s secured the satchel onto the back of the speeder. Handing the child over, you watch as Din puts the child down in the leather bag before climbing onto the back end of the speeder’s long seat. On Earth you would have never climbed onto the back of a motorcycle willingly. Even with a driver you trust, those things always felt like glorified death traps. But here on a planet called Tatooine? With Din? Climbing onto the back of the speeder feels like a no brainer. Like going off with Din Djarin on an adventure is the easiest decision in the world.

*****

Finding Mos Pelgo ends up taking a lot longer than you thought it would. It feels like you’re clinging to Din on that speeder bike for the better part of the long day. He stops a few times so that everyone can get a bathroom break, and you find out that being a woman and peeing in the middle of a hot desert is not fun. Staying hydrated is key in a place like this, but that also means frequent needs to relieve full bladders.

Eventually the three of you stumble upon a small group of locals that Din informs you are called Tusken Raiders. These people are clad head to toe in lightly colored fabric and wear interesting looking face coverings.

“Let me do the talking,” Din says as you detach from his back and climb off the bike. 

“I was planning on it,” you reply, amused with your cosmic companion. Picking the baby up, you hold him to your hip and offer him a sip of water. The child slurps it up happily, seeming mostly unbothered by the heat.

You, on the other hand, come from a colder region of Earth where the winters are filled with snow and sub-zero temperatures and the summers are gorgeously mild. Being cold is your least favorite feeling in the world, but the heat on Tatooine is borderline too much for you with the amount of clothing you have on. It seems as if nightfall will be approaching soon, but even still it’s hot as hell on this planet. Luckily the eye protection Peli let you borrow is helping with how bright everything is, but damn if two suns isn’t one too many. 

The Tusken Raiders begin speaking to Din in a language that you can only describe as throaty high pitched noises and gurgles, with what appears to be some kind of sign language thrown into the mix. When Din starts speaking the language back to them, you nearly choke on your own sip of water. It doesn’t even sound like his voice, the noises coming from his modulator are so foreign to you. But, in an attempt to be polite you try not to react in a way that would come off as if you are being judgmental. 

Din gestures back to you and the kid as he speaks, and the Tuskens all turn their heads to look at you. Feeling as if you should do something, you come to stand beside your Mandalorian and smile at them with a bow of the head. 

“I do not speak your language, but it’s nice to meet all of you,” you offer, just in case one of them knows basic. The kid seems to also get the picture, waving at all of them.

One seems to understand you, also bowing their head politely. Din nods at you in approval, so apparently your decision to say that was the right one. As the conversation continues, eventually they offer your group a spot at the small campfire and some of the food they are preparing once the twin suns begin to set. 

All they seem to be cooking is some kind of indistinguishable meat, and as much as it pains you to have to do so, you very politely eat a portion of it. Then you are offered a strange, unpleasant smelling fruit from which you are expected to drink it’s juice. With a grimace, you slurp the nasty liquid down. It’s not as bad as it smells, but it’s definitely not something you would ever seek out to taste again. Once finished, you offer them a kind smile and a nod, and all of the Tuskens seem to be pleased with your appreciation of their culture. 

One even leans over to Din, elbowing him slightly as he says something in his native tongue. Din laughs in response, head turning to face you as he speaks back in Tusken. 

“What was that about?” You ask later, as the three of you try to get comfortable by the fire. Days may be hot as hell on Tatooine but, true to deserts back on Earth, the night is very chilly. 

The Tuskens have mostly gone off to sleep in their tents or curled up in the warmth of a bantha. Apparently this small group is in the midst of travel themselves, being on their way to join the rest of their tribe at their village. Luckily they are well aware of Mos Pelgo, and have pointed Din in the right direction. By first light the three of you will be back on the speeder bike in search of this rogue Mandalorian once again. 

“Hm?” Din asks after a moment.

“When the Tusken made you laugh and you looked right at me,” you say with amusement. 

“Oh,” Din turns is head towards you, “He said that it was too bad that you’re my woman because you would make a fine wife.” 

“I would make an excellent wife,” you agree with a smirk, playing it cool as your heart skips a beat. You’ve always wanted to be a wife, to be tethered to another for the rest of your life. Having a husband is the most romantic thing you can think of, so just hearing Din even say the word wife makes you feel all giddy. Regardless of the fact that you’re no where near ready to consider something like that with him. It’s no more than a nice thought in this early stage of the relationship. “Why did that make you laugh, though?” 

