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ramblinganthropologist · 3 years

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MER Week 6 - Pets

Summary: Saren is the cutest little hamster in the world if you ask his owner. However, he is also territorial as fuck and he WILL bite. Grunt’s about to learn that one the hard way. Rule for the wise kid: don’t stick your finger in a hamster’s face.

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“Shepard.”

“Grunt… hello there.”

Ok… he’d bite. Who brought Grunt up?

Honestly, Alistair was more than a little confused right then. He had expected once they got back to the shuttle that he and the young krogan wouldn’t see much of each other. After all, he was pretty sure he bored Grunt – except for that first time with the gun. Yet there he was, standing in the entrance to his quarters, looking rather uncomfortable.

Was he being punked?

“Still in the elevator, Grunt.”

Bo’s voice called from over his shoulder. Much like a good son would, he shuffled to the side to allow her entrance. Even as large as she was, she was a little on the small side compared to the krogan. That didn’t matter of course – she was well versed in taking them down. It was why she had gone 25-0 in the ring back on Omega.

Well, at least that answered who let him up. Still didn’t answer anything else, mind you. Alistair was left watching as Bo sidled past her son and entered into his quarters. Luckily for him, his sister was direct: whatever was on her mind, he’d hear about it soon enough.

She looked around the room for a second. “Surprised Mandibles isn’t up here. Aren’t you two planning to- “

“He had calibrations to run.” Alistair’s cheeks flushed as he rushed to cut her off. Grunt snickered behind her – asshole. “Anyway, what’s brought you two up here? Everything alright after Tuchanka?”

Nothing like a krogan puberty ritual to get the blood pumping after all. Alistair was going to be having nightmares about that thresher maw for weeks, and that was if he was lucky. On the bright side, he was pretty sure it counted as exposure therapy. That was fine by him; he hadn’t done his therapy homework yet and with his workload he doubted it would happen at all. His therapist was understanding, but she was also a stickler. At least he had something to turn in the next time he saw her.

Much to his surprise, Grunt looked uncomfortable. He shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting around. Dare he say it, but to him he almost looked embarrassed. Apparently, krogan could do that as well as anyone else.

“I could have just looked on the extranet, Shepard…”

Bo shook her head, clearly amused by this. “What’s better than a real-world example? You asked about him anyway.”

She turned back to Alistair. “Grunt wanted to meet Saren after hearing you talk so much about him. Is the little guy awake or do we have to come back later?”

…

“You want to meet Saren?”

His gaze slid from the embarrassed krogan teenager to the wall on the far left. Even before he looked, Alistair had known. He knew the sound of bedding shifting anywhere, practically heard it in his sleep. That alone made him get up and take the trip to what at one time had been an aquarium.

Good thing for him he hated fish – it was perfect to make a hamster enclosure out of.

The theme that month was jungle. Among the scattered green bedding and wood chews, he found a little ball of white sitting next to his food dish, digging through the contents. At the sound of his footsteps, two red eyes focused straight on him, and some food went right into well-adapted cheek pouches.

Saren was a practical hamster like that.

“Hey, little guy.” Alistair smiled as he opened the enclosure and put his hands flat. A few moments later, the hamster was climbing up to rest between his palms, just like they had trained to do. Then he was out, held close as the Spectre returned to his desk. “Someone wants to meet you if that’s ok.”

Saren of course didn’t answer – much as breeding had improved, sentience wasn’t on the list of traits – but his eyes were bright and he seemed calm enough as he sat there, chewing at a seed from his pouch. These were good hamster introduction traits, especially considering who the interested party was.

Grunt didn’t look too impressed though. He gave the hamster a rather blunt look, then glanced over at Bo. When he didn’t get the reaction, he might have been hoping for, it went from pink to red Shepard.

Talk about being in the hot seat.

“Is it supposed to be so small?”

Alistair chuckled as he stroked Saren’s tiny head with his thumb. “Well, the European wild varieties back on earth are much bigger, but they max out at about a foot long. Saren’s a Syrian male, so he’s a fairly decent size all things considered.”

Grunt probably didn’t care about most of that – it wasn’t exactly new. However, his eyes never left the hamster. Saren either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care; he was too busy on chewing away at his seed to pay attention to the krogan. It was a feeling Alistair knew well.

He loved the little guy, but sometimes he ran hot and cold with affection.

“If you want to see him up close, come over slowly. Hamsters are prey animals, so he’s easily spooked.”

Much to his surprise, Grunt listened. He approached the desk slowly, eyes never leaving the small ball of fur in his commanding officer’s hands. He was interested, even if he wasn’t showing it on his face. No surprises there – kids loved hamsters, didn’t matter the species or the fact they were born fully grown and ready to kill. They just did.

“Why did you name it Saren?”

Now Alistair was chuckling again as he watched the hamster continue to chew. “You’re going to have to ask Bo about that, she’s the one who got him for me.”

Bo’s answer came quickly as she observed the introduction. “They said he was a biter and ate a cage mate. Made me think of the real Saren.”

Well, made sense he supposed…

“They eat each other?” Grunt’s tone was definitely more interested with that. Now they were getting somewhere. “That means they fight.”

Alistair nodded as he made sure Saren stayed in his hands. “Yep. They’re fiercely territorial. It’s why you have to house them separately. Hamsters kept together can fight, sometimes to the death even. This little guy had some healed scars when I got him, so he’s been through it. I guess Omega and the Citadel gift shop share husbandry tendencies…”

His voice trailed off. Grunt hadn’t taken his eyes off Saren the entire time he had been talking. There was curiosity there and a raw interest. That made the Spectre smile as he slowly brought his hands within range, eyeing his hamster’s body language the entire time.

“You can say hello if you want, he’s pretty calm right now.”

To his credit, the krogan didn’t retreat. However, there was some definite anxiety there. He briefly glanced back at Bo, and then he returned to keeping his eyes on Saren. Finally, he managed a brief nod and came a little closer.

“Do I just stick my hand out?” A finger got a little too close to Saren. Before Alistair could warn him, the hamster eyed it and did what he always did when someone got into his space without proper caused. Tiny teeth were soon chomped down hard in the classic signs of hamster bite.

It probably wouldn’t hurt a krogan, mind you. They were tough.

“Grunt, don’t pull your hand away. He’ll go with you and he’ll fall.”

The krogan shot Saren a dirty look as he watched the hamster bite down. “That does nothing to me, rodent.”

Saren, naturally, didn’t care. Alistair’s hands were part of his territory. More importantly, Grunt was big and round. Honestly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the hamster thought he was an overgrown member of his species. Add a little fur, and he could honestly see it. He’d never say that of course – Wrex would hate it.

“He’s just defending what’s his. All he has is his teeth.” Alistair kept his voice level as he gently rubbed the hamster’s head with his thumb. “Come on, buddy, he’s not going to hurt you. You can let go now.”

After a few more moments, Saren let go. He went back to his abandoned seed, but his eyes never left the krogan. Grunt was in a similar mood, eyeing up the hamster with a rather brutal gaze. At least he had the good sense to take his hand back, the offended digit tucked away.

Bo’s voice carried over the chaos. “So… what did you learn, Grunt?”

“Don’t stick my finger in an animal’s face…”

There was a definite sulk to his tone. It was strangely cute, in a weird sort of way. Meanwhile, Alistair was just glad he hadn’t pulled back. Saren may have trusted him, but he would’ve gone for a ride. Then he would’ve had to eject Grunt out the airlock if anything happened.

Was he biased towards his hamster? Absolutely.

“It’s his way of making sure his space is safe. I used to get bit a lot when we were establishing ground rules.” He stood, crossing the room to return Saren to his enclosure in case he was overwhelmed. Much to his surprise, Saren didn’t burrow under the substrate as he often did to hide his food. Instead, he stayed on top, eyeing Grunt. “Huh… how about that.”

Grunt gave Saren the exact same look. “Your hamster’s hungry for battle.”

In another surprise, the krogan smirked. “Shepard was right, Saren is appropriate for a warship.”

Well… there was a stamp of approval he hadn’t seen coming. Maybe pigs would start flying…

Alistair at least managed a nod. “He’s territorial, it’s part of the breed.”

“Don’t sell the little guy short, he took a krogan on full force.” Bo was definitely amused as she surveyed Grunt’s finger. There was a definite scuff there – Saren had left his mark. “Damn, little guy bit down hard. The hell are you feeding him, concrete?”

Oh… just lab block, some seeds, extra protein if the mix didn’t come up right…

“He’s got a nasty bite; I’ll give him that.” And he was also done with the room – Saren was soon digging back under the substrate. “He’ll be out for a while; he has food to hide and some sleep to catch up on.”

His gaze found Grunt soon after. “Well, I hope he lived up to your expectations. If you want to come visit again, just let me know.”

“As long as you don’t try to convert him to the gospel of hamster.”

He made no promises there. Anyone who could be swayed, he would sway. That’s what it meant to have a hamster as cute as Saren.

Still, at least Grunt didn’t seem too upset about the bite as he nodded. Maybe it had taught him not to fuck with small animals -a win in his book. At any rate, it felt as though things were ending.

“I might.” And then he was heading to the door. Soon he was gone, leaving Bo and Alistair alone. As soon as he was out of hearing range, the larger of the two Shepards slumped down on his cough, doing her best not to laugh.

She did alright, but he failed miserably.

“God, that was fucking adorable.” Alistair wiped a tear from his eye as he chuckled. “I mean, apart from when I thought Grunt was going to toss my hamster.”

Bo nodded, snickering a little. “Yeah, he’s been wanting to come up for a while but he couldn’t figure out how to ask you. I agreed to be a buffer after it took him a half hour to spit it out. You might have just converted him to the dark side.”

Apparently, he was a sith now. Just because his face glowed red…

But still. Alistair nodded as he glanced back at the enclosure. He could see Saren’s tail from a gap in the bedding – he was pressed against the glass, no doubt making himself comfortable for a long nap. He’d had a long day after all – he’d just taken on a krogan.

“I think if he’s a little slower next time, they’ll get along just fine. Maybe I’ll give him a couple seeds to try.”

Baby steps, after all. Rome wasn’t built in a day and becoming friends with a hamster was just as detailed and complex. If Grunt put the effort in, he could see them getting along great. Hell, he might even get a new Saren sitter out of it.

He needed one of those. His normal ones went on missions went with him half the time.

“Thanks for letting him try. I knew Saren would be tough enough to handle him, little dude’s from Omega after all.”

Terminus system, born and bred – it was in his DNA. He’d never be as sweet as some hamsters, but that was part of his charm. It made their moments together even more special in his mind, honestly. He’d managed to get an Omega resident to let him pet him – that was a win in his book.

“Just let me know the next time he wants to come up.” Alistair returned to his desk – he still had work to do. “Now, unless you want to work on these reports…”

And just like that, he was alone as Bo beat a quick retreat out the door. He shook his head, chuckling once more as he went back to his reports. Still, he kept an eye on the glass enclosure across from him. Somewhere inside, the toughest hamster Omega ever bred was enjoying his rest. Maybe he was dreaming of fighting krogan, who knew?

One thing was for sure – they had definitely started on Grunt’s conversion to the dark side. Excellent. He had wanted an apprentice one day.

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #merweek2021 #Alistair Shepard #Bo Peep Shepard #grunt mass effect #Saren the space hamster

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latinasmoak · 3 years

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the sweetest life (and the loving is easy when you’re with me)

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"It all started with an eclair. "

(Modern Polin AU) A mini series on how a couple of delectable desserts have the power to make Penelope Featherington's dreams come true.

rating: mature

tags: tooth rotting fluff, seriously so sweet it’s cavity inducing , it starts off sweet but we will be getting smutty in later chapters!

Chapter One: Mocha Eclairs

It all started with an eclair.

No wait, Penelope was getting ahead of herself.

It all started when she finally moved out of her mother’s home. The day when she realized that she was free from all the backhanded compliments, the nitpicking statements or worse, her mother’s “helpful” advice that wasn’t really helpful at all. Penelope loved her mother, she really did but Penelope would also be the first to admit that they had nothing in common and those differences often led to moments of extreme dislike and disappointment. But that daily torment was the past, now that she was in her own flat, and out of Portia’s critical eye, she was only privy to criticisms when she deemed it necessary to visit her mother, which to no one’s surprise, wasn’t often. And more importantly, living on her own - oh alright, with Eloise Bridgerton as her roommate of course - Penelope was finally free to indulge in one of her favorite secret hobbies. Baking.

When Penelope couldn’t write, she found that redirecting her brain power to learning the techniques and rules of baking, a satisfying distraction. (Self taught and with nothing but online tutorials, plenty of hands on attempts and several spectacular failures, Penelope felt a spark of excitement when, eventually, her creations didn’t turn out as complete disasters) . She still remembers the day her pastry attempt finally didn’t crumble or fall in on itself! When she had taken a bite and sighed with pleasure at how delectable it had turned out to be. To say she felt complete joy and satisfaction was a vast understatement. Her baking steadily improved and now she’s reached the point where sharing her creations with her favorite person was no longer unthinkable.

A flutter of butterflies erupted in her stomach and Penelope took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves. Before her very eyes was her own take on a mocha eclair; lightly brown, oblong choux pastry filled with an espresso creme patisserie. It was topped with a dark chocolate mascarpone and simply decorated with chocolate shavings. It looked divine and it smelled heavenly and all the while Penelope’s heart was about ready to burst. She had only one person in mind while she was making these treats, the one person who was constantly in her thoughts.

Colin Bridgerton.

Colin, her best friend’s older brother who was also her friend...sort of. At least she considered him her friend and Penelope dearly wished he felt the same. Well, if she was honest, she would prefer it if he viewed her as more than just a friend, but Penelope had been Eloise’s friend since childhood and because of that she was, unfortunately, like another sister to him.

Penelope shook her head, her loose curls flying about as she attempted to redirect her thoughts from the depressing spiral of her unrequited love. Instead she focused on boxing up her beautiful chocolatey creations. She was after all, expected over at the Bridgertons’ for dinner.

What was unexpected, was the sound of the front door opening and Eloise clamoring her way in. Penelope tilted her head in confusion as she stepped out of her tiny kitchen and followed the sound to see El.

“Why are you here? I thought we were meeting up at your mum’s place?”

Her shouted question was met with silence. No response came from her best friend as she zipped her way to her room, mumbling something utterly incomprehensible.

“According to her, she needed something from her room quite urgently , and no it could not wait, so here we are. At least we can all head to mum’s together.”

A distinctive male voice answered her, startling her enough to make her flinch. Her stomach dropped and her heart began pounding double time, but not just because of the fright, no... even without turning just yet there was no way she could ever mistake his voice. So melodic and captivating as it was, Penelope merely lifted her hand to her heart, willing it to slow down as she turned around to face the man of her dreams.

“C-Colin, you startled me.”

She tried to laugh off her reaction, cursing the fact that his simple presence was enough to make her body go haywire.

A little crease on his forehead appeared as he frowned. “I’m sorry Pen, I didn’t mean to give you a scare.”

He scratched at the back of his head, a small smile making its way onto his face.

“I thought you would have seen me behind El.”

Whatever she was about to say next was interrupted by Colin sniffing the air and casually heading towards the kitchen. “Pen, what is that? It smells really good in here,” his voice got softer the further away from her he got and Penelope quickly chased after him, knowing better than to leave him alone with a box of sweets. Penelope knew the instant he noticed her eclairs. It was hard to describe how excited he was, but his whole being came alive at the sight of food.

“Where did you buy these? Can I try one?”

Instead of answering, Penelope booked it, managing to reach the box before he did. A little miracle as she zoomed past him before standing in front of her treats, using her own body as a barrier to keep the man with a black hole as a stomach away. If she hadn’t been so busy trying to catch her breath, she would have laughed at the astonished look on his face. Colin had clearly not been expecting her to react like that but it wasn’t long before his stunned expression morphed into one of humor, his eyes alight with fondness.

After a few deep breaths Penelope finally had the capacity to answer without wheezing,

“I didn’t buy these. I made them. Yes you may have one, but not now. I was going to bring them to dinner.”

Penelope nervously pushed back her loose curls behind her ear before continuing.

“I know you Colin, if you eat one now, you could be tempted to finish the whole box and that wouldn’t be fair to your brothers and sisters.” she teased.

He didn’t need to know that the reaction she was looking forward to the most was his. In fact, Penelope had gone to great lengths to hide how pathetically in love she was with the third Bridgerton brother. From the moment boys had stopped being icky to her, her heart had belonged to him. It wasn’t just that he was ridiculously handsome and charming. Or that he was constantly smiling and having a good laugh. It was the fact that deep down, he was so... kind . He included her when he didn’t need to and he listened whenever she found the strength to push her shyness aside for actual meaningful conversation. Colin more than any of the other Bridgerton siblings -with perhaps the exception of Eloise- made her feel like she belonged . A feeling that was hard to come by in her own family. To feel it with him was something she so deeply treasured.

What started off as a childhood crush simply grew with every new detail about him she collected through the years. A soft and simple affection that bloomed into a deep, unshakable love. Of course, with every year that passed, her love grew stronger; the heaviness of the unreciprocated feelings began to build up too. The pain settled in her heart, encasing it bit by bit. She learned to tolerate the pain because the alternative, to cast him out completely, was unbearable and impossible. She’d rather have him as a friend, if nothing else. For now that was enough.

“You made them?”

Colin perked up and he leaned in closer, his height giving him the advantage to look over her and peer at the box.

“I didn’t know you could bake! Why didn’t I know? I feel like that is information I would know.”

His furrowed brows and mumbling was so cute Penelope had to squeeze her hands into a tight fist to resist the urge to softly brush away the wrinkles on his forehead with her fingers. And oh how she wanted to lightly cup his face and stand on her tippy toes for a simple kiss on his lips.

She pushed those thoughts aside and instead she laughed, oddly pleased with his reaction, with the knowledge that he cared. Cared enough to be disgruntled that she had secrets.

Pushing at his chest so that he would back up, Penelope looked up and smirked.

“Bold of you to assume you know all my secrets, Bridgerton.”

A huff of shocked laughter escaped him; this was a new side of Penelope, and Colin couldn’t help but be a little awed by the sight of her. There was this new confidence about her, and he liked it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been surprised so many times in such a short amount of time. Since when did she bake well enough that her pastries looked like they were ordered fresh from a bakery? Since when was she fast enough to be on one side of the flat one moment and a second later right in front of him? Since when did she know how to smirk?

Nevermind that she was still adorably flushed, her bright blue eyes brimming with mischief as they met directly with his gaze. He was soon distracted by her deep red curls flying loose around her face. An unnamed feeling spread through him as he looked at her and he shifted his stance, backing away a little and letting her hand drop from his chest.

He was a little dismayed at the sudden urge he felt to get closer and wrap his arms around Penelope’s soft curves. To personally push her curls behind her ears before tilting her head and - stop. Stop. Where did that thought even come from? Trying his best not to think about where his mind was venturing to, Colin instead took Penelope’s full body defense of her treats as a challenge. God knows what was taking Eloise so long, but he would take advantage of this time to charm his way to a snack. The smell in the kitchen was absolutely mouthwatering and he couldn’t imagine Penelope not excelling at whatever she put her mind to, so he was positive in the knowledge that those eclairs would be delicious.

Throwing away any shame, Colin Bridgerton immediately clasped his hands together in a praying motion. He widened his green eyes pleadingly before setting his mouth into a perfectly formed pout.

“Oh come on Pen, please? Just one. I’m hungry.”

Penelope was not impressed, her single brow rising was enough to inform him of this.

“Colin you are always hungry! The sky is blue, water is wet and Colin Bridgerton has a black hole for a stomach.” She uttered dryly.

Colin pressed his hand over his heart dramatically as he gasped.

“Penelope! What a barb!”

Her resulting giggle was music to his ears, but he still had not given up on his endeavor. If regular pouting wasn’t enough, he would have to try something a little more drastic, but he was committed to this now.

Penelope’s mouth dropped open as soon as Colin went down to his knees, once again his hands clasped together, this time with him shaking them back and forth as he whined.

“Pen have mercy on me, your friend, who is so hungry and only wants to try your food. Please Pen. Please.”

Stunned, Penelope takes a few seconds before covering her face with her hands and bursting into laughter.

“Oh my god. Colin! Stand up! You are so bloody ridiculous, I can’t believe you just did that!”

She leaned forward and offered him her hand, still laughing, but she was shocked when he didn’t immediately reach out.

“I’m not getting up until you let me have an eclair, Pen.” He grumbled.

Rolling her eyes she giggled as she agreed to his demands. The fact that she had been able to resist him this long was enough of a victory for her. A few weeks ago the pouty face would have been enough for her to cave.

“Oh alright, yes! I’ll let you have one. Now get up.”

She helped pull him up, not really needing to do much since he was strong and agile enough that he didn’t really need her support. But it meant a lot to her that he still accepted her help, for she would always freely offer it. And if a spark went through her at the mere brush of their hands, and a tingling sensation followed as he gripped her tightly, well she would keep pretending like it was nothing. Even though it was everything.

After ensuring that they’d washed their hands, she pulled out a paper plate for him. Penelope then carefully opened the box and pulled out a single mocha eclair. She watched as his green eyes gleamed with pure want, and for a second she was insanely jealous over the fact that he would never have that expression on his face as he looked at her. She snapped out of it though, getting jealous over a pastry was a new low. Even for her.

Penelope held her breath, her stomach tangled up in knots as she waited for his verdict. Trying her best not to let her eyes linger on his mouth too much, she watched as Colin took his first bite of her mocha eclair. The one she’d made especially for him, with all the love and care she never had the bravery to share aloud. She almost looked away, something about seeing him eat a treat she made with her own hands felt a little too intimate, but his moan of appreciation had her unable to tear her eyes away from his face.

His expression… it was bliss. Green eyes widening before closing as he took in the flavors she incorporated for him, that heady mix of chocolate and coffee.

Penelope could only blush as her heart beat a tad bit faster and a beaming smile made its way onto her face as he took another hearty bite.

“That good, huh?” She said cheekily, feeling confident in the face of him devouring the sweet instead of, say, spitting it out politely.

“Inf oh ‘ood”

His mouth, still stuffed, made his response sound like pure nonsense but the approval was unmistakable. Penelope wrinkled her nose a bit at him attempting to speak with his mouth full but even that lapse in manners was utterly endearing.

Damn him .

She was so caught up in her joy that he liked it that she almost missed him reaching out for another one as soon as he had taken his last bite. Penelope’s eyes widened in alarm and she reached out for her box of eclairs.

“No! Nope! Colin the agreement was one eclair! I did not make this whole box for you! I did, in fact, make them with the intention of sharing with your whole family!”

She stepped out of his reach, protecting the rest of the pastries from his never ending appetite.

“Pen,” Colin whined, his eyes staring longingly at the box.

“You can’t just let me try one of the greatest eclairs I’ve ever had in my life and expect me to only be content with one!”

He reached for the box again, single-minded in his attempt to satiate his craving for another bite. The fact that Penelope had made it still had him in awe. When he had taken his first bite, the urge to groan had been practically overwhelming. It was like ambrosia, an explosion of flavor, the bitterness of the coffee followed by the sweetness of the chocolate and creme. He was distraught when he had opened his eyes to realize that he had devoured his whole eclair. He needed more.

Penelope turned her back on him, cradling the box and using her own body as a shield, shaking her head back and forth all the while. Another huff of laughter escaped him, she was so cute, protecting the sweets for his family. A noble endeavor indeed but he was much taller and the wall she made was nothing compared to his height. He stepped forward, his chest to her back, his arms wrapping around hers, Penelope stiffened in his pseudo embrace but Colin didn't notice as he finally had the box in his hands. Just in time too, as Penelope let go and twisted her way out of his arms.

