#pipe includes anything you just get the smoke directly

[fwtomura]

Breathe Into Your Hungry Appetite.

(a simon riley x john mactavish fanfic ^_^)

CHAPTER ONE, CHAPTER THREE

cw: ghostsoap (simon riley x john mactavish), modern au, drug dealer au, mentions of weed, smut?, kinda transghost ngl, VERY BAD SPELLING!! that’s abt it.

haii guys i wrote chpt1 earlier and decided that it needs more added to it so here’s chpt2 :3

Simon’s morning started off just how it always did; kicking off the blankets, stretching out his back, and making that same awkward shuffle across the room towards the bathroom to brush his teeth and his hair. He still had that same old ache in his back and his joints as he slowly felt himself come back to the realm of the living. He didn’t bother with putting on a proper pair of pants before heading downstairs to the kitchen. It was a wednesday, he had the house to himself until much later in the evening.

He made himself his usual breakfast, hunching over the kitchen counter to eat as he scrolled through his phone. When he opened it, he realized that he’d forgotten to text Soap the night before. His phone opened up directly to Soap’s contact, which he’d noted down as ‘Johnny’ with a bar of soap emoji, but he hadn’t managed to send a message before he nodded off. Fuck. That’s awkward.

Simon💀: meant to text last just but got sidetracked, sorry

A half-assed apology was better than one, he decided. He didn’t include his name in the message, but judging by how quickly his phone vibrated against the counter, he didn’t necessarily need to add it.

Johnny🧼: all good, sweetheart

Johnny🧼: how’s ur morning going? did you sleep well?

Oddly charming. Not that he’d expected Soap to be turned off from texting him in the slightest. If anything, he was grateful for it to be just business as usual.

Simon💀: bit of a late start, but slept good.

Simon💀: eating breakfast now, how’s your day going?

He finished up his bowl of cereal, giving the bowl a half-asses rinse at the sink so that nothing would harden up before he gathered the willpower to properly load up the dishwasher. Maybe he’d get to it later this evening, maybe he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t seemed much more likely at the present moment.

Johnny🧼: nothin too crazy

Johnny🧼: It’s a slow day. fuckin boooooooooreeedddd >:(

Ghost nearly rolled his eyes as soon as he read the message. Of course he’d been bored. It seemed like that was always the case.

Simon💀: you poor thing, whatever will you do.

Ghost put his phone into his pocket briefly before heading upstairs, shutting the door to his room behind him out of reflex. He didn’t necessarily need to, but it wasn’t the worst habit to have. He opened his stash box and got out his pipe, he really did need to clean it.

As much of a pain in the ass as it was, he walked into the bathroom and got everything he needed. He’d leave the piece soaking overnight and would use a backup one for now. He checked his phone again as soon as he got the pipe settled into a plastic bag.

Johnny🧼: have u tried the new stuff yet?

He’d nearly forgotten about it, in fact. He looked over the baggie as he sat down onto the bean bag chair in his room. He could tell from the smell of the weed alone as he loaded up the grinder that it was potent . incredibly so.

Simon💀: not yet, loading up a bowl rn

Simon💀: smells strong as shit ngl.

The bud was nearly sticking to his fingers as he packed the bowl, the smell filling the room before he’d even sparked his lighter. It wasn’t that Soap always gave him shit weed, but he hadn’t expected this from a random strain that he’d given him to try. For free no less. And who the hell would Ghost be to turn down free weed that seemed to be at least halfway decent?

He flipped on the TV before settling down onto his beanbag chair and sparking up his bowl. The hit was sharp, almost immediately giving him that subtle, burning feeling at the back of his throat. The smoke still grunted slighting on the blowout, but there was a subtle almost citrusy flavour to it that say heavy on his tongue. Fuck. It felt good.

Simon kept taking slow, lazy hits from the pipe, leaning back and watching the smoke swirl and dance above him before it slowly dispersed throughout the room into nothing. The sunlight streaming in through the window made it look almost magical.

Simons phone had gotten tossed onto the bed at some point and he’d long since forgotten about it. He could feel the high slowly creeping in, his head filling with cotton and that euphoric loosening of his limps and muscles. Nothing else mattered in that moment… Aside from cracking a window; he’d finished smoking his bowl and the room was feeling rather stuffy. He opened the window quickly, swaying slighting from standing up too fast, and settled back down into the beanbag chair. He tapped the ash out of his pipe onto his rolling tray, stamping out the still smoldering bits with the bottom of his lighter, before leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. He wasn’t going to be moving from this spot for a minute. He could tell almost immediately. He could faintly hear the TV going in the background and that was the only thing keeping him grounded in the present. He hadn’t gotten a high like this in a minute.

For some reason, he felt durant to his acoustic guitar sitting over in the corner. The guitar was old, probably just as old as Simon was but he didn’t particularly care to do the math on that. He didn’t know the exact type of guitar he had, but it was a Suzuki SG-2S guitar and it was scuffed to hell and back. That guitar had seen him through three different moves that he knew about, the pick guard being coated in hundreds of overlapping scratch marks. The finish of the guitar was worn off in several spots, but Simon still found it beautiful. Tommy had called the color ‘Tobacco Sunburst’ but Simon thought the same was fucking stupid.

(If he remember right, they’d gotten into a spat over it. Tommy has insistent that it wa the proper name for the color, Simon didn’t care regardless. The name was stupid.)

He sat up briefly before slinging the guitar over his lap, not bothering to slide the strap over his shoulders. His fingers quickly slid to pick out from between the strings and the fretboard at the top of the guitar, the calluses on his fingertips lining up perfectly with the strings. He idly picked through a few different scales. Warming up on the guitar was practically second nature to him at this point. He’d been playing guitar for just about as long as he could remember. His mother had taught him as soon as he was big enough to hold a guitar and he’d fallen in love with the instrument as soon as he touched the strings. Some of his fondest memories growing up were of playing guitar with his mum, often accompanied by Tommy singing along to whatever song they were playing, his voice being incredibly loud and off-key.

The guitar belonged to his mother originally, and it had been a birthday gift from her. He’d part with it over his dead body. Though the guitar didn’t look the best, it was absolutely priceless to him. He hummed softly to himself as he slowly worked through different riff that had been giving him trouble. The guitar was tuned perfectly, and Simon felt himself getting lost in the sound of it. The soft squeaks of the strings against his fingers, the gentle thrums from the pick, nearly everything was enchanting.

Playing guitar was always an incredibly therapeutic thing for Simon. At the very least, it was a conversation starter for just something he could bring up for meaningless smalltalk. He’d been asked to play at a few of Gaz’s parties, but the idea of having that many people staring at him while he was playing made him want to gouge his throat out with a fork. He’d rather play alone in his room, and he had no problem with admitting that.

He hadn’t been to many of Gaz’s parties recently, but he appreciated that Gaz didn’t nag him too terribly for not showing up. He didn’t know everyone who was there and his idea of fun didn’t typically consist of sitting off in a corner awkwardly for a few hours before he deemed it acceptable to leave.

Funnily enough, Soap always seemed to be at Gaz’s parties whenever he’d have them. Soap would never outright approach Simon, but he’d always give him a wave and that same, charming smile he always seemed to have primed and ready. Did Soap know how to play guitar? Could he at least sing halfway decent? He’d have to ask next time he saw him. 

Simon decided he was done playing guitar for now once he’d realized he’d been staring at the wall for the past ten minutes, not moving a single muscle. He placed it back onto its stand in the corner before immediately laying back down into bed. The soft breeze coming in through the window made his room cool, but still extremely pleasant for him to be in. He laid on his stomach with one leg lifted up as he started scrolling through his phone to keep his mind occupied. 

Even while being on his phone, his mind couldn’t stop drifting towards thoughts of Johnny. Objectively he was mildly annoying, to put things lightly. He always seemed to gravitate towards Simon like a lost puppy just to make flirty comments towards him. (It had taken Simon an embarrassing amount of time to figure out that he was flirting and not just being nice.) Though he was annoying, Simon couldn’t deny that he was incredibly attractive despite his horrifically outdated mohawk, but it did suit him quite well. 

Simon didn’t consider himself to be very much of a relationship person. Things had a tendency to not work out and he’d much rather save himself the grief than fling himself at anyone who showed him the smallest bit of attention. While this was true, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy the attention that Johnny was always all too willing to give him. Johnny made him feel like he was the most important person in the room. He’d be stupid to not enjoy it.

He wanted to get closer to Johnny, nearly feeling shitty for how little he actually knew about him. He didn’t know much about his hobbies, only knowing his taste in music from their drives that they would go on together. Their respective tastes in music had a significant amount of overlap, which Simon greatly appreciated. He found himself always feeling drawn towards Johnny. He wanted to be closer to him, whether that was just as friends or otherwise.

Johnny was undeniably attractive; you could even argue that he was Simon’s type. He had a decent amount of muscle to him, a stunning smile, and those beautiful blue eyes that Simon could easily get lost in for hours. His patchwork tattoos that were more than likely done in someone’s kitchen or basement left something to be desired, but Simon couldn’t say much on the quality or overall design of his tattoos. (He didn’t have much ground to stand on with his overly edgy sleeve he’d gotten the week after he turned 18.) Johnny was cocky and oftentimes overly confident, but Simon liked it, oddly enough. He was charming and always seemed to know exactly what to say to get a laugh or any other reaction out of Simon. He liked Johnny much more than he’d initially expected to.

 Simon wasn’t entirely picky with who he hooked up with, but it wasn’t something that he often sought out. With Johnny, however, he had half a mind to invite him over. The longer he’d thought about him, that low simmer of arousal pooling in his gut had roared into a rolling boil. Sleeping with Johnny wouldn’t be the worst idea he’d ever had. He’d stolen glances at his groin when he would wear gray sweatpants and Simon was more than just pleased with what he’d seen. At the very least, he’d have fun. That would be worth it. It had been a minute.

Simon💀: idk if it’s the strain or what

Simon💀: but i’m fucking horny

Simon💀: did that happen to you when you tried it?

Simon seemed to have an uncanny talent in sending risky text messages when he was stoned. It wasnt recommended at all, but he usually gained something pleasant out of it. He’d never sent a risky message to Johnny, mind, but he doubted anything bad would come from it.

He knew damn well how Johnny looked at him like he was something to be devoured. Any time he needed to lean down to pick something up, he could always be certain that he’d find Johnny’s eyes trained carefully on him. He was never shy about his intentions. Simon was practically waiting for Johnny to make a move, but he’d make it first if Johnny wouldn’t.

Despite Johnny’s track record of responding within five minutes whenever Simon would text him, nearly ten minutes had lapsed since Simon had messaged him. Disappointing. He tossed his phone onto the bed before opening the drawer on his bedside table. He tossed a bottle of lube and a dildo onto the bed near his phone before lying back down. It seemed like closing the door earlier had been a good idea after all.

He checked his phone one again, just to check, and was surprised to see ‘Read 1:23pm.’ He was very neatly thrilled to see the typing bubble pop up on screen. He needed to see this through, a pang of tension cutting through his arousal.

Johnny🧼: u kno..

Johnny🧼: as ur plug in responsible for ur high

Johnny🧼: i could come take care of u

Of course he’d say that. Simon had completely expected for Johnny to jump at the opportunity. Strangely enough, it was endearing.

Simon💀: mhm.

Simon💀: you can barely take care of yourself

Simon💀: I’d like to see you try.

Simon grinned as soon as he saw that Johnny was typing again rolling onto his stomach. He kept his phone held up in his left hand as his right hand slid down beneath himself. He didn’t let it slide fully into his boxers, idly playing with the waistband of his boxers.

Johnny🧼: I can come over n prove it, si’

Johnny🧼: I’d be more thn happy 2

As much as the idea seemed appealing, Simon wanted to guarantee that he’d have the house to himself. He couldn’t risk having Roach coming home in the middle of everything. He truly did want to tell Johnny to come over, particularly with how long it’s been, it wasn’t work the risk of getting interrupted.

Simon💀: maybe you could.

Simon💀: where would you start?

Though he couldn’t have Johnny over right away, playing with his food was always an entertaining pastime for Simon. Particularly with someone like Johnny. He always was incredibly upfront with his intentions. Whether he’d put his money where his mouth is was still up for debate.

Johnny🧼: do u have any idea how crazy uve been driving me??

Johnny🧼: every time i see u it drives me fuckin insane

Johnny🧼: can barely keep my hands to myself when i see u

Cute, but Simon already knew that. The art of subtlety was not something that Johnny was skilled or familiar with. He liked that about him. He couldn’t deny the thrill that rushed down his spine whenever he would turn around and catch Johnny staring at him. He always looked at him like he was starving, his eyes looking nearly dark with desire each time. It almost seemed as if he could call Johnny over to him with a simple tilt of his head and he’d drop to his knees in front of Simon like an obedient dog. He loved that feeling.

Simon 💀: cute… 

Simon 💀: you can do better than that, can’t you? 

Johnny🧼: u have no idea just how badly i want to ruin u

Simon had half a mind to drop the conversation there. He wasn’t in the mood to have to lead the conversation himself. If Johnny wasn’t going to hold his attention, he wasn’t going to keep playing along for the sake of Johnny’s ego. Interestingly enough, he responded before Simon could set his phone down fully. 

Johnny 🧼: if you tell me to i’ll come over rn

Johnny 🧼: i’d push you up against the wall, kiss you breathless with my hand around your neck 

Johnny 🧼: have you riding my thigh while i’m marking what’s mine

Marking what’s his?  

Simon 💀: marking what’s yours? i’m not yours. 

Johnny 🧼: not yet >_<!

Incredibly cocky, yet he didn’t hate it. Johnny was always incredibly forward with his intentions. The current moment was no exception to that. Simon would be lying if he didn’t find the idea of it appealing. He could almost perfectly envision it. 

Johnny’s hand gripping almost uncomfortably tight onto his hips, no doubt leaving bruises where his fingertips had been. The delectably rough scrape of his stubble against his jaw and neck as biting kisses would be placed across his skin, the warm metal of the barbell in Johnny’s tongue tracing across each hickey left across his neck. He could almost hear how Johnny would chuckle against his skin as he pressed his leg up further between Simon’s thighs, the pressure against his cock as he would roll his hips down and be met with an approving hum from Johnny. He wanted to hear just how rushed and heated Johnny’s breaths would get, feel his cock hardening against his hip…

Johnny 🧼: i’d treat you so well if you’d let me

Johnny 🧼: i’ll make an absolute mess out of you just with my tongue and fingers

Johnny 🧼: i’d leave marks all over your body just to make you think of me each time you see them

He would be on his back, bullied up closer to the head of the bed with Johnny between his legs. He’d have his hand in Johnny’s hair, pulling on it just to see how Johnny would react. He could almost feel Johnny’s steely blue eyes watching each expression he’d make. Johnny’s eyes would never leave his face, even when he leans his head back against the pillows. The coil in his stomach winding tighter with each pass of Johnny’s tongue against his cock, his fingers curling up just right inside of him and making him squirm. 

He knew Johnny would wrap his free arm around one of his thighs, pulling him closer and effectively locking him in place. He’d pull back just briefly, his chin nearly dripping wet with Simon’s arousal. 

“Don’t run away from it, sweetheart.”

Johnny 🧼: can’t wait to hear all the pretty little sounds you’ll make 

Simon 💀: hate to disappoint but i’m kind of quiet 

Johnny 🧼: we’ll see about that when i get my hands on you

Simon couldn’t even find it in him to be annoyed by his confidence. Johnny was well aware of the effect that he had on Simon and to his credit, Simon couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this interested in texting someone like this. 

He was on edge, his hand having creeped into his boxers long before Johnny started typing. He could feel his heartbeat racing as he watched the bubble continue, a low curse leaving his throat as he curled his fingers upwards inside of him.

Johnny 🧼: takin a while to respond, sweetheart

Johnny 🧼: what are you up to?

If he wanted to know so badly, Simon had no problems with showing him. He had a mirror at the foot of his bed for a reason. He sat up just slightly, leaning his weight on his left elbow and angling the camera so that his face wasn’t visible. He spread his legs open a little further for the picture. The damp spot on his boxers was just barely visible, but made more apparent by the flash of the camera. 

The image was tasteful, but you could still clearly see that Simon had two fingers buried inside of his cunt. He ground the heel of his palm against his dick as he sent the picture over.

Simon 💀: i think you can guess…

Johnny didn’t immediately start typing and Simon couldn’t deny the slight puff that it gave to his ego. He was well aware of the fact that Johnny found him attractive, but seeing a visual demonstration of him not having an immediate quip back from a risque picture was amusing to him. It was, of course, short lived. 

Johnny 🧼: got you that riled up from a few texts?

Simon 💀: don’t flatter urself 

Simon 💀: i’m home alone. just gotta take care of it myself. 

Johnny 🧼: i could change that

Simon 💀: maybe

The offer was incredibly tempting. Simon knew if he told Johnny to come over, he’d be at his house within the next twenty minutes, if not faster. Best case, the hookup would be pretty decent and he’d have a reason to invite Johnny over more often. Worst case, he’d have some mediocre sex and need to find a new drug dealer. That still didn’t account for running into Johnny at parties, or Roach coming home in the middle of everything. Maybe that wasn’t the best course of action…for now.