“Well he also said it looks like you know your way around a bedchamber. He meant it as a compliment. I didn't know what to say to that, so I just laughed.”

“What?!” You whisper yell, smacking the part of his arm that is not covered in indestructible metal. The kid is sound asleep between you, so you’re careful not to wake him. “Why is that funny?”

Din’s reply is very matter of fact even as he chuckles, “It’s not funny, it’s just true.” 

“Hm,” your eyes narrow playfully, “We’ll see who’s laughing when we get back to our bedchamber, Chrome Dome.”

*****

The following morning Din wakes up just as the twin suns are beginning to rise, the planet’s surface already feeling a good ten or fifteen degrees warmer than it had when he’d drifted off to sleep. You’re still snoring in his arms, and the kid is curled up next to your face. Sleeping on a blanket in the sand hadn’t been exactly comfortable, but Din is pleased that his aliit managed to find rest. 

Cramped as it may be, he misses the comfort of the cot on the Razor Crest. Sleeping with you pressed against him is his newly preferred way disengage from consciousness each night. Holding you in his arms as his tired brain replays all of the lewd sexual acts that had just been committed up in the cockpit, or listening to the sweet nothings you whisper to him as you fall asleep.

When he told you that the Tusken had made the comment about you being a good candidate for a wife, Din hadn’t been entirely honest with you. He hadn’t really laughed just because the Tusken made the reference to sex. Din had laughed because of the wife statement. The exact same thought has been on his mind for the last few days, and he told the Tusken as much knowing that you could not understand. 

Having a riduur was never something Din ever concerned himself with prior to meeting you. Perhaps once or twice as a young man the thought of finding a wife one day had been appealing, but that had been many cycles ago. Once he hit his mid thirties and had pretty much come to terms with his perpetual solitude, the idea of a spouse just seemed especially childish and incredibly far off from his lifestyle. It wasn’t until the Armorer brought it up during their brief meeting on Nevarro that he’d even thought about it where you are concerned. Things hadn’t progressed enough with you for it to be in consideration yet.

Din Djarin never expected a family, an aliit, to fall into his lap the way that this one has. Now that he’s had a glimpse of what life is like with you by his side, the word wife has been floating around in his mind more and more frequently. He doesn’t plan to address this any time soon, but the simple fact remains that the idea of marriage is suddenly more feasible for Din than it had been six months ago. 

Din just lays there for a moment, watching you. Watching your chest rise and fall. Watching the curve of your lips tugging upward. Watching your eyes move behind your lids as you dream. He imagines introducing you to others as his wife, to the Mandalorians of his covert as his riduur. He imagines bestowing you with a betrothal weapon and asking for you to join his clan permanently. He imagines your voice as you take the vow to be his for the rest of your lives. Clan Mudhorn could become a clan of three, and truthfully the thought of it causes Din’s chest to swell as his stomach does a somersault in his belly. 

Part of him already considers you to be a part of his clan, but he knows that you also deserve the right to choose what path you would like your life to take. Eventually, if things continue in this direction and the time seems right, Din may ask you this significant question. Until that time comes, however, he will enjoy the courtship between you and the sensations of peace that it stirs within him. It may not always feel like this, so enjoying it while it lasts seems like the only logical thing to do. 

Your breathing pattern changes a little then, face contorting into one of dismay. Lips parting, a little noise escapes you that sounds both pained and fearful. A nightmare seems to have found your subconscious. This doesn’t occur nightly, but Din has awakened to you in the throws of a nightmare twice now. Apparently this happens to you from time to time, and most of the nightmares you have tend to be hyper-realistic representations of past traumatic events in your life. He’s learned that there is only one good way to help you wake up from it and avoid a panic.

“S’not my fault,” you mumble, body beginning to twitch around. 

Din places a gloved hand to you face, “Shh, cyar’ika. It’s only a dream. You are here with me and our foundling on Tatooine. We camped with Tusken Raiders last night. You are safe.”  

Voice hoarse, your eyes blink a few times at him and a hand finds his wrist. “Din?”

“I’m here. Nightmare?”

“Yes,” your breathing starts to return to a normal rhythm as you clutch him, “about my parents this time.”