“That’s not fair! Using the fact that you’re a giant against me is rude.”

Penelope was amazed that her voice wasn't shaking considering her heart was threatening to beat out of her chest. What was that? She had been so close to melting into his embrace, the urge to lean back against his chest and breathe in his scent had been so strong. How dare he do this? Didn’t he know she was only so strong? The fact that she could still feel him around her was enough to drive her insane.

“It’s not my fault you are so tiny, Pen.”

Colin grinned as looked down at the box, lifting the cover and mentally counting how many were left, “Come on Pen, there’s enough -” his sentence was cut short when Penelope grabbed the box from his hands unexpectedly and bolted to the other side of the counter, leaving him standing there in utter shock.

“Again? When did you get so fast? I swear I only blinked!” Twice now she had exhibited an alarming sense of speed.

“You guys are cute.”

Both Colin and Penelope are startled when a husky voice enters the conversation. They had completely forgotten about Eloise being in the flat with them. Caught up in the impromptu tug of war over the eclairs. They looked over at Eloise’s grinning face. Neither one of them sure they liked the twinkling light in her expressive brown eyes.

“I was here for a solid ten minutes enjoying the show, but mum’s waiting for us so let's get a move on.”

Eloise then grabbed the box from Penelope’s hands and headed towards the door.

“Let's make haste people!”

It didn’t take long after that dinner for Colin Bridgerton to become a frequent guest in Penelope’s kitchen. What started off as simple requests for his favorite treats quickly became an insistence on her part that he was to be her sous chef and help her clean up. Not that it was ever a chore, but if she was to dedicate so much of her time to feeding him, it couldn't be for free. His time was more than enough of a payment for her and every dessert she made was a labor of love. It was liberating in a way, to channel all her feelings into the dough and creams and treats. She was no longer bottling it all up, no longer letting it stew and fester and morph into agony.

And it was indescribable, the joy she felt to see Colin enjoy her food so earnestly. To see his hearty appetite satisfied by her own creations. Penelope felt like she was high in the clouds, he was always texting her new recipes they could make together or locations of different bakeries they could try. She never expected any of this, the fact that their friendship would grow into something deeper. Of course she still yearned for them to be more, and she constantly had to remind herself to not make a big deal out of normal platonic affectionate gestures. She was content for now, to have him at her side.

It all started with an eclair…

But it all escalated with a strawberry crème brûlée.

|| CHAPTER TWO || || AO3 ||

#Polin Fics #Polin #Penelope Featherington #Colin Bridgerton #Colin x Penelope #Bridgerton Fics #Bridgerton #fic: the sweetest life #yes I know I have this on AO3 but I also always planned to have a tumblr version #i'll be reposting chapters two and three soon as well #I love my babies sooooo much <3 #ale's fics

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remmushound · 3 years

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Curse of the Clans part 35!@scentedcandlecryptid

Content warning!! Blood, anger, minor injury.

The very sudden departure of the turtles left April feeling alone and vulnerable. The lair seemed painfully empty, even with the usual drone of Splinter’s cartoons, so the first chane April got to go to the surface, she took. She made up the excuse to visit the post office; she was expecting mail, after all, and more importantly it was a good distance away from the lair, so she could take her sweet time getting back. She didn't expect the letter to be there so soon, but it was. Opening the letter, she was so confident and sure that the position would be hers-- she had planned everything out so perfectly! She opened the letter the moment she got outside, too eager and excited to wait. Then she wished she had waited when she started to read the short letter of rejection.

“O’Neil!”

April looked up and saw Cassandra Jones making her way across the street, expertly dodging cars without a care as to using the crosswalk that was less than a few feet away. A few of the cars honked, but Cassandra didn't care beyond flipping a few of them off on her way across.

“CJ, did you not notice the crosswalk less than two feet away?” April gave an exasperated sigh.

“I noticed it! But I also noticed you, so I had to choose.”

“Did you? Did you really?”

April still couldn’t believe how much Cassandra had changed over the last few months. She was starting to grow out her hair; though it was only a few inches, she was certainly showing improvement. The oily, black scruff was held out of her face by a black bandana. April wasn’t sure she could ever get over the kunoichi wearing street clothes instead of her normal ninja uniform, even if Cassandra hadn’t worn it since that last stand against Shredder. She still had her red mask, however, wearing it over her mouth like she always did. Without the constant strain that training and patrols and battles put on her body, Cassandra seemed brighter and healthier. The muscles built from years of hardened labor were still defined, but now joined with some soft fat that was starting to form around her hips and stomach.

As April started to walk, so too did Cassandra, eager to learn about what she was sure was her friend's victory. April was smiling now, so that must have been a good sign, right?

“So I see you got your letter~” Cassandra practically purred, “When’s your first shift?”

April shifted her face mask higher up her nose, bending it a little further so it would stop fogging up her glasses. She couldn’t think of a verbal response that wouldn’t leave her in tears, so she just passed the letter over to Cassandra so she could read it. Cassandra only managed to get a few lines down before she gave a loud gasp that made April flinch.

“REJECTION?! No no no no! This has to be some sort of mix up!”

“It’s not…”

“Maybe some other April O’Neil applied for the job and this letter was meant to go to her!”

“What are the chances of that?” April sucked a shaky breath between her teeth.

“It could happen!” Cassandra insisted.

“WELL, IT DIDN'T!”

April hadn’t meant to raise her voice, but she did. It was loud enough for some of the closer pedestrians to stop and look before they continued on their way, and enough to make Cassandra stop dead in her tracks with a look not unlike a wounded puppy. Then her hurt expression turned to wide eyes as her gaze turned to April’s chest and shoulder as both seemed to glow bright in a green fire. Even the dark of April’s eyes held a sudden ring of emerald, if only for a second.

April didn't notice the flash. She felt an uncomfortable heat searing through her chest and her shoulder ached worse than anything else, but she didn't care. She took a deep breath and as her chest raised it only served to further feed the fire burning through her heart and lungs.

“It… didn't.” April kept walking.

Cassandra stayed where she was at first. Then she noticed that April was rapidly disappearing from her sights and she hurried to keep up.

***

April didn't know what was happening to her. One minute she was fine and getting ready for bed, and the next she was crumpled over, clutching her chest as gumdrop-sized tears forced their way out of her eyes. She saw endless green stained with blood and then she was back in the lair. Then with another bolt of intensity, the pain show from her chest to her stomach and her hands moved to clutch the new area of agony. The lair was on fire, she was sure it was, and the orange heat licked around the walls and smoke forced its way down her throat… but then it was gone, and the floor was cold, but she was not. Her skin glistened with a thick coat of sweat that dripped down her arms and drenched her locks flat to her face. It wasn’t right. Leonardo said the pain should’ve gone away by now, but it was only getting worse! And now she had to wait weeks before he could come back to help her.

April let herself enjoy the coolness of the floor for just a moment longer before she used the bed to pull herself to a kneeling position. She had to pause for a breather from the strain, resting her head on the comforter and using it to wipe some of the perspiration off her face. Then she sucked in another breath and held it as she straightened the rest of the way. She was undeniably thirsty, and right now she wasn’t sure she could even sleep if she tried. Walking usually helped to get rid of the pain, if only for a short while. So that’s what she was going to do.

When she got to the curtain that acted as the door to the kitchen, she stopped. She could hear voices, which wasn’t too unexpected. When Cassandra had been told that the turtles would be gone for two weeks, she had immediately offered to stay at the lair so that Splinter wouldn’t get too lonely. Splinter was more than willing to let her stay with the promise of a friend to converse with. April couldn’t help but to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Blew up at me in the streets!” Cassandra was saying, and April immediately knew it was about her.

“She was probably just upset that she keeps getting rejected, Cassandra.” Splinter offered, “I know the feeling all too well from my acting days.”

“No, Splints-- she literally blew up! Her chest and shoulder were like… like green fire! And so were her eyes!”

April’s eyes went wide. Green fire? She looked at her affected areas and bit her lip.

“She’s been getting worse, ever since Shredder--”

April didn't know what it was about that sentence that made her furious, but she couldn’t ignore it. She threw open the curtains and announced herself to the duo quite violently, making both Splinter and Cassandra snap their heads to look at her like startled animals.

“April!” Splinter gawked, “I thought you went to bed!”

“I got thirsty, sue me!” April snarled in such a way that Splinter recoiled away from her. “You would’ve just loved for me to stay in bed so you could talk about me all night, wouldn’t you?!”

“April--” Cassandra tried.

April didn't care to listen. “Well, whatever you have to say about me, you can say it to my face!”

Cassandra and Splinter looked at each other, neither of them seeming willing to be the one to talk next. With a hushed and quick encouragement from Splinter, Cassandra finally stood up.

“April, we’re really worried about you--”

April didn't stick around to hear it. She threw the curtains shut as hard as she could as she stormed off, tears returning to her eyes, though these were of rage and not pain. She needed to do something, to blow off some steam before she did something that might hurt Splinter or Cassandra.

April found herself in the dojo with no real intention of what she wanted to do. She was blinded by her tears, but her body guided her first to the weapons cabinet to collect her bat and then to one of the many dummies that lined the left side of the dojo. April wasn’t even sure where Donatello kept getting them!

She swung at the dummy, but the impact was hardly felt as her mind grew wings and took her further and further away from the actions of her body. She wasn't hiding this thing as well as she had thought-- she still didn't know what it even was. And if Splinter and Cassandra were already talking behind her back then April had no trouble believing that the brothers were too. Her friends. All her classmates at school. They were all talking about her behind her back and laughing at her and making fun of her-- she knew they were!

When April came back down to earth and out of the dissociative rage, she had to push her hair out of her face because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The dummy laid broken and beaten in front of her, shattered in several different places with wood splintered and stuffing spilling out. For a moment, all she could do was stare at it before her better judgement kicked in and she quickly fell to cleaning up the mess she had caused. They were talking bad about her already, she didn't need them adding unnecessary violence to the list of things to mock about her!

April stopped. Her hands were shaking so badly that every piece of scrap she picked up just fell right back down. So she stopped her attempts and simply stared at her hands, both of them hurting and one cut from the violence of her actions. She pressed her thumb into the wound and winced as a small amount of blood squeezed out of it.

“What is wrong with me…?”

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years

Text

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E6; Chapter Six, The Spy - [Pt. 4 - FINAL PART]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

Will’s connection to a shadowy evil grows stronger, but no one’s quite sure how to stop it. Elsewhere, Dustin and Steve forge an unlikely bond.

||3rd Person POV||

Will stares ahead at the map of pictures sprawled across the table before him. Per his instruction, the medical team had gathered and allowed his mother, Bob, Mike and more importantly, himself to see their record of the maps he had created. The other doctor stands with the others impatiently, finally, he breaks the silence.

"Sam, this is ludicrous."

Dr. Owens is quick to silence him.

"Just give him a moment, okay?"

"We don't have time--"

"Hey, jackass," Hopper calls, cutting the man off. "why don't you do us all a favor and shut up, okay?"

Will rises from his seat, and Owens begins to herd the doctors away, making room for him to circle the table. His eyes studiously scan the paper trails, and it brings him to the end of the conference table. With a steady hand, he points to the pooled photographs that form the hub.

"That's it."

Owens steps forward, leaning down ever slightly and speaks gently.

"That's what? What- What's there, Will?"

A frown flickers across his face.

"I don't know." He mumbles. "I just know he doesn't want me to see there. I think it's important."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Under Owens’ word, a team of the lab's soldiers and scientists gear up for their journey into the tunnels.

Elsewhere, Steve and the kids prepare for Dart's arrival. Max, Dustin, and Lucas prepare the bus as their base while Steve secures the surrounding area.

The quarantine doors of the lab's entrance to the tunnels open with a hiss. The team of soldiers step forward and into the affected area and prepare the elevator. Hopper and Owens watch anxiously from the other side of the glass as the team lowers themselves into the network of underground tunnels.

Steve begins the trail of gasoline, starting at the pile of bait that had been left for Dart and towards the entrance of the bus. Max finds a rusted latter in a pile of clutter, the perfect size for the bus's roof entrance.

The elevator reaches the pit of the tunnels, the grated metal floor touches the molded ground and the team disperses. One of many soldiers steadily adjusts the attached camera on their suit. Above ground and back inside the lab, one scientist adjusts the screen and assures everything is in place. He unfolds the rough sketch of the tunneled system taken from the conference room map.

"Let's see if this kid's a wizard or schizo, Doc."

Owens and Hopper shift uneasily, and Hopper runs a coarse and calloused hand across his face in his nerves. The scientist at the control panel switches on the coms, the action creates a harsh ring as the sounds adjust and he leans forward into the mic.

"First door on your right, gentlemen."

The team in the tunnels steadily gather information, their flashlights raised and weapons poised as they begin their trek.

One by one, the kids file into the bus. Steve is the last to enter, assuring everyone makes it onto the bus. He takes one last lingering look around at their work and notes their timing. The sun had just begun to set and the golden rays of sunlight had just begun to kiss the horizon, they had finished just in time.

He steps inside and the bus door slams shut, closing them all inside as they begin their long wait.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Night has fallen and with it a soft sheet of fog blankets the junkyard. Far enough from city lights, the stars are visible, hanging brightly in the night sky. His binoculars around his neck, Lucas ascends the creaky latter to the top of the bus. He positions himself on his stomach, where he can safely hide behind the barricade of tires they had procured.

Ignoring the knots that cool in his stomach from the frightful thought, he begins his shift of lookout, eyes peeled for any sign of Dart.

Inside, the others rest wait patiently as for any signs of activity. Max has occupied one of the vacant bus seats, and she sits slouched, arms folded less than impressed with the outcome of the night. Bored, she watches Steve across the bus as he routinely flips and closes his lighter, his eyes trained on it in a weak attempt to combat boredom.

Anxious to pass the time, and her curiosity peaked as to why her high school stepbrothers rival was in on the charade, she attempts to make conversation.

"So you really fought one of these things before?"

He tears his eyes away from the small flame in his hands to meet her eye. He gives her a flat smile and nods silently before returning his attention to the lighter. With one swift hand movement, it clicks shut and he returns to his physical mantra of opening and closing the small device.

"And you're, like, totally, one hundred percent sure it wasn't a bear?"

Steve is surprised to find a weak and breathless chuckle escape him. Dustin - who had been nervously pacing the bus - stopped suddenly, turning tp her with his voice raised.

"Shit. Don't be an idiot. Okay? It wasn't a bear."

Max does a double-take, surprised at the kid's actions and it was enough to capture Steve's attention.

"Why are you even here if you don't believe us?" Dustin asks shortly. "Just go home."

Her eyebrows twitch up in surprise as she rises from her seat and heads for the latter.

"Geesh. Somebody's cranky. Past your bedtime?" She quips, before disappearing up the latter.

Steve watches in bemused shock, fighting the grin that twitches at his lips and his eyes fall to Dustin. The boy is still pacing, bow from stewing in anger that elicits several huffs from him.

"That's good." Steve praised. "Just show her you don't care."

Dustin stops suddenly, his voice flat but upset.

"I don't."

A sly grin forms on Steve's face, and he gives the boy a wink.

"Why are you winking?" Dustin asks, annoyed. "Steve? Stop."

With effort, Steve managed to put away the smirk and the two are soon cloaked in silence once more.

Up on the bus' roof, Max has joined Lucas's company and together, the two look out on the surrounding fog.

"It's kind of awesome." She says.

Lucas looks at her in surprise, his brows furrowing into a curious frown.

"Huh?"

"The fog, I mean." She says. "It looks like the ocean."

Lucas lowers the binoculars, his gaze turning to her.

"You miss it?"

"What?"

Lucas hoists himself up, bringing himself to a more comfortable sitting position. When he looks at her, it is not hard for him to notice the change in her. She gazes out at the landscape, her eyes occasionally flickering to his but most importantly he sees the forlorn look in them.

"The ocean," he says. "The waves? California?"

Max shrugs, her face melting into a weak frown and her attention shifts somewhere else. He smiles weakly.

"Hawkins seems pretty lame, I bet." He offered.

"No, no, no, it's not that." She says. "It's just..."

The words die on her tongue when she realizes who she is talking to, opening up to. What she is talking about. And yet, she doesn't let it stop her and she doesn't know why. Taking a deep breath, she lets the words spill out.

"My dad's still there. So..."

"Why?" Lucas asks sadly.

Her regular composure comes back in a fleeting moment, and she chuckles dryly.

"It's this legal term called "divorce." She quips. "See, when two married people don't love each other anymore..."

"Yeah." Lucas mumbles.

They share a weak smile, and reluctantly Max continues.

"My mom and my step-dad, they wanted a fresh start away from him. As if... As if he was the problem, which is total bull. And things... are just worse now."

Her saddened gaze hardens on the land below them, and Lucas can tell, in this moment, she is not all there.

"My step brother's always been a dick, but now he's just angry... all the time..." She sniffles, breaking her eyes away for a brief moment. "Well, he can't take it out on my mom, so..."

"So he takes it out on you?" Lucas asks, his heart aching.

She looks at him through the tears pooling in her eyes, and she looks just as surprised that she is sharing this. She shakes her head in hopes it will magically make everything better.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this," Max says, the lump in her throat hardening as she struggles at what to say next. "It's just... I know that I can be a jerk like him sometimes, and I do not want to be like him. Ever. I guess I'm angry, too, and... I'm sorry."

Lucas says nothing, only staring at her in astonishment that she was opening up. The embarrassment grows in her and she angrily wipes away her tears once more.

She's embarrassed by the pitiful look in his eye, and her cheeks darken, already pink from crying. Angrily, she swipes at her cheek, catching her tears and laughs dryly at herself.

"Jesus! What is wrong with me?"

Lucas is snapped out of his daze and he sits up fully, leaning forward. When he speaks, his tone is soft and urgent. Reassuring.

"Hey, you're nothing like your brother, okay?"

Max listens, taken aback as he continues.

"You're cool and different. And you're super smart. And you're, like," he throws his hands up with a gesture, smirking. "totally tubular."

His antics crack a smile, and much to her surprise she feels a warmth spread in her chest. A warmth she hasn't felt in a long, long time.

"Nobody actually says that, you know."

"Well, I do now."

She nods, a sarcastic gleam in her eye.

"And it makes you seem really cool."

A thoughtful look crosses Lucas's face, and he tilts his head.

"I like talking with you, Mad Max."

"And I like talking with you, stalker." She smiles.

A wild growl echoes from the distance capturing everyone's attention. Down below, Steve and Dustin scurry to the nearest window, peering out into the fog. Hearts hammering in their chest, they scan the land for any signs of movement, their eyes peering through the grates window from behind the sheets of metal they had used to barricade the bus.

"You see him?" Dustin asks quietly.

"No."

Dustin turns, calling up to the roof.

"Lucas, what's going on?"

"Hold on!" He calls, binoculars aimed at junkyard entrance.

His view flies across the landscape in a hurry, Max watching anxiously beside him as she squints through the yard. Lucas tenses when he catches a soft and barely audible thump from the east entrance, and his binoculars land on a car in the distance he could have sworn moved.

"Shit." He breathes.

Max's gaze flickers to him for a brief moment before hastily scanning the fog once more.

"What? Did you see something?"

"I-I don't know-"

His thought is cut short by his own sudden gasp, the binoculars had found a four-legged figure stalking through the fog.

"I've got eyes!" He calls. "Ten o'clock. Ten o'clock!"

Sure enough, Steve and Dustin locked eyes on the dark figure making its way through the yard.

"There," Steve whispers, his heartbeat spiking.

"What's he doing?" Dustin asks.

"I don't know."

Lucas and Max study the horizon, and Max - who now holds the binoculars - spots a flurry legged creature hidden in the fog. She turns to Lucas, giving him a skeptical look.

"Wait. You sure that's not a dog?"

"What?"

A familiar chitter rings through the air, and everyone stiffens. A worried look crosses Steve's face when he sees Dart circling the bait.

"He's not taking the bait. Why's he not taking the bait?"

"Maybe he's not hungry?" Dustin offered.

"Maybe he's sick of cow,"

Steve backs away from the window, his heart hammering. He knows what he has to do, but he doesn't like it. Dustin looks at him worriedly, but Steve only nods before retrieving his bat and heading for the door.

"Steve? Steve, what are you doing? Steve?"

He turns, the moonlight pouring in from the roof hatch and illuminating his worried but determined features. He retrieves his lighter from his back pocket and holds it up.

"Just get ready." He says, tossing Dustin the lighter.

The bus doors open with a creak, and slowly Steve creeps outside, bat gripped tightly in hand. He takes a few cautious steps before the bus doors close with a creak. Slowly, he paces the grounds, twirling his bat in hands ready to strike. He whistles, hoping to draw Dart near but nothing happens.

"Come on, buddy."

Max climbs hastily down the ladder, joining Dustin by the window.

"What's he doing?"

"Expanding the menu."

"Come on, buddy," Steve repeats, his voice wavering. "Come on, buddy. Come on. Dinner time. Human tastes better than cat, I promise."

Max shakes her head in disbelief, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene.

Dustin only grins in a mix of pride and awe.

"He's awesome."

Catching a glimpse of movement, a darkness in the fog, Steve swings his bat back and forth, causing a rift in the sea of fog. Slowly it disperses, revealing a snarling and newly evolved Dart. Roughly the size of a small wolf, he now looked more like a demogorgan than ever.

Up above, Lucas spots two more figures closing in on Steve from behind.

"Steve, watch out!" He cries.

"A little busy here!" Steve snaps.

"Three o'clock! Three o'clock!"

Reluctantly, he turns and to his horror, he sees what Lucas was talking about. Scaling the surrounds vehicles, are two more Dart like creatures slowly advancing on him.

In the bus, Dustin jumps to action.

"Steve!" He rips the bus door open. "Steve! Abort! Abort!"

Dart lunges at Steve before he can make his escape. Steve is able to dodge the creature's attack, just barely, and manages to duck behind a car. He can hear rapidly approaching footsteps and he turns quickly, the sharp edges of the bat striking away another demogorgan mutant.

"Steve run!"

"Steve hurry!"

With his latest opponent still winded, it buys Steve enough time to make a break for the bus, another creature hot on his heels. He has to dive, but he just barely makes it. His toes cross the threshold as Dustin closes the door. A loud thump reverberates through the bus and it shakes violently upon impact. The mutant demogorgons efforts to get inside do not cease, the horrible sound of metal being clawed chills their ears and the bus door continues to move.

"Holy shit!"

"Are they rabid or something?" Max shrieks.

Steve grabs an extra sheet of metal from the windshield and places it against the bouncing door. He plants his feet against it, and the sheet begins to bounce just as so.

"They can't get in!" Lucas cries. "They can't!"

The bus takes several blows, and the whole bus rocks back and forth with it. The sound of metal hitting metal grabs their attention from the back of the bus. One of them had broken through a gap. Steve is there in seconds, with all his might he swings the bat at the slimy arm poking through.

Dustin grabs his headset, flipping it on screams into the mic.

"Is anyone there? Y/n? Mike? God! Anyone!"

Another break in the wall sends Max and Lucas across the bus, eliciting several horrified shrieks from each of them.

"We're at the old junkyard," Dustin continues. "and we are going to die!"

Another loud and heavy thump shakes the bus, turning Max's head. It had come from the back, but all she saw was Steve finishing off the first beach. Then another thump came, and that is when she noticed the ceiling of the bus bend under each thump.