Johnny 🧼: can i save that pic?

Johnny 🧼: won’t show it to anyone. i just want that for me

If he’d been standing up, Simon knew that message would have made him dizzy. He could feel the slight rush of adrenaline down his spine at the suggestion. Just wanting to keep that picture for himself? Would he be looking at it later, touching himself thinking about Simon? Would that be the first time he’d done something similar? The mental image of that was all too appealing for Simon to say no.

Simon 💀: you better fucking not

Simon 💀: my face isn’t in it, go ahead

Johnny 🧼: perfect. 

He slid a third finger inside of himself as he waited for Johnny to finish typing, gently chewing on his lower lip in anticipation. Would Johnny be touching himself looking at that picture?

His face dimly illuminated by the light of his phone, sitting up with the hem of his tank top tucked between his teeth. His eyes carefully scanning over the picture as his hand stroked over his cock, his thumb trailing over the head on each upstroke. 

Johnny 🧼: just want to fucking ruin you 

Johnny 🧼: i’d keep you up all night, fill you up until you can’t take any more

Simon 💀: doubt you have the stamina but you can try

Johnny 🧼: cute that you think that

Johnny 🧼: when’s the last time someone properly took care of you? 

In all honesty, Simon could barely even remember the last time he’d hooked up with someone, let alone had a memorable and at least halfway decent hookup. He knew it had been more than a few months, but he didn’t exactly keep track of it either. He didn’t necessarily have people lining up to sleep with him, Johnny being the exception, and didn’t see the point in lying about it just to make him jealous…though it did sound appealing. 

Simon 💀: it’s been a while

Johnny 🧼: poor thing

Johnny 🧼: i could take care of you

Johnny 🧼: have you start on your hands and knees, flip you on your back when you get too tired

Johnny 🧼: push your knees to your chest and watch how you fall apart for me

He’d be on his back, his knees held tight to his chest, Johnny no doubt deeper inside him than anyone had been in a long time. He could hear the slap of skin on skin, harsh pants and soft groans. He was certain he’d be able to see the sweat dripping down Johnny’s temples, messy trails down his neck. How his eyebrows would be knit together tightly, his eyes closed and focusing on the sensations of everything. Open mouthed panting, his muscles flexing and relaxing beneath his skin so perfectly, shoulders begging to be bitten into. He’d make such a pretty picture, wouldn’t he?

Johnny 🧼: show me what you’re up to, doll

He deserved to see a little more, didn’t he? Simon pushed himself up to be sitting fully, tucking his legs beneath him and getting into more of a straddle position. He kept the camera carefully angled to hide his face as he hit the record button. He kept slowly fingering himself as the video ran, being careful to not make much noise. He didn’t need to inflate Johnny’s ego any more than it already would be. He didn’t watch the video back before sending it off. It was only a few seconds long, but it was clear what he was doing.

His eyes lit up as soon as Johnny started typing again, not having the energy to feign disinterest any longer. 

Johnny🧼: I can hardly even see what you’re doing, sweetheart

Simon💀: greedy.

Johnny🧼: you love it.

His next video started the same as the one he’d just sent, this time making more of an effort to grind against the palm of his hand as he worked himself open. This time, he lowered the camera from his face as he pulled his hand out of his boxers. He locked eyes with the camera in the mirror as he raised his hand towards his mouth, slowly trailing his tongue between his fingers and effectively cleaning off all evidence of his own arousal. He immediately sent off the video as soon as he stopped recording.

Simon💀: does this give you any clues?

He couldn’t deny the headrush he got as soon as Johnny didn’t reply for almost a minute, the read receipt being the only evidence he’d seen it. He was nearly giddy as he waited for Johnny to finish typing.

Johnny🧼: i think i’ve got an idea

Johnny🧼: i’d clean off your fingers just like that if i was there

Johnny🧼: dying to find out exactly how you taste

Simon💀: i bet you are

He’d been dancing around inviting Johnny over for too long, and he was starting to wonder if it’d be worth it to invite him over. Johnny hadn’t let up once in texting him. Simon wouldn’t mind the company. It could’ve just been the weed talking, but Simon felt he deserved at least the chance to prove himself. What did he have to lose?

He shifted up on his knees, turning so that his profile could be seen in the mirror. He pressed his chest down towards the bed, forcing his back to arch as his hips stayed high up in the air. He adjusted himself just slightly so that his body was in better view of the mirror to the camera. He sent off the picture as soon as he’d gotten a good shot.

Simon 💀: you gonna come get behind me or what?

Read 1:58pm. 

For a few moments, Simon figured that Johnny was just in shock and didn’t know how to respond. Maybe he hadn’t expected Simon to send that and needed a moment to process. One minute passed, then two, then five, then ten. Simon couldn’t hold in the disappointed sigh as he tossed his phone to the side. He was disappointed, yes, but still not entirely surprised. He’d expected Soap to be all bark and no bite, but had hoped that wouldn’t be the case. 

He rolled back onto his back, reaching for the dildo and lube he’d tossed onto the bed earlier before sliding his boxers off and tossing them onto the floor. He’d hoped for something different, but this would have to do for now.

an: sorry for cockblocking you guys i promise they fuck in the next chapter. but anyways. thank you for reading!!! i hope you enjoyed!! next chapter should be up relatively soonish!!

[promptsforpoemproseandplay]

Cannabis — An Overview

Drugs... don't do them, kids! But if you find yourself in a position where you need to write about them (or just want to know), then this post a good place to get basic information about marijuana, and a solid jumping off point for more research.

Cannabis and Marijuana — Definitions

Marijuana: dried buds and leaves of Cannabis sativa plant. Anywhere between green, brown, and grey. Contains more than 400 chemicals, including delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol, or THC, the plant's main psychoactive chemical.

Hash: dried resin or tar of the female plant. Dark brown or black chunks, commonly sold in tinfoil packages.

Hash Oil: one of the purest forms of cannabis. Made of cannabis extract, which is a sticky, oily, reddish-brown to green substance.

Cannabis Consumption

Marijuana can be smoked in small pipes, or the more advertised variants, cigarettes called joints. It can also be baked into numerous foods. Hash is usually mixed with marijuana and/or tobacco and smoked. Hash oil is more commonly spread on the rolling paper of a joint, or the end of a lit cigarette.

How Marijuana Affects You

The effects of marijuana are shorter when smoked, from between 2–4 hours, along with the fact that they kick in faster. If eaten, the drug affects the body at a slower pace and for longer.

Marijuana affects everyone differently, and there is no way of predicting the effect of THC from person to person. The effects are dependent on the consumer's mood, environment, age, past or current medical conditions, the presence or lack of other drugs or alcohol in the system (including medication), among other things.

List of Effects

Most people

relaxed

talkative

giggly

increased appetite

distorted sense of time

short term memory impairment

Some People

self-conscious

irritable

anxious

insomnia

depression

paranoia (overly suspicious, feelings of persecution)

decrease in motivation and interest

Few People

flashbacks

delusions (false convictions held contrary to fact)

clouded mental process

impaired thinking

confusion

Young people report that chronic, or daily, use of marijuana can lead a person to experience all of these effects.

How You Get High

The active ingredient of the weed, the THC, binds to the nerve cells and releases dopamine into a part of the brain that controls learning and memory (cerebrum) and integrates the senses with emotions and motivations.

Additional Information and Final Note

Marijuana clashes badly with prescribed drugs, such as anti-depressants

In rare cases, a connection with the onset of serious mental illness such as schizophrenia has occurred

People with schizophrenia have an almost 'allergic' reaction to marijuana, and those with (certain) mental illnesses (commonly) have bad experiences with cannabis

People suffering from certain health problems, side effects of cancer/AIDS, etc. report that marijuana is helpful for controlling pain and other symptoms

This post is by no means claiming to be true for every circumstance. Everyone is different, and I'm sure people have personal stories that prove contrary to the information presented here. That's to be expected, as the effects of drugs on the humans body depend on many variables and are highly unpredictable.

With that said, if anything is wrong, please let me know immediately and keep in mind that my information is directly from Interior Health BC, which has a cannabis fact-sheet compilation that I'll link here.

I hope this helped anyone who needed it, and informed the rest of you. Stay safe :)

~ Nyx

[ravenwitch45]

Thoughts on a potential job for I.M.P. where they hunt their target in a cathedral at night?

Just imagine the 3 little demons silhouetted against big stained glass windows showcasing heavenly/angelic iconography as they chase and stalk their victim until they zero in for the kill, the action and irony comparable to what you'd see in animes. The target could be a clergyman or some choir member or even among the congregation.

(Then again, it might also get Heaven's attention since a murder in a holy place wouldn't go unnoticed. But that's optional!)

Ooh I like this! I don't know why but the general premise plus the mention anime style action instantly reminded me off the opening scene of Bayonetta Bloody Fate which is also a battle taking place in a moonlit cathedral.

Overall I love it! I.M.P would both stand out but also fit in the cathredal's gothic archictecture so a fantastic idea. I kinda want draw something based on this but for now I'll do a little mini fic

I.M.P going after a target in a cathedral at night

I could see the scene opening with the target taking a lonely stroll through the cathedral, possibly locking up for the night before noises of movement are heard, them looking up and around nervously but not seeing anything and moving on as the camera pans up to a trio of sillouetted figures looking like gargoyles resting but when their eyes open and tails swish mischievously, we know it's the Immediate Murder Professionals...

Standing up, Blitz cracking his back for holding the pose, they quickly hop onto the a chandelir, grabbing onto the chain for balance as the platform swings a little, them looking down and sighing in relief at their target not noticing them, Standing tall once more

"Okay team, you hotties remember the plan?" "Yes Sir, we went over it like five times this morning, we remember." "Come on Mox, it's our job, Blitz just wants to make it fun" "Yes I do, and you better have fun, staked this fucking place out after all..."

"Regardless of that sir, we should get back to, you know? Killing him." "Quick to the point, always liked that about you Mox, now Millie, your going in close, Moxxie's got you covered with his rifle, and I got the mood music~"Blitz says as he hops off the chandelir to another and another before making it to a big pipe organ, turning back to his employess giving a thumbs up.

Millie leaves her husband with a kiss before hopping down onto one of the pillars and using one of her swords to slide down as Moxxie readies his rifle at the Clergyman praying at a cross, making sure Millie's in position before aiming and about to pull the trigge-

Before Blitz slams down on the keyboard, the loud sound startling everyone, including the target, Moxxie also missing the shot in surprise who the Clergyman only notices from the smokeing hole on the ground next to him, trying to run before Millie starts chasing him, making sure to keep him in the room, unable to land a throw on him directly due to often grazing his obscuring robe. Moxxie turns to back to Blitz with an infuriuated expression but the Horse lover too's focused on his organ solo to notice, the many pillars and chairs making landing a shot from up here difficult with how quickly the target is moving.

Eventually Moxxie get's fed up and pulls out his knife, cutting the chain making the chandelir crash down as the music rises in intensity, the sound startling the clergyman again and stumbling over a stair making him fall in front of the cross, unable to get up as Moxxie shoots him through the ankle and Millie finishes the job by bringing her axe down, cleaving both the cross and clergy man in two in a truly gruesome sight, the two lovers quite proud of the spectacle they managed despite the franticness for a bit.

Blitz eventually descends joins them, congratulating them on a job well done, and shutting his mouth when Moxxie glares him down for starting on how it took longer then expected, but either way another contract done, and the three go back to Hell after Blitz insists on a selfie with all three of them, Blitz promising to not jam the keyboard down if he ever does hit mood music again.

[chubby-aphrodite]

I would love to hear about the list of fictional boyfriends bc you're so right about ghirahim

(This is in reference to my tags on this post, which read "#holds him by the neck #theres a reason you dont get to be on my list of fictional boyfriends #its because youre simply too much of a bitch to keep up with.")

THANK YOU.

So like. As you may know, I am aromantic and asexual, but I have a pronounced attraction to many fictional men! I've tried the whole dating thing once or twice, but it kind of makes my stomach flip in same kind of way that you might feel when you accidentally walk into the wrong classroom on the first day of class and you were already really really anxious so you just sit in the bathroom crying for like 20 minutes to try and hold yourself together. That kind of way.

But I like many fictional men in a way that might almost be described as romantic or sexual, but that's the catch with them: they're fictional. I can rotate them in my mind and then put them away because they're some guy someone made up. I also just have eyes that are not immune to aspects of visual design that are supposed to look Good™. I experience some level of aesthetic attraction, it's just that fictional characters can very easily be broken down into aesthetics. Real people kind of... can't.

So, without further ado... here we go.

Now, these aren't in any particular order, they're just in the order I added them. I actually keep a documented list.

Kirin Jindosh (Dishonored 2)

He's snarky and intelligent at the same time. He's a mechanical genius who built his own Clockwork Mansion (which was beautifully executed by the game designers). He built autonomous killer robots with such an attention to aesthetic. He was kicked out of college for causing an accident that's implied to have cost him his left thumb and forefinger, which he proceeded to replace with a ceramic prosthetic that doubles as a smoke pipe. He's tall and lanky and has a rakish charm to him that I just can't resist, and yet I can also see myself punching him directly in the face.

I always go nonlethal in Dishonored games, but doing that to Jindosh in particular fucking broke me. He's an asset to the villain because of his intellect and engineering prowess, so in order to neutralize him without killing him... you essentially lobotomize him. With an electric chair. That he designed himself to use on one of your allies. With the pull of a lever, that's all gone. He wakes up knowing that he used to know things, used to be able to make intricate creations, and realizing that he can't anymore. He's not even mad. He's just... sitting there, confused, with a sedate sadness about him. It literally made me fucking sob for a good five to ten minutes.

I learned a while ago that they had considered including a route where, instead of only having the options to kill him or lobotomize him, you'd just... skedaddle with your captured ally and leave him alone. But, this was cut due to budget constraints. They would've had to record voicelines and make versions of cutscenes for if he was alive and fully himself, but they didn't have the budget for it. I understand... but I'm still mournful of that.

Greed (Fullmental Alchemist, Manga/Brotherhood)

He is a tall man with sharp teeth, a black sleeveless turtleneck, and a cropped vest with a fur lined collar. He's a very interesting character that explores what it means to be "greedy" because the way it manifests through him is that he has a lot of friends and he loves them very much and he is extremely pissed if anything happens to them. He can also transform to have sharper teeth and CLAWS.

I'm very mindful of the version of Greed I talk about, however, because at one point he dies and gets his essence shoved into someone else to create a new Greed. It's just that this "someone else" is a 15 year old and I am Not About That. Had I gotten into FMA while I was still in my middle teens, I may have had a crush on Greedling, but as it stands I'm 22. So! Only the man who has his friends smash his head open for fun to demonstrate his immortality for me, please.

Adam Frankenstein (Frankenstein)

Okay. I'm gonna be real with you on this one. I've never read Frankenstein before. I should at some point. He's tall and stapled together and is described as beautiful and is actually very intelligent (if vindictive and vengeful). But this is entirely based on the fact that I had an erotic dream about him once. I'm not gonna describe it here, but rest assured... I don't know what I'm telling you to rest assuredly about.

Professor Venomous (OK KO)

A man with a penchant for sadism and was made sexy on purpose. He's extremely divorced. He's happily married. He's petty. He's got an even eviler alter ego to go with the fact that he's already evil. He's a whole bastard and a half. He's purple. He's even bisexual. I love him.

Leon (Pokemon Sword and Shield)

He is KIND and he is A LITTLE DUMB AT TIMES and he IS WEARING A TIGHT SPORTS UNIFORM FOR MOST OF THE GAME. He has more depth than some people give him credit for, and has a fun dynamic with Raihan. There's a moment where when you beat him in a battle, his losing animation shows him covering his face with his hat and gritting his teeth and almost shaking, but then he takes his off and he puts on a nice face like "Yeah, that was an awesome battle!" He can't actually be angry when he wants to be angry because he's The Champion (and later the head of the Battle Tower) and everyone has his eyes on him. His hair also looks very pullable.

Saïx (Kingdom Hearts)

So this is kind of an OG fictional boyfriend for me. He was one of the first characters I ever sought out character/reader fics for. If you know me, you know I have a thing for both vampires and werewolves, and Saïx is sort of a diet werewolf. He has a moon motif and can turn more... wild and angry. I like a man who is measured in most of what he does and says, but when he loses it, he fucking LOSES IT. He's also (say it with me now) TALL!

The kicker here is that I've only played two KH games (re:coded and Dream Drop Distance). I was just so sucked in my the fandom as a tween that the men I was interested stayed with me even now.

Qrow Branwen (RWBY)

So, fun fact about this one: before I started watching RWBY, one of my friends pegged me as the sort of person who would be a Qrow Fucker right away. And they were right. He's a conflicted man whose source of pain is himself and how he thinks he makes life worse for everyone around him.