“It was only a dream. Whatever happened is in the past,” Din soothes. This worked the last time, and it seems to be doing the trick as your body’s tension lessens.

Just then the kid wakes up, blinking up at his adults as a tiny yawn escapes him. Holding the small green child even tighter to your chest, Din can see a few tears rolling down your cheeks as you squeeze him.

“I’ll never treat you the way they treated me,” you whisper to him, “As long as you’re with me, all you’re ever going to feel is love and understanding, my little green bean. I love you so much, buddy.”

*****

Another long, hot ride on the speeder bike later and a tiny little town finally comes into view. With maybe a dozen buildings on the one short strip, this has got to be the tiniest town you’ve ever seen in your life. It looks like something out of an old black and white western and as if your observation isn’t already spot on, you find yourself following Din into what is clearly a saloon. 

Inside, an alien behind the bar who sort of reminds you of the creature from Jeepers Creepers asks if he can help your traveling party. 

“I’m looking for a Mandalorian,” Din says, hands on the bar as he leans forward. 

“We don’t get many visitors in these parts. Can you describe him?” 

You try not to chuckle as Din sounds vaguely annoyed. “Someone who looks like me.”

The man seems to understand. “Oh, you mean the Marshal?

“Your Marshal wears Mandalorian armor?” 

“See for yourself,” the bartender gestures towards the door of the saloon, and both you and Din turn your heads to see a skinny figure approaching the establishment wearing what is most definitely Mandalorian armor. 

It’s beat up to hell, and you’re shocked to see that this armor is decorated with various colors of paint. The idea of Mandalorians personalizing their equipment never occurred to you until now, and when you look over Din’s own sleek design you realize that it is an intentional choice. You’d assumed they all looked shiny like Din. The silver fits him so well, and it occurs to you how much it actually fits his personality. This alters your perception of your love even more.

“What brings you here, strangers?” The Marshall asks, a certain twang in his voice only furthering along the old western comparison. He sounds friendly enough.

“I’ve been searching for you for many parsecs,” Din explains. 

“Well, now you found me.” The Marshall walks up to the bar and orders a bottle of blue liquor and three cups, taking them over to a nearby table as he offers you and Din a drink. Then, to your complete surprise, the Marshall takes his helmet off and places it on the table. He’s a handsome enough middle aged man, with neatly combed graying hair and a beard.

Din stops dead in his tracks as the man speaks. “I’ve never met a real Mandalorian. Heard stories,” the stranger pours the drinks, smirking up at the two of you, “I know you’re good at killin’, and probably none too happy seeing me wearing this hardware. So, I figure, only one of us is walkin’ outta here. But then I see the little guy and the fine lady standing behind you, and I think maybe I pegged you wrong.” 

“Who are you?” Din asks, voice on edge.

“I’m Cobb Vanth, Marshal of Mos Pelgo.” He tips his drink to Din before taking a sip. 

“Where did you get the armor?”

“Bought it off some Jawas.” 

Din’s tone is even but firm, “Hand it over.” 

“Look pal, I’m sure you call the shots where you come from but round here I’m the one who tells folks what to do.” 

“Take it off, or I will.” Din takes a threatening step forward.

Vanth points to where the kid is standing by a ceramic pot on the floor. “We gonna do this in front of the kid?” 

Din nods his head, and the way he says the next few words makes something in your core shift, “He’s seen worse.” 

God, he's the sexiest man in the universe when he acts like that. But, you’d rather not see a bloodbath today so you step forward as Cobb begins to stand. “Perhaps there is a way you boys can solve this peacefully, though,” you offer.

Just as Din turns to look at you as if to say, “Really?”, the ground begins to shake violently as if in the throws of an earthquake. 

Everyone runs out of the saloon just in time to see the sand moving like a great creature is moving around beneath the surface. It reminds you of movies like Tremors and Dune, and to your horror a huge creature is exactly what it turns out to be. The sand peaks move towards the bantha tied to a post just outside of town, and suddenly a great mouth opens up to swallow the poor thing whole. Between your ankles, the kid makes a scared little noise and hides his eyes against your leg. 

After that, Cobb Vanth explains that his town is in need of help with the creature and that perhaps they can come to an arrangement about the armor. If Din helps him kill it, he’ll give Din his armor. Ever true to his Mandalorian creed, Din takes Vanth up on the proposal so the beskar can be back in its rightful place among his people.