One was on the bus, and it was heading straight for the roof hatch. It grew closer with every thump and slowly she looked up. For the briefest of seconds, all she saw was the night sky. Then slowly, a large slimy head came into view. Its grey, petal-liked head opened up as it snarled at her, revealing hundreds of its thorn shaped teeth and drool dribbled down the latter before her.

Her mouth opened, and her petrified screams hit her ears before she could even register she was screaming. Max stumbled back, and Steve's arm sweeping her aside assisting and he quickly took her place.

"Out of the way! Out of the way! You want some? Come get this!"

He has then spiked sat in the creature’s direction and it hunches down in an attack position. Its mouth opens once more, and it lets out awful roar. He grips the bat tighter, ready to swing when something catches its attention. Its guard lowers and looks off at the horizon in curiosity and Steve freezes.

The beast draws back in another snarl and in the blink of an eye, a thunderous boom echoes across the valley and sends it flying with a painful shriek. With it, a violent force rocks the bus that sends everyone in a mad scramble for balance. For a moment, Dustin fears in the midst of all the commotion, he had grown faint. A gust of warm wind accompanies the tremor that he first mistakes as hot flashes. But when his ears perk, they barely catch the fading echoes of stained scream.

Everyone has frozen, completely rooted in place in fear of another attack and Max is the only one brave enough to speak.

"What the hell was that?" She hissed.

More tremors shake the ground and several grunts and thumps are heard. Everyone scrambles to the window when they realize they are ni o longer the target. Dustin is the last to reach the window but he realizes exactly what it is before ever laying eyes on it.

"Stay back!" Cries a familiar voice. "Stay, the hell, back!"

Not single soul dares to blink, much too captivated by the change in events. Packed in against the windows, fighting for window space, they stare through the grated window in complete shock and awe as Y/n Henderson battles the mutants. They almost didn't recognize her. Besides the fact she was constantly moving - barely dodging their attacks - and the powerful bursts of energy emanating from her hands, she held herself differently.

She was also dressed in baggy, shoddy clothing. Ripped jeans two sizes too big that were buckled just above her waist, and several layered shirts Dustin nor Lucas had ever seen her wear. Everyone watched dumbfounded as she threw her hands up left and right, and with it, hot bursts of air blowing knocking back the creatures.

She bent over, grabbing her knees and they could see her swallowing as much air as she could, her knees wobbling. Before they could snap into action to help, she rose once more and held her hands out ready to strike once more.

"Steve! What the hell are we doing, we gotta go help her! Now!" Dustin hissed.

Steve nodded a bewildered look on his face still. Nevertheless, his feet finally began to respond to his brain’s signals and he headed for the door. The bus rattled with his movements and the Demogorgon's stilled, looking towards the bus. The kids' eyes widened and for a moment, Dustin feared they had been heard, further agitated the creatures. But much to everyone's surprise, one by one they retreated.

They circled Y/n, looking ready to pounce and several even snarled at her, but they kept moving. They ran straight for the bus and Y/n's eyes widened in fear, she ran after them, ready to strike again when she stopped.

The creatures had run around the bus, completely fleeing from the scene. When she was sure they were safe, she collapsed to her knees, panting heavily.

"What the fuck just happened?" Max exclaimed suddenly.

Her words snapped everyone out of their daze and hastily they fled the bus, pooling put onto the ground.

"Y/n! Oh, my God, what the shit!" Dustin cried, running to her figure and sliding across the grass to join her.

Y/n looked up from the ground, the color was drained from her face and branching put from her eyes and lips were a million tiny spider veins. She was still panting, gasping for breath but she was still very much aware of her surroundings.

"You're... welcome." She panted.

A squeaky, relieved laugh erupted from Dustin's throat and he tackled her in a hug, nearly sending her to the ground. Smiling, she reciprocated and after a moment the siblings parted.

She looked around at all the widened eyes, everyone was rendered speechless, waiting for her to speak. She licked her chapped lips and she hurriedly swiped away a drop of blood from her ears as it tickled her skin.

"I'll explain, I promise." She said, slowly regaining her composure. "But somebody better tell me why the everloving fuck are those back?"

"Are you kidding me? You can't just pull that shit and expect us to move on!" Lucas shouted.

"Shit," Max breathes, looking at Lucas in defeat. "So, like, you really weren't kidding. I owe you an apology."

Y/n blinked rapidly in surprise, her eyebrows shooting up. Her wild eyes flickered to Lucas questioningly. She had fully expected to have to explain herself to Max and Steve, but she never expected them to know.

"Lucas, you told her?" Y/n exclaims.

Lucas shifts uncomfortably on his feet, a sign of guilt despite his strong defense.

"I had to! Besides, she's been a big help and right now, we need a lot of that."

"Lucas," Y/n warns.

"What does it matter?" He snaps defensively. "You'd have to tell her anyway since she just saw all that!"

"Hey," Steve called.

"Well, she wouldn't be here if you hadn't involved her!" Y/n snapped back, the grass beginning to heat beneath her and Dustin.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!"

Steve's voice rings out in the hearing, and finally everyone silences and looks to him meekly.

"Jesus, you shits never listen," He grumbles, running one hand through his hair. "Look, I don't know what the hell just happened, and I'd sure as hell love some answers, but we have a bigger problem on our hands. We've got a whole lot more of these things to deal with than we thought, and we need to know where they're headed so we can stop them."

"What are you talking about? Y/n scared them off," Dustin said.

Y/n shook her head, a quizzical look on her face.

"No. No, I don't think I did." She said in realization. "Sure I took by them by suprise, but I was vastly outnumbered. They could have put up a bigger fight, but..."

"But they just stopped." Max finished her voice grave.

Y/n nodded, lost in thought when Dustin rose to his feet, extending his hand for his sister. Grateful, she took it and wobbled to her feet, dusting off her palms and shins.

"Do you think they heard something?"

"I don't know," Steve mumbled, his bat coming to rest over his shoulder. "But whatever it is, it can't be good."

There was a pause as they each echoed around worriedly at one another. It was soon disturbed by Lucas, who exhaled sharply.

"Okay, seriously, I can't take it anymore!" Lucas huffed, crossing his arms. "Stop dodging the question, and tell us what the hell is going on!"

Y/n looked around at the curious faces and sighed.

"Christ! I will!" She said, eyes darting between Steve and Max. "But I at least have the right to know how and why they are here seeing as they're about to hear what I have to say."

"We're low on hands, seeing as you or Mike, or even Will haven't been answering," Dustin says, his gone slipping into a scold.

Y/n winces, taking in a sharp breath through her clenched teeth.

"About that..."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Several beams of light crawl across the murky ground. Apart from the soft crackling of their comms, the squelching sound of footsteps bounce around the tunnel.

"Almost there, ladies."

"Roger."

After several twists and turns, the men find themselves at their target location. The tunnels have led them to the hub, they scan the area for any disturbances but find none. Just several other entrances to the hub, and among the small space are several giant spores that move as if they're breathing.

"Stay frosty, boys." One orders.

With great caution, they step forward, but a sudden snap echoes off the walls and they stand aside to see several bones scatter amongst the damp earth.

From up above in the lab, Hopper takes note of the dots on the screen. His eyes widen in recognition and he urgently steps forward to examine the monitor further.

"Wait. That's where I was?"

"What?" Owens asks, turning.

"It's that damn graveyard." He says.

The soldiers slowly scatter across the grounds, several bones crush beneath their feet. The team's leader grips his weapon tighter and scans the area further as he speaks.

"Sir, there's nothing here."

The man at the controls turns his head to address Owens. His lips press into a firm line and he shrugs halfheartedly.

"Looks like your kid's full of shit, Doc."

Hopper and Owens wear a similar frown and share an uneasy glance. They both know something is amiss, but they say why. Suddenly, as if to answer their suspicions, another high pitched growl echoes through the soldiers' coms.

The men turn in circles, to their surprise, large clouds of fog begin to pool in from every tunnel surrounding them. It engulfs their feet and settles around their ankles, spiking their nerves as they hear the growling grow closer.

Elsewhere in the facility, Will lays stiffly in his hospitality bed. He has paled once more and his lip quivers, her heart clenched with guilt.

Finally, he gathers the courage and strength to speak. Speak as himself. Though it is still with great difficulty, the second presence inside him fighting to keep him quiet but.

"I-I'm sorry." He whimpers.

Joyce and the others perk up in confusion, and Joyce wastes no time in reassuring him. She gently rubs his arm, and her heart is gripped by fear as she recognizes the same in her son.

"What? What do you mean, sweetie?" She cooes.

His breathing grows labored as he fights a losing battle against the tears forming his eyes. He looks to his mother, and he can feel himself drowning in guilt and regret. He shudders at the thought of what he has done and weakly he speaks through the tears.

"He made me do it." He sniffles.

Joyce rises to her feet to comfort her son, unaware of the thoughtful glance on Mike's face.

"Who? Who made you do what?"

Will's darkened pupils look up at her in fear, and he speaks through choked cries, his body shaking like a leaf.

"I told you," He says. "They upset him. They shouldn't have done that. They shouldn't have upset him."

Before Joyce can question him further, Mike looks up at his friend, completely aghast. His stomach plunges in fear and his eyes widen in realization.

"The spy." He says fearfully, and he sees Will subtly shake his head. "The spy!"

Mike jumps to his feet, startling Bob and Joyce in the process and bolts through the door.

Above the tunnels in the observation room, a scientist monitoring the radar turns suddenly addressing the team.

"We've got movement." She informs.

The man grips the microphone tightly, one eye on the radar as he attempts to alert the team.

"You've got company, fellas."

Back in the hallway, Mike crashed into the guards stationed by the closed-off hallway. He fights and kicks with all his might, his voice elevated and frightened.

"I need to get through! It's a trap!"

The guards roughly push him back where he fell into Bob's arms, who had followed Mike into the hall. He attempts to pull him back but Mike continues to fight against him.

"It's a trap! I need to warn them. It's a trap!" He screams.

The fog has now engulfed the hub, and the team's vision is blurred. Several frightened and overlapping voices spill out into the air as they form a tight circle.

"I can't see shit! Where are they? Where are they?"

"They're right on you!" The tech urges, growing more frightened.

The radar has completely lit up, dozens of shots sprinkle the area and all they can do is watch, hoping their warning is enough. The cameras are fogged, the radar their only hope at saving them.

"Wait, what?"

"What was that?"

Several horrific screeches pierce the air, barely muffled through the coms. The radio channel is soon filled with gunfire and terrible shrieks of agony, and all they can do now is watch and listen in horror, knowing there is little to no hope of saving them now.

And in a frantic effort to understand, Joyce lightly shakes Will's shoulders as he cries. She is choking back tears of her own as she does so.

"Will, sweets, talk to me. You got to help me understand."

Will is crying freely now, and he shakes violently with sobs.

"It's too late."

The last thing the observation team sees is the only remaining soldier scurry for the camera when all goes to static. Everyone is shocked into silence, and they look around at one another fearfully. Hopper is the only one to move, he has taken sight of the nearest radar and his blood runs cold. Every dot on the map in near-perfect sync flees through one tunnel.

The tunnel the soldiers had come from.

"You should go." Will sobs, his eyes filled with fear.

Moments later, the silence in the observation room is disturbed by familiar shrill cries that echo out from where the elevator had disappeared.

Hopper turns to face the glass as do the others, and everyone is suddenly aware - all too late - that things were only getting worse. He races to window, and from there, all he can see is the bottomless looking pit, but the shrill cries only grow stronger.

"They're almost here," Will says.

A concerned frown forms on Hopper's face as he studies the cables cautiously. The elevator cables begin to move, twist and twirl, creating a reverberating his of metal curling before settling into small vibrations. And out of the depths of the pit, one by one, the mutated army of Demogorgans emerges.

__________

Sorry if this chapter basically assumed what you usually wear. I normally stay away from all that, so if you usually wear that sort of stuff [I do too so I get it lol]. I do my best to let you guys imagine what you wear cause I always enjoy that in a reader insert. The clothes will be explained next episode! I just picture Y/n Henderson in clothes like max’s in season 2, handmedowns and stuff since the Hendersons probably aren't the *richest* and it's just Claudia Henderson so yeah

Just an fyi for chapter ahead:

Y/h = your height [tall, short, etc.] H/l = hair length H/t = hair type [curly, straight, etc.] H/c = hair color S/c = skin color

On that note, for reference for next chapter, I know we don't all look like our moms, but for the sake of the plot she looks like you in this story if she doesn't already. Thank you!

+++

Tag List: @dickkwad @aimee-lucass @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa @miscellaneoustoasts @happyandlonely-blog @missmulti @youpi-chan @peeperparkour @ba-responds @bibliophilesquared @blogforhoes @witch-of-all-things-soft @shawni-h @whothefuckstolemykeds @mirdall @fandom-imagines-xxx @daughter-of-pan12 @stranger-things4

DM me if you want to be added!

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #cosmic 2 #cosmic #will byers x reader #will byers #joyce byers #jim hopper #sam owens #max mayfield #steve harrington #Lucas Sinclair #dustin henderson #y/n henderson #netflix #netflix st

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

Fic: Lonely, Dark and Deep - ao3 link - Chapter 5

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Madara/Tobirama, background others Summary:

Hashirama was always going to have to leave Konoha behind one day, but no one was expecting for it to happen so soon.

Tobirama falls apart without his brother.

Madara, mad and bitter and preparing to leave himself, finds that he’s now without his best friend and responsible for a village he’d just about given up on.

And now it seems like there’s something not quite right with the forest…

———————————————————————————–

“I’m sorry,” Tobirama says, and Madara has had nightmares about this man saying that, this man who has, despite all odds, become something very much like a friend over the last year.

Madara dreams of it, sometimes: imagines Tobirama dull-eyed, as he’s gotten more and more in the year since Hashirama’s disappearance, imagines him standing there patiently, having waited to informed Madara of his ensuing death because the bastard is polite enough that he wouldn’t want to leave a co-worker hanging like that but already holding his sword aimed the wrong way round.

It’s the same place every time: he’s always standing and waiting for Madara at the edge of the forest, and that’s the place where it ends, where the sword goes in and cuts off the younger man’s life before its time.

The dream never changes in that respect – it’s never at Tobirama’s home, or in the office of the Hokage, because he’d never leave a mess for someone else to clean up like that. He’d have already cleaned up his precious labs and locked away the more dangerous inventions that he couldn’t quite bring himself to destroy; already have tidied up his desk and finished the paperwork for the next two weeks in advance; already ensured that no one from Konoha would be lingering around to see – considerate, that’s what Tobirama was, always thinking about the big picture, thinking about how one thing might affect others, but never really caring about the emotional impact any of it would have.

It’s always at the edge of the forest.

Always at the same place, too, a place Madara knows by now too well: just beyond the western gatehouse, where Konoha spills over from clearing into woods – trees a bit too thick for the age they seem to be, the light dappled from shining in through their branches and leaves, the ground well-covered in grass and weeds and bushes.

The last place Tobirama saw that which that he loved the most, walking away from him.

That’s where he’ll do it. Madara’s sure of it.

That’s why Madara is here, now, making the proposal that he is. He has to do something, his very nature rebelling at the thought of simply accepting Tobirama’s untimely death as a foregone conclusion, and this plan is the only thing he can think of to make those dreams go away.

(He can’t let it happen like that. Not – not after watching Izuna die, after losing the only brother he had left; not after knowing that Tobirama is all that’s left of Hashirama, that he’d be losing what little is left of him, too. Not after working with Tobirama this past year, in the time before that; not since he snapped out of that horrible madness brought about by Izuna’s loss and realized that Tobirama is more than just a brother-killer, realized that he’s brilliant and devoted and meticulous, terrible with people and flat in affect even in private, possessed of a wicked sense of humor that he tends to hide more often than not – no.

No. Madara can’t let him just die like that. He can’t.)

“I’m sorry,” Tobirama says again, and his eyes are far too wide with surprise to be dull right now. “You’re proposing that we what?!”

“Have sex,” Madara says, not entirely understanding what the problem is. “For the sake of the village, of course.”

“Of course,” Tobirama says, his voice a little strangled. “Of course…would you like to explain your logic? I think I might be missing a few crucial steps.”

Madara is not, by nature, a subtle man, and while there’s probably a better way to say it, he’s not one to mince around a delicate subject. Not when there’s this much at stake.

“This village needs you as Hokage,” he explains. “It needs your expertise, your attention to detail, you management skills, your diplomacy…and just as it needs you most, you’re deteriorating.”

Tobirama’s back straightens in offense. “I have never let Konoha down!”

“No, you haven’t. Not once, not even when you probably should,” Madara says dryly. “I meant a personal deterioration. You barely eat, you sleep poorly, your bathing schedule has gotten erratic –”

Admittedly, it’s only gone down to the level a normal person would consider more than reasonable, but for a neat-freak half-fish like Tobirama, that’s shockingly seldom.

Tobirama holds up his hands, still looking bewildered. It’s a rather amusing expression on his normally impassive face. “I admit all that. But – why – no, how, exactly, would having sex solve the – ah – underlying issue? Which I know you’re aware of?”

Neither of them mention Hashirama’s death during daylight hours. It’s better for both of them that way.

Madara shrugs. “Touka said the only thing that would help you with your particular issue is another brother for you to treasure. Now, I can’t get you that short of time travel or resurrecting your parents –”

“Please don’t ever make that suggestion again. I don’t mind resurrecting the dead, but I don’t have any desire to see either of my parents again, much less for the purpose of breeding them.”

Hmm, fair enough. Madara concedes that that suggestion sounds a lot more creepy once he thinks it through a bit more.

He certainly wouldn’t want to see his parents again, even putting aside the, er, breeding business.

“– so a lover will have to do as the next best thing,” Madara concludes, deciding to ignore Tobirama’s unhelpful interjection. “You need someone to hold onto to tide you through your loss and a lover is the best sort of distraction for that sort of thing. It’s sometimes used as a solution to the curse of hatred, and given that your particular, uh, issue is more akin to the one suffered by Uchiha rather than Senju, I don’t see why there’s isn’t every reason that it would work for you as well.”

Tobirama stares at him. His eyes are wide to the point of being vaguely owlish.

“I’m not suggesting that it’ll fix the issue!” Madara adds quickly, realizing that Tobirama might be offended. One couldn’t replace a beloved brother with a bit of sex, after all, and he’d never suggest as much. If this wasn’t the only thing he’d been able to think of, he wouldn’t have suggested it at all, but – it is. And he’s desperate. “Especially since we’re not, you know, actually lovers. I’m perfectly happy to admit that we barely stand each other at the best of times. But sometimes having the semblance of something can help, even in the absence of the real thing.”

“I…see,” Tobirama says, his face finally abandoning the shocked expression and settling back into normal contemplative lines. “Essentially, you’re suggesting that if we simulate the behavior of lovers, the effects of having a lover might apply regardless of the actual feelings involved and it will…function as a stopgap, essentially?”

“Exactly!”

This is why Madara enjoys working with Tobirama, even though he’s a sharp-tongued bastard with no sense of limits – whatever one can say about the man, one must admit he’s quick on the uptake and very unlikely to reject any idea out of hand, no matter how bizarre.

“Hn. Dare I ask why, exactly, you’re volunteering yourself for this task?”

“Well, I can hardly volunteer anyone else for it without it coming across as extremely unfortunate,” Madara points out, quite reasonably in his view. “Also, having spent the last year of my life cooped up in as very small office trying to establish a village with you, I can now state definitively that you hate humanity. Previous to this, I only suspected as much – but now I’m certain of it.”

Tobirama scowls at him. “I do not hate humanity.”

Madara snorts. “Fine. You hate vast swathes of humanity. In a village currently consisting of, at minimum, representatives of every reputable shinobi family in Fire Country, aka the sort of people you might conceivably get along with, the sum total of people you actually like – as opposed to are willing to tolerate in order to achieve your goals – is a list limited to: your students, three of your close cousins, me, and that weird shark-person ambassador from Kiri, and the last one only because of those truly awful fish puns that for some bizarre reason you find amusing.”

“Hoshigaki’s fish puns are amusing.”

“No one got that joke about the clam except for you.”

“It’s not a clam, it’s a freshwater mussel, and I told you, the scientific name of that subspecies is Anodonta imbicilis –”

“And that’s why he was calling the Inuzuka representative a muscle-bound imbecile, yes, I got it after you explained it. It just wasn’t funny. Jokes that someone has to explain are not funny. Listen, if you’re willing to risk the almost inevitable assassination attempt, I can call him instead –”

“She. Not he.”

Madara stops. “What? No.”

“Yes.”

“Impossible!”

Hoshigaki was built like a bookcase, a walking rectangle with arms like tree trunks. It hadn’t even occurred to Madara that conventional gender definitions might apply.

Do sharks even have genders?

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “As you’re not wrong in that she would feel obligated to at least attempt to kill me on behalf of her village, and, perhaps more importantly, is married with children –”

Hoshigaki? Married? With children?!

Madara’s going to have nightmares about swarms of baby sharks with legs, he just knows it.

“– let’s not call her. Not that I’ve agreed to your ridiculous idea at all.”

Madara crosses his arms and scowls at the intractable bastard.

“It’s not like I’m suggesting we do this for fun,” he says. “We’re not in love, of all ridiculous things, and I highly doubt we’re ever going to be more than people who have managed to be able to work together efficiently. But the village needs you, and you clearly need someone. Might as well be me.”

Tobirama scowls.

Madara really didn’t want to have to play dirty, but clearly it’s necessary. He was quite serious about being willing to do anything to save Tobirama’s life, and he wasn’t talking about sacrificing his body.

“Hashirama wouldn’t want you to just fade away like this.”

Tobirama flinches.

“And you know he’d be happy about anything that got us to spend more time together outside of work that isn’t sparring or training…”

“I can’t believe you’re using my brother to convince me to sleep with you.”

“For the good of the village! Besides, it’s going to work.”

Tobirama makes a face, but Madara has no doubt: he knows Tobirama’s weakness, now, and he’s merciless in exploiting it.

(No wonder the Senju make a practice of not telling other people their principles; it’s a weakness just asking to be abused, like an Uchiha making too clear who his most precious people were.)

Sure, Madara’s aware that it’s in bad taste to invoke the name of the man who was, for all practical purposes, his soulmate in order to bed the man’s younger brother – but Hashirama is gone, and anyway, he’s sure it’s what he would have wanted, if it meant Tobirama lived a little longer.

It’s entirely virtuous what he’s doing. Entirely. There’s not an iota of selfishness in it.

“One day you’re going to pull that line of reasoning and I’m going to turn you down just to see the surprise on your face,” Tobirama says, standing up. “Very well, come along.”

Madara blinks, having expected to have to argue about this for at least another hour. “Come – where?”

“To bed, of course. Your plan is ridiculous, but if we’re going to try it, we should test our compatibility now. If we don’t have that, there’s no point at all.”

Entirely virtuous, Madara reminds himself a few hours later, staring up at the ceiling and unsure if he’s blessing or cursing his entirely unconscious decision to activate his Sharingan at some point, burning the images of white skin beaded with sweat and swollen red lips and heavily lidded eyes in a head thrown back in silent pleasure into his mind forever. It’s entirely virtuous. Giving Tobirama something to live for is the best thing for the village, and this will help. That’s all that’s going on: the only person I could have loved was Hashirama, and he’s gone – this is just a physical thing, a sacrifice that I’m making. Nothing more.

It’s not like I’m going to fall in love with him or anything.

