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marisferasiop · 1 year

Text

FUSE

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PART 2

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Plot with Smut

Categories: F/M, M/M, Poly

Fandoms: The Mandalorian (TV), Prospect (2018)

Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader; Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader; Din Djarin/Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader

Characters: Din Djarin, Reader, Ezra (Prospect 2018), Grogu | Baby Yoda, Cee (Prospect 2018)

Additional Tags: Sex Pollen, Marathon Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, but only in the dark, Force-Sensitive Reader, Ezra loses the arm, no y/n, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, oh no we got feelings in our sex pollen smut, Everyone in star wars is bi til it's proven otherwise, Ezra is definitely a mouthy bottom, Switch Din Djarin

Summary:

Din and reader are working as a Guild crew living on the Crest (and quietly pining for one another). Din picks up a bounty on a harvester dodging creditors who had fronted funds for prospecting work and finds a surprise: someone who looks exactly like him. While on the way to drop him to the client, the three of you are accidentally dosed with a pollinating spice strain meant for cold blooded biologies! Now you three have to ah- "get it out of your systems" somehow!

"Take the bunk, iisa. I’ll kip here,” he says, dragging Grogu off the panel and into his lap.

“Alright,” you say, not surprised, and head down the ladder. Mando’s bunk is narrow and not particularly comfy, but it sure beats the durasteel floor or being upright in the cockpit. He makes sure you have a stark two-thirds split of the usage of it, only using the other third because you prod him when he gets sore shoulders or a crick in his neck when he doesn't. You curl up on your side on the thin bedroll and next thing you know, the Crest is juddering to a stop outside of the hyperlane over a small, verdant green moon.

“I shouldn’t be gone more than a day. The mark is purported to be a charlatan, but not much of a slippery catch, despite the long chase. He doesn't even have a ship,” Mando says, a while later, hesitating on the ramp. "Just keeps managing to sweet talk his way into rides, but sounds like he got stuck here." He checks that the fob is still beeping and tucks it into his belt.

“Ah, a chatty one. A favorite trait of yours; I am familiar.”

Mando snorts and passes Grogu to you. “More encouragement to drag him back and slab him so we don't have to listen,” he says. The kid sends you a flare of annoyance and squirms to get down, so you kneel and set him down, and he immediately goes back to Mando’s shins, bashing them with his little claws.

"I can't take you, kid. The air is toxic."

But Grogu simply leapt into his pram and popped the bubble shield you had engineered, staring up at his buir in defiance. You stifle a laugh and Mando sighs, resigned and continues to equip his standard weapons.

“I’ll check the ship and do maintenance as needed. Comm me if you need backup,” you say needlessly. He’s never needed your field skills yet, but that’s because he usually takes the kid. You're glad when he takes the kid. Knowing he has some kind of backup is a relief with how often Mando manages to get his ass kicked. And Grogu hates being left behind, typically showing such feelings like now.

The reputation you’d racked up on Nevarro as a force-sensitive, retired, Rebel Alliance sharpshooter- cum- mechanic had done little for you in the way of an easy life, but when you’d fixed Mando’s junker of a gunship after a nasty crash, and talked to his kid like some Ahsoka lady they'd met, he’d hired you on his crew and you’d had an enjoyable time since (even if you wished the idiot would notice how hard you have been holdinf a torch for him for cycles).

But it did no good to pine after a Mandalorian, you knew. Especially one as adhered to the Old Ways as Mando appeared to be. You’d met others in your time, as a child when they weren’t so secretive, and later, in the galactic war. And later still, when there was a covert beneath the city everyone pretended to ignore, and their beroya was out working, another would surface now and again to find work or socialize. Sometimes you’d hire them on for a day to move product, or assit with a fix, or break old machines down for parts.

You’d taken two different ones to bed, even, on various holdovers. They never removed their helmets, but you’d enjoyed the ah- rides, nonetheless.

Not this one, though. He had to be either the most dense (or simply the least interested) Mandalorian in the galaxy. Which really did so much for your self-esteem.

So after Mando departs with the kid in his pram floating along, his amban glinting across his back, you turn off the ship's air scrubber and seal your helmet and head outside to check the landing gear. The Crest was balanced on a patch of thick moss, its feet embedded in the soil below. You tutted at the soft surface and carried on inspecting for damage.

That evening, you rehydrate a sachet of soup, attach it to your suit's feed hose, and sit on a fallen log a few meters from the ship, grateful for the susurrus of nature. The forest moon is rich with fauna and life, desite the dust in the air that makes it unbreathable for humans. You wonder for the thousandth time how Mando is doing on his hunt, and decide to go back inside for a brief nap, keeping your comm unit close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din is– surprised. Bounties don't often actually surprise him, but finding his quarry to be a lame-armed and barely- breathing man who looks and sounds uncannily like Din himself, hitched to a young woman by a length of tie-down belting strung between their suit loops in the middle of a dense forest has to land somewhere on his chart of weirdest discoveries. The fact that the young girl is aiming a strange blaster at Din and standing half-over the collapsed bounty is another tally on the list.

“Ezra May?” Din asks, leveling his amban rifle at the girl, seeing as she's the one with the weapon. The man sags against a tree and struggles to catch his breath in lieu of answering. He raises his his left hand and lists to the side a bit, which pulls on the girl and nearly knocks her down.

“I am indeed, my… shiny friend. I suspect that makes you a bounty hunter?”

Din faces the red- flashing fob at him and pockets it again. The man glances downward and cocks his head, looking curiously at the floating pram and little green kid in it. “Curious.” The heaviness of his labored breathing fogs the glass dome of his helmet.

“I am only here for you. The mark said nothing about another. Who is this?” Din waves the pronged end of his rifle at the girl, who eyes him with a feral glint. He keeps the rifle trained on her after a second thought spared for her shaking hands, but he straightens his finger off the trigger. He can shock her if need be.

“That is Cee. I stumbled upon her and her father's campsite and somewhat contributed to the death of the man after a bit of-- misunderstanding. I have found myself indebted to her, as she has attempted to save my life,” he shrugs his right arm with some pained effort and gasps to regain his breath, having been winded by simply shifting the injured limb. “But I am dwindling fast. My wound- it festers. The dust has gotten in the suit from the second injury," he waves to his chest with his left hand. "I suggest, Mandalorian, if you want that full bounty you’ve undoubtedly worked so hard for- you’ll help.”

Din watches the man’s chest hitch again and thick blood drools from the wound in his breastbone, causing the labored breathing. He motions for the girl to drop the strange blaster and she does, begrudgingly, after May murmurs to her that the Mandalorian has disintegration rounds in his bandolier and likely also loaded in that rifle.

He's not wrong.

“Can you walk?”

“I can, boss. But it’s slow going. My lungs are blocking up with infection from the wounds I have sustained. It is worse now with the new injury from our most recent aggressors,” he gestures at his chest again and wheezes a weak cough.

“Untie yourself,” Din motions to Cee, who glances at May and does so with a huff. “Go to that tree and sit.” He cuffs her behind her back to the tree, sitting propped against it, and goes back for the bounty. The man is in a badly damaged flight suit riddled with taped-over blaster holes and a vibroblade stab to his chest, from which the blood is leaking. His right arm hangs completely limp and the sleeve around it is soaked dark with blood, tied round with a tight makeshift tourniquet just under the shoulder.

Din slaps a tracking cuff on May’s ankle and sets about investigating the wounds since the suit is punctured anyway. He has a deep gash circling his whole bicep, nearly down to the bone the whole way 'round, that is blackened at the edges and still sluggishly bleeding, but has obviously cost him a lot of blood, and has indeed started to turn gangrenous with rot. “What happened?”

May chuckles and then coughs, his chest stuttering with the effort. “Another bounty hunter caught up to me in The Green, before I ran into Cee. And the fauna here… is far less forgivin’. Even if the aurelac diggin' is well worth its weight in credits. He shot me in the arm and I went down in a gorge of vegetation. Some of the dust, it released– and got in my suit through the hole, and thus into my wound. I tried to scrape out the black rot, but botched the excision. I went chasin’ radio signals looking for aid, and stumbled onto Cee and her father’s campsite, and simply pulled faster than the dearly departed Damon when I requested aid and he suggested at the end of a rail gun that I fuck off-” he chokes off a gasp and clenches his teeth when Mando flushes his chest wound with his flask.

Din works silently, zipping off the ruined suit sleeve at the shoulder joint for better access. He glances back at the pram. Grogu has floated a bit closer and is gurgling curiously. “No,” he says to the little outstretched claw, wagging a yellow-tipped finger at him. “Don’t waste your strength on a bounty. We’ll get paid either way.”

No small part of Din wonders if Grogu is wanting to heal Ezra May because Grogu is the only being in the galaxies who knows what Din looks like, and is staring at a face he most likely recognizes and might even be confused by. Hells, Din is confused by what he's seeing. Is the man related to him, somehow? Either way, Grogu's power shouldn't be used on a quarry of all things.

May frowns and flicks his dark eyes between them, endlessly curious or suspicious, one. His breathing has leveled out, at least.

“It is deeply infected. I’m going to have to amputate your arm if you want to live,” Din sighs, standing and pulling the saber from his belt.

“That…is a bold conclusion,” May huffs indignantly, trying to straighten his lean against the tree. He doesn't quite manage to make it.

“It’s gangrenous and still open. You’ll bleed out or die of the infection before I can get you to a Core planet, or a bacta tank.” He activates the saber and turns to Grogu. “Can you help? Just make sure he doesn't bleed out? No extra healing.” The child nods and turns his luminous eyes back to the man on the ground.

May frowns again. “Is your child a healer?”

“He is none of your concern. Leave this here.” Din lifts the bounty's dead arm, laying it outstretched and utterly limp on a fallen log beside May so he can slice clean downward. “The blade will cauterize. He will make sure you don’t bleed out. I’ll finish cleaning and covering the stump when we're back to my ship. You will behave, or I'll let you bleed out and take the lesser bounty, and leave her tied to that tree.” Din points at the girl and waits until May nods.

“I will do my level best to acquiesce.”

“Good,” Din grunts, and brings the blade down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dank farrik,” you curse, the top half of you in an exposed panel that is sending sparks out as you weld a loose wire clip back into place.

“Problem, iisa?” Says a familiar vocoder, and you smack your helmet on the panel frame trying to straighten back out of the hull. You snort at the timing of the nickname, if nothing else, rubbing the back of your head. Fuse- you grip the soldering tool more firmly in your hand and pull fully out of the hull.

“Mando! Glad you’re back. No, just cleaning up my emergency job from last time. Find your– oh,” you say, pausing when you see the body on a travois dragging behind the pram. There's a girl tied by the binders to Din’s belt as well. He has an extra (oddly shaped) blaster tucked in his belt and the kid seems a bit groggy but is happy to see you.

“That him? And a stowaway?”

“The girl is with him, he asked me not to leave her here. Promised good behavior for it, before he passed out.” You can read from the tip of his head and his body language that he's saying see what a nice guy I am? It makes you huff a laugh.

“How’s your field medic training?”

“I was on Hoth, nerfherder. You know it’s fine. I’ve patched your clumsy ass up more than once. What happened? You shoot him?”

“Found him like this,” Din waves at the travois and unlatches it from the pram, letting Grogu float inside. The girl scoffs at him and kneels by the unconscious man. “Well. Mostly.”

“He’s missing an arm and burning up!” you say, prodding the man's body and feeling. You check his pulse where the gasket of his suit meets glove; he’s alive, at least.

“His wound was septic. We’re days from a Core planet. I had to remove it.”

“You used the saber?!”

Mando shrugs. “It cauterized it.”

“Maker, the brashness of men will kill us all,” you grouse under your breath, and stalk into the ship to make a pallet on the floor. “Drag him in!”

Din does, sitting the girl near the ladder with her wrist cuffed to a rung. “Don’t imagine he’s going far, but leave that tracker on in case. If he loses the leg trying to get rid of it, he really won’t get far.”

You snort a laugh, used to Mando’s dry (and vaguely morbid) sense of humor, and get to work. The wound is large but indeed thoroughly cauterized. You clean and coat it in bacta gel and wrap it firmly, setting a hardening casting wrap over it for good measure and binding it to his ribs over the dressings on his chest wound. Finally, you set up a hemopak and dig out a bag of IV fluids and hang them off a racking hook in the hull. By the time you're piercing his vein in his remaining elbow, the man is stirring with a reedy groan and squirming away from your touch.

“Easy, mate,” you say quietly. He blinks awake and focuses on you after a moment. “Stay down or you’ll earn a better scar than this. Assuming you live to scar over,” you bite the end of the med tape in your teeth and tear it, smoothing the end down.

“My word, I was not aware I'd have such… stunning company on my final journey to certain death,” the bounty says, still surely delirious. You hear the leather of Mando’s glove creak as his hand tightens over the hilt of his blaster, and snort at Din more than the comment. The man’s impossibly deep eyes soften at your smile, flicking all over your face and hands as you work on his wounds.

“Easy, pretty boy, you silver-tongued devil,” you lean in and stage whisper. “You gotta wait til the big guy goes upstairs for that kinda chat.” You give him a ribald wink and pull away at the man’s baffled smile, organizing the medkit before looking up at Mando. “You gonna freeze ‘im?”

“I probably should. Him passing out after I cut the arm off was the only silence I think I've had in the last two days.”

You gasp in mock offense. “You’ve been gone less than one day!”

Mando tips his helmet at you as if to say: point.

You roll your eyes and huff. “Dick. If you do, his arm won’t heal right. Assuming he stays alive after the client gets him and it gets a chance to heal.”

“Assuming.”

“Any idea what they have planned?” you ask as you stow the medkit away and start digging out dinner. You can feel May’s dark eyes following you closely, watching your interactions. You're pretty sure he’s delirious from blood loss and pain, but you can't deny he’s a stunning specimen of a man to look at, even half dead and coated in sweat and muck.

“No, no questions asked. He is wanted for slipping on investment debts for prospecting though, so maybe they’ll put him to work til he drops. Although now I can’t imagine he’ll earn much, one handed with a rotten chest. You’ll mind him, then, iisa?”

You sigh the sigh of the deeply put-upon and nod, passing out food around the hold. “Here kid. Eat up.” You hand the girl a ration bar and flask of water, which she tears into greedily, before seeing to Grogu with a cup of rehydrated bone broth. Mando watches you for a moment before retreating up to the cockpit with his own ration bar. You leave him to it so he can take off his helmet.

“Can you sit up?” You kneel and ask the bounty, and he manages to get up to his remaining elbow and lean heavily on the hull while you rehydrate and heat another soup sachet. While it heats, you knock back your own cup and work on padding out his pallet on the floor.

Grogu stands next to the man’s boot and coos curiously at him, pushing you some errant thoughts and feelings. One makes you pause as he focuses on the bounty’s face and weighs it heavily against something guarded from you, limned in shadow even in his mind. You back away from the thread of thoughts, half sure it’s Din’s face for some reason, and go back to the task at hand.

“Here’s this,” you make sure Ezra is propped to a proper sit, back against the wall, before you pass down two painkillers and, once he’s tossed them in his mouth, a flask of water to wash them down.

“Dinnertime.”

The man allows you to tip the metal cup to his mouth and he swallows down the soup, humming at the spreading warmth. “Thank you, gem.”

You huff a laugh at the nickname and instead of retorting to what is surely a slip of the tongue in the man’s inebriated state, you provide your name. You watch his eyes soften as he accepts the gift for what it is.

“Ah. The sun shines on a dead man. My name… is Ezra, and that little bird that got lashed to my sinkin’ ship is called Cee,” he sighs, sipping more of the soup as you tip it into him. He brings his left hand up, curling his fingers very lightly around your wrist.

“My dear. I know I don't have a single bargaining chip to use as the gallows loom near. But. If I can beg something of you? Do not drag that poor girl into my mess. Convince your man to leave her on Coruscant. She can go to school, make somethin’ of herself. She doesn't deserve to see what happens next, or live through it. Or die, if they decide to extend to her the same fate. Cee is innocent in this. All she has done is try to help with my injury and tried to escape this damnable moon.”

You glance at the girl and meet her flat, steady gaze for a long moment. Grogu gurgles, and you glance at him, appreciating the sense of truth he pushes at you. You nod after a long moment of silence between you and the Child, tipping the rest of the soup into Ezra’s mouth. “I’ll talk to Mando. lay back down and rest. Those pain tablets should knock you out soon. I’m sure your rugged good looks can only improve with some beauty sleep,” you wink at him, pulling a chuckle from his chest.

”My word, gemstone. You are a wonder.”

You get up and clean and put everything away and scoop the kid up, checking the binder on the girl and putting one on Ezra’s remaining wrist for good measure, keeping them on opposite ends of the hold.

“You decent?” You call up the ladder, smiling at Mando’s snort and crackly yes as he replaces the helmet. You climb up and set Grogu in his seat, taking the third and meeting the flat expression of the T-visor when Mando turns.

“May begs that we take the girl to Coruscant and leave her at the Academy. He says he stumbled upon her in the Green and killed her father, and took her on as a mutual source for survival before he was injured. Mando.” You lean forward with your elbows on your knees. “If that is true, and the kid says it is- we can’t take her back to Canto Bight. She’ll be traded off as chattel, at best. Kept in a pleasure house more likely. She’s young, hon. We consign a life and get payment, but we save the other? What’s one more stop?”

Mando looks at you for a long moment and glances to the kid, who jabbers at him. “He agrees with me, by the way,” you translate. Mando shakes his head and turns back to the panel, plugging in new coordinates.

“If you want.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drop off is significantly more emotional than you or Mando had anticipated.

You had spent the last few days in hyperspace listening to these two pickups talk and talk and talk, about everything and nothing. And now she was wide- eyed and clinging to Ezra’s lone hand, knowing she’d probably never see or speak to him again. She had explained over the days how no one ever talked to her, or how they always put her thoughts and feelings down, so she had learned to be quiet and how to appear thoughtless, even with her mind whirling. But Ezra had always engaged her verbally and probed her thoughts and gave her equalizing jobs to do and met her expectations with his own, rather than treating her like a starry-eyed mooncalf or a burden.

Ezra, on the other hand, didn't seem to give a shit if he was listened to at all - he just couldn't stand silence. It grated on him; so he filled it. He liked conversation and thrived on engagement from the audience; he could never get enough. He absorbed everything Cee had to say and conversated with her amiably or arguably enough. He talked with you when you were in the hold with them, but to be fair the man would talk to a wall if given the opportunity and enough isolation.

Your untrained Force senses are nowhere near as strong as Grogu’s, and you wonder what he is picking up as the girl rushes across the hold to Ezra the second you take off her binder. Mando stands on the ramp with the Child, waiting while Cee lingers and drags out her goodbyes. You can feel the anxiety and stress on her like deadweight.

“I don't want to leave you with them. We can- we’ll pay him off. You can stay with me. We’ll find a place, find some work–”

“As much as I would love to linger, and live long enough to read all the stunning stories you will assuredly write and put out into the universe, I don't think this Mando is the type to be paid off, Cee. And it would require credits we do not have at our disposal. Now go on, girl.” He nudges her away with his forehead, patting the back of her hand on his chest. “Take my chain code- I won’t be needin’ it. Clear out my accounts ‘fore I'm gone, rent you a little place. Go to school. Be a writer. Do everything we talked about. Go on,” he nudges her again with his knee when she doesn't move, her hand tight on his.

“I want one of your comm codes,” Cee says, standing on the top of the ramp, wiping furiously at her damp face and glaring at you and Mando. “You’ll comm me when you're dropping him to your– to whoever’s paying you to do this.”

You glance at Mando and huff at his approving head tilt, offering one of your various recycled comm links. Grogu babbles from Mando’s elbow at her as she leaves the ship, pushing a sad greyness toward you. “I know sprout. She’ll be okay. She’s tough.”

“That she is,” Ezra sighs from the floor, his head not far from your hip. He blinks up at you with one of the sardonic, sad little smiles you’ve come accustomed to in the last few days. You curl your hand into a loose fist to resist the urge to card your fingers through his hair in a consoling gesture.

“Need any shopping done?” Mando calls from the ramp, and you are quick to hand over your growing mental list of parts, soldering strip, replacements for the medkit, food, and water filters. And your favorite snack, if he has time.

“I’m going to find a travel station and run this guy through a wash cycle, he stinks,” you nudge Ezra’s knee with a boot and he gasps in mock offense, making himself cough for it but still grinning. You roll your eyes and start loading a bag. “Bring him back a change of clothes? He’s like… Exactly your size. Maybe a bit leaner. It’s weird.”

Mando hesitates almost imperceptibly before he nods and trods off with the kid tucked in his elbow and the girl, Cee, trailing after him. He intends to take her to the Academy grounds and then head for one of the many markets in the huge city.

You finish packing your bag and grab your coinpurse, intending to return quickly and grab a nap while the boys are gone. Assuming Ezra doesn't talk your ear off. Maybe you’ll dose him up and knock him out after you wash him down.

“Thank you, gem. I am in your debt. For as much good as that does anyone,” the man says, teetering even with his back against the hull where you left him while you gathered supplies.

“It doesn't do anyone any good, considering you're effectively broke and on the way to forfeit your life over your outstanding debts to the wrong people on a gambling planet,” you deadpan, hooking an arm behind his back and pulling him upright. He hisses when the motion pulls on his wounds in his chest, but the bacta patch prevents it from re-opening. “But at least your girl is safe.”

He hums in reply and nods, as somber as you’ve seen him yet.

“Careful. Swing your legs– there you go.” You get him ready to stand and kneel, putting your shoulder under his remaining arm, and get him up to his knees, then his feet in stages. Lots of pulling and grunting and swearing later, Ezra leans against the hull, panting, his short curls stuck to his head under a fresh sheen of sweat.

“Now I have soap and whatnot in my bag, and a change of clothes. Some of Mando’s old loungewear, which will be too baggy on you, but it’ll cover your bits until he comes back with something. I got mouth cleanser and all… deodorant. Can you wash up one-handed?” you ask as you stuff a clean rag into your pouch and flip it closed.

“To be honest, gem. I have not had the pleasure of a water bath since this injury happened,” he shrugs his stump and coughs lightly, still dislodging the dust from his lungs. “And surely not since your boss cut if off. So I do not know. But I'll make the best effort, naturally.”

“I’ll help. The showers are communal, and I trust enough that you understand how to keep that hand to yourself unless you want another appendage missing. Or to end up in carbonite.”

Ezra’s brow locks down in a scowl and he straightens his shoulders. “Of course. I am not in the habit of abusing my position, or women, gem. Despite what you must presume of a bounty, on principle.”

“Mmmmhm,” you hum noncommittally. “Come on,” you drag his arm over your shoulders again and fix your hand around his ribs, and start walking. The tracker on his ankle beeps low and steady, echoing in time with your wristcomm as you leave the ship. You trudge down the ramp and close it, locking the Crest up, and make your way down to the end of the line of docking bays to the traveler service station.

Thankfully the place is none too busy, being midday. There are a family of bluish Ortolan clumped together in one corner and a few straggler smugglers or merchant longhaul cargo pilots keeping to themselves along the rows of showerheads in the wall. There are thin flimsiplast dividers between the showerheads that come up to about chest-height but the back ends are open to the room. You push Ezra into one and help him strip off the flightsuit and his ratty-thin smalls.

“Kriff this suit stinks,” you scrunch up your face and drop the bundle into a nearby sonic clothing compartment to have the dirt and stench of infection and dried sweat buzzed from it. After a brief hesitation, you stuff your own clothes in as well. "How long were you in the green with your injuries?"