As the boys discuss why Din can’t just fly over with the Razor Crest and blow the thing to shit, you look down at the green baby in your arms and feel the tiniest bit of relief that Vanth is not a real Mandalorian. This means that instead of being one step closer to giving up the kid, your makeshift family is now taking an unexpected detour which is will only serve to prolong your time together. 

Back on the speeder bike, now your group is traveling with the Marshall through the desert as he rides along on his own odd looking bike. His looks like its made of the parts of multiple vehicles, thrown together by some crazy mechanic. You’re willing to bet that it might be Peli’s handiwork, despite knowing only a little bit about her.

During the ride, he regales you and Din with the story of how he got the armor and how he came to be the Marshall of Mos Pelgo. You grow a little bit of a soft spot for the man as he talks lovingly of his home town and the people in it for which he cares a great deal. You’ve never had a sense of community in that way, and it makes sense to you why Cobb is so desperate to keep it in tact. 

Eventually the group comes to a sharp-angled rocky outcropping in the sand, Cobb leading everyone into the thin valley between the steep peaks. After about a half a mile, a loud noise can be heard and both speeders skid to a halt, the men both hopping off of their bikes to ready a weapon. Din grabs his rifle and pulls you down to crouch beside him on the ground. Raising your own blaster in the same direction, you try to ready yourself for a fight. The kid hides down in Din’s brown satchel. 

The noises get louder, and suddenly a dog-like reptilian creature approaches from the other side of a rock. Din’s rifle lowers a little, even as two others appear. He puts the weapon down all together, and Cobb looks at him in shock as Din begins approaching the animals. 

A little smile finds your lips as he begins speaking Tusken to the creatures which you learned the night before are called massiffs. As Din slowly moves towards them saying who knows what, the massiffs’ moods seem to change completely. So you watch as your Mandalorian kneels down to pet one and scratch at it’s scaly neck as if the thing were a friendly golden retriever. 

Then the Tuskens appear, a different group then the ones you met the night before but likely from the same tribe. Din speaks to them a little, and Cobb leans over to speak to you.

Clearly he’s shocked by the civility of the exchange between the Mandalorian and the Tuskens. “Your fella’s quite the diplomat, ain’t he?” 

“He’s just a good man,” you say honestly, shrugging as you feel the weight of your words in your chest. It’s the truest statement you could have made, resonating with you that he’s the best man you’ve had in your life besides your grandfather. “He’s a bounty hunter and a Mandalorian warrior, but at the end of the day he's just as good at helping people as he is at killing them.”

Vanth nods, seeming to be alright with this answer. “How’d you end up by his side, if you don’t mind me askin’?” 

You chuckle, grabbing the kid from the satchel to hold him on your hip. “This little green bean, actually. I joined the Mandalorian to provide extra care for the child.”

“He’s a cute little fella, that’s for sure,” Vanth says, reaching out to wiggle a finger in front of the kid’s nose. “For what it’s worth, odd of a mix as it is, the three of ya make sense in a strange sort of way.”

Heart swelling, you nod at him in appreciation as you grin, “Thanks, Marshal.” 

“You can call me Cobb, Ma’am.”

*****

After Cobb successfully makes a dick out of himself around the blazing campfire of the Tusken village and Din has to put out the metaphorical flames of the situation with the real ones of his flamethrower, the sand people inform Din that they have set up a small tent for you. But only for you. 

“What? Why just me?” You ask, confused. A shiver runs through you as the night becomes increasingly colder, the thought of being enclosed in a tent sounding pretty great right about now. 

Din explains, “The Tuskens are showing hospitality. They appreciate women in their culture, and since you have treated them with such respect both last night and today, they have prepared a tent so that you do not have to sleep in the conditions of the desert. Because we are not married, I cannot join you nor can the kid. We’ll sleep by the fire with Cobb, but if you decline this offer they will be greatly offended.” 

“Oh,” you say, eyebrows jolting upwards, “well I guess I can’t say no then. Too bad you guys can’t snuggle with me.”

“Soon enough, cyare,” Din says quietly, knocking his head gently into yours.