#madatobi #Uchiha madara #senju tobirama #senju hashirama #tw: suicide #my fic #lonely dark and deep

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shookethbrooketh · 5 years

Text

seven days

day five

summary: dan is stuck in the wrong timeline. one day, he kisses phil goodnight. the next morning, he’s completely alone. he doesn’t even recognize where he wakes up, and little details in the world around him have changed. he has no clue what’s happening or where to go next in an effort to fix it; all he knows is that he has to find phil.

genre: sci-fi, a lil bit of angst, happy ending

warnings: just some swearing!

fic word count: 13.6k chapter word count: 3.3k

written for the @phandomreversebang ! inspired by the awesome moodboard/edits by @maybeformepersonally ! beta’d (beginning to end) by @i-might-just-leave-soon !

dan clambered to his feet and made his way to the door. he walked slowly and emotionlessly back to the flower shop and into its adjacent flat, where he flopped back down onto the same couch he woke up on. he hadn’t even anything to process; he knew exactly what he had to do. he had to wait - for another day, for another trope, for another phil.

read it on ao3

Dan woke up in his bunk and attempted to stretch his arms, but, as usual, there was no space. Why did he and Phil choose to sleep in stupid, tiny bunks instead of the master bed?

The movement of the tour bus was soothing to Dan; he couldn’t quite remember what had happened, but he felt as if he’d had a long, terrible dream. He tore open the curtain to his bunk and carefully slid out so as to not hit his head, but as soon as his feet hit the floor he could tell he wasn’t in his tour bus at all.

Everything came flooding back to him; Interactive Introverts had ended nearly a year earlier, yet simultaneously it hadn’t happened at all, and in this universe it never would. Dan certainly was in a tour bus, but it wasn’t the II bus, and it certainly wasn’t 2018.

“Shit,” he heard from a bunk to the right of his. “I’ve really got to get used to that.” A body fell out of the bunk with absolutely no grace, and the man appearing before Dan barely managed to land feet first. He was rubbing the back of his blonde-haired head, and Dan could tell he was suffering a pain all too familiar: he’d hit his head on the bunk. “G’mornin’, Dan.”

Dan was taken aback for a moment by the fact that the man knew his name even though they’d never met, but within a few seconds he’d adjusted and shot back, “Morning.”

Dan sat down at the mini table in the bus’s “kitchen” and began mapping out his conversation. He’d learned to be quite careful conversing with people in odd timelines; if he arose too much suspicion, it could affect his ability to find Phil later in the day. He had to figure out what he needed to know to get by in this universe, and quick.

“So where are we going today again?” Dan asked nonchalantly. He was lucky in this particular timeline; he’d obviously had experience on tour, so he at least knew what that portion was like. He just needed the details.

“Detroit,” the man said, lighting a cigarette. Dan struggled not to cough. What kind of a tour bus was this? “Want one?” he asked, noticing Dan eyeing the stick of death.

“No thanks,” he answered, and the other man raised an eyebrow but let it go quickly.

“We’ll be rolling up in a few hours. You’re on opening act today,” he said, and Dan was immediately filled with fear and confusion.

“I’M opening?” Dan blurted out. He wasn’t a musician. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t even know that this was a musician’s tour. Who was he?

“I know it’s your first show on this rotation, but you’ll be fine. All you’ve gotta do is make sure the opening act gets in and set up alright. You’ll have help.” He paused to blow smoke directly in Dan’s face. “Roadie code.”

Dan wasn’t sure what ‘roadie code’ was, but all he could do in that moment was attempt to get out of the smoke cloud that was billowing in his direction. As soon as he could breathe, his focus turned quickly to trying to decipher what he was being told. He was a roadie, or at least that was what he had deduced. His duty for the day was to make sure everything ran smoothly for the opening act of this show, which worried him given that opening acts were about the only thing that he hadn’t experienced from his time on tour. However, he had other priorities.

“Who’s the opening act?” Dan asked.

“Some guy called Phil Lester. He’s another emo dude.”

Bingo.

Dan was completely mentally prepared when the bus arrived at the venue a few hours later. He’d been rehearsing in his head what he was going to say to Phil as much as he could from the moment he’d gotten there, and it was finally time to put it into action.

His head drifted off topic for a moment as he got off the bus and started unloading. He noticed that the venue was the same one he and Phil had been to when they went to Detroit for TATINOF, and he couldn’t help but take a moment to reminisce. Things had been so good then; their tour was beginning to look up from its original controversy, their relationship was as strong as ever, and, most importantly, they were together. The place held good memories for Dan, and he couldn’t help but hope it would hold good omens for him and the Phil of its universe.

“Here’s your crew,” the guy Dan had been talking to earlier said once they’d gotten inside. By then he’d learned that his name was Tommy, and he was the head roadie for the tour. Behind him were about five crew members from the venue. He recognized only one of them, which didn’t surprise him since it was ten years in the past, but it did remind him that he’d had an odd feeling of deja vu when he first saw her in 2016. Having his deja vu validated almost sent him into an existential crisis, but he repressed his thoughts; he had business to attend to.

“Awesome, thanks,” Dan finally replied. Tommy walked away and Dan turned to the crew. “Do you guys know where Phil is?”

“He’s in his dressing room. It’s down the hall, and it’s labeled ‘opener’,” responded someone with an emo haircut Dan had to remind himself was completely normal. He nodded, muttering something about setting up speakers as he disappeared in the direction the crew member was pointing.

His heart pounded as he came up to the door and knocked. Phil opened the door almost immediately, and Dan quickly discovered that Tommy was right about his emo act. He was dressed in almost complete black, and he seemed to have embraced his messy fringe to a point where Dan, with his 2019 brain, could barely handle looking at it.

“Are you the one in charge of getting me set up?” he asked immediately, radiating edgy, careless energy.

Dan was completely frozen out of shock; he’d had his plan all laid out, and Phil had immediately changed it. “Yeah, I-” he eventually stuttered out, but Phil cut him off before he could even begin to figure out what he was going to say next.

“Wonderful, let’s go.” Phil pushed right past him, and he was somehow rendered even more speechless than before. This Phil was not going to be easy to convince.

Dan followed as closely behind as he could, practically falling over himself as he trailed after Phil to the stage. The crew was already working efficiently to set everything up, and Phil stepped up to the microphone as if he owned the stage.

“We ready?” he asked, assuming a powerful stance; he truly practiced like he would perform.

Someone in a distant sound box gave him a thumbs up and started playing a track. “Where’s the backup?” he shouted.

From the gathering of the crew offstage, Dan heard a “they’ll be here a bit before the show!” Phil dramatically rolled his eyes and started singing to the recording. This clearly was a Phil completely unlike the one he knew.

The situation, however, was completely familiar to Dan. Having been on tour twice, he was more than used to a simple sound check. Phil seemed to prefer to jump straight into his songs while some of the crew was still setting up the main act’s equipment behind him, but Dan couldn’t help but appreciate the style just a bit. A quick rehearsal before a show was a refreshing, far from foreign concept in the foreign world he was living in.

After Phil had finished up, he took off back to his dressing room before Dan could even attempt to speak to him. He tried to prepare himself again before heading back down the hallway, but he was almost immediately interrupted. “Dan!”

He turned to see Tommy with the members of the band they’d been traveling with. Dan hadn’t heard of them, so he assumed it was a difference in the timelines, but they seemed to be a slightly different version of My Chemical Romance.

“Can you help me on security?”

“Security already?” asked, dumbfounded by the fact that warmups were just starting and they already needed security.

“A few fans are starting to get lined up; someone just needs to keep them in order. I’ll come get you off once we get through rehearsal, I promise. You’ll be back in time to cover opening rehearsal with the band.”

Dan sighed and responded, failing to hide his dejected tone. “Where do I need to go?”

By the time he’d been relieved from security duty, Dan had become completely aware of how much of a pain 2009 was. Despite his complete awareness that he was the exact same way, he couldn’t help but be dreadfully annoyed by the lines and lines of emo teenagers giving him flashbacks to times he didn’t particularly want to remember. Everything they said and did were completely reflective of what the culture used to be like, and it almost infuriated him to know that they had no idea how “cringe” they would consider their behavior to be in the future. That would be true of any point in a cultural timeline, but Dan could still barely handle living in the past with knowledge of the future.

Even worse, he had no way of telling time. Apparently a young roadie in 2009 didn’t carry a cell phone. Either that or Dan had left it on the bus. Regardless, he was driven nearly mad just by standing there waiting for someone to free him from this job and hoping and praying that he’d be able to talk to Phil before the show. If there was one thing Dan knew about performing, it was that once you perform, you leave. There was nothing better than a post-show tour bus sleep.

Finally, after what Dan could only assume by the movements of the sun was about an hour, Tommy came back with real venue security guards, and Dan was gone before they could even say a word. He had one thing on his mind, and that was getting to Phil’s dressing room.

This time, when he knocked on the door, Phil took slightly longer to answer. When he did open the door, he emerged with black eyeliner caked onto only one of his eyes. “You certainly seem to be interested in me this evening,” Phil said, continuing to apply eyeliner in front of him.

Dan had no idea what to say. All he could think was that he truly was in a fanfiction trope.

“I’m joking….obviously….” he trailed off, and Dan almost wanted to throw up in his mouth. Why did his journey through time have to be so cliche?

“Band’s here!” came a call from down the hall. Dan’s fists clenched up at his sides; he was quickly running out of time.

Dan walked awkwardly beside Phil to the stage, not daring to say anything at all after the ‘conversation’ they’d just had. It really wasn’t much of a conversation at all, but there wasn’t anything else he could call it.

Dan waited anxiously as the rehearsal went on, but he did enjoy watching; Phil seemed to be completely in his element performing with a band. Dan knew he had the whole science thing going, but he couldn’t help but hope this universe’s Phil would eventually make it big as a musician. In reality, his genre wouldn’t last long, but maybe he’d be like Brendon Urie and Fall Out Boy and evolve--or devolve, depending on the way you look at it.

Suddenly, rehearsal was over, and Dan didn’t even realize he’d drifted off into his own thoughts. It shocked him, given how focused he’d been earlier on his goal of trying to get information from Phil. Even he had become entranced by the appeal of the day’s trope. They do have a way of getting to you.

“Can I talk to you in your dressing room for a moment?” The words fell out of Dan’s mouth more than he spoke them. Nerves were beginning to creep back up; it was now or never.

“By all means,” Phil replied with a cool smirk. Dan couldn’t help but roll his eyes at himself for falling a bit for this Phil.

He followed Phil back to his dressing room like a terrified teenager who’d never kissed anyone before. When they reached the room, Phil held the door open for Dan, who went in and took a seat on the couch. The dressing room was nice, but it was nowhere near as nice as the one he and Phil had been in when they’d come to this venue. To be fair, seven years did tend to make a difference.

“So,” Phil said, running his hand through his hair and sitting down beside Dan, “what do you want to talk about?” He put a bit too much emphasis on the word talk for Dan’s taste.

Dan took a deep breath. Phil was sitting in such a manner that Dan knew he wanted to make out with him; Dan, however, had drastically different goals. Why was it that every time he needed information out of a Phil he had to ruin a perfectly good trope in doing it?

“I’m a time traveler.”

Phil took a moment to process this. Dan could recognize it as the same thoughts he went through when Phil first spoke to him; he’d had perfectly good plans in place, and what Dan said not only completely ruined them but probably also thoroughly confused him, at least at first.

“What year?”

“2019. I jumped around 2019 timelines for a few days and then got transported back to here. This is my second day in 2009.”

“Wow,” Phil said, clearly intrigued, “what’s it like?”

“It’s… good?” Dan said, a bit aggravated that they weren’t making better progress. “This entire thing goes out of style pretty soon, though,” he added, gesturing to Phil’s whole body. “But that doesn’t matter. You do this sort of science, don’t you? I know you’re nowhere near actual time travel, but you’re starting studies on the subject, are you not?”

Phil nodded. “You know about the Phils. You definitely are getting along well in your journey.” He stood up and walked over to a desk on the other side of the room and picked up a pad of paper and a pen; he seemed to have been drawing earlier. “What do you know?”

Dan’s entire story came spilling out almost uncontrollably. He truly hadn’t been able to vent to anyone the way he had to Phil, and it was just as relieving to him as it was helpful to Phil.

“That’s my story, I guess,” he ended, taking a deep breath and making eye contact with Phil, who had been taking some notes.

“I suppose it does make sense that this entire thing was a trope. That’s probably one of the simplest ways to explain how attracted I was to you having barely even spoken to you.” Dan wasn’t completely sure how to respond to that, so he just let Phil keep talking. “I have so many questions, mainly about the clear cultural differences that I can feel between us just from the way you spoke in your story and different things that you spoke of, but I doubt we have time to discuss anything like that. What matters is that we figure out how to get you home, back to your Phil.”

“As much as I’d love to explain fanfiction culture to you, I wholeheartedly agree.”

“Well, I can assume that your Phil is probably making efforts to look for you. He’s certainly realized something’s wrong with whatever Dan is in your universe right now.” Dan gulped; he hadn’t considered that there was another Dan currently with his Phil. It almost made him feel jealous. “The last Phil you met was right; there’s probably also another 2019 Phil in this universe somewhere. I’m not completely sure how you’d find him, but he’s probably the only one who knows enough to get you home.”

“But what do you know?” Dan asked, anxious to get to the point. Phil mentioning the lack of time for discussion suddenly made Dan quite aware that Phil had a show to open for any moment.

“Based off my research so far and what you’ve told me, I can make a couple calculations, but I definitely won’t be able to explain anything to you. I’ll just hand you a paper that you probably won’t be able to read, and you’ll have to show it to the next Phil. Keep it on you and hopefully it’ll come with you into the next timeline. I’ll work on all that after I perform--shit, the performance!”

Phil jumped up and ran to check a watch sitting on the desk. “I’m on in five!” he exclaimed, rushing for the door. “Let’s go!”

Dan and Phil rushed down the hall and backstage, where Phil got ready to go on. Dan tried to calm himself back into normal life, but it was difficult when normal life didn’t really seem to exist. All he could do for the time being was enjoy Phil’s music, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy Phil’s music.

He and Phil smiled at each other both as Phil went on and off the stage, and Phil disappeared quickly back into his dressing room to work on the calculations. Dan had nothing left to do but sit backstage and watch the rest of the concert.

When the band finally wrapped up, the entire crew immediately started moving, and Dan quickly joined in. “Dan, what are you doing?” he heard Tommy ask. “C’mon, you know we’re on band security getting out of here. Everyone else will get the stuff out just fine, even if we’re stuck here awhile. They’re slow, but they’re good.”

Dan bit his lip and walked out with Tommy and the band. He exhaled as he walked past Phil’s dressing room, trying to nonchalantly hit the door a bit in passing. He hoped Phil would notice; if he didn’t, Dan would be completely and utterly screwed.

They got out to the bus, and there was still no sign of Phil. The crew was beginning to get all the things outside and pack them underneath the bus; if Phil didn’t arrive soon, they’d have to leave without the paper.

“I’m going to go help them load,” Dan said, rushing off the bus before Tommy could comment on his obviously strange behavior. Dan quickly regretted his decision, as him helping sped up their process, and they were done loading within a few minutes.

“Let’s roll out,” someone said. The crew went back into the venue, and the rest of the roadies got on the bus. Dan furrowed his brow; he’d run out of time.

“Dan!” he heard, and his head turned faster than he could even register. A deep sigh of relief escaped his mouth as he saw Phil sprinting across the parking lot. Dan ran out to meet him, and when they finally met, Phil rested a hand on Dan’s shoulder to catch his breath.

He took Dan’s hand and placed the paper in it before taking a step back. “Good luck, Howell.”

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phic stuff #seven days #dong and ping

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onegayastronaut · 6 years

Text

The Proposal (Wanda Maximoff x Pietro Maximoff x Reader)

Requested by anon: Could you do a fic between Wanda Maximoff x Reader where Pietro and Wanda are both in love with the reader, but the twins fight each other ( not no verbal bullshit, PHYSICAL ONE ON ONE) and the reader chooses Wanda over Pietro? Maybe at the end the reader is taking care of the wounds on Wanda??

Word count: 1266

You were convinced that Steve asking you to join the Avengers was the best thing that happened to you. Being born with special abilities was a burden that you learned to bear in private, but now you finally found a group of people who accepted you no matter what. Most importantly, you finally found a family that did not hesitate to help you and love you.

Waking up at your usual 10:30 AM, you found that Wanda had already made you breakfast with all of your favorites piled so high you couldn't see her face behind all the food.

"Wanda! You didn't have to do all this."

"Yes, I did. Seeing you smile makes it all worth it." Wanda put the food on the bed and kissed you on the cheek.

But before you could take a bite, a rush of wind signaled that the other Maximoff twin had just entered the room. "(Y/N)! You look so beautiful today." Pietro jumped into bed and kissed you on the cheek.

At this point, you were blushing so hard that you were surprised steam wasn't coming out of your ears. So instead of saying anything that might cause you further embarrassment, you instead ate some of the food in front of you. Wanda looked smug at the fact that you were eating the things she made over responding to Pietro's flirting.

"Well, we should leave the beautiful lady alone to enjoy her food." Pietro looked somewhat peeved that Wanda had stolen his thunder.

Walking out of your room, Pietro kept glaring at Wanda as she smiled at the thought of you. "You know, jealousy isn't a good look on you, Pietro."

"Well, I wouldn't be jealous if you backed off (Y/N) and let me pursue her."

"That's not going to happen, because I'm in love with her."

"I love her too."

"Well, how are we going to settle this?"

"How about we let her choose between us? May the best twin win."

The day continued as usual for you. Training was fun with your other two favorite Avengers Steve and Natasha, and you ended up doing some more research for your next possible mission. Just as you were preparing to go to dinner with the rest of the team, both Wanda and Pietro approached you in the hallway.

"Hey (Y/N), we wanted to talk to you about something."

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Wanda and I had an idea. We both really like you, and we wanted to settle things in between us so one of us will get to date you while the other backs off."

You were extremely flattered by what you heard, so it took you a few minutes to find the words you needed to say. "And how would you settle this issue?"

"By a fight. We'll fight each other until one of us wins your affections."

This method of courtship seemed barbaric to you, but at this point, Steve and Bucky had come along.

"Did I hear something about an actual fight for love? Like gladiator style?" Bucky seemed awfully excited about seeing these two fight each other.

As you said "No!" both Wanda and Pietro said "Yes!". Steve looked amused as the other Avengers started gathering around.

Natasha raised an eyebrow as she asked, "What's going on here?"

"A fight! For (Y/N)'s affections!"

"Well, I'm not going to stand in the way of love, so let's go to the practice arena to get this started."

As the group headed towards the empty field, you couldn't help but feel a pang of worry in your heart. You reach for Wanda's hand and intertwine your fingers with hers. "You've got this Wanda." Seeing her blush at your words made you feel as if everything was going to be alright.

When you arrived at the field, Steve took the lead and stood at the front of the group. "Okay lovebirds. A few rules: you two are confined to fighting on this field. No fatal hits or shots. Above the belt hits and punches only. Otherwise, use your powers as you see fit. Both of you can stop the fighting at any time, or until one of you can't stand up, although we all hope it doesn't come to that. Is that understood?"

Both Wanda and Pietro nod as they walk towards the center of the field. Bucky took the honors as he rang the bell that was on the side of the field. You could barely look as Wanda's eyes turned red and Pietro disappeared in a blur running around the arena. After what seemed like a few laps around the arena, Pietro goes in for a kick at Wanda, sending her flying into a wall. However, Wanda was able to send a blast of magic at Pietro which knocked him flat on his back. This fighting went back and forth for a while, with both Wanda and Pietro landing hits on one another.

It seemed like neither twin got tired as the fight continued on for the rest of the day. Sometimes it seemed as if Pietro had the upper hand, where a few minutes later it would seem as if Wanda would be victorious. The fight didn't stop until Wanda had Pietro pinned down and was repeatedly blasting him with magic that Steve finally yelled at them to stop fighting.

"Okay, now that the fun is over, shake each other's hand so there's no ill will between the two of you. The final decision is still in (Y/N)'s hands."

As everyone started to leave, Pietro ran off, presumably to his favorite "secret" hiding spot, while Wanda walked over to the kitchen which had a first aid kit. After a few minutes, you followed her into the kitchen and saw her trying to patch up her arm with one hand.

"Hey, let me help you with that."

"No, it's okay I can handle it myse--" Her eyes flew down to your hand over hers. The mere touch of your fingers made her feel like every nerve ending on her body was hypersensitive.

"You were really good on the field, but you didn't have to fight for me."

"Yes, I did. Pietro wouldn't stop pursuing you."

This was followed by a moment of silence as you continued to patch up Wanda's wounds. "I would have chosen you regardless." Wanda's eyes searched your face as you continued to avoid looking at her directly. It seemed like she wanted to say something, but instead, she chose to remain silent.

It was only after Wanda's wounds were all patched up that you managed to say, "And I don't want to waste another second without you in my life as my girlfriend. That is...if you feel the same about me. Because, if you don't want to date me, that's totally okay and I'll never bring this up again, I promise. But, if you do, then --"

Wanda cuts off your rambling by leaning forward and kissing you, a kiss that was long, tender, and deep. You felt like every nerve in your body was electrified, and that you were floating. However, one thing was sure: this felt right.

You had no idea how long the kiss lasted, but when it stopped, you knew immediately that you wanted to have that feeling with her again.

"Does that mean you want to go out on a date with me, (Y/N)?"

"Well, now that I know you want me to be your girlfriend too, I propose that we go out on several dates."

"Proposal accepted."

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff imagine #The Avengers #the avengers x reader #the avengers imagine

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jiminnie-pink · 6 years

Text

Teasing Games (M)

Jimin x Female!Reader x Jungkook

Friends with Benefits!AU

3.9k

Rated M for smutty smut

Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of MxM, Mentions of Anal, Teasing, Orgasm Denial, Cumplay, PWP.

(Not so much a warning but Jungkook doesn’t actually get to fuck the reader).

The obvious sexual tension that was between you, Jimin and Jungkook had started ever since you had moved in with them. You’d been a lifelong friend of Jungkook’s and naturally fell into his friendship with Jimin leading to you moving in with them over a year ago.

You’d be dumb if you ever denied that you hadn’t realised how much of a handsome man Jungkook had blossomed into, from the shy little boy you knew. You’d also be dumb to deny that Jimin was a walking God.

It was at a housewarming party that through drunken confessions you had found out that Jimin and Jungkook had fooled around together. Such news not only surprised you as Jungkook had never told you but it also excited you that you could possibly catch them in the act now you were living with them.

Another drunken night and you’d not only kissed Jungkook after a revelation of finding the other attractive but you’d also walked in on a crowd of your drunken friends surrounding Jimin giving Jungkook a lap dance. It was that night that you all went home and with alcohol running through your veins laid your cards out on the table and stated you all wanted to bone each other so bad. It was from there that this ‘friends with benefits’ situation started amongst you three.

Throughout the time divulging into not only each other but each other’s fantasies, you’d all long established that the romantic feelings were never there, only the sexual kind. Particularly for you as you had not only witnessed Jungkook’s terrible relationship attempts but also because Jimin was a self-proclaimed fuckboy.

The few people you did tell about the circumstances between you three thought it odd, wrong and heading towards impending disaster but you somehow made it work.

Like now for instance, it was a Wednesday evening, you and Jimin had a long day in work so the fact you were both flat out on the sofa was no surprise. Jungkook was out running his own errands which gave you and Jimin ample opportunity to go over the plan you pair had come up with over text throughout the day.

