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kisskissbanggang · 5 years

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Standby pt. 2

[~10 Min. Read/3.2K Words – Bang Chan x Female Reader – Idol!AU – NSFW/Smut, Some Emerging Plot – Cunnilingus, Overstimulation, Impulsive Decisions, Stressful Job Situations, Sneaking Around, One-Sided Feelings(?), Acting Professional]

Your sneakers slapped the bruised linoleum floor of the terminal, sprinting each time you were out of sight of a huge crowd. Honestly, you fit in with every other rushing traveler in the busy concourse. Time, as always, was of the essence, and you only had so much before this comically bad situation got worse.

The group had already been late leaving for the airport that morning. It was as rough of a time as any, only made worse by being in preparation of an international flight. Bags were being packed and reviewed, passports were being gathered, and everyone was already tired. By the time the group left the dorm, you all had barely any time to make your plane. Arriving at the airport, however, turned the whole debacle into an entirely different beast. Other countries, other industries, used service hallways and back entrances for high profile travelers. Hyun-Jae-unnie made it very clear to you from your first flight with the group that the whole point of going to the airport wasn't so much to travel as it was to be seen traveling. It was no secret that fans always mysteriously knew when the band would be flying.

On this particularly rainy morning, all the fanfare was waiting inside Departures like a bubbling volcano. The sliding doors opened and you flinched at the barrage of flashing lights as you all rushed through check-in and security. Pushing through a bombardment of various intrusions, both professional and not, you all finally made it onto the plane safely with only minutes to spare.

Until your mentor yanked on your carry-on strap. Hyun-Jae-unnie looked frantic, her eyes screaming.

"We're not all here. Didn't you do the head count while I checked us in?"

You could feel the color drain from your face. In all the commotion, you had only heard "head count" and nothing else. You'd assumed she was just saying that she was taking care of it.

"Because," she continued, her pallid complexion looking dire, "guess who just texted me as I was turning on airplane mode?" She pushed her phone into your hands.

Chan.

You whipped your head around. The rest of the boys and staff looked just as confused as you felt. Hyun-Jae-unnie snatched her phone back from you, her other hand clutching your shoulder.

"Fix it."

"But, Unnie -- " you began weakly.

"But nothing. I trusted you to do something, and since you didn't, now I'm trusting you to fix it. I know you can. So do it. Rehearsal is tomorrow morning, 8AM local time. Be there, with Bang Chan."

You had taken three minutes to hyperventilate in the jet bridge once you deplaned, and now you were sprinting through the terminal looking for your worst nightmare: a lost idol. An odd phenomenon caught your eye. Bands of students and teenage girls were milling about. You assumed you must be on the right trail. Time and time again you checked your phone, praying that Chan would get back to you since you texted him the moment you were off the plane. You began ducking into each and every shop on the concourse, looking down every aisle and around each display in hopes of finding him, all while attempting to not draw attention. You turned a corner in the shop you were currently searching when a hand darted out and clamped over your mouth. You were dragged back into a half bear hug, half chokehold, as you tried to gain all the will and strength you had left to unquestionably destroy whoever was daring to add to your misery today.

"Thank god I found you!" Chan quietly exulted. "This has been an absolute disaster." You spun around, excitedly flinging your arms around him before you could stop yourself. Embarrassed, tired, and despondent, you quickly regained your composure the best you could. You took a few minutes to pull yourselves together before you got the hell over it and set to work.

Moving quickly, you worked together to evade attention. You ducked into a service hall once you made sure the coast was clear. Your black face masks were swapped out for white spares you had in the bottom of your carry-on. You pulled off your light windbreaker and pushed it into your bag, pulling on Chan's offered flannel that he'd been wearing under his jacket, which he then threw into his own bag. Pulling out a beanie from the front pocket of his backpack, Chan finally felt ready to join you for your next step. You moved swiftly through the crowds back to the ticket agent desk, grabbing your IDs and going about setting up a new first class flight. You were assured by the agent that even though you were on standby, you had a good chance of getting on the next nonstop in an hour, a couple of booked customers being notorious for last-minute cancellations.

So that left an hour.

You flipped through any and all options for privacy in your head before suddenly realizing the best course of action. Grabbing ahold of Chan's arm, you made a beeline for the airline's guest lounge. It was oddly full for a weekday morning, but it seemed more than welcoming with its low light and bartender on duty. You gave the front desk attendant the information for the company account and, once inside, immediately pulled up a seat at the bar. You slipped off your face mask and practically inhaled the first drink you ordered, feeling just a little more relaxed at this late, late hour of 10AM. Chan settled in beside you and ordered you both a round.

"Thanks," he offered, playfully nudging his shoulder into yours. You shook it off.

"I said I'm always going to do right by you. Besides, it's my job." You gave him an exhausted, small smile.

"And you're good at it," he encouraged. "One minute I'm checking to make sure I have my wallet, the next I'm entirely lost with a whole mob of fans hunting me down. Hyun-Jae-noona may be a machine, but you'll be giving her a run for her money someday, and probably soon."

A humble blush seeped over your cheeks, but you knew it wouldn't last. Given the opportunity, Chan would inevitably bring up that evening backstage at Inkigayo. He'd been trying for weeks now and you'd skillfully dodged him time and time again.