And so you later find yourself trying to get comfortable in the small tent, feeling odd being in the surroundings of a completely foreign culture. Although the Tuskens are a nomadic people and never stay in the same place for very long, they’ve managed to make the interior of their non-permanent homes quite cozy. A few tapestries are hung up, and the ground level bed is far more comfortable than you expect it to be. The thick animal skin that makes up the sturdy tent walls does a good job of keeping the thing closed off from the outside. Once you douse the lights, everything in the tent is pitch black. 

Eventually you’re able to drift off to sleep for a while, until you suddenly awaken to a palm covering your mouth. Body going into survival mode, you start to thrash around and yell behind your attacker’s palm. That is, until you hear who it is.

“Shh, Cyar’ika. It’s me,” Din’s modulated voice is speaking to you in the darkness. You can barely see a thing, unable to find him until your hands land on his armor plated chest. His bare hand slowly lifts from your lips, allowing you to speak again.

“What are you doing in here?!” You whisper-yell, shoving at the beskar above your hands. “If the Tuskens catch you, won’t they be pissed?” 

“The Tuskens aren’t going to catch me,” he whispers back confidently, “I’ll be back in front of the fire before anyone gets up.” 

“What about the kid?” 

“He’s sleeping right by Cobb. I wouldn’t have left him alone.” 

The hand that had been covering your mouth is now snaking down past your stomach, below the fabric of your underwear. You’d taken your heavy pants off in order to sleep comfortably, having no access to the light stretchy pants you have back on the ship.

“You’re a maniac,” you giggle, back arching as his index finger slips between your delicate folds. A shiver runs through you and you have to force back the little moan that wants to escape the confines of your throat. 

“Perhaps,” Din agrees with a low chuckle.

Your hands find the helmet and come to rest at the back of his neck. “So what’s the plan here, Chrome Dome?” 

“The plan is I fuck you a little bit, and then I go back to the fire as if nothing happened at all,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“You really do love using that word now, don’t you?"

“Only when it’s appropriate.” 

In the same instant that the last syllable leaves his lips, the finger teasing you slips inside of your already moistening slit. It’s all you can do to not make loud, lewd noises as it slowly enters you. 

“Fuck,” you hiss as quietly as you can, “is it bad that the prospect of being caught is a turn on?”

Din chuckles, “Why do you think I’m in here right now?” 

“Mm,” you hum, “So Din Djarin is kinkier than we thought.” 

“Enough talking,” Din says in that commanding tone that makes you practically feral for him. Then his finger vanishes, and your underwear is being yanked from your legs. He brings his hand up to your lips, and eagerly you pull the finger that had been inside you into your mouth as you lap up your own wetness. Pleased when you begin to suck and he makes a strained little noise.

When the finger disappears again, the unmistakable sound of Din’s own trousers being unfastened comes next, followed by the feeling of his hands spreading your legs apart. He’s fully clothed, and you realize that until now he’s yet to fuck you in full armor. Even though you can’t really see anything, the concept sends a jolt of elation through you. You love a man in uniform. 

When he’s positioned at your entrance, you have to brace yourself a little. His size is still something you're getting used to. The handful of times you’ve had sex with him, he hasn’t been able to enter you without a loud noise of both pain and pleasure erupting from your wanting mouth. He seems to also be aware of this, as his palm once again comes to cover your parted lips. 

“Try not to be loud,” he whispers, and in that instance he’s slowly pushing into you. 

Whimpering from behind his hand, you grasp at his upper arms and squeeze as hard as you can to stop yourself from crying out. 

“That’s it, cyar’ika,” Din breathes, modulator hissing right above your face, “be a good girl and take it quietly.” Suddenly the beskar helmet is pressed to your right ear as he wickedly adds, “Although I do love the slutty little noises you make for me. When we are back home on our ship, you can scream my name as loud as you need to.” 

His voice is almost doing more to you than his body is, core heating up at his words as his cock presses into your center. He knows how much you love dirty talk during sex, or rather, he’s been learning how much you love it.  Each time the two of you are together like this, you both manage to teach each other so much. Learning the ways each of you finds pleasure. Your Mandalorian seems to love the dirty talk too, reacting in the most lovely ways when you whisper depraved things to him in the throws of passion. You’ve never been more vocal during sex than you are with Din Djarin. It’s as if he’s been able to unlock a part of you that was hidden away, desperately waiting to be released. 