The sex between you three often involved teasing, overstimulation, brat-taming and a lot of two against one (in the best way of course). Jungkook had long since had a dominating streak that he loved to show in the bedroom but being the youngest out of you three he still had his ‘baby boy’ tendencies that drove you both crazy. The plan that you and Jimin had hatched between you stemmed from the fact the younger was being considerably bratty to you both in recent days, so simple fun was to be had.

It had been over an hour since your final planning when Jungkook came bounding through the door, completely none the wiser.

Jimin had to use the book he was reading to hide the smirk on his face knowing what was coming, it was humourous to you however because you had a little trick up your sleeve that Jimin didn’t know about either.

Time passed and you could see Jimin was getting antsy, his leg was moving and he couldn’t stop playing with his hair, all whilst trying to look normal so as to not give it away to his younger. Jungkook was mindlessly singing in the kitchen to some new song he’d been listening to recently whilst still cleaning up the mess he’d made earlier from food.

“So, when are you both gonna fuck me at the same time?” You said casually.

It was like time stopped around you once you had finished that sentence. Jimin had dropped his book, along with dropping his jaw and Jungkook had dived in from the kitchen so fast it seemed like he had teleported rather than walked.

“Y-you what? Fu- at- what?” Jungkook muttered out whilst looking back between you and Jimin as if what just happened, did not happen.

“You know, double penetration? One in my ass-“

“Yes ____ we know what it means. Jesus Christ.” Jimin finally spoke.

Jungkook sat down on the sofa at this point, the furrow in his brow wonder of whether you were being serious or not. Jimin however leant back in his chair, smug that he had partially caught on that this was the beginning of the plan and also because he knew you were deadly serious.

“How are you not freaking out hyung?! She just asked for us to fuck her in the ass!” So crude. “This is like- oh my god.”

“Hang on, hang on. Only one of you can do it though.”

“Yeah I know but that but it’ll obviously be me.” He proudly said as he sat back in the sofa. You giggled at the assumption that you were about to correct.

“Well you’re wrong there. It’ll be Jimin.” You deadpanned.

The kid bolted up out of his place, just as you did too, only to push him back in his seat as you sauntered over to sit on Jimin’s lap.

It began.

“Do you wanna know why it’ll be Jimin?” His eyes appeared slightly darker with jealousy, as you full well knew anal was something he had been wanting to do for a long, long time.

“Why?” He asked, jaw locked.

“Because he can control himself.”

“Ha!” He remarked. “I’d watch what you say.”

“You know full well you’d bottom out from how tight I would be, similar to how you did when you first fucked me.” Jimin sniggered. “Do you really think I’d risk that for my first time? And I mean, Jimin’s cock will fit just perfectly.”

The chuckle Jimin let out from underneath you had Jungkook seething.

“What’s up Kookie? Don’t like that you’re not having your own way?” Jimin commented, just to throw in that extra sting.

He was speechless. So you got up and walked toward him. His legs spread, his tongue licked his lips as he thought he was going to get at least something out of this. However, you sat on his lap and worked your hands up his strong arms before grabbing on to them to place them up on the back of the sofa.

“You see baby, Jimin and I have come up with a little plan. You’ve been so bratty lately.” You started tracing your fingers through his hair and along his jaw.

“You’re gonna do what we tell you to, okay? In return, I’ll tell you a little secret. I’ve been stretching myself, working up to have one your cock’s in me.” You began to ever so slightly rotate your hips on his lap as you continued to whisper in his ear. “I’ve been wanting to use a plug. I’ve been building myself up to it. So, if you do what we say tonight, you can fuck me whilst I have the plug in. Deal?”

His eyes lit up. He pouted though, a little whine coming out of his mouth as you pressed the tip of your thumb onto his lips, moving it away before he could lick it like he wanted.

You got up from Jungkook, walked back over to Jimin as you sat down on him again, him wrapping his arms around you.

“Oh and something ____ didn’t mention, baby boy, you can’t touch yourself. You touch yourself and you don’t fuck ____ with the plug in and you can only touch us if we let you.”

“First things first. Strip and then sit back and enjoy the show.”

He did as told, his plain white shirt coming up over his head and then his belt buckle being undone to drop his jeans to the floor. You’d be lying if you said that him undoing his belt didn’t affect in you some shameful way. The last to go was his boxers, his heavy cock springing up to his stomach and already beginning to leak. Then he just sat, stark naked with a dribbling cock and the excitement radiating off of him, knowing he’d do exactly as told, knowing you’d both torture him for both yours and his pleasure.

You stood once more, Jimin following suit before you began slowly walking around him. A few touches to his exposed arms, some along his chest and some even down to his crotch. All of them tantalising, all of them teasing.

He took his top off idly, throwing it Jungkook’s way although he didn’t bat an eyelid. Too focused on your hands on Jimin’s chest, running slowly up and down it. The rest of you hidden behind Jimin’s back.

“Tell me baby. What’s your favourite part of Jimin? I don’t want a pussy answer. I want to know what part of him gets you hot.”

You had moved to Jimin’s front now, ever so deliciously pulling his sweats down his legs to pool at his ankles. Your hands barely grazing his skin as you stroked up his leg.

“I can sure tell you mine. His thighs. Aren’t they just amazing? So muscular and perfect for riding. You definitely seem to think so.” Your batting eyelashes making the words you said even more sultry.

The whine Jungkook let out as both you and Jimin made eye contact with him was just the audible recollection of an amazing night you had shared together. Hot and messy.

“His lips. You kno- you both know his lips get me hot.” The struggle he was starting to feel showing through his iron grip on the sofa, desperately trying not to touch himself despite the fact you’d barely started.

It was at his answer that you stood up to your full height again, letting Jimin take control as you kissed in front of Jungkook. His hands beginning to wonder over your body to create further theatrics to torture the younger. The kiss was heavenly sinful, Jimin’s lips were always plush and luscious. Always perfect for any type of kisses, especially when his tongue decides to slip into your mouth. The moan you let out at the action was small but enough for Jungkook to hear as he moans behind you, focusing yourself back to him.

Jimin sat down once again, although not on the armchair, on the sofa next to Jungkook. Both naked, cock’s leaking but one considerably more fucked out than the other.

You began to strip in front of Jungkook, standing within his spread legs to be exact. Your simple pyjama shirt being brought over your head agonisingly slow to finally reveal your bare chest. A new moan coming from Jimin as he had always loved your tits, fucking them was especially his favourite. You hovered above Jungkook, your arms on his legs to take the weight of you beginning to move your hips and more importantly your shorts-covered ass so heinously close to his dick. It was a simple movement and seemingly quite odd as there was no music but your rhythm was enough to drive him on the brink of insanity.

“Kookie.” You said in a moan-like whisper. “Let me ask you another question. What’s your favourite part of me? What part of me gets you hard?”

He didn’t need to respond for you all knew the answer. You knew Jimin was a tits guy and Jungkook was an ass guy, hence why he was hissing numerous breaths in through his teeth as it was taking all his self-restraint from grabbing your pretty little ass and fucking you into the carpet.

You finished your self-considered lap dance before bending over, and pulling your shorts down to expose your bare pussy. The little wet patch that was forming on your shorts was noticed by both men, both taking pride from it. You then walked over to the armchair Jimin was previously sat on before spreading your legs in front of the men. You didn’t need to speak any words to Jimin, the look in your eye was enough for him to know what you were up to.

You started to ever so slightly trail your dainty fingers across your body, the goosebumps rising showing your pleasure. You began circling your already hard nipples, giving them a little pinch and staring Jungkook straight in the eye whilst doing it. Something he loves doing.

He was a mess. Sweat was beginning to glisten over his entire body, a sheen of moisture appearing on his abs in particular. His cock was a sight, the particular vein on the underside protruding with the volume of blood running through it. The head was nearing a purple colour, desperate to be touched. The mere thought of how heavy his balls must be sent your fingers down to your pussy. You tenderly started circling your clit, Jungkook’s eyes burning into the area you were playing with before he saw something out the corner of his eye that averted his attention.

You weren’t the only one playing with yourself. Jimin had caught on and had began stroking his own cock, the smug look on his face not only from his own pleasure but the satisfaction that his actions would be torturing Jungkook in more way than one. Jungkook didn’t know where to look, the way he was moving his neck to look between the both of you would surely make it ache tomorrow but he didn’t care.

This wasn’t something you had divulged in before, although mutual masturbation had been discussed, and even though it was driving him mad Jungkook knew it was the hottest fucking thing you had done between you so far.

You had both picked up the pace, Jimin’s thigh muscles becoming more prominent through the way he was tensing himself up. He had his head throw back into the sofa, his neck just dying to be marked. You however were two fingers deep into your pussy, your lip would definitely become bruised with how hard you were biting it Jungkook noticed. The room filled with moans and gasps of your and Jimin’s pleasure, Jungkook not daring to make a sound in the fear he’d give in.

“Don’t you wish this was you Jungkookie? Your fingers are so much b-better than mine. I can’t reach my spot like you always can.”

“Well then let me fucking touch you.” He seethed. Jimin laughed as he began to slow down his rhythm, not wanting to cum too early as he knew this wasn’t over.

“Oh but that wouldn’t be fun though would it?” Your sentence being cut off with a wanton moan when you touched a particular part inside you, you knew however you weren’t gonna cum with just your fingers. You needed a cock inside you, Jimin’s in particular for tonight.

You quickly strode over to Jimin, your seek for pleasure clouding your pride as you practically jumped into his lap. His smaller hands cupped your ass and began to move you against his cock, your wetness mixing with his pre-cum and creating a sticky mess that was music to Jungkook’s ears. He wanted to fuck you so bad yet he knew with the way your tongue was dancing with Jimin’s and you looking dead at him whilst doing it that he wouldn’t get to do so, part of him hating it and part of him loving it too.

Jimin haphazardly lifted you as he turned to have you flat out on the sofa, his cock rubbing so delectably through your folds. The mess between you both catching the light, the sparkle reflecting in Jungkook’s eyes as he continued to stare. You brought Jimin down for another kiss as he heavily panted above you, craving to just drive you into the sofa and cum deep inside you.

You broke the kiss to ask Jungkook yet another question.

“How do you want him to fuck me? Like this? Or from behind? Do you want me to ride him? It’s all up to you baby.” You mewl as Jimin plants kisses along your neck and collarbones.

Jungkook’s arms had longed move down from the back of the sofa to his thighs. You let it slide as he was still playing the game, he hadn’t once touched his cock despite the torment you and Jimin had been giving.

“Like this. I want to see both your eyes when you cum. I want to see you be fucked like this.”

So be it, you thought.

Jimin hand immediately went to his ready cock, holding it as the thick base as he slid it up and down against you.

“Stop teasing.” You demanded.

“Please just fuck her hyung”. Jungkook agreed.

Jimin’s little smirk showed as he plunged his cock inside you, balls deep and stretching you out to the point of pain but with so much pleasure. He stayed like that for a few seconds, your walls throbbing around his cock.

“F-fuck. So tight. Can I move? Please let me move.” Jimin pleaded at you.

You simply nodded as he held onto your thighs and began thrusting into you. Your legs stretched so far they were making contact with Jungkook’s legs, allowing him to feel each thrust along with you.

Jimin’s pace was perfect, never faltering despite how desperate he was. The complete opposite to the younger boy, he was always rough but with no flawless rhythm.

Each moan escaping your and Jimin’s mouths were plaguing Jungkook further and he wanted nothing more than to pleasure you both but with the sweat beading down Jimin’s forehead it wasn’t only the heat of the room that was making him hot, Jungkook’s piercing eyes and his desperation to cum alluding all his concentration.

He leaned forward over you, sucking a bruise into your neck as he got an even better angle to thrust up into you hitting your g-spot madly.

“So fu-fucking good. Don’t you wish you were fucking her instead Jungkookie? Feel how wet and hot her pussy is.”

Jungkook didn’t answer as you grabbed his hand away from his thigh, soaking with perspiration.

“Make me cum please, help Jimin make me cum.” You whimpered.

You ignored the satisfied look on his face as he knew you’d beg for his touch at some point.

You never knew how he did it. Whenever you fucked he could make you cum in seconds with just a few circles on your clit and today was no exception. His second and middle finger wet with your saliva as you suckled on them whilst he made his way down your body, was edging so close to your clit you couldn’t help but whine at the fact he was taking his time.

One, two, three quick circular motions on your sensitive nub had you crying out into his mouth as he kissed your moaning lips. Your hands that were on his arm and your thigh grasped harshly as your orgasm took over your entire body. The mantra of ‘thank you’ beginning as you came down from the high as Jungkook unlocked his lips from yours.

Jimin had stilled as you came around him, your walls being too tight to thrust into and his cock too close to the edge to continue when he knew he was to cum elsewhere.

“Lay back” you weakly demanded to Jungkook before Jimin pulled out of your wet hole and stood between Jungkook’s spread legs as you had earlier. With a few eager strokes to his cock Jimin was spilling his cum all over Jungkook’s stomach, his eyes wide with the surprise you had both planned for him.

Spent and completely fucked out Jimin practically collapsed into the armchair behind him. No words spoken between the three of you as you all caught your breath. A mere couple seconds had passed before you were up back onto your knees in front of Jungkook only to lick up his abs and clean the cum off of him. His dominant streak that had been completely neglected so far came out as he grabbed the base of your hair to guide to where he wanted you to lick. He placed you oh so close to his cock before he was warned by his hyung.

“It’s not over yet Jungkook. We’re still in charge. ____ why don’t you tell Jungkookie what to do next.” His voice firm and raspy from the thrill.

You spoke no words, only smiled that little smile that drove the men insane as you grabbed Jimin’s hand to drag him onto your knees next to you.

“Stand up Kook, let us help you cum-“

“On your faces?” He asked in hope.

“All over our faces.” Jimin confirmed.

Jungkook managed a smile as he darted to his feet, his long cock standing to a hilt in front of you both. For a split moment he contemplated not touching himself for the fear he would shoot his load in the quickest time. He didn’t grab his shaft like he had envisioned he would, instead he motioned at you and Jimin to get him off instead. With one fat lick up the underside of his cock from your ungodly mouth and one suckle on the head from Jimin he painted your faces with so much cum it was almost pornographic; the way you desired more added a further resemblance to a favourite porn video of his. He was so lucky to have you both to do this with he pondered. Though you two didn’t have the slightest idea he was thinking such things with the way he was gutturally groaning with the sheer amount of cum landing on your faces.

He proudly like a mountain above your and Jimin’s kneeling form, the cum that had decorated your face began to fall between the valley of your breasts. An action that Jimin had caught and gladly licked up with a wicked smile.

Jimin was satisfied enough to immodestly wipe the younger’s cum off his face with the pads of his fingers and lick them clean. You however rushed to the bathroom to wipe the ‘art’ away from your face and use the toilet before returning to the room to see the two boys entangled together on the floor, both seemingly tired out. You of course joined, settling into Jungkook’s unoccupied side.

Post-sex cuddles were a rare occurrence yet deserved at this moment due to the sheer volume of teasing you and Jimin had given tonight.

“It was all ____’s idea.” Jimin confessed much to your annoyance as Jungkook gave a distinct squeeze to your hip, most likely in conquer that he was right in guessing you were the mastermind towards giving him blue balls for such a period of time.

You didn’t respond, instead admiring your three naked forms entwined together and emitting a pleased little laugh as you buried your face into Jungkook’s warm chest. The younger was happy and content enough with the plan you had thoroughly devised, even a small kiss placed upon the crown of your head.

- - -

It was hours later. You had managed to have a shower without Jungkook begging for the sex that could go with it and had just made pre-bed drink in the kitchen whilst Jimin was back to reading and the maknae was languidly playing on his phone.

“I’d like to just let you both know I’m making you cum until you cry tomorrow.” He announced with no prior warning.

You expected nothing less, he never did like not having his own way with you both.

#Jungkook smut #Jimin smut #bts smut #I do kind of love this #(not so) short and spicy

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galway-bae · 6 years

Text

I mentioned I was writing some short horror, so here it is! I put it below the cut so as not to Destroy your dashboard. Read on for infrasound shenanigans.

I work at a bookshop.

Yeah, I know, you’re probably backing out now. You’re assuming this is my grab at a book deal, writing a “totally true horror story” and waiting to go viral. But I promise you, I’ve never wanted to write a book. Hell, I didn’t particularly want to sell them. It’s my great-uncle’s store, really. Uncle George. He hired me straight out of college so I could make some cash, spent a year showing me the ropes, and promptly kicked the bucket. Nobody in the family wanted to take it over, but nobody wanted to sell it either. So now it’s mine.

It’s not a bad gig. I have a small apartment tucked into a corner of the attic, a bathroom and tiny kitchen behind the “Employees Only!” door in the back, and a washer and dryer crammed behind the stacked boxes of books sharing the basement.

I say my great-uncle kicked the bucket, but that’s not entirely true. He vanished. My family assumed he was dead, and knowing what I do now, I’m inclined to agree. The bookshop had always felt halfway out of reality, if only because of its status as a stereotypical cozy little store. It was the smell of new paper and the crowded maze of shelves. It was the fact that each of those shelves held a multitude of other universes sandwiched between layers of paper. Once my great-uncle disappeared, it was the unknown pressing over the entire building, a heavy blanket of “how” and “when” and “why.” I liked to imagine that other people could feel it too, despite not knowing about the mystery. I think people can feel that sort of thing. It seeps into a building and saturates the wood with its smell.

It first happened on a Thursday morning. I was trying to shave in the dingy bathroom mirror, silently cursing myself for putting off buying a new one. It was my everyday routine. Buying a new mirror couldn’t be more than a twenty minute errand but procrastination to the point of absurdity has always been a talent of mine.

As I dragged the razor across my face I felt suddenly dizzy. My head swam, ears muffled like they were stuffed with cotton, and grey spots appeared in my field of vision. It was gone just as quickly, the grey blotches fading away to be replaced with red ones. I’d cut my face, I realized. The blood dripped high-contrast spots against the white porcelain of the sink. I wiped it up with a wad of toilet paper and slapped a bandaid on the wound.

The dizziness didn’t concern me much. It was either too much caffeine or too little, and once I poured myself a cup of coffee I’d find out. I knew I’d missed patches on my face thanks to the grimy mirror but I didn’t feel like risking another cut. Bloodstains in the bathroom are bad for business. When I walked out, mug in hand, Leo was at the cash register.

“What’s up?”

I’d met Leo when I helped Uncle George run a Dungeons & Dragons event at the bookshop. Yeah, I know, I’m a walking geek cliche. Sue me. Anyway, George wanted to attract more customers who weren’t septuagenarians, so I ran a short campaign to lure in my fellow youths. Leo was a D&D first-timer who teased me mercilessly about calling myself a dungeon master and using words like “constitution” and “prestidigitation” outside the D&D table. I liked him immediately.

At that moment, he was sitting on the stool I kept behind the register, long legs kicked up on the counter. He’d come in through the back, most likely--friends got access to the store before and after hours. He eyed me over.

“Cut yourself shaving?” “Yes, actually”

“You missed a spot,” he gestured towards my patchy shave job. I flipped him off. He smiled back, swinging his legs off the counter.

He didn’t seem to notice, but I still felt queasy even with the spots long gone. I squashed the churning in my stomach down with a mouthful of coffee.

The rest of the day was normal. Leo left for his own job, and I sold books to older townsfolk, hipsters, high school students, the normal small stream of customers. My nausea faded along with the residual dizziness as the day passed. I’d have forgotten the incident altogether if not for the cut on my jaw, which served as a stinging reminder whenever I turned my head too far and tugged at the bandaid’s adhesive.

Long after closing time, I put a slapdash dinner together in the shop’s tiny kitchen. I sat on the counter and waited for the toaster oven to preheat. With the shop empty and quiet, a prickle of apprehension danced on my neck. I often got that feeling when I stood at the bottom of a dark staircase after closing time, my body insisting that I was being pursued by something just out of sight, and I would squash down the urge to bolt. This time, though, was different. I saw someone.

The kitchenette door sat at the periphery of my vision and through it, just for a second, I saw a figure in the shop. It stared at me from behind the nearest bookshelf, upper body slumped to the left at a broken angle, long neck holding a flat, pale face that leered eyelessly. I felt the cold jolt of adrenaline rush into my body, my chest heaving as I struggled to breathe.

And then it was gone.

My nausea was back with a vengeance and I felt dizzy again. The thing in my store had been the same staticky shade of grey I’d seen that morning, I realized, which meant one of two things: I was going crazy, or my missing uncle’s creepy bookstore was haunted. The cut on my face throbbed.

I breathed slowly through my nose and tried not to throw up. By the time I had enough control of my nausea and anxiety to stand, the toaster oven had long since preheated and the ice in my glass was water. The thought of staying in the kitchen filled me with dread. I ate my dinner half-frozen, hiding in my room with the door locked, then huddled under my blanket until I felt safe enough to sleep. I left the lights on.

With the next morning’s sunlight filtering into my room, the previous night’s breakdown seemed silly. I kicked off my covers. I was still in my jeans and button-down, both wrinkled from fitful sleep, and felt the unique groggy grossness that comes with sleeping in your clothes.

It had to have been a panic attack. It wouldn’t explain away a hallucination, but it did line up with the hyperventilation, nausea, and crushing fear. More importantly, I could understand a panic attack. That was a reality I could parse more easily than any haunted bookstore bullshit. Still, I couldn’t quite bring myself to cross the threshold of my kitchen, so I texted Leo to bring me some coffee.

He arrived minutes later with two cups and a paper bag, which he tossed at me from the door after knocking it open with one hip.

“You look terrible,” he said once he’d plopped onto a stool.

“Thanks.” I tore a chunk from the bagel he’d brought me and washed it down with a swig of coffee. Where my family business gave me free books and, apparently, the occasional incorporeal stalker, Leo’s provided free food. Figures.

“Rough night?” He winked over his paper to-go cup.

“Something like that,” I muttered, too exhausted to return the banter.

“Well now you have to tell me.” His voice remained conversational, teasing, but I saw the tell-tale knit of his eyebrows. He was worried. So I sighed, put my cup down, and started from the beginning.

By the time my explanation was finished, Leo’s whole face was tight with concern, his hands folded, pointy elbows resting on pointy knees as he leaned towards me.

“You should see a doctor,” he said, casual affectations completely stripped away, “What if it’s a brain tumor or something?”

“No.” My gut twisted. I hated doctors. They always looked at me strangely once they’d seen the sweeping scars on my chest and done a double take at my file. And whether I was there for a sore throat or a sprained ankle, they would always open with something about “the side effects of hormone therapy” or my “unique situation.” I met Leo’s eyes desperately.

“Fine. No doctor,” he relented, “but if this gets worse you’d better call me.”

It did.

That night, I found myself doubled over the toilet, coughing violently as I painted the porcelain bowl in vomit. I sat up, chest heaving and face coated in cold sweat, and tried to blink away the spots peppering my field of vision.

The thing was back.

Its impossibly tall form slumped in the bathroom’s doorway. Its head looked too heavy for the crooked neck that I realized now was bent to keep it from hitting the ceiling. A sob built behind my sternum, but my breathing was too ragged and uneven for it to escape. Instead, the tension built until I was sure my rib cage would burst open, until I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed into the tiny space between the toilet and the wall, until my nose started bleeding, until I clapped my hands over my ears in a vain attempt to keep out the buzzing tinnitus that cut through my brain.

I don’t know how long I stayed there, vomit on my shirt and tears on my face drying to a crust. I remained squeezed into the corner long after the sensations faded. Even once I managed to open my eyes and see the thing was gone, I stayed, curled into a tight ball.