"So," he began, with all the subtlety of a cannon, "we have plenty of time to talk about you and I."

"Hmm, no," you laughed, accidentally too meanly, firmly shaking your head as you maintained a hard gaze on your empty glass, "because there is no 'you and I'. I helped you out. Like I said, it's my job."

Out of the corner of your eye you caught Chan cock his head and frustratedly play with the case on his phone. "That isn't exactly in your job description last I checked, and I'm pretty sure you enjoyed it way more than you care to let on."

It wasn't. You did. But you were petrified to let Chan know that, for more reasons than just the most obvious one concerning your employment status. Despite those conflicting feelings, however, what was more pressing was how much Chan being upset made you upset in return.

"Right. Because that rests on a line way beyond the one I shouldn't have crossed in the first place, and I should've known better than to make suggestions to an idol thinking with his dick."

Chan slapped his hands down on the bar as he got up, letting out a spiteful scoff with an exaggerated shrug. "Better than taking suggestions from an intern who refuses to acknowledge she may have been thinking with her pussy. Now, if you don't mind, am I allowed to leave your sight to piss, or are you going to come watch me so you don't disappoint your bosses?"

You gawked, speechless and fuming as Chan turned heel and crossed the unusually busy lounge to the first of two private restrooms down the hall at the other end of the room.

Your mind raced, your heart pumped into your throat, your palms sweated, but worst of all was your stupid pussy betraying you at its mention. As you attempted to massage the TV static out of your temples, Chan's stupid, mesmerizing scent wafted into your nose from his flannel you were still wearing. Your stress headache was about to turn into stress nausea and making Hyun-Jae-unnie proud would only feel so good if you were lucid enough to enjoy it and god damn Chan for being so cocky and rude and right. Grappling both yours and his carry-on bags, you hauled them to the front desk attendant to be left in their care before you stormed across the lounge and all but kicked in the restroom door Chan had conveniently forgotten to lock in his anger. You were taken aback for a second, amused at how he wasn't even taking a piss. The man was just leaned back against the sink and tapping on his phone. You should've known; Chan used various forms of this tactic all the time back at the dorm -- walk it off and wait it out. But you weren't interested in waiting, nor walking it off. He cautiously looked over as you flipped the lock.

"Oh, so you do want to watch--" Chan sneered, stopped dead by you shoving him back against the sink and yanking down his mask before capturing his lips in a furious kiss. He pulled as far back from you as he could while being pinned up against the porcelain, waiting for your next move. This jerk was grinning. "What happened to not making it weird?"

"It's too weird to not be weird," you growled, shaking your head. "You want to see me thinking with my pussy? I'll fucking show you."

"You're a busybody, you know that?" Chan mused, mostly mumbled between your resumed kisses. You plucked off his beanie and threaded your fingers into his hair, winning a throaty groan from him as you tugged on his wavy tresses.

You dragged your lips from his own down to his neck, the skin there raising in goosebumps to meet your hot breath as you absently ground your hips against his. "Chris," you moaned against his throat, your special magic word already making him shiver, "tell me how much you've been thinking of me."

"Making assumptions, aren't you?" He chuckled before surprising you. He pushed you back, hips first, angling you back against the tile wall and caging you as his hands kept teasing to touch you. Each time he got close, he backed away a little more.

"Can't make assumptions when it's just facts," you smirked, breaking his concentration as you shoved him back against the sink. "Now tell me how much you've been thinking of me."

"Every fucking night," he breathed, eagerly following as you led his hands around your waist. "I've been losing sleep wondering how to get you alone. Not quite what I had in mind, but I'll take it."

"Well, you have me now, so you better make the best of this before I come to my senses." You slipped your hands under his shirt, finally letting yourself feel his taut stomach that you'd admired more than once when you'd caught glimpses of it. The groan under his surprised flinch made you clutch your knees together a little tighter.

Chan nodded firmly before leaning down and hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around him in one swift move. "Yes ma'am."

Was it dumb that those words alone struck up a tingle in your spine? You waited, curious as he spun and sat you on the edge of the sink.

"Have any ideas?" You asked.

"Just a few. Been thinking with my dick after all." He gently pushed you to lean back against the mirror above the sink, giving you a sly smile that faded the moment he went to pick the button of your jeans.

You put a hand on his. "What's wrong?"

Chan shook his head. "Is this stupid?"

A sigh erupted from your chest before you could stop it. "If I'm being candid, this is worse than stupid; it's dangerous. But you're really cute and I'm really enjoying myself. I think we can be stupid and dangerous once or twice."

"Well now we just sound reckless." You knew that look. Chan was on the edge of panic. You sat up on the ledge of the sink and gently took his face in your hands.

"Chris. Are you enjoying this? Do you like me?"

"Yeah," he nodded weakly. "Of course. You're gorgeous and you drive me nuts and I can't get enough of you."

"Then kiss me -- ah!" You interrupted, putting a finger to his lips and shushing him before he could continue being so wishy-washy. "Kiss me. It's not like it's our first or anything, but it'll calm you down and get you back in the game, I promise."

Chan fiddled with your fingers where they still rested on his hand.

"Or..." You ducked closer, attempting to catch his gaze. "You can say no. I won't deny I'm being a little selfish, but I'd never try to steer you wrong, Chris."

