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mandalorewhore · 4 years ago

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Common Ground

Part 2 of Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)

gif by @themandaloriandaily

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga

A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2

This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man.

The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.

However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.

You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake.

There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again.

Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off as a droid.

Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment.

But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.

Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason. Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...

“I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness.

“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond.

“Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”

“Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”

“O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”

“Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine.

“Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops.

He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.”

There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.”

A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?”

“That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”

“Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you.

Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.

“16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous.

Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.

As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind.

Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer.

Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.

You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions.

Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.

You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?”

“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?”

Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.

“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?

You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.

“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze.

Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.

Oh my… Now that’s sexy.

The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet.

“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness.

Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away.

“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling.

“You can carry it from now on.”

What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit?

Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire.

But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.

Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry.

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.

“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”

------------------------------------------

You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.

The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you.

He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.

But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on.

You wish they would fear you like that.

Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.

“Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.

“I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.

You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.

“Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.

“It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”

The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?

“Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector.

Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”

Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-

“She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you.

Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”

Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”

At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip.

Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job.

Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.

“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology.

You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome.

Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time.

“I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger.

“Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted.

“My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose.

After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.”

You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.

“I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.

“Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”

This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.

“On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this.

You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you’re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.

Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.

“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.”

There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously.

“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it.

“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.

“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.

“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.

Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants. He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.”

He waves back. “You as well, girl.”

A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.

----------------

It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.

Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere.

As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.

It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...

Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about.

Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path.

It’s almost funny how quickly things go south.

Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated.

“I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.

You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison.

The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement.

The blast misses by a few inches.

The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.

You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.

Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.

As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here.

Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.

He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.

“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”

A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.

“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof.

He saved your ass. Again.

You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there.

But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.

“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.

Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about.

It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is.

Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it.

Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.

He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?”

Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.

“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”

“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”

“...Is that all you’re going to address.”

“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”

Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.

“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street.

----------------

The walk back to the Crest is short.

You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall?

The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.

“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you.

“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp.

You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.

“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot.

“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.

Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it.

You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”

He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot.

Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that.

“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.

“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”

“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”

“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?”

His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.

“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles.

“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again.

“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him.

‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.

“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”

Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan.

His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”

You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now.

Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.

“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.

“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire.

“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”

You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach.

Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead.

“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal.

“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.

The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian.

This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.

Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.”

That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that.

“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath.

He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-

There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.

It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.

“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”

Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit.

Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.

Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando

He stops.

“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game.

“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.

“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-”

“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”

You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life.

His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-”

You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt.

A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims.

He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.

Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement.

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.

It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-

“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words

The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.

Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.

This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours.

His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing.

But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.

‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.

“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”

You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.”

He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator.

“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.”

You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks.

“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness.

“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”

And so you do.

------------------------------------------

It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...

The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this.

“Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”

Wear them proudly.

And so you do.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #fanfic #smut fic #mando x you #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian fanfic #smut #din djarin #star wars #star wars fic #fanfiction

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fleckcmscott · 4 years ago

Text

Stepping Stones - Chapter 2

Chapter links: 1

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,739

A/N: Once again, a heartfelt thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for offering to beta-read this story and her encouragement. Her contributions have been invaluable! Also, thank you guys for your support! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. And don’t worry: there may be angst - but there’s love, too.

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I’m still working on requests and Way Back Home!

Y/N wasn't used to being searched. It'd last happened at the District Courthouse when she'd gotten in the wrong line and nearly wound up in the jury room for a murder trial. At least the stout woman in Arkham's visitor entrance lobby was more pleasant than the bailiffs.

Unassuming in a white polo shirt and black pants, her nametag introduced her as Gladys, and the split "I Can Help!" sticker along the top cemented her as a fixture. She was friendly for a Gothamite, commenting on the sunny weather while unceremoniously dumping the contents of Y/N's handbag onto a plastic table pad. Asking about the ride over as she politely ignored tampons and confiscated a nail file. She spelled Y/N's name back to her before jotting it on the sign-in sheet and offered a genuine smile. "You have a nice time with your husband, dear. Just check out with me before you leave."

Visitor's badge pinned above her left breast, Y/N adjusted the collar of her red silk blouse, ensured the heart pendent around her neck was centered, and pushed through the door marked "Visitation."

Her kitten heels click-clacked across the checkerboard linoleum floor. The cafeteria was large, like an elementary school gymnasium without the scoreboards. Lack of funding had turned the once pristine walls to the off-white of a bathtub that had seen too few scrubbings. Large windows dotted them in sets of two, each covered with grate from the inside. Metal fans were riveted to their frames, a poor attempt to compensate for the lack of fresh air. To her left, six rows of steel tables stretched halfway across the room, about a third full of staff and patients, family members and friends. A metal buffet stood to her right, along with a sign stating a menu of beef cutlets and gravy would be served at 5:30 PM. A pony wall separated a family area on the far end. She spotted a patient with his wife and daughter watching cartoons together, ones that were old enough for Y/N to have grown up on.

It struck her how average the place felt, similar to the hospital back home she'd spent far too many hours in. It made sense: the people here were patients like any other, even if they were under lock and key. When she headed to the aluminum coffee urn on a rickety steel cart, there was a woman, around thirty, making conversation with a new wave chick, holding a ragged teddy bear and pulling her hair. Their eyes met and Y/N attempted a friendly smile. Once she'd purchased two cups, she sat by a window and crossed her legs, foot swinging back and forth as she sipped the stale liquid.

She tried to quell her nervous anticipation. Due to his time of admittance, Arthur's forty-eight-hour observation period had stretched late into Thursday night, well after visiting hours. Tasks big and small had punctuated the wait. One of Arthur's clients called to confirm a birthday party, and Y/N, hazy from lack of sleep, explained there'd been a family emergency.

Then it dawned on her that she'd have to find Arthur's gig list, which meant rummaging through his desk, a private space she'd respected since presenting him with it for their anniversary. Thank god he no longer locked the drawers, because she had no idea where he kept the key. (There were only so many hiding places in their three-room apartment, but she had no desire to search every nook and cranny.) The yellow legal pad resided in the top left drawer, under a prop catalog and kraft paper notebook. After ringing Gary and asking him to fill in ("I'm not sure I can do all these, but I can mention them at HaHa's." "That'd be great but don't get yourself in trouble. And, please, leave out Randall."), she telephoned eight households and three businesses with his contact information and apologies.

She worked extra hours in the evening to make up for the time she'd inevitably take off when Arthur was home, an arrangement that wasn't strictly legal, but she didn't see the harm in. Her colleagues graciously ignored the number of personal calls she made, to ask how Arthur was doing and learn about policies. While he wasn't yet rational, staff said, he was cooperative. Well, mostly cooperative. He'd eaten breakfast and referred to everyone as sir or ma'am, but he'd also caused a ruckus when he'd come to and found his wedding ring missing. They'd made an exception to the no jewelry rule and given it back. Personal clothing wasn't permitted, either, besides underwear, and toiletries were out of the question. It irked her - he deserved the dignity of his own hairbrush - but she didn't want to single him out by arguing for further favors. So she shuttled over a week's worth of briefs on her lunch break, chest tight as she gave it to the man with headphones at reception.

Despite the setting, despite the weight of not knowing what mood he'd be in, a thrill bubbled through her veins. Whenever a silhouette appeared behind the glue chip glass of the patient entrance, her pulse skipped. Y/N knew it was silly to expect a lot this first visit but she couldn't help it. She missed him. She missed him. Like it had been thirty days instead of three.

It took about six minutes for the door to crack an inch, and a full ten seconds for it to open completely. An orderly propped his weight against it, pointing in her general direction with his head. She stood and smoothed her palm down her A-line skirt, ensured the hem was at her knee. Maybe it was selfish, perhaps even foolish, but she hoped the surprise would be a highlight of Arthur's day, make him feel better, and she hoped seeing him would be one of hers. He was still her partner, after all. Still her Arthur. That would never change.

Clad in white scrubs and white shoes and about twenty feet away, Arthur stepped over the threshold and scanned the room. She gave him a modest wave when she caught his eye. His approach was more tentative than she would have liked, his steps shorter than usual, fists balled at his sides. As he drew closer, she noted the oiliness of his hair, the two-day black and grey stubble on his chin. His crow's feet had grown deeper, his eyelids slightly purple. Exhaustion dripped from every pore. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over into a thin line, quite modest considering its origin and how much he'd bled.

But he was as beautiful to her as always. The hint of a smile tipped her mouth. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hi," he said lowly. A reservation she barely recognized clouded his light green irises.

Part of her began to suspect popping in like this had been a mistake. Giving up wasn't in her nature, however, especially when it came to the love of her life. She forged ahead, closing the gap between them. Dr. Kellerman had advised her to let Arthur set the pace of their visits, to offer support while respecting his boundaries. Yet, touching him had become as vital to her as breathing, and it didn't occur to her to ask for permission before she reached to cup his face.

His skin felt papery under her fingertips, and red, flakey spots of dermatitis bloomed next to his nose and below his eye. He smelled of cheap bar soap and detergent, though whiffs of his woodsy masculine scent lurked underneath. But his clothes were clean and fit him well, better than half his own wardrobe. "I'm so happy to see you," she said, tracing his sharpened cheeks.

He nodded weakly, lips pursed into a grimace of disbelief. "Good."

"I got us some coffee. We can sit here or on one of the sofas."

"Here's fine."

She took his hand and led him to their table, itching for him to entwine their fingers, lamenting a little when he didn't. While he followed closely, his posture radiated tension like an oven radiated heat. Rather than the gait they'd adopted over the years, he moved as if he was afraid to touch her, as if he feared she'd disappear. Or reject him. Once he was situated and stirring sugar into his cup, she sat beside him and bumped their legs, refusing to let his fears go unchallenged. "How's your room?"

"It's okay. Just me. I'm not there much." He blew lightly on his steaming brew. "I haven't seen this part of the hospital before."

Y/N arched her brow. "No?"

"Penny had trouble getting over here to visit. When I had episodes."

Flabbergasted, a huff of disapproval escaped her. Arthur had been in out Arkham six or seven times, and Penny hadn't made it over once? According to Arthur, she'd been sick for a while, but what about twenty years ago? Even later, they hadn't had any money, which meant she would've had to care for herself while he was away. If she had had the wherewithal to go through the process of committing her son, couldn't she have at least called a cab? Y/N pushed her ire aside, not wanting it to affect Arthur. "Did you see your therapist today?"

"Mhm."

"Is he good? Does he listen to you?"

"He's fine."

She took a long drink. "Did you get the underwear I brought over?"

"Yeah." he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "They wrote my name on the waistband."

"I'll get new ones," she said, tapping her chin in contemplation, opting for a little cheer. "Donahue's has a racy number from Mad Mod. How'd you feel about zig-zag bikinis in maroon?" Instead of the laugh she'd craved, the incredulous smirk he saved for ridiculous suggestions, his knees quaked, bouncing and bouncing, freshly wound springs in bleached cotton.

None of this was going as she'd pictured.

Self-consciousness was atypical for her, a personality trait she'd shed in her late twenties after a failed marriage and the beginning of her parents' declines. Being with Arthur felt secure, open, even during his worst days. When he'd discovered his mother's Arkham file, learned the details of his abuse. Or the weeks after she'd passed and any chance of finding out more about himself, the truth about his father and chance to get a crumb of paternal affection, had died along with her.

Gathered at this table with her husband and bad coffee, old insecurities returned with the force of a subway careening at full speed. She sought to encourage him but didn't want to dismiss his feelings, harken back when he'd been burdened with "Happy." Her questions were obviously getting on his nerves - she was at a loss as to how he'd react to more of them. Their banter had vanished. The clues she had to follow were based on an old map, comprised of well-worn paths to joy she could walk with her eyes closed. Now those paths were overgrown with weeds.

But she wouldn't stop trying to trim them. Some shears were in reach: a woman's magazine lay abandoned on a nearby table, famous for its relationship quizzes and bedroom advice. She snagged it, scooted her chair closer to Arthur, and flipped through the glossy pages until the headline "Are You Meant To Be?" screamed in bright pink font. She cleared her throat and read aloud. "'You and your husband are shipwrecked on a desert island. You can take any household item with you. What item would you bring?'" She paused, then went with what first came to mind. "Toothbrush. I can't expect you to kiss me when I-"

"Why are you acting like this?"

Her gaze locked on him. "Like what?"

"Like I haven't fucked everything up."

Automatically, she reached for his thigh, not heeding the angry twitch of his jaw. "You haven-"

He batted her arm away, inadvertently knocking the magazine to the floor. "Don't lie to me," he rasped. "I don't like you seeing me like this. I don't want you to have to come visit and pretend." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, an anger she recognized as shame dripping from every word. "Can you please just go?"

Pain lanced through her, pain she hadn't felt since her father, deep in the throes of dementia, had accused her of stealing from him. Her lashes lowered to hide her hurt. Arthur acting like this was proof of how out of sorts he was, how much he was struggling with his illnesses. But it didn't make his behavior any easier to take, even if she firmly believed it should. She had to try to accept him as he was in the moment. To forgive him and herself for pressing him too far, too quickly. To listen to his request for time, the way he'd listened to hers after the Murray show, giving her the gift of patience and understanding. A gift he also deserved.