Have you ever had a word stuck in your head? Like a song stuck in your head, but instead it’s just a word repeating in your mind? When I finally pulled my stiff body from its hiding place there was something rolling around inside my skull:

The basement.

I couldn’t push away the thought. Something about it was important but the memory was just out of reach. I shook my head and it throbbed.

The basement.

I remembered something Uncle George once told me over dinner. It had been cryptic and vague, so whatever sorted the files of my memory had pushed it into a corner.

“Coda,” he’d said, his fork clinking against the plate, “be careful when you’re underground.”

The light burned my eyes when I stepped out of the bathroom. I shut them, pressing my eyelids tight until tiny spots of light exploded behind them and drowned out the pain in my head.

“You’ll understand when you need to, I think,” Uncle George had continued. He was leaning back in his chair now, away from the table. “Our family has a strange history. I’ll teach you about it someday, when you need it, but for now your safety is my priority.”

Underground.

The basement.

I wished Uncle George could come back and explain, because it seemed like “when I need it” was right fucking now. Something warm dripped down my face to the corner of my mouth and I spat onto the floor. The cut on my face was bleeding again. I pulled my phone from my pocket, hands shaking, and typed a message to Leo.

“The basement”

I stumbled downstairs. My legs still shook, my head still throbbed, but I was steadier now. The stairs creaked as I descended to the basement. I hadn’t been down there in a couple weeks and it showed in the thin veil of dust over the stock boxes. I swallowed, my mouth foul and acidic, and pushed past them.

There was a tunnel. The flimsy basement wall had a gaping hole in it, wet and rough around the edges, that opened into a broad channel. The tunnel walls were packed dirt, the hole easily six feet across, and cold, stale air flowed from the opening. I stood silently for a moment, and in the quiet could hear something like open-mouthed chewing from deep in the earth. It filled me with dread.

Feet pounding down the basement steps snapped me back to awareness. I whirled, expecting to see the tall, broken figure again, and nearly collapsed in relief when I saw Leo’s gangly form instead. As soon as he saw me, he sprinted across the room and pulled me into a crushing hug.

“I’m sorry,” I said into his chest, though I wasn’t sure for what.

“It’s okay,” he replied. I pressed my cheek against his shirt. He boxed me in between his shoulders, squeezed a comforting pressure around my own.

“Don’t hug me,” I finally said as I untangled myself from him, newly conscious of the blood and vomit on my shirt, “I’m kind of gross.”

“Coda, what the fuck is goi-”

Something shook the basement walls. Leo, I realized, was clutching my hand so hard I could feel my fingers grinding together in his grip. I felt a thud in my chest, felt it vibrate through my bones and organs like I was standing next to a concert amp. It was all the resonant impact of music without the song itself to package it. Like a song turned inside-out, I thought.

The not-noise redoubled and Leo’s grasp went slack, his body collapsing to the floor. My nose tickled and began bleeding again, my stomach churning. I was sure my insides were being twisted and liquefied by whatever invisible force shook the room. My whole body shook, but I remained standing.

Through the growing haze of grey static, I saw something pale and fleshy squirm through the tunnel. The sound without sound stopped for a moment and I watched the strange peristaltic motions of its advance.

It was massive, the tunnel’s diameter barely accommodating its segmented body. The skin, pink and fragile-looking, glistened in the dim basement lighting and made a wet sucking noise as it moved. The head was more mouth than anything else, hanging open to display wet rings of muscle and concentric rows of teeth. Tiny eyes, apparently blind, sat uselessly on either side. It sat there silently for a moment, head hanging out of its tunnel and swaying slowly back and forth.

Then I saw the muscles in its mouth ripple and flex, and a moment later felt the thump of noiseless bass in my chest. I doubled over, retching, and heard Leo move behind me. He’d gone still after collapsing but now writhed on the floor, face contorted in agony. I closed my eyes, held my breath, and stood up.

When I opened them, my vision was half static. Through the clear patches I saw copy after copy of my faceless stalker standing around us in a circle. The worm was moving, its body pouring out of the hole in the wall as it made its way towards Leo. I clenched my jaw and tried to push down the fear squirming in my gut.

This thing had killed my great-uncle. It was going to kill Leo. And then it was going to kill me.

I would not let that happen.

My thoughts were unstructured, nothing but rage, fear, and that single conviction. I would not let it take us. I wrenched a scream from deep in my gut, pushing the worm’s silent noise out of my body and mixing with it in the air. They made a buzzing harmony together that pierced cold and sharp through my head. The worm thrashed and gaped its mouth, screaming noiselessly back at me. I kept going, longer than I’d ever held my breath, louder and louder, and it felt like something popped in my throat but I kept going until my world finally went black and silent.

I came to on the basement floor. Everything in the room was covered in a layer of slime with the exception of a clean silhouette where the worm had been. Leo was leaning over me, gently slapping my cheek. I sat up and wiped goop out of my eyes.

“You’re awake,” he said. I coughed.

“I’m aware,” I rasped, “What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied, “but you did something. I think you killed it.”

“Huh.” I tried to stand up, but my legs collapsed jelly-like under me and I fell back to a seated position. Leo snagged me under each arm and hauled me up.

“Careful, whatever you did really fucked you up. I-” he paused. I couldn’t read his expression--he’d turned away, and my eyelids were already drooping shut again. “I wasn’t sure if you were breathing at first. I thought you were dead.”

“Don’t worry, ‘m okay,” is the last thing I remember saying, voice slurred and hoarse, before I lost my grip on consciousness again.

It took me a week to recover. I found out later that most of the town reported mysterious headaches and nausea on the day I fought the worm. Some remembered sudden, inexplicable anxiety. Others complained of a ringing in their ears that faded as the week wore on. I never told anyone what happened. I wrote up some bullshit about being away on vacation and Leo hung it above the “Sorry, we’re closed!” sign for me.

I haven’t forgotten what Uncle George said about our family history. And while I’m certain he’s dead, I’m equally sure he would’ve recorded that information for me somewhere just in case. We’ve been looking through his old books, the ones I packed away after his disappearance, trying to confirm my hunch.

I think I inherited two jobs with this bookstore. I think I know why everyone wanted to keep it in the family. I think there are more of those creatures out there, chewing through the dirt and killing people with their song.

I think maybe I’m supposed to stop them.

#horror #I don't think I have a writing tag?#words #should work fine #screaming and then silence

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storiesfromplanetjane · 5 years

Text

Chapter I - A Daicon Romance

This is a joke.

That was her first thought. That this was a joke. Someone upstairs, someone at APE had gotten fed up with the casualties, or had just had a bad day and decided to be a dick, and assigned her here as some kind of stupid joke. That was the only explanation.

Right?

She looked down at him again, a full head shorter than her, with an unkempt mop of black hair and sparkly blue eyes that made this boy, allegedly the same age as her, look like a little kid from the right (wrong?) angle. Begrudgingly, she admitted to herself that he was a little bit cute, but more in like, a puppy way, than in the way boys usually were. She permitted herself a slight grin, at which he shifted on his feet, visibly nervous.

Then, to her surprise, he stuck out his hand. “I-I’m Hiro.”

Hmm. Surprisingly deep voice for a kid that looked like this. Almost sexy! Not quite, though.

“Zero Two.” She did not shake his hand. Or stop grinning. He, for his part, swallowed the lump of condensed nervousness in his throat and continued on.

“I’m the second-in-command of Squad 13. I’m, uh, pleased to meet you.”

Oh god now he was trying to sound leaderly. “Right.” Was all she offered back.

“You’re, um, going to be with us starting today, so I thought it made sense to come out and give you a warm welcome. So you’d, ah, feel at home.”

By now the grin was gone, replaced with a thin, flat line of annoyance. “At home, huh?”

Well, she couldn’t blame the kid for trying. She could blame him for being fucking annoying, though, and with that thought, gently batted his hand away, making the war medals affixed to her coat clink against each other like chain links.

“I’ve never been much for that kinda thing, sorry darling.”

She blinked. She really hadn’t meant that to sound quite so condescending and sarcastic, but, hiding how she felt wasn’t really one of her strong suits.

“Oh, ah” The kid pretended to stifle a cough--pretty convincing too, but, that kind of thing didn’t get by her. He ran his hand through his hair awkwardly. “S-sorry about that.”

“Now, Zero Two.” She felt a hand on her shoulder, and jumped. Just enough to turn her medals into windchimes again, but she felt a dim flushing heat rise to her cheeks regardless. Dr. Franques stepped out from behind her, rubbing his stainless steel chin in thought, the old cyborg’s voice permanently affected with a slight metallic echo as he spoke. “There’s no reason to be rude to the boy. Code 15, was it?”

“16 sir.” He gave a small salute to the doctor. Zero Two spent enough time around Franques that it was easy for her to forget that he was The High Doctor of Mechanics of the entirety of APE--and, apparently, to occasionally forget that he was there at all, if just a moment ago was any indication. Seeing someone respect him enough to snap a salute at him was just weird.

“Code 16! I do apologize, Zero Two is not one for socializing.” He patted her on the back, just enough to not quite qualify as “gently”. “Come come now, decorated you may be, but you’re not above basic manners.”

“S-sorry.” She muttered. She was sure her face was as red as the highlights on her jacket at this point. Embarrassment was not something that came easily to Zero Two but, something about the way Franques scolded you without quite actually seeming upset, yeah, that kinda did it. She adjusted her cap, pulling the brim down a bit, making her own hair--black like Hiro’s, but long, and straight--rustle around a bit, maybe hoping that all the motion would draw Hiro’s eyes somewhere else so he wouldn’t look right at her face.

“So this is Plantation 13!” The Doctor looked around the docking bay. It was sparse, with not much to it but two other airdocks like the one their craft had flown down to, the odd APE personnel bustling some supplies to or from one of the other ships, and a whole lot of supply crates, containing everything from food to fresh clothes to books and cassette tapes. “Why.” Franques began, staring down a nearby crate like it was the most fascinating object on the planet. “I was imagining a bit more, to be quite honest!”

Zero Two turned to look at the Doctor.

Hiro also turned to look at the Doctor.

They blinked--in unison, in fact.

“Hmmm. You know, Father did always say I was a terrible comedian.”

“Eh...heheh.” Hiro had managed to coax an awkward half-laugh out of himself, hand back to ruffling through his hair--did he always do that when he was nervous?--Zero Two couldn’t muster even that much.

“Well well, enough of my so-called humor. 16 my boy, why don’t you lead us to the Franxen Bay? I imagine it’s…” Franques tapped his finger to his chin. “Right next door, perhaps?”

Hiro, seeming quite impressed, nodded enthusiastically. “It is!”

“And the new Flowers have arrived?”

“They have, sir!”

“Excellent! Lead the way! Zero Two--” “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Code 002, illustration by Ryden.

Boys and girls could be cute, but Zero Two was always taken aback at how drop-dead sexy 30 tons of nanosteel and advanced botanotech could look. Craning her neck enough that it was starting to ache, she examined the white-crimson titan. It barely looked it should be able to stand, really, but magma energy-infusion could do miraculous things. It was definitely top-heavy, with huge, round domes on its shoulders, and a head with a broad “panel” on the front that turned into “hair” the farther back along the helmet one went. Some kind of energy converter, if she’d read the schematics right a few days ago.

The real treat of course was its weapon. A hulking thing, bright orange from being infused with magma energy, in the shape of a massive, heavy lance. The Queen’s Pike, it was called.

“The Strelizia, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Shaking the crick out of her neck, Zero Two glanced around to make sure that Dr. Franques actually had wandered off somewhere this time. She rolled her eyes over to Hiro, that slight grin resurfacing. “We’re gonna get to pilot that, y’know?”

“Ah. Yeah, pretty crazy huh?” Speaking of grins, the kid was smiling like an idiot. On the subject of giant bio-robots being the sickest thing of all time at least, she seemed to see eye to eye--if only figuratively--with this “Hiro” kid.

“Wanna take it out for a test drive?”

“Huh?!” Okay, maybe not quite as cool as she’d momentarily thought he was.

“C’mon.” Her grin widened, and she walked her fingers up the boy’s side, planting them on the shoulder opposite to her, and pulling him a bit closer. “It’s ours anyway, right?”

“And I mean, it’s good to get some practice in, right? After all you’ve never done it before….right?” She moved her hand up his cheek, brushing it gently. He blushed.

“W...well.” God, boys were so easy.

“See, you get it.” She took a step forward. All they had to do was hop onto the loading lift, the small platform lead directly up to the Strelizia’s cockpit.

“I. I guess it can’t hurt.”

And just like that, a few steps forward, a moment on the elevator, and into the brains of the machine.

The inside was dimly lit, and quite cramped despite consisting mostly of a flat, black circle for the two pilots to stand on.

“Have you been inside a Franxx before?”

“No. Only the virtual testing cockpit.”

“Then you should know what to do. Come on-” She hurried him into the cockpit, closing the door, and the two of them stood on the platform inside the Strelizia, face to face, more or less.

“I..um. Only the cockpit for the...older models.”

“Ahhh. I see. The single pilots.” She wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe just the close quarters inside the mecha and the lack of light, maybe she was starting to warm up to him despite her better judgment. Maybe she was just feeling a little mischievous, but here, now, like this, he was kinda, just a bit cute.

More importantly, he was at her mercy.

She put a hand on his back and pulled him toward her. “It’s like waltzing. You know how to waltz, don’t you?”

“Uh-”

“Put your hand on my hip.”

“U...umm!!” Oh this was precious. Even in the dim light she could tell he was blushing again. It probably didn’t say anything good about her, did it? That this was when she felt closest to another….well, to a human being.

“You ready?”

Silently, Hiro nodded. Zero Two pulled him closer, and The Strelizia’s cockpit hummed to life.

“I! Uh!”

“Quiet, quiet. Shhhhhh.” They were close enough now that she could feel him start to calm down. He really was kind of a ball of nerves, wasn’t he?

“Alright. Hiro?”

“Yeah?”

“Close your eyes, and concentrate. On me.”

And he did.

She did the same.

And when they next opened their eyes, they saw out of the same pair. A different pair, 30 feet above the ground, and bigger than anything, as the blank facescreen on the Strelizia flickered to life, rendering a pair of great green eyes that made the inside of the docking bay look tiny.

The Strelizia’s shackles came off with ease, and the mech studied its hand. Closing and opening, wiggling its fingers.

“Cool feeling, right?” Zero Two let a giggle slip out.

“Yeah…” Hiro was awed. It was obvious, being in a Flower did that, it let you feel what your co-pilot was thinking.

“So, we just gonna stand here, darling? Or do you wanna get out and see the big blue sky?” Of course, that connection worked both ways. The second the question left her mouth, she regretted the tone. She hadn’t meant that to sound so….cheerful, but it did, and Hiro seized on it.

“I do!”

“Hey. C...careful. You’ll throw off our balance.”

The Strelizia took a step forward, then two. The docking bay doors opened.

“You ever skydive?”

“Um. No, I haven’t.”

“Well you’re about to!”

Wind rushed into the docking bay. By this point, APE staff were already scrambling and running about, trying to stop the Strelizia from leaving. The whipping wind blowing in from the opening doors did not help matters, and more than one technician lost their favorite coat or hat as it blew out the open doors. With a running start, the Strelizia jumped, flying into the wild blue.

The ground was mere moments away. She could feel Hiro starting to panic, and pulled him closer. They were squeezed up against each other now, as the Strelizia rocketed through the sky, ground-bound like a white and red bolt of lightning. She could feel him calming down, his breathing slowing and becoming more regular while outside, in sharp contrast, the ring of thrusters that made up the “skirt” of the mecha around its waist kicked to life, spitting out white-hot flames that blasted against the ground, the cracked earth tossing out huge clouds of dust and grit.

The Strelizia landed with an unsteady thump, down on one knee, then standing back up and shaking off the aftershock. She could feel him now. This was...strange, Hiro was very, very far from the first pilot she’d had. He was her 21st, actually, by her count. But somehow this was….different, their thoughts seemed to mix so easily. She couldn’t place it, it made her nervous, and not much made Zero Two nervous.

....Certainly not the small, four-legged black and blue creature now scurrying among the dried mud at the Strelizia’s feet.

A klaxosaur. A small one. By itself? That seemed wrong.

It was wrong.

The creature opened its mouth and let out a long braying howl, its jaw flapping open and the blue lines along its body going from sapphire to neon. More crawled out. They were hiding, either underground or among the nearby rocks. It didn’t take more than a few moments for there to be dozens of them.

Inside the Strelizia, Zero Two ran a hand through Hiro’s hair. He seemed-

“Are you scared?” She asked.

“A little.” He replied, maybe figuring that this close to each other, there was no reason to lie.

“I’ll fight them.”

“By yourself? How?”

With both of their eyes closed, Hiro couldn’t see Zero Two crack a sly smile. “Just watch, darling.”

Something moved. The cockpit felt like it was rearranging, getting smaller and more cramped. There was a sound like an electric pulse, a tsche-chu-chu-chu-tsche. Collapsing in on itself and rearranging like a Rubik’s Cube, the Strelizia shrunk from a titanic humanoid into the form of a lean mechanical lion. It growled. Zero Two growled. The mech’s tail extended, flicking to and fro like that of a cat about to pounce on its prey, but weighed with the heavy tip of the lance. She pounced, leaping into the air just long enough for the unlucky wolflike klaxosaur to watch the 30 tons of metal go from having its back against the sun to being directly on top of it.

She dug her claws into the now-helpless creature, raking it across its flank. Klaxosaur flesh was a strange substance, Zero Two’d always thought it kind of felt like rubber. Not that she had much time to ponder the thought. The rest of the klaxo-wolf pack was on her near-instantly, two came from her left side, one from the front, three from the right, two from behind. Now things were getting fun.

That last problem was solved in seconds by a quick swipe of the tail, the lance was heavy and the magma energy infusion rendered it red hot, the pair of klaxo-wolves behind her were bashed aside and burnt by the impact. Next, dropping to the ground and rolling under made the two from the left side smack dead into the three from the right, giving her enough time to come at the one gunning from her head from below. She stretched the jaws of the Strelizia wide, and took a bite out of the front klaxo-wolf. Her mouth filled with a taste like lighter fluid and burnt rubber as the creature keeled over, letting out a pathetic whimper of pain.

She didn’t have time to kill the other five. The dull bree-yew sound of magma energy cannons rang out from behind her. A trio of Franxen mechs, steely black, and, really, utterly plain, stood with their weapons raised. Slowly, methodically, they shot up enough of the klaxo-wolves for the creatures to start falling back. No viscerality, no thrill, just clean, sustained fire.

There was a small burst of static, and then, open comms.

“Strelizia, this is Units 4-6 of Squad 311, do you copy?”

Tch.

“We copy.” She replied, trying to quench the agitation rising in her throat.

“We’ve been sent to retrieve you and take you back to Plan--”

“Yeah, I’m sure you have.” The Strelizia shifted back into its humanoid mode, reconfiguring in an instant. “Take us back, but we’re off-com.” Zero Two couldn’t actually turn off the comms in the Strelizia--no Franxx used by the APE army could without authorization from its associated base, in fact--but she knew her reputation well enough to know that if she told a bunch of grunts to piss off, they probably would.

“We’re gonna get a talking-to, aren’t we?” Hiro spoke for the first time in what felt like hours.

“Probably. They won’t actually do anything, though.”

“How do you know that?”

She scoffed. “Trust me, if they won’t do anything to me, they won’t do anything to anybody.”

The bodies of the klaxo-wolves painted the grey-brown dirt a neon blue as the Strelizia and its three escorts activated their thrusters to return to the plantation. The smell of charred plastic filled the air.

Author’s Section

I don’t intend to make these a running thing for this story, but, including one here is worthwhile. If you like what you’re reading, take a look at the preface & dedications (aka “Chapter 0″) from the story index, from which you will eventually be able to find links to all the chapters as I post them.

All writing & editing by me. Big thanks to Ryden for the illustration, and for some words of encouragement.

#fanfic #Darling in the Franxx #AU #OOC #(Deliberately OOC hehehehe)

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twiexmachina · 6 years

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Make A Sparklet: 3

POV Swap: Those Tight Pants (Takes place during the Fourth Night)

so it turns out that I had this completely written, on my word doc, ready to go, over a year ago before depression took my soul and never gave it back it’s amazing how things work out that way

Ryoma held the weight of the key in his hand, far heavier than such a small thing should’ve been. For a couple of seconds he stood, not in the ballroom yet, just running his fingers over the key. He doubted himself. It felt presumptuous to suggest a room for the two of them, even though he had his cock down Marx's throat. It had only been four days, after all.

But he didn’t regret asking for a key. It felt right.

Ryoma might've been a bit obsessed with Marx. Four days, and he was already reduced to this. Marx was compelling. He was an amazing person to talk to, quick witted and smart, and he just so happened to have a very loose gag reflex. It wasn't Ryoma's fault if he wanted to spend the rest of the week with him.

He was allowed that, at least for the masquerade, for that one week.

Not for much longer. Ryoma already knew that Marx would be his last indulgence. Not by choice, it was simply inevitable. He was getting older, and ruling was becoming a reality more and more each day. He was getting more and more involved in politics without his parents' guidance and Sumeragi seemed wistful about traveling to the sea with Mikoto. They gave him a gentle slope into ruling, so he could pretend like the weight of king wasn't so heavy.

He’d have to let go of all the things he was blessed with as just the high prince, the freedom, the ability to have careless affairs with attractive strangers. He couldn’t chase affection. He would have a wealth of privilege at the simple cost of being able to trust and be open to a handful of people. He could only look forward to a marriage with someone worthy and hope that he was as lucky as his father and birth mother and find love as easily as them.

He sighed. Masquerade. Letting go. Marx. Sharing a companionship with someone who wouldn't know the real him. No pressure to hide. Just to be, feel, truly honest.

He looked at the key one last time before he put it in his pocket. He had a plan for the night. Sex was at the end of it, and there were steps to get there. He wasn't sure if Marx would let him steal his attention for the entire night (he seemed to be quite busy and social), but he wanted to be with him as long as he would have him.

He wanted to eat with Marx first. Ryoma had seen him drink as he talked, but never eat. If Ryoma could find something vaguely Hoshidian, they'd eat that (red meat was all these Nohrians ate, and he knew they had rivers why was it impossible to find fish?). It would be nice, slow, a chance to talk. He wanted to dance with Marx again. He was such a stunning dancer, even if Ryoma was clumsy, he felt smooth with Marx. It was easy to admire him.

Then, bedroom, pinning Marx against the wall and having him there. Or in the bed. Or maybe Ryoma would suck his cock. He was flexible.

Ryoma entered the masquerade, mingled, scanned the crowd for Marx. He thought Marx might've been a bit more distinctive, but Ryoma still struggled to tell Nohrians apart. Tall. Blond. Pale. That was half the population. Half a face wasn't distinctive enough to mean anything. He had lips. That wasn't much to work with.

But still, he looked, hoping to catch him in a conversation. His voice was easier to recognize, the firmness, the deep vibration, still soft and emotional despite all that.

He looked, stopped, his eyes widening as he looked at the buffet. That had to be Marx standing there, those loose curls, the tie of the mask barely holding his hair flat against his skull. That had to be Marx in sinfully tight clothes.

Nohrian clothes were tighter than Hoshidan fashion. But they weren't too tight. But whatever Marx was wearing, he must've had to been sewn into it, it fit too well. His jacket stretched over his shoulders, and as Marx reached for wine, Ryoma could see his muscles move, stretch the fabric.