He thought about it. He really thought about it, still fidgeting with your fingers tangled with his before he suddenly had his same, goofy, self-assured smile. His other hand brushed your cheek, his rings there zipping cold against your skin before you were faced with his lips hesitating, meditating right before yours. You waited to close your eyes as if you'd miss something if you didn't keep watching, and he finally kissed you. It felt different: sweet, thoughtful, curious -- a wine you'd first tried under different circumstances but never really appreciated before, but now feared you'd take it for granted.

You gasped, dazed and startled like a shaken sleepwalker as Chan did, indeed, get back in the game. His hands gently pushed you to lean back against the mirror with renewed confidence and he was back on you, kissing you with new vigor as he tried once again to unfasten the button of your jeans. With newfound success, he grabbed the waistband of your jeans and swiftly yanked them down along with your panties, down to your knees where he paused for just a second. You couldn't help but smirk at Chan's momentary admiration of your pussy on the ledge of the sink. His eyes ticked up to meet yours, staying there as he slowly sank to his knees in front of you. He tugged your jeans down further to your ankles. He ducked under and between your legs, allowing you to spread your knees around him and let him take his time as his lips ghosted over your warm heat.

"Alright," he smirked, "I'm not exactly a pro at this, but--" His sudden groan was delicious as you raked your fingers into his hair and tugged him close, causing a premature kiss between his lips and your damp pussy. He quickly became accustomed after his initial taste, a deep moan following his tongue into your wet folds. You bit down a moan, your teeth digging into your lip as your hips rolled against Chan's tongue.

Your ears perked at the sound of a zipper and a small smile pulled at your lips, content to know how turned on Chan was to please you. A noticeable change occurred in his rhythm as his hands transitioned from clutching your thighs, to one gripping his rigid cock, the other beginning to dip into your dripping juices and tease your quivering hole.

"Is it good?" You asked, chest heaving and your head dizzy.

He pulled up, his shameless smile slick with you. "You're fucking delicious," he breathed.

The moment his tongue affectionately laved your clit in combination with his fingers slowly slipping inside your depths, you cried out, unable to hold back and earning the biggest shit-eating grin from the man between your legs. He resumed eating you ravenously, his tongue and fingers probing you in tandem as you slowly ascended your peak. Were the lights in this bathroom always so intense? Your knuckles were pale wrapped in Chan's hair, the veins beneath scripting thoughts you were still too afraid to say.

"Chris," you wavered, your thighs trembling where they sat on his shoulders, "I'm going to fucking cum --"

"Oh yeah?" He raised his eyebrows as his fingertips crooked up inside you. "Show me, baby."

Your cheeks washed crimson at the sweet name, nearly thrown off track but brought back the moment he resumed pumping his tongue and fingers together, the syncopated ministrations bringing you higher and higher until you couldn't hold it anymore. A bolt of lightning traveled up your spine, circling your head before finally striking. Your fingers knitted into Chan's hair, you cried out and roughly ground your pussy against his mouth as your orgasm washed over you.

But he didn't stop. He dug in harder, you could actually feel his dark smirk as you nearly screamed. He caught you just in time, shooting a hand up to clamp over your mouth as he kept tasting your dripping folds. After all, there was a room of people just outside.

"Chris," you whimpered into his palm, "please, please, please."

Please, stop? Please, more? You had no clue, your eyes were practically rolled back in your head.

He backed up just a breath away. "We don't stop until I finish," he moaned, his husky growl reverberating against your ignited nerves before he fucked you harder. Where was this new edge coming from? Something about it intrigued you to no end. A second peak came into view when an alarm suddenly went off on your phone. You regretfully kicked Chan off of you before digging the beeping monstrosity out of your jacket pocket.

"What is it?" Chan asked, bewildered.

"Oh shit," you wheezed, still coming back to earth, "we have to go. Come on. The gate is at the other end of the concourse."

Chan was left speechless for a second, still kneeling on the floor before sighing deep and shoving his hard-on back into his jeans. He watched as you swiftly -- and with eerie efficiency -- pulled your clothing back in place, checked your hair, and leaned down to wipe his dripping chin with your jacket sleeve after you re-situated his clothing as well. You pulled him to his feet, dragging him behind you down to the front desk and grabbing your bags before sprinting down the concourse, all the while digging new face masks out of your backpack and quickly snapping them on before arriving at the gate.

Thankfully, the seats you were vying for were open, and you could nearly hear applause as you hauled Chan down the jet bridge and got settled in first class. Finally, as the plane was taxiing, you pulled out your notebook to get some neglected work done. Chan, headphones on and looking agitated, reached over, plucked your pen out of your hand, and scribbled in the margin of your notebook page.

So, if I’m not going to finish, we at least definitely have more than enough time to talk now, right?

[To be continued.]

#bang chan #bang chan smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction

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izupie · 4 years

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I needed to kick my own ass into doing a warm up drabble to try and get my brain gears in motion today, so here’s a lil Ashiida thing for @cartoons4ever77 ~

—–

Iida wasn’t sure what he was the most surprised by: that only one person had turned up for his study session, or that the one person was Mina Ashido.