The Assigned Power that he has is literally bad luck. Bad things that happen around or to him that most would just ascribe to simple chance happen with increasing frequency around him. He's afraid he'll get the people he cares about hurt, so he pushes them away to avoid that. Bad things constantly happen to him, so he's driven to drink. He puts on a sarcastic and nonchalant facade about it, but he's just a lonely man whose self loathing is so far up his own ass that he almost actually got people killed because he drank himself into a stupor and couldn't help them.

Punchable, but also a sopping wet cat of a man. It also helps that he's mildly disheveled and a little flirty on purpose.

Guzma (Pokemon Sun and Moon)

YA BOY. Man just likes bugs and wants to give people a place to go. I enjoy imagining what he'd sound like because it's an accent I can actually do. A crusty weirdo with a soft and gooey interior. Very emotive and up front. I like a man with confidence.

Ganondorf (Zelda)

I'd just like to say I was a Ganonfucker before TotK. His original incarnation from Ocarina of Time is LITERALLY out there wearing a skin tight leather leotard, thigh high leather boots, and a tights. His subsequent incarnations also all have very compelling things going for them, too.

Winder Waker Ganondorf had a thought out, sympathetic motivation that became warped by his inescapable lust for power, dooming him. And he has his moms' names printed on his swords, which is adorable. Twilight Princess Ganondorf is genuinely terrifying, resisting his divinely powered execution squad and masterminding a takeover of the very realm meant to be his prison. He also has an excellent design. Shoutout to Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf for also having an excellent design. And finally, his Tears of the Kingdom incarnation combines an also-incredible-design with a very, VERY powerful presence.

I love his very harsh features and also I want to bury my face in his chest.

Sidon (Zelda)

What can I say about him that hasn't already been said? He's kind. He's handsome. He believes in you. He's enormous. He loves his sister. He loves his wife. He loves Link. He's even got sharp teeth.

Side tangent time because I love dumping this on people and if you've read this far you're in for the long haul already: sharks don't really have two dicks like we typically think of them. They have a pair of something called claspers, one of which is left out in the water and the other is inserted into the other shark. The left out one pumps in seawater while the other one expels water and sperm, fastened inside the other shark by the grace of the fact that it can unfurl like an umbrella. Sharks don't have dicks. They have jizz hoses attached to their crotches. I learned this (most of it anyway, the rest was filled in via Wikipedia) in the marine biology class I took in high school because I thought it would be fun and I didn't wanna take normal biology. Thank you for coming to my impromptu lecture on shark dicks.

Axel (Kingdom Hearts)

Axel has much the same story as Saïx with regards to his relation to me. I was into the Kingdom Hearts fandom as a tween and he just stuck with me. I enjoy the fact that he's cool and a bit sassy and I love his friendship with Roxas and Xion. It's nice.

Alucard (Castlevania)

Disclaimer: I've only played one Castlevania game (and it wasn't even a good one) and watched only a few episodes of the show. But by GOD this man is good for me. Tall angsty vampire with long pretty hair and a really cool outfit. Shoutout to Ayami Kojima's art.

Dunban (Xenoblade Chronicles)

Dunban is an incredible man. He lost the use of his right arm entirely due to the god in the sword he was using at the time rejecting him, and yet he still used that sword successfully to defend his home from an onslaught of man-eating robots. A year on from that, he learns to wield a sword one handed in his non-dominant hand, and is just generally a badass.

Tales of his heroism spread far and wide, even to more isolationist corners of the world—enough so that when he visited those isolationist areas, he could leverage his reputation to make people of a much higher societal rank than him listen to him. Essentially, he's talking to the prince of a kingdom, and the prince tells him he can't do something because of X or Y esoteric law relating to the traditions of their people (even though he understands they're odd to outsiders). Dunban, in all his cleverness, essentially just goes "Let's do it anyway because it's the right thing to do, and if anyone gets in trouble we can just say we're weird outsiders who don't know your laws, yeah?" but with better wording and more emotion. At this point, the prince, who is of a long-lived race and is literally five times Dunban's age, essentially yes sir's him.

I also just love his voice. One of his voice lines for one of his abilities is just a really guttural, growly "Dance with me" and I love it.

Grimsley (Pokemon Black and White)

Depressed man in a suit with a vampire-ish appearance. Then has a later appearance where he looks aged by stress. That is all.

Volo (Pokemon Legends Arceus)

Oh fucking BOY I am not normal about this man. He is kind and passionate and has an insatiable hunger for knowledge, but the knowledge he's accumulated has made him seek out the power of a god. A power he can't have. In spite of the stupid Arceus-shaped hair, he manages to have such a gravitas in his final battle. The beady eyes. His casual half-smile turned sinister. The music that plays being a remix of the most feared trainer in Pokemon history, to whom he is implied to be directly related to. The fact that he fucking cheats and pulls out not only a seventh Pokemon, but the fact that that Pokemon pulls a "YOU FOOL, THAT WAS ONLY MY FIRST HEALTH BAR!" The way he goes through Laventon to avoid talking to you again in order to tell you that Giratina wants to help you. The ease with which you can give him spine crushing trauma through a combination of religion and retail. I've literally written a volo/reader fic and am working on another, longer one. I love him.

Vanitas (Kingdom Hearts)

On my journey out of tweenhood and into being a teenager, I became slowly more interested in villains as times went on. Vanitas was one of my first and most powerful instances of that. He's an evil doppelganger to one of the protagonists created out of the darkness in the heart of another. He's cool. He's angry. He's very enjoyable to me.

Consul N (Xenoblade Chronicles 3)

Oh boy, another one I'm incapable of being fucking normal about! I've posted about him at length in other posts, but the general gist of my obsession with this man is... his obsession. His devotion. He's so strongly attached to the one he loves that, after repeatedly having her ripped away from him, he chooses to perpetuate the miserable world that so violently tortured them both on the condition that he could be with her forever. He looses himself in his possessiveness, he wants to believe he's doing it all for her—but deep down, he knows he chose the coward's way out by abandoning his hopes and dreams and choosing to become the boot that keeps the world down rather than topple the system that won't let it rise.

And that's how the story of XC3 starts: his cast of hopes and dreams—and those of the woman he loves—coalesce into a new existence that hasn't suffered the many existences he had—that they both had. And that coalition of their hopes and dreams finally, finally manages to set the world right, after much fighting and suffering and introspection. At one point, he physically and emotionally tortures the embodiment of his hopes and dreams as if to prove to himself that what the way he's been doing things was the only way. But later, his hopes-and-dreams self literally tells him that he's a coward and that he's full of shit. I was so enraptured by this scene that I had to make art of it, of N leaning against the bars of a jail cell as he emotionally tortures his other self, and it became my profile pic.

Commander Isurd (Xenoblade Chronicles 3)

This man is so fucking stressed out that the quest you do to help him be more powerful is trying to find him a way to relax, and there's a scene where he strips and sits in a hot spring. He is a man whose heart is so full of grief that he won't let himself process. I've described his eyebags as harrowing before, because there's no other better word for them. Let him rest. I want to help him rest.

Sephiroth (Final Fantasy VII)

The disclaimer here is that I've never played a Final Fantasy game, let alone any incarnation of VII, I just find this man fascinating. He has three dads who are all pointing guns at each other and as well as two moms. He was injected with alien DNA in the womb, raised as an orphan, and groomed to be the perfect supersoldier. When he found this out as an adult, he went on a rampage and did a lot of terrible things including trying to explode the world. But before that, he was just kind of a guy put under both a spotlight and a microscope, and all that culminated in incredible violence. Also I like one winged angel.

Grusha (Pokemon Scarlet and Violet)

He's just very pretty and I like his attitude. I'm also intrigued by his implied angsty backstory.

Spyke (Splatoon)

I'm simply a sucker for vaguely mysterious tall men. I don't know why they gave him some kinda cockney accent in the American English localization only, but I'm frankly here for it.

Vash the Stampede (Trigun)

I've also been posting about this one at length. He's a very kind man to the point of accepting personal injury if it means he doesn't have to hurt someone, and it shows. He's goofy as hell. He menaces people into being nice to each other through the force of his (falsely) violent reputation alone. He loves his brother so much, he just wishes he would stop being an asshole. He believes in the human capacity for change. He represses his emotions and puts up a facade so that he doesn't hurt the people around him, even though he tries to push them away anyway. He's tall. He's got some cool alien/monster traits. He's also just cool as hell. He's a mama's boy. He's even into petplay. I love him!

Conclusion

I love all my hims.

[rabbits-of-habit]

STONER ANON HERE, I AM LITERALLY BEGGING YOU TO DO THAT. PLEASE.

imagine what he'd look like, hair even more messy, pupils blown wide, goofy grin on his face. stoned noah would be too hot for this world.

HEY STONER ANON GUESS WHAT? 1K WORDS FOR YOU AND YOUR BRAIN I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT.

Tw: Drug use -Mod Havoc

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。゜+゜

How much time had passed? You couldn’t be sure at this point as heavy smoke clouds the room you're in. You lean back against the couch, all prior thoughts drifting and swirling away much like the smoke is. It’s almost like two hours ago you and Noah weren’t being chased by a tall faceless man and one of his little errand boys. Sometimes you both like to pretend that everything is normal. Like nothing bad outside is happening. Like you are just two normal friends hanging out together.

This moment is included in that as Noah sits up and takes yet another hit. The man next to you is anything but a lightweight. Or perhaps it's the fact he doesn’t want to focus on being sober at the moment. You can’t really fault or blame him for this of course. Your lives are a battlezone at almost all times nowadays. These are the few breaks you two can seem to get and boy is he grateful for them. Or maybe he’s just grateful you’re here in general. He would never tell you that to your face though. He is far too scared of announcing these emotions to you so for now he is just fine being where he is.

Unbeknownst to him you have the same thoughts about him. Watching him take another hit from the corner of your eye, your once spaced out thoughts become quite jumbled. You think your cheeks are a bit flushed but with how high you are you can’t be too sure. When did these thoughts and feelings start you begin to wonder. It couldn’t have been any time recently. Your brain won’t let you think that far back. It could be that you are very high. Or maybe the slenderman has started to finally tear away at your memory piece by piece.

He glances over at you and you finally get a good look at him. He pushes smoke from his nose and gives you a very lopsided grin. Your heart practically flips in its chest as you grin back. His pupils are blown and his hair is a mess. This seems to happen every time the two of you decide to smoke. He has a habit of running his fingers through his hair a lot only to shake it out a moment later. Everything in this second feels so relaxed to you and you can tell he feels the same with the look on his face. Few words are exchanged in these sorts of moments. The two of you sit in companionable silence.

You reach out for the small pipe and light it again, making sure to get a big drag on it like you always do. This time however you notice him yet again out of the corner of your eye. Noah is looking directly at you now and he seems to be lost in his own little world. Your heart starts to hammer in your chest and your stomach has butterflies. You let go of the smoke and go in to take another hit.

It takes another moment for you to get an idea. Of course an idea like this would require guts and luckily for you, the two of you have been smoking for awhile and you feel on top of the world. You take the hit and use a free hand to motion him forward. He obliges not knowing what you are going to do just yet. You pull him in and kiss him gently. There's a second of shock of course before he starts to kiss back. After a second you push the smoke from your lungs to him. A bit of the smoke escapes and surrounds the two of your faces as he takes in the rest of the smoke from your mouth. When you’ve pushed all of the smoke out you pull back. Both of your faces are red and eye contact is hard to maintain.

There is a second you worry about how badly you might have just messed up. How you might have ruined a friendship with him or how he might have kissed you back to be nice. You worry you might have just lost the only other person who understands what hell you are going through.

Of course those thoughts are gone the second after he pushes the smoke out of his mouth and grabs you to pull you back into another kiss. A proper kiss this time. There are emotions behind it in a way you can’t put words to just yet. Your heads swim the entire time. The two of you don’t pull away until you both run out of air. Out of breath and red faced you are finally able to make eye contact with one another.

You both try to speak at the same time then apologize. He rubs the back of his neck as you look at him and tell him to go first. “I like you.” It comes out quickly and you almost can’t understand what he said. The second the words process your breath catches in your throat for a moment. He looks just as nervous saying it to you and after a second he gets worried that he might have made a mistake on his part. “I like you too.” He lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“Thank god because if you didn’t this would be really awkward.” He chuckles nervously and leans back again. You nod and decide to lean into him. His arm goes around you tightly and he lets out a contented sigh. You two decide to relax for the rest of the day after that.

[hufflepuffhollander]

spin the bottle: a tom holland imagine

a/n | this is long but it’s so worth it! it was fun to write so it has to be fun to read, right? (right???) *also thinking about starting up a tag list, message me if you want to be included!*

summary: An uneventful party takes a turn when you get dragged into a kissing game with a hot stranger. (the gif will make sense, trust me)

tom x fem reader | contains alcohol use, language, and lotsa kisses | word count: 1.7k lol | enjoy!

You smoothed down your hair with one final run through with your fingers before your best friend reached over to shove your car mirror shut, saying firmly, “You look fine. Stop being so paranoid! It’s just a party.”

Yes, you thought, but you didn’t know anybody at this party, just your friend-  and she had just barely convinced you to go by the time it was starting.

“There’s just this one bump I can’t get to go down,” you grumbled, reluctantly getting out of the car and pulling your dress down to cover more of your thighs. You walked into the house with your friend, smiling blankly at strangers as she floated through friendly faces, giving hugs, and you beelined straight to the drink table. There was a smattering of room temperature seltzers, mostly empty handles of liquor, and some sad looking pints of juice and soda to choose from. How exciting. Your expression at the disappointing array must’ve been more noticeable on your face than you realized, because a guy came up from behind you, shaking you from your thoughts.

“Takes you back to uni, huh?” he said, reaching for a red solo cup, hesitating, and then grabbing another, stretching it in your direction.

“There’s nothing quite like lukewarm alcohol,” you joke, only then looking up at the voice, choking back spit as you took in the beautiful boy’s features, a baby face somehow mature and insanely attractive, his prominent jawbone clenching and relaxing as it moved to speak.

“Can I suggest something? I have a secret recipe that always kills.” he smiled, reaching to take the empty cup back from your hands. You hesitantly let go, curiosity getting the best of your judgement. You watched intently as he went to the kitchen, filled the cup with ice, and came back with a packet of kool-aid powder in his hand. You frowned.

“Hey,” he said, smirking. “Don’t you trust me?” “I just met you.” “Well, trust in the process.” 

He started expertly picking up liquors and mixers, seeming to know the perfect measurements, looking like a chemist in his lab. You couldn’t help but stand in delighted shock at watching the artist work.

“Alright,” he said, handing you the cup, now full of a bright red liquid. “Close your eyes and try it.”

You took the cup, your fingers brushing his, and you felt your nerves awaken. You closed your eyes lightly and brought the cup to your lips, letting the cool liquid slip down your throat. It was...delicious. You opened your eyes and he smiled at your clear reaction.

“How did you manage to pull that out of the world’s most miserable array of drinks??” you asked, taking another generous sip.

He just chuckled, stuck his hand out and said, “I’m Tom.”

“y/n.” you said back, shaking his hand, nerves piping up again. He gave you one last smile, wiped his hands on his jeans, and walked away. You watched him leave and felt a twinge of disappointment that your brief interaction had come to an end. Your friend came out of the noise, putting a hand on your shoulder and looking at your cup.

“Where in the hell did you find that? All I’ve gotten is flat lime seltzer, which is obviously the worst one,” she groaned, glancing at the disgrace of a booze display.

“Bartender made it,” you said smirking, left in Tom’s invisible trail, taking a sip of your drink and floating away to another side of the room. Your friend looked after you, puzzled. “Where the fuck is there a bartender?” 

Later, after having a handful of meaningless conversations with forgettable people, you had made eye contact with Tom too many times to count and couldn’t stop thinking about him. You wanted to go up and talk to him, but you couldn’t work up the nerve. If he was as interested as his eyes told you, why couldn’t he just make the first move?

Your friend found you, taking your hand and bringing you into a smaller adjacent room, full of fruity smelling vape smoke and a few less people. “What are we doing in someone’s office?” you asked.

“Spin the bottle!” your friend grinned at you.

“Seriously? I haven’t played that since middle school, and nobody was ever bold enough to actually kiss anybody anyway,” you sighed. Honestly, you would’ve been happy to play- but Tom was nowhere to be found, and nobody else in the forming circle on the floor seemed worth your time. Your friend saw you hesitate to sit down. 

“Ugh, come on, y/n, you’re suddenly not up for making out with strangers?” she poked at you like you had a long-standing habit of doing just that. You shrugged, wishing you had stayed home. Your drink was long gone along with your interest in this party.

“Jesus, tough crowd,” your friend muttered. “Hold on.” she left the room, and you stood awkwardly in the corner, pretending to be interested in a boring painting on the wall.

She came back in, followed by a boy in a baseball hat, Tom trailing meagerly behind. You both made eye contact, making the same realization at the same time: you were suddenly very interested in playing spin the bottle. Your friend caught your eye and winked, mouthing ‘you owe me one’.