Pushing herself to stand, she glanced at the orderly and lay a gentle palm on Arthur's back. To her relief, he didn't retreat. "I'm here if you need me," she said softly. "If you feel up to it, give me a ring. We could both use a joke or two." Fingertips caressed his distended shoulder, and she pecked the crown of his head, breathed in the oily musk of his scalp. Not entirely pleasant but him all the same. "We'll see each other soon. Get some rest and remember I love you."

~~~~~

"This woman wandered in off the street the other day. Pointy-toed shoes, fur coat, pillbox hat like she thinks she's Jackie Kennedy..." Perched on Y/N's side of the bed, Patricia dunked her orange pekoe teabag, gave it a good squeeze, laid it on her saucer. "She wanted to sue the Wayne Estate for damages to her Bentley, because Thomas Wayne had broken a legally binding oral agreement - she must have read a legal thriller and gotten haughty - to fix the potholes in Old Gotham when he was mayor. I told her to complain to Public Works, but she decided to camp out at your old desk to clip her nails. Finally, Matt had enough and offered her a phone call to Gotham PD or ten bucks for her trouble." She shook her head with a chuckle. "What a jackass. Retirement can't come soon enough."

"Don't wish your life away," Y/N retorted, inadvertently quoting a pamphlet she'd gotten from the Arkham gift shop, "Care for the Caregiver." The title had made her balk: Arthur bathed himself, fed himself, knew who she was. But it had been a straw to hold onto, albeit feebly. She retrieved a curved, wooden hanger from the closet and stuck one end in the arm of her freshly ironed blouse. "Besides, you've been working since you were sixteen, right? I give it a year before you'd go stir-crazy."

"Actually, I've been thinking about taking a class or two at the learning center," said Patricia.

"Oh, really? What kind? Pottery, advanced baking, conversational Spanish?"

"How to find nicer friends."

Hand on her hip, Y/N smirked over her shoulder to find Patricia's teacup raised for a toast. "Let me know what you learn," Y/N said, hoisting the laundry basket onto the bed. "I could use a few pointers." She batted the older woman with a dress sock, then fished for its companion. She shook them out. Aligned the cuffs and toes, smoothed the nylon with the side of her hand, folded the fabric into thirds. The top drawer's left ball-bearing slide stuck when she tried to pull it open, and she made a mental note to ask Arthur to take a look at it.

Without warning, a profound sense of loss swept over her, flushing her cheeks, her forehead. He'd been gone almost a week, the longest they'd been apart aside from conferences and training. Her days had been blessedly busy but dragged on nonetheless, slow as the secondhand on her watch when the battery had to be replaced.

Arthur had gotten in the habit of leaving a note whenever he had an early gig or errand to run, just a few words stating where he was, that he'd be home later, that he loved her. Though she knew he was in Arkham, she couldn't stop her heart from expecting one when she made morning coffee. She ached to pull him inside before he lit a second cigarette, and for his teasing kisses when he'd resist. The way he brushed his teeth from side-to-side, eschewing her method of small circles and daily flossing. Last night, a hot flash had kept her awake, and she'd longed for the feel of his strong, slender hands rubbing refrigerated lotion into her calves, a trick he'd learned to quiet his mother when she'd gone through what he politely referred to as The Change.

Y/N had never wanted to love someone so much she needed them, but Arthur had made it safe. And now here she was, anguishing over a stubborn piece of furniture. She gave the knob another good, hard heave until it popped off into her palm. With a groan, she slapped it on the top of the dresser, between his wallet and her jewelry box.

A gentle hold on her elbow halted her. "The clothes'll keep," Patricia said.

The compassion in her voice, subtle chords that would sound like judgement to others, loosened Y/N's stance. Granted permission for her to take a break from coping and give into grief. Slinking down onto the mattress, she picked up Arthur's blue house pants from the mound of panties and trousers and hugged them to her breast.

"Your anniversary is coming up," Patricia continued. "Will Arthur be home for it?"

"Yes. Three weeks is all the insurance will pay for, and Dr. Kellerman said we were lucky to get that." Most patients were discharged after two, even if they had nowhere else to go.

"How is he? Do you think he'll be ready then?"

"I'm not sure. He barely comes to the phone." She'd tried letters, too. Written on her office letterhead, declarations of her support and affection that were as stilted as the motions she regularly drafted. Something for him to read when they couldn't speak, when they couldn't touch. But he hadn't responded.

Although Y/N was the sole person he'd added to his list of allowed visitors, he hadn't signed the release. Sure, she'd learn the details of his care if a court remanded him, but she wasn't about to have him declared legally incompetent, not unless everything went to shit. But she had deduced his schedule by calling and asking if he could come to the phone. He's in group, Mrs. Fleck, the charge nurse had let slip. Or, You can try in an hour. He should be out of one-on-one by then.

Therapy three times a day. Safety and daily living skills. Goal setting before bed. No wonder he hadn't had the energy to say good night.

"I know what you're going through," Patricia said. She stretched to put her empty teacup on the nightstand. "When Robert got back from Korea, he kept his distance. Buried himself in starting his business, was gone most nights on extra late repair jobs, worked, worked, worked. It was nearly a year before he really came home. But he made it and Arthur will, too."

The intimacy behind the disclosure was a welcome invitation, a hook that tugged at Y/N's core and confirmed honesty would be all right. She drew a shaky breath, fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of Arthur's pajamas. "I thought I'd seen everything. Losing my mother, going out of my mind with my father. Those were finalities I couldn't prevent." Rapid blinking fought the wetness of her eyes. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand. "If you had seen him, Patricia... I just hope Arthur understands. I don't want him to think I wanted him to leave."

"Listen to me." Patricia adopted her mentor tone and hugged her tight around the middle. "There's no way he'd believe that. Remember when we doubled at Kao Wah? When we were in the restroom, and he ordered your favorite dish without having to ask what it was? He adores you." She swept her hand through the air as if she could sweep away Y/N's woes. "You promised to take care of him through everything. You did what you had to to keep him safe. You couldn't have done anything else, Y/N. Don't doubt yourself."

After some moments Y/N nodded. "You know, my parents had a swimming hole on our property. When I was young, I used to skip stones across it and make wishes. For my doll's arm to mend, for my parents to say safe, for my sister's surgeries to go well." She chuckled and dabbed at her cheeks with Arthur's house pants. "I guess it was like praying, which I never had use for." The slightest smile edging her lips, she turned to Patricia. "Let's go to Gotham Park and throw some rocks."

~~~~~

The next morning, eleven percent of her worries cast away by a currently sore right arm, Y/N walked past Sherwood Florist, a closet of a shop around the corner from her office. Storefront freshly washed, robust floral arrangements on display in large, spotless windows, and an owner in horn-rimmed glasses checking the temperature of the nearest cooler, she decided to stop in. Yes, the florist told her, an expression of dubious curiosity on his face. They delivered to Arkham. Just include the patient's full name and ward in the address, and it'd be sent this afternoon.

She chose a squat, plastic vase filled with daisies and a yellow enclosure card with a bumblebee in the lower left corner. A bit cutsie for her taste, but it was the only neutral choice among birthdays and congratulations. She pondered what to write, pushing back the urge to ask him to reach out. A minute later, she put her pen to the cardstock. "I miss you like thread misses a needle. (Good thing you're the comedian - that was terrible.) You're not alone in this. You have my whole heart. - Y/N."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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forbidding-souda · 4 years ago

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How about Aoi, Leon, Yasu, Nagito, Soda, Chiaki and Ibuki overcare their s/o who's sick? Like, giving to s/o all blankets in house, buying 10 packs of every medicine, checking them every 15 mins, waking up at night to check them, and so on. I think s/o will be confused with such an attention to minor illnes and unsure if their love is okay but still grateful. Probably s/o will just force them to calm down and get a full night of sleep bc hey, they slept 5 hours last night awakening every 40 mins

Asahina, Leon, Hagakure, Komaeda, Souda, Chiaki and Ibuki taking care of a sick S/O

I would die for this ngl ! All the anons requesting people have such good taste in characters yes thank you.

-Mod Souda

Aoi Asahina

Aoi would make soup like once an hour just to make sure you’re not hungry.

Her mind is going to be occupied with thoughts about whether you are too hot or too cold.

“Do you need a blanket?”

“Aoi, I already have four.”

She is usually concerned about a lot of things, so you being sick makes things worse.

The front door is not going to be touched until you feel better.

She will insist on you staying in bed, too. You are not allowed anywhere else!

Her hands will stroke your head, running through your hair, and it will be the most relaxing thing in the world.

Sakura will even come by to leave you protein shakes, just in case you get tired of soup.

She’s mad she won’t be able to get any kisses while you’re sick.

But she will sleep by your side still, though on top of the blankets.

Literally doesn’t care if she gets sick.

If she catches your illness, she’s been caught slipping, but that doesn’t mean she won’t cuddle with you at night.

She’ll wake up though, suddenly, and make sure you haven’t gotten worse in the two hours she was asleep.

“Oh my god, Hina, go to sleep I am fine.”

Leon Kuwata

Panics at first.

He’s never really had a partner for as long as he has had you, so he is inexperienced when it comes to having one get sick.

Should he still kiss you? Can he hold your hand?

You end up having to ease him by stroking his face, cooing to him that you’ll be fine.

He allows you to walk around the house, but if you even try to do any house work - like the dishes - he’ll just lead you back to bed and do them himself.

“Maybe I should get sick more often.”

He misses his head rubs, though, but he won’t put you to work of any sort.

You should totally be relaxing right now! As hard work will make it even worse!

He’ll sleep on the couch, set alarms to go check on you.

In the middle of the night he will peak in to make sure you’re not dead, and then go back to sleep.

Cancels on baseball practices, too, not like he even went to them in the first place.

You being sick is the only time you’ll get him to do housework, too.

Hagakure Yasuhiro

Very helpful boyfriend, yes yes.

He is a big listener, and he’s good at following commands.

So you tell him a grocery list, warm foods you’ll eat and the type of medicine to get, because lord if he knows.

He’ll come back with that and more, much more.

“Why did you buy five pillows.”

“Because four wasn’t enough.”

He will n e v e r leave your bed side.

Not a second goes by you are not alone, he’ll even wait for you outside of the bathroom.

He’ll give you massages too, whenever you feel ache-y.

That’s the best part ^.

He’s very disappointed that you won’t let him sleep next to you in bed, scared that he’ll catch whatever you have.

He responds by giving you kisses all over your face. “There, see, now I have it.”

“Oh my god.”

Nagito Komaeda

Would 100% kidnap Mikan.

Or somehow his luck would lead to her over at your house.

“Wow, Mikan, how lucky am I to have you over here?”

She’s like ???

But she tells Komaeda that it’s something minor, and to not worry about you.

You could have told him that.

He doesn’t listen.

Even though he brought her in the first place.

He can’t really cook, but he tries. And it’s decent, considering it’s all just healthy foods.

Your medication is definitely going into those monday tuesday wednesday things.

The usual cuddling and head rubs doesn’t stop.

It’s not like he fears anything other than you not being safe.

Really won’t sleep either.

He’ll just stay up, sitting in bed and watching you.

“Nagito, that is so weird, go to sleep.”

“But what if something happens?”

“Sleep!!”

Kazuichi Souda

Knows how to take care of somebody.

Is very soft, and caring, which is uncharacteristic.

Strokes your head every time he gives you medicine, or whenever he feeds you.

Which, you can definitely feed yourself, but he persists.

Makes you an air purifying to help you breathe and clean the air.

Also brings in a lot of fans to keep you at room temperature when you’re warm.

Honestly, he just wanted to put you in a bubble with him until you are better.

If you are too hot, he’ll run a cold bath for you to help you calm down.

“You’re not staying with me while I bathe.”

“That sucks that you think that way.”

Stands outside of the door, listening in to make sure you won’t die.

Sleeps on the floor next to your bed, and instantly checks up on you when he wakes up.

Chiaki Nanami

Puts you in a blanket caterpillar.

Makes sure you are comfortable!! That’s her main thing.

Cooking you food reminds her to eat, too, and she’ll make two of everything so you don’t have to eat alone.

Set up a chair by your bed to sit on.

Her staying up to make sure you are okay makes her more sleepy.

She’s fall asleep on your stomach a lot.

You have to ask her to game too, but she’s scared it’ll give you a headache or stress you out.

But you both sit in bed and play together.

It doesn’t stress you out like she thought, it made you feel a lot better.

She always lifts up your mood, everything she does is so cute.

In the morning, she’ll have you sit up so she could use her nails to scratch your back, kissing your shoulder blades in the process.

She knows you’ll get better, so she isn’t too concerned, but she worries about you being uncomfortable.

Ibuki Mioda

Is the most concerned.

Gives you every blanket in the house, trying to make sure that you are alright.

She sings you to sleep every night, but she doesn’t take song requests.

Sometimes she gets way too into it and just keeps you up.

And when you’re too cold, she’ll put on a cold bath and bathe with you, cleaning you to make sure you are taking care of yourself.

In the morning, when you wake up, she’ll brush your hair.

Constantly reminds you to take medicine, even like ten minutes after she just gave you some.

Big on having you take medicine, because she thinks it’s the cure to everything.

“If you take your medicine, it’ll go away!”

“I mean, yeah, I guess.”

She also doesn’t want you to drink anything other than water.

Tea is obviously the only exception, and she likes making it for you.

She is always asking you what you need, and she listens to whatever you say, because all she wants is for you to be comfortable.

Now that you’re in one place, you two can watch movies together.

And you also are forced to lay there and listen to her ramble about something whenever she gets off topic.

#danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #aoi asahina #aoi asahina x reader #leon kuwata #leon kuwata x reader #yasuhiro hagakure x reader #yasuhiro hagakure #nagito komaeda #nagito komaeda x reader #kazuichi souda #kazuichi souda x reader #kazuichi soda #kazuichi soda x reader #chiaki nanami #chiaki nanami x reader #ibuki mioda #ibuki mioda x reader

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ask-the-jazz-age-trio · 4 years ago

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Hello, me again, hope you don't mind, there was just a storm that came threw the other day and it got me wondering you all deal with storms? There must be a lot of clean up after a bad one hits.

Yeah, things can get pretty chaotic over here.

The garden was a mess and one of our trees lost some branches. But, It’s not so bad, we just gotta clear it up. The real hard part can be keeping moral up, Romano and Lithuania really love our garden, so it was kinda my job to make sure they didn’t get too bummed out!

It was seriously hard waking up before Lithuania! He’s practically up at sunrise! So I had to wait for the storm to pass, and I snuck out to clean up, (which was difficult, but not impossible!) and I know, they would both scold me for not sleeping enough, but I don’t regret it. Hearing Lithuania laugh relived when he looked outside, and hearing him say “oh wow, I thought it would be worse!” That was worth it.

Romano even though he was still groggy in the morning seamed to stare outside the window with his coffee as if in thought. He was silent before looking back at me, his eyes when he was tired like this just felt like they were looking through me.

I smiled to him, “Haha that storm wasn’t too bad right?”

Romano frowned, he couldn’t have noticed dirt, I changed my clothes and showered-

“I couldn’t sleep last night.” Romano furrowed his brow, “I don’t think you got much either.”

My heart froze and my smile fell, “no... I had trouble sleeping.”

Lithuania looked up from making us coffee, he looked worried and I hated seeing him with that expression, it didn’t suit him at all.

“America, you... didn’t have to do all that, Bastard. Thank you.” Romano sighed and lightly in a playful way punched his arm.

I smiled, he really was getting more comfortable here wasn’t he? That’s what my home is all about! Hospitality and comfort! “It was nothing, seriously.”

Lithuania looked awfully perplexed and I couldn’t help laughing when he looked confused in his relief.

Romano explained “this idiot had been out there for at least an hour before you woke up, he kept me up after the storm was finished making a racket. He cleaned it up, clearing away the bigger branches and whatever.”

Lithuania smiled softly at me, the same way he did when he thought of a fond memory, as he handed me the coffee, “Mr. America, it was kind of you to do that, but why?”

I swallowed sheepishly as I took the drink from his hands, “I thought you might get discouraged if the garden was a mess when you woke up, so..” I trailed off and looked away from his eyes, my heart started to race, “I just thought I’d get rid of the big stuff so you both wouldn’t have to see it.”

Lithuania looked at me with a soft affectionate gaze and my chest felt tight, “then, thank you Mr. America, it was really considerate of you.”

“Just seeing you relieved was enough, you don’t gotta thank me, either of you.” I used the coffee to hide the smile, damn I was trying to be humble about it, but they’re really making it hard. My heart fluttered, Romano even gave one of his rare smiles. God, him and Lithuania had the best smiles, it was a crime they both didn’t smile more, I’ll change that.

Lithuania stepped back and looked between them both, “I slept just fine last night, so both of you should rest, I’ll take care of breakfast!”

I was going to protest, but Lithuania was determined when he sets his mind to something. Romano knew this too by now, because he just signed and said “suit yourself, I’m going to listen to the radio...” as he left the room, he looked silently grateful.

I tried to catch him before he got out, “lets all take it a bit easier today, alright? We can always get the garden cleaned up tomorrow,”

Romano nodded sleepily before vanishing, leaving Lithuania and I alone together.

The radio played some of today’s hits in the background as we stood, Lithuania grabbed the pan to cook eggs, and I sat down to keep him company as usual. I know I’m his employer, but... I just feel like there’s more here than just that, right? Lithuania sang along softly to the song and I grinned hearing him, he was so afraid to express himself when he first came here, it was a shame, he is such a good singer, Russia shouldn’t have ever tried taking so much of who he is from him. Hopefully I can keep Lithuania and Romano safe and happy here, always.

(Mod Lore Note, please send asks! I love to get them! It’s why I have a blog! Lol send as many as you like, I will get to them as soon as I can and sometimes it takes a minute, but I love answering them! Please never be shy to send them in, thank you for asking things!)

#hetalia #aph america #hws america #aph lithuania #ameliet #aph romano #hws lithuania #hws ask blog #hws romano #hws south italy #ask the jazz age trio #jazz age trio #romerliet #amelietmano #romerica #roaring 20s trio #tw storm

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coincount · 4 years ago

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the last of us part ii sentence starters. JACKSON

I don't know what happened.

You go half way across the country with someone...