He continued to glance at the clock on their shared kitchen wall, as if it would somehow reveal the locations of his classmates. Or summon them to him if he kept it up for long enough. It did neither of these things.

Mina had spread her belongings across so much of the table he wasn’t sure that there would be room for anyone else to study with them anyway; a sparkly pink pencil case was tipped onto its side, spilling its contents of varying sizes of half chewed pencils and animal shaped erasers, that seemed to smile up at him from the table where they’d fallen. She’d pushed papers around her that displayed scribbled notes that he could barely decipher, and doodles of menacing looking horned creatures in the margins, though the creepy effect of them was displaced somewhat by the pink sparkly pen she’d used to draw them.

Iida realised he was staring and shook his head slightly as he took one last look at the clock.

“I don’t think anyone else is coming,” Mina said, leaning back in her chair.

Iida made a concerned humming sound. “I just don’t understand. I told everyone five pm sharp. Do they not care about their grades?”

“Nah, it’s not that. There’s that nasty virus going around at the moment, right? Some of ‘em are stuck in bed with that. And there’s that cooking club thing going on at the school that a bunch of ‘em have gone to, and they opened up the gym a little longer tonight so there’s extra training that I think Midoriya, Todoroki and Bakugou are at. Maybe a few of the others too.”

Iida blinked and adjusted his glasses..

Mina giggled at his expression. “Can’t get anything past me,” she declared.

“Well, I’ll be sure to check everyone is okay later, in case they can’t make it to class tomorrow,” Iida added as he finally took his seat at the other end of the table.

Mina shrugged and chewed on a pencil as she continued to lean back in her chair. The noise was loud in the silence. Teeth on wood. Chewing. Chewing.

“What are you working on?” Iida asked, his voice clipped.

“Oh, y’know that essay on rescue ethics?”

“You mean… the one due tomorrow?”

“That’s the one!”

He nearly choked with the force of how much he wanted to say all at once. ‘Irresponsible’ kept on coming to the tip of his tongue before it got replaced by ‘terrible work ethic’ and ‘finished mine a week ago’ and ‘need to start earlier’.

Mina obviously found his reaction comical because she laughed so hard she doubled over and slammed her hands repeatedly against the desk.

“There’s nothing funny about your grades, Mina,” he finally choked out, “you need to- to start these things early- and-”

“Relax, Iida, I’ve literally only got a page left to write on it.” She wiped away imaginary tears. “You’re so much fun to tease.”

He didn’t really have a reply to that. Her grin was wide and playful and her pink hair was tousled with the force of her laughter.

Why did his cheeks feel so warm?

When they’d eventually settled down into writing - the scratching of their pencils on paper the only sound in the room - Iida began to relax into something he found familiar and challenging and he almost forgot Mina was even there.

Until he noticed the humming. It started off so quiet, he almost didn’t catch it for a while, but it got louder and more energetic and it squirmed its way into his thoughts until it overwhelmed the flow of his notes and he realised he’d been sitting and staring at his paper without actually writing anything for a few minutes. Even worse was that he’d been tapping his foot alongside the tune and once he’d stopped Mina was aware of the absence of the sound.

“Were you enjoying that?” she asked, surprised.

“N-No. It was an involuntary reaction to a beat,” Iida lied.

Mina gasped and stood up from her chair so suddenly it screeched as it flew backwards and threatened to topple over, as she immediately raced around the table to him. She grabbed his hands with so much enthusiasm that he had no choice except to be dragged to his feet. She was stronger than she looked.

“Let’s dance!”

“What?”

“C’mon!”

She resumed her humming, more loudly, and held his hands in hers as she swayed them and shuffled her feet on the kitchen floor. He was surprised that her hands were so soft; he’d always assumed they’d be rough from her acid quirk. He looked down into her dark eyes and he was sure her pink skin was even pinker on her cheeks.

“W-We should be working,” he tried, but it was weak and he knew it. His feet were already moving with hers.

Mina only grinned.

#how's that? hope you like it!#ashiida #mina x iida #bnha #my fanfiction #izus drabbles #iida tenya #mina ashido

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the-mykie-show · 5 years

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The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty (NeganxJustice) chapter 2.

With his marriage to Lucille falling apart, Negan finds love in the most unexpected place. The kind of love that he never thought he'd find again, the kind that makes him want to make the world a better place for her. Thus a savior is born.

*warnings: Negan's potty mouth, cancer, hospitals, discussion of sexual assault, strip clubs, stalking, beating up assholes*

Chapter 2: taking out the trash

The money ran out a lot faster than I thought it would.

Even with halfway decent insurance cancer treatments were expensive. I ended up taking another job, it took me away from Lucille more but it paid for the treatments and the bills and that was all that mattered for now.

I saw Justice at the hospital quite often.

Always in the cancer ward, or the cafeteria.

I didn't get up the courage to talk to her until we ended up alone at the coffee station one day.

“Hey…” I awkwardly acknowledged her. She just nodded in response.

“Are you okay…. from the other week.”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” her tone was clipped and cold.

“Has he left you alone?”

“Yes, I am fine.”

“I didn't tell anyone, just so you know.” why did I feel so oddly threatened by this women? She was probably 5 foot tall and weighed 100 pounds.

“I appreciate that.” she sounded a little less pissed off at me… At the world as she stirred her coffee with a little plastic stick.