And then there were the pants. More importantly, his ass because the pants clung to the curve of it and when he shifted his stance, Ryoma could see every muscle move. The white only made it more prominent. A sinful curve. What was he planning on doing tonight? Ryoma just wanted to hold his hips and grind against his ass. Would it be improper if he bent Marx over the table and fucked him there? Yes, yes it would. But would anyone blame him?

He walked over to Marx, his breath caught in his throat. He laid one hand on the table next to Marx, stood as close as he dared. Too close and he wouldn't be able to stop his eager heart from touching and not letting him go. "Are you trying to kill me?" he asked, saw Marx's lips twitch just slightly and wanted to bite those lips.

Marx was smiling overtly as he turned to Ryoma. "Why Ryoma, I don't know what you're talking about."

Ryoma might've said something else, but then he looked down. Marx’s pants were somehow tighter against his crotch, the slight bulge of his dick clearly visible. He managed to look back up at Marx, tried not to look down again. It was hard, every bit of effort was required to keep eye contact.

Then Marx broke it and his eyes roamed over Ryoma's body. He went still, somehow shocked. He shouldn't be, Marx had chocked on his cock just last night. Marx clearly liked him. But still, the distance he had tried to maintain the previous nights made Ryoma think that maybe, perhaps, he wasn't as interested in Ryoma as Ryoma was in Marx.

Then Marx looked back up at Ryoma, finished roaming his body (and he had lingered on his crotch, like he could see the beginnings of an erection that pushed against his crotch) and he licked his lips. Ryoma groaned. "Gods Marx..." He had a plan. He wanted to get to know Marx more. He wasn't just attractive, he was smart, had a dazzling personality. He wanted an honest talk, wanted to make the sex even better with honest bonding. But now all he wanted was to fuck him. He tried to think of something to say, something that wasn't "fuck me right now, I want to fall on my knees and mouth your cock until it's hard for me, I want to fuck you over the table anything as long as your sinful body is against mine".

He couldn't think of anything reasonable. He shook his head. "I was going to ask for a dance and a proper conversation, but I don't think I'll be able to behave appropriately out here." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key, held it out for Marx to see.

His cocky smirk disappeared and he covered Ryoma's hand with his own, a flush staining his pale cheeks. "Ryoma, we are in public," he hissed, like anyone looked at him wasn't thinking of fucking him.

"Not for long, Marx. The room number is twenty-five." Ah, right, he did have a plan besides fucking, he just remembered. "I'll get something from a servant and meet you there." Ryoma pushed the key up into Marx's palm and he curled Marx’s hand around it.

Marx looked down at the key then back to Ryoma. "It'd make more sense if the positions were reversed."

"I don't think I want you out in public any longer than you need to be. People are already staring." People had to have been staring the entire time, thinking the same things he was thinking. He saw them pause behind Marx, stare at his lovely tight ass.

Marx's lips twitched. "Possessive are we?"

"A little, I'm afraid." A little. Everyone might be thinking what it would be like to hold that cock in their hands, to dig their fingers into that ass and squeeze, but only Ryoma would know what that was like, Marx was going upstairs with Ryoma, and that was almost a point of pride that he was the only one that had the pleasure of Marx's company, that Marx was his and he was Marx's.

'A little'.

Marx hummed and shifted his weight, pushed his leg out a bit, stretching the fabric over his crotch. Ryoma couldn't look anywhere else, had to fight the urge to just break the distance between them and do…something, anything that involved Marx's skin and warmth against him. "Fine then," Marx said and Ryoma remembered to look back at his face. "I'll make sure the room is fit for us." He walked past Ryoma, but not before brushing Ryoma’s side with his knuckles. Ryoma shivered, and his hand twitched out to Marx, almost grabbed him and pulled him back against him. He held himself back and watched Marx leave.

Ryoma sighed and leaned against the buffet table, tilted his head back and just breathed. Talking. He needed to remember that he wanted to do that alongside fucking.

But damn, Marx made himself too tempting.

#make a sparklet #twiexfanfiction #twiexdrabbles #whoops discord forced me to post it but whoops #make a spark; break the dark; find a light with me

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years

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You Can’t Cross the Same River Twice - Chapter 15

Charles is running out of time. He'd lunched with Grandmama at Copely Square and she had issued an ultimatum - couched though it was in the genteelest of language - over dessert. Charles must find a suitable bride lest the Emerson-Winchester fortune pass to, ugh, Cousin Alfred. Who, despite his many deficiencies of character, has both a wife and - more importantly - an heir to carry on the family name.

Charles cannot - will not - allow such an idiotic gormless cretin as Cousin Alfred to be the one responsible for carrying the Winchester name and legacy into the future. And there's no saying what his nouveau rich, money grubbing harlot of a wife would do with the family fortune, but it would doubtless be something gauche. So Charles must, for the good of the family, find a suitable bride - and soon.

Unfortunately, Charles knows just who to ask for help.

"Charles!" Pierce exclaims a little too loudly as he answers the door. And he's looking rather... rumpled. Perhaps he has company. "We weren't expecting you to drop by this afternoon."

He does have company. This was undoubtedly a mistake. But now that Charles is here, he may as well state his purpose.

"Please excuse my rudeness in dropping by unannounced, but I'm afraid I need your help." There, a bit of groveling ought to placate Pierce and hopefully help him speed whatever hussy he has over out the door.

Pierce gestures Charles inside. "Well, if that's the case, step right into my parlor..."

"Said the spider to the fly. You know you're making a devil's bargain asking Hawkeye for unspecified help."

And joy. McIntyre's home as well. At least he appears to have gotten rid of Pierce's girl already.

Pierce smiles not at all comfortingly and says, "How exactly can I help you, Charles? Surely it can't be anything of a medical nature."

"No, no, it's much worse than that." Charles slumps into an armchair. He's playing up the anguish a bit and is gratified when Pierce looks at him in genuine concern. He always was a soft touch. Hopefully it keeps him from laughing Charles out of the room at the next part. "I've been tasked with finding a suitable bride with whom to start a family. And I must be engaged before my family's summer cotillion lest I - and my entire immediate family - lose everything." Charles looks up discretely to see how Pierce and McIntyre are taking his tale of woe.

McIntyre is spluttering and choking on a mouthful of whiskey - and Charles must have missed him pouring a glass - he would have taken one himself, even if it's mid-range Irish swill. Or, more likely, it was left over from Pierce's date - Charles wouldn't be surprised at McIntyre drinking from another's glass.

Charles turns his gaze to Pierce, the man he really needs to impress the urgency of his situation upon. Pierce is just staring unblinkingly back at Charles. And he would feel rather proud of rendering him speechless, but Charles does actually need his help. He hopes Pierce comes out of his shock soon.

It takes McIntyre gently closing Pierce's gaping mouth - and whispering something presumably uncouth into his ear, based on the slight flush it elicits - for Pierce to come back to himself.

"How," Pierce asks, "I repeat how do you expect me to help you? If you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly married. And I doubt I could introduce you to anyone you'd be interested in."

McIntyre snorts. Perhaps Pierce's class of girl has deteriorated further since Korea.

"I'm not looking for introductions, Pierce. I doubt you know any of the eligible debutantes of Boston high society. I simply need help determining if any one on the list of suitable young ladies of good breeding is someone I could actually stand to live with." Charles sighs. "I find myself... changed... by our acquaintanceship - and Korea in general. And after the way my old school chums reacted to our little card club, I want to make sure that any woman I marry is understanding of our friendship."

"Aww, Charles, you admit that we're friends." Pierce looks to McIntyre. "And in front of other people, too."

"He must really need your help," McIntyre adds. "Though I'm not sure I qualify as a people to the Back Bay set."

"Well, true love - or the aristocratic equivalent - is a noble cause. Of course I'll help. But you still haven't explained how I can assist you in this selection process - though, of course, I'm willing to give all the candidates a thorough physical." Pierce leers.

"That will not at all be necessary." Charles affects affront. "After all, I myself am a highly skilled physician." He allows a smirk to grace his features.

Pierce laughs, bested - and does not appear too put out at the loss of opportunity for lechery. Despite his reputation, Charles has never seen him press himself untowardly on any of the young ladies he's acquainted with from their little neighborhood pub. That's the reason Charles feels comfortably approaching him with this difficulty - that and his skill at pranks and practical jokes.

"All levity aside, gentlemen, I'd like Pierce to escort Honoria to the various outings I'll have with the more likely candidates - she has already promised to act as my chaperone. And, as she was once engaged to an Italian, I assume she will also have the necessary fortitude to deal with you." Charles levels a glare at Pierce. "But I warn you, you had best not allow any harm to befall my sister."

"I'll be on my best behavior," Pierce promises. "Though after being engaged to an Italian, surely she can handle a country bumpkin from Maine. I suppose Trapper would be a bridge too far, though."

And there's an edge to Pierce's expression that Charles has learned means he's dangerously close to insulting McIntyre - and that he had better tread carefully lest Pierce tear him apart most viciously.

"I thought perhaps McIntyre could escort the lovely Nurse Freeman to dine with us and any of the candidates who make it past the initial interview. I would not subject either of them to undue... uncomfortableness." For both are fine representations of their respective... backgrounds - managing, as they have, to rise above their unfortunate origins to become competent medical professionals - and they do not deserve the scorn and censure that one of Charles's station would generally level.

"I think it's a terrible idea," McIntyre says. "Count me in."

"Excellent," Charles says brusquely. "You'll of course need suitable clothing - I'll make an appointment with my tailor and send you the details. And I'll need to inform Honoria of the plan..."

There are quite a few wheels to set in motion - including several young ladies to call upon - so Charles bids Pierce and McIntyre a rather indecorous adieu. They don't seem offended by his haste to depart, so Charles leaves South Boston with a spring in his step and a scheme in the works.

"You're gonna look so pretty all dolled up."

Trapper smooths the shirt over Hawkeye's shoulders, making sure it lays flat. Hawkeye can feel the warmth of Trapper's hands right through the thin silk. It's almost like when Trapper had helped him get ready for his date with Edwina - except that there's no Radar here to keep the mood friendly and comical. It's just intimate. And that intimacy is further underscored by Trapper laying a soft kiss on the back of Hawkeye's neck as he starts to do up the shirt buttons. Hawkeye can see himself in the mirror, half dressed and framed - enveloped - by Trapper, who's standing behind him, steady and steadfast. It gives him the courage to voice his reservations about the evening.

"I'm nervous about going to this little soiree, Trap, I'm not going to lie. I've never been to a high society garden party before - and I know the point of this whole thing is to make sure Charles finds someone who can accept us being friends - but I don't want to actually make a fool of myself." Hawkeye meets Trapper's eyes in the mirror. "I know I agreed to this plan, but now that I'm staring it down, I'm worried. It sort of feels like I'm being asked to play up the worst parts of myself to keep people away - like I did when I went nuts. And I'm worried I'll be stuck back in that version of Hawkeye after I've spent all this time getting out of it."

Trapper shifts so that he's more fully embracing Hawkeye. "Look, if you really can't do it, I'll go and you can stay home. But for all that he's an asshole, Charles ain't gonna make you make yourself look stupid or be the center of attention or anything. He's just asking you to be a semi-decent human being - something you're pretty good at - to make sure his date is one too. And I don't know that I'd be feeling all that comfortable at a high society shindig either, Hawk. But it sounds like Honoria's a good sport and she and Charles will be looking out for you." Then Trapper grins. "And if it gets to be too much you can always pull the fire alarm or hide in the plants or something. I think the conservatory has a big room full of ferns, you oughtta have no problem disappearing."

Hawkeye smiles too. "All that army camouflage training finally being put to good use." He squeezes Trapper's arm briefly. "Thanks, Trap. I think I just sort of got lost in what the worst version of the evening could be but you're right about Charles and the plan and everything - especially the part about me being a paragon of truth justice and the American way." Trapper snorts at that but Hawkeye continues on. "I feel a lot better about mingling with the silver spoon set knowing you'll be here waiting to mock all the upper class twits with me afterwards."

"Well, you ain't ready to head out the door just yet," Trapper teases. "Showing up without pants would definitely be the wrong kinda crass - not to mention, put you right in the spotlight."

Trapper gathers up the suit pants and kneels in front of Hawkeye, holding them open so Hawkeye can steady himself on Trapper's broad shoulders and step into them. He remains kneeling as he pulls the trousers up Hawkeye's legs in a lingering slide, the fine wool the faintest tease against his bare skin. And Hawkeye is having trouble remembering why he'd been nervous - or anything at all, really.

"You know, maybe I ought to just call in sick anyway, Trapper. Stay home with you." Hawkeye has to take a deep breath when Trapper does up his fly. His problem definitely isn't cold feet anymore.

Trapper stands, grinning, and wraps the silk tie gently around Hawkeye's throat. "Nah, you made a promise to help and you oughtta honor it." Trapper snugs the knot against the base of Hawkeye's throat and smooths the tie flat. "Besides, I'm looking forward to doing all this in reverse when you get home. And I can't spend the evening in anticipation if you never leave."

Trapper gently tilts Hawkeye's chin and kisses him. Then he presses kisses to each of Hawkeye's palms as he places the showy gold cufflinks Charles had insisted on.

"I suppose there's something to be said for drawing things out," Hawkeye says, a little breathless. "But not too much, I don't want to actually be late."

Trapper grins and helps Hawkeye into the waistcoat. "Glad you're seeing things my way." His hands linger a little as he does up the buttons. "And I made sure I had plenty of time to get you ready." Trapper steps back and his eyes rake over Hawkeye's body. "Made sure I had time to appreciate my efforts."

Hawkeye looks at himself in the mirror. He's never been a fan of three-piece-suits, finds them stifling and restrictive. But he can sure appreciate what a close-cut vest does for Trapper's physique.

Hawkeye's built along different lines, though. Rather than emphasizing broad shoulders and a strong chest, the waistcoat pulls him into a sort of hourglass shape. He looks slender and delicate and pretty in a way that the boxy trousers and suit jackets currently in vogue usually hide. And he'll have to hide this under a jacket too - Charles would pitch a fit if he showed up half dressed - but he may just try to find an excuse to wear the vest, and only the vest, in the future. The way Trapper's looking at him, he wouldn't mind it either.

And then Trapper's helping Hawkeye into the suit jacket, doing up the buttons, adjusting the handkerchief. When Trapper places his hands on Hawkeye's shoulders and pushes him gently down to sit on the bed before kneeling to help Hawkeye into his shoes, he can't help but run a hand through Trapper's curls. And Trapper looks up at him, smiling, and presses a soft kiss to the inside of Hawkeye's thigh just behind the knee.

They stay like that for a while, Trapper resting his forehead against Hawkeye's thigh while Hawkeye gently cards through his hair. It's quiet, peaceful. And then there's a knock on the door and it's Charles's driver come to collect him.

Hawkeye tries to hold on to that sense of peace as he's thrust into the genteel insanity of a high-society blind date. The main area for the party is a riot of color and noise - compounded by the echoing glass ceiling. And Hawkeye doesn't know anybody here except for Charles, who is obligated to pay almost undivided attention to his date.

Fortunately, Hawkeye is saved by the arrival of Honoria Winchester, who - despite all of Charles's stories of her wild past - is a sedate companion. And Hawkeye can slip into the rote mechanics of escorting her to their table, pulling out her chair, and complementing her appearance. He may just get through this evening all right after all.

And then Charles's date opens her mouth.

"How was the party?" Trapper asks as Hawkeye slips through the front door.

He's reading on the couch and the radio's on softly in the background. Hawkeye is grateful for the calm - even if this isn't quite how he'd expected to be welcomed home after all of Trapper's talk of anticipation and promises to undress him.

He raises a quizzical eyebrow at Trapper.

"Business before pleasure, Hawkeye. How'd everything go?"

Hawkeye flops down on the sofa next to Trapper with a put upon sigh. "Some hedonist you are."

He pokes Trapper in the side but he just looks expectantly at Hawkeye.

"Ok, fine. The party was all right - though rich people sure eat weird food. And Honoria is a delight. We definitely ended up being friends with the wrong Winchester - though it's probably too late to swap them out. But we did our jobs of being mildly objectionable and kind of feeling out Charles's date on things. Although we didn't really need to bother, since she pretty much aired every strange and bigoted opinion you could think of all on her own. And when she wasn't complaining about immigrants diluting the purity of good Anglo-American stock, she was criticizing the decor. Charles looked like he was about ready to throw her in the fish pond halfway through the second course - and I'm kind of sorry he didn't."

Trapper snorts. "That's almost impressive."

"Yeah, she must have cleaned up at the time trials for Olympic snobbery." Then Hawkeye grins. "But we found out, during one of her spiels about dirty foreigners, that she's absolutely terrified of catching a - quote - heathen jungle malady. And wouldn't you know, the conservatory has a room all done up like a little jungle. We went for a stroll there after dinner and Honoria kept asking about the various exotic diseases we treated in Korea and if we could get them from the room. And Charles did a very unconvincing job of reassuring her that there was no way she would be able to contract them in the States. And Charles's date just kept getting paler and paler and complaining of various symptoms. By the time Honoria asked her if her complexion was normally so yellow, she was ready to cut the evening short and lock herself in a sanatorium. Frankly, I hope she keeps herself quarantined for a good long while just so nobody else has to listen to her."

"And hopefully Charles's next candidate for Mrs. Emerson Winchester isn't such a dud," Trapper says. "I want my own turn at being a nuisance."

Hawkeye snuggles a little further into Trapper's side and bats his eyelashes. "Speaking of duds, I'm really ready to get out of these fancy clothes. And I think you promised to help with that."

Trapper grins. "You sure got a one track mind, Hawkeye. But I like the direction it's going." He ushers Hawkeye up the stairs and into the bedroom.

#mash #piercintyre #fanfic archive #you can't cross the same river twice #chapter 15

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how-are-the-theodosias-blog · 7 years

Text

sick (pov)

summary: alex gets sick and john is a Good Boyfriend and takes care of him. written from John’s POV gotta switch it up sometimes

word count: 2215

tw: sickness mention (please just let me know if you need something else tagged! its no biggie!)

is it on AO3? sure is

| JOHN'S POV | “Alex!” I exclaim as I hear the front door close. “H-hey,” Alexander replies to me, in a shaky voice. I frown to myself, concerned with his tone of voice. I set my book down on the coffee table then walk swiftly to the front door. “Hey babe,” I say leaning against the hallway door frame. “It’s too damn cold out,” He says setting his bag down. I look at the tiny snowflakes that rest in his hair, despite it being pulled back. His cheeks and the tip of his nose is bright red. “It’s not too cold out,” I say playfully. I watch as he takes his jacket off and puts it on the coat rack. “It is,” He says shivering. “Aw babe come here,” I say my arms open. He walks over to me and melts into my embrace. I rest my head on top of his and gently rub circles into his back. “You’ll get used to it soon,” I say softly to him. “I truly, do not think I will,” He says into my chest. “Trust me you will, it isn’t cold in South Carolina,” I say to him. “Then why do we not live there?” He asks. “Trust me, New York is so much better than there,” I say to him undoing our embrace. “I’m not so sure, I mean I’ve never been there but,” He says his voice trailing. “Trust me,” I say taking his hand. He lets go of my hand and turns away and goes to his bag. I roll my eyes knowing he is just going to get his laptop. I head back to the living room, but stop to grab a thick blanket, in hopes of Alexander sitting close with me. He has never been one to display tons of affection for me, well for anyone for that matter. He is more reserved and quiet dedicated to anything he works on. I admire him for it in all honesty, I just wish for him to rest every once in a while. “Hey,” I call out to him. I hear his foot steps quicken till him and I are in our little living room, “hey,” he says holding out the y. “Wow no laptop?” I question genuinely shocked. He pulls a journal with a leather cover out from under his arm and holds it up gently, “I’m goin’ pen and paper.” “Switchin’ it up?” I ask. “I guess,” He says sighing. I frown, “whats wrong?” I look up to meet his eyes. As much as he likes to think he can hide his emotions, his eyes always give him away. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask him, his eyes looking glassy. He coughs a little, “mhm fine.” “Babe come here,” I say now standing up. He approaches me slowly now clutching his journal close to his chest. “Okay I’m gonna’ go out on a limb here, and say you feel sick,” I say crossing my arms. “Before I confirm how can you be so sure,” He says weakly, but of course still looking for a debate. “Well for one you actually have been sleeping at night, your eyes are glassy, and you even stop writing to sleep, which is by far the most shocking,” I say. “Well then,” he says looking at his feet. “Please rest,” I pled. “No, no I am fine,” he insists. “Alexander please,” I say already given up this conversation. He looks at me his expression soft, “I just have so much work to do.” “I understand,” I say to him completely given up on making him rest. I go and sit back down on the couch and pick up my book and watch as he goes and sits down on the chair across the room from me. I watch as he brings his knees up to his chest to use as a platform for his journal, and starts writing. I helplessly watch as he will write franticly then stop to cough or when he stops and lets his head fall back and lean against the wall, his eyes closed. It actually pains me to watch him like this, he is flat out miserable. I stand up quietly and walk towards him, he never notices when I do this; focused on his work. I crouch down and then gently grab the top of his pen, grazing his hand slightly. He snaps his head up and glares and I softly smile at him. He softens his expression but grips his pen tighter. “Alexander please,” I say to him. “No John I’m so sorry but I have work to do, things to write,” he says. “Yes but you are also not feeling well so working yourself to exhaustion will not help,” I say to him softly. “I mean you’re very right, but it’s what I do and I do it well,” He answers dropping eye contact. “See, you don’t have to anymore, we aren’t in college anymore, you don’t have to worry about not making the grade anymore. You landed you’re dream job babe. I mean ever since we met you said you would be working for The New York Times, and look at yourself you are living your dream,” I say still looking at him, “the worlds you keep erasing and creating leave me in awe but they will still be there if you take a break.” He is silent, I can see him searching for words. He looks up at me, looking very tired, “you’re right I need to learn how to not work myself to exhaustion,” he closes his journal and lets it fall in his lap. I let go of his pen and stand up, no longer crouched down to his level. “Please, just rest,” I say to him softly. He opens his mouth to speak but I cut him off, “even if its just for ten minutes it wont kill you.” “Are you sure it might kill me,” he says playfully. “I’m positive,” I respond to him. I then offer my hand for him. I watch as my hand limply hangs there for a few moments him considering my offer. He then take my hand and I smile at him. I then help him up. “How are you feeling babe?” I ask him praying he will give me an honest answer. “I’m fine,” he says following up his statement with a nod. I give him a questioning look, one eyebrow cocked up. He sighs, “I don’t fell very well babe,” he says, “but please don’t worry I’m okay,” he follows up quickly. “Aw babe it’s okay here sit down,” I say in a gentle voice. I wrap an arm around the shorter man and walk with him for the few steps it takes to get to our couch, his journal in his hand. I then take his journal from him, sparking a protest. “Ten minutes,” I plead. He looks at me thinking, then giving in letting me take it from him. I place his journal on the coffee table that sits in front of the couch, so its still in his sights. “Is this okay?” I asking him, knowing how important it is to him. “I’d rather it in my hand but yes,” he says sitting on the couch his head tilted back, leaning against the back of the couch. I then take the his pen and rest it on top of the journal. Then I move blanket off the table and place it gently over him. “Do you want anything to drink?” I ask. “No, I’m okay,” He says softly. “Are you sure?” I offer again. He nods softly. “I’ll be back I’m gonna’ go get some water and medicine for you to take,” I say. He rolls his eyes at me, “I do not need medicine,” he insists. “Too bad,” I say laughing after my response. “You’re too good to me,” Alex says. I laugh a little, “you only deserve good things.” _______ “Here take this,” I say holding out a glass of water and two nyquil gel pills. “Really?” he protests. “Yes,” I say sharply. “Why though you said I had to rest for only ten minutes,” he shoots back. “Yes but this well help you sleep tonight,” I reply to him. “Babe its only 8:30,” he replies. “It wouldn’t kill you to go to bed before midnight baby,” I tell him. He softens at the use of the pet name. “Please trust me,” I offer. “You are so lucky that I trust you John Laurens,” he says taking the water and medicine. I take a seat next to him, but still offering him space incase he wanted it. I look over at him about to ask how work for him was today, but I see him leaning towards me. “You know you can sit close to me,” I offer gently. He smiles and moves to me until his head his resting on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around his shoulder, then moving my hand to the top of his head smoothing out his hair. “Ugh my hair is a mess,” he sighs. He reaches back and takes the hair tie out of his hair and gently throws it onto the coffee table. “You have no idea how much I love your hair,” I say tucking some of his dark locks behind his ear. He blushes, “out of the two of us you definitely have the best hair.” “Even when you are sick you like to argue my god I love you,” I say to him. His face goes bright red and he smiles, “I love you.” “How was work today?” I ask him. He yawns, “it was good but-“ “What did Jefferson do?” I cut him off. “Wow you know me so well but let me just tell you, I swear I am going to punch that man,” he says sighing. “Slow down babe, what exactly happened?” I ask. “He always bashes my work,” he says sighing. “Really?” I question in genuine shock. “Yes,” he says leaning further onto me. “Interesting because I never see his work published hm,” I say smiling looking at him. “Thank god,” he responds to me. “Did you not know?” I ask him. “I try to not read the paper too much, its weird seeing your own work published sometimes,” he says yawing shortly after. “You should read your work more often, its fantastic,” I reply to him. He looks up at me with soft eyes, “thank you so much, you truly have no idea how much that means to me.” “You deserve to hear it,” I tell him moving my hand to his hair. I gently play with his hair as he yawns. “How is it in the world of John Laurens?” He asks in a sleepy voice. “Well I got a new assignment today,” I say gesturing to the book on the table. Basically my job is a company will give me a book to read and then I have to read it, then write a summary of it, and explain teaching points. So if a teacher is going to write curriculum for a book they would buy my work from the company and use it to help teach their class. “What is the book about? And more importantly can I read it when you are done?” he asks closing his eyes. “You can always read the books when I’m done,” I say to him. After not hearing a response I look down at him, and smile. God damn he finally is asleep. I slowly pull my arm out from around him. I kiss his forehead lightly, “Alex,” I whisper in attempts to wake him. As much as it killed me to wake him he should really sleep in our bed. He groaned before fluttering his eyes open. “Hey lets go to bed,” I say in a quiet tone again offering him my hand. He stretches his arms and shoulders before standing up slowly and taking my hand. As I take a step away he practically falls onto me his head resting on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around his torso before helping him to our room. “Hey go sit down I’ll get you something to sleep in,” I say pointing him into the direction of our bed. I go over to the closet and get a t-shirt and then to his dresser and I fetch flannel pajama pants for him, I then give them to him. “Hey I’ll be in the bathroom getting ready for bed, you can fall asleep without me its okay,” I tell him. For what ever reason he refuses to go to sleep till I am laying next to him. He nods looking dazed. I grab clothes for me to sleep in before heading off to change, giving him space. By the time I return he is laying down rolled onto his side. I flip off the light and make my way under the covers. He rolls over to face me, I squint to find a dazed sleepy smile decorating his face, “good nigh John,” he says. “Good night Alex,” I reply to him. “I love you,” he says holding out the u. “I love you too,” I reply.