Maybe I was starting to buy into the whole... cure business.

Maybe I just wanted to do right by her.

Because of her... they were actually going to make a cure.

The only catch... it would kill her.

Think of all the lives we'll save.

C'mon, baby girl. I've got you.

We should head back.

About what we were talking about earlier... I can't say I'd've done different.

I'll take it to the grave, if I have to.

Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack.

He told me a joke and I thought of you.

It's pretty late and I've gotta get up in a few hours.

I wanna show you something, just give me one second.

Well, that didn't suck.

What is the downside to eating a clock? It's time consuming.

Oh, shit. Fuck.

I heard you had quite a night after I left.

I... she kissed me.

We're broken up one week and you make a move on my girl?

Oh, fuck, this is awkward.

I'm messing with you, man. I don't care.

It's kind of fucked up that you did that.

We've got reports of infected out north.

Can't imagine they got much sleep.

Shut up. I was just about to get up.

Heads up, you're the talk of the town this morning.

It was a strange night, man.

Just tell her you never saw me.

Where is your fucking loyalty?

I don't want to hear what that bigot has to say.

You be safe out there.

Those boys have been up for far too long.

Watch yourself. I mean, there's too many sightings of infected recently.

I was gonna check out the creek trails.

Will you get your girlfriend to the stables, please?

I shouldn't have kissed you in front of all those people.

You wanna fuck him up?

Fuck yeah! I mean - frick. Don't tell your mom.

Get off of her, you monsters.

You're gonna like this route.

Run your routes. Mark your logbooks. Clear any infected you see.

You run into anything you can't handle, you come back.

What were you dreaming about?

You were doing your teeth grinding thing.

Grab your gear. I wanna show you something.

You sure you don't wanna do this when the sun's out? And it's warmer?

What are you doing wandering around out here by yourself?

You did all this in the dark?

She seemed out of it these past few days.

Stop being weird, you're freaking me out.

I'm not being weird.

We can't all be as graceful as you.

It's too high.

Eyes on me. Stop looking down.

Consider it an opportunity to work on your fears.

How about I work my foot up your ass?

We can figure it out.

Find a way to lure him out.

Do you hear yourself?

What is going on with you?

Should I say congrats?

I fucking knew I couldn't count on you.

I want what you want, but not at any cost.

Fuck it. I don't give a fuck... I'll do the whole thing myself.

Fuck... my shoulder.

This is a bad idea.

Where's that lookout?

That's how you do it.

Fuck, I'm so lost...

Horse tracks... where's the patrol?

How come we never talked about this stuff?

I got the impression that you didn't really like her.

I've grown to like that tattoo of yours.

You wanna see something spectacular?

Come on, stupid.

What do you think of this view, huh?

I'm gonna guess this bong was someone else's.

That's where the next lookout is.

Let's get back to the horses.

Question: were you wearing those same clothes yesterday?

We're here to kill infected, not to look fancy.

You're way too reckless.

You'll probably die from hypothermia from wearing canvas sneakers in the snow!

You know how you're gonna die?

Ha! Did I ruin your punchline?

I bet they've still got supplies.

What do you know about this place?

Infected almost never make it out this far. We usually catch them on the outer perimeter.

What are you doing tonight?

Some people were talking about sneaking out.

You think anybody out there is still making movies?

What if they're all just like us? Just surviving day to day?

Looks like infected did this.

Got more blood over here.

I hear infected inside.

How the fuck did they get in there?

I see a bunch of different tracks.

Nice throw, by the way.

How'd that runner get in here?

What's the most infected you've ever taken down on patrol?

Let's keep it quiet.

Help me up there? I wanna look around.

Alright, let's figure out how to get in there.

Are you clean?

Please die of old age and not because you get infected. I really don't wanna have to shoot you in the face.

This way.

Here. Fix yourself up.

I see spores in there. Masks on.

Remember. I don't wanna have to shoot you in the face.

Keep it extra quiet.

Let's make sure the rest of the building's cleared out. And then get the fuck out of here.

What do you think, hit the runners first?

You know what? I'm impressed with us.

Man, the guys are not gonna believe our numbers.

Let's go to the next lookout and take a fucking break. We earned it.

You see a way out?

You're just gonna hurl me up through that hole in the roof.

Careful when you get up here! It's pretty windy!

Storm's really picked up!

How far are we from the lookout?

Weather's getting worse! Should we turn back?

Where are you!

Just trust me.

Let's make sure it's clear.

They... did a lot to survive after the outbreak.

There's gotta be a generator around here somewhere.

I bet you could mod your gun with this gear.

There's something behind this!

It's obviously a sex den. That's why he didn't tell you about it.

It's porn.

It's a gas mask bong.

God, he was so smart.

Does weed go bad?

What the fuck is wrong with you?

We're gonna be stuck here a while, right?

Can I ask you a question?

Scale of one to ten. One being like... absolute trash, and ten being life-altering... how would you rate our kiss from last night?

Why are we still talking about this?

You're infuriating.

You make me wanna go back outside into that blizzard.

Gimme your hand!

We're gonna have to run!

There's too many of them!

I'll cover you, get going!

Where the hell'd they all come from?!

Hey, you got a gun?

Hope you're a good shot!

Keep up with us.

We gotta warn everyone... come back with a clean-up crew.

We gotta live through this first.

We gotta move! Get to the door!

That door isn't gonna hold them for long.

That's our way out!

You keep those infected off of me!

You need me to take over?

Just keep those infected away!

Make those shots count!

How did you get this scar?

I told you a real fucking story.

Oh, you want a bite mark?

You're supposed to be on patrol.

People are counting on you, you get that?!

Why aren't you at the fucking lookout?!

I don't like you riding solo, we don't know what's out there.

What if they need help?

Be smart about it, yeah?

Save your bullets!

You scared us.

We'll just ride out the storm and get out of your hair.

You are nothing but lucky.

Where the fuck have you been?

You all act like you've heard of us or something.

Get off me!

Who are you?

Why don't you say whatever speech you've got rehearsed and get this over with.

Don't you fucking move.

You stupid old man.

You don't get to rush this.

You're okay, you're okay.

Where is that noise coming from?

Get the fuck off me!

You're gonna fucking die!

We didn't think anyone was gonna show up.

You want what I want, right?

I'll fucking kill you.

Could I sit down, please?

She wants to make sure you're eating.

So they just get to get away with this?

What if we get hit by hunters again?

I'm leaving tomorrow. And if you wanna come with me, great.

You have no idea what you're walking into.

You can't talk me out of this.

I couldn't get to the horses.

We'll figure something else out on the way.

You can still change your mind, you know.

I just don't want you to feel like you have to.

You go, I go. End of story.

What do you need? I can go get it.

I wish I could let it go, but I can't.

That's not going to fucking happen.

Grab some ammo.

Get going. You're losing light.

#rp sentence meme #rp meme #rp sentence prompts #apocalypse sentence meme #rp prompts #time to Unleash This.#meme.#m.#send memes be gay do your thing

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thatwasjustalie · 6 years ago

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Shuichi Saihara x Gender-neutral ! Reader: Exhaustion

I don’t know if this goes off the story of v3 currently, but assuming the layout I don’t think it would. either way apologies if I go off the story. -Mod Sonia

Spoilers for Chapters 1-3! Read at your own risk!!!

It was almost nighttime, a few days after discovering the 5th floor of the academy and finding some ultimate labs, although I wasn’t able to find my own. Shuichi had found his, however, and hasn’t left it since. At first, it seemed reasonable for him to be in there; after all it is his ultimate lab. It had gotten to the point where everyone had tried to get him to eat, sleep or even step foot outside of the room, expect me. So here I was, bringing Shuichi food after Kaito came to me, forcing me to check on him because he was missing training. Somehow I knew in the back of my mind that it was unlikely he’d come out.

I frowned, perhaps because I knew that he wouldn’t open the door. ‘If only Kaede were here. She’d know what to do.’ I thought, thinking about the blonde-haired girl. Taking a deep breath as I forced those thoughts from my mind, I approached the door of the room that Shuichi had seen for days. Letting out a breath I didn’t know I had, I gently knocked on the door.

“Shuichi? it’s (Y/N). Can I come in? I brought you food.” I said, hoping for approval to enter the room. I waited for a response but only silence came back to me. I leaned my head against the door, my ear pressing against it. All I could hear was breathing rather soft at that. Taking my ear away from the door, I take a breath before turning the handle. Opening the door to the room, I saw a sight I never had expected to see.

There was Shuichi, sitting at his desk, his head resting against it, using some file as a pillow. I smiled at the site, before setting down the food on a table near the couches that sat nearby. Using the fire that crackled behind me, I looked closer at Shuichi. I could see bags under his eyes, and his mouth was slightly open as he slept. I debated whether I should wake him, as he looked so peaceful. Not even questioning it, I left the room in a hurry, making sure not to disturb Shuichi.

I ran into the courtyard, and as I expected, Maki and Kaito were in the courtyard training. Maki quickly took notice, as I waved at them.

“(Y/n) what are you doing here? I thought Kaito sent you to check on Shuichi.” Maki said plainly, as I nodded. Kaito looked as if he was about to lash out at me, but I spoke before anything could happen.

“I need you two to help me with something involving him. It’s not much, but I’d figured you two would help me.” I explained to them, Kaito quickly calming down after I spoke.

“All right! So what do you need?” He asks me, pounding his fist into his palm.

“I’ll go get a few things from the warehouse, but can you two meet up in front of his lab for me? You also need to be quiet, I don’t want to disturb him.” I say, looking over to the warehouse.

“How about the three of us help get the things you need and that way we can avoid the idiot being too loud,” Maki explains, causing Kaito to refute Maki’s comment. I nod as we all walk to the warehouse. Quickly walking over to one shelf, I picked up a sleeping bag and a blanket. I then grab a pillow on another shelf and make my way back to Maki and Kaito, who are staring at me dumbfounded, or at least Kaito.

“You’ll see what these are for once we get there. Now come on.” I gesture to the exit as we all walk back to Shuichi's lab. I motion a finger to my lips as I open the door, once again greeting me with the sight of Shuichi asleep. Maki nods, while Kaito just stares at him.

“I need one of you to move him over to the couch without waking him up. I’ll set up the couch.” I whisper before they nod, making their way over to Shuichi while I make my way over to the couch. Taking the pillow and blanket, I set them up for a makeshift bed, before moving out of the way and setting the sleeping bag on the floor. Maki picks up the sleeping Shuichi and sets him on the couch, as he clings onto the pillow instantly, making my heart flutter at the sight.

“So what’s with the sleeping bag (Y/n)? Are you planning on staying here?” Maki asks in her normal voice, which isn’t loud to begin with. I can feel my cheeks getting warmer as I nod. Kaito seems to look pleased and pats my shoulder before leaving the room abruptly. Maki gives me a small smirk before taking her leave, leaving me alone with Shuichi. I sit down on the sleeping bag looking at Shuichi. Throughout my time knowing him, I haven’t ever seen him so calm.

It’s almost soothing in a way. Then a sound of a bell rang throughout the academy, signaling that it was nighttime. Looking over at Shuichi, I watched him as he tossed and turned. I frowned before standing and moving closer, hesitantly placed my hand on his. On instinct, he quickly pulls me closer and turns over leaving me a flustered mess. I could feel my heart beating faster, as I could feel Shuichi’s breath against my neck.

Trying to calm down, I closed my eyes and focused on settling my beating chest. It felt like hours as I drew closer to the depths of sleep. I was so focused on my breathing I didn’t notice someone had entered the room. I could make out mumbles in my drowsy state but wasn’t able to pinpoint who was inside. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind; I knew that it was Maki and Kaito, so that may be why I didn’t feel threatened. Knowing that, I felt my conciseness slip away into sleep, not even noticing the blanket that had been draped over the two of us.

Third Person P.O.V (Time skip to the morning because I can)

Everyone had met in the dining hail, expect Shuichi and (Y/n).

“Gonta worry about (Y/n). What if she..” Gonta trailed off as the students all knew what he had meant. For (Y/n) to disappear suddenly, it was oddly suspicious. Maki and Kaito exchanged glances across the room, knowing something the others didn’t.

“Don’t worry about those two they're fine! I sent (Y/n) to go check on Shuichi after all.” Kaito shouted as Maki glared at him.

“Ooh so Shuichi and (Y/n) are fucking now?! What a twist, I never thought that permavirgin would get laid!” Miu laughed, earning disgusted glances from the other students.

“Shuichi has been in his lab since it opened, so we should check there. In case of anything bad that happens.” Kiibo stated, as all the students made their way to the Ultimate Detective’s lab.

“You all need to be quiet when we go in all right?” Maki stated to the students as Kokichi just laughed.

“Why would we take orders from you? I mean you're a killer after all!” He laughed as he talked, but stopped when Maki gave him a death stare. “Ok, I’ll be quiet..” He stated meekly before Maki opened the door to the lab. The students all piled in, as a few gasps escaped from the crowd. There in front of their eyes, were (Y/n) and Shuichi sleeping peacefully, arms wrapped around each other.

“Kiibo, use that function of yours and take a picture of this already. we can’t pass this up!” Miu whispered yelled as Kiibo nodded, committing the sight to his memory.

“I think we should leave them alone. We know they’re ok so we can leave.” Tsumigi explained quietly, as most of the students nodded, leaving the room one by one, leaving Kokichi in the room with Maki watching him in the corner. Kokichi smiled at the pair before turning away muttering something under his breath. After leaving the room, Maki made sure that everyone had left before closing the door and walking away herself.

(Shuichi’s P.O.V.)

‘Did I fall asleep while writing? How long was I out?’ I pondered as my body took in my surroundings, as I quickly noticed my back didn’t feel sore which was normal to happen when I fell asleep while working. This happened more than I wish to admit, as I’m not good with taking breaks to care for myself. I then felt the warmth that was protruding from my side. opening my eyes, I saw that none other than (Y/n) was next to me asleep, their arms over me. Noticing my arms were also around their sleeping figure, I felt my the heat in my cheeks rise as I tried to lay as still as I could. I was facing the couch that the two of us laid on, so I couldn’t see anything else, nor did I know what time it is. I didn’t dare try to turn myself around, fearing that I’d wake them up. after what felt like hours of me staring at them as they slept they started to stir. Once again my cheeks rushed with blood, my brain running at miles a minute with thoughts. Their eyes opened as they met with mine, as they smiled warmly.

“Good morning Shuichi. I’m guessing you slept well?” They asked me, as I tried stuttering out a response. They just laughed and sat up handing me a hand as they did. I shakily took their hand, as we both sat up on the couch. They combed their hair out before looking at the center table and frowning. “I brought you food last night, but I don’t think it’d be enjoyable to eat cold. How about we go down to the dining hall and eat?” they asked me, before I instinctively shook my head.

“I have to finish something first.” I said before glancing over to the file that sat unmoved at the desk. They frowned slightly at my response but nodded.

“It won’t take long will it? I’d like it if you could eat something. You must be starving.” They said, before grabbing a sleeping bag I hadn’t noticed was on the floor. Luckily, I was about done with the file so I nodded as I made my way to the desk to complete it. As I finished up the file, they were cleaning up the couch and folding them before setting them nicely on the couch. I finished the last few sentences as they were rolling up the sleeping bag. I watched as they did, a smile grazed across my face. They looked back at me before a small blush lined their cheeks, a smile on their face too. They practically leaped from their spot as I started to make my way to the door, as they followed closely behind. Before we left the room though, they cupped their hand around my cheek and gave me a small peck on the cheek, leaving me a flustered mess by the door.