12 or so people sat in a tightly packed group, some a little buzzed, some completely faded. The girl next to you fidgets as you feel someone hover over you. “I’m gonna- just...squeeze in here-“ Tom shoves his way into the circle and sits down next to you, both of you looking straight ahead, smiling and silently acknowledging each other.

“You looked thirsty,” he says keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, handing over a new red cup filled with the same magical liquid as before. You graciously accepted it and nudged your elbow into his. “Thanks.”

Someone put on a grungy party playlist and the game began. The boy in the baseball cap spun the bottle in the middle and kissed the girl Tom had taken the place of. Your friend ended up kissing a girl with sleek black hair and too much eye makeup, but didn’t seem to mind. Then came Tom’s turn, and he glanced at you, back to the glass bottle, and gave it a spin. It felt like an hour went by as it rotated around the group, eventually coming to a slow halt...and your vodka-soaked heart fell a few inches in your chest. It was pointing directly at a girl across the circle, smile shining brightly at her newly decided fate. She was objectively pretty, hair tied up in a ponytail with bright blue eyes. Tom cleared his throat, and she began to fuss with the hem of her skirt as she leaned slightly forward towards him. You brought your drink up to your mouth so you could focus on something, anything, other than Tom about to lock lips with the girl across from you.

But a hand pulled your cup away, and you turned to notice it just as you felt two hands cup your face, arms attached to Tom, who turned his whole body to face you. This all happened in an instant, and suddenly he pulled you into a heavy kiss as your eyes fluttered shut. You heard the girl grunt as she sat back down, but it was just background noise now- all you could focus on was the kiss you were currently melting into, Tom’s palms searing into your cheeks. You moved closer to him, wrapping both arms around his neck and kissed him back even harder. You only noticed it had been too long when someone lowly muttered “Guys, come on.”

You pulled away and remembered that there were still other people in the room.

Tom looked into your eyes, then down to your lips. He ran his tongue across his own. “You taste like Kool-Aid,” he said, lips curling into a smile.

You still had your hands grasping at the nape of his neck, bodies pulled into each other as the game continued.

“You know, that’s not how the game works,” you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I decided to change the rules.” You couldn’t stop staring into each other’s eyes.

The song that was playing changed suddenly to one with a loud raging beat, and it broke you out of the trance you’d been in. You pulled away from Tom and glanced over at your friend, who was looking at you wide-eyed with pride. The girl across the room was shooting you daggers. Luckily, the alcohol warming your system helped you to not give a fuck.

It was time for your turn, and you decided to make up for all those times in middle school you couldn’t work up the courage to kiss the cute boy that you’d wanted to. So you picked up the bottle, let it spin around once, and stopped it as it pointed at Tom. He laughed along with a couple others. Someone else grumbled something like “get a room.”

Neither of you caring about the group anymore, Tom pulled you into his lap, this time snaking his arms around your waist, and leaned you back as he kissed you. It felt warm and familiar. The flavor of his tongue mixed with the vodka mixed with synthetic fruit punch filled your stomach with butterflies. Maybe the group gave up on the rest of the game, maybe not. You had no idea. You and Tom had synchronously tuned them out, eventually finding yourselves huddled up on a couch and wasting the rest of the evening away drinking your magic drinks and sneaking kisses in between sips. It seemed like the party was dying down, but neither of you wanted the night to end.

“Hmm, what should we do now?” you said, and Tom had a lightbulb moment, grabbing your hand and moving to stand up.

“How about another game?” he gave you a suggestive look.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Have you heard of seven minutes in heaven?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully, then squeezed his hand in return. You both looked around, hearts leaping with anticipation. Where were all the damn closets in this place?

[wherevermyway]

step out! do what you want (chapter three)

pairing: reader/bang chan side pairings: established changbin/minho, past jisung/reader (and it’s causing problems), reader/bang chan/jisung rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: oh boy here we go. angst like mad, lots of drama, more profanity, chan is possessive and jealous, arguments, smut, threesome (because I am trash), smoking (again), mention of firearms, unprotected sex, mentions of drug use, profanity, alcohol consumption, minor praise kink, lots of biting. word count: about 15,000 (!!) also posted to my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter three: one more step, i will never stop

recommended tracks: you calling my name by got7, I am you by stray kids, follow by monsta x, jungle by punchnello, absinthe by punchnello, louder than bombs by bts, veni vidi vici by zico, baby don’t like it 나쁜 짓 by nct 127, on track by stray kids, honsool by agust d, congratulations by eric nam, singularity by bts, people by agust d, 時間がない by kirinji, and 주소서 (pray) by b.a.p (I cannot get enough of this song right now). playlist can be found here!

note: jisung is so soft in this chapter. he’s one of my favourites (stan 3RACHA), so writing this chapter broke and warmed my heart a million times over. apologies for the length of this one!

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

You had shown a photo of your ex, Jisung, to Christopher and Changbin, who confirmed that it was the Jisung they knew. When Christopher saw his face on your phone, his mouth turned down into a scowl, causing him to become tense and reserved. “Whatever,” he grumbled as he spun on his heel, turning to the fridge, “I’m gonna make some jigae with the stuff in the fridge. We’ll deal with this later.”

Changbin pulled his eyebrows together in confusion. He opens his mouth to speak to Christopher, but decides against it, turning to you instead. “Look, we’ll make this work. Han won’t be here for that long, just a follow-up on his task. Then he’ll be gone and we can pretend this never happened. Okay?”

You nod your head, hoping that it was going to go that smoothly. Christopher takes out some ingredients from the fridge and then pulls out some cookware with a clatter, the noises causing Minho to finally wake up.

“Aaaaahhhhhh, Binnie,” he groans loudly while stretching, catching the attention of Changbin.

“What, Min?” Changbin says with little concern in his voice, getting up and walking over towards him. He leans over the back of the couch, reaching a hand down to Minho’s hair to ruffle it around.

“Binnie, you crushed me, cuddling me too hard in your sleep last night and now I hurt,” Minho whines, grabbing Changbin’s arm and pulling the brunette down on top of him.

“What the fuck?” Changbin squeaks out, in a cute voice you weren’t aware he could make, before he topples over the back of the couch.

“Cuddle me and make it better,” Minho cries out dramatically, wrapping his arms and legs around the smaller man. Changbin tries to say something, but his voice is muffled while he’s kicking his legs up and down in the air.

Watching the two of them made you smile, happily reaching down to your cup of lukewarm coffee to take a sip. You turned your attention towards Christopher, watching him chop up some vegetables and other ingredients, prepping them and putting them all into a large pot.

“Can I help you with anything?” You ask him.

“Nah,” he shrugs your suggestion off, turning over his shoulder to smile at you, “I don’t know how to work with someone else in the kitchen, but maybe we can try something out later?”

“Yeah,” you smile back at him, “I’d like that.”

The assembly of kimchijigae doesn’t take that long. Once all of the ingredients are in the pot, Christopher calls for Changbin to help him set up the gas burner on the coffee table, while you help by getting the rice started in the rice cooker.

Within a half hour, you’re all sitting down around the table, happily eating the jigae. Changbin and Minho are talking about some story about the time they went to Daegu and the Colourful Daegu Festival was happening. They had dropped some acid and lost their minds during the parade, where there was a lot of music, dancing, and other performative arts on display.

As fun as their story sounded, Christopher looked like he wasn’t completely paying attention, his mind distant and thinking about something else. “Christopher?” You call out to him, poking him in the arm with the back end of your chopsticks.

“What?” He snaps back to reality and shakes his head. “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes, “I was just lost in thought over something. How’s the jigae?”

You smile and nod, “I’m impressed, Mr. Bang, I had no idea you could cook.” The compliment makes him smile, and he reaches out to rub his hand on your thigh in appreciation. “You’ve been telling me for two days now that you’d make me something and you finally did it. It was worth the wait.”

You’re about to bring another bite of rice to your mouth when a knocking at the door startles you. Changbin and Christopher stand up at the same time, but Changbin calmly coaxes the blond to sit back down. “It’s probably Jisung, but if it’s not,” he grabs his bag from under the table and pulls out a pistol, sheathed in a protective case, tucking it in his waistband, “I’ll handle it.” Minho stands up, a focused look on his face as he quietly walks over to sit next to you, likely to help calm you down and to protect you if need be.

Christopher reaches under the coffee table, staring at Changbin as he walks to the front door. His hand fumbles a bit until a sliding door is heard. Out of the secret compartment, he pulls a pistol that’s identical to Changbin’s and a magazine, snapping the machinery together. He puts a hand on your leg, gripping it tightly as you start to tremble in panic. “It’s alright,” he whispers to you. Changbin turns to Christopher, and they both nod.

A knock is heard at the door again, a bit more urgent this time. “Who is it?” Changbin questions coolly, putting a hand on the door and his other hand on the handle of his pistol.

“Bang-hyung?” It’s faint, but you can hear a voice come from the door. “No, wait, Seo-hyung? It’s me.” Changbin turns around, dramatically rolling his eyes in the direction of all of you, a dumbfounded look on his face. He opens the door and yells at the silver-haired man that walks in.

“Aish!” Changbin exclaims, slapping the back of the man’s head, eliciting a squeal from him. “You dumbass! I told you that you needed to text us when you show up. We thought you were a potential threat.”

Christopher exhales an irritated sigh of relief, taking his hand away from your leg before disassembling the magazine from his pistol. “Fucking moron,” he grumbles under his breath, putting the pistol and magazine back in the compartment under the table. He turns to look at you right as you spin your head around and look at the man that walks in. Your jaw drops in shock as you realize it really is Jisung.

“Sungie?” The word squeaks out from you in shock. Jisung snaps in your direction when he hears your voice, looking as if he was hallucinating the sound of you.

“Bunny?” He says your old nickname with a whine. He looks directly at you for a second before nearly running over to you, almost tripping over himself as he kneels in front of you, reaching his hands up to your face. “Oh my god, why are you here? How are you here?”

Christopher scoffs, rolling his eyes as he kicks back into his chair, arms folded, biting his lip back in anger. An air of jealousy fills the room as he watches Jisung pull you into a hug with him. “Oh my god, oh my god,” he whispers, rubbing the back of your head. “I knew there was a civilian woman here, but I had no idea it was you, baby, I’m so sorry.” His voice is so calm, so soothing, but you feel how broken his heart must be, seeing you in such a helpless situation.

It’s almost like the past year never happened, the comfort between you is so warm and familiar. It felt so good to be comforted by Jisung, but you could feel Christopher staring at both of you with fire in his eyes, like he would kill Jisung just by staring at him if he could.

“Han,” the man assertively barks, causing you both to jump. “Beijing. What happened?” His tone is curt and cold, something you hadn’t heard in him before. You had a sinking feeling in your gut that this wasn’t going to go smoothly, after all.

Jisung snaps up, bowing deeply in apology. “B-Bang-hyung,” he stutters out, “yes, my apologies. I just,” he turns to you nervously, then back to Christopher. “I’m sorry, we used to be close and to know she’s here, in danger, well-“

“I’ve got her.” Christopher cuts Jisung off, sitting forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, “She’s not your concern right now. She’s mine.”

The way he claims you so nonchalantly makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. It was a strangely attractive thing for him to say to your ex-boyfriend, but it was also really embarrassing. Jisung had no idea that the two of you were something, so he just kind of brushes it off not really grasping the seriousness of  Christopher’s words.

“Yes, hyung, I understand,” he nods, “but, if I may, since she knows me, I’d like to-“

“Shut up, Han.” Christopher spits out, balling his fists up, slamming one of them into the arm of the chair as he cuts Jisung off again. “I don’t want to hear another goddamn word out of your mouth unless it has to do with Beijing.”

Changbin pipes up from behind the couch, “Chan,” he says with a commanding tone, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Back off. That’s an order. Jisung isn’t your enemy here, he’s your brother. Do I need to remind you of the code?” Christopher shoots a nasty glare at him, snarling his lip up in anger.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung interrupts in confusion, “Am I missing something?”

You sigh, dropping your head down to your hands to comb your fingers through your hair. “Sungie,” you say softly, looking back up at Jisung, “Chris- uh, Chan, I mean, and I are, well,” you voice trails off, not really sure what to call this thing that’s going on between the two of you.

“We’re seeing each other,” Christopher finishes your sentence for you, eyeing you before he looks back up to Jisung. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Jisung looks at both of you a couple of times, disbelief painted on his face, before he finally settles his eyes on you. “Bunny, is this true?”

“Kind of?” You say, shrugging your shoulders. “We met each other at a party the other night and I’ve been here ever since because shit hit the fan.” Jisung’s face falls as he looks at you, realizing the implication of what you’ve done with his superior.

“Baby,” he whispers, the look of disappointment on his face causing your heart to sink down into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel bad, since it’s been a year and you separated amicably, but you always felt protective of Jisung while you were together, a feeling that clearly hasn’t disappeared from you.

“The fuck does it matter to you?” Christopher grumbles under his breath as he stands up, walking angrily over to a drawer in the kitchen. He rifles through it for a second, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Whatever. I’m going out on the balcony; I need a cigarette. Enjoy your fucking reunion. After I come back, I want that goddamn report on Beijing and then I want you to get the fuck out of my apartment, Han.”

Christopher pulls open the blinds in the far corner of the living room, unlocking the balcony door and flinging it open. He steps outside and rips the door closed behind him, closing it with a loud slam. You’re not sure, but you think you hear him yell “fuck” after he slams the door.

“The hell is his problem?” Minho chirps up for the first time in a while, looking up at Changbin, then back down to you. “Are you alright?” He places his hand on top of your knee, rubbing it softly with his thumb. You timidly nod your head, still in shock.

“I swear to God, that man and his issues,” Changbin grits his teeth and sighs, walking up to Jisung to squeeze his shoulder in support. “I’ll go talk to him. I’m sorry he’s taking this out on you, Jisung. You know how he gets when he’s stressed. He probably doesn’t mean any of it.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything, just nodding in response as he looks down at his feet.

“Minho,” Changbin says, making his way to the balcony door, “keep an eye on things in here. Yell if you need me.”

“I’ve got it, Binnie, don’t worry,” he says with a nod. Changbin slips through the door and you can see Christopher throw his hands up in the air as he starts to yell. His muffled voice somewhat comes through the door, but there’s no way you can possibly make out anything he’s saying.

Jisung flops down in Christopher’s seat, letting his head fall into his hands. “Bunny,” he says, not bothering to look up at you, “I can’t believe that you and Chan-hyung are…”

Minho chimes in, “Hey, maybe you two should go into the studio and talk this out? I’ll stay out here and keep an eye on things.”

It was a good idea, you had to admit. This entire situation was complicated and personal, not really something you wanted everyone to hear. It would probably make you both more comfortable if you talked about it in private, anyways. You stood up and grabbed Jisung’s hand, guiding him to the studio with you. Once inside, you closed the door softly and fumbled your fingers around on the wall for a light switch, flicking up the first one you felt.

The room illuminated, and the first thing you saw as you turned around was Jisung’s pained face. He stutters, trying to come up with something to say to you, but he just stands there, dumbfounded. You weren’t exactly sure where to begin. It was over a year since you saw him last, and all of the memories you had together were floating around in your head, not helping make the situation any easier.

“Jisung,” you open your mouth to speak, but before you can say anything else, the lean man walks up to you, pushing his body against yours so you’re forced to step back up against the wall. As soon as your back hits the wall, he reaches his hand up to just under your chin, bringing it up to his face.

“Don’t say anything, baby,” he whispers, tears glistening in his eyes, before his lips softly collide with yours. His lips have a faint taste of bubblegum, probably from his favourite chapstick, and his tongue is warm and soft against yours. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers softly in between kisses, “I never wanted to leave you. I loved you so much, and I absolutely still do.” His voice starts to crack, and you feel tears come down his cheeks as he rubs his face against yours with his sloppy, needy kisses. “I just… I couldn’t do it to you, bunny. They had connections in the industry and I needed the money. I was only going to stick around until I had enough and then stop with the criminal shit, but now I just can’t leave. They’re my family now, my brothers. They mean so much to me.”

He breaks down, his head falling on to your shoulder. Racking sobs run through him as he pulls you into a tight embrace. You try your best to soothe him, an arm wrapped around his back and one hand stroking his hair. “Sungie, baby,” you whisper into his ear, hushing him, “it’s okay, I forgive you. I promise, it’s okay.”

You both stand there for a while, letting Jisung calm down a bit thanks to your words and your soothing demeanour. After what seems like an eternity, he finally stops crying. When you’re about to pull away from each other and go back into the living room, you hear footsteps and chattering come from outside the studio.

“Where is she?” Christopher’s voice booms from the other room, loud and terse, “Where is he?”

“Goddammit, Chan,” Changbin growls after him, sighing. “We just talked about this.”

“I told them they should talk it out in private, in the studio,” Minho answers him, his voice quiet and timid. “Was that a bad idea?”

Footsteps draw closer and Christopher bursts through the door. He looks at Jisung, nuzzled up to your shoulder, eyes wide and still damp from crying. “Chan-hyung, please,” he whimpers out, cowering back into your shoulder before the blonde starts to make an advance towards him with his fist drawn back.