#lams #lams fic #lams fluff #lams angst #sick fic #soft #this is all just gay #john laurens x alexander hamilton #alexander hamilton x john laurens #alexander hamilton #john laurens #hamilton #hamilton: an american musical #lin manuel miranda #pov #pov fic #sickness mention tw//#hamilton fanfic #my work

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coldxinxmyxprofessions-blog · 7 years

Text

Lil Lam’s AU Kinda Thing!

Sorry this isn't written in the third person I am so bad at writing in that style so have some first person. I also am hella tired so I barely proofread this whoops if there is a major problem just message me and i’ll do what I can to fix it.

John’s POV:

“Alex!” I exclaim as I hear the front door close. “H-hey,” Alexander replies to me, in a shaky voice. I frown to myself, concerned with his tone of voice. I set my book down on the coffee table then walk swiftly to the front door. “Hey babe,” I say leaning against the hallway door frame. “It’s too damn cold out,” He says setting his bag down. I look at the tiny snowflakes that rest in his hair, despite it being pulled back. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are bright red. “It’s not too cold out,” I say playfully. I watch as he takes his jacket off and puts it on the coat rack. “It is,” He says shivering. “Aw babe come here,” I say my arms open. He walks over to me and melts into my embrace. I rest my head on top of his and gently rub circles into his back. “You’ll get used to it soon,” I say softly to him. “I truly, do not think I will,” He says into my chest. “Trust me you will, it isn't cold in South Carolina,” I say to him. “Then why do we not live there?” He asks. “Trust me, New York is so much better than there,” I say to him undoing our embrace. “I’m not so sure, I mean I’ve never been there but,” He says his voice trailing. “Trust me,” I say taking his hand. He lets go of my hand and turns away and goes to his bag. I roll my eyes knowing he is just going to get his laptop. I head back to the living room, but stop to grab a thick blanket, in hopes of Alexander sitting close with me. He has never been one to display tons of affection for me, well for anyone for that matter. He is more reserved and quiet dedicated to anything he works on. I admire him for it in all honesty, I just wish for him to rest every once in a while. “Hey,” I call out to him. I hear his foot steps quicken till him and I are in our little living room, “hey,” he says holding out the y. “Wow no laptop?” I question genuinely shocked. He pulls a journal with a leather cover out from under his arm and holds it up gently, “I’m goin’ pen and paper.” “Switchin’ it up?” I ask. “I guess,” He says sighing. I frown, “whats wrong?” I look up to meet his eyes. As much as he likes to think he can hide his emotions, his eyes always give him away. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask him, his eyes looking glassy. He coughs a little, “mhm fine.” “Babe come here,” I say now standing up. He approaches me slowly now clutching his journal close to his chest. “Okay I’m gonna’ go out on a limb here, and say you feel sick,” I say crossing my arms. “Before I confirm how can you be so sure,” He says weakly, but of course still looking for a debate. “Well for one you actually have been sleeping at night, your eyes are glassy, and you even stop writing to sleep, which is by far the most shocking,” I say. “Well then,” he says looking at his feet. “Please rest,” I pled. “No, no I am fine,” he insists. “Alexander please,” I say already given up this conversation. He looks at me his expression soft, “I just have so much work to do.” “I understand,” I say to him completely given up on making him rest. I go and sit back down on the couch and pick up my book and watch as he goes and sits down on the chair across the room from me. I watch as he brings his knees up to his chest to use as a platform for his journal, and starts writing. I helplessly watch as he will write franticly then stop to cough or when he stops and lets his head fall back and lean against the wall, his eyes closed. It actually pains me to watch him like this, he is flat out miserable. I stand up quietly and walk towards him, he never notices when I do this; focused on his work. I crouch down and then gently grab the top of his pen, grazing his hand slightly. He snaps his head up and glares and I softly smile at him. He softens his expression but grips his pen tighter. “Alexander please,” I say to him. “No John I’m so sorry but I have work to do, things to write,” he says. “Yes but you are also not feeling well so working yourself to exhaustion will not help,” I say to him softly. “I mean you’re very right, but it’s what I do and I do it well,” He answers dropping eye contact. “See, you don��t have to anymore, we aren't in college anymore, you don’t have to worry about not making the grade anymore. You landed you’re dream job babe. I mean ever since we met you said you would be working for The New York Times, and look at yourself you are living your dream,” I say still looking at him, “the worlds you keep erasing and creating leave me in awe but they will still be there if you take a break.” He is silent, I can see him searching for words. He looks up at me, looking very tired, “you’re right I need to learn how to not work myself to exhaustion,” he closes his journal and lets it fall in his lap. I let go of his pen and stand up, no longer crouched down to his level. “Please, just rest,” I say to him softly. He opens his mouth to speak but I cut him off, “even if its just for ten minutes it wont kill you.” “Are you sure it might kill me,” he says playfully. “I’m positive,” I respond to him. I then offer my hand for him. I watch as my hand limply hangs there for a few moments him considering my offer. He then take my hand and I smile at him. I then help him up. “How are you feeling babe?” I ask him praying he will give me an honest answer. “I’m fine,” he says following up his statement with a nod. I give him a questioning look, one eyebrow cocked up. He sighs, “I don’t fell very well babe,” he says, “but please don’t worry I’m okay,” he follows up quickly. “Aw babe it’s okay here sit down,” I say in a gentle voice. I wrap an arm around the shorter man and walk with him for the few steps it takes to get to our couch, his journal in his hand. I then take his journal from him, sparking a protest. “Ten minutes,” I plead. He looks at me thinking, then giving in letting me take it from him. I place his journal on the coffee table that sits in front of the couch, so its still in his sights. “Is this okay?” I asking him, knowing how important it is to him. “I’d rather it in my hand but yes,” he says sitting on the couch his head tilted back, leaning against the back of the couch. I then take the his pen and rest it on top of the journal. Then I move blanket off the table and place it gently over him. “Do you want anything to drink?” I ask. “No, I’m okay,” He says softly. “Are you sure?” I offer again. He nods softly. “I’ll be back I’m gonna’ go get some water and medicine for you to take,” I say. He rolls his eyes at me, “I do not need medicine,” he insists. “Too bad,” I say laughing after my response. “You’re too good to me,” Alex says. I laugh a little, “you only deserve good things.”

_______

“Here take this,” I say holding out a glass of water and two nyquil gel pills. “Really?” he protests. “Yes,” I say sharply. “Why though you said I had to rest for only ten minutes,” he shoots back. “Yes but this well help you sleep tonight,” I reply to him. “Babe its only 8:30,” he replies. “It wouldn't kill you to go to bed before midnight baby,” I tell him. He softens at the use of the pet name. “Please trust me,” I offer. “You are so lucky that I trust you John Laurens,” he says taking the water and medicine. I take a seat next to him, but still offering him space incase he wanted it. I look over at him about to ask how work for him was today, but I see him leaning towards me. “You know you can sit close to me,” I offer gently. He smiles and moves to me until his head his resting on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around his shoulder, then moving my hand to the top of his head smoothing out his hair. “Ugh my hair is a mess,” he sighs. He reaches back and takes the hair tie out of his hair and gently throws it onto the coffee table. “You have no idea how much I love your hair,” I say tucking some of his dark locks behind his ear. He blushes, “out of the two of us you definitely have the best hair.” “Even when you are sick you like to argue my god I love you,” I say to him. His face goes bright red and he smiles, “I love you.” “How was work today?” I ask him. He yawns, “it was good but-“ “What did Jefferson do?” I cut him off. “Wow you know me so well but let me just tell you, I swear I am going to punch that man,” he says sighing. “Slow down babe, what exactly happened?” I ask. “He always bashes my work,” he says sighing. “Really?” I question in genuine shock. “Yes,” he says leaning further onto me. “Interesting because I never see his work published hm,” I say smiling looking at him. “Thank god,” he responds to me. “Did you not know?” I ask him. “I try to not read the paper too much, its weird seeing your own work published sometimes,” he says yawing shortly after. “You should read your work more often, its fantastic,” I reply to him. He looks up at me with soft eyes, “thank you so much, you truly have no idea how much that means to me.” “You deserve to hear it,” I tell him moving my hand to his hair. I gently play with his hair as he yawns. “How is it in the world of John Laurens?” He asks in a sleepy voice. “Well I got a new assignment today,” I say gesturing to the book on the table. Basically my job is a company will give me a book to read and then I have to read it, then write a summary of it, and explain teaching points. So if a teacher is going to write curriculum for a book they would buy my work from the company and use it to help teach their class. “What is the book about? And more importantly can I read it when you are done?” he asks closing his eyes. “You can always read the books when I’m done,” I say to him. After not hearing a response I look down at him, and smile. God damn he finally is asleep. I slowly pull my arm out from around him. I kiss his forehead lightly, “Alex,” I whisper in attempts to wake him. As much as it killed me to wake him he should really sleep in our bed. He groaned before fluttering his eyes open. “Hey lets go to bed,” I say in a quiet tone again offering him my hand. He stretches his arms and shoulders before standing up slowly and taking my hand. As I take a step away he practically falls onto me his head resting on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around his torso before helping him to our room. “Hey go sit down I’ll get you something to sleep in,” I say pointing him into the direction of our bed. I go over to the closet and get a t-shirt and then to his dresser and I fetch flannel pajama pants for him, I then give them to him. “Hey I’ll be in the bathroom getting ready for bed, you can fall asleep without me its okay,” I tell him. For what ever reason he refuses to go to sleep till I am laying next to him. He nods looking dazed. I grab clothes for me to sleep in before heading off to change, giving him space. By the time I return he is laying down rolled onto his side. I flip off the light and make my way under the covers. He rolls over to face me, I squint to find a dazed sleepy smile decorating his face, “good nigh John,” he says. “Good night Alex,” I reply to him. “I love you,” he says holding out the u. “I love you too,” I reply.

#my work!#writing #lams #lams fic #lams fluff #lams angst #hamilton #lin manuel miranda #anthony ramos #fanfic #alexander hamilton #john laurens #gay

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yarpiebrit · 7 years

Text

Very few people today (including many SADF military veterans) are aware that Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK) insurgents actually attacked some bone-fide South African Defence Force (SADF) military installations, but only a handful of occasions and this story covers one of them – the bombing of the Witwatersrand Command’s building – the Drill Hall (known as Wits Command).

Other than the bombing of Wits Command and the Nedbank Plaza in Pretoria (which housed the target – a SAAF command office), the only other standout ANC MK attacks on actual SADF installations were low key and completely ineffectual. These included the rocketing of the Personnel Services army base in Voortrekker Hoogte (with minor injuries to one civilian and no substantive building damage). The faulted attempt at bombing a Wits Command medic centre in Hillbrow (no injuries). The speculative bombing of some cars in the car-park of the Kaffarian Rifles (no injuries, and no information either). Finally, the bombing of a dustbin outside Natal Command (no injuries or building damage).

Information on the bombing at Wits Command itself is really difficult to come by, at best it is presented as a resounding victory by MK claiming 58 injuries and 1 death of SADF personnel and at worst there is little to almost no information, video or photographs on both the military and media records of any deaths and damage at all. There is certainly no death of a SADF serviceman recorded on the honour roll. So where does the truth lie?

There are two key reasons why this incident remains obscured. Firstly, although a bomb had gone off in down-town Johannesburg (no hiding that), the grip of the National Party over South African media limited ensured the incident would be carefully managed (attacks on SADF military installations would affect morale) and, more importantly, it was very carefully managed because of the profile of the Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK) attacker who committed it. The outcry, profile and ‘hunt’ for him was somewhat muted, angry announcements identifying him for the purposes of the ‘hunt’ were made, yes – but in-depth media analysis on the attack or investigative journalists seeking an exposé on the attacker’s profile and motivation – no – there’s nothing of this sort.

Simply put, this muted outcry was because this particular MK operative was from an upper class, ‘white’ Afrikaner, well to do and influential family. He grew up in an up market ‘white’s only’ conservative suburb in Johannesburg and attended a prestigious Afrikaans High School – he didn’t fit the National Party’s ‘swart-gevaar’ (Black danger)/’rooi-gevaar’ (Communist danger) terrorist narrative of the time, he was in fact embarrassing enough ‘one of their own’.

So, lets get to the ‘truth’ of matter in all of this, what was the actual damage caused, what actually happened?

Background

On 30 July 1987, a bomb exploded at the Witwatersrand Command’s Drill Hall injuring 26 people (no deaths), the injured were made up of a mix of both military personnel and by-standing civilians. The Drill Hall was targeted because not only was it a military installation, it was also the same historic Hall in which the 1956 Treason Trial took place and significant to ‘struggle’ politics.

The ‘Treason Trial’ had lasted from 1956 to 1961 (not to be confused with the ‘Rivonia Trial in 1964) and revolved around 156 people arrested on charges of treason – it was overseen by Oswald Pirow and it included a mix racial bag of South African political party leaders from across the spectrum, notably Nelson Mandela, Ahmed Kathrada, Walter Sisulu, Stanely Lollan, Helen Joseph, Joe and Ruth Slovo and Leon Levy to name a few. They were all found ‘not guilty’ but the trial did force Oliver Tambo into exile.

Treason Trial in the Drill Hall

So, like the mixed racial bag of the Treason Trial itself, the actual attack on the Drill Hall (by then a SADF command centre and military building) did not come from an angry disenfranchised ‘Black’ ANC MK operative, rather, this attack came from very “blue blooded” ‘White’ Afrikaner – Heinrick (Hein) Grosskopf.

The Bombing

As part of the Amnesty Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings Hein Grosskopf, by that stage a former MK operative, revealed how he detonated a car bomb at the Witwatersrand Command military base.

Grosskopf, a graduate of Linden Hoërskool (High School) and the son of Johannes Grosskopf, a former editor of the Beeld newspaper, said he joined the African National Congress in exile in 1986 after concluding that apartheid was reprehensible.

Johannes Grosskopf

He linked up with the ANC in Lusaka, where he volunteered for MK military service and after undergoing training in Angola, he returned to Lusaka at the end of 1986.

Six months of planning then went into the attack, which was to be a “one-man” operation. An attack on the Braamfontein gas works in Johannesburg had also been considered, but it was rejected as too dangerous for civilians in the area. Witwatersrand (“Wits”) Command was chosen after much deliberation and according to Grosskopf;

“Because the state had so clearly politicised the role of the SA Defence Force by deploying troops in townships, SADF personnel and installations were by definition justifiable targets.”

The explosion was planned to go off by 9.45am, when the morning rush-hour was over, children would be in school and restaurants around the site were still closed. A car with an automatic gearbox would be used and by lashing the steering wheel in a fixed position, the car could be made to move without a driver towards the target.

In June 1987, Grosskopf entered South Africa on a motorcycle from Botswana, along the way he bought an old Valiant pickup ‘bakkie’ in De Deur and travelled to Johannesburg with the motorcycle in the back of the ‘bakkie’.

After booking in at the Holiday Inn in Pretoria, under the name if JR Evans, Grosskopf rented a small flat in Linden, Johannesburg (a suburb he was highly familiar with and near his old High School).

Between the 5th and 10th of July 1987, Grosskolf carried out reconnaissance at Wits Command and found it would be possible to park in Quartz Street, opposite the target. He also measured the height of the pavement the attack vehicle would have to mount before reaching the wall of Wits Command.

After concluding that the operation was feasible, Grosskopf returned to Botswana and requested 120kg of explosives from his support group. The load was hidden behind the seats of the bakkie, and steel plate was welded over it.

On July 17, Grosskopf rented a house in Ventersdorp, intending to use it as an operational base, believing that a single Afrikaner would be under less scrutiny in a small town than in Johannesburg’s suburbs, but as he was moving in, two policemen arrived and asked why his bakkie was registered in a name different from the one he used when renting the house. Thinking his cover might be blown Grosskopf spent only one night in the house before returning to Johannesburg.

Early on the day of the attack, he rode into Johannesburg on his motorbike and left it two street blocks from the target. He returned to the Linden flat by taxi. Around 9am he left for Johannesburg after loading the explosives into the bakkie. The vehicle was parked in Quartz Street. With the car idling, he lashed the steering wheel in the required position and threw three switches to arm the vehicle and bomb, got out the vehicle, locked it and walked towards Sterland (a cinema complex) next to Wits Command.

Just before reaching the inside of the Sterland complex proper, the Valiant’s engine revved very fast and loudly, with the explosion that followed. He jumped on the motorcycle and rode back to Linden, collected some belongings and then headed for Botswana on the motorcycle.

Aletta Klaasen was 17 years old when she lost her left eye in the explosion. Minutes before the blast she had been talking to two SADF soldiers in front of the building, Cpl. Paul Duncan and his army chum Stoffel, when Grosskopf parked his vehicle close by to where they where standing.

She noted Grosskopf looking in her direction and called out to him “What are you looking at – I’m not for sale” (the area around Wits Command was a notorious ‘red light’ district known for prostitution). He turned around and walked off and shortly after that the bomb went off.

When she recovered from the blast she noted that one of the SADF troops, Cpl. Paul Duncan, who she was chatting to, was blown off his feet and found in the guardhouse, bleeding from the head and unconscious – he later fully recovered from his injuries.

An unassuming and quite person, Grosskopf built up his hidden resentment of the status quo whilst a student at Linden Hoērskool, were he had been bullied and teased by the vastly conservative white Afrikaans students for his “liberal” views. On matriculating from Linden Hoërskool, Hein Grosskolf, although openly stating he would never join the South African Defence Force (SADF), did in fact attend to his national service military call up and was discharged from his SADF conscription commitment on medical grounds. Highly politicised, he then went on to join the ANC and its military wing MK.

Aftermath

The Drill Hall after the bombing was deemed by the SADF to be an ‘unsafe’ building due to structural damage caused it and the Command moved into a high-rise building adjacent to the Drill Hall. On occasion the Drill Hall would be used by Citizen Force units and Regiments for mustering (in the very famous hall in which the Treason Trial took place) but more often than not it remained empty but guarded during the early 1990’s.

Once the command relocated from the high-rise building to Doornkop military base in the mid 1990’s, the drill hall building was taken over by vagrants and became an informal settlement – it eventually became derelict, caught fire and burned down. Today, the façade and some perimeter buildings is all that remains of the complex. The façade has been restored as a monument to Johannesburg’s history and the significant historical events which took place in the building – including it’s bombing.

Truth and Reconciliation

Aletta Klaasen and Hein Grosskopf were both at the TRC Hearing in November 2000, Grosskopf apologised to Aletta in person and regretted the injuries caused to civilians. Grosskopf concluded the meeting by saying that he was proud of the small role he had played in the struggle for freedom. He said,

“Taking a life is never easy. I believe all life, even that of my enemies is sacrosanct. Violence can never be good; it can only be necessary. I am truly sorry for the injuries and suffering I caused”

At her request Klaasen and Grosskopf met for a few minutes in private after the hearing and then they both posed briefly and rather awkwardly for this photograph (note the body language). Neither of them elaborated on their meeting, Klaasen was only prepared to say that it had been good.

Heinrich Grosskopf, was granted amnesty by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission on 13th December 2000 whilst he was resident in the United Kingdom, it is thought he may still be there, and there is an irony here. One of the SADF victims of the bombing – Paul Duncan, also lives in the United Kingdom now. Paul was kind enough to recount his eye-witness account (both as a casualty and the fact that he was very near the epicentre of the blast). ‘Reconciliation’ and ‘apologies’ aside, I have it on good authority that it’s very unlikely Hein will be attending one of Paul’s famous ‘braai’s’ (a South African barbecue) in England anytime soon.

Written and researched by Peter Dickens

Reference: News 24 Archives. Interview with Paul Duncan. South African History On-line. Wikipedia.

The truth behind the bombing of Wits Command Very few people today (including many SADF military veterans) are aware that Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK) insurgents actually attacked some bone-fide South African Defence Force (SADF) military installations, but only a handful of occasions and this story covers one of them - the bombing of the Witwatersrand Command's building - the Drill Hall (known as Wits Command).

#African National Congress #MK #SADF #South African Army #South African Defence Force #Umkhonto we Sizwe #Witwatersrand Command

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