“So I see you here a lot.” I commented, fishing for information about her.

“Yeah, my sister is in treatments. She has cancer.”

“So does my wife.” I didn't fucking think that one through, she's going to think I'm a disgusting human being now, going to the strip club while my wife dies of cancer, who does shit like that? Granted I didn't know Lucille was sick when I was going to watch her dance every week, but she didn't know that.

“I'm sorry.”

“I am too,for your sister… And for what happened to you.”

She shrugged “it's an occupational hazard, most dancers deal with sexual harassment from clients, especially in the kind of joint I work from. I'm lucky it wasn't worse.” that's fucking sad.

“Do you only dance to pay for the cancer treatments?” I hoped asking her that wasn't too much.

“No, I've always been a dancer, got my first job at 18, it use to be because I liked it, and I use to work in more reputable places. But this is the best hospital in the state and that is the only club near here that pays well enough. So I took what I could get.”

“I'm sorry, that's rough.”

She shrugged and smiled a sad little smile “yeah, but I'll make it through. I always do.”

That night I decided I didn't really didn't need to eat anything that wasn't hospital food and I went to the club and gave Justice the money. I didn't even stay for her performance, just threw a hundred dollars on the stage and walked out. But I decided to wait in the parking lot and have a cigarette.

I hadn't smoked in years, but apparently I'd gotten so desperate to connect with Lucille again that I was willing to give myself cancer too so we'd have something in common.

I was a dumbass.

I light up and stash the cigarettes back in my jacket pocket. And that's when I see that little fucker from the hospital waiting by the back door of the club. The door the dancers used.

That little fucker.

“I thought I made myself crystal fucking clear what I would do to your ass if you came anywhere near her again?” the little turd visibly gulped when he recognized my voice.

“What, was attempted rapist not enough? You just had to add stalker to your resume too? Bet that looks awesome on a medical school application.”

“Why don't you mind your own business? What I've got going on with her is none of your concern.”

“None of my concern? I think a soon to be fully minted doctor being the type of man would sexually assault someone is everyone's concern. And her being a stripper doesn't change shit, I don't care if she was a $25 hooker, or your goddamn wife, no means no, you piece of shit.”

“Fuck off, man. Are you screwing her? That why you care so much?”

I answer by punching him in the face.

He spits blood on the ground laughs.

“that's what I thought. She a good lay? She looks like she is, whore like her is probably pretty loose though.” I hit him so hard he passes out. He swayed and fell over almost comically, it looked liked something out of a cartoon.

I decide it's a good idea to throw the little fucker in the dumpster out back. Either he wakes up in a pile of used cum towels and empty liquor bottles or a trash compactor. Either is good with me. He's surprisingly heavy for a little guy, so it takes me a few minutes to get him wedged in there properly.

By the time I do I see Justice making her way out of the club, dressed in normal clothes with a gym bag slung over her shoulder. She holds out a set of car keys and presses the button on the fob and I hear a sad sounding beep and see a dull flash of light.

“Shit!” I hear Justice groan.

She's standing in broken glass next to a beat up Dodge Charger that's been completely trashed. All the windows are broken out, all four tires slashed, headlights and taillights smashed, paint scratched all to hell, interior ripped apart. There's a Louisville slugger on the ground a few feet away from the trashed car.

This had to be that little fucker in the dumpster's doing.

Justice shook her head and turned and walked away from the car towards the street, was she going to walk home? How far away did she live? It was 30 degrees outside for Christ's sakes.

My mouth worked faster than my brain, like always. “Do you need a ride?” I called out.

She stared at me skeptically, almost as if she deciding how sure she was that I wasn't a serial killer.

“I'm not a serial killer, I promise.”

“Yeah, that's definitely not something a serial killer would say.” I had to hand it to the girl, she was keeping in good spirits about the whole situation. “Sure, I'll take my chances with that ride, since you're allegedly not going to chop me up with a chainsaw.”

“Allegedly so, yeah.”

“You got any idea who did this?” she asked.

“Yep, probably that douchebag resident from the hospital. It seems you have a stalker.”

“He was here?” she seems genuinely scared, which was probably a good thing. This psycho had not only assaulted her, he'd now destroyed her car.

“Waiting by the door, probably waiting for you to come out and see his handy work.” hopefully that was all he was waiting for.

“Shit. Guess I'm going to the police station tomorrow. Maybe if I don't tell them what I do for a living they'll help.”

“Does your job really matter?”

She nods “you'd be surprised. Technically I'm in the sex industry even if I don't actually sleep with anyone from the club. You ever watched a crime show on TV where they talked about “high risk lifestyle”? Well I'm what they mean by that.”

What the fuck is wrong with society?

“That's fucked up and unfair.”

“Yeah, life is fucked up and unfair buddy.” she had a point.

“That sick asshole even used my baseball bat to do it.” she says picking up the bat off the ground.

“Do you play?”

“Play what?”

“Baseball.”

“Oh, no. It's for self defense. High risk lifestyle, remember?” she props the bat up on her shoulder and swaggers away from the destroyed car. I've never been more afraid of a woman, or aroused like I was watching that.

“So where you parked.” she takes a picture of my license plate on her phone and rapidly texts to someone. Smart woman.