“Christopher!” You shout, throwing an arm up in the air and turning Jisung away from the blond, gripping him closer to your chest to shield him. “That’s enough!” Your outburst causes him to stop dead in his tracks, dropping his arm. “I will not tolerate you treating Jisung like this. Yeah, I get it, you feel threatened because we have a history, but if you so much as touch him, I will leave here and never come back. I don’t care what anyone out there does to me. I won’t stand for this.”

The two of you stare at each other for a pause pregnant with tension, Jisung gripping your shirt tightly. “Fuck,” Christopher finally sighs out, rolling his eyes as he walks over to the couch behind you. He grips his hair, looking up at the two of you. “Han,” he starts, letting himself breathe for a moment. “Jisung, I’m sorry. I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you since you showed up. Actually, since before you showed up.”

Jisung rubs his face on your shirt. He stands upright and turns to look at Christopher, still holding on to you with one hand. “Chan-hyung,” he says, looking at you, then looking back to him. “I know you’ve both been doing things, but,” he sighs, eyes drifting down to his feet, “I still love her. I wouldn’t have left her if it wasn’t for the family. Seeing her here makes me terrified for what could happen. She still means so much to me, even after all of this time.” His hand drops down from your waist, grabbing your hand and interlacing his fingers with yours.

Christopher grimaces at the sight, but chooses to let it go. “I get that,” he groans, “but you left her. It’s up to her to decide if she wants you back. Even if,” his voice trails off and he sits fully back into the couch, “even if it doesn’t involve me.”

“Haven’t you only known each other for two days?” Jisung innocently questions, hoping that the question won’t provoke a fight. “Seems a bit early to care that much?”

“Yeah,” Christopher says as he avoids eye contact with either of you, “but there’s something about her. Maybe it’s this whole situation, maybe I’m just delusional. But there’s something that makes me want to risk it for her.”

Jisung smiles, looking at you as Christopher starts talking about you. He squeezes your hand and nods his head. “I know, she’s incredible.” The way that he looks at you reminds you of the night he first told you that he loved you, with that same boyish grin on his face and excitement in his eyes.

Christopher looks up to you both, an uncomfortable, awkward look on his face. Even Jisung simply making lovey eye contact with you just hurts him. You weren’t in love with him, not even close, but you did have some feelings towards him that were starting to be impossible to ignore. Choosing between them would be hard, and you simply didn’t want to do it.

“Wait,” your eyes light up with an idea. You pull Jisung to the couch, telling him to sit at the opposite end of Christopher. You go to close the door, seeing Minho and Changbin making a pointed effort to hide their eavesdropping before the door slides closed with a click. “What if,” you say, walking back to the couch, sitting in between the two men, “I don’t have to choose between you two, at least not yet?”

Christopher squints his eyes in confusion and Jisung cocks his head to the side, not quite understanding what you mean. “You know,” you say as you grab a hand from each of them, “you just share me, until I make up my mind?”

“Share you?” Christopher is the first one to respond, sounding confused.

“Oh,” Jisung breathes out, then the realization hits him, “oh. You mean…” He looks at Christopher, then back to you. “You want me to share you with Chan-hyung? But he’s my superior, he makes all of the decisions. If he says no, then,” his voice goes from excited to a bit dejected.

“Jisung, look at me.” Christopher addresses him with a stern voice. “If it’s what she wants, it’s fine with me. I don’t know how we’ll make it work, and it already sounds weird, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Jisung’s eyes light up as he looks at Christopher and then looks to you, “You mean it, hyung?”

Christopher nods his head, then turns his attention to you. “I’m willing to do anything if you’ll give me a chance. You are stuck here with me for a while, yeah?”

You smile and look down at the hands you’re holding. It was a strange concept that you weren’t sure would even work, but it was something to hopefully keep the three of you somewhat happy and entertained while you were stuck here.

“Okay,” Christopher says, standing up, “I’m glad we could work this out, but we really need to talk about the Beijing deal, Jisung.” You both look up at him, noticing an awkward smile on his face. “Come on, let’s go back out there, take care of work, then we can address all of this,” he waves his hands in a broad circle around all of you, “when we’re done. Alright?”

Jisung nods his hand, squeezing your hand before he stands up. “Whatever you say, Chan-hyung.”

“Can you, like,” Christopher rubs the back of his head in embarrassment, sighing, “not call me hyung when it’s just the three of us? It’s a little weird, considering the circumstances.”

“Oh!” Jisung exclaims, “Yeah, sure thing, Chan-hy… Channie.” He corrects himself, then giggles. “That doesn’t seem right, either, does it?”

“Ugh,” Christopher groans, walking to the door, “don’t get used to it, Sungie.” He mockingly uses your nickname for Jisung and it causes the silver-haired man to visibly cringe.

“Point taken,” he says, following Christopher to the door. “C’mon, baby, let’s go.”

Jisung does an extensive job explaining just how the Beijing job went. The guys had been working on building up their relationship with the Triad since the Shanghai incident a couple years ago, and, based on what Jisung reported, it sounded like it was finally getting better. He had secured a deal for a small shipment of firearms and some party drugs like ecstasy and cocaine. The cocaine was more expensive than Changbin wanted, since it was coming from a different source this time, but he figured he could turn it at the clubs for a higher profit pretty easily.

“I’m impressed,” Changbin says, sitting forward from his spot on the couch, clasping his hands together in front of him. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually secure the whole deal, much less any part of it. For a last minute switch up, I’m glad I sent you, Jisung.”

Jisung flashes a cocky smile at Changbin, darting his eyes to you for a quick second, looking like he hoped that you were impressed, too. “Thanks. Beats getting protection money for once, but I really need to brush up on my Mandarin. I got lost in conversation a couple of times and had to try explaining stuff in Korean and English.”

“Chan can help you with that,” Changbin says, looking to the blond man with a serious look on his face, “if he’s done being an asshole to you, that is.”

“Oh, shove it,” Christopher scoffs. “Yeah, Jisung, I’ll help you before your next trip out there; it’ll probably be a while, though, since you’re gonna be out here a lot more now. I need you to cover my usual spots since I’m stuck here.”

Changbin and Minho exchange a surprised glance with each other and then look at Christopher. “What the hell happened in there?” Minho pries, “You’re calling him Jisung now? You’re not trying to tear his throat out? Are you actually being nice for once?”

Christopher glares at Minho, causing the black-haired man to gasp, then he turns to motion at you. “It’s thanks to her. She brought me to my senses, made me realize how irrational I was being. Now I’ll only get mad at the kid if he deserves it.”

“Chan-hyung,” Jisung says, the corner of his lip pulling up a bit, “thanks for offering to help me. I’ll need it.”

Christopher waves his hand dismissively in the air. “Don’t get too excited. You’re still covering my normal shit and I’m gonna work you twice as hard to pick up the slack.” Jisung lets out a whine as he’s told about his workload.

Minho snickers at the way Christopher phrases his demands, making a comment under his breath. “Yeah, I bet you’ll work him hard.”

His quip earns him a light shove from Changbin. “Alright,” the brunette says, standing up. “Since you two seem to be getting on just fine for now, Minho and I are going to go back to our place for the night. I’ve got to meet with Hyunjin tomorrow to fill him in on some things and so I can take care of the goods we’ve got coming in thanks to Jisung.”

Changbin turns to Jisung, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m leaving you to watch this place tonight. A couple of the newer guys in our security group, Lee and Yang, are in 3201 if shit goes down and you need backup. Chan has an arsenal hidden in the studio, so you don’t need to worry about arming yourself.” He turns to look at you, then Christopher. “We’ll be in one of our properties in Apgujeong-dong tonight, so if you need anything, call me and I’ll be here pretty quickly.”

Changbin turns back to the couch, offering a hand to Minho to help him upright, which the black-haired man happily accepts. “Don’t worry,” Minho says, looking down at you, “We’ll be back tomorrow night or Thursday morning. You haven’t seen the last of me yet. I know Binnie doesn’t like to leave Channie alone for too long.”

“Aish,” Changbin says as he elbows Minho in the side, “you make it sound like I’m obsessed with him.”

“I mean,” Minho says with a smirk as he rubs his side, “with the way that last night went and how you reacted when we listened to that recording-“

“I’m going to throw you in the river on the way out.” Changbin cuts Minho off, grumbling as he walks towards the door. “C’mon, you troublemaker. I’ll give you something to obsess over when we get home.” Minho grins, then leans down to you to give you a hug.

“I put my number in your phone last night, so if you need to bitch to anyone, I’ve got your back. I’ve also got a lot of knowledge on Chan if you need it. Put a better passcode on your phone, by the way; birthdays are too obvious,” he whispers in your ear before standing back up. “Channie, Sungie, I’ll see you soon.” His voice is light and cheerful as he says his goodbyes.

“Min,” Changbin says pointedly, adjusting some items around in his bag before motioning for him to follow, “Come on, let’s go. Seungmin isn’t gonna wait forever.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Minho says, waving at everyone as he heads towards the entrance and puts his shoes on. “Try not to kill each other while we’re away, okay?”

Christopher scoffs and waves at the guys as they walk through the door. “See ya.”

An awkward silence falls over the three of you. The couch now feels a lot more spacious now that Minho and Changbin are no longer sitting next to you. Christopher and Jisung are sitting in the chairs across from you, and all of you are trying to avoid looking at each other.

“Well,” Christopher chimes in after a minute, slapping his legs as he stands up. “I’m gonna pour myself a drink. Do you guys want something?” You look over at Jisung, who is nibbling on his bottom lip and looking at you, then look up at Christopher.

“Sure, I guess,” you say noncommittally. “I don’t want any soju or beer, though, not after last night.” The memory of you and Christopher in the studio rudely comes up and interrupts your train of thought, and a blush creeps up on your face.

“What happened last night?” Jisung innocently enquires, looking at you with a puzzled expression. “Minho-hyung brought it up too.”

Christopher clears his throat, walking over to the kitchen, reaching up to a tall shelf above the refrigerator.  “I’m gonna break into the whisky,” he says, ignoring Jisung’s question. “I’ve got some…” his voice trails off as you hear some bottles rattling around, “oh, I’ve got some sake, vodka, gin - why the fuck do I have gin? Damn you, Minho - oh, and some weird baijiu that Hyunjin brought me from Taiwan.”

Jisung pouts, visibly upset that neither of you answered his question. “Don’t you have any flavoured soju? I don’t like any of that stuff.”

“I think we drank most of it, but,” Christopher opens the fridge, humming to himself as he looks around, “Oh, yeah, we’ve got two bottles of peach and two bottles of strawberry leftover from yesterday. Which do you want? Do you want a glass?”

“Strawberry sounds good! No glass, though.” Jisung says in a happy voice, his face lighting up a bit. Christopher brings Jisung the bottle he requested, eliciting a soft, “thank you, hyung,” from the silver-haired man as he accepts it with both hands. Christopher turns back towards the kitchen, stopping in front of you.

“What do you want, baby?” Christopher asks, earning a glare from Jisung as he calls you baby, “I think you’d like the sake that I have. Want that?”

You nod your head a bit begrudgingly. “I suppose it’s different enough from soju, but I guess I’ll take the sake. Is it a nigori?”

Christopher twists his face in confusion at your question. “I don’t know,” he says with an upward inflection, walking back into the kitchen and fumbling with the bottles. “My Japanese is really bad. Is that the clear kind?”

“No,” you laugh, getting up to go assist him. “It’s cloudy. Nigori literally means murky, just so you know.”

“Oh,” he laughs, tilting the bottle to you, “I think you’ll like this one, then. I had it once in Osaka and brought a couple bottles back with me the last time I was there. It’s really good.”

“Thanks,” you say, holding the bottle. “I’m gonna need to chill it, though. You’re supposed to keep this stuff cold.”

Christopher opens up his bottle of whisky, the seal snapping loudly, grabbing a nice glass from the cupboard, He opens his freezer to put a couple of ice cubes in the glass. “Clearly, I don’t know these things,” he laughs, smiling at you for a moment longer than he should have. He sucks in air through his teeth, turning to grab a paper towel and wetting it in the sink. “Anyway, wrap it in this and stick it in the freezer for about 20 minutes. It’ll get nice and cold by then.”

You take the towel from him, wrapping it around the bottle in your hands. “That’s an odd tip,” you say, sticking the bottle in the freezer.

“Yeah, well,” Christopher grabs the bottle of whisky, and carefully pours it into his glass. “You learn a lot of weird drinking things when you’re friends with people that have the balls to buy warm beer that you wanted to drink sooner rather than later.”

Jisung lets out a giggle from the living room. “Bunny, you can share my soju with me while you wait for your sake to get cold!” You turn to him, about to tell him that you really don’t want more soju, but the way he smiles at you convinces you that one glass wouldn’t kill you.

“Fine,” you grumble, grabbing a sake cup from the cupboard, dramatically groaning as you walk back to the living room, shuffling your feet the entire way. “I really don’t want more of this flavoured stuff for a while, but I’ll drink a cup just for you, Sungie.”

He excitedly claps his hands once, shaking the bottle a couple of times before opening it. “Bunny, baby, here,” he motions for you to bring your cup to the table, “I’ll pour it for you, okay?” That’s exactly what he does, getting down on to the floor and getting really close to the cup. He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his face, squinting with determination as he fills your cup. “There! Now you’ve got a drink.”

The way he smiles at you warms your heart as he takes a quick drink from the bottle, then screws the lid back on his soju. You instinctively reach out to rub his face, letting your thumb slowly stroke his cheek. “Thank you, Sungie.”

Jisung is about to say something, but Christopher unceremoniously flops down on the floor to your right, sitting very closely to you. “Well,” he says, taking a sip of his drink, “aren’t you two cute? I can’t say I expected this from you, Sung. You never gave off those vibes.” You turn your head to look at him, expecting him to be angry, but he surprisingly doesn’t seem like it.

Christopher leans into your space, reaching a hand up to your face, and pulling it close to his. The sharp, sweet aroma of his whisky faintly floats up to you as he looks at your lips, then looks up at you with a look that screams desire. He gets closer, then softly kisses your lips. It’s not quite as passionate as the kisses he’s given you over the past couple of days, but it’s still loving and sweet.

He pulls away, looking at you, then looking at Jisung. “I can be cute, too.”

You feel your face warm, and you turn to Jisung to see if he’s angry. He has a determined look on his face as he stares at Christopher. His hand sneaks up to your neck, pulling you close to him, and he grips your face with his other hand, giving you a needy look. “I’m not always that cute,” he says with a low voice, flicking his eyes at Christopher before pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. As his tongue demands entrance into your mouth, the artificial flavour of strawberry is strong and briefly overwhelms your senses. His fingers dig into your skin gently, and you feel your heart skip a beat as he pulls away from you, breaking the kiss.

Jisung looks at you, proudly smiling and licking his lips. His eyes slowly roll over towards Christopher and he gives the blond a taunting smirk. Your mind is starting to spin, all of the attention from both men causing you to feel a bit overwhelmed in the best possible way.

“If that’s how it’s going to be,” Christopher says coolly before crawling over your lap, straddling you and grabbing the back of your neck, “I’m going to win this game.” He eases you down on to the floor, the cool panelling giving you a slight chill. He presses his lips to your neck, kissing you all over, occasionally giving you quick nibbles to make you squeal.

You down look at him exploring your neck and kissing you, then you look at Jisung. The expression on his face registers as jealous, but also intrigued and aroused. His bottom lip is sucked in under his teeth, and his eyes are half-open, staring down at you. “Chan,” he breathes out, crawling closer to both of you.

Christopher breaks away from you with a groan of irritation, turning to look at Jisung. “What? Why are you interrupting this?”

“She likes her collarbone marked up,” is what unexpectedly comes from Jisung. You were expecting him to be angry, but he looked like he was enjoying this. “She loves to be bruised, but only where I - er, we, can see it.”

The two men exchange glances, almost as if they were coming to a mutual conclusion, then turn to look at you with a devious intent in their eyes. “Wait, wait, wait,” you say, sitting up on to your elbows. “As much as I love this, I don’t wanna do this on the floor; it’s cold and uncomfortable. Can we save whatever this competition is between you for the bedroom?”

“Oh,” Christopher snaps out of it and sits back on his heels, moving his hand down to your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think that this spot would be uncomfortable for you.”

Jisung puts a hand on your other thigh, smiling at you. “Yeah, sorry, we got a little excited, didn’t we, Chan?”

“I’m never going to get used to you not calling me hyung,” Christopher groans, moving back to his previous spot, taking a short sip from his drink and pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “I think we should eat something beforehand, too. It’s been a long time since lunch, yeah?”

It didn’t register to you until now, but you were starting to feel hungry. Jisung’s arrival did interrupt your meal earlier, after all. “Yeah, I could use something right now,” you say, subconsciously running your fingers over your stomach. “What are we going to eat, though? It’s not like we can go anywhere.”

“We can’t, sure,” Christopher says, scrolling through his phone. “But we can order something to be delivered to the lobby and have little Sungie be a good boy and fetch it for us.”