~Fin~

I had this idea while watching a playthrough and had to make it my first imagine. I might even make a bonus part or a part two if people like this enough. Hopefully, this wasn’t too long of a post to read as I may have dabbled on a bit. -Mod Sonia

#danganronpa imagines #danganronpa v3 #shuichi saihara x reader #danganronpa x reader #fluff #cuddles #late nights #gender neutral

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ticklishshenanigansau · 6 years ago

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Ticklish Shenanigans: Chapter 19

Invitations

Mod Yosh ~ Papyrus, Toriel Mod Kitty ~ Sans, Flowey, Frisk, Muffet, Raisin

Papyrus had taken Frisk to the park after lunch that afternoon to work off what they had eaten with some light jogging around the park. It had been a while since Papyrus had last exercised; ever since moving up to the Surface, he had been really slacking off, especially since he was no longer training to be a Royal Guard member, but he was determined to get back into a regular routine. The human and monster had spent about an hour working out after their jog before they both collapsed on a park bench, sipping on some cool water rather than just gulping it down to avoid cramping themselves; how Papyrus got cramps at all was still beyond him, let alone running low on breath from exercise without lungs or a heart. After a small swig of water from his bottle, which was now halfway empty, Papyrus grinned down at his smaller companion. “So, Frisk, was that an exciting workout for you? It certainly was rather impressive! You did great out there!” ---- Frisk was lightly fanning herself after each sip of water. "It's feeling pretty good now, but it was getting tough near the end. I probably wouldn't have gone so long without all your encouragement." She smiled at him, adrenaline flushing out of her system. Suddenly, she looked down and leaned over the bench to peer around. "Hey, where'd that little dog you brought go?" ---- “Nyeh?” He looked around and scratched his head in confusion. That’s right, after not having used the dog during his and Toriel’s fun with Sans the night before, he decided to let him spend the night on the couch. The dog had decided to join the two of them during their jog, but now the skeleton couldn’t find him anywhere. “Hmm.... Perhaps he went back to Dogamy and Dogaressa halfway through. He doesn't exactly have the longest attention span.” ---- Giggling, Frisk shrugged, then scooched up next to Papyrus, gently kicking her short legs. "So, are you going to tell me what happened last night now? Did Sans notice about the pillow? I woke up to a lot of laughing...." She softly poked at his spine. ---- Papyrus jumped at the pokes and giggled, gently shooing her hands away. “Well.... Turns out I had forgotten to brush off a strand of cobweb from visiting Muffet, and Lady Toriel had found some down feathers in your hair. Sans put two and two together quickly and found out. I.... I kinda cried a bit when he did. Thankfully, he wasn't too angry at me. Oh, and I learned something else last night! Did you know that Muffet is actually the daughter of the friend who gave Sans that pillow? That must've been why she was easily willing to fix it up for me!” ---- Frisk raised her hands to her hair with a bit of devastation. "Oh, no! I worked so hard on cleaning them all and I missed that? I'm sorry, Papyrus! Hmm, that's interesting though. I haven't met any other spider monsters like Muffet, so I guess it makes a lot of sense, or it's just lucky." Leaning against him, she grinned. "Well, I knew you weren't going to get in real trouble with him." ---- “Oh, no, Frisk, it's okay. Even if you had cleaned the feathers from your hair, he still would have noticed the web on my scarf. And yes, that was very much a relief. I was so scared Sans would be so mad at me and start ignoring me or shooting nasty glares at me.... But now our wrongs have been righted, right?” ---- "I think so. I mean, it was just an accident and we did our best to fix it." She took another sip of water, nearing the end of her bottle, and it sloshed around inside as she lowered it. Glancing up rather inquisitively, she asked, "Has Sans ever gotten mad at you like that? Like more than playful mad? Or have you ever been angry at him?" ---- “Oh, of course, Frisk!” Papyrus exclaimed, looking a little surprised at such a question, as if it was a fact set in stone. “We may be close, but that doesn't mean we never fight; it’s always proven beneficial in the long run, because if we didn’t get things that bother us off our chests, we’d never work anything out, and it would turn into an imperfect relationship. I remember one time when Sans got ketchup all over my scarf and I wouldn't talk to him for three days! Eventually I forgave him of course. There was another time I got angry at him for not keeping up with his bed and we actually ended up throwing bones at each other. Thankfully Sans was good at dodging back then, too, so he didn't get hurt. The point is, it's perfectly natural for siblings to fight. That just means we always come out stronger and closer after each quarrel because we work things out together.” ---- Frisk chuckled softly. "I guess we got closer after we fought, too, didn't we? Though, we weren't mad at each other, but we still worked things out! ...I hope I don't ever make you mad for real, but if it happens I'd do my best to make it up to you." ---- “Oh, don't worry. Even if I do get a little angry, my love for you will never falter.” Picking her up, he hugged her tightly. “Not like I expect you to do so anyway, you're just a perfect little ray of sunshine!” ---- "Hehe!" Nuzzling him happily, she hugged him tightly back. Along the park's pathway, Muffet was strolling along on her back legs, holding a dainty purple umbrella in one hand — live spiders dangling from the end points, gently swaying on lines of web in the breeze — shielding her from the sun's heat. Another hand gripped a leash attached to Raisin who was trying to pull on ahead at a faster pace than his mistress was willing to go. When the muffin-spider monster glimpsed Papyrus, it let out a raspy excited sound and made a bolt for the bench, tugging Muffet forcefully behind him. ---- Papyrus noticed the sudden movement from the corner of his eye and cried out in alarm, but once he recognized it to be Raisin he chuckled weakly, replacing his embarrassed, startled smile with a more genuine one. “Oh, Raisin, it's just you! Hello, Ms. Muffet!” ---- Raisin happily tapped at the skeleton's knees, slightly bouncing, wanting to play. Frisk was far more wary than Papyrus was; the pet had tried to eat her at one point, after all. "Down, Raisin, down! Oh, hello dearie — oh, pardon, dearies~" Straightening up, she brushed at her clothes with her two lower hands, using one other free hand to reach and softly stroke under Papyrus's jaw. "Enjoying the day? Ahuhuhu~" ---- Papyrus gently patted Raisin's head and grinned widely at Muffet's action. “That's okay, I'm always happy to see you all again. Frisk and I just finished a jog around the park, and now we're just chatting. You're free to join us if you'd like!” ---- Her fanged-smile grew ever so slightly. "That would be lovely. My legs do need the break." Taking a seat beside the two of them, she continued to hold her umbrella above her head. One of the spiders hanging from it slowly lowered to rest on Papyrus's shoulder. "Did your brother notice the difference?" she asked. ---- Papyrus tried not to tremble as the spider rested on his shoulder. Even though he was more comfortable around spiders, that didn't mean his fear was completely gone. “Well, he didn't notice. What he did notice, however, was some cobweb on my scarf and some down feathers in Frisk's hair. He forgave me once he found out, though. I can never thank you enough for helping me, Muffet.” ---- Reaching an arm up, Muffet delicately brushed over his shoulder to sweep up the tiny spider, gently setting it on top of the umbrella. It seemed to throw a small tantrum for a moment, but then slowly dropped back down to swing in the wind again. "I suppose secrets can be harder to keep than we sometimes think, ahuhu...~ I'm glad to hear of the outcome, though. And it was my pleasure to help out a friend of spiders." Frisk tentatively lowered a hand to pat at Raisin's head as Papyrus had done. He made happy cooing sounds and Frisk smiled. ---- “Well.... At least I want to be a friend to spiders. I'm afraid I still have yet to conquer my fear over them. As great as I am, even I have a few things that frighten me after all.” He smiled down at Raisin and scratched the top of his head. “But at least I'm getting there. I'm not scared of you or Raisin anymore, so I'm making progress.” ---- Raisin happily nudged against Papyrus's fingers, then flopped over on his back. Frisk slipped down from the bench and Raisin was immediately on his legs again, bouncing back playfully. Giggling, Frisk began to chase him around. Glancing over with a set of eyes, Muffet deemed it safe enough to let go of the leash so they could play. Setting her full focus back to Papyrus, her expression remained rather unreadable. "Well, they say exposure is the cure for phobias, dearie~" She plucked the tiny spider that had landed on him back up by the web it hung from, holding it a careful distance away. "Would you like to try~?" ---- “W-well.... You can never succeed if you don't try, right?” Papyrus gulped nervously before holding out his hand for the spider to climb on, his body trembling a bit. ---- With an approving gesture from Muffet, the small spider slowly descended onto the skeleton's palm, skittering in exploration over his fingers. ---- He softly whimpered as he watched the spider skitter around, but fairly quickly he saw it had no intent on harming him. He smiled a bit and chuckled. “H-hey.... This isn't so bad....” ---- Muffet's eyes seemed to lightly squint as if pleased and she gave a soft raspy giggle. Taking another spider from her umbrella she held it out questioningly. ---- Papyrus nodded slowly and took the second spider in his hand, smiling a bit brighter. “Actually ... they're kinda cute. And really curious, too. Nyeheh, I have no idea why I was so scared of them in the first place. They aren't scary at all!” ---- The second spider began a slower trek over his hand while the first started to crawl up his arm. "Ahuhuhu~ You really are a brave monster, I haven't met someone who's been so willing to try to befriend what they're afraid of so fast. Well, that's not entirely true...." She glanced over at Frisk. "But it's very impressive~" ---- “Well, the Great Papyrus is pretty great—eeehehehee!” He began to giggle as the first spider crawled up his arm. “H-hehehey! Your legs tickle! Nyeheheehe!” ---- While the first spider continued past his elbow, the second one suddenly dropped down to Papyrus's knee and slowly crawled down his leg. Muffet brought a hand to her mouth as she airily giggled, slipping fingers under the skeleton's chin to teasingly wiggle. "You don't mind too much, do you, dearie? I'll make them stop if it's too much, ahuhuhuhu~" ---- Squirming a bit, Papyrus giggled a bit louder. “Th-they're fihihine! Ehehehee!” ---- She withdrew her hand with the slightest tilt of her head. "If you're feeling more comfortable, would you like to come over for tea sometime, Papyrus? You can bring your brother too, if you like~?" The spiders continued their exploration. ---- Papyrus managed to control his giggling, but he still twitched a bit. “Th-thank you so much, Ms. Muffet! I would be delighted to stop by for some tea! And I'm c-certain Sans would like to as well. How does t-tomorrow at noon sound?” ---- "Just delightful, dearie~ I'll be expecting you." With a snap of her fingers, the two spiders stopped in their tracks and she scooped them up. Gracefully rising to her feet, she replaced the spiders on her umbrella and gave him a dainty wave. "I'd better finish Raisin's walk before our ambassador wears him out. I need to stretch my legs too, ahuhuhu~!" ---- “Alrighty! Sans and I shall see you tomorrow at noon! Have a good rest of the afternoon! Goodbye, Raisin, see you tomorrow!” Grinning, he waved farewell to the pet. ---- "You too, dearie~" Retrieving the leash, Muffet managed to get Raisin back on the path, though not before he bounded up to give Papyrus a happy bump on the legs with his head. Frisk walked back to the bench, hopping back up with a grin, swinging her legs. "Hehe! Raisin's a lot nicer when he's not hungry." She giggled. ---- “He really is! Well, that sure was an exciting day. Why don't we head home now? Big brother Papyrus shall carry you there!” He picked Frisk up and jogged back home. ---- "Wheehehee!" Giggling, Frisk clung closely to Papyrus as he carried her, happiness filling her heart and SOUL. ~~~ ---- ~~~ For the second day in a row since the the mass evacuation, Sans visited the empty Underground, this time wandering a bit aimlessly. Now that he was taking the time to really look, everything seemed so odd without the crowding of other monsters, and the unusual silence felt uncomfortably oppressive. He used to seek out quieter places for a bit of solitude, but this was far too eerie for his tastes. Especially considering who he was looking for. Sometimes he swore he saw flashes of yellow or shifts of green in the corners of his vision, but when he snapped his head to look, there was nothing. As he made his way through the dripping caverns and gem-encrusted walls of Waterfall, coming upon one of his old haunts with his prank telescope, Sans's steps began to slow, finally faltering to a stop. There was something ... off about the corridor ahead. It was far too dark, and he couldn't make out the area that he knew should be beyond; it just ... tunneled off into nothing. Nothing. Sans gripped his head with a grimace, It hurt to look at, feeling like he should remember something, but at the same time very much shouldn't. ...💧︎ ... ✌︎ ... ☠︎ ... 💧︎.... Stumbling back, Sans looked around bewilderedly. He didn't know if he actually heard anything, something seemed to have communicated directly in his mind, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Sounding so wrong. His name sounded so impossibly wrong uttered by the non-voice, and his hands squeezed painfully at his skull. It hurt. It hurt! He had to get away from here! Landing in a pile of snow, Sans gave a soft, disoriented cry. He'd teleported to Snowdin, but wasn't sure exactly where. Pushing himself up with trembling arms, he brushed off the bigger clumps of flakes sticking to his jacket and looked around. He seemed to be in the wooded area far away from town. It took a moment, but he realized he was close to the large door of the Ruins where he and Toriel used to talk. It had been opened now since she had left, and when he walked near enough to see, the sight caught him off-guard. It used to stand so resolute and solid, yet another barrier that closed them all in from the past, and now the door was swung widely away from the entrance, as if personally inviting him inside. So after a moment's hesitation, he took the invitation. The ensuing corridor was also long, but at least it didn't feel so ... empty. It led into a wide space lit up by filtering cracks in the ceiling. He cautiously continued on, nearly to the next door. "I knew you'd be coming to visit me eventually, Trashy." Spinning around, Sans was already materializing attacks, glaring down at the smiling flower with blank sockets, SOUL trying to recover from his pulse of terror. "Golly, is that the way you greet all your friends?" "in case you don't remember, we're not friends." "Hehe! What a funny way to put it, don't you think?" Sans's breath hitched. "Isn't that why you came to talk to me? I knew you would when you started to care, Sans. So why don't you put your weapons away and we can have a nice little chat. That's what you want, right?" "i don't trust you." "Golly, straight to the point! Isn't that what all this is about? Hehe ... but let me be blunt, too, Sans." Flowey's face twisted up in a sharp grin. "I know you won't attack me, because if I die here, everything RESETs, right? You're just putting on a show to let yourself feel like you have some control, but you know you're completely powerless against me when you care about what happens." The magic attacks slowly fizzled out. Sans tried his best not to look as troubled as he felt, trembling uncontrollably. "Your apathy was your greatest strength, Sansy." "...think you got me wrong, pal. you must be projecting." Flowey chuckled, but left it at that. A vine started slithering its way toward the skeleton. Seeing it, Sans flinched and jumped back, magic sparking up again. "maybe i won't kill you, but i won't let'cha kill me either. i'm pretty good at that." "I know. You've always been incredibly annoying, worthless garbage that refuses to be thrown out." "heh ... refuse. good one, you could be a pun-ster yet." "Golly, you're horrible." "right back at'cha, buddy." Flowey gave him a playful wink, sticking out his tongue. Sans just glared. "It's not my plan to kill you. Let's get back to why you're here. You don't trust that I'll be a good little anomaly and that I'll rip away your happy ending at any moment, am I right?" The vine made its way around the wary skeleton's quivering shoulder and pulled him up closer beside the flower, pushing down to incite him to sit. "You know, Sans, I've played around in the Underground so many times. Everyone became so predictable. There's only so many times you can do something before it gets so utterly boring. But you've always been a bit different. Just in subtle ways, but when you get so used to everything as I have, it's noticeable. And intriguing. But you're still as predictable as the rest of them. What I'm really curious about is what you've come to offer me in exchange for not RESETting." Sans was too tense to speak for a second, then looked down as he stated, "a home." Flowey stared at him for a second, then burst into giggles. "Wow, that's funny! I didn't think your jokes could make me laugh anymore!" "you know i'm being serious. come up to the surface with me." "Why would you think I'd want to? There's nothing for me there." "you can live with me and pap and tori and frisk." "You aren't making your case any more appealing." Sans put clawed fingers up against his face, huffing briefly in frustration, then turned his head to look at the flower. "it's not ideal for me either. but you know what they say about keeping enemies close." "I don't want to go where you can kill me off for good, or be surrounded by worthless pity. ...Not unless you prove how dedicated you are to this." "inviting you to live with the people i love isn't enough?" "This is all for the sake of your own peace of mind, isn't it?" "n-no—" "Then prove to me you're willing to give that up, too." "w-what—?" "You heard me, you idiot!" Flowey stretched himself up higher on his stalk, leering at the skeleton. "If you want me to give up my powers down here, then I want you to remember that you have no real control over me, you trashy garbage." "but—!" "Otherwise I'm staying down here. And who knows, I might leave you all alone. ....Or I might get nostalgic and bring you all back...." Sans stayed quiet for a moment. "...what do you want from me?" "That's better," Flowey cooed, gently stroking his cheek with a vine. Sans flinched, keeping his gaze firmly downward. "I want you to be a good boy and let me do what I want with you right here. And then we can go up to the Surface together and then you get to do whatever I want, whenever I want, to keep me there. Of course I already know you want me not to harm your friends and family, no need to ask." "...that's not fair...." Sans's voice was barely above a whisper. "Golly, Sans, it never has been for you, has it?" Several more vines started creeping toward the skeleton. "...don't do this ... don't do this, please...." "Don't you remember our rules, Sansy?" "ghn-hh—! i can't do that, i can't. it's too hard for me." Curling in on himself, Sans found it increasingly difficult to breathe, even deep breaths couldn't get enough air in his system and his SOUL was burning in severe stress. "You'll have to try. If not, well, golly, you won't remember any of this, will you? I think that might be disappointing for both of us." Sans choked on a sob, then jumped as tendrils grabbed at him and started to pry off his clothes. "n-nnm—! s-st—! ...why? whyhe...?" he sniveled. "This makes it easier. What are you so worried about. You're a skeleton, you idiot." While it was true he couldn't exactly be seen as indecent without his clothes, it was the principle of the thing. He'd seen Papyrus bare-boned plenty of times while raising him, but that didn't mean he'd watch his brother change or bathe when Papyrus could do it himself. There was a certain amount of integrity involved both personally and culturally, and while Papyrus often claimed and lived up to be a skeleton with standards, Sans was one too at heart. Not to mention, clothes were a comfort, a layer of extra protection that even affected him mentally. But now, he was totally exposed and he felt entirely too vulnerable and weak and small. And this time, he was fully conscious while the vines snaked and wrapped around his bones, so tightly that he could barely move — and it freaked him out. He struggled frantically in sheer horrified instinct. Why was he allowing this!? Flowey could go back on his word at any moment. He could be murdered down here and no one would know what had happened to him. And that might not even matter because Flowey could start the cycle over again anyway. But ... if there was even a chance that he could put an end to the RESETs, he had to take it. Had to. Because otherwise, what was the good of him knowing anything at all? He would be suffering either way, but at least with this, there was hope. He didn't want to see the picture again and realize what he had lost. And more importantly, what everyone else had lost too. "Tell me what you want, Sansy." "ghnn ... hh-h, okay, you can play god with my life all ya like, s'long as it's no one else!" "I told you that you were predictable, Trashy." "just get it over with!" "Gollyyyyy! Not with that attitude! Ask for it specifically, you filthy garbage." Sans finally stopped struggling. "nnhnn—! okay, just t-tickle me!" "Good boy." Flowey lifted Sans a few feet from the ground, cradling him carefully, wiping at the whimpering skeleton's tears. "You know, I didn't get to tell you this before, but it's all thanks to Papyrus that I know how to torture you like this at all. It's always been a bit challenging to find ways to make a fragile monster like you suffer so much without falling down or immediately dusting, hehe!" Sans wasn't going to allow himself to be mad. Papyrus would never would have foreseen this. If there was anyone he was frustrated at, it was himself. He still couldn't breathe properly. "I hope you realize that our little arrangement stays between us. Otherwise things can get pretty nasty really fast, and I'm sure you don't want that!" "i get it...!" Sans responded, voice tight, eyes squeezed shut. He started to hyperventilate. "Golly! You're not gonna last long at all like that. Calm down." "i caaaaaaan't! ahaa! hh-haaa—hh!" Sans wailed. He wanted Papyrus. His brother could help him breathe. "You're so worthless." Flowey didn't sound irritated. He must be enjoying how pathetic a sight he was. Sans jolted when he felt tendrils start to touch him. But they didn't tickle him, just stroked and rubbed his bones, and if he wasn't so scared it might even have been pretty nice. But as it was, he only managed to temper his anxiety to a more manageable point, not quite relaxing, but finally able to take fuller breaths. Flowey didn't start him off easy, poking straight into the grooves between ribs and spine. Sans screeched, arching his back as much as possible, unable to writhe with how restricted he was. He was so vulnerable without anything between himself and the horrible tendrils, and they wouldn't let up for about a full minute on his sweet spot. Not that Sans had the mind to time it. When they withdrew, Sans was badly shaking, sockets wide and blank and streaming tears. He hiccuped. "Hehe, you like to use some of your strongest attacks first when you fight, don't you, Sansy? I know that firsthand!" Suddenly, a few vines descended into view, holding a regular golden flower each in their grasp. They softly swept and glided the petals along his soles. "kkheheh—! aha...! st—! hehheh~hnnhnn—!" It was so soft, agonizingly so, yet it was also bearable to an extent. Petals grazed over his neck and cheeks and he heavily flinched and sputtered. The flowery teasing didn't let up while more vines stroked and prodded and twisted at his hips and spine. "ggh—! hehee! aaaahaa! n-nahahaa—! hahahaaa!" Trembling, Sans tried to rock his backbone away, but it was bound down too tight to move. Sans squeaked noisily when two vines unexpectedly tweaked and rolled a toe between them, then several more burrowed underneath all of his toes as another vine blocked them from curling, and Sans threw his head back. "oho gaaaaaahahaaa—! pl—! eheheheee! aaaahaahaaaaaa! aah! ahahaa—!" He couldn't stand it, and sobs broke through his laughter, which, at the very least, robbed his voice the chance to beg for mercy. And without any warning, the vines were scrabbling over his ribs and Sans howled, jerking and twitching, unable to ward off the attacking vines as they forcefully pushed his panic buttons. Then everything stopped except for a lone, gentle tendril at his back, slowly trailing over the vertebrae. Sans broke down completely, sniffling and crying shrilly more than laughing. He was so stressed and tired and defeated and he just wanted it all to stop. He wished he'd stayed in bed despite the nightmares. Despite his fears. Despite how awful the thought of restarting was. As if knowing his lament, Flowey spoke up. "If it's any consolation, this would have happened sooner or later. It's probably better for you this way, even. You got a little chance at happiness for awhile, otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you? And if you had waited longer, I may have thought of some fun ways to mess with you all even up there! But now it's just you, huh, you smiley trashbag? All for you!" The vine didn't let up at all while he talked, occasionally brushing close to the skeleton's sweet spot which made Sans yelp and shudder in agony, expression twisted into one of pure suffering. Gosh, he was so afraid to ask. "ahaa ... w-won't y-you gehet—nnhnn ... bored of mehee?" "We'll see. Maybe we'll renegotiate later. But for now, I like you like this, Sansy." "whyhe mehee...!?" Sans cried in earnest. "Hehe! Golly, Sans, maybe you wouldn't be so interesting to toy with if you didn't annoy me so much! How ironic is that?" Sans just continued to sob. Finally, after another few minutes, the final tickling vine withdrew, and Flowey lowered Sans back down, all the restricting vines starting to loosen and pull away as well. The small skeleton lay in near catatonia, trembling and gulping and sniffling without any hint of a smile. He didn't know how long he stayed there, but Flowey didn't force him up or say anything, merely watching with amused apathy. When he found the strength, Sans pushed himself up, shakily reaching for his clothes and shoes, slipping back into them, wincing all the while — his bones were already aching from the intrusive restriction he’d been put through. Standing above the smirking flower, Sans quietly bent down, digging his bony fingers into the dirt and scooping Flowey up by the roots. Loose soil crumbled through his hands as he held his tormentor up against his chest, tired, vacant sockets looking at nowhere in particular. He took a shortcut to the far end of the park and began to slowly walk home, hoping he wouldn't look as awful as he felt by the time he got there. When he'd reached the front door, his eyes were dry and his natural grin was small, but it was there. Hands full, he knocked at the door with his knuckles.