“I wandered for a day with my arm injury before I found Cee and her father. And she and I wandered another four before the other bounty hunter found us. And another full day before Mando found us. I do apologize for the smell, at least. Though I imagine you understand why it's so bad, considering your thorough care of me thus far in our odyssey.” Ezra tips his face up into the cool spray while it warms and sighs in relief, deeply appreciating both the pressure and refreshing cleansing after miring in his own stink for weeks. He watches you soap up a rag and drag it up his arm, scrubbing just enough to tingle and really get the dirt and sweat off.

“I do. Arm up,” you tap his elbow with the soapy rag and wash him down clinically, curling your lathered knuckles into the hair under his left armpit and carefully doing the same to the right, avoiding his arm wound, then spreading soap over his face and neck, curling into his scraggly beard and up behind his ears and then down across his too- lean torso. You hand him the rag to scrub over his own half-hard (and unfortunately impressive, you note) genitals before you instruct him to turn under the spray and do the same treatment down his back and legs.

Ezra talks the entire time, endlessly distracted with whatever tall tale crosses his mind and very pleased to have a listening ear to natter into. Right now he's animatedly detailing a yarn about massacring an infestation of channel rats, of all things. If the incessant chatter helps prevent him from getting any more hard under your hands, you're fine with it, you decide with an amused quirk of lips.

Ezra is certainly attractive as hell, but you're not just going to fuck a bounty in a service shower. Part of you can't ignore the abrupt thought that if he’d come up to you in a cantina, you definitely would have dragged him to an inn or ship as soon as you could. He is stupidly cute, with that charming wide, squinty, toothy smile and big, dark brown eyes and that wild tuft of white hair at his temple. Even the tiny, soft roll of his belly had been a surprising delight to find with how malnourished and lean the rest of him was. You definitely enjoy the tenor of his voice, remarkably similar to Mando’s, but unmodulated and thick as syrup with that twangy accent. You interject with little encouraging noises every now and then, spurring him on, even if you're hardly absorbing his story.

Soon enough you're scrubbing the shampoo bar through his hair, scratching your nails firmly into his scalp to get all the sweat and grime out. He practically dissolves under your hands, humming in deep appreciation until you push him back under the stream to rinse. Finally, you peel back the dressing on his missing arm to carefully wash the huge wound cap to prepare for redressing it.

“Stay there and let the water run on your stump for a few minutes, flush it clean. I'm going over here to wash, and then we’ll head back.” You hand him a capful of mouth cleanser and he knocks it back, gargling thoroughly and spitting.

Ezra watches you slip under the flimsiplast divider and turn your own water on. He leans against the wall under the showerhead and lets it flow down his shoulder and off the end of his stump, stinging only slightly as it washes out the scabbing wound and softens it. He has a single passing thought of making a run for it that dissolves down the grate in the floor as quickly as it had been formed; the debilitating combination of injuries and a rotten chest and you have very nearly declawed him. He thinks loosely about the imposing (but hardly unwelcome) image of the Mandalorian, too; tough and hardened but clearly not cruel; quite reasonable and fair, in fact, if his handling of Ezra’s request for Cee is any indication of his character. He even has a child. Ezra shakes his head to clear his swirling thoughts and watches you, keeping his eyes politely on your face even though he's quite tall enough to see all of you over the divider. Nevermind that you were just in here with him, bare and wet while you washed him over. He couldn't help plumping a bit down below due to proximity and general passive interest, but he steadfastly ignores it.

“Are you and our beskar-clad mutual ah- entangled?” He asks, genuinely curious.

You snort and scrub the rag over your body. “I’m not exactly sure Mando is interested in anyone like that. I suspect he had a questionable fling right before he met me in Mos Eisley, some half-feral desert Marshal in the Dune Sea, but I think it left him a little broken-hearted. He hasn't ever acted interested. And he’s my boss, maybe that's why, doesn't want to cross that line.” You shrug. “I mostly mind the kid and do maintenance on the ship and lend a second gun on bigger or tough bounties.”

“And he found you as a mechanic?”

“Yeah, I was working a recovery job for his friend, came in with a rickety heap of a M-111 I'd bartered with some Jawas for and he bought like half the parts off it immediately, had me and Peli knock his own Crest back into shape. And then asked me if I was interested in staying on as a crewmate, and I was, mostly to get off Tatooine. I’d actually first seen him on Nevarro when his covert was there, and he was working as a beroya for the Guild when Karga was running it. I left Nevarro after Karga started shaping it up and the Core started flavoring it too much. And then he found me on Tatooine; rest is history.”

“Beroya?” Ezra tests the word on his tongue and frowns. It's unfamiliar, and he so loves words.

You huff a laugh. “That’s his people’s word for bounty hunter.”

“Hmm. And the little green fella?”

You huff again, eyebrows dancing. “Long story short: Mando’s a bit of a collector, mate. Lost things, loners, the broken and the damned. He tends to save them, sort of despite himself, and then just keeps going, finding others. Gave me a job when I was considering spacing myself off the next public travel barge.... He saved the kid when the Imps wanted to experiment on him. Saved an old merc from a forced labor camp, saved a former drop trooper from her own hand... He flies in to save the day all the damn time. The list goes on.”

“Imps? You're friendly with these folks?”

“Kriff, no. Not intentionally. Way I understood it, the kid was a bounty. Mando couldn't bring himself kill him, so he turned him over warm for a substantial reward, and the guilt ate at him til he broke back in the compound and took the kid back, killed half of Nevarro on the way back out. Been running ever since.”

Ezra’s mouth turns down as he mulls the news over.

“Anyway. Just mind your manners and you won't end up slabbed.”

“I surely will, gem. Being thawed from that process is hell itself; I am unfortunately acquainted with the burning in one’s sinuses for days after. Nothing tastes right for weeks. I'll keep to myself until we must part ways.”

“Good. He doesn't mess around when me or the kid are involved; I'm sure it’s been impressed upon you by now that you’ll end up worse off than this if you even try,” you nod at his stump and shut your water off, ignoring the bounty’s frown.

Ezra watches your form just a little indulgently as you turn away and dry off, appreciating the glide of fine bones under your smooth skin, the soft curves and more toned muscles. He shuts his own water off and starts drying off, managing a patting motion over most of himself, though reaching his legs is giving him trouble.

You dress quickly and come back under the divider to finish his right side, carefully patting the scabbing end of his stump before stepping away for the single set of loose lounge clothes Mando keeps (even though he has never worn them near you).

“Sit and get your feet in,” you instruct, kneeling and holding each leghole open for him to slip his feet in. Ezra sits on the bench and does so, tipping to his left as he balances his weight with his hand planted on the seat.

“I do miss being– symmetrical,” he hisses, carefully maneuvering his stiff right shoulder as you stretch the neck and armhole of a tee shirt over his head and arms.

Despite yourself, you laugh at his complaint. His dark eyes flick up to you and a small smile ticks up one side of his face. “Alright, let's walk back and let this dry a bit, and I'll redress it once it does. Don’t let it touch anything,” you say, spraying the whole raw end of his stump with bacta and wincing at a sharp mental jab of empathic pain when he screws his face up from the sting.

“If you ah- have any of those tablets you have given me since the first day, gem, that would be… Just creamy,” he stammers through gritted teeth, getting back to his feet. “I believe the wash down was simply sinful, but I must admit my wounds are giving me some real grief for it, now.”

“They’re back on the ship. Let me get our clothes out of the sonic and we can go back. I’ll dose you up and feed you, you can sleep it off.”

Ezra nods and watches with his dark eyes as you empty the sonic clothes compartment into your shoulder bag and return, putting everything you brought to rights and shouldering the bag before holding a hand out to drag him upright.

When you make it back to the ship, it's still empty. Din hasn’t commed, so you assume he’s still out shopping, or trying to leave the loquacious and generally nerdy and strange Cee (who has warmed up just enough to be both demanding and overtly chatty) at the Academy. You stifle a laugh at the image of Din trying to deal with her, certain that Ezra won’t appreciate it while he mourns her loss. Even if he is not her father, they were clearly bonded from trauma and circumstance, if nothing else.

When you're safely inside the ship, you leave Ezra at his pallet on the floor and fetch down the painkillers.

“Damn, I only have one tablet left. Let me comm Mando so he can pick up more at the market.” You hand Ezra the tablet and dart up the ladder to do just that, waiting for an affirmative return before you go back down. You jump down the last few rings to find that Ezra has dry swallowed the tablet and managed to flop mostly into his bedding.

“I do appreciate your care of me, gem. Even if I am not meant to live beyond the next few days, you have given me a decent sendoff.”

You hum and start putting things away. “Canto Bight is always moving, and at the moment it's a long way off, so you can estimate it to be more like, eh… nearly a standard week?” You shed your outer layer and start rehydrating a sachet of bone broth for him, already keen on the way he’s listing from the exercise and mounting pain levels. He’ll fall right to sleep after getting a full, warm belly, you’re sure.

“Gemstone, could you be bothered to hand me the satchel I came on this fine vessel with? If you are out of painkillers, I have something to tie me over until our armored friend returns with a more performative narcotic.”

You frown at him and lift the bag, eyeing his outstretched hand. “What does it look like?”

“Kevva, woman. You just showered with me. I am not interested in harming you in the least, not that I imagine I could in my state. But if you insist, it would be a small, thumb-sized, off-white bottle. White lid.” You find it quickly and shake it, hearing tiny caplets plink against the sides. You don't recognize the swirly script the label is written in.

“What are these?”

“They are painkillers from an old field kit from Cee’s father’s drop ship. They are well past expired, but if it’s all I have, I will manage until our reflective leader returns.”

You roll your eyes and shake out a few pills into your palm, offering them. The dosage had long since worn off the label. Ezra takes them all and chews them up before you can snatch any back. “You better not have just OD’d, asshole,” you grit, handing him the cup of broth.

“I know it’s equivalent to asking a mountain to bow down, but do endeavor to trust me just enough to know I would not end my life before my time is due, gem. I said they are expired, I have only taken extra to ensure some semblance of relief for this incredible ache,” he shifts his stiff right shoulder and his whole face screws up with pain, body rigid with it.

“Let me-” you start, and move behind the pillow behind his head and shoulders. He is unconcerned but watches you with those fathomless dark eyes, curious. You lay your hands on either side of his neck and squeeze.

“If Mando shows up, you’re dealing with the fallout,” you say, massaging rhythmically. Ezra clenches his jaw on a sigh and rounds his shoulders out, seeking more.

“Understood, friend. Oh. I am– endlessly grateful.”

You find a tight whorl of muscle quickly, just under the right shoulderblade near his spine. You set to working your thumb into it, coaxing it back into shape, and eventually it releases, along with the tension you feel in his aura. The pained groan Ezra can't quite stifle is positively sinful, which nearly makes you laugh. He turns his head with a sardonic smile at your stifled snort.

“To be honest, gemstone. That spot has pained me more than the wound itself since I was injured. Your friend spared me much of the site pain when he cauterized the wound with his laser- blade. But that muscle, from carrying myself somewhat tilted, has only gotten worse. I find myself in your debt yet again.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just behave til the next port and we’ll call it even.”

“Now I must riposte, my dear. I have behaved quite admirably in your care, have I not?”

You chuckle, nodding. “You have, though you are also healing and no doubt getting an itching fever from being consigned, injured, to the hold of a ship in space with little leg room and now one less ear to babble incessantly into. I’m asking that you continue to behave, then.”

“Incessantly!”

“Ezra, you know full damn well that you could say half as many words in Basic and get your point across! You like the sound of your own voice!”

“Listen here, little bird, I wouldn't natter on so much if you didn't like how similar I sound to your tin man!” He grins quick when he sees you flush, caught.

“You do sound oddly like him. Not as uh-”

“That is a bedroom voice,” Ezra interrupts, breaking into a grin at your blush. “I thought the same thing when he leveled his rifle at me in the Green. He cannot be doing that on purpose all the time. It has to be the vocoder, something not wired right in his bucket.”

You laugh, which makes Ezra smile again, softer this time. “Have you truly never seen him?” you shake your head and his eyebrows lift. “Not even by accident?”

“He’s very careful. It’s important to him, his beliefs. I don't think he's taken it off without knowing I'm gone or dead asleep since he hired me. Maybe even before, with his kid. But I know the kid has seen him.” You wink, wiggling your eyebrows as if sharing juicy details. Ezra huffs a laugh and lays back in his netting.

“How do you know? Do you speak his language?”

“Grogu has the Force. I am Force sensitive, but untrained. He sends me thoughts and feelings now and again, and I translate, to a degree, for Mando. Though the guy’s getting good at understanding the kid’s coos and gurgles and body language by now; I don't have to do much. I know Mando’s name, because of that, but I believe it was an accident, a passing thought- and Mando has never told me it, so I won’t use it. Or share it!” You hold up a finger to stem off the next question just as the man’s mouth opens. He grins quick again, as if mysteriously proud of you for some reason, and you continue.

“Anyway. Grogu will tap his chin now and then, just under the lip of the helmet, and there is sort of a longing around the gesture, but he gets an image in his head- a memory- but he clears it or drops a wall between us before a face can form. I can only assume it's because of me.”

Ezra bites his lips and is quiet for a long moment. “I was going to ask about your powers,” Ezra defends himself, playing up his sulk, but his eyelids are growing heavy. He yawns hugely and you grin. Got him.

“Not much to tell. I’m like more of a– palpable empath than a Jedi. Go to sleep.” With his grumble of assent, you take his empty soup cup back and rinse it before dropping into the bunk across the hold, watching the comm link and waiting for Din to come back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din returns to the ship a few hours after he left it, bereft of one child and holding that much more tightly to his own. He remembers well what it feels like (what it felt like) to give his own child away after too- short a time with him, because he thought Grogu going with the Jedi would lead to a better life for him. Grogu had been quiet as a womp rat since they left Cee at the Academy and the complete silence was grating on Din’s nerves.

He had received your comm for painkillers as he was leaving the market, so he doubled back and retrieved what you asked for at the first stall he saw with med supplies. By the time he’s scaling the ramp into the Crest, he’s ready for a meal and a nap before they take off again. The dock fees are paid up for the full day, after all.

He enters to find the bounty snoring hard on his pallet and that you are lightly asleep in Din’s own bunk. He stops and watches you for a long moment until Grogu gurgles excitedly at the sight of you and you stir.

You inhale sharply and roll over at the sound, blinking and sitting up by the time he seals and locks it. Grogu squirms and gets down, toddling off into the hold.

“Nice shopping trip?” You ask, taking some of the supplies and beginning to stow it.

“Not bad. I intend to nap for a bit and then we’ll head out, take him to Canto Bight?” He tips the helmet at the man snoozing on the floor and you nod. “Here’s those painkillers, iisa.”

“Ah, thanks.” You shake one out and dry swallow it, wincing at a pull in your lower back, and pull down the medkit to stow them and start putting everything else away, closing panels and hanging larger items in cargo netting. “Go on and nap, I know you pulled an all-nighter.”

“You can keep the bunk,” Din says, shifting his weight. Grogu yawns in the crook of his arm and droops over it, ready for his own tiny hammock. “Two of those please?”

You snort and grin at him, passing two tablets over. He never takes meds; he must be really going through it. “Yeah, point. I had a nap. Go on, take that bucket off and shut the door, get some rest. I’ll knock at the door when the docking timer goes.”

“Alright,” Din sighs and bumps his shoulder fondly against yours before crawling into the bunk. Just before the door slides shut he hears Ezra stir. You hear him, too, and take the clothes he got for Ezra and lay them in a folded pile on a low shelf near the nest.

“Gem, is our Mando back with those meds?”

“He is. Is your expired experiment not cutting it?”

Ezra huffs a pained laugh and shakes his head. “It is not, I'm afraid. May I pilfer some of those?” He tips his forehead at the bottle in your hand and you come over, shaking one out.

“You already had one, and it's only been half an hour. So you can wait for it to wear off, or you can have one, now. I'm not boxing your kidneys over expired meds and some site pain."

In answer, he reaches up and accepts the single tablet, swallowing it dry. “I am not eager to see how this feels with nothing in my system, gem.” He shifts his right shoulder and winces, hard. “Thank you.”

“Don't have much of a pain tolerance, do you?”

Ezra huffs a laugh and nods dreamily, still mostly asleep despite the chatter. “Never thought much of it before I sustained this injury. It seems I do not.”

There is enough room on the bundle of blankets for two, so you drop to a knee beside Ezra’s hip. “Shove over a bit,” you murmur, tapping his side with your knuckles, and he does, shimmying toward the wall. You glance back at the hatch to Din’s bunk and see it closed, and you can hear the kid already snoring from within.

You slip down and lay on your back beside the bounty, who is laying still but not quite tense. “Forgive me for not trying too hard to avoid you, whatsoever, gem. We did wash up together, after all. and I am a bit of a cuddler, truth be told.”

“Hush, dummy. He hears you, you’re gonna end up in carbonite.”

“Is he so possessive of you?”

You snort at the mental image. “Not how I'd put it. Overprotective, maybe. He has a loyalty streak a parsec wide, not that it ever does him much good. Mando gets his ass kicked on about half the jobs he does.”

Ezra chuffs a soft laugh and straightens on his back, uncomfortable with his unbalanced weight on his side. The move pulls on the still- sealing wound in his sternum and he hisses quietly.

“Just go back to sleep. The alarm will go off in six hours and we’ll leave for Canto Bight.”

“Well, gem. I can't think of a better way to spend my final hours than laying here peacefully with you. Maybe if our shiny friend joined us- sans the shiny, for the sake of comfort- it could be a real party.” Ezra yawns hugely and settles, falling asleep quickly as the fresh tablet hits his bloodstream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stir awake to the sound of the bunk door sliding open, maybe an hour later. “Hmm? Mando?” You whisper and pop your head up, feeling sweaty and wildly overheated in the blanket nest. Ezra has curled against your side on the pallet but he’s not got an arm to drape over you; you're not even touching all that much. The heat can’t be from him. Not all of it.

Weird.

You sit up and see that Din is wriggling out of the bunk silently and very carefully, struggling to avoid disturbing Grogu snoozing hard in his little hammock. He slaps the door controls to shut it as soon as he is out.

“Osik!” Din gasps, falling to a knee. “Ii– iisa.”

You can feel the panic in him even as it's edging into his voice and jump up, rushing the few feet across the hold to him. “Mando! What’s wrong?” you hiss in a whisper.

“So– so hot. What’s- is it hot in here to you?” he shakes his head when you nod, watching the sweat roll down your temple and chin to soak into the collar of your flightsuit. "Okay."

“I am feeling it too, though I do not think it’s the temperature in the hold, Mando,” Ezra grits, struggling up to an elbow. “Did we all ingest something similar? Or were we exposed? Something is perhaps having a – biological response with each of us?”

You wipe at the sweat beading on your brow and try to think, which is easier said than done. Your thoughts are snarled tight and your blood is thrumming under your skin, pooling in your belly and thighs.

“We... Oh! We each took a painkiller. Or two,” you say, turning to Mando, who is on his hands and knees and panting under his helmet. He already seems far worse off than you or Ezra.

“Dank farrik. Soup. And – the tablets.”

“We've been having the same soup sachets for a week. That can't be it. What in Kevva’s name was in those tablets?”

You turn to Ezra and blink slowly. “Let me get them,” you fumble for the medkit and bring it down, digging for the white cylinder tube. “It’s just the usual standard medkit bottle- see? It says– oh. Uh, Mando? Where did you get these?”

Ezra reaches out his hand and you pass the shaker to him. It does look exactly like a standard over- the- counter Core painkiller bottle for a standard field medkit- but apparently recycled by spice runners and handed off by mistake in the busy market. The label reads Spiced Honey in Aurebesh and Huttese, though the script is faded. He squints and reads off the rest.

“‘Pollination Aid for Insectoid, Reptilian, Amphibious, and other cold-blooded sentient beings. Not recommended for mammalian biologies. For consenting adult use only; do not take more than one tablet in a standard cycle day. Common side effects in warm- blooded mammalian biologies include heightened basal temperature, undue sweating, erections lasting longer than four hours, hypersensitivity, amorous behavior, increased self-lubrication, and full loss of inhibition in varying degrees of strength. Do not combine with other intoxicants’. Well. We’re fucked, perhaps quite literally,” Ezra drops the shaker into the nest of blankets and curses under his breath, glancing at Mando mindlessly kicking off his boots and then to you.

“Gem, I know you have taken one as well, but I highly recommend you freeze me and lock yourself in the cockpit or the bunk before Mando loses his grip. He took two. And even with one arm and in a good bit of pain I find myself unlikely to hold back if this settles in further. I have no desire to harm you, especially against your will. I don't imagine he does either, but we may not be in control much longer.”

Your eyes are hazy, glassy, breath catching in your chest as you frown, deciphering Ezra’s words while the rest of your vision blurs. Your body heat feels doubled- tripled with both of the men’s suffering assaulting your heightened Force senses. Din is already sloughing his gambeson and flightsuit, leaving the armor attached to the connection points at shoulders and thighs, his breathing labored. Soon he is down to his compression bottoms and a ratty-soft liner shirt and the helmet, the neck stretched wide. You stare at his flushed bronze skin and the beginning of a thatch of chest hair peeking out of the neckline and lick your dry lips, abruptly very eager for a taste of the salt of him.

Both of them.

“Iisa, please. I don’t– what the fuck,” Din groans desperately, dropping his helmeted forehead to the durasteel floor. He’s got both arms crossed around his stomach, heaving deep breaths as if all the air being circulated by the scrubber is not enough.

“Mando, I suggest you come over here and slake that particular thirst with me, unless your partner is willing. You can take me if you like; I must admit the desire is mutual, and I do not mind being the passive party, especially considering neither my balance nor dexterity is what it once was.”

Din is already crawling across the space to the pallet, gripping Ezra’s ankle and tugging desperately until the other man is dragged to the edge of the nest of blankets. He mantles over Ezra and pauses, tips the helmet back and up to face you, still kneeling nearby. “Go up and lock yourself in the cockpit, or join us, cyar. I can't guarantee you won’t be– touched if you stay- my control is– slipping.”

“I want to stay. I want to watch you. I want to- touch you. Both,” you add, your hands shaking as you run them thoughtlessly over your body. Your nerves light up at every press, even over your clothes. Suddenly it’s far too hot and, like Mando, you start tearing at your flight suit and smalls.

You cup your tits and warmth pools low in your belly, rising to a rolling boil as you watch Din whine low and demanding as he drags Ezra’s bottoms off, too impatient to shuck the man’s boots so his loose pants get caught. They have a quick struggle which ends in the bounty with one boot off and leg freed, and his pants twisted around the other ankle. With a frustrated growl, Mando shoves Ezra's shirt up to his armpits. May wriggles the top off, tugging one-handedly at Mando’s liner shirt until he drops his head forward and the stretched neckline slides easily over the helmet. He throws the garment to the side and takes one of Mando’s hands, bringing it up to his face.

“Yes. Get them wet,” he demands. Din drives three fingers past Ezra’s loquacious lips to wet them on his tongue. He draws them back a moment later, thoroughly soaked, to wrap a slicked fist around both their cocks. Ezra’s head falls back to the bedding with a thunk, a strangled groan squeezing out of him.

The bounty’s single hand can’t stay still, he roves it over his own chest down to where his legs are spread around Mando’s thickly muscled hips and then up, catching on a peaked brown smudge of nipple. He pinches it with a twist and grins quick at the rough sound it earns. Din growls at the tease and ruts his hips forward, gripping a bit tighter if the noise that punches out of them both is any indication.

Din wants very badly to rub his bare face against the man’s chest- your chest- any skin. It feels like every instinct he has is to bury his face in skin. It is incredibly frustrating to be unable to, but he has just enough coherence to keep his helmet on, for now. He hopes idly that you’ll have the wherewithal to slap the lights off if he tries to remove his helmet. He drops his forehead to Ezra’s sternum, avoiding the weal of pink scar tissue that has healed up nicely under the bacta patch, and whines low and plaintive. The drag of his fist and wet and heat on his cock is not enough.