The way that Christopher talks about Jisung makes him blush awkwardly. He fidgets with the hand on your thigh, and you can’t help but giggle uncontrollably. “Bunny!” He whines softly, shaking your thigh with his hand.

“What?” Christopher looks up at you both with confusion. “Was it something I said?”

“Sungie,” you say between giggles, “he likes to be called a good boy by me. I wasn’t expecting a reaction out of him from you saying that, though.”

“Oh my god!” He shouts and playfully shoves you, a bright pink tinting his face in embarrassment. “I can’t believe you’d tell Chan-hyung something like that.” His arms fold in front of his chest and he frowns.

“I,” Christopher shakes his head in confusion, “What? What’s so weird about being called a good boy?”

“Aah!” Jisung groans, bringing his hands to his face and falling to the floor dramatically. “Hyung, please stop, it’s killing me.”

You can’t contain the full-blown laughter coming from you. There was always something you enjoyed about making Jisung squirm. He was always so cute and adorable when it was just the two of you. To see him react like this made you more confident that he was becoming more vulnerable with Christopher.

It takes you a minute to stop laughing so hard, but you do recover, sitting back up to wipe the corners of your eyes. Jisung is still curled up on the floor in embarrassment, and poor Christopher looks like he finally understands, just suffering from secondhand embarrassment for the man on the floor.

“Duly noted,” Christopher says, looking back down to his phone with a slight blush on his face, “a-anyway, what should we have for dinner? There’s a decent sushi nearby place that delivers.”

As you’re about to mention that it sounded good, a thought crosses your mind. “Wait,” you say, looking at Christopher with concern. “What if they can trace your location? You know, giving your name and phone number to this place.”

Jisung sits up with a groan. “It’s fine,” he grumbles, “we never use our real names or phone numbers for any of these things. We use burner numbers, and we almost always pay in cash, but we do have credit cards and IDs in fake names, just in case.”

Christopher hums in agreement. “Jisung, you’ve learned quickly. He’s right, though. We’re very cautious about our existence around people we don’t know.”

Jisung cocks his eyebrow and tilts his head, “Yeah, unless it’s an attractive girl at a house party.” This quip earns Jisung a middle finger from Christopher.

“If Changbin was here, I’d make you go out and pick this up instead,” he grumbles, looking back down to his phone, “I’m gonna order from this place. What do you want?”

Eventually, you sort out an order you all can agree on. Christopher places the order, and you grab your sake from the freezer. His trick was miraculous - it was cold, but not frozen. The paper towel came right off without ruining the label, too, which was an added bonus. You gently shake the bottle as you walk back to the table, pouring some of the sake into the cup you used earlier for Jisung’s soju.

“How did you two meet, anyways?” Christopher asks Jisung as you sit down. The question freezes you in place for a second, a bit embarrassed at the memory. Jisung and Christopher look at you as you shake yourself out of your stupor. “What?”

Jisung smiles, despite your discomfort, “I think she has a type. We met at a club, she was drunk and we were both lonely. I told her I made music, and she practically begged me to take her back to my place so she could listen to some of the stuff I made.”

You groan, and drink the entire cup of sake you poured in one sitting, even though you had intended to slowly sip on it. As you slam the cup back on the table, you notice Christopher is staring at you with a very amused smile on his face. “So, musicians, eh?” He quips, and it causes you to grumble. Your head falls to the table in frustration.

“Needless to say,” Jisung continues, “we didn’t even get close to hearing some of my music. She was on top of me, literally, as soon as we got back to my tiny apartment and the rest was history. We were both pretty hungover the next day, so we stayed in bed, messed around a bit, and ate really bad takeout while watching some bad dramas. If she didn’t stick around for that, we probably never would have ended up together.”

Christopher snickers, rubbing his hand on your back. “Seems reasonable. I can see how that would happen.”

You sit back up and pout at both of the men. “You two are just as bad, taking home a girl you barely know at a party or a club.” The three of you share a nice laugh as Christopher’s phone pings.

“Ah, wow, that was fast,” he looks up to Jisung, then back down to his phone, “that’s your cue. The concierge downstairs just texted me, and delivery guy is asking for, ah, what was the name I gave,” he scrolls on his phone for a second, “looks like you’re Kim Jihoon today.”

Jisung stands up and stretches, and Christopher gets up, walking to the kitchen to rifle through a drawer. “Jihoon doesn’t really suit me, does it?” He looks down at you and smiles, bending down to give the top of your head a quick peck.

“Here,” Christopher says from the kitchen, not looking up. He puts some bills on the countertop and shuffles some things around in the drawer before closing it. “Should be plenty to cover the bill. Tell the concierge that you’re in room 3201. He’s one of us, but it’s enough to throw off the deliverer, just in case.”

“Alright,” Jisung says as he walks to the entryway, grabbing the money on the counter on the way. “Kim Jihoon, at your service.” He sarcastically salutes before taking a mask out from his pocket, pulling it over his ears as he slips his feet into his shoes. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he says before exiting the apartment.

Christopher sits down right next to you, placing a hand on the back of your neck. “I’m going to be honest,” he says as you look at him, “this is still a little weird, but I can see that Jisung really does care about you.”

You try look down at your feet, but Christopher puts a finger under your chin, tilting it up so you look at him again. “I didn’t say it was bad, so please don’t look away from me. I told you, I’m willing to give this a shot for you. We just might have some awkward bumps along the way.” You nod, giving him a soft smile. “The way he kisses you, though. Wow, that was both fun and frustrating to watch. It made me want you more, which I didn’t think was even possible.”

“Really?” A giggle escapes from you. “You two looked like you were enjoying fighting over me.”

“Yeah,” Christopher laughs nervously, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to see what he’s like with you in bed.”

The thought of both men in bed with you caused your heart to flutter with excitement. The duality of them was enough to give you whiplash: Christopher was on the more aggressive side, from what you could tell, and Jisung was generally the complete opposite. He usually preferred it when you took control, being warm and comforting, but he had moments where he was the exact opposite, enjoying making you beg for any sort of sexual gratification.

“What’s up?” Christopher says, rubbing his thumb on your chin.

“Oh,” you say, snapping out of your thoughts. “I was just thinking it’s going to be interesting having you both at the same time. You’re both really different, that’s all.”

A curious look comes up on Christopher’s face with your response. He’s about to open his mouth to say something, but his phone beeps with a notification tone. “Ah,” he grumbles, reaching for his phone on the table, “that’s probably Jisung.” He scans his text message and stands up. “Yeah, it is. The fuck? What’s with all of the star emojis?”

“It’s something he does, especially when he’s been drinking,” you say with a laugh, “you’ll get used to it.”

Christopher shoots you a look of doubt before walking to the entrance. He opens the door, and Jisung walks in with a couple of paper bags. Christopher grabs the bags from Jisung, allowing him to come in and take his shoes off. “Thanks, Chan-hyung,” Jisung says, pulling his mask off and shoving it back into his pocket.

As Jisung is slipping his shoes off, Christopher walks back towards the living room, setting the bags down on the table. “Watch this,” he quietly mouths to you, before turning back to face Jisung. The silver-haired man stands up and starts walking over to you. You can see a wide grin from the side of Christopher’s face as he opens his mouth to speak. “Wasn’t little Sungie such a good boy, grabbing all of that for us?”

You stifle a laugh, eyes growing wide as you clasp your hands to cover your mouth. Jisung stops dead in his tracks and instantly turns bright red with embarrassment. He locks eyes with Christopher, a look of shock and disbelief on his face as his eyes widen. Christopher can’t take it, doubling over and cackling with enjoyment.

“I’m so sorry, Sungie,” you say between laughs, “I had no idea he was going to pull that on you.” Jisung looks at you and pouts, shuffling his feet towards the living room.

“Baby,” he whines as he flops down on the floor dramatically. “You know what that does to me.” His voice is in that whiny, needy tone that you loved to hear from him when you were together before. It’s the voice that told you that you could get away with nearly anything.

“Oh my god,” Christopher says, catching his breath and taking a seat on the floor. “I’m sorry, it was just so fun the first time. I had to try it out again just to see what you would do.”

Jisung sits upright, his face serious. “It’s weird when you do it!” He cries out, his brows furrowed. “It’s fine when she does it because I love it when she does that, it makes me all excited. When you do it, it’s just weird!”

Christopher looks at you, cocks an eyebrow, then looks back at Jisung. “Why’s it weird when I do it to you?”

If it were possible for Jisung’s face to turn a deeper shade of red, it was happening. His eyes nervously dart around, settling on the floor as he shrinks into himself a bit. “I like it,” he mumbles, barely audible enough for you to catch it.

“What was that?” Christopher prods, unsure if he heard the younger man correctly.

“I like when you do it, too!” He shouts in frustration. “It’s weird, because you’re my hyung and I don’t see you like that. But this whole situation is weird and I don’t know what to do about it.” Jisung did seem honestly flustered, but not quite upset.

“Sungie,” you say, softly, before you scoot close to him. He looks up at you and pouts, but you just grab his face and pull him into a gentle kiss. “It’s okay, baby, we’ll make sense of it as we go, okay?”

Jisung perks back up at your words, giving you a soft smile. “Okay, bunny, that’s fine with me.”

Christopher clears his throat and opens the bags up. “I think it’s time for food, yeah? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Jisung nods and grabs some things from the bags, helping set everything out on the table.

All three of you get through the dishes you ordered, it seeming to be just the right amount of food. After a couple of drinks, the three of you are laughing around the table and are enjoying the company of one another.

“Well,” Christopher says, “before I drink anymore, I’m gonna step outside for a second.”

“I thought you only did that when you were bored at a party?” You ask, looking over at him in confusion.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I’m just feeling like it tonight, you know? It’s been a weird day. Does it bother you?”

You shake your head, “I just don’t want you to smoke too much, that’s all.”

Christopher leans over and kisses your forehead. “Don’t worry, baby,” he says in a soothing tone, “I won’t.” He pulls away from you, walking over to the balcony door, grabbing the pack and lighter from earlier off of the end table by the window. “Don’t have too much fun without me,” he says with a wink before he slips outside and closes the door.

As soon as Christopher closes the door, Jisung reaches his hand out and grabs yours. “Baby,” he says, looking at you with concern. “About Chan…”

“What’s up, Sungie?” You ask, interlacing your fingers with his, giving the top of his hand a soft kiss.

“It’s about earlier.” He looks down to the floor, then back up to you, his face turning pink again. “When he, uh, called me a ‘good boy’.”

“What about it?” You ask, rubbing his hand with your thumb. “Did it really bother you? I can tell him to stop.”

“No!” Jisung shakes his head. “No, it didn’t bother me. But, um,” his voice trails off as he looks over his shoulder, over to the balcony door, then back down to his lap. “I really did like it. More than I should. I don’t know if it’s because he’s my hyung or my superior or if it’s because you like him, but,” he sucks in air through his teeth, colliding his head down to your shoulder “he said it and it instantly got me hard.”

Your eyes widen with shock. “Oh,” is all you can manage to squeak out, not really sure what to do with that information.

“Please don’t tell him,” Jisung says, still resting on your shoulder, “I don’t wanna make things any weirder than they are. He didn’t really like me much to begin with and I know he probably doesn’t even want me to be a part of this, so I don’t want to cause any more problems.”

You run a hand through his hair and rub his back with your other hand. “Don’t worry, Sungie, this is new to all of us.” You try your best to reassure him, but also reassuring yourself. This situation was indeed crazy, and unpredictable. This could either go very well, or very poorly, and you just had to go with it for now.

The balcony door opens, breaking the silence in the room. Christopher steps inside, setting his lighter down on the end table. He turns around, walking back to where you were sitting, looking confused. “Sung, are you alright?”

Jisung sits up with a snap and shakes his head. “I’m fine, Chan-hyung, I was just, uh-”

Christopher cuts him off as he sits down. “I told you, stop calling me hyung when it’s just the three of us. It’s weird. Are you sure you’re fine?” He reaches down to his glass, bringing it to his lips as he takes a sip of his whisky.

“Yeah,” Jisung says, a bit more calmly this time. “I just wanted to rest my head and cuddle. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Christopher says, clearly not convinced. “Anyway, now what do we do? It’s a bit after 11, so we could go to bed, but that seems a bit early.”

You take a drink of sake, darting your eyes back and forth between Christopher and Jisung, not really sure what to suggest. You really couldn’t handle drinking games two nights in a row.

Then, Jisung grabs his drink, sucking it all down at once. “Finish your drinks, or don’t,” he suggests, leaning on to the table. A somewhat shy smirk comes up on his face. “I think it’s time we finish what we started earlier.”

Your face flushes as you take a drink directly from the bottle of sake, finishing off the last of what was was left in it. Christopher smiles widely, finishing off his whisky. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” he says as he slams his glass on the table, turning to you. “Alright. Stand up, both of you” he commands you with an ominous tone to his voice.

You don’t see any reason not to, so you stand up at his request. “Jisung,” he says, “go in the bedroom and wait on the bed for us.”

Jisung looks like he’s thinking about protesting, but he decides against it. “Okay,” he says, flashing you a smile before he walks off towards the bedroom.

Christopher walks up to you, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “Do you trust me?” His voice is soft and calm, a stark difference to what he sounded like just a moment ago. He cared about what you were thinking, and it was starting to show.

“Yeah, I do. Why?” You ask, but Christopher doesn’t give you a complete answer. He bends down and picks you up, lifting you under your back and your knees.

“You’ll see,” he says, smiling deviously as he carries you to the bedroom.

Jisung is sitting at the foot of the bed when you both enter, not really sure what to do with himself. Christopher sets you down on the bed next to him, and leans up on the dresser in front of the bed.

“Jisung,” he says with a commanding tone, “I want you to undress her, but she has to enjoy it. This goes for both of you, but if you want to stop at any point, I need you to tell me. Green is fine, yellow to slow down, red for stop. Understood?” You nod your head in affirmation and look at Jisung.

“Okay,” Jisung says, turning to you, a nervous smile on his face. He crawls on top of you, straddling you. His lips crash against yours, a bit timid at first, but his kiss rapidly becomes more and more desperate and needy. It seems subconscious, but he starts to grind his pelvis into yours, his erection very obvious against you. You grab his hips, helping to steady him as he grabs both sides of your neck, fervently lapping his tongue against yours. With each kiss, he lets out the softest, small moans against your lips.

“Oi,” Christopher stresses, his voice startling both of you. You both turn to look at him, and he hasn’t moved. His arms are folded over his chest, and he has a devious look on his face, drinking in the sight of both of you all over each other. “Jisung, I told you to get her undressed, that’s it. She’s enjoying it, so hurry it up.”

Jisung swallows hard and nods his head, turning back to you. He gives you a couple of soft kisses before bringing his hands down to the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. He looks down at your torso, shirt still in his hands, as he can’t bring himself to stop staring at your breasts.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, dropping the shirt to the bed and moving his hands up to just under your bra. “I forgot how incredible you look, baby.” He takes you in, then looks up to meet your eyes with a cheeky grin. “I loved this so much. I love you so much.”

The words cause your stomach to do a backflip, but you have a wave of nervousness as you dart your eyes over to Christopher. You expected him to snap up, call the whole thing off, and tell Jisung to stop. It was weird - he just didn’t. He looked completely calm, nodding at you to continue.

Jisung reaches behind your back to the clasp of your bra. He always had trouble with it before, so it doesn’t surprise you when it takes him a couple tries before it finally unhooks. Once it’s unhooked, he gently pulls the bra to him, gently guiding your arms through the straps. He doesn’t even bother looking away as your breasts are unveiled. The needy, wanting look on his face makes you shift your legs a bit in discomfort. You wanted attention and you wanted it now.

Christopher moves, and you spot him sneaking behind you from the corner of your eyes. “Keep going, Jisung,” he whispers as he places his hands on your hips and comes down to your neck. It’s obvious he’s taken Jisung’s words to heart as he kisses you a bit before sinking his teeth into the apex of your shoulder, right below your neck.

The initial sensation is shocking. It feels like a bolt of electricity goes up to your head and down to the bottom of your toes; the moan leaving your mouth is completely involuntary, only intensified by the fact that Christopher sucks the skin between his teeth hard. It felt like it was going to leave a bruise and you loved that feeling.

Jisung is a bit shocked, staring down at both of you. When Christopher comes up off of your shoulder, he looks up at the dumbfounded man. “She’s not naked yet. Finish your job.”

Christopher’s commanding tone snaps Jisung out of his trance yet again. He sputters a bit, stepping down to the floor. “Hyung,” he timidly whispers, clearly not wanting to interrupt either of you.

“Chan,” Christopher corrects him. “What do you want?”

“I can’t remove her jeans if you’re, um,” Jisung nervously stutters, looking nervously at the two of you.

“Spit it out.” Christopher commands, sounding a bit annoyed.

“I can’t remove her jeans if you’re keeping her down.”

It takes Christopher a minute to snap out of it. “Oh,” he says, pulling back from you and putting his hands in the air. “Alright, continue.”