#Ticklish Shenanigans #Main Story #Sans #Papyrus #Flowey #Frisk #Toriel #Muffet #Raisin

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a-taller-tale · 6 years ago

Text

Mad World

Summary: Simmons gets a mysterious message in the present. Meanwhile in the past, Grif has to explain how birthdays don't matter to an alien spark plug. No matter how time travel works, Back to the Future III will always be relevant. Notes: A @redvsbluesecretsanta gift for @creatrixanimi, who was amazingly patient when life blew up and I needed a few extra days. Also thanks to the RvB Secret Santa mods for organizing such a fun event again this year!

Also on Ao3

The Present

Nobody really celebrated things in Blood Gulch, especially not birthdays. Simmons could admit now that it was a miserable, boring, hot, pointless box canyon in the desert with nothing to do except run drills, do paperwork, patrol Red Base, and—on especially boring days–-try to see what the guys at the Blue Base were doing.

Then the rookies showed up, one Red, one Blue, and everything got a lot weirder. Besides Donut messing up Simmons’ chance at a promotion by somehow wheedling his way into Sarge’s good graces, both rookies were kind of young when they joined up, and very stupid. Neither of them seemed to understand the basic concept of being at war. And suddenly everything was a reason to celebrate.

Donut’s Daily Wine and Cheese Hour started first. Then there was Church’s Best Friend Celebration Spectacular, which Grif and Simmons had attended so they could get the food Donut made for it, and watch Church’s torment.

Sarge decided he wanted in on the action and started making up random holidays when he was bored. And then it was basically non-stop. Interventions, War-iversaries, Armistice Day (for Red and Blue movie nights), and when they couldn’t think of anything else, eventually even birthdays were a thing.

They weren’t as large an occasion as National Hot Dog Day, but they’d be as nice to the birthday guy as possible (which they usually gave up on five minutes in and dragged him more than usual). Then there’d usually be a presentation of old warthog parts wrapped up like presents so they'd have something to unwrap.

Donut always made cake, and Sarge allowed it after Donut swore up and down he wouldn’t make another one to jump out of because he didn’t want the joke to go stale.

Simmons got a party after he told everyone when his birthday was and planted hints all over the Valhalla base that no one could escape. He’d timed it perfectly too, starting a week in advance to account for how long his teammates would hold out to avoid giving him positive attention before they cracked.

“Okay! The surprise party is tomorrow!” Grif yelled. “Please no more texts about how your dad never came to your birthdays! I can’t take it anymore!”

Freckles had a birthday at Crash Site Bravo. Simmons didn’t remember a lot of it because of the blinding terror of being held hostage by a Mantis-class military assault droid and Caboose, who wasn’t famous for his leadership skills or track record of most accidental kills.

They didn’t always celebrate everyone’s birthdays every year, except for when they were on Iris. A lot of times throughout the years, they were busy with life threatening crap. There were accidents, and conspiracies, and missions to take out corrupt old white guys who were sometimes someone’s dad.

But as Simmons stares at the alert that just pinged his HUD, he has no idea how he hadn’t realized they’ve never done a birthday for Grif.

Sure, Sarge likes to joke about him being an unnatural abomination. But they had to have had one birthday thing.

After the Shizno incident was over, they came back to Iris with some pizza-to-go so they could try to have some time off again. Grif didn’t seem that happy to be back, but then again “retirement moon” had been Blood Gulch level of vacation, what with the never ending robot vs. dinosaur wars. And they had to chase some nesting dinosaur squatters out of the base before they could settle in again too.

In a moment that was still crystal clear to Simmons--despite the months of time traveling with Sarge, and then being stuck in a Blood Gulch time bubble--Grif had said he thought everyone hated him. He'd been certain of it, and weirdly calm. Not apathetic though. Resigned.

Simmons thinks it should be obvious by now that the ribbing is just the way that they talk to each other, and he'sthe one with anxiety. Even Sarge makes sure Grif is always with them now. Has been extra eagle-eyed since they got separated.

To use another manly metaphor, Grif's one of the supporting beams on Red Team. Without him they'll fall apart and Sarge would probably go crazy and try to sell everyone out to a serial killer so he could be a movie star. ...Again.

But when Simmons tried to tell Grif that, he only downgraded his importance to “hate glue.”

Simmons frowns at a cobweb clinging to the wall that he must have missed when he tricked everyone into celebrating Spring Cleaning, and realizes with his stomach slowly flipping that they never showed Grif he was important. And Grif noticed, even though he pretended not to care.

Grif thought they all hated him, could still think that, and they never gave him a reason not to. They’d been stuck together for fifteen years, had a drinking night dedicated to the anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic last week, and they never threw a party for Grif.

Simmons pulls up their personnel files. He's filled out forms for Grif, of course. Comes with the territory of carrying Red Team through bureaucracy and making sure they get their pay and also file their taxes right. So how had this date never really registered before?

May the Fourth.

Grif's right. It always comes back to Star Wars.

The Past

Huggins loved talking, and she loved people watching, and watching human movies. Like Die Hard. She and Grif got along super well really fast for her being a lens flare with knowledge supposedly beyond human comprehension.

They’d finally broken down to camp for the night after another day of walking across a country.

What Grif wouldn’t give for some methshrooms now, but he’d used up the last of his stash during the last big battle and hadn’t had the chance to restock before they walked right into more shenanigans without even a pizza break.

And now he was hiking. Something Huggins had totally tricked him into by mentioning his sister. He’d pulled a Sarge move and unloaded his gun at her, because that was dirty pool and she deserved it. But if this were a TV show, she was way better sidekick material than that reporter lady. Plus, he probably should check on his sister now that he knew she wasn't dead and buried in Blood Gulch, and just lost in time like him instead. Nothing better to do in a world without pizza.

“What are birthdays like?” Huggins chirped, interrupting his thoughts.

Grif blinked at the wood he had been kicking into a pile. Oh right, he was trying to build a fire. Not that he needed it with armor on that he was going to sleep in rather than sleeping on the ground, but when you were camping, fires were always necessary for atmosphere. And roasting marshmallows.

“Uh… I dunno,” he said. “Usually the same bullshit happens as any other day.”

“I don’t get the appeal of most other human traditions, but isn’t there cake and singing and celebration and presents? I thought that was important, since you humans don’t live so long.”

“Okay, one: Cake is always important. And B: Yeah, birthdays are a big thing, but only when you’re a kid. When you’re an adult, typically no one gives a fuck.”

Huggins flew in an anxious little circle around Grif’s head, settling into a hover in front of his visor. She had no face that he could see, but he got the impression that there were concerned eyes on him anyway. “But your friends—”

“Have their own shit going on right now, if you haven’t noticed the epic quest you’re leading me on. I’ll be happy if I can just get a slice of pizza after all this is over.”

Huggins clucked her non-existent tongue. Sentient light beings didn’t have tongues, so what made that noise? Unless she had a more alien humanoid type body and he just couldn’t see it with human eyes. Or she was extra-dimensional and the big spark was all that came through. Or—

“After I complete my mission and we defeat the Shizno, we will get pizza,” she said.

Grif cracked a smile, and he was covered by a helmet, but she always seemed to know when she got him to smile and ran with it.

“Ten pizzas!” She declared, zooming up and down dizzyingly, her light brightening. “And an Oreo cake!”