Din works himself in and out for a few moments, your legs coming to wrap around his waist. The weight of him is so different with all the armor, beskar digging into your skin in certain places. Soon he’s sweeping both of his hands under your upper back, and then in one fell swoop he’s scooping you up into the air while simultaneously sitting back on his ass. Your bodies never cease being linked, and now you’re the one on top as your Mandalorian lays himself down beneath you. Eyes having adjusted to the darkness of the tent, you can faintly see the silver glimmer of the beskar below you. 

With your hands braced against the cool metal, you slowly begin gyrating. At this angle he’s pushed so deep inside you that you feel almost pegged there, but eventually you work up enough momentum to really ride him. Somehow, this is the first time you’ve been on top with him. You’d nearly forgotten how quickly tiring the position is on your thighs, but hearing Din’s soft little whimpers and moans makes it all the more worth it. 

You go until your hamstrings cannot take it much longer, collapsing forward onto the Mandalorian’s chest. Panting heavily, you rest your head on his shoulder. His arms circle you, one hand cradling your head while the other pins your torso down. Sharp little thrusts find you then, Din’s hips jerking upwards to crash into you. Eventually he slows down to a stop, fingers running through your hair as he begins to soothe you. 

“I’m going to let you get back to sleep,” he says.

“Already?” You pout, “What about finishing?” 

“I told you, I only wanted to fuck you a little bit. Do you need to finish?” 

“Honestly, no. This was perfect. Besides, I’m tired and we have a giant sand lizard to kill tomorrow.” 

“Precisely. We can resume this at a later time.” 

Din pulls out as you peel yourself off of him, feeling around for your underwear.  He notices that they’re bunched up right beside his head, so he holds them out as he looks you over.

“Let me put these back where I found them,” he chuckles quietly, sitting up while simultaneously pushing you down onto your back. He finds the right legs for each hole, easing the soft fabric slowly up your legs. When he reaches your upper thighs he chuckles more, “Lift up, love.” 

So you lift your ass, noticing that its the first time he’s ever called you “love” in basic as he moves your underwear the rest of the way on, swooning at the notion. Then he comes to hover over you, and you smile contently up at him.

“What is it, Chrome Dome?” You ask.

“Close your eyes,” he says, still commanding but with a lighter air to it. 

You comply, feeling his hand come to cover your closed lids. A small hiss can be heard, and then his lips are capturing yours in a short lived but heated kiss. 

When he pulls apart, your voice is breathy, “I wasn't even going to ask you to do that.”

“That was for me,” Din says, modulated once again as he removes his hand. “Sleep well, cyar’ika.” 

You pull his hand back down to your face, kissing his palm before letting it go. Sleep will surely reclaim you at any moment, so you curl up in the blankets and close your eyes. “Jate ca, Din.”

“Jate ca,” he says your name, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Just as you hear him moving for the exit of the tent, a sleepy little smile crosses your features and you hear yourself say, “love you… so much.”

The tent is silent for a short moment, then you hear Din lowly reply, “I love you,” in basic rather than Mando’a. For some reason this makes you blush, as if hearing him say it both ways makes it seem more like you're on even footing with each other.

Then he’s gone, and you’re alone once again. Feeling as if all of that had been a lovely dream, your mind drifts back to unconsciousness to dream for real.

*****

At first light the Tusken Raider camp is up and about, and you find yourself exiting the darkness of your tent to already blinding sunlight assaulting your eyes. Din and the kid are waiting patiently for you just outside, and your face forms into the happiest of grins when you see them. Din hands the kid over as you approach, the small green child reaching eagerly for his foster mom.  

“Good morning, my little love bug,” you say happily, rubbing the tip of your nose onto his. "Did you sleep well, sweetie?"

The kid giggles and grabs your face in response, saying something that comes out as, "bah-wah-bah".

“And good morning to my favorite Mandalorian,” you say as you turn your head to Din with a knowing grace. Under different circumstances, in the sanctity of the Razor Crest, you would have kissed his helmet where his lips ought to be. 

“Jate vaar’tur, cyare,” Din responds with a tilt of the head.

Cobb looks between all of you with a raised brow before sarcastically saying, “Well good morning to you guys too.” 

You like to think that Din just rolled his eyes behind the beskar, hearing him sigh. You chuckle as you wave over to the Marshal of Mos Pelgo. “Morning, Cobb.”