“I don't know if I have slick,” he grits out, lifting the visor to face the bounty below him. Ezra blinks slow at him, frowning slightly before it clicks.

“I may have some in my satchel. Gem, where did you set it?” He turns to face you, legs snapping shut around Din’s hips as the Mandalorian squeezes them tighter and ruts harder.

You whimper, a hand in your smalls and flightsuit shucked to your waist. Both men snap their attention to you at the sound and slow in their rutting. Din reaches his other hand out and makes grabby hands at you, seemingly past the capability of words.

“Gem, get the slick, then take off that suit and come sit on my face,” Ezra growls, rutting up against Din anew until the man plants a fist by his head and drives down, deeper and harder.

"Maker, yes, iisa. Do that," Din says.

You dump Ezra's bag on the floor and find the vial easily enough. You then squirm the rest of the way out of your suit and crawl over, eager and desperate for the press of skin on yours. Your own skin feels too tight, flushed and overheated.

“I want to–” you start, gasping when you reach them and Din pushes your face down to Ezra’s lips, coaxing you both into a desperate kiss that is mostly tongue and teeth and not much skill. Ezra clings to you with his hand, his belly flexing with the force of Mando's jarring thrusts from below.

“Come here, precious thing. Bring your leg over. There you go. Come down to me- I can’t quite–” he drags your hips down with a yank and your mound crashes into his mouth. The vial of slick skitters off toward the shelves, unneeded for now.

He growls into you, the vibration lighting up your entire body and you throw your head back, nails sliding on his chest, narrowly avoiding the bacta patch at the base of his sternum. You're kneeling over Ezra's head, facing Mando, struggling to keep your knees planted under the assault that is Ezra laving broad strokes through your folds and sucking on your clit in turns. His arm is an iron band just above your ass, keeping you planted on him. His nails are pressed into your opposite hip, a tiny bite of pain to accentuate all the swirling pleasure. Sweat beads on your skin, blood thrumming with need and lust and desire.

Ezra's tongue winds you up tighter and tighter, his hand alternately squeezing your cheek roughly before drifting round to cup and knead your breast. He thumbs your peak before he slides across to the other with a low hum of satisfaction into your core. You push your chest into his palm and, when he brings his hand back to pull you back down to his mouth, you tip forward and curl your tongue around the perfectly twinned tips of their cocks peeking out of Din’s fist. Din makes a choked noise and pushes his own cockhead at your lips, throwing his head back when you suckle them both at the same time. As a reward, Ezra flattens his tongue against you and encourages your hips to start grinding on his face.

“Bring yourself to completion on my tongue, gem. I want to drink from your fountain before our friend truly loses himself. I believe watching you come on my face will be the tipping point.”

You do exactly as you are told, planting both hands on Ezra’s chest and riding his face until you shatter. As you shiver through the come down, you abruptly want them both, desperately. You wildly consider fitting them both inside, somehow. But before the thought accumulates steam, Din is wracked with a wave of lust a good deal stronger than you or Ezra are feeling. He did take two tablets, after all.

Din makes a low, desperate sound and reaches for you. “Cyar. Please, can I?”

“Din. Please, yes. Come, come here,” you slip and use his name, but he barely notices, only enough to tip his head briefly in confusion as you drag him away from wedging between Ezra’s thighs and urge him behind you. “Give me your cock. I need it! I feel so empty,” you complain, grinding back against him when he kneels behind you, over Ezra’s crown.

“Mando, let me get you good and wet for our gem. Put that in my mouth before you spear into them,” he laves over you once more and tips his head back, catching the head of Din’s cock as it throbs downward, making the Mandalorian shudder at the sudden warmth and wet.

“Ours?” Din murmurs distractedly before it dissolves into a heady groan at whatever Ezra does with his tongue. He thrusts forward into the man’s throat and Ezra soaks his cock, thick spit clinging to the tip as Din pulls away and notches the head at your weeping entrance. "Iisa. Ours."

You bend forward and drop your mouth over Ezra’s turgid length just as Din pushes inside you to the hilt, his fat cock stretching you beautifully. You both groan at the stretch and tight squeeze, respectively. Din pushes his forehead into the dip between your shoulder blades and grinds his hips forward, staying sheathed deep.

“Oh! Oh, gem, my dear, your mouth– please!” Ezra paws at you desperately when you lift off to gasp, but you take him back in eagerly when he tugs on your shoulder. His stomach tenses to hardness when he lifts his head up, lapping at your apex while the rest of you is stretched tight around Din’s girth. His tongue traces where you are joined and Din makes a low sound that is barely human. Ezra’s hand can’t be still- he roams it over you and Din each, finally squeezing the Mandalorian’s muscular ass and encouraging him to thrust a bit more energetically, which drags your clit over the bounty’s tongue with each push.

“Oh, fffffuck,” Mando grits when you clench around him at Ezra’s additional stimulation, milking his cock with a rhythmic squeeze. He pulls out slowly, snapping his hips back in and pounding against that deep spot, high up by your cervix. It makes your eyes roll back, your jaw slack around Ezra's girth as you suck in a breath, and you feel the abrupt urge to pee and clench that much tighter, which just makes Din do it again.

Ezra’s tongue drags upward down Mando’s shaft and over his tightening balls, sucking one fuzzed globe into his mouth before Din pulls back and repeats the thrust, tilting this time to hammer repeatedly into that same spot. Ezra’s hand slides from around your hips to your belly, pressing up between your hipbones with the backs of his knuckles, pushing your deepest spot down until you're sure to shower him with your cum if Din keeps up the punishing strokes. He returns to sucking your clit, kneading the bud carefully between his tongue and teeth.

“Boss, I do believe our gem deserves to be filled with your seed. Pump this gorgeous pussy full, so I can clean it up,” he demands, urging Din on. His thrusts become more brutal, his hands gripping your hips turning to a bruising strength, and you love it.

“Yes- yes, Mando! Fill me up. I need your cum,” you gasp, thrusting your hips back on him. He growls beneath the helmet, the sound coming out flat and that much more grating for it.

You can feel your orgasm building low and insistent in your belly, the swelling heat and pressure of it blooming outward into every extremity. Ezra flattens his tongue against your clit, giving you something to grind against when Din knocks your hips forward. You suck weakly at the cock in your mouth, using your hand to move over what you can’t manage in the moment, more applying tongue and wetness and heat than anything akin to actual talent but Ezra seems to be loving it. His hand presses up on your belly again just when Din nails you deep and holds your head down on Ezra’s dick, and you– break.

Your cunt grips tight around where Din is buried deep, all the way to the hilt, grinding in firmly and giving you something substantial to milk. A gush of your juices flows into Ezra’s mouth as you choke on his cock, your whole body clenching and releasing in a full-body orgasm that steals the last wisps of your breath.

With a chest-deep groan, Din’s head falls forward again with an unforgiving thump of helmet against your shoulder. He grinds deep, coming with a ragged gasp as your insides milk an orgasm out of him that seems to last forever. He absolutely floods your channel, his movements making it gush out with every thrust and grind.

Ezra pops his hips upward, sucking greedily on your soaked folds, lapping your combined come, and dragging his tongue hungrily up the hard rib on the underside Din’s cock. Gasping and still rock hard, the Mandalorian pulls out of you and buries his soaked and still- hard length between Ezra's lips instead.

When he pulls out, Ezra picks up a low chant, murmuring depraved things about the taste of your perfect pussy, the salt of Mando’s come, your heat and wetness and deliciously slick insides. He buries his tongue in your channel, sucking more come out. The bounty thrusts up into your throat once- twice, and Din finally lets you pull away enough to breathe just as Ezra floods your mouth.

“Ffffuck,” Ezra cries out, turning his face into your thigh as he shakes through his orgasm, clinging to your body collapsed onto his. “It has- oh! Been a long time since I received such attentions, gem- forgive my abrupt– fffffff! Finish!”

You barely have time to swallow before Mando is already dragging at your hips again, rutting up along the cleft between your cheeks despite your still-pulsing cunt. He’s still rock hard and stifling a petulant groan. You pull away and he whines but lets go, only to turn his demanding hands on Ezra.

“Let a man breathe, Mando,” the man gripes, swatting uselessly at the hands grabbing him.

“I’m sorry. It’s– maybe you should freeze me,” Mando says to you, and you scoff.

“Not a chance,” you pant, and flop to the side off of Ezra’s chest.

He keeps his hand braced on Din’s ribs, asking for a moment to recover. “Would an intercrural rut suffice while I catch my breath, tin man?”

Din simply growls at the nickname and crawls back down over the other man, rolling them to their left sides and spooning up behind him. You watch, enraptured and overheated, noting with curiosity how very similar their bodies are. The mushroomed tip of Mando’s unceasing erection peeks in and out of the clench of Ezra’s thighs, made slippery by the slick you left on Mando’s cock. Din’s fingers claw at Ezra's chest and belly, holding him almost too-tightly. You feel the ghost of that grip on your hips and groan, feeling yourself leak afresh at the memory.

“Iisa, please. Are you alright? Did we–?” Din presses his forehead against the knot of Ezra’s right shoulderblade, growling at his loss of words. He can’t focus. Luckily, you and Ezra are more clear minded, if no less under the influence of extreme arousal.

“I’m fine, Mando. Just need a breather. Not everyone has highly- trained stamina and endurance,” you chuckle, rolling back toward the men. Ezra lays on his left side, hooking his ankles together to tighten the squeeze. Mando seems to appreciate it; his hips stutter forward sharply.

“I can’t- I don't think I can come like this. It’s not enough. I need– inside something. Friction isn't– enough,” he grits out, hands wandering down Ezra’s torso to drag his top leg back and up over his hip.

“Easy, boss. You can't go jammin’ that weapon in there without some prep, and something to ease the way. How about you come up here and abuse my mouth again, and we’ll see to the other, after, if you are still in need? Our gem and I seem to be faring better with the foggy mind. Perhaps another orgasm or two will help you?”

You prop against the adjacent wall of the hull and watch in abject fascination and want as Din crawls over Ezra, shoves him to his back, plants his knees in the man’s armpits, and feeds him his cock.

“Maker,” you sigh, a hand drifting thoughtlessly to cup your throbbing cunt. The tease of the touch is enough to make your legs shiver shut around your hand.

Ezra, for his part, takes Mando’s cock down his throat skillfully and a little greedily. He talks - filthy things- when Din slides out too far. It makes Mando growl and thrust deeper when he goes back in, which makes Ezra grin around his girth like he's won something.

“What I wouldn't give to set my mouth on every inch of you, you gorgeous thing,” he says before being choked on the fat tip nudging past his tonsils. You watch as the bounty simply rolls his head side to side to make it fit better, even deeper. Mando whines and shakes his head, already desperate for a kiss and struggling to recall why his damned helmet is still on. “I bet you are pretty, aren’t you?” Ezra drags his hand up Din’s torso, thumbing his nipples, tweaking one meanly.

“Tight body, pretty cock- why wouldn't your face match? It’s quite a sin and sacrifice to keep that mouth all to yourself, don't you think? Though at least you are willing to share this,” he tongues the throbbing head of Din’s prick bobbing against his lips, sucking the head methodically, working the tip of his tongue into the slit and grinning with Mando whines and shivers at the focused stimulation.

“Iisa,” he pants, gripping Ezra's wrist as his hand slides down his belly. He pins the man’s arm to the floor above May's head and thrusts deep and slow a few times, relishing how deeply Ezra takes it in his throat without struggle, though tears are brimming in the corners of his eyes. Din catches his breath when he slides all the way out and holds himself there, balances on his knees and one fist, the other hand still pinning Ezra's.

Your eyes are locked on the way Ezra breathes like a fighting bull up at him, nostrils flared, brow furrowed, fingers curled around the back of Din’s hand, jaw stretched wide around his girth. Your own fingers are absently strumming your seam, gently stimulating yourself back toward desperation. Din calls your name and your eyes flick up to meet the impassive visor, in stark contrast from the rest of his body language, broadcasting his need.

“The lights,” Mando prompts, and your breath punches out of your chest. He's going to take it off.

Belatedly, you reach up and slap the lights off. The only glow is from various controls dotted around panels in the hull, red and blue and a dim, grimy white that gives off the impression of shadows only- no details in the bleached space, only black form over an indistinct background. You hear the helmet grate across the floor and the wet sound of a mouth on something before Ezra (you think- they sound so similar) groans low and needy.

You crawl back to the pallet and find the men where they were, only now Din is bent double and plundering Ezra’s mouth with his tongue instead of his cock.

“Boss, I strongly– urge you to give our gem the gift of your mouth while you can. Let me attend to the fires down below,” he pants between kisses. You reach out to card your fingers through his hair and can feel that Din still has him fully pinned. In the next breath, Mando has you swept up to his chest with both arms around your back and he licks into your mouth, groaning into you as Ezra swallows him again, a pioneering finger tracing over his hole from behind.

“Cyar,” Din breathes against your lips. “Sit on his dick, while I fuck his mouth.” He grins against your lips when Ezra groans in disbelief beneath him and you scramble to obey, giddy off the high of feeling Din smile against your mouth, rather than hearing it through the vocoder. Din dismounts Ezra’s chest and turns, pinning his arm again, under a shin this time, and feeding the bounty his balls while he strokes himself. He hears you slick Ezra with your cunt by sandwiching it between your seam and his belly and rutting along the length before you position yourself over him.

You grip Ezra in your hand and can already tell the difference, even in the dark. Ezra’s cock is a bit leaner than Din's, though they are remarkably similar in both look and form. Each the full length from your fingertips to the heel of your palm, both uncut and a ruddy brownish-pink and flushed at the tip, framed with a thatch of tidy, dark curls and nicely bundled balls. Mando was perhaps a bit girthier, but then so was he compared to Ezra’s malnourished and ill frame.

When you line up and drag your dripping cunt over his length, you can feel Ezra’s whole body vibrate with a groan that is echoed when Din pulls back. He feeds Ezra his cock just as you sink down on the man’s length, ripping a desperate sound from his throat which vibrates around Mando’s root. Din can feel the forearm pinned under him scrabbling for something to hold onto. He adjusts and drags the hand up, holding it against his own chest as he tips his hips down. You grind forward, settling Ezra deep inside you.

“Come here, iisa. Give me your mouth,” you gasp at the softness of Din’s voice, unmodulated and hopelessly endearing. Your mouth meets his, cautious but desperate. He encourages you to o0en your lips, so he can tease your tongue with his own. It's not skilled, of course- how could he be? But the kiss goes from exploratory to hungry in seconds. Din licks into you, a low growl rumbling in his chest as Ezra swallows around him. He works his hand from Din’s grasp and grips your hip, rutting up into you and sucking desperately at the length on his tongue.

“Make him come,” Din demands, breathy and demanding, and you nearly swoon. Your core tightens impossibly when Ezra thumbs your clit, winding tighter until it snaps and your stomach unspools in clenching and releasing spasms. Your limbs feel heavy, legs no longer wanting to work as you try to lift and drop again. Under your hands, Ezra's belly is taut with tension, his hips working against your weight for a few more thrusts to meet his own end now that you have been sated.

Ezra clamps a hand on your hip and whines around Din, the onslaught of sensation almost too much before he simply- snaps. You feel him pulse and spill inside you, painting your insides that are already slick from Din’s come moments before, and you drop your weight, seating him deep, overwhelmed and incredibly tired. Mando is not anywhere near finished, though. The thought occurs that he might fuck you both unconscious before his stamina and the spice wears off.

“Kriff,” you groan, sliding forward off Ezra’s cock, your gushing-slick passage leaking all over his soft, lean belly. The man sucks harder at the length in his mouth and Din moans- the sound heady and desperate without the flattening of the vocoder- and spills on his tongue.

“Oh kriff is– is right, iisa.” Din flops bonelessly to the side, facing up but with his head by Ezra’s hip. You are still straddling Ezra's waist, but you list to the side as Din tugs you down between them

“You know my name,” he says quietly, brushing the hair off your sweaty face with soft, callused fingertips. You snort and duck your head.

“Yeah, ah- I think the kid thought it by accident once when our connection was open. I think it was an accident anyway. He makes sure I can't see your face in his memories, but that one slipped through, I guess.”

“I don't mind.” He pushes your foreheads together and you sigh, relaxing.

Ezra simply lays there and enjoys the afterglow, his face buoyed on your chest. The worst of the spice is out of your and his system, and the pain is creeping back into the wound and the knot of his shoulder. He speaks up:

“How are you faring, boss? Has the spice run its course through you, or are you still in the throes?”

Mando hesitates for a moment. “I am still painfully hard, though not as– inebriated as I was. I can- maybe make do,” he starts to pull away but you and Ezra tug at him.

“I said you could fuck me and I meant it,” Ezra chuckles, and the wind punches out of Din’s chest.

“I– yes. Please,” he asks.

“Well then. Did we find that slick, gem?” Ezra is already levering up to his elbow, letting Din paw at his hips til they are both on their knees. You pat around the floor, corner to corner, in search of the slick in the dark.

“Can you balance like this?” Mando checks in, pushing the bounty forward. He holds Ezra ‘round the ribs and supports his weight with ease, showing his strength. Ezra drops to his forearm with a grunt and wriggles, testing his weight and balance, before nodding.

“Yes. Just go slow, to start. I’m neither as turgid nor as numb to oversensitivity as you at the moment, boss. And I have already come twice under your and your partner’s skilled attentions, which I have not done in one sitting in a terribly long time.”

You crawl forward and pass off the vial of slick, accepting a searching, heated kiss as Din cups your face and drags you closer on your knees. “Lay under him, iisa. Meshurok,” he teases, calling you as Ezra does, in his own tongue. “Let him bury his face in these,” his hands drop and cup your breasts, kneading playfully. You huff and press another kiss to Din’s precious mouth before ducking to do as he says.

“Well hello there, gem. I can’t see you, of course, but I can tell by the firming of this beautiful cheek against mine you are feeling quite ebullient.” Ezra nuzzles your face, tucking his nose under your ear, and gasps at something Mando does from behind. You feel his hips lift and push back, and a low groan pushes out of him into the soft skin of your throat.

“Come here,” you say, gripping his sweat-damp hair and turning his face up to your own for a sweet kiss. “I’ll hold you- just relax, pretty boy,” you coo, carding your hand through his sweaty hair. You tug at the blonde patch until he exhales hard and melts against your whole front.

“I don't think that particular label has ever been granted to my generally- undesirable person,” Ezra mumbles, gasping quietly again when Mando adds a second finger. "But I can't deny I do enjoy it coming from-- you."

“You must not have met many folk with eyes, then,” Mando quips, scissoring his fingers before Ezra can retort, though the one-two combo punches a breathy laugh out of him. Even if Ezra looks an uncanny amount like Mando, himself, he can compliment the man without it feeling too much like narcissism. For as much as they look alike, they are quite different.

“I agree,” you murmur into Ezra's soft hairline. The gentleness of you both gets to him, quicker than anything else has. Gets under his skin and into his heart.

“That I can – Oh! Oh shit, oh shit-” he pants, rocking back on Mando’s fingers now, hardening against your thigh, despite feeling like he couldn't possibly. He ducks his head to your breasts, nuzzling and then slipping his mouth over the soft swell of one, panting at what Mando’s doing from behind, gripping at you while trying to balance his weight. You push your chest up into his face, encouraging him to change to the other breast, sucking your nipple into the heat of his mouth. You arch into the stimulation and can’t help but tighten your knees around his ribs.

Din feels animalistic. As bad as any time he's been separated from the kid in a battle, but different. He wants to rut, fuck, come, mark– rub his scent and grip bruises into flesh. He ruts his painfully hard cock against a spare curve of flank and curves his hand upside down, his palm at the top of Ezra’s cleft and fingers still curled inside, draping his weight all along the man’s spine. He nuzzles his nose and mouth against the back of Ezra's head, into his dark, short curls. The man smells like your soap and antiperspirant, and the flame of desire in Din’s chest blows wide into a bonfire of pure lust. He rubs his face all over the back of Ezra’s neck and shoulders, reaching under him for you, palming a breast, stretching forward and sandwiching the man between you for a kiss.

“Mando,” you sigh, scritching at the scruff under his chin. You unerringly find the sparse spot on the left side and press a kiss to it. Ezra growls a little between you, feeling somewhat neglected, and turns his head into the right side, finding the matching spot there and dropping a wet smear of a kiss on it.

Din presses back up to his knees and withdraws his fingers, pushes back in with three, bares his teeth at the stretch around his knuckles. Ezra makes a desperate sound and ruts back on him, his voice muffled by burying his face back in your chest.

“I could expire here and now, and consider myself surprisingly lucky, even imprisoned as a bounty and missing my dominant arm. Between you two is heaven itself. Mando,” he cries out at the firm curl of fingertips over his prostate. “Get in me or do that harder, you are driving me to distraction, gentle-man-!” He demands, only to be cut off with a wheeze as Din fixes his slicked cockhead at Ezra’s softened entrance and pushes just inside.

Slowly, inexorably, Din presses onward until his hips are flush with Ezra's rump, all of him inside and suddenly wildly overheated. He waits, still, until Ezra tips his hips up in invitation before moving back and then returning with a much more sharp thrust.

“Oh– stars, just like that,” Ezra chokes, nuzzling into your breasts again, licking slow over one curve to find the tip and latch on. He can’t keep his balance and paw at you or reach for his cock, but he enjoys the assault of sensations for now. Mando is so deep inside, stretching him nearly to the point of burn but not quite. Despite the spice clouding his frontal lobe, Din did a good job stretching him to ease the way. Each pass over his prostate causes a jolt of nerves that light up his whole belly and down his legs. His shoulder pain is long forgotten. There is only your soft skin beneath him and Mando’s hardness inside him and raw strength behind him.

Mando sets a firm, rhythmic pace that has his hips slapping hard into Ezra’s spare ass as he drives forward, but he knows Ezra is not getting the stimulation he needs. It takes several minutes to convince himself, what with the drugs in his veins telling him otherwise. Eventually Din slows to a halt and pulls out. He chuckles at the disgruntled noise from above and flops to his back.

“Come here, May,” he grabs a lean thigh and hauls the man over in a show of strength, nearly dumping Ezra onto his face before he can steady himself.

“Kevva waits, you could have just said come ride me instead of yankin', boss! I can barely fuckin’ balance as it is.” Ezra grouses. He gets his knees under himself and adjusts his weight, surprised to find plenty of room for movement under his thighs with how broad Mando appears in all his armor.

“Sit,” Din demands, pulling on the man’s hips. Ezra quirks a grin in the dark and resists, planting a hand square on Din's heaving chest.

“Gem, you hear that? He’s losing those pretty manners of his,” Ezra huffs a delighted laugh when Din growls a please at him. He reaches behind himself, clumsy with his off hand, and lines that fat cock back up along his well-slicked crease.

“Yes, please,” Mando groans and his hips jolt upward as Ezra slides down his length, impaling himself in a smooth glide.

“Mando, this magnificent- turgid- specimen could cure ailments, I swear to the Maker. Every- spot- stimulated so perfectly. Oh!” Ezra pants as he grinds forward and back experimentally, his belly jumping under Din’s hand at the consistent torment on his swollen gland. Din fists his cock and Ezra growls: “Gem come here, gorgeous gemstone. Come here and join us.”

You have been watching their shadows move together since they rolled and adjusted, cupping between your legs where the flesh is hot and swollen, wet with the dregs of the spice in your system. You roll to your side and then up to your knees, dipping over Din’s face for a thorough kiss before following his hands, letting him push your face up to Ezra’s. The bounty cups his hand around the back or your neck and hauls you up, his hips rolling insistently against the length he's impaled on.