Grif scoffed, but he couldn’t hide the smile from his voice. “Make that an ice cream Oreo cake and you have yourself a deal.”

“Deal!” she yelled instantly. “I can’t wait to go to a human birthday party!”

“Hey, no one said anything about it being a birthday party.”

“It’s going to be your birthday party. And it will not be bull shit.”

“Hey, if you say so. It can be my birthday, if there’s Oreo ice cream cake on the line. And I’m getting the hint that spark plugs—”

“Sentient light beings.”

“—don’t have birthdays, huh? I guess you can share mine as long as you pay for the pizza and cake and beer. I might even let you have some of the cake.”

“Hey, I never said anything about beer. And human food is gross! You can keep it.”

Grif snickered.

The Future

Unfortunately, Huggins never got to follow through on her threat to throw Grif a birthday party.

They fixed almost everything, and came back to Iris, and they even got pizza on the way. But they couldn't save Huggins.

He’s been sleeping and bingeing TV for a few days. Almost no one's bothered him, though Kai's come in to visit and poke him a few times.

It's fine. Okay, not really fine, but it's normal. You win some, you lose some. Just like every other stupid adventure. And he's getting used to losing by now.

Grif stares at the light on the bedroom ceiling. Wonders if Huggins went out like a lightbulb, all burnt and cracked and blackened. He hopes there's an afterlife for little spotlights that talk way too much exposition.

“Hey Grif!”

How the hell does Sarge always sound like he has a megaphone when Grif knows for a fact he doesn’t know how to work the amplifier in his armor?

“What?!” Grif screams through the wall, not moving an inch from his bed. “I’m busy!”

“Get your lazy ass out here, Grif!” comes Simmons’ voice next. He's also good at projecting. If Grif didn't know better, he'd say he was a closet theater kid.

“Fuck off, Simmons!”

“Pretty please.” Grif jumps. Caboose’s voice is at a normal volume, and soft and coaxing, but right outside the door.

Goddammit, of course they sent Caboose. Cheaters.

“Ugh, fine. I’m coming.” Grif rolls out of his blanket nest, ruffling up his hair, and throwing on a semi-clean shirt he’s only worn once from the laundry pile on the floor.

The instant he opens the door, he's greeted not by Caboose, but by the smell of something extremely burnt coming from the kitchen. “Donut better not have set the base on fire again,” Grif complains as he trudges into the common area the Reds and Blues share.

“That better not have been a crack about my cooking,” Carolina says, her arms folded across her chest. Carolina's less scary now that they're kinda friends and he's seen her super baked.

Actually, nah, she's still the same amount of scary when she wants to be, but her mouth is twitching up in the corner. Joking.

“Just stating facts—“ Grif freezes mid-step as he registers the rest of the room.

There's a messy banner that was obviously half-painted by Donut in pastel shades of red, and the other half also obviously by Caboose because it says “Happy Birthday, Girff.”

“Who’s Girff?” he says automatically to cover for his shock. There are streamers, and music playing from a comically antique boom box, and a poster of Blade taped over the sink?

It's also a full house with Wash and Carolina, and also Doctor Grey and Kimball, and the mockumentary film crack team of Dylan Andrews and the guy that filmed for her. Sarge is standing with a twitchy nervous Simmons near the front, and the lieutenants are setting up board games and pizza and appetizers on the table, while Bitters leans back against the wall casually.

“Girff is you, stupid!” Kaikaina says, ambushing him from the side with a bear hug. “Happy birthday, bro!”

Donut swings in from the back where the kitchen is, twirling on one heel, holding a cake decorated with delicate swirls of peach icing and orange flowers. “I just whipped this one up quickly!”

“You made a back-up cake,” Carolina says flatly, turning a real glare on Donut.

“Of course! ” he says breezily. “Nothing can be left to chance on such an important occasion! Always use protection!”

It's really hard for Grif to act cool about this. Everything about the dumb party shows how much they know him, down to the Battlestar Galactica special edition of Clue.

Especially when Simmons shows him the message he got. It was a text alert from a post office on a remote colony that had been holding onto a parchment letter for 1000 years to give to a Dick Simmons on an exact date at an exact hour. The post office wanted some ridiculous fees for the hard copy to be delivered, but luckily they sent Simmons the transcription.

It was a note to save the date for today, and make Grif’s next birthday the party of the century.

Fucking time travel.

Grif had always wanted some ancient clever letter from a time traveler delivered to him with an auspicious warning, or a hundred billion dollars. But he's really glad he knows Huggins liked Back to the Future III now. They hadn’t gotten to those movies in their pop culture conversations yet.

Donut put sparklers in the cake, and when he lights them, the sparks shoot up and down and dance and fly around excitedly.

Surrounded by his family and friends, Grif blows out the candles.

Children waiting for the day they feel good Happy birthday Happy birthday Made to feel the way that every child should Sit and listen Sit and listen

And I find it kinda funny I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you I find it hard to take When people run in circles It's a very very Mad world Mad world

#rvb #rvb fic #rvb secret santa #dexter grif #huggins #gen #fluff and angst #found family #my writing

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madscientistjournal · 6 years ago

Text

The Parts of Him That I Can Help With

An essay by Stephen L. Thayer, as provided by Gordon B. White Art by Errow Collins

My younger brother Cameron never understood what working from home meant, so when he called me at 2:30 pm, I was wrist-deep in a twitching half-cadaver. Normally I wouldn’t have answered, since I was practicing stitching a double set of lungs for an upcoming necromodding commission, but I’d been stymied by what to do next, and I also had to pick Dylan up from school by 3:30, so it was as good a stopping point as any. Besides, what is family for if not to answer your call?

I pulled my hands out of the writhing thoracic cavity and peeled off my surgical gloves. The talc inside always makes me squirm when I rub my fingers clean, so I grimaced beneath my paper filtration mask–which I never remove while in my garage laboratory–and swiped my cell phone to speaker.

“Cam,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I need your help, bro.”

“Are you drunk?” I asked.

He paused. “A little.”

A little was fine. We’re brothers, so how else were we supposed to talk?

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Do you remember my last serious relationship?”

I had to think back. I was pretty sure that was Brandon and that had been a year before? Two? Cam had never been good at relationships, but I’d forgotten how bad he was.

“Sure,” I said. “Tall, dark, possibly rheumatic.”

“You make him sound so sexy.”

“Not my type.”

“Anyway, I was out with Tyler.”

“Who?” I asked as I walked across the room, away from the twitching body and the faint burning smell rising from the wires in its cranium.

“Never mind with who,” Cam said, too quickly. “The point is that I ran into Brandon.”

“With your car, I hope?”

“Nice dad joke, bro.”

“Speaking of, I have to get Dylan soon.” An hour wasn’t really soon, but anything to give Cam a ticking clock. He’s the kind of guy who if you ask him what he did last night, he’ll end up telling you what he did this morning.

“Bro, this is serious,” he said. “Seeing Brandon reminded me of how terrible I am at everything.”

“What about this new guy?” I said, desperate to deflect the conversation. “Clearly you’re not completely unlovable.” Since launching my necromodding business, I’d had enough people calling me up for freebies that I was hoping to stem this off before it escalated. That double-lungs commission was the first paid job I’d had all month, although given how poorly it was going, I worried it might be the last, too.

“It isn’t going to work out,” Cam said. “I’m not good enough.”

“I’m not disagreeing,” I said, but I immediately regretted that brotherly sarcasm as I heard a glass hit the bar on Cam’s end. I could just about smell the booze through the phone. If I were there with him, maybe he could have seen on my face that I didn’t mean it, but what could I say?

“I need your help to get a boyfriend,” he said. “A serious one. A real one.”

“One who calls you back?”

“One who thinks I’m hot.”

“I don’t know any blind and deaf guys,” I said, unable to help ribbing him further. “Besides, I haven’t dated anyone in, well, forever. I really can’t help.”

My wife Cynthia and I had been together basically forever. We’d dated for almost a decade, been married for something like seven years, and Dylan was five, so contemporary hook-up culture or any online presence more than my freelance necromodding website were absolute mysteries. Despite the skills at my disposal and the bodies in my garage, I didn’t know what I could do to help Cam.

“Bro,” Cam said, “I don’t need your dating advice.”

Oh thank god, I thought, although I was also a little offended.

“Then what?” I asked.

“I need to be a different person.”

“Can’t help you,” I said. “Try therapy?”

“I mean, I need a new body.”

The half-cadaver twitched on the table, the crown of electrodes in its skull stimulating it into smearing its coagulating intestines across the metal gurney as its torn throat wheezed through the half-sewn double-set of lungs. Seeing how helpless it was, twitching there in the approximation of life, made me feel bad that I hadn’t had Cam over in a while.

“Fine,” I said. “Come by tonight after dinner. No earlier than seven.”

“Look who it is,” I said to Dylan as we opened the door.

“Uncle Cam!”

As Cam hoisted Dylan up, I took a moment to do my pre-clinical once over. Cam and I shared a party mix of the same genetics, so I didn’t think he’d been too let down, especially because if I’d received our parents’ brain Chex, he’d gotten the pretzel bits of good physique. Decent shoulders and long arms, a full head of hair that was mostly not gray as he pushed into his thirties. While beer had softened him up, his spare tire was a bike wheel at worst, not a full radial. I was noting that his glutes were adequate if not extraordinary when I realized that he was airplaning Dylan into the kitchen with Cynthia.

“Hey, Cindy,” he said, using a nickname she hates, perhaps accidentally.

“Hey, Ron,” she replied, purposefully using a nickname Cam hates. “Can you not steer my child into the Bolognese?”

“Into the Bolognese!” Dylan squealed, and I could envision the downward arc occurring in the other room. Suddenly, I was hit by the pungent tomato sauce simmering over the sweet fat of the beef. It’s funny how you don’t recognize some comforts until you’re just on their periphery.

“Ron,” Cynthia said.

“Cindy,” he said.

“Bolognese!” Dylan yelled.

I joined the family circle just in time and took Dylan from Cam’s outstretched arms. Dylan pouted, but Cam ruffled his hair and then turned to me.

“So, what’s for dinner?” Cam asked.

“Let’s talk in the lab,” I said, steering him towards the mudroom and the locked door to my lab in the garage. “We’ll give Cynthia some room.”

As Dylan latched onto Cynthia and I escorted Cam out, she gave me that look that asked “Are you really skipping dinner?” I shrugged in apology and hoped my eyebrows, wriggling like caterpillars on a hotplate, said “What else is family for, right?”

Out in the garage, the overwhelming smell of antiseptic spray is deceptive at first, but I offered a full respirator to Cam, which he wisely accepted. Whenever I open the storage drawers, the smell usually overwhelms the unprepared. It’s the primary reason that Cynthia made me spring for airtight locks, because while she’s fine with me being a stay-at-home dad doing freelance necromodder work, she doesn’t want to be known as that family.

“How’s business?” Cam asked, looking around at all the shiny equipment.

“Honestly, not great,” I said. “It’s really tough starting out. So far mostly just cranks and perverts.”

“But this is all so, so cool,” he said.

“Clients don’t trust necromodders without a deep portfolio.”

“I trust you, bro.”

“You have to say that,” I said, but I smiled beneath my paper mask. I didn’t know if Cam was being sincere or just trying to butter me up, but it was working.

“What’s that?” Cam asked, pointing to the halo of electrodes I’d been using to reanimate the half-cadaver with the double-stitched lungs. Cam had been in the lab enough to recognize new equipment, even though he didn’t know what any of it was.

“Sort of a test drive system for bodies so I can try new mods before putting them in living clients,” I told him. “The hope is to one day use it to amp up living brains, too, but that’s a long way off.” A very, very long way off, in fact, and not being able to get it to work stuck in my craw as yet another failure.

“No chance you can fix this then?” Cam thumped himself on the forehead.

“Nothing can fix that,” I said. “What’s Option B?”

“Bro,” he said, “I need a boyfriend.”

“Believe me,” I said, “that would make all of our lives easier.”

He ignored that comment, which was bigger of him than I expected. As the older brother, it was always both surprising and fulfilling to see sparks of maturity in Cam. Perhaps I sometimes pushed him too hard to find them–spraying his pants with water in middle school to teach him an ill-defined lesson about humility, for example–but whenever those moments emerged naturally, I could just about cry.

“I want someone to love me like Cynthia loves you,” he said.

I didn’t tell him that sometimes it takes a lot of work, but I was a sucker for romance. If I could help him, at least a little, wasn’t that my brotherly duty?

“So I need a new body,” he said.

“It’s expensive,” I said.

“It can be my birthday present.”

“It comes out of my pocket,” I said, but Cam looked pointedly at me, and I knew what he was being too nice to say about Cynthia in the other room. “Our pockets,” I corrected myself. “Do you really want to take the Bolognese out of your nephew’s mouth?”

“Birthday and Christmas.”

I stared at him.

“For two years,” he added.

I sighed. “And I can use pictures for my website.”

“Fine,” he said, “if I can also use them for my dating profile.”

“Fine,” I said. “I love–”

“Me?” Cam interrupted.

“A challenge,” I concluded. “So of course I will help you.”

There’s a sort of code that we necromodders undertake–whether it’s a full-time modder doing celebrity jobs in a fancy foreign clinic, or just a dedicated freelancer who left the hospital’s daily grind and whose wife supports him while he builds up a portfolio on low-paying commissions–that we’ll do our best to bring our clients’ visions to fruition, despite our own preferences. I’d seen plenty of things on the professional message boards–literal eyes in the back of heads, third arms in places arms don’t usually go–that I personally didn’t think looked good, but which somehow made the end users feel complete. Although I think of necromodding as an art, most clients see it as design, so far be it from me to deny anyone their aesthetic preferences. As a medical professional, however, I did have one other complicating factor.

“I’ll do it,” I said, “but as your doctor–” I trailed off, hoping to prompt him.

“Really?” Cam asked. “Again?” He knew what was coming, since I’d given him a new middle toe a year or so ago.

“Tell you what,” I said, as I punched in the codes to the cold storage. “If you can paraphrase the warning, I’ll consider that informed consent.”

“Let me see,” Cam began as he joined me to watch the various hunks and chunks of cadavers slide out of the freezer. “As my doctor, you have to warn me of potential health effects related to body modifications using deceased tissue.”

“And?”

“There’s no guarantee.”

“That?”

“That the process is effective or reversible.”

“And?” I asked.

“And what?” he asked

“You’re of sound mind to make decisions that could result in your death.”

He swallowed. “Yeah, bro.”

From inside the coolers, corpses and extra bits peered out. I didn’t keep a lot on hand, but I always had a few stock bodies–inoffensive types that were easy to cut and shape for after-market mods–so I could easily do a head swap, then touch Cam up afterwards. With our health care system, there was never a shortage of parts.

“Finally,” I added, “as your brother, and not your doctor, I think you’re great and have a great personality. Don’t fix a thing, blah blah.”

“I love you, too, bro,” he said.

“I never said that.”

I cut off Cam’s head and stitched it to the stock body that most closely matched his skin tone. He’d asked me about maybe trying out a different one, but that would just open up questions of bodily appropriation that I hadn’t the energy to parse with Cam. Nevertheless, we had gone over the alterations he wanted and, once his original body was safely wrapped and secured in Refrigerator B and his head was hooked up to the new one, I was ready to start.

He wanted bigger muscles, and although the stock body was fairly normal, Cam had picked out globs of the red ropey fibers for me to put in. The sizing was ridiculous, but the more I’d warned him, the more he resisted. Then he said it was okay if I didn’t know how to do it, which I’m pretty sure he did just to egg me on. Sure, a procedure of that level was just a smidge outside of my comfort zone, but I wasn’t going to give Cam the satisfaction of thinking he’d asked for something I couldn’t do, so I went to work snipping out the default tendons at the muscle heads and reattaching bigger ones. It was like trying to overstuff a batch of viscera dumplings, but I finally got it done.