“Would you like to see my drivers license too?” to my surprise she says yes, I give it to her dumbfounded. I'm putty in this woman's hands.

She gets in, and immediately changes the radio to a punk rock station, sits her stuff in the floorboard, her water bottle and phone go into the cup holders, and she's made herself at home in my car.

“Where is that asshole anyway.” She asks putting on her seat belt.

“I threw him in the dumpster around back.” it's her turn to look dumbfounded now.

Ask to join the tag list to be notified whenever I update.

Tagging: @negans-network

#negan #twd negan #negan's thrist squad #negan fanfiction #negan fic #the walking dead negan #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #The walking dead #the walking dead fandom #twd family #twd fandom

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speedygal · 6 years

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Not a logical intervention - part 20 (Or the beginning of a series of misadventures with Spock and Kirk in a different past)

Bole looked up from the padd while sitting in her chair appearing to be unhappy.

George looked over toward the captain feeling the unhappy air radiating from her. He didn’t need a high ESP rating to detect that. It was just the general mood that had changed. He didn’t need to be a Betazoid or a Andorian to know something was afoot. She placed her padd onto the arm rest, “Number One, with me.” George got up from his station then followed after the captain going into the ready room. The captain vanished behind the large, comfortable mobile chair. The chair squeaked against the floor.

“I do not understand why the ambassador needs five beehives retrieved from the planet he used to be on,” Bole said, turned in the direction of the windows behind her desk. “he said so himself. . .” she turned the chair in the direction of the first officer. “The chances of their survival and relocation in a walkable distance is slim.”

“They are part of the ecosystem,” George said. “Can’t remove them.”

“You’re going down to Diagla, when we get into orbit, tomorrow,” Bole said. “and you must take the Ambassador.”

George felt his stomach churn. Now that he knew his sons husband was Spock, George felt like walking on egg shells. He did not wish to pry into the future. Or let alone hear about it. The elder had been littering spoilers behind him one way or another and George still found out either way. Spock was doing a terrible job of abiding the prime directive. He implied, and therefore, spoiled. Note to self: request the Ambassador not break the temporal prime directive. It was funny. Comical, even to a certain extent. Spock would understand how he was feeling about it.

“I can always say that we looked and didn’t find them,” George said. “he won’t know that we didn’t look hard enough,” George paused, ashamed, at what he was suggesting. It was rude and disrespectful. He didn’t like talking this way. “God, I would love to get his bees back but we can’t. I can get him a new one.”

“He won’t notice as he will be recalling what it looked like,” Bole said.

“Now I just feel bad for the poor man,” George said

“I need you to do a favor for me,” Bole said. “have you seen the ambassador and the admiral, apart from last week?”

“No, captain,” George said. “I haven’t seen the Ambassador since sick bay.”

“Biological urge,” Bole shook her head. “Doctor Talron and the others are unable to check up on the pair since the Ion Storm wrecked engineering,” George froze sitting in the chair across from the captain. “Surgery won’t let them.”

“What about Commander White?” George asked.

“It would be inappropriate to send in someone who is not part of the family and has not been ordered by the captain to go there,” Bole said. “this is your son.”

“We don’t know if our child is going to be a boy, girl, or neither,” George said. “I get a rough idea of what to expect in his future partner but intruding on a different version of my child’s life?” George gave her a incredulous look. “No, I respect his privacy.”

“It’s jarring,” her black eyes looked on toward the blue eyed man.

“Back home, he is a one year old and two months,” George said. “here, he is a old man.”

“Serving in Star Fleet is full of jarring situations,” Bole said. “this is your first.”

“What was yours?” George asked. “Not as mixed feelings as me.”

“It was my first captain,” Bole said. “Seeing them in way I did. . . “ she had a grim look on her face. She didn’t reply while looking back for a few minutes. Then she resumed speaking, “I am still not over it. You will never get over it. Besides, you never know, he will interfere in his past selves dating life to make sure he finds the one.” George glared in her direction.

“A Kirk does not sabotage a family member like that,” George said. “I will make sure of it.”

“Then it’s safe to assume he won’t spoil you about anything that happens,” Bole said.

“You are right,” George said. “I will get used to it. Best as I can.”

“Remember, Number One,” Bole said. “No one has it rough as you do. Dismissed.”

George made his way down the dark corridor. George had only spoke with Kirk for practical purposes that related to the mission. The admiral had insisted that he go in there when the Romulan bird of prey (That is what he called it) when the shields were down and everyone’s attention were not on security. Bole had planned to send George and herself on the mission to retrieve the Ambassador. Though knowing who the admiral was to the ambassador had changed all of that plan. The captain had sent two security officers with him. They had died protecting him on his mission. He came in front of the doors to the quarters then stepped on through. The doors chimed opening automatically into the room.

“Should the nebula be in the way, fly throuuuugh it, fllly throuugh it,” George overheard singing. He looked over to see that across from him was a makeshift oven. Where did he get that? He watched the man fill a plate alongside a empty one. George smelled bacon, tasty, delicious bacon, with his hands locked behind his back. He saw the man’s broad shoulders. The silver graying, curling hair. “as no one will do sooo.” the singing was not at all bad but gleeful and passionate. “Oh, hi Dad.” Kirk looked over giving the younger man a smile.