“Kiss me, sweet thing. I need– nngh!” Ezra shivers around a particularly brutal thrust against his prostate and kisses you like you’re his last meal. You're both growing tired, the spice waning from your systems, but the buzz for one more orgasm is just there under your skin. You let him lick into you, taking over with your own hand where he is fucking forward into his fist and then back against Mando.

“Yes, your hand- so soft- thank you, gem!” He plants his palm on Din’s heaving chest again for balance and works the cock in his ass, lifting and dropping, grinding and rutting. Mando makes some truly impressive sounds before pawing at you.

“Come here, iisa. Turn. Across- now sit. Now fuck him,” he hooks his thumbs around your hip bones and pushes you down, facing him and straddling his belly, in front of Ezra. He grabs Ezra's cock and guides it into you, making you both gasp.

“Oh– Kevva! I will not last in this state, Mando! Gem- your pussy is as perfect a fit as I could hope for. So wet- warm! Ngh!” Ezra, bless him, reaches forward and strums your clit messily with three fingers, working you up where you are already dripping and panting between them.

Mando grips your hips, wishing he could see, but he will take the trade gladly if tasting you both- kissing, licking, sucking- is in the cards. He realizes belatedly that he has not got his mouth on either of you yet. If you all survive this round and don’t tap out, he decides he will.

You howl as you come hard on Ezra's cock, collapsing forward into Din while you catch your breath behind his palm (he’s clapped it across your mouth to avoid you waking the kid). He scoops you close and pins you to him with his arms wrapped around your back, sucking your lower lip between his teeth, holding you still for Ezra to fuck into and ride Mando’s cock until they both explode.

“Oh shit- oh shit, oh shit ohshitohshit–” Ezra grits his teeth and his ass clamps down, sitting down as hard as he can on Din’s hips to get him deep, milk his balls empty while Ezra paints the swollen, hot edges of your cunt with the last weak dregs of his come. The last of the spice fizzles out and the ache bleeds back in with nothing to stymie it.

You each fall to a side of Din, starfished in the floor and chests heaving. Every bit of each of you is wet and sticky and exhausted. Din whines in the dark, a small movement catching in the dim glow of the lit buttons.

“I’m still fucking hard,” he complains, sounding more offended than anything. “Dank farrik. This is ridiculous!"

You can't help but laugh at the complaint. You pop your head up, confused by Ezra's silence. Is he asleep? You suppose it’s not entirely out of the question; you feel awfully close to sleep yourself. But then he speaks:

“Boss, I am not sure either of us has the stamina to go again, but if you can be patient a short while, I believe I can manage for you to use me to find your end, if nothing else.”

He hums in contentment when Mando glides a hand up his belly and chest, scritching fondly in the scruff under his chin. Din catches himself being so casual and forward and curses internally, forcing his hand to drop. He must really be out of it. Not only fucking a bounty but dragging you into it just because he didn't actually look at the bottle of meds he'd bought. The self- doubt creeps in, lingering like a thick cold slab on his chest until you curl a leg between his own and slide your whole front against his left side.

“Ezra. Get over here.” You grouse sleepily, reaching across to curl your fingers around his wrist, laying on his own chest, and pull at him til he rolls to his side and snuggles in close.

Your warmth and gentleness dissolves that slab on Din's chest as thoroughly as the kid does. He's come to rely on it, which feels dangerous.

Soon, Din notices that you have stopped moving and your breathing has evened out. He huffs quietly in vague amusement, warring with the concern he feels over the perpetual throbbing in his cock. The mental fog has dissipated, but he’s still horny as fuck and rock hard to prove it.

“Does the sonic on this vessel fit two?” Ezra stirs and interrupts his thoughts. Din blinks and turns his head to the other man, running a hand possessively down his side. His skin is starting to crawl again with heat and need, already. He feels like it will never be out of his system. "Not really."

“Nested together as we will no doubt be, we could probably manage. Your partner took such thorough care of me at the service station, and I hate for those efforts to remain reversed due to these -- sticky circumstances. A clean- up would not go amiss. I can feel your seed leakin’ outta my ass already, though you are assuredly about to plant more.”

“Shut up,” Din grouses, rolling them, making Ezra snort. He lays on Ezra, belly to belly and knees on either side of the man’s narrow hips. He leans heavy over the bounty and mouths over his collarbones, pressing his teeth into the knotted muscle of Ezra’s damaged shoulder. “Can I have you again?” he asks into the other man’s mouth, breathy and heated.

“Ah, you found your tongue and your manners again, Mando.” He chuckles with Din bites down on his lip with a growl. “Yes, and let it drain the last of this accursed spice from your system. You have spilled so much under its spell. I don’t think I can manage to come again, but you are welcome to try. At least until the oversensitivity assails me.”

Rather than responding, Din licks into his mouth, opening his jaw wide with a thumb pressed to his chin. The kiss is heated and exploratory, stealing Ezra’s breath away handily. He wriggles under the weight of the Mandalorian, worming his hand between them to grasp the man’s cock and give him a firm circle to thrust into.

Abruptly, Din grips Ezra by the elbow and hauls him over to his belly, caging the man with his own forearm braced on the ground beneath Ezra’s good shoulder, his stump against the ground and his face and upper chest mashed into the blankets. He is thoroughly pinned, especially once Mando plants his huge palm on the side of Ezra’s head, fingers tangling in his hair to keep his face pinned to the side. If he even possibly could at this stage, Ezra wagers he’d be a hair’s breadth from coming again.

Din spits on his fingers and wipes the wetness over the head of his dick, smears it across Ezra’s hole, and presses in. Ezra whines but grits his teeth, knowing that if he can get over the first painful rush of frayed nerves, it will turn sweet again. Thankfully, Mando is tiring out after four rounds in what must have been scarcely more than an hour or so. The prospector feels the first twinge of something good, low in his belly, and tips his hips up against Mando's snapping thrusts. His cock hangs heavy and not quite half-hard, thoroughly spent between his thighs. Din has a fistful of hair in one hand and a death grip on Ezra's hip with the other, keeping him pinned with his only arm rendered useless. All he can do is take it, and that unlocked a particular kink the bounty had been secreting away for a long while.

Too soon, Ezra gasps and his hips turn down with a sharp pain. “Too much,” he chokes, and thankfully Din has the wherewithal to withdraw gently and let him go. Ezra pants into the bedding, spooling back out from how tightly he’d clamped up from the rush of pain. “Apologies,” he says, and accepts the pat to the back of his thigh with only a little chagrin.

“Stop apologizing.”

At Ezra's sharp complaint, you had stirred with a deep breath, stretching on the pallet beside them. “Oh,” you sigh, enjoying the shapes of them moving against one another in the dark. “Mando, Ezra is too sore. Come here,” you yawn, scooting closer to them. You see Din pause, pulling away from the bounty and reaching for you.

“Thank you, gem. I am indeed weary, and the pain is inching back in with the spice on its way out. Forgive me, Mando.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Din murmurs, and latches his mouth onto your seam. He tastes himself and Ezra, you at the edges. It's intoxicating. You squirm under his attention but spear your fingers into his hair and he leans into it with a whine. He craves the softness as much as the spice is making him crave the roughness. Once you're sopping again and your juice is running down his chin, he pushes himself up to mantle over you, hooking your knees around his narrow hips.

You run your hands up from his waist, curving over firm muscles and soft skin, the puckering of scars here and there. You wind his sweaty curls around your fingers and tug, eliciting a groan. He shakes his head, finding everything at once- his head being touched along with all the skin contact, his own flesh crawling with need and the sweat pouring off him- overbearing.

You release him and let your hands travel again. His rump is small but fits blessedly in your palms, and the feel of your fingers closing over his ass urges him on. Din hums against your mouth and slides the length of his cock through your folds, a tease, smearing the wetness gathered there. He notches his head at your entrance and slides in.

Din drops down over you, elbows planted by your head, your thighs spread by his hips, knees and calves hooked over his ass. You reach up and run a hand up the side of his neck, over an ear, dragging him down for a searching kiss. He growls into your mouth, needy and tiring out, unable to purge those tablets from his system just yet.

“I want you to come on my cock,” he says, panting into your open mouth. You grin against him, exhausted and unsure if your body can enmven manage another orgasm. “Felt so good earlier. Again,” he demands, pushing up to slide a hand between you, flatten his thumb on your clit.

“Mando, I'm not sure I can. I’m so tired,” you whine even as you feel your core clench around him at the added stimulation.

“You can. What else do you need? I’ll give you anything, iisa. Tell me,” Din implores, bending his neck to lick down your throat. He nips at a collarbone, recalling dimly that you had thoroughly enjoyed Ezra’s mouth on your tits earlier. He ducks his head and noses, laves over a plush mound until he finds the peak of your nipple and sucks it into his mouth.

“Oh! Both- the other–!” You cry out, back arching as he hits that spot deep inside your cunt and sucks just right on your nipple.

Instead of switching, Din grips Ezra by the upper arm and hauls him over to his belly beside you. You drop a hand to reach for him too, and your hands bump when Din fists a hand in the man’s hair and drags him into place latch onto your other breast, all without pausing in the suckling of the one between his own lips. Ezra catches on quickly and, after a quick peck to your mouth he obeys Din’s demanding grip.

You sob out at the feel of it, two strong mouths sucking, nipping, and laving over your sensitive breasts while Din pummels away at your cervix, thumbing your clit, stretching your abused pussy on his cock and taking what he needs.

You feel a tightening, an impossible new winding-up in your core that seems to take all the muscles in your limbs with it. Din brushes your clit with his fingers again and you shatter, screaming behind your teeth, your face buried behind your palms to keep quiet because of the kid. Ezra mouths his way up your neck and claims your lips again, capturing your noises, letting Din drop his face into your sternum while he finds his end in your impossibly clenching insides. You’ve turned into a limp doll, boneless with exhaustion and at least four orgasms- damn, you lost count.

“Maker,” you pant, struggling to catch your breath with the weight of Din’s collapsed heft on your chest. “We’re disgusting. Dammit, Mando, I just washed him!” you snark, making the Mandalorian giggle into your skin. You crack up at the sound, struggling to laugh quietly as you feed off his suddenly effervescent joy. He rolls to his back between you and Ezra, the lot of you sweaty, sated, bone-tired and delirious.

“I’m not sure we can go to the service station just yet, iisa. I’m still –”

“Hard as a pike?” Ezra interjects, dropping his hand between Mando’s legs, earning a gasp. “Go to sleep, man. The lust seems to be over, even if your biology hasn't caught on quite yet.”

You all lay there a few moments more before Din’s soft snores are echoed by Ezra’s. You snort at them and roll to your knees, keen on a thorough wipe-down and a nap if the kid will stay down.

But of course, as all kids are prone to do, he wakes the minute you finish yanking Din’s bottoms back on. You’d wiped him and Ezra down with a damp cloth and slung the new bottoms on the bounty’s lower half, but Mando’s compression leggings were a squeeze for him, even when he wasn't passed out and deadweight.

Sighing, you scoop the kid up out of his hammock and take him up the ladder with a snack, leaving the lights off and Din’s helmet beside his shoulder on the pallet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I still have your arm,” Din says, apropos of nothing. He is checking the star chart as the Crest exits Coruscant’s atmosphere.

“Excuse me?” Ezra whips his head around to stare at the back of Din's helmet.

“Your arm. I slabbed it when we came back. You were unconscious.” Din sets the course and turns to find Grogu in the bounty’s lap with a tiny claw fisted in his tunic, staring up at him curiously. Ezra has his remaining arm hooked around the kid, making sure he doesn't fall off his perch on the man’s thigh.

“Why?”

Mando shrugs. “In case you died. Easy proof of destruction. But now… I'm thinking I might drop you somewhere else for a few days. Go to Canto Bight, turn in the arm, collect the lesser bounty. Pick you back up.” he pauses and the flat face of the helmet stares back at Ezra for a long moment, waiting on a response. He tips it to the side. "If you're interested."

Ezra, understandably, is flabbergasted. “Why?”

“Iisa likes you. The kid likes you,” Mando tips his forehead down at Grogu gurgling up at him. Ezra’s eyebrows shoot up and he stares down at the child. “Despite the fact that you never shut up, I like you. If you're not interested, I can cut you loose and still get the bounty.”

“No I– I appreciate the sentiment, Mando, I do. You’ll forgive my wariness, considering the circumstances. I am not accustomed to men wanting to keep me around for anything more than manual labor or to warm a bed, and even then only for a short venture. If I understand you- you are meaning for a while?”

“Until you want to leave,” Mando shrugs. “Same as any of us.”

Ezra chews his lip and his brow threads together. “And what does this life look like? A one-armed former prospector with little in the way of domestic skills, and a sharpshooting force-sensitive mechanic, and a force-wielding xeno child, and a bounty hunting Mandalorian living on a small gunship together with one bunk?”

To his great amusement, Mando actually snorts at him and ducks his head. Ezra grins and waits. “Exactly that. We make port most days, stretch our legs. When we’re in the stars, we stay above lightspeed and head to the next job. I’ve got- friends- all over, especially in the Outer Rim. Finding places to lay low for a few days isn’t a hardship.”

Ezra nods and thinks of you. They’d woken and Din had put on his helmet and tugged on his thin liner shirt and helped Ezra into his own tunic. After, they had discovered you dead asleep in the cockpit with the kid playing with his ball in your lap. Mando had scooped you up, limp as a ragdoll, and you'd remained sound asleep as he had lugged you down the ladder and into his bunk.

Ezra thinks he would very much enjoy more chances to wake up like that. Or in a tangle of all of you.

“Where will you leave me?”

“It’s a bit of a back track but you have two options. I can hide you with my covert on Glavis, or leave you with a friend on Tatooine. To be honest, I'd rather leave you on Tatooine. Harder for other hunters to find you in the Dune Sea, and environmentally safer for you. My covert is currently under the ring world, and footing is dangerous even with two arms for balance.”

“And you will come back?”

“Yes. I will leave iisa and the Child with you, if you like. My trip to collect the bounty from Canto Bight won’t take long.”

“Mercy, man. You’re offerin’ me a whole new life. I can’t simply accept that it’s just because you three like me.”

“Would you rather take your chances with your pissed- off investors?”

Ezra scowls at him. Din grins behind his visor. “Don't toy with my heart, Mando. You know I would not. It’s just going to take some accepting.”

“Well. We’ll be at Freetown in two days. Think on it. If you decide not to stay with us, I'm sure the Marshal can put you to work in his town somehow."

"And what? You would schedule conjugal visits?"

Mando snorts and turns back to his charts, setting coordinates for Tatooine. "If iisa wanted. If that's your intent I'd rather not leave you in Freetown, though. It might be a bit awkward for me to negotiate frequent visits."

"Ah, your lost love in the desert?"

He bites his lips against a knowing grin when he sees Mando's shoulders flatten with tension, but is surprised to get a response. "Something like that."

"Well then. A few days to stretch our legs and a pickup would suffice. And I'll let you know if it stops being sufficient. Do we have an accord, boss?"

Din turns around and eyes the hand Ezra has outstretched. After a beat, he takes it.

"Deal."

____________________ end _____________________

Comment, heart, rb if you enjoyed!

Head on over to my ao3 for more!

#din djarin #the mandalorian #ezra (prospect)#prospect movie #prospect 2018 #ezra/reader #din djarin/reader #ezra/din djarin/reader #sex pollen #sex pollen fic #marathon sex #smut #everyone is bi in SW #also on ao3 #ao3 writer

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queerdisagreeable · 8 months

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TMAGP ARG, Days 1 & 2

Here's a quick writeup of what the Discord's discovered so far!

Day 1 - Quick Beginnings!

Through an ad on the MAG podcast feed, we got an email that sent to OIAR's HR! Sending an email here gave us an autoreply with a link the OIAR website.

On the website we found a youtube channel and a bunch of alchemy symbols and suspicious typos scattered around the place, some more emails, and an identification form.

Investigating the form and the youtube channel, led us to a usenet newsgroup for DDR (East German) diaspora.

Much of our effort on the first day focused on translating and archiving this usenet group in a gDoc for easy reference.

Day 2 - Revelations & Whoopsies

Bit of a slower day today! We managed to translate and archive the entire newsgroup over the night. Some of the team has been working on making a database of the messages on Google Sheets, whilst others have settled on exploring other leads. In the newsgroup, specifically in the very important Cats thread, we found an image with another alchemy symbol! More on that one later.

Back on the site, I personally thought to look again at the images, and noticed their names all had a string of numbers in them. Twelve numbers, to be precise -- enough for a phone number if the country code was two numbers. A little solving later, we had a phone number! After a false start, we gave it a ring and, lo and behold, we were through to the OIAR! A robovoice informed us of system maintenance and asked us to call back on September 22nd!

Later on that day, a crack team of nerds ran the image from the Cats thread through some Steganography software and found the date time combo of: Saturday, 30th September 11:00 to 19:00.

A suspicion that a few members were holding was brought to light at this time, and they got to investigating! The castle at the end of the OIAR's recruitment video has a walking tour on Sept 30th! Though this might not be relevant, a more local member has decided to pop by and see if anything comes to light! (Note: please don't flood this poor walking tour with random MAG fans -- we're not certain it's relevant)

TL;DR:

called a number, got told to call back on Sept.22

found a date in a photo, Sept.30 (11:00-19:00)

booked a walking tour for the above time!

A * Digression…

During the excitement of solving the phone number puzzle… We got a little too nosey for our own good. During the call, we found that pressing * would let you into a series of settings. Neat, thought we, Some more data to sort through! So our intrepid group of explorers started sorting through the voicemails this revealed to us, and called the number of one of them, still believing it to be a trail of ARG clues.

"Hello?" Said Martyn RustyQuill.

Yes, dear readers, this was not an ARG clue. Through our dogged determination, we ploughed our dumb, smart asses into the backrooms of the ARG. The voicemails we discovered were, in fact, test calls that RQ did to ensure the number was up and running. The number that was called was Martyn RQ's real ass phone number. RQ panicked. The mods panicked. Slowmode went up.

Luckily, thanks to quick work from everyone involved, we cleared up any chance of other people calling Martyn's number, and we're now out of the backrooms and back on track!

Don't press * !

#senseless ramblings #tmagp #tmagp arg #magpod

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dayseternal-blog · 6 months

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Summary: When Naruto finds out Hinata is weird...

Written for NH Fair, NH Month 2023 Day 2 Prompt: Maid Cafe

Rated T.

Unexpected Miracles - Short One-shot

So there’s this classmate. New friend. She’s pretty.

Glossy hair.

Cute smile.

Squishy cheeks.

Shiny eyes.

Clear skin.

And always put-together. Talks nice, laughs nice, well-mannered.

She’s just simply nice, never a bad thing to say about anything or anyone. And so pretty, he feels like he should try harder to be fashionable and cool if he’s going to try to act on his attraction.

As a nerdy gamer and manga fan who’d rather spend money on building a good computer, he only puts in passing effort to look presentable at school. A low maintenance haircut, a good collared shirt, and basic jeans.

He can tell they probably run in different circles of people. To be honest, he wouldn’t have thought to notice her if she hadn’t sat next to him in their literature class. He wouldn’t have even tried to talk to her if they hadn’t needed to do partner discussions. He would have never thought to exchange contact information and message her if she hadn’t offered to split the cost on textbooks with him.

And this, too, is something he never expected.

He’s standing across the street from a maid cafe.

He’s watching his nice, pretty classmate walk around in there, and she’s dressed in a fluffy maid outfit, complete with the fluffy little headband-thingy, the fluffy wristbands, the fluffy apron, the knee-high socks…

When he found out she works part-time at a cafe, he boldly suggested he stop by to visit, and she sweetly said, “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that, Naruto-kun. I’ll just be working, so it’s not worth your time.”

He didn’t think much of it, other than that it was kinda weird she didn’t tell him the name of her workplace. And by some miracle, he just happened to see her while heading back home from shopping for a new external hard drive.

His pretty classmate is actually on a whole other, previously unknown level of weird.

Who’d have thought that behind her picture-perfect fashionable exterior lay the type of girl who adores the maid aesthetic?

The traffic light changes, he crosses the street quickly, and without hesitation, he pulls the door open.

The little bell above rings, and a maid greets him with a joyful smile.

But he only has eyes for his classmate-friend, and seeing her much closer in all her fluffy glory is absolutely amazing. And it’s crazy how the uniform makes her seem even curvier than he thought.

She doesn’t notice him at first, but eventually she does, and the angelically shocked look on her face is priceless.

This is the first time they’re seeing each other outside of campus.

In his worn t-shirt that proudly spells out the name of the RPG game he loved two years ago and in decidedly comfy yet dorky khakis, he is absolutely not the same Naruto she usually sees.

“Hi, Hinata.”

“N-N-Naruto-kun?” She steps up to him quickly, and the blush glowing over her face and neck is really the most incredible sight. “What are you doing here?” She’s blinking quite a bit, unable to meet his eyes, and he realizes she might be stressed out. Or embarrassed.

“I was shopping for a new hard drive.” He notices how she’s starting to look a little upset, so he admits, “You look really cute.”

To his relief, her eyes dart up to meet him, and she smiles a tiny bit, the blush at her cheeks deep and red. She bites her lips and her shoulders wiggle, the movement accentuated by the puffiness of the sleeves and the ruffled apron straps.

“Are you a friend of Hina-tan’s?” the other maid asks.

A gleeful smile wiggles out onto his own face, and he glances back to his classmate-friend. “Hina-tan?”

Hina-tan’s hands come up to hold her cheeks. She bends over to whisper in her coworker’s ear, “Yes, Naruto-kun’s my friend,” and the other maid’s lips purse together in a thrilled sort of expression.

“Well, will Naruto-sama be dining in with us today?”

So he’s officially a friend, not just a classmate! He quickly glances at the pink menu on display that shows sparkly photos of uber-cute food and desserts. That are a little pricy. “Maybe another day. I just wanted to stop in to say hi.”

“Okay. We hope you come again soon!” The other maid bows, Hina-tan bows, and he gives her a lingering look and smile before leaving.

So there’s this guy she’s been sitting next to in class. Heart-stoppingly cool.

Tall!

Short, light hair. Like that “best friend of the emo-love interest” type of characters in all the shoujo manga she read growing up.

Strong eyes and warm smile. Like he always seems to know what’s going on in class, participating a lot, but it turns out he’s just really good at faking it. “Yeah, I don’t do the readings very often, but the discussions are always interesting! So I’m really enjoying the class!”

Healthy, tan skin. Call it her dreamy-rebellious side, but she has a thing for guys who look like they don’t care about traditional beauty standards. (Don’t expect to catch her without sunscreen on, though.)

He talks with a kind of roughness that also just sounds of sunshine and carelessness, but everything he says seems sincere. Like whatever comes out of his mouth is thoughtlessly flung out into the open while also being the most kind encouragements or clever jokes.

He’s funny. Nice to mostly everyone. When they’re together in class, she can almost forget about all the stress of college life, all the stress of the expectations from her father.

Naruto’s just so cool, it’s a miracle he even talks to her. It’s a miracle he includes her in his conversation, despite how quiet she is. It’s a miracle he even messages her, and she supposes that he must just be that nice and sociable.

Just absolutely one of the coolest people she’s ever met, and so she knows he absolutely would be weirded out by her secret hobbies.

So.

Why was he here in her workplace calling her “really cute” and “Hina-tan” with a huge smile?

How did he find out her secret so quickly after asking her about her part-time job??? Isn’t that coincidence too much? Why must the world do this to her???

To her great relief, she finds his message soothing her worries after her shift is over. “Sorry to surprise you like that today. I was really just passing by and happened to see you. Btw the maid outfit really suits you!”