When I finished, I brought him back out from sedation and rolled the full-sized mirror over to where he lay on the table. He grinned and flexed, and I worried that the glue in the skin wouldn’t hold, but although he bulged, he didn’t pop. I’d had my doubts, but seeing it finished, I swelled with pride, too.

“Isn’t this a little excessive?” I asked, even as I snapped a picture for the portfolio section of my website.

“You just don’t understand the male gaze,” he said and kissed his bicep.

“Come again?”

“Like, looking at stuff.” He paused. “Also, that’s what he said.”

“That’s so juvenile.”

“You’re the older brother,” he said. “I’m not supposed to be too mature.”

“I need to look more mature,” Cam said, back in my lab after less than a week. “I have a baby face.”

“You have a childish face,” I said. I was already twisting his face this way and that under the light, though, figuring out what I could do with the soft tissues. Normally I wouldn’t have been doing more work so soon after the first procedure, but working on Cam had really energized me. Prospective clients were contacting me, and in a spurt of inspiration, I’d finished the double-stitched lungs and even improved the corpse-animating electrode helmet. Besides, Cam seemed to enjoy coming over for the post-op check-ups, even sticking around to come with me to pick Dylan up from school.

“What do you want this time?” I asked.

“Thinner cheeks,” he said. “And maybe a beard.”

From Freezer A, I pulled out a box of frozen samples. Inside the compartments, little swatches of hair curled like sleeping gerbils in multiple hues of blonde, auburn, ginger, and black.

“You can have a beard of this, this, this, or this,” I said, pointing out some.

“What about that?”

“That’s a dog.”

“That?”

“Pubes.”

He considered it for a moment longer than I’d have liked, but then finally pointed to a nice normal brown swatch. “I’ll take that one,” he said.

“You sure?” I asked.

“Stop second guessing me.”

So I put Cam under again. I made incisions beneath the zygomatic bones, then slit all the way down the jaw and back around. I took extra time to stencil out around Cam’s lips before I peeled away his lower face, leaving him raw from closed eyes to throat. The yolk-colored globs of baby fat clung to his cheeks as I peeled them away, then laid them in the “Base” box to store in Freezer B alongside his original body. We were getting into alterations that weren’t as simple to undo as a head swap, but I’d given him the spiel and, since he’d used up his allotment of gifts already, he’d promised to pay in cash–just later, of course.

I unfurled the main roll of beard and skin, measured off a swatch, and then snipped it. The surface was itchy, and I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting it on their face or anywhere else, but according to the message boards, it was popular among other modders’ clients and, of course, the customer is always right. It was a pain to smooth down and arrange all the follicles the right way, but it felt good getting into the granular work again. The bliss of losing myself in the details reminded me why I’d fallen in love with necromodding in the first place.

Once everything was perfect, I woke Cam up and rolled the mirror over. “This is good,” he said, rubbing his new hirsute jawline while I took a picture for the site. “This is will be the one that does it.”

“The beard isn’t doing it,” Cam said at dinner. He’d shown up unannounced but had become a regular enough intrusion that Cynthia had a plate ready. He was still adjusting to his beard, though, and the egg from the fettuccine carbonara glistened in the hair.

“My problem is that I get too drunk,” he said as he took another swig of Primitivo. He was still adjusting to the muscles, too, and so all of his movements were outsized and reckless. “I need the alcohol to open up, but then it hits me too hard.”

“Drink less?” Cynthia recommended.

“Or he can give me a bigger liver,” Cam said.

“An enlarged liver isn’t healthy,” I said. “It’s pretty much the opposite.”

“I know that,” he said, although clearly he didn’t. “Then give me more livers.”

That might work and, if nothing else, would hopefully keep Cam away for a while. My work had been picking up recently–at first it was new clients looking for muscle and beard work after seeing Cam’s pictures, but referrals and repeats kept rolling in. Besides, I’d been working on my electrode helmet and was on the verge of a breakthrough. Cam just didn’t understand my need to work during the day or the importance of family time with Cynthia and Dylan afterwards. His continued interruptions at dinner and frequent calls just to chat during the day were reminders as to why I’d stopped hanging out with him so much.

“Fine,” I said to Cam. “Whatever you want.”

After dinner, I took Cam to the lab and sliced him open, then clamped the flesh apart to root around. I wasn’t shocked to see the paces he’d already put this current liver through. It looked scaled and pebbled, and oozed like a pickled beet. Even through my ventilator, the rich, briny smell hit me. Gagging, I took the extra livers–my Burke and Hare men had been coming through like gangbusters recently–and started wedging them in. The healthy organs were more pliant, but as I sutured them together, the knot of muscle got less and less manageable. In the end, I had to lean on them like I was packing a suitcase while I stapled the wound together. Despite being pleased with my innovation, this one wouldn’t get a picture on the website. Probably just a text description.

As I brought Cam back around, I told him, “Be careful.”

“I always am, bro.”

He sat up on the gurney, swaying under the new imbalance.

“Should we do shots to celebrate?” he asked.

Cam banged on the front door on a Thursday night at 12:30 am. Cynthia and I were in bed, with Dylan down the hall asleep, and she was none too pleased at the interruption.

“He needs to learn boundaries,” she said.

“I don’t disagree,” I said, but I was already out of bed and pulling on a robe. She wasn’t wrong, of course, but it’s hard to ignore family even when you want to. Besides, if I had to choose which one to deal with at that moment, Cam was probably the easiest.

Downstairs, I barely recognized Cam as I let him in. His body was getting strange; the muscles bulged in odd ways and all the livers seemed to be throwing him off balance. The beard hadn’t been trimmed in days.

“Do you know what time it is?” I asked, dragging him into the garage laboratory. At least the insulated walls would keep his disturbance to a minimum.

“I need one last one,” he said.

“Are you drunk?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he responded. “So? You going to judge me for that, too?”

“Someone has to.”

“Too bad it isn’t someone who ever has something nice to say.”

That stung. It took me a moment to respond. “I can’t,” I finally said. “It’s too late.”

“Please, I need it. You sort of owe me.”

“For what?”

He didn’t answer. “Just please. Do it and I’ll leave you alone. Forever.”

“Don’t be such a martyr,” I said.

“I just need you to make me taller, bro. Just an extra vertebra or three.”

“You dope,” I said. “It’s not your height. It’s not your muscles or your beard. It’s just you.”

“What do you mean?”

There are conversations that need to be had, and there are conversations that need to be had in a particular way. I knew this was the latter, but I was too tired. Besides, someone had to tell him, right?

“You’re a weirdo,” I said. “It’s not how you look or how big your liver is; you’re the kind of person who gets people’s names wrong. You don’t understand that you can’t show up late or that you talk a lot or ask too much.”

“Then fix that.”

“I can’t fix that,” I said. “That’s just you.”

“Zap me then.” He pointed at the electrode crown I’d been working on, the one that let me reanimate half-cadavers enough to test out mods before using them on paying clients. It had come a long way recently and I was sure it was going to launch me out of necromods and into actual biomodding, but it wasn’t ready to supercharge a living brain. Probably.

“I don’t care,” he snapped. “I already agreed you’re not responsible if I die.”

“It’s untested,” I said.

“I believe in you,” he said.

“It’s not about believing.”

“I don’t care,” he snapped. “I already agreed you’re not responsible if I die.”

“You moron.” I’d reached my limit, too. “Of course I’m responsible. I’m always responsible for you.”

“Stop treating me like a child,” he said. “If I could do this any other way, don’t you think I would?”

What was there to say?

“Just zap me,” he said again.

“Stop being so dramatic.”

“I’m sorry I’m not perfect,” he said. “Maybe if you didn’t leave me behind after you went to school, after you got married, I could have learned from you.”

“What was I supposed to do?” I asked.

“Help me,” he said.

“I didn’t leave you behind.”

“I feel like you did.”

“Fuck your feelings,” I said.

We didn’t talk as I put him under. Stewing, I drilled into his skull, then attached the headgear and pushed the little wire skewers in. That was it. If it killed him, well I’d warned him, right?

I pulled the lever, hard. Because he’d asked for it.

The lights dimmed like I expected as it warmed up; but then it hitched. The lights flickered, then everything surged, bathing us in the miasma of green and red LEDs. All the shifting colors made me nauseous and I shaded my eyes, squinting at Cam’s body under the waves of putrescent light.

Then it exploded.

Everything went black. As all the machines whirred to a stop, I couldn’t hear or see anything. I sat there, in the silent dark, wondering if I’d killed my brother. Wondering how I would explain it and wondering, afterwards, just how much worse it could feel.

Those were my first thoughts. My next was that the brain-charger was also an obvious failure. My equipment was a failure. My skills were a failure. Sitting there, unable to see anything, the whole necromodding pursuit felt like a vain delusion. I was a dinner theater actor, alone in the dark among the empty tables and the cold buffet.

Then the red emergency lights came on, but all the monitors were still dead. I wondered if Cam was, too. I couldn’t bring myself to check for life the old-fashioned hands-on way, so I waited by the machinery. Maybe by refusing to check for myself, I could wait and blame the instruments.

It was the longest thirty seconds of my life.

Then the backup generator kicked on. One by one the monitors popped back up, flickering open like eyes. They ran through their reboots. Cam’s heartbeat came up. His breathing levels stabilized. I brought him back around and he opened his eyes.

“What happened?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

He looked around at the red room and then down across his body and all the changes we’d been making.

“I gotta go,” he said, sitting up. “I’m late.”

And that was it. I glanced at the emergency report printouts and data, but I was too tired to deal with any of it, so I sealed the lab and went back to bed.

For the first day that I didn’t hear from Cam, I was fine with it. I needed some space and figured he probably did, too. I took Dylan to the park after school and just avoided the lab all together. After the second day without hearing from Cam, though, and then a third, I was worried. He didn’t answer his phone. He didn’t text me to ask for additional procedures or anti-rejection drugs. The kinds of modifications we had been doing had a fairly a short active life without follow-ups.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Cam. I’d really failed him, and not just as a necromodder–although that blow-up had me wondering if I should just give up, sell everything, and get a regular job again. No, I’d also failed Cam as a brother. It wasn’t the things I’d said, since I stood by those, but that I’d said them in that way. That I’d made him feel that way. That he was willing to risk dying with my half-baked brain overcharger rather than have to deal with me as a brother any more. That I’d been too proud or too stubborn to stop him. It was a dark time.

So I did what I always do when I have serious doubts and questions about life.

“What’s going on?” Cynthia asked as she answered her cellphone. I’d expected her voicemail, but apparently I’d caught her in-between meetings.

“It’s Cam,” I said.

“Not Dylan?”

“No,” I said. “Cam.”

She didn’t hang up. She paused, though, but then continued, “What’s wrong with your brother?”

“I don’t quite know,” I said. “I mean, I know you don’t like him–”

“I like him,” she cut me off. “I think you two have issues, but he’s family.”

“Right,” I said.

“Your family,” she said.

“Right.”

We waited for a second there.

“What about him?” she broke the momentary silence.

“I’m worried,” I said. “He hasn’t called me since that last thing.”

“Maybe it worked?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Regardless, there are these anti-rejection drugs that he knows he needs.”

“Shit,” Cynthia said.

“I know,” I said. “What should I do?”

“Go find him, of course,” she said.

I shook my head, even though she obviously couldn’t see it. “He hasn’t asked for my help.”

There was silence on the other end. Then Cynthia said, softly, “What do you think all of this has been about, then?”

“I mean–” I began.

“Go help him!” Whatever pristine office halls she was in must have echoed, because the reverberation carried onto my end of the phone

“But he might–”

“He’s our family!”

She was right.

So I drove to Cam’s apartment complex on the other side of town. I’d been there a few times before to pick him up for family events or to visit someone in the hospital, but it took some poking around and checking mailboxes before I found his building again. The door to his unit was unlocked, yet even before I entered I could smell the rot.

Cam was sitting in the dark, sagging in the center of his rent-to-own couch. The putrescence seeping out from around his midsection was soaking into the fabric. The muscles I could see–biceps, triceps, traps, and pecs–were purple and mustard yellow clots beneath the skin. The edges of his beard were peeling down.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said. “Let’s get you back to the lab.”

“It’s not worth it.”

“Don’t start,” I said. “Not now.” I picked my way around empty silver tallboys swimming like fish on the stained blue carpet.

“I’ve just been thinking,” he said. “I can’t do anything but think after what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said. I grabbed his arm and began to pull, but it was slack and, without his assistance, I worried my fingers would sink in and tear out big chunks.

“You broke my brain, bro,” he said and sunk down deeper. “All that zap did is made me depressed.”

“The machine didn’t do that, you dolt,” I said. It was true: when I’d reviewed the data that night, it was clear that the machine hadn’t worked. It had fried during the warm-up and although it blasted everything in the lab, there’d been no sign that it had any effect on Cam. “If you’re thinking about how shitty things are, then that’s on you.”

He had nothing to say to that.

I sighed. “And on me, too. I guess.”

Cam grunted.

“I’m sorry I said those things. For now, though,” I said, “as your doctor, I need to get you back to the lab before you have catastrophic organ failure.” I pulled again, but although he didn’t actively resist, he didn’t move his bulk to accommodate me either.

“What do you want from me?” I finally asked.

“You could tell me you love me.”

“Well, I won’t do that,” I said. “But, as your doctor–as your brother, I’d be pretty upset if you had caststrophic organ failure.”

The lab door is triple-sealed so that smells don’t seep into or out of the house, which is why it wasn’t until Cam and I opened the door that the wave of rot pushed out past us. The sweet and sick burst curled into my nostrils and even Cam–decaying from the neck down–winced at the ripe odor.

We stumbled into the lab, but I already knew what had happened. The power surge had blown the freezers and they hadn’t reset with the other equipment. When I opened Freezer B, as the smell had foreshadowed, everything was ruined. Cam’s original body was beyond salvage.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

Somehow in this tragedy, Cam had found equanimity and so he shrugged, one of the seams around his neck popping loose and green pus oozing out. For a moment, I felt that swell of pride in how mature he was acting.

We moved over to the table and I sat him down. All of my lab equipment seemed to be working fine, but there was nothing in the freezers I could use. What a pair our mismatched reflections in the full-length mirror made–me standing there slicked with gore and my younger brother falling apart like a poutine. I was trying to be strong, holding it together, but then Cam had to go and get sentimental.

“It was really nice spending time with you,” Cam said. “But I feel like you’ll be better off without me.”

“I never wanted to lose you,” I said. “I just wanted, you know, less of you.”

“Well, you’re in luck. There isn’t much left.” He tried to laugh, gesturing to the pile of meat festering below his neck.

“Oh shit,” I said.

“What?”

“There might be a way.” Less of him. “It might be too complicated, though. I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Bro,” he said, and flopped a mushy hand onto my shoulder. “I believe in you.”

“You kind of have to say that,” I said, wrestling the tears back as best I could.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I feel like you know it’s true.”

I sniffled, just once. “Fuck your feelings.”

Then I cut off Cam’s head.

“Swipe right,” Cam said.

“Don’t yell in my ear,” I said.

“I’m not yelling.”

“Well it sounds like it.”

That was because his head was attached to my shoulder, so his mouth was right next to my ear. Normally he didn’t get this excited, but while we were sitting at the dinner table with Dylan, waiting for Cynthia, Cam had decided he absolutely needed to show me this new dating app. I didn’t really want to see, but I’d been trying to be more supportive lately. It was his life, after all. Mostly.

Cam whispered, “Swipe right.”

“Fine,” I said. “But I’m not taking you on any dates. Wait until your replacement body gets in.”

“Then I’m not doing any more surgeries with you.”