“Hold on,” you say, looking up at Jisung, “are you sure you’re okay? Is Christopher bothering you?”

Jisung shakes his head, “No, no,” he says, kneeling down in front of you, “quite the opposite, actually. I kind of like being told what to do, even if it’s by Chan. I’m just a little nervous, since this is new.”

He reassures you for now. The last thing you’d want would be for something in this to go wrong, because it was starting to feel incredible, having both of these men devote all of their attention to you. You put your weight on your hands as Jisung undoes the button and zipper on your jeans. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and panties, pulling them all the way down and off of your ankles.

Jisung starts to adjust as if he was going to get up, but he’s at eye level with your crotch, which causes him to blush. Before he gets to enjoy it too much, however, Christopher orders him to stand up, and come back to the bed. “Yes, Chan,” he says with a pout on his face, moving to the foot of the bed.

Christopher moves away from you, grabbing Jisung’s hand and pulling him down. “Come here,” he says a bit softer than before. You turn around to look at them. Christopher moves to lean up against the bedframe, pulling Jisung between his legs. “Turn around and sit here.” He pats his legs and Jisung does as asked, his face a light shade of pink.

Christopher takes Jisung’s wrists, pulling them behind his back and firmly holding them in place. Jisung yelps in shock, nervously sputtering incoherently. Christopher leans down to Jisung’s ear and whispers, “Be a good boy while we take care of you and you’ll be rewarded, okay?”

Jisung stops chattering, his eyes widening with excitement as he looks at you. “Alright,” Christopher looks at you, “why don’t you help Sungie get out of his clothes now?” You nervously swallow and nod, shifting your position to in between Jisung’s legs. As you grab Jisung’s shirt, starting to pull it over him, the look on his face distracts you for a brief moment.

He’s leaning back into Christopher’s arms, eyes flooded with lust. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and he’s biting his bottom lip in anticipation and excitement. Christopher looks at you with a smile on his face. The sight takes your breath away. “Go on, baby,” Christopher nudges you along, “I want to see you play with Sungie.”

You nod your head, and Christopher lets go of Jisung’s arms so you’re able to pull his shirt off. Jisung reflexively goes to reach up to your face, but Christopher snaps to his wrists, pulling them back down behind him. “No, no, Sung, not yet.” He brings his chin to Jisung’s neck, a breath hitched in his throat, pausing briefly in thought before he nods at you.

Jisung whines, adjusting his hips right back up into Christopher. A gasp leaves his throat and he turns his face to look at the blonde man. “Chan,” he breathes, a surprised look on his face. Christopher darts his eyes away and blushes.

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbles, clearly not wanting to talk about whatever it is that’s happening between them. “Come on, baby,” he says as he looks at you, trying to change the subject, “let’s get him completely undressed.”

You reach up to the button of Jisung’s jeans, trying to undo them, but fumbling a bit due to your nerves. Finally, you release the button from the hole and unzip his pants. Jisung flinches a bit and gasps in relief as his cock is no longer restrained by the taut fabric of his jeans. “Ah, baby,” he whines, squirming up against Christopher, as you slip his jeans and briefs off of him. “I want you so badly.”  

Christopher looks at you with a smirk before he presses his lips against Jisung’s ear. “Patience is a virtue, Sungie,” he whispers softly, gently biting the man’s earlobe. Jisung’s face contorts into an expression between shock, pain, and pleasure and his cock twitches in response.

“Chan,” he desperately breathes out, turning his head to face the man behind him. They exchange a quick glance, before Christopher shifts himself, timidly bringing his lips to Jisung’s, clearly unsure if he wants to actually kiss him or not. Jisung, however, decides for both of them, aggressively closing the distance between their lips. The brash action appears to change something in Christopher. He releases one of his hands from Jisung’s wrists, grabbing the side of Jisung’s neck, pulling him in and shoving his tongue into the man’s mouth, adventuring around assertively.

You don’t really know what to do, sitting there, your gaze transfixed on them. The sight makes you forget how to breathe, completely entranced by the way they melt into each other. Without even thinking about it, you make your way down to take Jisung's cock into your mouth, gently kissing the tip of his head, and giving it small, gentle licks.

Jisung breaks away from the kiss with a cry, curling his legs upward a bit in response to your actions. You look up at him, your tongue swirling around his head, watching his reactions as you take him fully into your mouth, and down your throat. He lets out a deep moan, throwing his neck back onto Christopher’s shoulder, panting hard.

“That’s it,” Christopher coos, bringing his free hand up to stroke Jisung’s face. “You’re doing so well, Sungie." He plants a kiss on Jisung's temple, then looks down to you. “Keep going, baby. Get him close.”

You continue, licking your way up his shaft slowly, teasing him a bit, before taking him all the way in again, sucking your cheeks in and creating a vacuum effect in your mouth. You go up and down like this a few times, until Jisung’s become moans breathy and shaky. He starts to twitch, and Christopher says your name, getting your attention.

“Stop,” he commands, “he doesn’t get to come yet.” You follow his order, pulling yourself off of Jisung. His eyes snap open, frantically looking at both of you.

“What?!” His voice is panicked, thrusting his hips into the air once, scrambling from the loss of contact. “Why did you make her stop?”

“Because,” Christopher says, pushing Jisung to sit upright, “I want you to be a good boy and wait.” Jisung groans in frustration, quite loudly, in fact, as Christopher moves himself out from underneath the silver-haired man in his lap to sit next to him. He slips his shirt off, tossing it across the room, then undoes his belt, pulling it from the loops of his pants.

“Jisung,” Christopher says, turning to look down at him, “give me your hands.” He holds his belt in one hand, other hand held out, waiting. Jisung furrows his brows in confusion, but presents his hands to the blond. “Good boy,” Christopher says, taking him by the wrists, lifting them above his head to the bedframe behind them. He pins Jisung’s arms up, carefully wrapping his belt around his wrists and the frame, finishing by fastening the belt together.

“What?” Jisung turns his head up to look, then looks back down to both of you. “What are you doing, Chan?”

Christopher doesn’t technically answer him. “What’s your colour?” He asks in response.

“Uh,” Jisung pauses, still distracted by his arms being restrained above him. “Green?”

“So, you’re okay with this? And you’re relatively comfortable?” Christopher presses.

“Yes?” Jisung says with an upward inflection, nodding. “I just don’t understand why?”

Christopher smiles, then turns toward you, grabbing your waist and pulling you close to him. “Because I don’t want you to touch yourself while we have fun. Patience is a virtue,” he repeats.

Jisung dramatically groans, rolling his head back into the headboard. “You’re so mean, Chan,” he whines, “this is so unfair.”

Christopher was leaning in to kiss you, but turns to Jisung with a glare. “One more complaint, and I’ll make sure you don’t come at all tonight. Understood?” His assertiveness causes Jisung to snap up with a squeal, biting his lip as he nods feverishly.

“Good,” Christopher says, bringing his attention back to you. “What do you say we make Sungie squirm some more, baby?” He grabs your head, finally pulling you in to kiss you, deeply and passionately. You bring your hands down to his waistline, trying to undo his pants as you kiss each other.

Christopher breaks away from the kiss, pulling your hands off of his pants. “How about a repeat of your first night here? I can wait.” He grabs your hands, guiding you with him as he lays down next to Jisung, who’s staring at both of you, wide-eyed with intrigue. You walk up to Christopher’s face on your knees. He lets go of your hands, lining you up to his mouth.

“Watch and learn, Sungie,” Christopher says, almost mockingly, as he starts to lap you up. The first lick causes your body to shiver from head to toe, but you manage to keep your balance. You dart your eyes over to Jisung. His eyes are attentive and curious, taking in the sight of you on top of Christopher.

You open you mouth, about to make a comment, but Christopher’s tongue presses up against your clit in a way that makes you forget how to speak. He moves his tongue back and forth, then in circles. “Playing with Jisung made you so wet, baby,” Christopher says, breaking away from you for a moment, turning to Jisung to speak. “Look at what you’ve done to her, she must really want you, hmm?”

Jisung bites his lip and whines, uncomfortably shifting around, “She likes it when you bite her inner thighs. Always makes her scream.”

Christopher lifts his eyebrows, smiling at Jisung. “That’s helpful. Let’s test it out,” he says, bringing his attention back to you. You feel your legs tense as he brings his teeth to the top of your thigh, digging them in and dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin. The sharpness of his teeth on your skin causes your nerves to light up and tremble within you. You drag your hands into Christopher’s hair and shout out his name.

You feel Christopher smile against your skin, pausing for a moment to look at you before he brings his attention back to your clit, lightly sucking on it, flicking the tip of his tongue against you. Everything inside of you is burning, aching, pining for more, crescendoing in tandem within you as Christopher brings you closer and closer to your orgasm.

He breaks away from you again, but not before sticking two of his fingers inside of you, causing you to gasp. “What do you think? Should we let her come?” You want to kill him for stopping, right when you were right there, but the way he asked Jisung just drove you mad. You looked down to Jisung with pleading eyes, mouth half-open and you likely looked totally wrecked.

Jisung locked eyes with you, smiling as he studied your face. “Do it, Chan. Make her come for us.” As soon as he says that, Christopher curls his fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out at a rapid pace. Your knees start to buckle and you curl over him, lucky that you miss hitting your head on the wall, and you drop your arms to either side of his head. He steadies you with his free hand, bringing you back up to his mouth, his tongue doing circles against your clit.

“That’s it, baby,” Jisung says in a soothing voice, helping coax you to your orgasm, “come for us. Come on Chan’s tongue. I wanna hear you scream our names.” The combination of Jisung’s words and Christopher’s actions proved too much to handle. You started breathing uncontrollably, laboured panting taking over as every muscle in your body started to involuntarily twitch and shake.

“Christopher, Jisung, I’m gonna-” you say, but you’re unable to finish your sentence. Your orgasm comes coursing through your body, making you stiffen up and tremble, contractions pulsing within you from head to toe.

It takes a minute for you to catch your breath and lift yourself off of Christopher’s face.

“You did so well, baby,” Christopher whispers, removing his fingers from inside of you, reaching his arm up to the man next to you both. “Hey, Jisung,” he says, tilting his head to look at him, “open your mouth for me.”

Jisung furrows his brows, but does as he’s requested. Christopher takes the fingers that were inside of you, and brings them right to the entrance of his mouth. “Clean them.”

Jisung sticks his tongue out, inching closer to Christopher’s fingers. He slowly licks the essence of you off of him, rolling his tongue around and in between both fingers, then takes them all the way into his mouth. Christopher moans, his eyes fluttering in response to Jisung’s actions. “Fuck, you’re good.”

Christopher pulls his fingers out of Jisung’s mouth, rubbing his cheek softly before turning his attention back to you. “Why don’t you reward Sungie for being so good, baby? Crawl on top of him. Ride him until he comes, okay?”

You weakly nod your head, swinging your leg around Christopher. “But what about you?”

He waves his hand in the air before reaching down into his pants. “I’ll be fine. I did say that I was curious about how you two would be together, didn’t I?”

“Alright,” you say, positioning yourself over Jisung. He looks up at you with eager eyes. “Are you ready?”

Jisung nods his head quickly. “Oh, please, baby,” he whines, “I’ve been waiting for this all night.” You smile, lining him up underneath you. Your attention is momentarily distracted as Christopher closes the space between him and Jisung. He brings his face up to Jisung’s ear, giving him light nibbles as he strokes himself.

“Be a good boy for us, okay?” You hear Christopher whisper to Jisung, causing the man below you to shudder. He nods, and you slowly lower yourself on him.

You watch Jisung, taking in every reaction he makes as you take him in. He involuntarily rolls his head back, still trying to watch you. His eyes flutter as you meet his hips with yours, eliciting a deep, guttural moan from him. Christopher looks up at you, smirking, before he drops his head down to Jisung’s neck, giving him small nibbles and kisses. He whispers praises in between each kiss and bite, but you tune it out as you start grinding your hips into Jisung’s.

The way that Jisung felt inside of you was enough to make your eyes roll back as you ride him up and down. It probably wasn’t enough to make you come again, but it still felt incredible.

“How does she feel, Sungie?” Christopher says, loud enough for you to hear.

Jisung responds with a nod and some incoherent ramblings. “Don’t stop,” he manages to squeak out. “Both of you. Please, don’t.” He rolls his head back into the headboard. “Chan,” he pleads, “keep going.”

“Jisung likes to be bitten hard,” you breathe out, smiling up at Christopher, “so you should finish what you started.”

Christopher responds with a scoff. “Fine,” he says as he adjusts his position. “Only because you’ve been so good.” He leans up on one of his elbows to get closer to Jisung’s neck, fully devoting himself to worship Jisung’s neck with his teeth.

The sight of them both causes your stomach to burn in the best possible way. You shift down, steadying yourself on one arm as you take your right hand and start pumping Christopher’s cock. He groans against Jisung’s neck, but doesn’t stop.

Jisung starts to pant out mewls, his eyes shutting tightly as he starts to twitch. “Baby,” he pleadingly whines, “baby, I’m gonna come. Can I? I want to come. Please, please.”

“It’s okay, Sungie, baby,” you pant out as you ride him a bit faster. “You can come for me. I want you to come for me, okay?”

He nods once, about to bite his lip, but he chokes out a moan, calling out your name at the top of his lungs. Christopher removes himself from Jisung’s neck as he starts to twitch and thrust up into you. He watches you ride Jisung, milking out every drop of cum from him with each slow thrust of your hips.

Jisung’s pants slow down, and he starts coming back to reality. He looks down at you, eyes half-open, and goes to move his arm, surprised to find that they’re restrained, just for a moment. “Ah, shit, I forgot,” he groans, “I wanted to kiss you, baby. That was amazing.”

You smile, letting go of Christopher for a second and leaning down to give him a quick, but loving, kiss. “I’ll give you a better kiss when I’m done with Christopher, okay?” Jisung pouts, but nods his head. Slowly, you lift yourself completely off of Jisung, getting one last shiver out of the man beneath you. You reach up and undo the belt, unravelling it and tossing it to the side. “You did so well today,” you coo to Jisung as you kiss his wrists, gently bringing his arms back down to him.

“Okay,” you say, adjusting yourself on the bed so you’re hovering over Christopher. “You’re next, baby.” You lean down to kiss him. “Do you wanna be inside me?”

“Fuck yes, I do,” he groans, grabbing your hips and aligning the two of you together. “I’m already really close, but I want to feel you around me.”

You lower yourself on to him, expecting your motions to be slow and calm like it was with Jisung, but Christopher tightens his grip on your hips. He takes control, thrusting himself up into you with no mercy. His sudden movement causes you to cross your eyes in surprise and collapse down into him.

It really doesn’t take him long, with him in control. He’s in and out of you, hard and fast, and it feels good. You turn your head to face Jisung and he’s watching you intently, a smile on his face. “Do you like making Chan feel good, baby?”

You can’t really make the words go from your brain to your mouth, so you make some sort of groan of affirmation in between your pants.

“Oh, fuck,” Christopher moans underneath you, reaching his hands up to your back and digging his fingernails into your skin. He moans out your name as he thrusts up into you one more time, throwing his head back into the pillow behind him. His body shudders beneath you, and you lift your head up, propping yourself up on one of your arms.

You look down at Christopher, completely blissed out, his face starting to relax and come back to normal. Slowly, you bring your face down to meet his lips, giving him soft, tender kisses as you help bring his attention back to focus. “That felt really good, baby,” you whisper, smiling against his lips.

Christopher scoffs, a goofy smile coming up on his face. He opens his eyes, looking at you, reaching his hand up to your face. “That was incredible. All of that was incredible.” His head turns, looking over to Jisung, reaching out to his chest with his free hand. “I seriously can’t believe we did that.”

Jisung takes Christopher’s hand into his own, sliding himself up closer to both of you. “I can’t believe we did that, either. I didn’t think I would ever be able to share my bunny with anyone, but you treat her so well.”

You slide yourself off of Christopher, and he lets out a soft moan in response. “I’m going to duck off to the washroom for a minute. You two made a mess of me.” Both of the men laugh in response as you wobble your way off of the bed and into the washroom.

It doesn’t take you long to clean up and wash your face. Within a couple of minutes, you find yourself walking (a bit more coordinated, now) back towards the bed. The bedroom is an absolute mess of all of your clothes. ‘Whatever’, you think to yourself, ‘we’ll just deal with it tomorrow.’

You maneuver your way through the clothes strewn about, getting up to the edge of the bed before you stop. Christopher and Jisung have passed out, with Christopher on his back and Jisung curled up next to him. You had wanted to sleep between them, but you’d settle for the space right behind Jisung.

As you crawl up on to the bed, you turn off the lamp next to you, deciding to leave the rest of the lights in the apartment on for now. You curl up next to Jisung, wrapping your arm around him. It only takes a couple of minutes before you find yourself nodding off, completely at peace. Honestly, this felt so nice. If you could end every night like this, you would happily take it.