Pleased heat rises to her cheeks. A kind of giddiness flits about her heart. “Thank you 😊 I was happy to see you” On reflection, yes, she was surprised, and she would’ve liked forewarning, but of course she was still glad to get to see him. Outside of the classroom. So it feels like their relationship has deepened past an initial friendship. Afterall, only her childhood friends know about how she likes to dress up and pretend she’s in a different world. None of her family knows. And…based on his reaction, maybe he’s not weirded out at all? “And I hope I didn’t make you feel like you couldn’t stay. You are welcome to visit again”

Surprisingly, he responds fairly quickly. “Only if Hina-tan is my server!”

He’s calling her by that nickname!!! “🙈 Okay, I’d be happy to! I work on Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday”

The following week, he’s got a huge grin on when he greets her in class. He’s even more open and friendly to her. And, as expected, he visits the maid cafe that Saturday with an antisocial-looking boy who seems like he’d rather not be there and a fashionable girl with pink hair.

She hopes the girl is just a friend of his and not something more. He hasn’t said anything about a girlfriend…

After she’s taken them to a table, he introduces her to them. “This is Hinata, my friend in my lit class. Hinata, this is Sasuke and Sakura.”

“Hello,” she greets, noticing how Sakura has a big smile. “Thank you for coming today.”

“Ohh, it’s my first time in a maid cafe! I’ve always wanted to try one. I’m so glad Naruto invited us to come here! You look so adorable!”

“Thank you,” she replies. If Sakura actually is Naruto’s girlfriend, she can’t be too upset about it when it seems like she’s really nice.

They order the only meal items, the nya-nya cat omurice, sweet curry doggy, and sleeping bear croquette, and when it comes time to pay, Naruto pays for his own dish. Sasuke pays for Sakura’s.

Hope rises in her heart once more.

“If you’re not busy tomorrow, you should join us at the movies!” Sakura invites.

“Oh! I might be able to.” She chances a glance at Naruto and he’s nodding.

He smiles. “I’ll send you the details. I hope you can join us.”

His warm tone makes her feel all fluttery inside. “Okay.”

As they’re leaving, she notices Sakura giving him a light punch on the arm, and they’re elbowing each other in a friendly way. He turns, catching her stare, and he gives her the cutest smile, yet.

“I hope you can join us.” His words replay in her mind even after they’ve left the cafe.

She might be jumping to conclusions…she may be making wild assumptions…but she thinks… She thinks that maybe…she was just invited to something like a double-date.

To Naruto’s message with the movie details, she replies, “I can come. Thank you for inviting me!”

“Great! See you tomorrow!”

“See you tomorrow :)”

Thanks to Sakura and Sasuke’s cooperation, he’s been able to hang out with Hinata this weekend. It turns out that Hinata enjoys anime, too, and she had been wanting to see this live-action adaptation.

And now that the movie is over, the couple is pretending they have to leave, and he’ll be able to ask her out on a real date.

“Thank you for coming out with us today, Hinata! Sasuke-kun and I have to go, so we can’t have dinner with you guys, but this was really fun!” Maybe Sakura should be trying to be an actor instead of a doctor.

“Thank you for inviting me. The movie was really good.” Hinata is picture-perfect polite and soft-spoken as usual.

“It was fun. See you guys.” Even Sasuke is approving of Hinata, having commented after the maid cafe that she’s not annoyingly try-hard cutesy the way he worried she would be.

“See you guys later! Thanks for coming out!” He bids goodbye to his childhood friends and turns to face Hinata.

She turns a shy smile up at him.

“So…would you like to get dinner with me?”

“Okay,” she agrees quietly, smiling, and the hyper-awareness surrounding them in their new solitude is too much for him.

He decides to just address it, and with adrenaline running smooth in his veins, he asks, “Can we call it a date?”

Her eyes widen, her cheeks pinken, and she nods with a bigger smile. “Yes, I’d like that.”

He finds himself mirroring her expression. “Alright,” he cheers. “Anywhere you want to go?”

“Mmm… how about we just walk around to look first?”

“Sure!”

He’s glad he happened to find out about her part-time job. Because, to be honest, he thinks he wouldn’t have thought they might be a good match. He wouldn’t have known she’s more than just a pretty face and a nice attitude. He would’ve been content to exist as her classmate-friend, just a friendly face in their literature class.

He wouldn’t have found out that she’d like a date with him, too.

And now, he can��t help but wonder what other unexpected miracles await him with her.

#thank you for reading!#nhmonth2023 #“Cookies” because I can only write small things

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lensman-arms-race · 7 months

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~3,400 word Titan TV (Skibidi Toilet) fanfic

The reader (human, no gender specified) helps to perform maintenance on Titan TV and then enjoys a cuddle-pile with the engineers inside the Titan's core chamber. (A few swear words.)

I posted this on Tumblr earlier and I received such sweet feedback from @gamie99! Thank you so much for the lovely words! (Also thank you to @tabieeee; I noticed your nice tags too.) 💜💜💜

I am dissolving with joy at this feedback; you both inspired me to post this to AO3!

#skibidi toilet #skibidi toilet fanfic #skibidi fanfic #skibidi tags: hardwares #skibidi tags: tv faction #skibidi tags: titans #skibidi tags: titan tv #lensman tags: fanfic

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handeaux · 15 days

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Cincinnati’s Old-Time Streetcars Were Notorious Death Machines

Cincinnati’s commuters have complained about mass transit since the first horse-drawn omnibuses started hauling passengers in 1859. By the late 1880s, the Queen City offered a selection of transport systems, from steam-powered inclines to equine-powered horsecars that struggled to ascend the city’s hills to a couple of cable-car routes on Vine Street and Gilbert Avenue. Each had its detractors.

It appeared that a new age dawned in 1889, when the Kilgour brothers introduced electric street cars as a replacement for horsecars and cable cars. The newfangled trolleys zipped up Cincinnati’s steepest hills, obviating the need to add auxiliary horse or mule teams on the steeper routes. The electric cars required far less maintenance than the cable cars that often, literally, froze up on icy winter days.

Despite their contemporary styling and innovative power systems, the new electric streetcars had one small but persistent drawback. They killed lots of people.

The years 1906 and 1907 were particularly bloody along Cincinnati’s streetcar lines. The Cincinnati Post [21 March 1907] tallied 22 fatalities caused by streetcars in 1906 and an additional 13 deaths in the first three months of 1907.

The Post’s report coincided with a national exposé titled “The Needless Slaughter by Street Cars” in the nationally distributed Everybody’s Magazine. Journalist and author John P. Fox slammed transit monopolies in cities across the United States for their dismal and deadly safety records. According to Fox:

“If along every mile of street railway track in the United States a headstone was raised for every death by accident the routes we travel would resemble one long drawn-out cemetery.”

Cincinnati’s death records and morgue records as preserved at the University of Cincinnati Archives support Fox’s contention. More than a hundred deaths between 1890 and 1910 are documented in these files as being caused directly or indirectly by street cars. There was 57-year-old Martha Fuchs, who died from injuries on 19 September 1908 after falling from a crowded streetcar. There was five-year-old Philomena Armenti, run over by a streetcar in 1906. And a physician, Dr. Edward Schaefer, 44 years old, who succumbed to injuries caused by a streetcar collision.

The streetcar companies and their employees regularly blamed the victims for carelessness. The Cincinnati Enquirer [1 September 1894] printed the complaint of a streetcar driver regarding pedestrians during rush hour:

“We don’t run 60 miles an hour, but you can kill a man just as quick at 12 miles an hour, and it shakes you up just as much. There isn’t a gripman but dreads to make the downtown loop during rush hours.”

And those were just the fatalities! Little Florien Bercheit was only five years old when he fell under the wheels of a streetcar. His legs were so mangled they were both amputated and he lived the rest of his years supported by crutches while dragging two wooden stumps along the streets. James Bennett, known as “Big Fiddle,” was a city street inspector, knocked by a passing streetcar into an open excavation in 1907 and paralyzed for life.

Fox’s exposé in Everybody’s Magazine blamed electric street cars in general, but the Post noticed that Cincinnati’s streetcars were far deadlier than those of cities of larger size.

“London is 14 times as large as Cincinnati, yet against the slaughter of 22 in Cincinnati, the biggest city in the world shows on its death roll that only 10 were killed by the surface street cars in 1906.”

According to the Post, Cincinnati’s death toll was the result of greedy traction companies interested in profit at the expense of human life and health.

“Traction companies prefer dividends to the saving of human life. They get fenders such as they use in Cincinnati, which have been declared humbugs by high railroad officials in the United States; they use primitive brakes; they employ inexperienced men; they drive competent motormen away from them by low salaries.”

The quality of “fenders” or guards mounted around the wheels of the streetcar was a particular sore spot to the Post. Streetcar motormen involved in fatal accidents were routinely charged with manslaughter, but the Post found no record that anyone was ever convicted. Instead, the traction company lawyers placed the blame squarely on the victim and the courts never investigated whether better safety fenders or less-crowded cars could have prevented the death.

James Hall, driver on the Price Hill line, complained about the condition of his car when it left the garage on 30 December 1906 for its morning run. His supervisors ignored his observation that the brakes were faulty. Hours later, that car hurtled down Warsaw Avenue as motorman Hall lost control of the vehicle, his brakes entirely useless. The car, containing 38 passengers, accelerated until it reached a hairpin turn halfway down the slope and jumped the tracks, tumbling through the air into the side of the hill. Four people died and 20 were hospitalized. The runaway car crashed into a hillside covered in wet mud, which cushioned the impact and prevented even more fatalities.

Another major streetcar crash with multiple fatalities occurred when a Cincinnati-bound car jumped the tracks in Bellevue, Kentucky and tumbled down a steep hill on 15 February 1901. An inspector blamed the accident on morning frost making the rails at a tight turn too slippery. The transit company blamed officials in Bellevue and Newport for refusing to build a viaduct to bypass the dangerous turn.

Although big crashes made the headlines, most injuries and fatalities involved single individuals. In fact, the same edition of the paper that carried the news of the Bellevue accident reported the death of four-year-old William Crary of Baymiller Street. Attempting to cross the road, he was struck by a streetcar and “horribly mutilated.” Young William died en route to the hospital.

As automobiles became popular in the 1920s, they caused so many traffic deaths that Cincinnati’s abundant streetcar fatalities faded from memory.

#cincinnati transit #cincinnati streetcars #cincinnati trolleys

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wario-speedwagon · 4 months

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Dave and Old Sport Adopt a Kid: Chapter 12

Hello! Greetings! I hope you're ready for an angsty one >:] Full chapter below the cut <3

Chapter 1 Chapter 11

Chapter 12

The two uncostumed employees were disgruntled that their friendly competition was cut so prematurely, as they'd only just gotten out of their suits fifteen minutes ago after a couple hours of dicking around—er, performing in them. And now they were already heading back to those smelly things again.

But Jack wasn't quite as bitter as Dave was, considering that regardless of Dave's cheating scandal, he'd left off with the higher score.

“Maybe we can at least spend some time looking for Pruny while we're costumed again.”

Oh, he was still hung up on that?

“You sure are a worrywart. She'll be fine, she's a big kid who's fine on her own.”

“Yeah, but you never know if someone'll snag her while we're not watching or something…”

Jack just shot him a judgemental look in the eyes that said ‘are you serious?’

Dave had always had a glaring blind spot for his own hypocrisy. Jack had come to notice this over time: that instead of maliciously unfair and double-standarded, Dave was just more often horrendously self-unaware.

Case in point was him having the gall to adopt a kid he was just about to murder with zero sense of irony.

While it sometimes made it a little bit easier to forgive some sleights of his, it was far from a source of comfort.

The two had marched down the shabby maintenance hallway, and at the end of it, Dave casually pushed open the hidden Saferoom door.

The puppet reacted immediately by standing itself squarely between them and Pruny in the latter's defense. Though Pruny was visibly excited by the new visitors. At least for a moment.

“Oh not you again.”

“Dave Miller. This child and I were just on our way out.”

“You were on your way out. Leave the kid alone, comprende?”

Pruny’s excitement immediately dissipated upon seeing how the two were reacting to this puppet with such stern demeanors. And as she “listened” to what Dave said, she realized that this was a two way conversation they were having with it.

“No, you ‘comprende,’ Miller: you and your loser friend will give up on claiming your fifth victim. If you do it nicely, I might even let you both live to see another day!”

“I'm telling you, creep-ass, the girl stays with us—”

“And you, Jack.”

Empty eyes filled with a child’s soul were suddenly piercing through Jack’s own racing thoughts. Jack had not said a single word, and it was because he was busy sorting out how to feel after this unexpected and sudden reunion. He’d not faced her personally since he’d…

“... Yeah?” he feigned nonchalantly.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“...I have nothing to say to you.”

“Because the last time I saw you, you and I were in agreement about Dave.”

Jack was silent for a good few seconds, carefully measuring his next words.

“…From now on, this won't be happening again,” he cautiously negotiated.

“Ha! Is that right!? Now that’s not what you would lead me to believe after your actions yesterday!”

“A lot has happened since then.” His voice continued to carry an uncanny calm, but—

“…But is that a promise, Kennedy?”—the only thing Pruny could see was how tense Jack’s composure was and how tightly he clinged to his own wrist.

“I’ve since sworn off making promises.”

“Then your word is only as good as your soul.”

“I have no soul, Dee.”

“Is that a confession or an excuse?”

“—Sorry, but I’m lost,” Dave interrupted, looking to Old Sport. “What's up with you and this thing? You two got history?”

“I'll, uh, fill you in later…”

“No, Jack Kennedy, there won't BE any more ‘later.’ Not anymore.”

“Watch it, pal. I may not’ve designed you, but I sure as hell know how to disassemble you…the right way, and the fun way.”

Pruny finally gathered the courage to dash toward them, but a dark, clawed arm held her back.

The Puppet slowly creaked its head back to face Dave.

“I don't fear you anymore, William. Not after all you've done to me, and not after all you’ve done to everyone after me. And certainly not after what you've done to Jack.”

“Mind jogging my memory who Jack is again? One of yer kid friends I took or something?”

But the nausea in Jack’s stomach was only growing worse, and he could feel his face growing pale.

“You don't even remember what you did to Jack Kennedy. And apparently neither does he.”

“‘Kennedy’ huh? I'll sleep on the name tonight, alright?”

“Oh, there’ll be plenty of ‘sleeping’ for you after I'm finished with the both of you.”

Pruny had carefully snuck her way over to her protectors' sides after seeing how threateningly tense the situation had gotten, and she huddled up between both their sides, one hand on each shirt.

That helped to ground Jack back down from a rising panic.

“Prune,” he voiced silently, his usual comforting tone failing to come out. “Get out of here.”

The Puppet returned her attention to Jack, but said nothing.

Meanwhile, Pruny's nerves had turned to fear, and to that she responded by gripping both of their shirt-tails closer to her.

Jack immediately moved to shove Pruny out of the Saferoom door, only to feel claws bore into his shoulders with enough force that he himself was pushed against the wall next to the door. The claws didn’t release, and in his ear:

“I won’t let you hurt another child.”

But before he could think to respond—

“You asked for it.” And before they knew it, the Puppet itself had been shoved onto the floor by Dave who was now standing over her.

She quickly moved back to her feet, but a forceful aubergine arm immediately pushed her back down and kept her pinned her to the floor.

“I’m gonna enjoy this, you right pain in the ass! Here's to years of gettin' in my way!” And with his other free hand, he whipped out a crowbar, arm raised and poised for a strike—

—and forcefully hugged back by Old Sport…?

“Don’t, please—...”

“Wha…?”

The Puppet took this brief window as an opportunity to retreat.

And the aubergine and tangerine just traded bewildered and bewildering looks, raised arm still trapped by the other’s desperate embrace.

But a set of claws flashed across Dave’s face, followed by his shout in pain and the loud clattering of a dropped crowbar.

“Shit—!!!”

Dave staggered back a few steps, giant hand pressed tightly against the side of his face, and without thinking, Jack ran to intercept the Puppet’s next lunge toward him—

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

Where is he where is he—

“Hey youngster, don’t run so fast!”

Please, where is he—

She felt someone running behind her, and to her relief, it was exactly who she needed!

And…

And then…

Then it started to sink in…

She froze up in panic.

“Are you okay, miss?”

He was staring at her, probably waiting for her to say something, she needed to say something—!

“He—H-He…”

It wouldn’t come out, it never does, why not!?

“Plea— the— I—” She couldn’t decide what sound to start with, so her wasted voice turned into panicked gasp for air.

“Kiddo, slow down, one word at a time.”

The Phone Man lowered himself to one knee down to her level. That was good, it meant she still had his attention despite saying nothing yet.

So she really needed to—!

She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him along, and thankfully he got the message right away to follow so she ran for the Saferoom.

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

He’d done the right thing, but he’d done a horribly wrong thing.

It was only one strike. That’s all it took for the gravity of his impulse to crash over him.

That he’d attacked her.

The loud clatter at his feet startled him. The crowbar had apparently slipped from his shaking hands.

“Jack, why do you defend him?” said the now-malfunctioning Puppet with an open gash to its newly-cracked mask revealing damaged circuitry inside. “Do you not care what he did to us?”

He didn’t have an answer. He’d hoped up to this point that he’d never need to come up with one. Getting to see her again was the one wish of his he never wanted granted after all this.

“Why…? Why would you join him?”

Jack still stared back in short supply of an adequate response.

“Did my death really mean so little to you that you'd befriend my murderer?”

He couldn’t take this anymore, this was too much—

“Dee, I’m sorry…”

The Puppet remained silent, as if waiting for Jack to continue.

But that was the only thing he could find in himself to say.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say about it?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re a coward.”

“...Sportsy, don’t go apologizin’ to that thing.”

Dave had gotten to his feet, hand still pressed against half his bleeding face but otherwise not at all deterred.

“I dunno who she is to you, but I don’t care. Anyone who threatens to hurt my partner can die before they get the chance.

Congrats, kid; you’re finally done with that freaky body.”

“No, Dave, don’t.”

Dave was careful not to turn his gaze away from the puppet this time when asking, “Why?”

“Disable her all you like, but don’t you dare do anything to hurt her.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she challenged bitterly.

“Challenge accepted—” but Dave’s threat didn’t land as the puppet immediately scrambled to swipe at his feet and tripped him onto his butt.

“Stop it, both of you!”

That ended up being far more effective than Jack expected as both combatants quickly paused their violent scrambling to give him their attention.

“Dave, I’m dead serious. If you lay another hand on her, I’ll make sure you never walk again.”

Dave was stunned to complete silence by the seriousness behind that threat.

“And you, Dee. I know you have no reason to believe me ever again—”

“Save it, Jack. I’m not interested in what you have to say anymore.”

“Dee, just listen to me—”

“You listen to ME, Jack Kennedy! If I see you or Dave with that girl or any other child ever again—”

But her threat, too, fell flat when Pruny ran up out of nowhere to hug Jack’s legs.

“Prune, what’re—!?”

“What on earth is going on in here?”

All faces turned to the Phone Guy in the doorway. Well, all except for Pruny’s teared up face that was pressed against Jack’s thigh.

No one said anything in answer, so Scott spoke up again. “I see the ‘Puppet’ is out and actively trying to kill you. I warned you you’d regret it if you let its music box run out.”

Again, no one had a response to give.

“Alright; Dave, go ahead and do your thing and disable it, we all know how much you love to do it.”

“You think we haven’t tried!?”

“Then dismantle it the messy way, whatever it takes!”

But Dave nervously glanced toward Jack whose hard stare back was not permitting. Yet before Dave could utter a word in response, the puppet had already made a sudden dash for the Saferoom entrance, pushing aside the Phone Guy in her path.

“Dee, wait—!”

“‘Dee’?” But Jack ignored him to walk after her—but remembering he still had an aubergine child clinging to him, he stopped his pursuit.

“You two have a lot to explain in the office.”

Although what Scott secretly wanted to know most was why the names ‘Dee’ and ‘Kennedy’ were being thrown around.

(Chapter 13)->

#I've had this scene envisioned vaguely in my head for a long time now #and it's so cool to finally get to this point and see it written out and shared for you all!#dsaf #dayshift at freddys #dayshift at freddy's #dsaf fanfic #jack kennedy #dave miller #dee kennedy #dsaf jack #dsaf dave #dsaf dee #jack dsaf #dave dsaf #dee dsaf

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yanderedbdimagines · 2 years

Note

How about a survivor who somehow knows of the Archives existence and took the chance to leave the campfire in search for it in hopes of escaping the Entity’s realm one way or another, only to accidentally stumble into the Hillbilly’s territory who’s absolutely obsessed with them? A scenario would be nice! Thank you!

-------

You have no idea how much I like this! :D Personally, I have the feeling that the Archives might be the closest thing to a get-away from the horrors in the Entity’s realm any person stuck there could wish for. Especially since the Observer, the one operating the Archives, knows more about the realm than any of the killers and the survivors ever could. Of course, if I read the lore right, the Observer doesn’t know how to leave the realm himself, but it might be the safest place in the Fog for the survivor to be in, I bet.

--------

The Hillbilly

The disfigured man hears whispers in the wind, directing him to the east side of the unkept farm- his farm. He listens intently and grips his chainsaw and hammer even more tightly in his rough hands. A warning from the Entity- warning him that there is an intruder near his land. But which one could it be? One of the young adults dressed with a grinning mask? The tall man in blue overalls and a white face that acts as a mask? A strange creature with a flower-shaped mouth lined with razor-sharp teeth that is actually its face?

He shivers restlessly, white-hot fury already bubbling up in his lanky body and burning his veins in the process. He never really had a good relationship with any of the killers, not even the one he got to know as Bubba Sawyer, the Cannibal. In fact, the only moment the two of them willingly interact with one another is when they exchange the Hillbilly’s slaughtered pigs for Bubba’s mechanical parts and maintenance products for chainsaws and agricultural vehicles. Nothing more, nothing less. If it weren’t for that, Max might have attacked that stupid man a long time ago; jealousy, bloodlust and self-preservation of his own skin the main motives. Not that his face is worthy enough to be worn, apparently.

And before you wonder, he saw and still sees flashes of the Cannibal’s past any time the two interact. Maybe that's a way for the Entity to keep the Hillbilly's killer's motives at a high level and keeping him on his toes as result. A strange way to keep the killers isolated from each other and motivated to kill each other all at the same time- sharing corruption and twisted emotions. The dark being basically dangles it in front of the heads of some who need the discipline that friendship is not, and never will be, an option given all their natures and upbringings. And that the anger and frustration that almost always ensues after such interactions, and is often fueled by misunderstandings, can only be extinguished during trials. Well, most of the time, because a killer killing another killer does happen occasionally, but not as often as it would have if the Entity had not interfered when necessary.

He approaches the edge of the outer boundary of Coldwind farm and sees from afar that a shadow is moving rapidly in the dark thicket. A bush rustles and whips aside before the swaying of tall corn stalks implies that the unknown killer thought it a good idea to position itself in the fields. Precisely the fields that are a part of his territory....

His breathing becomes shallow and filled with resentment as he himself walks straight into the dark yellow vegetation, his beady eyes peering for a head to violently smash his bulky hammer against and show them that this kind of provocation might as well be their death sentence.

He is already brandishing the hammer high above his head as he approaches the familiar crunch of footfalls on dry ground, but slows down when he notices that the intruder seems a lot smaller than he expected; just a tad bit taller than that skinny lady with the big hand.

He swings anyway when a hooded head pops fully into view, only to be paralyzed to the bone when an all too familiar pitch of the voice makes his ears twitch as the figure dodges the hammer at the last possible moment, hitting nothing but greenery instead.

You change your course and run as fast as you possibly can, your backpack rippling during the movement. Max stares after you in a mesmerized daze.

It’s you…

Why are you here?