That wasn’t okay. Ever since I’d posted about our successful head graft, the commissions were rolling in. Not only that, but with Cam by my side, I finally felt like a true professional.

“Fine,” I said. “But just one date. Make it count.”

“Fine,” he said. “Now swipe right.”

I swiped right, and the next image popped up. I gasped.

“Can I see?” Dylan asked from across the table.

“No!” Cam and I said in unison.

Cynthia came out of the kitchen, bringing out a bowl of salad. “No phones at the table,” she said.

“Sorry, Cynthia,” Cam said. Over the past week, he’d been making a real effort to get her name right and to be a better houseguest in general. For her part, Cynthia had been much more understanding about all of this than I’d had any right to expect. Of course, she rightly insisted that Cam and I sleep on the couch downstairs. It’s funny, but you never realize how much you might miss some people until you’re just on their periphery, I guess.

“Dinner time is family time,” Dylan chimed in.

“That’s right,” I said, but as I went to put the phone in my pocket it rang, playing “Sunshine of Your Love.”

“Whose ringtone is that?” Cynthia asked.

“Tyler,” I said, reading off the Caller ID.

“Who’s Tyler?” Dylan asked.

I suddenly felt light-headed as the blood from my body rushed to Cam’s face. He’d turned bright red, and I felt the heat of his ear next to mine. I worried for a moment that our sutures might spring a leak.

“Just some guy I was seeing before all this,” he said. He swallowed, and the movement of his esophagus shook my collarbone.

“Just some guy, Cam?” Cynthia said. “I’ve never seen you this flustered.”

“I’ll call him later,” Cam said. “Dinner time is family time.” I could feel him straining, though, as he looked at the phone. I admired his attempt at impulse control, but then I looked at Cynthia, and she smiled wearily.

“What else is family for?” she said.

“No really,” Cam said. “It’s okay, I–”

I swiped the phone open and held it to Cam’s ear. I rose from the table and as we walked out Cam began, adorably, to stutter a hello.

Cynthia was right: What else is family for, of course, if not to answer your calls?

Stephen L. Thayer is a freelance necromodder operating out of his home laboratory in a discrete, secure suburban neighborhood. After receiving his MBA and spending several years in corporate finance, Stephen left the rat race to follow his passion into the burgeoning field of functional and aesthetic bio-enhancement utilizing cadaverous tissues. Although he performs standard cosmetic, muscle, organ, and/or bone alterations, Stephen considers his necromodding a blend of art and science striving towards transcendence. He is always eager to discuss exotic and/or custom commissions. A representative portfolio and anonymous client testimonials are available upon request.

Gordon B. White has lived in North Carolina, New York, and the Pacific Northwest. He is a 2017 graduate of the Clarion West Writing Workshop, and his fiction has appeared in venues such as Daily Science Fiction, A Breath from the Sky: Unusual Stories of Possession, Nightscript Vol. 2, and the Bram Stoker Award® winning anthology Borderlands 6. Gordon also contributes reviews and interviews to various outlets. You can find him online at www.gordonbwhite.com or on Twitter at @GordonBWhite.

Errow is a comic artist and illustrator with a predilection towards mashing the surreal with the familiar. They pay their time to developing worlds not quite like our own with their fiancee and pushing the queer agenda. They probably left a candle burning somewhere. More of their work can be found at errowcollins.wix.com/portfolio.

The Parts of Him That I Can Help With was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

#Errow Collins #Gordon B. White #Necromancy #Stephen L. Thayer

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rebelminxy · 6 years ago

Text

EVERGARDEN-Chapter 2

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Alessa Clyde (NoVa) x Dean Winchester

A/N: Aesthetic was made by @riversong-sam! No beta until further notice. Our sweet @bees0are0awesome is busy with her own pieces and I ask everyone to send her some positive vibes as she creates her beautiful works of art! So any mistakes are my own.

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

“Dean! Dean!”

Dean slid from under the old car that he was in the process of tearing up for parts. He saw Kevin with a frantic look on his face, looking around the shop.

“What's wrong, Kevin?”

“I suggest you clean up, Sam is back,” Kevin said nervously as his eyes landed on Dean.

“And?”

“Well, he arrived with more than the cart and Charlie.”

Dean stared at Kevin with a confused look, making Kevin huff in annoyance.

“Members of the Knights are with them!”

Dean went to jump up, forgetting he was still slightly under the car, bumping his head in the process.

=============================================================

Sam looked at his brother and best friend, Kevin as Charlie escorted the Knights into the back of the shop. Dean did his best to clean up quickly, Kevin being all fussy about his attire. Once Sam was inside the shop, he quickly explained to Dean what happened along the road, Dean pulling his little brother into a hug. The brothers had made a deal to not get into the fighting in fear of losing each other. Dean had to accept Sam's offer of fixing the Knights parts, free of charge since they saved Sam and Charlie.

As the four of them stood next to each other, they watched how the hooded figure walked around carefully. She had ordered the Knights to search the home for any exits.

“As Knights, we can never be too careful, many want our heads,” she explained as the men did their work.

“Unfortunately, there are only two exits out this place, the front, and back door,” Dean said as he finally moved about the kitchen, Charlie right behind him.

“Any small opening can be made into an exit,” the hooded figure pushed back.

Sam and Kevin began arranging the dining room table as Dean and Charlie got to heating up last nights leftovers. Dean was glad he made enough for the next two days, always trying to stretch out food when they were low on things. Once the soldiers were done with their search, Sam guided all five to sit at the dining room table. Within seconds that they sat down, Dean and Charlie arrived with five plates filled with a bowl of beef stew and a side of cooked vegetables. Charlie placed a basket of bread that Dean had purchased that morning. All five looked at each other and the four soldiers began to dig in. It seemed they were testing to see if the food was poisoned because, after a few spoonsful of stew, the hooded figure began to eat.

Dean felt a moment of pride when she groaned in pleasure at her first bite.

“Who cooked this delicious stew?” she asked before taking another bite.

“My brother Dean is the cook in our home. Give him anything and he can make something magical,” Sam bragged with a smile, causing Dean to feel slightly embarrassed.

“Props to the chef then!” exclaimed a soldier.

“Wish you traveled with us, all we get to eat is slightly charred of whatever we catch since the Mistress can't cook worth her life,” groaned out another, receiving a glare from their Mistress.

“We mostly stop in towns to eat but we haven't come along something this delicious,” she added, the soldiers nodding their head in agreement.

“Reminds me of the stew my mother use to make, before the Takeover,” whispered one soldier, the youngest looking one of the bunch.

Dean could see the kid’s watery eyes, and his Mistress got out her seat immediately and pulled at his arm to make him turn, pulling him into a hug. They all watched on as the kid cried into her shoulder, her hands rubbing his back.

“He lost his mother in the rampage at the start of everything. She was one of the many that were killed by PK-er's,” a soldier whispered to Sam and Dean. “Our Mistress happened to be there when it happened, taking the poor boy under her wing. She has become his older sister of sorts, adopted by her guild. The only reason why he is with us is that she didn't want to leave him behind, afraid he would be put to fight at the Tree.”

Sam looked at his brother before they both turned back to look at the girl comfort the boy. He couldn't be older than 16, and here he was, crying into the arms of a woman who saved him. Sam felt his heart being pulled, feeling so many things at that moment. Once the boy was done crying, his Mistress wiped away his tears and smiled up at him. It was a sweet smile, a smile of comfort, her saying to the boy that everything was alright.

But that smile made Sam and Dean’s heart jump. They had only known this girl for a bit, yet something about her had them both wanting to make her smile more.

As she got up from the boy’s side, she went back to her seat and continued to eat as if nothing had happened. Dean and the rest of his friends excused themselves, leaving the five in the dining room as they made their way to the sitting room.

=============================================================

“Thank you again for the meal, but we must be on our way,” a soldier said, the rest of their group making their way towards the front door.

“Wait, I promised you my brother can fix your leg,”

“What he needs to fix may take days, and we don't have that kind of time,” she pushed back. “Thank you for the offer but it might have to be another day if we come back.”

“Let's see what the damage is and I can let you know how long it would take me,” insisted Dean.

“You don't have to worry…”

Dean grabbed her hand which caused the soldiers to move into attack mode, swords out.

“I insist. I still owe you for saving my brother and best friend's life, they mean the world to me and don't know how I would have handled their death.”

She looked at Dean, her eyes wide. Dean looked into her bright blue eyes, his green ones begging for her to stay a bit longer. She hesitated for a moment before a sigh escaped her lips.

“Fine, but I am telling you, the last guy that tried took him days to even get it working,” she huffed as Dean let her go.

She waved to her soldiers to stand their ground and followed Dean to the shop out front. Sam went along, leaving Charlie and Kevin with the soldiers in the house. Sam made it clear to the soldiers that she would be ok with them in the shop and to take a break while Dean fixed her leg. Once the three were in the shop, Dean guided her to sit down on a high table. Before she jumped up, without hesitation, she removed her pants and climbed up on the table. Dean and Sam did their best to look away as she sat there in just her panties, but they both couldn't help but think how cute it was. This warrior of a woman and here she was wearing pink panties with kittens on it.

She looked at them and rolled her eyes.

“You live with a woman and act like you have never seen a female body?”

“Never in these circumstances,” Dean said as he pulled up his chair to sit by her leg.

He took in a deep breath to focus on the task at hand, examining her leg and the parts.

“So, should we start calling you Mistress or…” began Sam.

“Please don't. I get enough of that back home.”

“So, what's the name?” asked Dean.

“NoVa.”

“Nova as in a gamertag?” asked Sam.

“Yes, and to be more specific, the N and V are capital.”

“You still use your gamertag as a name?” pushed Sam, crossing his arms.

“It helps to not make this all a reality. If I use my real name, I have to acknowledge that this is the real me here and not my character.”

“So, hide behind a character, not the smartest move,” Dean implied.

“At least it keeps me sane, somewhat.”

“Well, do what you gotta do sweetheart,” Dean groaned out as he got up from his chair. “But whoever took days on that knows nothing about mechanics. The only issue you have is a few springs not placed right and some connections that aren't set right. You have been having trouble controlling it haven't you?”

NoVa nodded.

“Give me an hour and I will have it working good as new. And we can even change the hydraulics pump on this, so you can run faster and jump better. If you want, we can modify it however you want. Would take about another hour but depends on you.”

“I can do with no mods for now.”

Dean extended his hand out to her, causing her to look up at him confused.

“The name is Dean Winchester, and this is my little brother Sam. We haven't really been properly introduced so might as well since you are going to be with us for a bit.”

She took his hand and shook it gently, doing the same when Sam extended his hand out.

“Glad to make your acquaintance.”

=============================================================

“I remember where I heard your name from!”

Dean looked up from the leg he was working on, almost doing the last touches. Sam poked his head out from the office, having just finished making an appointment with someone who needed work done.

“You are the Team Free Will guild!”

“Wow, didn't think you would know something like that,” Sam laughed as he made his way towards the table NoVa was sitting on.

“Everyone at the Tree has heard about your guild. How you protect this town and how fierce fighters you all are. Plus, you are part of the top ten guilds before all this. But aren't there five of you?”

“Our fifth member, Garth, owns the farm we were coming from before the attack. He is a friendly guy but likes to keep to himself most of the time,” Dean answered as he finished up his work. “And here we go!”

NoVa looked at Dean with excitement as he walked over with her leg. He did the quick fixings of nerves to wires and once he had her leg fully connected, he backed up to stand with Dam, admiring his work.

“I gave it a titanium shell, so everything wouldn't be so exposed. The pump should function for another year as long as you oil it right and even added a few more pumps to increase your speed and jumps. The bottom sole is made of a rubber sole that bounces against any sound, making that leg silent when walking. And yes, added the rubber onto your other shoe. Made it removable too if you ever want to switch boots.”

NoVa jumped off the table and began twisting her leg, getting a try out of it. She ran across the room, laughing at how fast she was going. Dean looked over at his brother, who never once dropped his eyes from the running girl. Dean knew with that look; his brother was entranced by this girl the same way he was. Dean gasped when NoVa was standing in front of them, laughing.

“Thank you for this. It feels great and actually lighter than before.”

“He exchanged a few old heavy parts for some new ones we had,” said Sam.

“You didn't have to go to that extent!” she exclaimed with a small whine.

“Anything for the girl that saved the lives of those I truly love,” Dean replied.

As NoVa walked around the room with her newly repaired leg, she stopped suddenly and turned to look at the men.

“Join me.”

The boys looked at each other, then back at her, confused by what she meant.

“By what I saw with Sam and your friend, you must be great fighters. I am on my way to the Tree to help clear out the next level and a guild like yours would be a great assistance.”

“Sorry, no can do,” Dean immediately replied.

“Please, I wouldn't ask anyone else.”

“No is no. I wish we could, but we can't.” Dean insisted.

“Dean, I want to join her.”

Dean turned around to look at his brother as if he were crazy.

“I mean, we have been staying safe here and they need every able fighter at the Tree,” Sam said to his brother with a shrug.

“I can make sure your stay in the city is comfortable and you wouldn't have to worry about a thing. You wouldn’t even have to join the Knights, be hired soldiers.”

“Sorry but I am not risking my brother and friend’s life just because you want it.”

“Dean, all I am asking is for…”

“Plus, we have to stay and protect the town.” Dean interrupted. “Wish we could but it’s a no go.”

“Dean,” pushed Sam.

“I SAID NO AND IT'S A NO!” Dean yelled out, his face was red with anger.

The door burst open to the shop and all four soldiers were standing there with their swords out.

“Everything is fine here, put your swords down! “demanded NoVa.

“Dean, you guys should go.”

Dean turned to see Charlie and Kevin standing in front of the soldiers, weak smiles on their faces.

“We can stay behind and take care of things here. They need the best and you two are the best.”

“We are not separating, remember we promised…” started Dean.

“Yeah but it's been two years and they have barely made a scratch at the Tree. Maybe with the both of you, something can change,” Kevin stated.

Dean looked at his two best friends with concern, wondering why they were so open to this.

“They need the best out there and you two are part of the best,” Charlie whispered, her eyes looking over at Sam with a smile.

“But you guys are the best as…”

“Garth, Charlie and I have made it this far because you both protect us. You have stuck by our side since day one, you and Sam got our little guild to the top before all this. If it wasn’t for both of you, the three of us wouldn’t have made it this far.”

“Kevin…”

“Dean, we have to do the right thing.”

Dean looked over at his brother, trying his best to hold his fear under control.

“You do realize if we go, that means we can die in fighting?”

“I know that Dean, but I would rather risk that with you by my side than alone.”

“Plus,” interjected NoVa. “I will make sure you both aren’t on the front lines. I will make sure you are part of my team.”

“All fighters are required to be on the frontlines,” Dean pushed as he faced NoVa. “You can’t make any promises…”

“As second in command of the Knight of Hadron, I can make any promise I want.”

Everyone went silent and faced NoVa with shock in their eyes.

“Now, will you join me or not?”

Dean looked over at Sam. He could see the determination in his brother’s eyes and knew that if he said no, Sam would walk off with NoVa, leaving him behind to only worry. Dean took in a deep breath and faced NoVa.

“We will go, but with two conditions.”

“Anything,” NoVa responded with a smile.

“First, send some knights to watch over this town. We have taken care of the folks here and they don’t have many fighters to begin with.”

“Deal, and your second request?”

“If anything, and I mean anything happens during a fight, you make sure my brother’s life comes first and he gets out alive.”

NoVa looked between the brothers, noticing the look of shock on Sam’s face.

“Agreed.”

Tags:

@coffee-obsessed-writer

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #SPN #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x ofc x dean winchester #ofc (original female character)#sam x ofc x dean #fantasy #gaming #AugmentedReality #futuristic!au

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