George was frozen where he stood unable to form words. Winona and George had been sending messages to each other during the travel to find the Ambassador. Plans that quickly changed. They had decided long ago that their growing family would follow George to wherever his assignments might be except for this one. Winona was working on arrangements to make the farm house as ‘blind-friendly’ as possible and working on other avenues. George didn’t know what to say. No idea. No clue. So the only thing that did come out were:

“Did Winona teach you to cook?” George asked.

Kirk turned toward George with a incredulous expression.

“No, you did,” Kirk said. “Winona over complicated it.” Kirk laughed, warmly, at the memory. “Which did come in handy from time to time,” he added the bacon to to the empty plate then carefully added soft, jelly like eggs with the white solid center around it to the plate.

“How is your husband?” George asked.

“Still eating soft food,” Kirk said.

“Last I heard, Mr Spock had to eat soft food,” George said. “can’t be for him.”

“Me,” Kirk said, dancing his eyebrows turning toward the younger man with a beaming smile. He picked up the other plate. “Excuse me, I have a hungry mouth to feed.” then seemingly warped away leaving George behind. “Thanks for coming!”

George walked into the transporter room where he was joined by two Vulcan security officers. T’Mick and T’Berry strapped their phaser holsters around their waists. By Spock’s side stood Kirk wrapping a long, comfy scarf around the Vulcan’s neck. The planet’s temperature was very low indicating it was entering the colder season or at least getting ready to. Spock held his gloved hand out for the fretting human who was in fall gear that was labeled from hat to boots in star fleet deltas. Kirk returned the gesture as his other hand zipped up the coat.

“First Officer Kirk, we don’t know if the Romulans have a facility nearby so I requested for a third member,” T’Mick gestured over toward a defected Cardassian with a long tail. “We need all the paranoid-thinking security officers on this mission.”

“Good choice,” George said. “Mr Charlie, good to see you again.”

“As to you, Commander,” Charlie said.

“Are you ready, gentlemen?” George asked.

The two men turned their heads in the direction of the younger men.

“Ready as always, First Officer,” Kirk said.

“Prepare to board the transporter,” George clicked on the bed as the group walked onto the side ways ‘c’ shaped transporter padd. The transporter padd was orange and black with what seemed to be large circular fans behind them. They turned in the direction of the transporter technicians. “Energize.”

The group was projected out of the ship down toward the planet. Spock reached his hand out for Kirk as the smell of ASH ASH ASH ASH ASH ASH ASH DESTRUCTION DESTRUCTION DESTRUCTION DESTRUCTION DESTRUCTION DESTRUCTION BURN BURN BURN BURN BUN BURN BURN BURN BURN BURN DESTRUCTION DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH shot into his senses. George looked at the gray, dark scenery. There were shards of grass slowly growing back to the ground. It looked haunting. A strange deer stopped in its tracks with two smaller counterparts beside it. Kirk squeezed Spock’s hand. There was a wide, large space where the house once stood. George looked up toward the sky to see there were nothing hanging from there. Not a nest, not a beehive, or a hornets nest nearby. George walked forward. The deer like creatures sprinted away out of terror. T’Mick performed a scan using a security tricorder stepping forward. His boots tearing through what was most likely hard wood remains of some kind that softly crunched beneath the star fleet issued soles. He looked toward the tricorder holding the scanner out walking forward with it lowered toward the ground then toward the direction the deer that fled.

“No sign of life,” T’Mick said.

“Romulans would not want a base underground in this part,” Charlie said. “I am sure the Romulan Defector would agree with me.”

“I bet he would,” George said, as a dark look was casted on his face.

“The bees are still alive,” Kirk said. “You can’t kill bees easily.”

“Smoke can kill bees without protection,” Spock insisted. “the chances of the queens survival is very likely and they have a beehive already set up in a nectar fluent location . . .”

“But since it is fall, the chances of nectar is slim,” George said. He turned in the Ambassador’s direction stepping into a dried, dead long piece of some wood related part. It was wood, George decided, dried dead wood. “We will look,” he turned his attention toward Charlie. “Charlie, T’Berry remain here with them. . . T’Mick, you are with me.”

“Aye, captain,” T’Mick said.

“We’ll find the bees,” George said. “We will be back in ten minutes or an hour.”

“You are giving one hour to a search?” Spock inquired. “Searches like these are meant to be brief.”

“This is a entirely different era,” Kirk reminded. “Rules are different.”

“Listen to your husband, Ambassador,” George said. “he knows what he is talking about.”

George and T’Mick went on leaving the small group behind. George walked through the dark forest looking around the heavy fog. Slowly the vegetation returned to the scenery as they walked down the path. George looked around in awe then took out his on science tricorder. He looked around noticing a log that was covered in flowers that were colorful and covered with pollen. He knelt down toward the flower then held the tricorder and snapped pictures. He lowered it looking at it with curious, intrigued eyes and awe in them. T’Mick’s attention was focused on the surroundings with one hand on the phaser.

“Something does not feel right about this location,” T’Mick said.

“Relax,” George placed a hand on his knee. “There is no carnivores animals nearby.”

“You haven’t considered cannibalistic plants,” T’Mick said.