In the few years he has served the Entity thus far, he has rarely encountered a survivor wandering so far from the safety of a campfire as the one after the latest mass shift. The last time he saw a survivor within his area in such a manner was many months ago.

No. He doesn’t want to think about that- about him…

He is not delusional. He understands that you are not here for him. For you, a very unfavorable situation that came through a bout of bad luck. But for him, exactly the opposite is the case. Although, he is still very curious about where you were headed to. Maybe that backpack of yours can give him more insight into that? after all, he doubts you'll tell him voluntarily. As he learned from TV, some people will do almost anything to hide a secret from a person they dislike, no matter how insignificant it is.

He shakes his head, the anger in his blood gradually replaced by an emotion much lighter and more heavenly as he drops his tools with a thud. He won’t need them right now… Not with you…

He straightens his back, his spine popping loudly in the process before quickly limping after you at a speed even faster than before.

You don’t stand a chance.

You scream as something heavy quickly tackles you to the ground, yanking your backpack off you and throwing it somewhere to the side before pinning you belly-side down to the ground. You try to turn around, struggling in the process, and try to swipe an arm back whenever you see an opening. In response, he simply grabs your wrists before nailing them down as well.

Whilst you are shortening your life span through unfiltered inner panic alone, as ecstatic the Hillbilly is with finally having you within his grasp in a way he could have never dreamed of before.

Sure, it's clear that there's still a lot of work to be done to get you to trust him, but there's now hope and a solid goal for him to work on. One that is now approachable and seemingly possible to achieve.

He just hopes that you will also open yourself up to the idea of spending the rest of your life close by his side.

The very first step would be to try and get you to talk about why you left the survivor's camp in the first place.

#dbd #dead by daylight #reader #insert #dbd x reader #yandere #reader insert #hillbilly #max thompson jr #archives

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sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee · 3 months

Note

Hiii I’d like to request a love letter from the Riddler pretty please. My OC is like a robot/android made by Lex Luthor that gained human consciousness. She’s like super insecure because she looks human but she knows she’s not real.

"Physical Record" Riddler x f!reader (Valentine's Day Event)

NGL, I've been excited for this one because wow what a concept. You're really going full-in on the OC and I love that for you. This ask is for the ongoing Valentine's Day Event!

TW: None

The letter was a strange thing to find on the dining room table of your shared home. He easily could have sent an email or a text message and you would have gotten it instantly. Yet here it was, a envelope with your name written on the outside. If you look to the side, you notice there are multiple paper scraps thrown in the trash. Letters that didn't make the cut. This was important.

To my Galatea,

We spoke of many things recently- the nature of humanity. The creation of your robotics chips, your synthetic synapses and electrical wiring. How it relates to what makes you physically. It is merely a segment of what makes your being.

We both know the half-life of the digital world. The erasure of internet records at the whim of a server wipe-out. Computer programs that become outdated and archives lost. Despite my own fondness for it all, I recognize that it's the physical that remains within the confines of museums. And so, I leave you with a physical record of my feelings.

One day, when I am long gone, and your components no longer run, I hope that this letter will remain. When the historians look upon us and wonder what we were to each other- let them know that I love you. I want them to know that you are a person, as real as I am.

Even as I peel away your plates for maintenance, and replace the coolant and antifreeze inside of your body, I see you. Our minds exist beyond the barriers of flesh and metal to something deeper. A soul? I'm not quite sure, but if anyone had such a thing, it would be you.

You are more human than any person I know. I think we should make letters our new "thing." Let them serve as echoes of us beyond the limits of our own time. Physical. Frail. Human.

In aeternum te amabo,

Edward Nygma

#Edward Nygma #edward nygma x f!reader #foxwriting #the riddler #the riddler x reader #foxy valentines event

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turnipstewdios · 10 months

Text

Half-Lives, chapter 13

For all its flaws, and there were many, many flaws, Gotham actually had decent road maintenance.

Oh there were plenty of areas of the city where the roads were shit. The areas where the rich people lived were always given first priority, and nobody in city planning really gave a fuck about Crime alley or the Bowery, but large sections of the city road network were reasonably well maintained. Bludhaven’s were not. So Jason always had to be careful when he brought his bike over this way, lest he ram into one of the bottomless potholes that littered the cracked pavement. It was even worse with a passenger, and he didn’t want to rattle Danny around too much. The actual road to the Zoo itself was halfway decent, mainly because it was on the outskirts of Gotham rather than in Bludhaven proper. But the side trip he had planned for later would be rough.

Still, he managed to get to the Zoo’s parking lot without rattling himself or his passenger halfway back to death, and found a decent parking spot that wasn’t too far from the entrance. It was also close enough to the toll-booth that no one should be tempted to try stealing it. Not that they could, his baby’s security was way too good for that. “So, where should we head first?” Jason asked as they walked towards the entrance.

“Eh, I don’t have a preference. I would like to tour the walk-in aviary at some point though.” Danny replied. “That’s about halfway through the main loop. Let’s just pick a direction and walk.”

“Sounds good.”

Jason paid for admittance as they went through the check-in. Almost immediately, something seemed to catch Danny’s eye. There was a big, open enclosure full of flamingos near the entry, and Jason saw Danny perk up when he noticed them. Looked like they’d be going that way to start. “You like birds, huh?” “Eh, sort of? I haven't gotten the chance to see many of the ones the pamphlet says they have here.” He leaned on the railing, and watched as a pair of the enormous birds wandered by. “Amity actually did have a zoo, but they had a lot of temporary exhibits. For some reason they never had many birds.” “I thought Amity was a smallish town? How’d they get a zoo?” Danny chuckled. “I, uh, think that might have been Sam’s fault.” “Your friend? How does that work?” “Sam’s parent’s were kinda rich, and Sam was big into conservation and endangered species. I think her parents funded the place.” He scoffed. “Not that she really liked it. She wasn’t a fan of keeping animals in captivity, and kept complaining about their living conditions.” “Huh.” Jason watched as a flamingo wandered close to Danny, eyeing him over the top of the fence. Jason had stayed a healthy distance back from the enclosure.

Animals didn’t tend to like him much. He’d wondered briefly on the way here if that was because of the ghost thing, but Danny seemed to be doing fine. It was probably because of the pits. “Wait a minute.” Jason thought back to something he’d heard from Babs the other day. “Wasn’t there something about Amity Park and endangered Gorillas?” To his surprise, Danny… groaned. Loudly. “God, don’t remind me.” He rubbed a hand down his face, seeming to forget about the bird for a moment as it wandered off. “Why? What’s the matter?” “Uhg. Bad memories. Amity hosted one of the two Purple-backed gorillas that was alive at the time for a bit. There was… a thing. That happened.” Oh, Oh yeah, Jason was remembering more of the conversation now. “Don’t you have your name on a research paper about them? It was like the only bit of scientific literature the family could find.” Danny’s head thumped into the wooden rail on the fence. “Yeah, yeah. Figures that would make it out.” “Hmm.” Jason wondered if he should have picked another destination for the day. “I think there’s currently a Purple-back gorilla exhibit here, at this zoo. Should we avoid that?” He asked. “You're kidding.” Danny looked flatly at Jason out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, you’re not kidding. Damn.” He sighed. “It’s fine. We may as well go see them, and we just got here, I’m not about to leave now.” He began to walk down the path towards the next exhibit. “Just so long as I don’t end up spending the whole night watching them, or getting attacked by a ghost who wants to skin me.” Jason stood staring after him for a second, trying to process that. “Skin you? Danny? Danny?! What?” He chased after him, determined to get an explanation for that. Read the rest on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48120073/chapters/123852799

#danny phantom #batman #danny fenton #dead on main #dp x dc #jason todd #dc x dp #danny fenton x jason todd #dc xdp #Half-lives #fic #fanfiction

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fan-fic-favs · 9 months

Text

While You Were Sleeping

Pairing: Bang Chan x Superhero!Reader (fem)

Summary: You were a fan before you got your powers. You never imagined you'd meet him, let alone be able to help your favourite vlogger/singer/producer.

Warnings: none

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The sand people.

That was the name the public had affectionately given to the group of superheros that had a similar set of powers. But unlike the Star Wars characters that were often looked down upon, the sand people all over the world received high praise. With powers that could simply put a super-villain or terrorist to sleep or in a coma, without causing any damage to city or neighbour's property, it was easy to end up in their good books.

The powers came to you all in different ways. Your story was nothing to make headlines; you were working at the archives in a museum, doing the annual counts in person for the accountants you worked for, when you came across an unmarked box in the corner. Following procedure, you lifted it to find a large yellow jewel instead. You didn't get much of a chance to inspect it, when you touched it, you were later found asleep next to where it had been, with the box nowhere to be seen. You were never able to find that box again afterwards, much to your chagrin. And so you went about your week, not thinking much about it until a friend at work mentioned they couldn't sleep. All it took was a thought from you, and a small amount of sand appeared in your palm and streamed across the room, and your friend was asleep.

That was easily the freakiest day of your life, you had flipped out, vacuumed up the sand in the office, and woken up your coworker before anyone could see what happened. Then you had rushed to the security cams, and wiped the past few minutes before anyone could see. They weren't monitored, and you had been tasked to help set them up, so hopefully you could claim just doing maintenance if anyone asked.

A couple months into testing your powers on people on buses and trains (thinking no one would notice in a place people often fell asleep anyway), you were approached by one of the sand people, and the rest is history.

Being on their team hadn't affected your life too much, the teams costume covered your whole face and included a cape and hood, there weren't any crazy fights, and you were able to still work online at your old job. You had no boyfriend, stayed in touch with your friends, and still watched silly YouTube videos. You avoided teleporting too much as it took a lot of energy out of you.

Besides helping out with hero work, the sand people also ran much sought after sleep clinics, and worked with doctors and researchers on sleep science. So far you had discovered that you needed to be within a kilometer of the person you were focused on, which helped a lot for villans that could turn invisible. With that knowledge, you now knew exactly which street corner you needed to get to in order to help your mum with her insomnia. It had been a hard week for her, you sent a quick good night text to her before driving back home for the night.

You even still kept your JYP bubble app, which you kept secret from everyone you knew. The little messages brought a smile to your face, and it took so long to get enough space for decent replies, you just couldn't bring yourself to delete it.

Scrolling through short videos after you got back home, a bubble notification popped up. Once again, Bang Chan, one of the idols you had on bubble, couldn't sleep. You really wished you could help him, but felt like a bit of a creep to give sleep to those who hadn't asked for it or weren't villains.

Quickly, you checked Twitter for any upcoming events. Surely one time wouldn't hurt, right? He had sent so many messages about not being able to sleep lately. It should seem pretty natural if he finally got one good night's sleep, right? It was the least you could do, for all the free content he provided on his streams that kept you entertained. Mind made up, you stood up, preparing to teleport to Seoul.

Thankfully you had been to Seoul before, and landed softly at Namsan Tower. You had googled where the JYP offices were, but unfamiliar locations often required more energy to teleport to, so you opted for the tower and took a bus from there, payment card in hand from your last trip there.

You really hoped he was texting from his studio there, because you had no idea where the dorms were, and already felt intrusive enough showing up outside his workplace. This was already kind of crossing the self made boundaries you had put in place.

Reaching out and picturing his face, sand collected in your hand and soon streamed out to find its mark. Happy your trip had not been for nothing, you skipped happily down the street before teleporting back home.

You went over your actions once you returned, fretting over if you'd been noticed. You knew the sand was nearly invisible to any security cameras, and going without your costume drew less attention. You didn't need your fellow sand people up in your business about why you were in Seoul.

Feeling good about your (hopefully) good deed, you went to sleep after watching some TV.

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

The next morning, a new message showed on your Bubble app.

짜니 : I think I was visited by a sand person??

짜니 : Or one of the kids is pranking me.

짜니 : Probably pranking me lol

Eyes widening you threw your phone to your bed. Then paced the room. Then looked back at your phone. Yep, the messages were still there. It could be blamed on pranking someone, right? You just wouldn't do it again, and everything would be fine.

But not long after, Chan's insomnia and late night messages returned. He raved about how good he slept when he got a "sand visit", and wished he had time for one of their sleep clinics.

You paced the room, trying to figure out a way to get away unnoticed with gifting him some sleep. A small amount of sand, less than a handful, was always found around a targets head. If you could make sure the sleep was deep enough, you should be able to vacuum up the sand before anyone noticed. Unfortunately, a few problems still stood in your way. One, you had no idea where Chan was at any given time, and didn't want to turn to any sasaeng websites to find out, that definitely felt like it crossed a line. Two, you weren't sure how to keep others from hearing the vacuum. If where he was was loud enough to cover the sound of the vacuum, it wouldn't be believable enough for him to fall asleep on his own.

You really wished there was some way to just talk to him, if you could get permission, your conscience would be at ease. But how do you contact someone you don't personally know?

Frustrated, you gave up again and went to bed. Maybe in the morning you could bounce ideas off your best friend, she always had the best solutions.

----

Morning came and you felt guilty again seeing the app messages from after you fell asleep.

짜니 : Do you think sand people can make themselves fall asleep?

짜니 : I'm so jealous~~~

Unfortunately, the powers could not be used on yourself, but another sand person could help, if your mind was willing to accept the help. Maybe you could hold an info session with him. No. You still wanted to keep your Para social relationship with the guy a secret.

Determined to figure this out so you could stop thinking about it, you made sure to pick up a sleep clinic shift with one of your local teammates, another sand lady who went by "The Dame".

Waiting for the computer to process the test results, you bounced a few ideas off of her.

"So you want to help someone who has helped you a lot, but they don't know you, and they don't live nearby?"

"Ya, pretty much." You sighed in frustration, unable to have come up with a solution.

"Hmm, what if you did one of those clinic tours some sand people do? You could send him an official invite as a thank-you."

Your eyes brightened as you considered it. "That's perfect! Yes, and, and I could send invites to others too so that he doesn't feel singled out and doesn't get the creeps!"

"Haha, you're always so concerned with the creeps." She shook her head.

"Oh come on, you don't think some random super showing up and messing with your sleep is creepy?"

"I dunno, could be sexy." She wiggled her eyebrows through her mask.

"Uhhhhh, sure. Cause waking up to sand around you is so sexy."

"Could be. Just use your imagination." She grinned like a cat as she rested her head on her laced hands.

You covered your face with your hands. "Ya, my imagination doesn't need any more fuel, thanks. I'm already always imagining how people could get offended over crossing boundaries and consent and all that."

"It's just sleep, not sex. And we only put dangerous villains or medical cases in a coma." She reasoned, crossing her arms.

"Ya, I guess that's true. I'll see if the admins can set up a sleep tour for me, they're always asking for us to do at least one every few years, and I've never done one." You mirrored her crossed arms as you considered the logistics. A quiet moment passed.

"Do you want me to see who else is available?"

You tilted your head as you weighed the options."Nah, I'd like to try on my own, I've already shadowed a couple in the past when I was getting trained."

"Sounds like you've got yourself a plan." She grinned.

------

Sounds like a plan, indeed. You stared at the Seoul invite list on your laptop with your hands on your face, going back and forth over whether or not to hit send. The invites would go to their doctors first, and then the doctors would get in touch with the patients. Christopher Bahng's name blinked back at you.

This was the whole reason you were doing the tour, right? Well, you had to do one eventually, so it was like killing two birds with one stone.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, you closed one eye and clicked send.

There.

Now it was off in cyberspace, unable to be retrieved. You let out a breath and headed to the fridge for a drink.

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

About a week later, you received the replies of those that could make it. Seeing Bang Chan checked as attending, you couldn't help bouncing up and down. The sleep clinics would run for a week, helping attendees to fix their circadian rhythm by being put to sleep at a set time every night. It made a big impact for many who suffered from insomnia, and you hoped it would help Chan too.

You included a frequently asked questions page as well, including answers to questions like 'Can sand people make themselves fall asleep?'

Later that night, your phone lit up with a new message on your app.

짜니 : No way, was my question seen?

짜니 : Can't be, right? If a super was a stay, I wouldn't be able to believe it.

Well, crap. Maybe that was a slip up on your part, but it could also be easily denied. Plenty of people had asked that question before. You let go of the breath you were holding and breathed deeply to calm down. You could do this, you could help and he will never know the visiting super was a stay.

Right?

---

Maybe this was a bad idea. You were supposed to be focused on everyone at the clinic, but your eyes kept coming back to Chan as you went through more Q&A before the first session began, thank God for your full face mask.

Chan was listening attentively, and only took out his phone for a minute once the Q&A had ended.

You phone buzzed before you had a chance to get away from the mic.

"I'm so sorry, I thought I turned that off."

짜니 : Huh, it turns out I was wrong, sand people can't make themselves fall asleep. Gotta make sure I correct myself, not gonna spread misinformation.

You giggled before you realized you were being stared at, with the mic still on a foot away from you.

Clearing your throat, you redirected the attention elsewhere. "If you'll follow the staff to your left, you'll find your sleeping accommodations for this week." You knew the staff were meant to announce directions, but the distraction did its job, and and you let the MC take over the rest of the directions.

You didn't seen Chan staring at you since the giggle you let out, all the way till you exited the conference room.

The research center was set up like a hospital but without the hospital beds. Each room had an arrangement of equipment in the corner, but otherwise the rooms resembled hotel or inn like rooms, with simple beds, many pillows and blankets to choose from, and side tables and chairs. TVs and books were pointedly left out to not give any more extra causes for sleep deprivation.

----

A week later found you in the observation chair with Chan to see if the machines showed any changes in his sleep rhythms. It was the last day of the sleep clinic, and notes needed to be made for the next sand super that came into town to do sleep clinic follow ups.

"I like that phrase, sleep rhythm, maybe I'll use it in our groups next song."

You let out a smothered chuckle, a little exasperated. "Mr. Chan-"

"I know, I know, I should be trying to sleep. Not every day you meet a favourite super."

Your face heated and once again you were glad for the mask. "Well, you're one in a million then, we're not usually anyone's favourites, not very flashy." You admitted.

"I wish I could wear a mask more often like you, I think I look a lot better with a face mask. Maybe I could talk to my staff about it. And I thought I asked to just be called Chan?" He teased.

Oh please no, if you didn't nip this in the bud, he might get ideas about covering his pretty face and then you'd be kicking yourself. "If I call you Chan, will you promise not to wear a mask all the time? I think your fans would cry."

He shook his head and changed the subject. "Is there anyway I can have sand visits all the time? This is the most energy I've had in years, it's like life is in HD." He looked up hopefully, eyes sparkling.

Many patients had made the same comment to sand people in the past, but at the prospect of helping Chan more often with his full consent, you thought of an idea.

"I won't be moving here, but I can let you know when I'm in town? I usually come by a couple times a year for personal or super business."

"Really!?" Chan leapt to sitting up in the bed next to your chair.

"Uh-huh. But just like your phone number is confidential, so is mine. And you'll have to save me under a name that's not suspicious." You quickly added.

"Hmmm, 'Sandy' too on the nose?" He grinned.

You laughed back. "Hmm, ya I think so. Any other ideas?"

"I wish I just knew your name. You know my stage name and my real name. Doesn't that bug guy and other supers not have a secret identity?"

"It's true that sand people can loose the mask if they get their PhD, but it's never been on my to do list. And it makes life that much more difficult. You should know, it's not easy to always be recognized everywhere you go. And in my case, the sand people have a few enemies, if they knew who I cared about, those people would be in danger."

"Awwwe, are you saying you care about me? Are you possibly a fan?" He sing-songed.

"What- why would-?" Your voiced came our cracked and squeaky. "Look, I care about a lot of people, that's why I'm not a villain."

"Haha, Fair enough. Well, I'm honoured to have your contact. I will list it under 'sleep doctor abroad' until I think of something better, deal?"

Happy with the outcome beyond what you had hoped for, you agreed "Deal."

-----

Later while you were almost asleep in your bed, your last night in Seoul before the next city, a message appeared on your Kakao app.

짜니 : HI <sticker>

짜니 : By the way, I forgot to ask, what name did you save me under?👀👀

Sleepyly, you took a screenshot of your screen and sent it.

You stared at the screen for a few seconds while you woke back up, seeing if you would get a reply.

짜니 : Channie?! No way, are you a stay?

Eyes widened as your heart raced, cursing, you were now fully awake. Oh crap. You hadn't even thought of that, you had just copied and pasted his name from the bubble app to your kakao. Unsure of what to do, you tried to play it cool. What could you say to not make it awkward?

You: I like some songs. :)

짜니 : Oh my God, Holy F- Okay, cool, that's cool. What's your favourite song?

You: My first favourite was...

And the conversation carried on back and forth, until you realized the events of the day had made you forget to send the sleep sand to Chan.

You: It's past sleep time! I'm so sorry, sending over the sand now. I can do a follow up visit to make it up to you after my tour is over.

You: That was so unprofessional of me, I'm so sorry.

짜니: Unprofessional means we're friends, right? But I won't say no to another good sleep visit ;)

A winky face?! Oh my God. Was he flirting? Why did he have to make the sleep visits sound like something else? No, it didn't mean anything. Seeing clips of different fan-calls, you knew he did that all the time. Sitting down, you tried to calm down and type your reply.

You: OK, good night. 💤

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

You kicked off your slippers, stepped from the hotel shower, and changed into your pajamas for the last night on your tour. The time difference wasn't too bad between Sydney and Seoul, and you had found little messages from Chan on your phone throughout your tour. Thankfully, the tour went from Mongolia down into Australia, so you were usually still in his time zone or close to it.

Before going to sleep, your opened your phone to check for any missed messages. The notification for the bubble app popped up, bringing a smile to your face. So far, you had neither confirmed nor denied to him that you had that app.

짜니: ugggh, can't sleep again.

짜니: Stay, what are you doing?

Remembering you had promised him one more sand visit once your tour ended, you shot him a text on Kakao.

You: I'm done my tour. Are you sleeping ok? Do you need a follow up visit tonight?

짜니: wow, that was fast.

You: what? My tour? Chan, it's been a few months. Felt pretty long to me.

짜니: No, it's just I just messaged stays that I was tired.

짜니: Preeeeetty sure you have bubble, that's too many coincidences 🤔

You giggled in your bed and sat up to text him more. You side stepped admitting you had bubble and changed the subject.

You: Should I land outside the JYP building? I think that will be close enough to send the sand from if you're there.

짜니: Can't you teleport inside? It's cold out, and I'm sure Sydney is nice and warm right now.

You: It's dangerous to teleport inside buildings I'm not familiar with, someone could get hurt. And I'll put a coat on. I didn't say I was in Sydney, are you following my tour updates in Twitter? 👀👀

짜니: Maybe... are you on bubble?

You: Fair enough. I'll be there in a minute, just grabbing my coat.

짜니: where are you teleporting to? The street? The roof?

You: I'll take a look at google street view and aerial view first, the roof next to, less people get scared that way.

Putting on your coat from your visit to Mongolia, you scrounged up the last of your energy to teleport.

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

The sound of the streets below filled your ears while you took in your new surroundings. You wish you had the energy to enjoy being in Seoul, but you really needed to rest. You had already expended most of your energy on the last reports for the sleep clinic tour that day and sending sleep sand to a last few clients. Gathering the sand to your hand, you jumped when your phone rang, the sand falling to the ground.

You couldn't believe your eyes, it was Chan calling. Shakily, you looked around and hit the answer button, holding it up to your ear. Was he okay? Was something wrong?

"H-Hello? Chan?"

"You picked up! Awesome! Look across the street!"

Looking up you couldn't help but giggle at the sight of Chan jumping up and down at the JYP roof, waving his arm in the air frantically, the other holding his phone to his ear.

"I think it's you who just waved back, but just checking, your not in your costume?" His excited voice rang back.

"Ha, Ya that's me." You stalled, still a little in awe and relived that he was okay. "The costume draws too much attention if I just planned on being in and out."