Tuskens come over to speak to Din, and after a short breakfast of nutrition packs, everyone seems ready to get the show on the road. 

A speeder bike ride later, your group is back in Mos Pelgo with the sand people following behind on bantha-back. Cobb calls a town meeting, to which all residents show up at the bar where you’d first met this Tatooine gunslinger. 

He explains the situation to his people, filling them in up to the point where he tells them that the sand people are the ones who are going to help kill the krayt dragon. At this, the people of Mos Pelgo become slightly uproarious and once again Din is forced to step in to help Cobb keep the peace. 

An agreement is finally settled upon, and the two factions of Tatooine locals are forced to team up. Things are heated and uncomfortable, but eventually everyone is able to work together for the most part. Din explains the plan to everyone, and after another long journey across the sand you find yourself back at the mouth of the dragon’s cave.

It feels like it takes well over a few hours for the plan to get set up. Burying the explosives, setting up the huge crossbow-like structures, getting everyone into position, making sure everyone knows their role. Watching Din guide these separate groups of people into working together is truly amazing. He's a natural leader, and the pride it fills you with is insurmountable. The strength and confidence he displays driving you wild as you try your best to assist. It feels so good to be by his side, to know a man like this finds you worthy of his deeply intimate partnership.

And so it begins. Din, Cobb, the kid, and yourself are situated further back and off to the side to observe everything. Cobb’s got the detonator and you can tell he’s anxious to press the damn thing and get this over with, hoping that his trigger finger won't get everyone into trouble. The krayt dragon comes when the Tusken Raiders call for it. Shooting it with the large arrows seems to only piss the thing off, and Cobb nearly pushes the button too soon. You’re horrified when the dragon opens it’s great mouth and a disgusting stream of what looks like bile is vomited all over some of the poor people down there. Whatever it is, it must be acidic because from what you can see it appears to melt their skin and clothing. 

“Almost,” Din is saying as he watches it slither forward through his miniature telescope, “Almost… Now!”

Cobb presses the detonator, and the explosives hit dead on. The ground quakes beneath your feet and you can feel the heat of the explosions even from this vantage point. Only, they don’t seem to do the kind of damage that Din was hoping for. Angry, the krayt dragon retreats into the ground, only to reappear at the top on the small mountain it’s cave resides under. It once again sprays the acidic bile all over the people below, and this is when Din and Cobb decide to get involved. 

Din turns to you, grabbing your shoulders, “You stay here and keep the kid safe. I will return.” 

“You fucking better,” you squeeze him once.

The rest of it almost goes by in a blur. Din and Cobb fly down to fight the thing off for a while, until Cobb uses the rocket on his jet pack to get it’s attention and your stomach drops as it begins slithering towards them. Then you see Din hit the jet pack on Cobb’s back, sending him flying into the air until he lands hard just a few yards away from you. Din struggles with the bantha’s ropes and you turn your attention to the man splayed out in the sand before you.

“What the fuck is he doing?” You call out to Cobb, who shakes his head at you.

“I don’t know, I think your fella is crazier than skinny hutt!” Cobb calls back, and the both of you turn your attention back to the scene down below just in time to see the krayt dragon consume both the bantha covered in extra explosives and Din Djarin before diving back down into the sand.

The kid makes a squeak of fear beside you, and you start sprinting forward as your stomach drops down to your feet. “Mando! DIN!” 

It feels like the moment lasts forever, everyone just watching in stunned horror. For you, you just watched your partner get swallowed up by a giant sand lizard. For the people below you, they just watched their one hope at saving their land get eaten alive. 

And then the ground begins to shake, your booted feet vibrating beneath you. Rumbling can be heard before the sand suddenly breaks free and the dragon re-emerges. It’s great mouth opens wide, and you finally release the breath you’d been holding in when Din’s form comes flying out of the opening. 

He hits the detonator, and you watch in awe as the krayt dragon explodes from the inside out before your very eyes. Grabbing the child, you take off in Din’s direction, running right past Cobb at full speed. It's not an easy task on uneven loose sand, but exhilaration for your love's life being in tact drives you forward in spite of it. 

“Mando!” You shout, barreling right into him. He’s covered in some sort of nasty green slime from the krayt dragon’s belly,. It reeks to high heaven, and in this moment you could care fucking less as you cling to him. “Don’t fucking scare me like that.”