“That exists on Vulcan,” George said. “Just because Sehlats and Vulcans alike can get killed by them does not mean not all the plant life can eat man.”

“Vulcan Sucker Vines have counterparts that are native to other planets,” T’Mick said. “I was once stationed on a planet like this for a science assignment,” George looked up looking up off toward the trees for the shapes of a beehives. “The worst of these vines are S'gagerat. Sucker Vines are now cowards, their purple vines stick out, just awaiting. While the S’gagerat are lying like snakes in the sand. Waiting to shoot out and sting a drug that tires the victims, then slowly bring in the prey, and allow for a very slow digestion.”

“T’Mick, your planet is terrifying,” George said.

“That distinction goes to Earth,” T’Mick said. “It’s a death planet,”

“Right, remind me not to compliment your planet,” George said.

“An Earth bee,” T’Mick said, watching the bee flying away. “First officer, this way.”

The two men followed after the bee and made their way toward a buzzing clearing twenty minutes later. There were five beehives that were connected by a long tunnel that went through all five. George’s jaw dropped as he stared in bewilderment. T’Mick raised an eyebrow at the unusual sighting. George slowly turned away from the sight then flipped out his communicator. He felt like he was in one of the old Earth tv shows such as The Twilight Zone and The X-Files. Earth bees joining together with their queens to co-exist was odd. It seemed the environment and the ecosystem was enforcing cooperation. Scientifically, there were no such occurrences studied like this before.

“Kirk to Charlie,” George said.

“Charlie here,” Charlie said.

“We found the beehives,” George said. “Something is going on with them.”

“What is it, sir?” Charlie asked, concerned.

“They’re all connected,” George said. “I really do not think we should transplant them now,” T’Mick lowered his eyes toward the floor and he did not move. “My apologies, Mr Spock.”

“First Officer,” T’Mick said. “you may wish to see this.”

“What is it?” George asked.

“My consideration on cannibalistic plants still stand,” T’Mick said. George slowly looked down.

“Ah shit,” George said.

“Don’t move,” T’Mick said, calmly. There was long, large juicy looking vines moving under the fallen leaves. “Don’t move your legs.” their eyes watched the overgrown vines traveling beneath. “Your arms, on the other hand, might be optional.”

“Ensign T’Mick,” George said. “Look down.”

“Oh,” was all T’Mick said.

“What do you see?” George asked.

There was a beat.

“Dead vines,” T’Mick said.

“Return to the ship, now,” George said. “you and the others go first.”

“The Ambassador is being comforted by his bondmate,” T’Mick said. “I should not intrude.” T’Mick saw the shorter human rubbing the Vulcans back speaking softly to the man. “Very private moment.”

“How far away are they?” George asked.

“Roughly seven feet away,” T’Mick said. “perhaps more.”

“Call the Shran and get transporter up, first,” George said. “we will be right behind you.” George closed the communicator then put it away.

He unstrapped the tricorder from his shoulder then took pictures. T’Mick’s eyes were on the ground watching the vines move around them. T’Mick’s hand gripped around the handle of the gun. George repeatedly pressed the tricorder watching the vines moving around them. There was a subtle difference in the moving leaves in how the leaves moved beneath. T’Mick took his phaser out aiming at the moving vines. George scanned the vines collecting the data that he could with the recently discovered plant life. George straightened himself up above from the vines.

“Carnvineous Liana,” George said. His eyes saw the shape of a thigh bone sticking out partially from the leaves. “Definitely carnvineous.”

“That is not a word,” T’Mick said.

“It is now a species name,” George replied.

“Are you naming it after a pokemon?” T’Mick raised an eyebrow.

“This planet is named after a Pokemon,” George said.

“What--oh,” T’Mick said. “A butterfly--” T’Mick let go of the handle reaching out for the butterfly.

“Didn’t you say to remain still?” George asked.

T’Mick stepped back losing his balance. George’s eyes widened flipping out his communicator and firing back into the tangled mess. The first officer leaped after the tangled vine mess. The vines cut into T’Mick’s skin piercing through his uniform tearing it. George vaporized a layer of the vines calling into the communicator, “George to Shran, two to transport!” as T’Mick let out a primal scream as a long cut as the vines dug further and further into him letting an out pour of neon blood come out. New vines replaced the ones were replacing the ones removed dragging him toward the center where the vines were from. “We need a medical team, NOW, NOW!” George fired at the vines watching helplessly on toward his colleague whose screams were dying. In a instant, he was there, and then he was not.

He was briefly at two places at the same time. Projected through what felt like walls, a familiar feeling, that made George feel like he was flying. George appeared on the transporter padd then collapsed to the floor then moved his way toward the Vulcan whose skin was covered in green blood. Talron almost beamed into the room checking for a pulse. A firm hand was placed on his shoulders as his eyes were resting on the ripped chest. George was heart broken looking toward his brief colleague. The Vulcan’s chest was no longer moving. Talron reached her hand back looking over toward the blonde man. He had lost his grip on the phaser letting it go on the floor.

“He is dead,” Talron said. “First Officer Kirk.”

“I am sorry, kid,” Kirk said.

“Tushash nash-veh k’du,” Spock said. I grieve with thee.

“He was just a ensign,” George said. “just a ensign.”

#space fic #my fic

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