"Your leaving already?" His voice sounded sad as you saw his hand stop waving and slowly lower. How was he so adorable? It broke your heart.

Your pause left him to fill the silence. "Well at least I know your hair colour now, it looks really pretty, from what I can see over here."

You laughed again into the phone, trying to find the words. Chan was quickly becoming one of your favourite persons to talk to, and you could see yourself quickly falling for him too. You even felt you trusted him enough to let him see you without your costume from far away.

"Chan, I-"

"Don't send the sand just yet. Can we talk for a little more, just like this?"

The emotion in his voice made you want to cry. He used to be just your favourite comfort vlog to watch, but was worming his way further into your heart, and you found it so hard to say no to him, especially when you wanted to spend more time with him too.

"Okay, but just for a little bit, I'm in my pjs and a winter coat."

"Oh! I have some hand warmers! I'm not sure how to get to the roof of that building tho." He looked around to the street below.

"Chan, I'm not wearing my mask."

"Oh..." You weren't sure how to interpret the emotion there. "Um, ya that's OK, I can grab you a face mask too if you're not comfortable with me yet." He sounded a little hurt.

"Hey! I didn't mean it like that, it's just, it's a big step, ok? Only my closest friends know it's me behind the mask."

Silence answered you on the line, and you wondered what you said wrong, how could you make him understand?

"What if I come again another time without the mask? I'm so sorry Chan, it's just teleporting takes a lot out of me and I've already spent most of my energy today." You explained.

"Do you wanna come to my studio and take a nap? Hear a track? Trade a secret for a secret? Only my closest friends hear me making tracks." His voice went higher and higher, sounding hopeful.

You stared in disbelief. Was this really happening? Your little stay heart was jumping up and down at the prospect of hearing a new track from him.

"Ok" Your mouth had already answered before you could really think about it. "But I'd like a mask at first please, at least till we get to the studio." You quickly added. You found reveals were always easier in steps.

You found the alley next to the building and floated down to ground level. Sandies couldn't usually fly, it was almost always more of a controlled fall and some could float. Getting settled, you peeked out of the alley way before you felt a tap on your shoulder.

"I'm not looking!" Chan was in front of you, covering his eyes. "Here's a mask for you." You looked to his outstretched arm to find a mask matching the one on his face. It made sense, being so close to the building, he probably got stopped by fans a lot.

"Thank-you." You took it from his hands and put it on. "You can open your eyes now."

Chan let his hand drop from his eyes and stared.

"Oh wow, damn, ok. Sorry, you, you're gorgeous." He looked at you in adoration.

"Chan," You giggled. "You haven't even seen the rest of my face. It could be severely distorted for all you know."

"Nope. Impossible, I can tell even from when you have your mask on that you have a nice jawline and lips." He crossed his arms in triumph.

You crossed your arms too, matching his stance. "Oh really? You've been looking at my lips?" You flirted.

The tips of Chan's ears went red. "Hey, stop that." He said halfheartedly.

-------

You followed Chan with your eyes as he took to the stairs with a windows facing you, looking for where he stopped so that you could try teleporting and skip the security questions. You appeared behind Chan, and had fun tapping him on the shoulder and scaring him. He took you down the hall to his current studio. Once you settled into a seat near his laptop, you took your mask off. You found in the past that it was like ripping of a band-aid, and much easier if you just got it over with. "Okay, I've revealed my face, time to keep up your end of the deal."

Chan looked over and stared. A smile grew on his face. "See, I told you it's impossible. You're more beautiful than I imagined."

Your face turned beat red. "Hey, you stop that. I know you're used to flirting with stays, but if you keep it up you're going to give me ideas."

Chan grinned back at you and leaned in, even as red covered his cheeks. "And what if I want you to get ideas?"

You stared at him as he stated back at you. You couldn't believe him an shook your head. "Very funny. Actually, no, not funny. Stop playing with my feelings and show me the song."

He paused, looking a little offended, and turned around, apparently letting up to give you some breathing room. You saw his eyes from the side keep glancing back at you as his face stayed turned to the laptop screen. After finding the right file, and listening to make sure it was acceptable, he took the headphones off and put them on your head. The song that played was in English, with only Chan's vocals. It told of a story of a mysterious lady he only ever saw when he couldn't sleep, or in his dreams. There were even a few quotes that you had shared with him as your favourite sayings in your conversations over text. Your eyes teared up at the thought of Chan writing a song for you. You covered your mouth with your hand and tried not to cry, the tiredness of the day and all the excitement and feelings taking over.

Chan turned at the sound of your big sniff, and was alarmed out of his seat. "Hey! Are you ok? I didn't mean to make you cry!" He put his hands on your shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, I'm just a mess. It's just pretty overwhelming to have you write a song for me. I didn't think I'd ever even get to meet you, just see you at concerts." You wiped your tears away while he stared in concern, rubbing your arms.

"Aha! So you have been to our concerts. But we'll talk about that later, come here." He drew you into his arms. You hesitated at first, but quickly hugged back. His hugs were better than you imagined through his vlogs.

Once you calmed down, you let out a deep breath and let go. "I'm so sorry, I can go now, I'm such a mess."

"What? No, you need to take a nap, remember?" His puppy dog eyes looked back at you. Your resolve to run away in embarrassment crumbled. He had you wrapped around his little finger and he didn't even know it.

"Okay, but I'm setting a timer on my phone. Just twenty minutes and that will be enough for me to teleport back. And then you're getting sleep sand mister, don't think I forgot." You tried to sound authoritative but it just came out sleepy.

Chan stared back at you chuckling, seeming to debate arguing. "Okay. I'll finish up what I'm doing and then wake you up."

You fell asleep very quickly after that on the couch while Chan tidied up his things from the day at the studio. Before your alarm went off, Chan sat down next you to get a closer look at your face. He tried to memorize it best he could, feeling taking a picture would break your fragile trust that he had finally built up enough to get this far. His phone lit up in his phone, a message from Han, wondering if he Changbin left his phone in the studio. Chan quickly tried to come up with an excuse, saying he was just packing up before the door opened.

Chan stared at Han, feeling he was caught red-handed.

"Umm, this is not what it looks like." Chan tried to explain.

"Really, cause it looks like you let some lady in her pajams sleep in your studio. Is this that girl you've been texting that you won't tell us about?"

"What? I haven't-. Ok. Yes, you're right, but keep your voice down, take the phone and close the door before she wakes up, I'll explain when I get home."

"Ok hyung, you better have a good explanation, this would be a huge scandal."

'I know." His voice let Han know he knew how serious this was for all of them.

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

Preview of Part 2:

"She's in a coma."

"I was gonna marry that girl."

"Chan's gonna marry my sister, you know."

"Did you see the headlines?"

#bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan #skz #reader insert #female reader #skz imagines #x reader #stray kids #Chris bang #superhero #fanfic #skz fanfic

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kmhnsecretexchange · 5 months

Text

Title: you can (we will) be better

Author: dedfish on AO3

For: logicdive (twitter) Pairings/Characters: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito

Rating/Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Prompt: Post-Game — I feel like DR3’s ending for the cast of SDR2 is really underutilized, so it would be cool to see something going off of that! What’s it like having all these personalities crammed into a boat together to float around the ocean for the foreseeable future? It’s gotta get tense sometimes. How’s the sleeping situation? There can’t possibly be that much room in there, so maybe Hajime and Nagito are… roommates? Do they ever get off of that boat, and what kind of problems do they face with most of the world still thinking that they’re Remnants of Despair? Ships can be pretty dangerous places too, I can definitely imagine something going wrong… Lots of opportunity for hurt/comfort and relationship growth!

Author’s notes: this fic is set right after dr3’s anime, as dr2 cast+mitarai(i cant remember lore anymore) set out to sea!

i hope you all enjoy this fic! and logicdive i hope you like it too!!! (ahhhh sorry for the late post, i am still paranoid about the quality)

enjoy the fic :DD!

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52595074

The scent of the sea breeze was sharp and unforgiving against Hajime’s nose. When they made the Ultimate Hope, they didn’t exactly take any considerations for their new Izuru’s comfort, expecting a machine of pure talent. Expecting Izuru.

It wasn’t like any of those scientists had gotten their own payback in the Tragedy, and grudges weren’t meant for those already long dead—long gone to whatever hell they belonged. But his sharp senses—the feeling of coolness untouched by the pollution of the Despairs against the morning’s sun—was wonderful, for a short second. And then he turned around.

Teru had managed to convince the crew to haul out a grill on deck, of all things. The plans for a celebratory barbecue were obviously in the works, fondness escaped through a small smile, but for a second, he wished it wasn’t there, the smoke annoying.

What was he thinking? He was glad that his friends could even celebrate in the first place. Their weary smiles—all of them except… Chiaki—were worth it. Even if the scent was truly awful, fat sizzling with greasy coals.

Nagito’ s presence swished into being a couple feet away, and Hajime waited until his footsteps echoed closer, before he turned around slowly.

His hair—it truly looked like clouds—bobbed along with a muted, yet not any less, cheerful smile. Happiness suited him, and Hajime let a smile out in response, waving a little.

“A toast, Hajime?” He asked, nodding to the drinks beside him. But they were—

“Cider?” Hajime leaned forward, the apples and cinnamon delicious on the wind, a relief.

Nagito let his grin fall into a half-quirk of a small smile, “Of course. How lucky I guessed a drink you would like, huh?”

Hajime couldn’t think of anything to say besides a grateful, quick thanks, and gladly took it from his hands. The mechanical one whirred, almost soundlessly, as Hajime brushed against cold metal. Nagito noticed his look, and he sighed.

“Is it truly that unsightly, Hajime?” He questioned, leaning against the ship’s railing. His coat clinked against the metal.

“No, no, it’s great—I was just wondering if we need to do maintenance—” Hajime quickly tried to backtrack, feeling his ears go bright red. Hajime of all people, making others self-conscious—

“Haha, I’m just joking,” Nagito smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and he tilted his head against the sunrise, “but there you are.”

“Ah… that’s good,” the unspoken question hanging in the air between them. Hajime wondered if he asked, would it be too awkward?

“I was worried about you standing on the sidelines,” Nagito answered, surprisingly intuitive, “because, you know, you did great. And whenever Izuru used to be… bored, he looked like you.” He met Hajime’s eyes, before looking away.

“Thank you, Nagito. Really.” His denial hung at the end of sentence, but it would be a lie if he really didn’t just feel like an outsider. Just sometimes. “How much do you remember of… us? Me.”

“Enough.” He raised the glass to his lips, the light catching against crystals, and Hajime looked away. Hajime caught a sly smirk from the corner of his eye, and suspiciously glanced over, “I can, from what I remember—the hope inside of both of you, truly—it was fantastically—”

“Not again! Jeez, man. That came out of nowhere.” Hajime groaned, thunking his forehead against the railing, exasperatedly fond. He didn’t predict that today.

A chuckle rang out, low-toned but clear, besides him. Hajime tilted his head up, and watched the weak, golden sunlight play across his half-smiling, crescented seaglass eyes.

Beautiful. Wait, no, not like that! He firmly planted his face in his arms, determinedly ignoring his traitorous thoughts.

“I hope to surprise, Hajime,” Nagito’s elbow brushed against his. The ship slowly rocked against a wave, the sea’s spray crushingly loud. They had long sailed, and the journey away from the Foundation’s base had already been charted.

The silence was… nice.

And if Hajime could crystallize this moment—Ibuki’s laughter and Hiyoko’s dancing and Kazuichi’s whines and Sonia’s scolding with Tanaka’s musings for Imposter’s worry mixing into Mitarai’s giggles, Nagito’s contentment—it would be perfect.

He hoped this would be his future.

—

If Hajime had raised his head, or just looked up, he would see Nagito’s wistful tenderness, looking down on him.

He would see the slight, soft smile—but no, not yet. That was for the future too.

—

“Um, hey guys,” Hajime winced at how unsure he even sounded, “you… feeling good?” He glanced around the banquet table, attempting to plaster on confidence.

Everyone stared back at him. Hiyoko snorted, slapping Mikan’s shoulder.

“Are we a kindergarten class, you moron?” she grinned, lifting up an eyebrow.

“I certainly hope not,” Imposter whispered, barely audible. Mitarai weakly grinned and patted his shoulder.

“Ibuki feels amazing! This is a rocking boat!” Ibuki smiled, chin on her hands.

“Um… ah… yes? I agree?” Mikan uncertainly chimed in, still confused, with Hiyoko rolling her eyes.

Hajime sighed, smiling. He leaned back against the wall, and forcibly told himself to relax.

“Your complaints are noted, guys.” He briefly noticed Nagito’s white, fluffy hair from the corner of his eyes. Relax, Hajime, relax. You’re an Ultimate. “So, with the Future Foundation, we need to decide our next steps together. The way I see it, we can essentially go through with two options: Jabberwock… or back to Japan. Mixing both would be difficult, but also possible. I want all of our opinions to count.”

“Going back? But… we released that video… I mean, do I count? As part of you guys?” Mitarai asked, bags under his eyes seemingly deepening even further.

“We discussed this, commoner. Yes,” Imposter switched back to Byakuya, “you count as part of our class.”

“Yeah,” Haijime nodded, “you definitely count. The best way for us to figure this out is by discussion, but I think holding a vote would be helpful. Sonia, any suggestions?”

“Why, indeed! I think democracy is a novel idea that I certainly would love to experience!” Sonia’s eyes lit up enthusiastically, her smile beaming. However, her expression turned serious quickly. “Hajime, we should decide later, as we all, especially you, deserve rest.”

“Ha, yeah. I’ll… I mean, I think we had a good day today.” Hajime replied, a little sheepishly.

“And we’re back on a ship again!” Ibuki cheered, pumping up her hands. Chaos immediately descended, everyone’s chatter excited.

“How shall we decide on rooms?”

“Heh, how devilish. My Dark Devas and I desire to room with Sonia herself.”

“Huh? No way! We can room with the opposite gender? I refuse.”

“I AM FINE WITH WHOEVER! BAHAHAHA!”

“He’s gonna clog up our toilet again… anybody but him!”

They were kindergarteners.

“Guys,” Hajime sighed, “everyone can room with whomever they want. Not my business, but both parties have to approve. And first come, first serve for rooms.”

“Hajime… soul bro! I understand, I won’t let this chance slip by!” Kazuichi’s tears were a little excessive, but he marched off towards Sonia, obviously shooting to get a room with her.

The ruckus in the room reached new heights of noise, as everyone started pairing up. Hajime watched Tanaka and Kazuichi start arguing, and suddenly, he felt very, very tired. He slid down into a chair and felt a soft tap on his shoulder.

“Hey, you were pretty quiet today too,” Hajime cracked a small, sincere smile. Nagito rolled his eyes.

“I spared everyone the torture today.”

“No, we like hearing you talk.”

“We? I’m not sure if that’s true. Mahiru holds grudges, from what I remember, and I’m sure Fuyuhiko believes me to be strange. Oh—Teru can hate me, though.”

“Even so, that doesn’t mean we want you to shut up. They… changed, they don’t hate you,” because that would mean they would hate themselves for their actions too. “You can trust me when I say you should talk to them too. They’re pretty awesome.”

“Aha… I know. But you’re very kind,” Nagito responded quietly, “and… do you have a roommate yet?” Hajime looked up, opening his mouth to respond—

“Soul bro… you wanna room? Tanaka, that prick…” Kazuichi grumbled, dropping down next to him with a sigh. He looked incredibly disappointed. Hajime could guess what had happened.

“Kazuichi, I think I already have—”

Kazuichi’s eyes opened wide, jumping back and forth between Nagito’s hand and Hajime’s shoulder. A slow smile crept across his face.

“Oh. Ohhhh, I see, finally—not bad, Hajime, heh. I want you to know I support you.”

“I—what did I do? Finally?” He asked, confused. He turned to Nagito, who seemed equally as confused, judging by the furrow between the eyebrows. Kazuichi looked both elated and resolved, and about to burst into tears at any moment now.

“You don’t need to say anything, bro. You’ve got this—a bit of a… unique guy, but I can see it! Congratulations to you too, Nagito!” Kazuichi laughed, clapping them both on the back.

He turned to leave, but not before he turned to Hajime, mumbling, “And… Hajime? Erm, I’m glad you two figured it out—I was so oblivious…” Hajime just blinked, confused, “Of course, he wasn’t even interested… the girls’ swimsuits…”

He trailed off, sounding disgruntled even as he passed Hajime’s hearing range. Hajime didn’t know what to think, really.

Was there some miscommunication? It didn’t seem harmful, though, so that was excusable.

“Hajime, what just happened to him? He was weirder than usual.” Nagito’s expression twitched into an automatic smile, before falling into bewilderment. He grimaced, before he opened his eyes wide, turning ever-so-slightly pink. “Hm.”

Now, even Nagito? He was definitely missing something.

“No idea, honestly,” he stared after Kazuichi, watching him as he jerkily scooted near Nekomaru’s booming laughter.

“Then, well, would you still like to room, Hajime? I understand if I make you uncomfortable—of course, you might want to be with someone else, perhaps—I don’t want to make you do something out of obligation—”

“Of course, I want to.” Those words felt unexpectedly genuine, in a way that Hajime had difficulty adjusting to. Taking a deep breath, Hajime held out his hand. “Luggage? I don’t know where you kept yours.”

“Mm, it’s on deck. I can get it.” The breeze picked up, swirling the slight saltiness of the sea past him.

“No, please, don’t bother, Nagito. I haven’t had the time to adjust your hand yet—or do any maintenance checks for heavy weights—”

The sudden, bright burst of laughter that followed was beautiful, and it took his attention way too fast. Concerningly, it made him go blank for a second—like he was reacting, instead of knowing what and when and why and all possible escape routes and who was doing what and the Ultimates and he was the Ultimate.

It was… nice.

Nagito grinned, a small but genuine peek of joy, “Thank you, Hajime. We can do that after I get my stuff, okay? Don’t worry, Mr. Leader of Despair.”

“You…ugh… lovebirds! Get a goddamn room!” Fuyuhiko screamed, startling Hajime to attention. Had everyone else heard that?

Nagito went a bright red, like he was sunburned for a moment, before—

“Says you, baby gangster. Peko, he totallyyyy ruined the moment,” Hiyoko complained, poking Peko’s arm.

“I agree. I will remove him from this scene to let… that continue. Master? Let’s pick out our room, instead.” Fuyuhiko grumbled, but ultimately went off with Peko without another glance.

Hajime awkwardly scooted off to the side, feeling a bit embarrassed himself. He was not paying attention at all.

“Nagito?”

“Hm?” His face was still a little red, but it had settled into the impassivity he had held before. That face… was…

Maybe it was best if they left. Everyone seemed wrapped up in their own choices, and it wasn’t like they were malicious, anyways.

He looked around, and no one was appearing to pay attention anyways, wrapped up in their own laughter watching Peko drag Fuyuhiko across the deck.

“Can we leave? Please?”

“Of course. Let’s do that—come on,” Nagito muttered, pulling on his arm in an uncharacteristic show of force. Hajime let himself be dragged to the open door, the wide sea still glinting blue.

He could resist. No one could beat him with his extraordinary talents. They were good enough to pull him away, to stop, to put some distance.

The Nagito in front of him was far, far better, though. Hajime followed, feeling his voice swept past him from the ocean’s winds.

—

“This place is nice,” Nagito smiled, tracing patterns on the mattresses.

The room was actually quite nice—cruise-worthy for sure, and definitely a good holdover until they decided where they would go. A thin breeze fluttered between the door, ruffling Nagito’s hair slightly. He averted his eyes; the feeling in his chest didn’t feel friendly, but not angry, either.

“I know, the Foundation gave us a good one.”

“Mhm.” Nagito bent down over the bunks, curiously leaning over the edges.

“Find anything?”

“Nope, haha, but it looks like they definitely need an Ultimate House—sorry, Janitor here. Ah,” Nagito winced and so did Hajime. Should he say something? He was the de facto leader after all, he should such address emotional vulnerability—

“You know, it’s totally fine to talk about her. She was… our—your teacher.” Hajime stared at the floor, but lifted up his gaze to Nagito’s pause.

“Then, if you don’t mind hearing, Ms. Chisa… I thought she came out safe. All those years ago, with the Foundation, once she left us,” Nagito slowly said, turning around.

“I knew you guys liked her a lot, right?” Haijime asked, feeling himself mechanically go through the motions of unpacking. He turned away; somehow, it was easier to ask when they didn’t have to address anything they said, without facial expressions that Hajime couldn’t control well.

“She brought us together,” a shuffling sound echoed through the room, “when no one else could. In part, she’s the reason—the reason why the good of us is here today. She made us into a real class.”

A seagull screeched in the distance, interrupting Hajime’s train of thought. He spoke almost automatically.

“I see. That’s completely valid, but,” And then, as a quick afterthought, “None of you guys did anything. She… the real one you guys knew… probably died in the Tragedy.”

“Yeah. We did a lot of dying.” Nagito forced out a short, painful laugh, and Haijime smoothed out a corner of his bedsheets, gathering his thoughts.

“You don’t get to say that… with us around. Either way, on the island or with the Future Foundation, we’ll make it up for the rest of our lives.” He watched as a sliver of moonlight fell onto his hands.

At least his hands were unscarred. Nagito’s soft noise of agreement rocked them into the quiet of the cruise.

“You want to go on a walk later, Hajime?”

In response, his heart almost jumped to his throat, and he felt unexpectedly flustered. What was wrong with a simple question, it didn’t mean anything besides an offer of spending time together. They walked plenty on the island, why this reaction now?

Still panicking, he replied hastily, “Tomorrow, maybe? I’m, uh, feeling sleepy. We did a lot today.” He internally face-palmed and whirled around to… stare at nothing.

“Of course. I’ll explore the ship tonight, ” Nagito patted his shoulder, almost nonchalantly, and raised an eyebrow at his stutter, but left it alone. “Goodnight, Hajime.”

“Goodnight, I guess,” Hajime called behind him, hopefully casual. He stared after him, as Nagito brushed past the door.

What was wrong with him?

—

He doesn’t sleep at all.

And for Nagito? He slips into the room at approximately whatever-o-clock, quietly rustles for a couple minutes, and doesn’t sleep either, judging from constant turning.

They stay awake, until Nagito falls asleep an hour later. Hajime doesn’t.

—

Hajime stared at the ceiling. Was he supposed to get up now? It was already morning—the windows told him that much.

He wasn’t sleepy, though. It didn’t feel close to his limit at all—according to Izuru’s memories, there wasn’t exactly a hard limit to the amount of sleep the Ultimate Hope needed.

Subhuman, huh.

Nagito rustled underneath his covers, quietly moving. He was probably awake by now too.

“You awake?” Hajime quietly whispered. If he was truly asleep, Hajime had regulated his volume to not wake him up, hopefully. Nagito huffed quietly, and he turned around, smiling.

His hair was even fluffier than usual, spread out upon the sheets, and haloing his bright, green eyes.

“Nah, of course I’m not awake. But hey, Hajime. You look… tired.” Nagito’s contented expression waned slowly, as he scanned his face.

“I didn’t get to sleep much.” Hajime smiled sheepishly, sitting up and running his hand back through his hair. “I did get some sleep though.”

“Whatever the Ultimate Ultimate says.” He shrugged, seemingly relaxed. “If you’re not too sleep-deprived, how’re you thinking of a short walk? I heard it’s good for you.”

“The Ultimate Nurse, Pediatrician, and Psychologist certainly seem to think so,” Hajime smiled, gesturing out to the hallway, part of him aching to those words.

The hallway’s carpet muffled their steps, making everything that much quieter in the face of dawn. A new day.

“Do you have anywhere in particular you’d like to see? Future Foundation spared no expense on whatever cruise ship this used to be.” Nagito’s hair bobbed along every step they took, almost beige in the lamplights.