“I told you I would return,” Din says simply, looking you and the child over. The kid coos up at him, so Din’s beskar covered head tilts down as he nods. “I’m okay, buddy. Promise.”

The kid nods in return, and you’re just glad that your little family is still in one piece. 

After a raucous celebration of victory, the Tuskens make quick work of harvesting the dragon’s meat. Even going so far as to give a generously huge hunk to Din as a thank you. You look down at the bloody red meat and gag a little. It looks so gross, you can't imagine having to ingest it.

Noticing this, Din chuckles in your direction. “I know you don’t love to eat meat, but this will come in handy. I’ll make us a krayt dragon stew when we return home to the Crest.”

Sarcastically, you pat your stomach and say, “yummy,” with the final syllable drawn out to sound more like, “yum-eeee.” Din laughs even harder, and the sound of it fills you with so much joy.  "As long as I don't have to touch it," you add.

Cobb comes to say his goodbyes and return the beskar armor to Din as agreed upon. Sincerely, you do hope that your paths cross with the Marshal again in the future. Stubbornness and hot headedness aside, the man has a good heart and he’s a good leader to his people. He's an ally worth having on a planet like Tatooine. 

*****

Soon enough Din is slowing the speeder bike down as Peli’s hanger comes into view, and you sigh with relief against his back. The prospect of being home sounds so lovely to your exhausted, overheated body. After going on what you easily consider to be your first true adventure, you’re ready to curl up in the cot with your Mandalorian pressed against you and your foster child in your arms as the three of you drift off into much needed sleep.

Din is still filthy from being inside the belly of the krayt dragon, and frankly he stinks so much of the great sand creature, but you lay your head on his back regardless while he’s bringing the bike into a full stop just inside the hanger. Peli is there to greet you with her small gaggle of droids.

“The Razor Crest is all tuned up for ya, Mando. My associate and I even upgraded a few of your more outdated parts, free of charge if you let me hold that womp rat for a while before you leave. In fact, you should stay for supper and leave in the morning! I’ll cook up some of that meat you have there and babysit him to let you two have some proper rest.” 

You climb from the bike, knowing full well that the green goop from Din’s clothing has now dried all over the front of you. It'll be nice to take a shower when the time comes for it. You pluck the kid from Din’s satchel and give him a once over before handing the baby over to the eccentric little engineer. 

“Your associate?” Din asks skeptically, coming to stand next to you. “I thought all under your employ are droid.” 

“Oh did I not mention that before? I have another human working with me now. A business partner of sorts. That’s right! Your old Peli here found herself a fella. Sorry you missed your chance, Mando.” Peli sends a wink your way, clearly joking. Then she bounces the kid in her arms while looking down at him. “And to think, I could have been your mama.” 

You can’t help but laugh a little and elbow Din in the side as you play along, “You didn’t tell me I had competition here on Tatooine, Mando.” 

To which, Din sighs heavily and shakes his silver head.

Peli’s curly hair bounces as she laughs at the Mandalorian before going on, “Best engineer I’ve ever met, almost as good as me. He was off at the Tosche Station picking up power converters for me when you landed last week.” Peli turns to the Razor Crest and puts a hand to her mouth, “RICHARD! Come out here and meet the little green creature I told you about.” 

You’re completely taken aback when you hear the familiar name, feeling an odd pang of sadness. It’s not often that you meet people in the galaxy with a name that reminds you of Earth, but it’s also not entirely uncommon either. This one just happens to coincidentally remind you of someone you loved dearly. 

A man in his late sixties or early seventies emerges from the other side of the Razor Crest, wiping his oily hands on a rag. He’s got a prominent gray mustache and beard covering the lower half of  his wrinkled face and he’s wearing a red engineer jumpsuit suit similar to Peli’s. He lifts the dark safety goggles to rest in his unruly gray hair as he approaches and when his face becomes completely clear to you, you nearly faint on the spot. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” the man says, clearly stunned in his tracks as he looks directly at you. 

You must be having some sort of mirage experience from being in the heat of the binary suns for too long. This can’t possibly be real. 

“Mando, is that guy really standing there or am I hallucinating?” You whisper to your beskar clad best friend with wide eyes.

“He’s really standing there. Why? What’s wrong?”

“I think that’s my fucking grandfather.” 

*****

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