“Not particularly. I can guess how most designers would want anything.” His footsteps were always quiet anyways. He tried to deliberately make them louder, to match Nagito’s. “One thing I learned from all this is,” Nagito smiled, turning to face Hajime, “never say you know everything about anything.” His shoulders bumped against his, and Hajime narrowed his eyes playfully.

“Mhm, sure, All-Wise-And-Knowledgeable.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Nagito’s hand seemed only a whisper away and Hajime almost wanted to reach out, “but whatever floats your boat.”

“You dork.”

“The trashiest dork.” The weak sunlight brought a rose-gold tint upon everything and—well, everyone. The entire cruise ship seemed much more peaceful and calm, and Hajime could see why people got up early. On purpose, though, ugh.

“I believe that.” He joked. Hajime glanced down over the railing, watching the murky, deep blue waters. It reflected the ship’s paleness, and it was nice, too. Maybe. It looked scary, though.

“Come on,” Nagito motioned over to a glass door, “we aren’t going to brood near the sea today.”

“Aw, no,” Hajime rolled his eyes fondly, but he followed along anyway, “brooding, my favorite activity.” And, “Where are you taking me?” Hajime questioned slowly, watching the green coat bob from side to side.

Did he have a million of those? How did he manage to keep all his coats from Jabberwock?

“Well, as a part-time Ultimate, I found a pretty cool spot when I looked around last night,” Nagito turned into a smaller, more dim hallway, “and it really was quite, ha—lucky ultimately. And hopeful.”

Finally, he stopped suddenly at a simple, wooden door, where Hajime might’ve crashed into him, if he hadn’t had experience with Nagito leading him around anyways. He still almost tripped, though.

“You could be an Ultimate Joker too, with that,” Hajime groaned, slapping his forehead. How did he get stuck on a ship with this guy?

Well—rhetorical question.

“What?” Nagito frowned, opening the door. “I found it quite funny in my head.” He looked so disappointed, Hajime almost felt bad—key word, almost. But—ugh.

“It was super, erm, creative, though? I… don’t really know what else to say about it though, it just falls… sort of flat.” Hajime tried, okay.

This was exactly why he left the compliment business to literally anyone else.

“And—ow, wait, why did you stop?” Hajime grumbled, rubbing his forehead. Nagito’s hair was surprisingly fluffy.

Kinda cute.

No, no, stop this, no—not right now. He was not having those thoughts right now.

“Because we’re here, of course!” Nagito steered him to his side, happily staring around him. “I call it the Cruise of the Tough, Traumatized Ultimates: There’s a Garden!”

Real trees—a scattering of bonsai, with lavender circling around what was evidently an artificial spring of water—that were fashioned to look like an artificial garden, flowing around pebbles and drapes of flowering vines.

They stood on marble, a paved walkway winding around the sauna, with overgrown lavender and mosses peeking out between the cobblestones. In this world—in this time, it was almost untouched by the outside world.

It hadn’t been torn down by Despair, or tainted by it. A luxury even Jabberwock couldn’t count as.

…but it was tainted by a bit too much algae, judging from the thin green film across some of it. And also, what was that name Nagito just said?

“What the heck did you just call this?” Hajime blinked once. Before blinking again. He definitely heard that right.

“Hm? You mean there’s a garden? …I called it a garden.”

“With a couple other words, I think. But… I mean, thanks for showing me this. Pretty good luck, I’d say.” Hajime’s cheeks hurt. When had he broken into such a huge smile?

Nagito beamed widely, before nudging Hajime’s side. “My present for you! You’ve seemed down lately.”

“…ah. I can’t argue against that, but I thought—with the ship being down for so long, any plants would’ve been cleared out for Foundation preservation.” Hajime walked closer towards the lavender, poking it. It shook slightly.

“I thought so,” Nagito’s agreement echoed slightly. “Luckily, they missed a spot.”

The quiet peace of the impromptu visit was nice, broken only by the occasional gurgling of the spring’s waterways. It was probably clogged as hell, Hajime considered it a miracle the seawater was still being recycled back and forth, in whatever system the ship used to use for first-class passenger entertainment. Maybe he could clean it—he might as well, with all the free time they would have. With either decision.

The lavender’s buds brushed against his hands, and Nagito’s shoulders visibly relaxed. His shoulder bumped against Hajime’s, as he leaned against him. It strangely did feel casual—nice, although Hajime did notice his heartbeat speed up.

Ever so slightly, but still.

“Really, I’m glad you showed me this… Nagito. I’m happy to see this, honestly—especially since you found this place on our cruise ship?”

“Yes, of course. And what are best friends for?” Hajime stared up at Nagito, shocked. Best friends?

“We’re best friends… yeah. Uh, yeah,” Hajime felt like he was back in those earlier days before the game, stuttering and bright-faced in the face of Nagito’s friendship, “But how can I even beat this? This is… amazing.” Hajime felt like he was violently going to explode from… embarrassment, was that it?

“You don’t need to compete with me for something we both share, Hajime,” Nagito’s eyes were bright and knowing with… something, “And I just wanted to give you a place I knew to relax, sometimes. Especially with everyone deciding between Jabberwork and—”

Nagito was probably going to be the strangest best friend he had ever had. Kind of the most insane one he’d ever known, but hey. He wasn’t much better.

And—he had wanted to ask Nagito something else as well.

“Well,” Hajime rolled his eyes and turned towards Nagito, “Do yourself a favor and take breaks with me too. You hypocrite—I have no idea what thoughts go on up there.”

“Says you, leader. And kind of the whole reason we’re all alive in one—haha, mostly—hopeful piece.” He joked. Nagito elbowed him slightly, the only tell for his humor in his slight, barely noticeable smirk.

“I can’t take all the credit, you know that. What you did in the game—” Hajime tried to clarify, noticing Nagito’s expression cool.

“—what I did in the game was not… hope—argh. You know that.” Nagito’s cheer turned more strained, as he noticeably stiffened. Tension snapped into place, the atmosphere growing cold.

“I know. I’m not making excuses. I know you did terrible things, and I’m electing to also consider what good you did do,” Hajime replied, feeling slightly… angry. He didn’t want him talking about himself like that. Nagito’s arm whirred beside him as he stood up—the lavender crunched underneath him.

“I can’t do this right now, Hajime,” Nagito murmured. Tiredness overshadowed his posture, his expression cold and… terrified. “I’ll call it an early night. I’ll see you later.”

His footsteps sounded all the way to the door, before it screeched open. Nagito paused for a second, before he continued into the hallway. The footsteps disappeared then, too.

“I’ll… see you, too,” Hajime told nothingness. The door swung shut, creaking back awkwardly.

“I just… I wanted to make him feel better, at least. And, it’s not like I’m wrong—ugh, why am I like this…” Hajime buried his head in his hands, closing his eyes.

Everything just felt off. Wrong. Or maybe he was the one who was weird, instead. What was even wrong with him?

First, the isolation he felt from everyone else—that was understandable, things changed after he split with Izuru. His emotions—they kept on malfunctioning at unrelated situations. Now, his ability to even talk with his friends?

“What’s even going on?” He groaned. He raised up his head, squinting at the lavender.

The lavender rustled back, like that was supposed to be an answer.

“And why the hell am I talking to a plant!”

—

“Well, um… I don’t think you’re compromised by puberty or anything else physically? And, um, mentally, you’re still the same from our previous check-ups—I can ask for an evaluation by a psychiatrist from the Foundation. You—you probably don’t have anything wrong, still?” Mikan half-questioned, half-commanded. She flipped through his records on a clipboard, looking uncharacteristically serious.

She then looked back up. “W-What do you think you’re struggling with, Hajime?”

“I get like these… palpitations. I also get… emotional at weird times? I normally don’t feel much of anything, though,” Hajime responded, staring at his hands. He squinted at his shoes—they kinda looked dirty. And the clock was ticking. And what was this weird therapy roleplay?

Mikan blinked, slightly incredulous. “I… You’re supposed to feel emotions, n—normally. But, of course, Izuru—I would consider that as a good sign, that you’re feeling that. That you’re feeling, at least. More concerningly, moving on… when do you get these palpitations?”

Hajime sighed, slamming his head down on the table. It barely hurt. “Okay, that part’s fine—but for the interruptions, I have no idea! It just happens whenever. And I don’t think there’s a physical factor to that.”

“I read about this kind of situation! Ahaha… um… is it around… a certain guy? Maybe?” Mikan looked side to side, before leaning in. “Perhaps… Nagito?” She blushed violently, visibly excited. Was she really that interested?

“No… wait, maybe yes. It could be the feelings of friendship? But I don’t feel it around Kazuichi, or anyone else.”

Mikan blankly stared at him, before she slapped her forehead. “O—Of course. Of course, it’s and then they were roommates here. I’m literally—get out.” Her expression turned dark, almost angry, shadows looming over her eyes. She suddenly looked very much like an Ultimate Nurse… and ha… he felt like he was in danger.

“What do you mean? Get out? Wait, but you didn’t tell me why—”

“Go and talk to your best friend, Hajime. I s—swear, jeez,” Mikan rolled her eyes, looking less uncertain, “So that was the i—issue.”

“Mikan… your sarcasm, I don’t really get it—” Hajime raised his hands, flinching back from her annoyance.

“Then you don’t deserve to get it, I’m s—surrounded by the dumbest Ultimates ever.” She slammed her clipboard down on the desk, shaking in anger. “And talk to him! You adorab—agh, idiots.”

“But he got angry at me? I tried to talk about his actions in the game, and he kinda just left? I don’t know what happened!” Hajime, flustered, tried to ask. He needed to figure out what to do to fix this.

“O—oh, see now, that’s important. But still—go find him! Komaeda always likes to talk with you, and he’ll understand if you honestly just talk about it. Kids, I swear,” Mikan grumbled, before straightening up with an almost manic energy. She started shoving Hajime to the door, smiling menacingly behind him.

Shocked, Hajime could only follow along, before remembering, “And—wait! I’m bad at this stuff, what do I—”

And the door shut right in front of him. He sighed, as Mikan’s giggling faded with her retreat into her and Hiyoko’s room.

“Everyone’s insane, why did I even try.” Hajime groaned, trudging through the hallways. Time… to find Nagito. —

“Hey, Nagito? You okay to talk?” Hajime asked, slowly approaching Nagito on the ship’s deck. The evening’s sun flitted briefly over the clouds, before hiding behind the clouds again. He looked… lonely.

No better time than the present to get it over with.

“I am, of course. I would like to first apologize—” He started.

“I’m really sorry—”

“Oh.”

“Ah… yeah, both of us, I guess. But truthfully, you did nothing wrong, you… meant to say it from a sincere perspective. I reacted strangely… I just needed space.”

“I still brought up something you were uncomfortable with. And the game is a sore spot for all of us—I don’t blame you either, Nagito.” Hajime sheepishly smiled, rubbing the back of his head.

Nagito flashed a small smile in response, before falling back into seriousness yet again, “Still. I think we can both accept each other’s apologies?”

“Of course, yeah. Mikan literally pushed me out of her room—it was funny. ” Hajime grinned, before throwing an arm around his shoulder.

Nagito stiffened visibly, before asking, “And why—why were you in her room?”

“To ask her how to apologize to you. She was kinda weird though.”

“A—Ah, of course.” Nagito turned a slight shade of pink, looking slightly embarrassed. “I have no idea what got into me.”

“Um, yeah. Don’t worry—a common misunderstanding—you’re still definitely my best friend.” Hajime clapped his shoulder, grinning at him. Jeez, Nagito did overthink sometimes.

“Ah—yeah, best friends.” Nagito smirked, raising his eyes to the sky. “Best of friends. I’m fine with that for now.” He meaningfully looked back at Hajime, but what was that… undertone?

“I’m glad, honestly. You are. But also… I wanted to ask about you wanted to do? As well?” Hajime continued, trying to not read too much into that. Was it just him… or was that kind of… nah. Probably not, ha!

“Go ahead. Is this about where we’d head from here? For Jabberwock or back to Japan?”

“Oh, yeah. I think we’re going to meet up for it tomorrow… I just wanted to hear what you thought first.” Nagito nodded, seemingly deep in thought.

“Well, I’m for Jabberwock… actually. I don’t think what we did can ever be… redeemed. Or forgiven. And I don’t want to lose all of the class again so soon. Is it surprising?” Nagito smiled, looking down to the waves crashing against the ship. “You might’ve expected more from me—I do want consequences, but not at the cost of our lives.”

“That’s… I’m glad to hear that. It was honest.” Hajime murmured, lost in thought. He glanced at Nagito’s regretful smile. “But I was thinking about Jabberwock—and it might not be such a great idea after all.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“We’re only alive because of the Foundation’s grace—from the killing game we saw happening, it’s obvious the Foundation’s still unstable.” Hajime winced at the thought of Mitarai and the board member’s plan. “We owe them a lot, and hiding in Jabberwock while the world thinks we masterminded it all… it’s a good short-term plan, but it won’t last. Just like how we can’t blame Junko for everything we did, we can’t be blamed for everything the Foundation did.”

He looked out into the sea, watching as a seagull swooped on the horizon.

“It all gets out eventually.”

Nagito nodded approvingly, shifting towards Hajime. He let out a quiet breath of laughter, before glancing up.

“I see… you’re not wrong. I wouldn’t want the Foundation’s masterminds to escape infamy so easily either—but you propose we… go back to Japan? We will most likely get killed.”

“That’s my struggle as well. I don’t know how I can lead the class on this.” Hajime sighed.

Nagito’s eyes lit up, suddenly. He excitedly whirled around, “Not if we wait. Not if we let the world rebuild itself first. Why did we think we had two options in the first place? Since when did we let those options choose our lives?”

“That is… true. I had only thought that because…”

“Exactly, because we thought we were faced with either being cowards or getting sent to our deaths. But that’s not the case—the Foundation can bring us back from Jabberwock whenever we want.”

“Wait—yeah! If we take credit for the Foundation’s killing game for now…”

“… We can simply expose the truth of the incident later. We’ll face consequences, rightfully, for what we did do. And not only that—we’ll share what happened to us—how Junko messed us up.”

“We can’t let the world think those in despair were responsible for their actions… the brainwashing… What Hope’s Peak did ensure is that we should never have a Hope’s Peak again, but the Foundation didn’t learn from that because they refused to learn—they refused to look away from talents as the ultimate source of all Hope.”

“Especially what they did to you. And to Izuru. Talent shouldn’t ever be made like that again—and the public should know that. Hajime, what they did to you sucked.” Nagito scoffed, placing his hands on the railing.

Hajime laughed, feeling freer the first time in days. He threw his arms around Nagito in their first, real hug, and his ridiculously fluffy hair tickled his nose. Nagito was so, so warm, and this was awesome—why didn’t they hug before? Nagito let out a small, choked noise, before hugging back, gently.

“You’re amazing, Nagito.” Hajime replied, muffled in Nagito’s hair. He let himself enjoy the warmth a little longer, before raising his eyes up to meet Nagito’s.

“… And so are you,” Nagito whispered, his expression peaceful, if not a bit flushed again. Was it the wind?

“Ah, we should probably get inside. But c’mon, let’s find everyone—we got to do something.”

“I-I thought this meeting was tomorrow?”

“Well, now, it’s not.” Hajime let go… a bit regretfully. He would’ve hugged longer, but Nagito was starting to look concerningly red. “Let’s round up everyone from their rooms—I’ll take whoever I find back down into the banquet hall.”

“… Were you also referring to, uh, me?” Nagito looked confused, concerned, strangely flushed, and somehow determined at the same time, before awkwardly pointing to himself.

Sorta cute. Erm, nope, not thinking about it, not thinking about it—

“Yeah, of course.” Hajime agreed, before gently elbowing him. “Who else?”

Nagito gasped, before spinning around, with a new fire of determination within his eyes. He immediately started walking inside, grabbing Hajime’s wrist. Hajime flailed around for a second, shocked.

“Wait—wait, uh, not that fast. You don’t need to rush?” Hajime questioned, still allowing himself to be pulled along for some—no reason.

“I’ll grab anyone I see. Let’s do this. Now.” Nagito was unusually fast now, almost running.

Hajime… felt like he excited him a bit too much, with those words maybe? He sighed, still half-smiling.

“Alright—but jeez… fine. Let me go, I’ll get to the left side.”

“I’ll do the right. Prepare to be amazed by my speed.” Nagito grinned threateningly, before turning around the corner. He let go of his hand, waving goodbye and almost immediately disappearing into the hallway.

Hajime groaned. This guy, seriously…?

… He was the dorkiest dork he had ever seen.

The best one, though. Not that thought, again? Was this puberty or something?

—

The banquet door slammed shut, and with that, Hajime had an entire class of slightly startled, disgruntled, oblivious, or surprised Ultimates. Except for Peko and Fuyuhiko. Hajime had no illusions as to whether anyone could drag them to wherever the pair didn’t want to be.

“Alright, guys. Sorry for the sudden meeting.”

“—Yeah, it was sudden, alright.” Akane grumbled. “Is there any food here? I’m hungry.”

“Oh, yes, here Akane! Would you like to try my—” Teru grinned, before reaching into his pockets.

“Nah. Pass.” She instantly declined. Hajime pointedly stared at the both of them, before slapping his forehead. These kindergarteners.

“—But, Nagito and I had a bit of a revelation regarding the cruise ship’s destination. For Jabberwock, or for going back to Japan. We wanted to ask you guys what you thought about it.

“… I see this couldn’t have waited?”

“Not really… but, I do apologize for getting you guys out here so late.” Nagito chimed in, looking relatively… unapologetic.

“It was perfectly fine! Most of us were just goofing around anyways… I speak for both myself and Mahiru…” Sonia replied, perfectly composed and kind.

“I was just playing pool…”

“I FINISHED TAKING A SHIT.”

“Hajime… just kinda interrupted Imposter and my, uh, anime. It’s okay! This sounds… more important.” Mitarai muttered, looking faintly anxious. Scratch that, very anxious, judging by how much fidgeting he was doing.

“Indeed, commoner. Now—let Hajime and Nagito speak. What do you two propose?” Byakuya-Imposter questioned, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, to put it simply,” Hajime looked around the room, making eye contact with each of his friends, “We don’t have to choose Jabberwock. Or the Foundation and Japan. Because, there’s a third option—to do both.”

“That would be ideal… indeed. But how?” Sonia questioned, raising herself from her chair.

Nagito nodded, raising a hand to his chin, “We can do so by splitting our time—to go back to Jabberwock now, and to go back to support the rebuilding of the world later on.”

“But—we should just return to Japan fully. If we truly want to support our victims—”

“Princess, that is not allowable by this dark one,” Tanaka turned towards Sonia, raising his eyebrow, “Seeing as that would result in our unfortunate demise, as my visions of the future warn.”

“Tanaka—I understand but, what we did, what I did to my people—” Sonia whispered, obviously heartbroken.

“No one’s dying today. None of us will be sacrificed.” Hajime interrupted, urgently stopping her from turning towards obvious shame, “Because we’ll go to Jabberwock to outwait just that. To let the Foundation stabilize the world, to prevent any further uprisings of Despair right now.”

“And,” Nagito smoothly joined in, “We will still allow the Foundation to take responsibility later. We’ll face our consequences—with the actual good we’ll be able to do, once we’re allowed into the rebuilding of Japan.”

“You’re just going to allow the Foundation to recover then? And then come back? But wouldn’t that undo everything—everything we did that video for?” Mahiru asked, quietly motioning to them all.

“That will undo it,” Peko seriously replied, “But that might be for the best. I do not wish for Fuyuhiko to be viewed as a monster… for that too.” She glanced towards Hajime meaningfully, then stared at Nagito, before she looked away.

Hajime… understood that feeling now. Not wanting someone to be deemed guilty—in reality too.

“I think it’s a great plan, as it lets us not be killed! Or run away, right, Coach?” Akane shouted excitedly. Nekomaru laughed, a booming sort of laughter that shook the room.

“INDEED! HAHA, WE CAN LIVE TO SEE ANOTHER DAY!”

“But what if… we get sentenced to death anyways? After we rebuild the world… and we come back.” Ibuki quietly spoke up, uncharacteristically doubtful.

“Then, we’ll argue our case, and we’ll defend ourselves fairly.” Nagito put his hand on his hip, while narrowing his eyes, “Consequences—we can’t just ignore those. We also have an Ultimate Lawyer here. And the Ultimate Prosecutor, etc. …And I guess Class 78 with the Foundation will probably be willing to lend a hand. After all we’ve done.” He gestured to Hajime, who felt himself blush a little from the embarrassment.

“I’ll do my best… and I’d say, we probably have a fighting chance. Compared to what’ll happen if people find us hiding in Jabberwock, like… idiots.” Hajime sighed, leaning against Nagito’s shoulder. The future sounded tough.

“Ha… yeah… I think that sounds pretty good. And those Monokumas all across Japan, I personally wanna still go back…” Kazuichi responded, looking a bit defeated. Nekomaru patted his back, and almost knocked him over.

“Kazuichi…” Hajime whispered, almost feeling a little proud. He really had grown, huh. “And remember what we resolved at the end of the killing game?”

“We’ll keep on forging our own path to the future, you mean?” Fuyuhiko asked, furrowing a brow. “Of course.”

“Yeah, where we learn from our mistakes?” Akane laughed, emboldened.

“And we won’t hide from our actions.” Nagito’s quiet voice carried across the room, as he met Hajime’s eyes.

“Well, of course, nothing’s over then, right? We’ll have to say how everything happened,” Kazuichi muttered, somber. He raised his eyes towards Tanaka, who, curiously enough, nodded in response. There was definitely a story there.

“Haha… if you think about it, Hope’s Peak—they tried to hide everything, and it came up anyways,” Teru agreed, looking around nervously.

“An’ we can’t let them forget that! We need to remind ‘em of what happens when you do that stuff to talent—when you become Despair like that.” Akane’s mouth was completely full from the snacks, but she somehow managed to talk around it anyways.

“I sincerely agree. We should face our past, present, and future with open eyes—we shalln’t run away!” Sonia victoriously grinned, pointing her finger forward… at Mitarai? Unexpected—but all the more welcome for it, as Mitarai nodded violently.

“To be honest with you guys, I don’t even want to run away. And there’s no way I’m leaving Hajime to clean up our mess alone.” Nagito added, shifting closer to Hajime’s side

“Hehe, looks like lover boy is stuck—”

“Oh, Hiyoko! This is serious,” Mikan sternly reprimanded. She happily glanced at their intertwined hands, “…and we both,” Mikan smiled at Hiyoko, “will go back. To Jabberwock and Japan—Future Foundation—everything.”

“I’m glad. And Hajime,” Nagito peered through his eyelashes mock-shyly, “you’re coming to Japan with me, right? As my best friend?”

“Maybe,” Hajime started, before frowning, “well, actually—that’s a stupid answer. Of course.”

“But… still, thanks.” He whispered.

Did Nagito hear that—well, judging by his hand’s comforting squeeze, he did. And his gentle expression, and his pretty, teasing seaglass eyes—argh.

That bastard was so—ugh. Did best friends usually make each other blush and hold hands? Yeah, probably.

(“The gayest freaking besties I’ve ever seen… and then, they were roommates. Ugh,” Hiyoko grumbled.

“I know, that’s what I said!” Mikan whisper-shouted.)

As if hearing his thoughts, Nagito laughed quietly, before knitting their hands together. It was time to face everything and everyone, and he did feel terrified. His heartbeat was racing, pumping like it had in the trials—Nagito’s fingers were cold with anxiety. But, hey, with Class 77 all together?

Things were gonna be better.

#kmhnsecretexchange #submission #fanfiction #sfw #komahina #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #dr #sdr2 #dr3

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