“Fuck,” you hear a voice as the bed shifts, and Jisung rolls over, wrapping his arm around you. It feels like the voice in the distance is part of your dream, along with the chirping of a bird. “Shit,” you hear the voice again, a bit clearer now. The chirping of the bird turns into a ringtone. Christopher’s ringtone, actually, the one that you heard when Changbin called him. “Goddammit,” the voice perks up again as the trilling stops. It’s Christopher’s voice.

Your eyes flutter open, the room still relatively dark, the only light was from the kitchen, spilling into the bedroom. It’s faint, but you make out Christopher’s shadow, walking into the kitchen as he answers his phone as quietly as possible.

“Changbin, it’s four in the morning. What the fuck?” His voice is groggy and low. You don’t really have the energy to stay up to hear some sort of report, so you let your eyes close again, drifting back off into sleep.

“Fuck,” Christopher says, the sound of his footsteps getting closer and closer to the bed. “You both need to get up. Now. Jisung, we need to move.”

Jisung shakes his head, sitting upright. “What happened?”

“We need to go. Now. Changbin’s orders. Go pack up the shit in the studio; most of it should be in the black bag.” Christopher says with urgency, turning on the lamp next to you. He turns to you to wake you up, but is surprised to see you wide awake and staring at him. “Get dressed. I don’t have time to explain.” Jisung groggily gets off of the bed, stumbling to get his pants on. He tosses your shirt and bra over to you, slipping his other leg through his jeans.

Christopher grabs some clothes from the drawer, still holding his phone up to his ear. “Lee and Yang? 3201?” He questions, “Right now? Alright.” He turns his head back around to you, his voice starting to sound panicked. “Seriously, get dressed. Two of our guys are on their way over.”

You don’t really have the time to register what exactly he’s talking about, you just move to grab your underwear and pants from the floor, and slip all of your clothes on. Christopher pulls his phone away from his face, tapping the screen, and you can hear Changbin’s voice on the other line. Jisung walks behind Christopher, slipping his shirt over his head. He moves with purpose out into the kitchen, and you hear him rustling around in the studio next door.

“Hyunjin’s been shot,” Changbin’s voice comes through the tinny speaker of Christopher’s phone. Both of you freeze, unable to move for a second. “I don’t know where they are, but I know they’re coming for you.”

“Fuck,” Christopher says, snapping out of it, throwing on his shirt and slipping his pants on in a rush. “What’s his status?”

“Don’t panic, he’ll make it. If I heard correctly, it was just a through and through in his leg. Seungmin’s with him at the hospital, so don’t worry.”

You take a hasty breath of relief, putting your shirt on with shaky hands.

Christopher grabs his phone, stopping to look at you. “I need you to hurry up, please.” He turns off the speakerphone, bringing his phone back to his face. He starts to move for the kitchen as the front door opens. He stops for a moment, trying to decipher if it was a threat. You can’t see who comes in, but Christopher relaxes when he sees them.

“Are you ready?” One of the unfamiliar voices says, and Christopher shakes his head.

“Almost. Yang, she’s in here, keep an eye on her and get her out here. Lee, watch the door. Han and I are grabbing the essentials from the studio and we’ll be ready in a minute.” His voice trails off, and you assume he’s headed off into the studio with Jisung.

A young man with black hair walks into the room, your shoes in his hand. He sees you and offers a shallow bow, handing you your shoes. “I’m Yang Jeongin. I’m with Bang-hyung and Seo-hyung.” You don’t really know what to say, so you just offer a small bow with your head, shakily introducing yourself. “I know. Don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe, alright? I need you to get up and come with me, though, okay?”

You hastily slip on your shoes and shakily make your way to your feet, all semblance of balance leaving you. As you’re about to fall forward, Jeongin comes up to catch you. “It’s alright,” he says softly. “We need to go. Seo-hyung will be here in just a few minutes. Okay?”

You weakly nod your head, regaining your balance. With Jeongin’s help, you make your way to the kitchen just as Christopher and Jisung are coming out of the studio, both visibly armed with pistols. “Lee,” Christopher says, putting a large black duffel bag on the counter. The young, bleach-blond man standing at the entrance nods, walking over to the counter to grab the bag. “Everything’s in here. Don’t let this bag out of your sight, no matter what.”

“Understood, Bang-hyung,” he says with a bow, meeting your eyes as he grabs the bag. He looks at you with a serious look, as if he were hiding his nervousness under a tough skin. “Lee Felix, nice to meet you.” He offers you a bow, pulling the bag off of the counter and taking it to the entrance before you can introduce yourself.

“Yang,” Christopher says, grabbing the pistol from under the table, “Han and I have got her, don’t worry.” He takes the pistol and the magazine and passes it to the black-haired man. “I want you to lead with Lee as we leave, understood?”

“Yes, hyung,” he says with a bow, assembling the pistol and putting it in an open side holster.

“Alright,” Christopher says, coming up to your side. “Han, are you ready?”

“Yes, hyung,” Jisung says, coolly and calmly, walking up to your other side. You turn to look at him, and he looks stoic and composed. “Don’t worry, baby, we’ve got you.”

“Changbin’s out front,” Christopher says, grabbing your hand haphazardly. “We need to go.”

With his words, the five of you move quickly, yet cautiously, stepping out of the apartment and into the elevator. You, Christopher, and Jisung stand in the back, as Felix and Jeongin stand up front. All of them have holstered their pistols, but their hands are on their hips above them.

It seems like an eternity since you’ve seen this elevator. The last time you saw it, you remembered being excited and nervous, curious about who the mysterious Christopher Bang was. Now, you were nervous and terrified. You looked up to him, and found yourself wondering that familiar question:

Who is this man?

a/n: if you made it this far, thank you so much. <3 i really hope you enjoyed this chapter.

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

another prompt! as you and the Company take a rest in the monastery you grew up in, you are approached by old friends who are 1) very intimidating and 2) very touchy. kili and fili don’t approve of the last

Used some DnD stuff here since I don't know enough about actual monks and also some Avatar the Last Airbender thingggsss. Sorry the ending is so rushed, I couldn't feel my hands at one point and my doc told me to rest... which I havent been doing lol

---

The majority of your life was spent in a monastery.

As a child, you were left upon the steps of that abbey, and in that very place did you learn everything you know today.

Why would your parents leave you an orphan on the steps of a monastery, you ask? 

Because they feared that power you possess within. A power, a control, over fire that is not unheard of, but definitely rare, dangerous. How they knew so early on, you have no clue, but if they were so willing to give you up over something like that, you don't want to know them anyways. 

There, in that monastery, you were understood. You were taught how to harness those raging flames within you and to use them for good, for the health and benefit of others; and once they could teach you no more, you set off on your own to use your knowledge and skills for whatever you deem fit. 

And for a while you just wandered, helping people out with minuscule things, arresting criminals, that kinda stuff. 

It had been rather tame and relaxed up until you came across a Wizard who had, specifically, sought you out. 

He actually went to your monastery first in search of the supposed person with control over fire, a person who draws their power and strength from the sun, and when he heard that you hadn't been there for a few years now, he immediately went on a search and asked around, tracking you down. 

You, of course, offered to help when he mentioned that it's a journey to reunite some lost dwarfs with their fallen home, regardless of the treasure, and that's how you found yourself in on this wild expedition. 

The very first thing you were asked when you showed up in that little hobbit hole in the Shire, is what the hell you're doing there.

Gandalf explained that for you, stating that you're a very important piece to their little game her, and while you don't exactly know why he thinks as such, you just agree and go along silently with it. 

You actually didn't even realize that they didn't know of your abilities or the word on the street about you, so the first time you utilized your power... well, suffice to say they were shocked. 

It was night, it was cold as hell, and they were having trouble starting the fire, so you walked on over and took a seat, then exclaimed happily, "Allow me!"

The dwarf attending to the fire, Bofur, laughed and shook his head, telling you that it's useless since the wood is too wet. 

"No, really, I'll take care of it." You had insisted, much to the amusement of everyone else. 

They didn't know what tricks you had up your sleeves, and so when Bofur conceded and gave you the flint, he was totally expecting your efforts to flop. 

You looked down at the flint with an odd expression on your face for a time before you tossed it off to the side and picked up one of the logs, heating it with your hands carefully so as to not char and destroy it. 

Everyone watched on with confused expressions for a few moments, though Gandalf watched on with amusement of his own (for a different reason), and when the log burst into flames suddenly, there was a lot of shock. 

Some of them gasped, a couple of their mouths gaped, there was many questions, and Gandalf just laughed. 

"How did you do that?" Kili asked with wonderment, his eyes wide with shock.

And then you had to explain it to them which wasn't a big deal, and they wanted to see more. 

You made a fireball in your hand, used your fingers as candles, and got the fire to rage on even more; each thing you did made them gasp and look on in awe. 

It felt pretty nice and stroked your ego wonderfully, and you found that you didn't quite dislike having all of this attention. 

Anyways, the longer the group traveled the closer you got to Erebor (and the closer you got with those in the group, especially Fili and Kili), and pretty soon you began to recognize the paths you're taking. You all aren't even a day away from the monastery in which you grew up - this is the perfect opportunity to rest and resupply (to bathe too). 

And when you bring the idea up with Thorin, he readily agrees and praises you for offering the suggestion in the first place. 

When you all first get there, you're met with suspicion, but once you step out into view, they welcome you with open arms and no further questions. 

They give you all a couple of rooms to share amongst yourselves, a wonderful and plentiful dinner, and access to a proper place to bathe. 

You stick with the group primarily since you haven't been back here in the past few years, also because Thorin's Company becomes weary left in such a place all alone. 

After dinner and a nice bath, Fili and Kili ask if you can take them on a walk around the monastery, wanting to see more of where you grew up, and you agreed happily. 

You take them to many places including the training grounds, the wing in which you grew up, and a few other places as well, and each thing you point out to them and each area you take them to seems to excite them. 

And then you see 3 familiar faces and all thoughts of showing the princes around fly from your head. 

"Y/N!" One of your friends, Ezra, yells when she sees you. 

Your expression brightens right away and when they run over and immediately go in for hugs, you return them.

Genesis, Ezra, and Leonel are their names, and you've known them ever since all of you were children. 

"Oh, it's been so long!" You say excitedly, a smile etched on your face and joy in your eyes. "I-I've missed you all so much." 

"Too long! You never visit." Genesis grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, "We didn't even know if you were still alive, always meddling and getting in to things." 

You glare at him playfully and roll your eyes, "I do not meddle! I intervene. There's a difference." 

"Not with you, there isn't." He shoots back, making Ezra and Leonel laugh. 

Leonel takes a step forward and grasps your hands in his, lifting them up between the two of you while he states energetically, "There's so much you have to tell us! Not much happened around here since you left, but I'm sure you've had plenty of excitement." 

"Well-" You cut yourself off when you suddenly remember the brothers standing just behind you. 

You release Leonel and step back between them, placing your hands on their lower backs while you urge them forward, "You haven't met my friends yet! Fili, Kili, these are my friends Ezra, Leonel, and Genesis." 

"Right, hello." Fili greets curtly, seeming rather uncomfortable with being the center attention suddenly. 

"Hello." Kili greets at the same time, glancing at his brother with a similar awkward countenance and stance. 

You frown slightly when you notice their discomfort, and you feel bad for putting them on the spot like that. 

"Oh, well, they're rather short now aren't they?" Leonel comments, looking down at them with that same easy going smile as always. He didn't even realize his comment might be seen as mean!

Your frown increases and you scold irritatedly, "Leonel! Mind your manners, these are your guests and my friends." When you say this you step forward and cross your arms over your chest, that frown coming off as more of a pout than anything else. 

"Come on now, Y/N, don't be so sensitive. It was only an observation." He sasses back, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you up into his side. 

When he pulls you closer you whine and squirm around over dramatically, grabbing his wrist and pulling it away from your head (he started to give you a nuggie). 

He grabs your hand in his when you pull his arm away and looks over at Ezra and Genesis who are laughing. 

Your gaze slides over to Fili and Kili and you see that they're watching with odd expressions on their faces, so, wanting them to feel included, you ask, "Now do you understand why I left? Look at how they torment me!" 

Small smiles tug at their lips when you make your comment, meanwhile Leonel gasps over dramatically and grabs your other hand. "How could you say such a thing?" 

You glare up at him for a few moments and begin to heat your hands, and, once it gets to a burning temperature, he yelps and lets you go. You, of course, begin to laugh as he fans and blows on his smoking hands, and Ezra joins you. 

"You burned me!"

"Y/N, what have you been told about messing with your abilities?" Genesis scolds, crossing his arms over his chest with a very disapproving expression on his face. "This is why you never should've left."

God, he's always such a worry wart. 

"Genesis, relax. I didn't actually hurt him. And you can't deny that he deserved it." 

Ezra snickers from his left and nods her head, "He certainly did deserve it. Making fun of Y/N's friends and then manhandling 'em all in one minute?"

"I suppose you could say I was playing with fire." Leonel pipes up suddenly, a huge smile on his face despite the fact that you guys are basicaly making fun of him. 

The joke earns matching groans of disgust from all of you. 

The three fall into conversation suddenly about your new friends and why they're here, though they don't address you directly. 

Since they're busy, you turn back to Fili and Kili and say softly, "They are certainly a lot to deal with, I hope they didn't offend you." 

Fili shakes his head quickly and replies smoothly, "No, they did not. And even if they did, you surely avenged us in burning his hands." 

That brings a smile to your face, and you laugh lightly at that, "Just a little singe, he will survive." 

"It appears that such a long time away has put no barrier up between you." Kili comments, looking up at you with that same odd expression on his face. The one that you can't quite place your finger on. 

"No, it hasn't. It only made me realize how much I missed them, how much I missed this place." 

That right there, sprouts a feeling of panic within the brothers. It almost sounds like you long to stay. 

"Anyways, it's getting late. You two should head back and get some rest- you've earned it." You lean down slightly and pinch their cheeks lightly, enjoying the way they look so annoyed at you for doing it. 

"Aren't you going to come with us?" Kili asks, eyebrows furrowed as he glances over at his brother. 

"Maybe in a little while. I want to speak with them some more." You look over when they call your name suddenly, and it seems that Ezra is waving you over. "Oh, I'll be right there!" 

When you look back, however, they are both already walking away.

This makes you frown and it kinda hurts your feelings that they didn't say even a good night, but you just push that away and return to the three. 

---

Little did you know that, that whole exchange worried Fili and Kili greatly. 

The way you so longingly looked upon the halls of your former home, how easily you fell into conversation with those you left behind, how you fit in so well... they fear that you may want to stay behind. 

They discuss it between themselves instead of going to bed like you told them to, and came to the conclusion that if they don't do something you'll end up staying or coming back at some point and leaving them- er, the company, behind. 

"What should we do about it though?" Fili wonders out loud, rubbing his whiskered chin as he mulls over the question. 

"I haven't a clue... other than speaking to Y/N directly." Kili offers up the dialogue option hesitantly, for he isn't sure if it's a good idea or not. 

Fili doesn't reply right away, thinking over what his brother said, before he sighs, "That is really our only option now, isn't it?" 

"It appears so."

"But what do we even say?" Fili is beginning to feel frustrated, and he looks it too. 

"We can try being honest..." 

Sudden footsteps catch their attention, and when they turn there you are.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, apparently. 

"Oh! Why are you two still awake?" You ask, stopping right in front of their seated forms with your hands on your hips. "It's late, and tomorrow is going to be an early morning-"

"You can't stay here!" Kili blurts out in a rush before you even finish speaking, immediately cringing at how he sounded just then. 

Your eyebrows furrow and you're taken aback by his sudden outburst, what in Eru's name does he mean? 

They both hastily get to their feet and Fili speaks next this time before you can get even a word out, "I know this place is your home, but we- t-the company I mean, needs you. Gandalf said so himself, you're important to the journey." 

"I know you miss your friends and being in the place you grew up, but we'll miss you greatly!" Kili adds right after. 

"And who else will set the fires at night? Bofur is horrible at lighting the wood." 

"And you heat up the food wonderfully!"

"You're an excellent fighter too- we need lots of those." 

"That humor of yours keeps everyone happy too!" 

"Staring at Dwalin all day is hard on the eyes too, we need someone who doesn't look so awful after a few missed days of bathing." 

"Our uncle likes you, you make him less grumpy." 

"And-"

"Enough!" 

Your sudden snapping at them shuts them up successfully, but the way their faces fall makes your heart pang uncomfortably. 

First, you take a deep breath, and once that's done with and you're a bit calmer, you say slowly, "Where did you get the idea that I was going to stay here?"

Uh oh. 

The two glance at each other nervously since neither of them have an answer to that, and when the silence persists you speak once more. 

"That's what I thought." Your arms are crossed over your chest and gaze pointed as you stare at their ashamed and slightly red faces, and, once you're done torturing them, you add, "I signed up for this journey and I intend to see it to the end." 

"No, it's not just that- A-After the journey is over... you're going to come back once we're finished, aren't you?" Kili's voice sounds so sad, it makes your heart hurt some more. 

"Where are you two getting these ideas? I never said that!"

"You didn't have to. The way you look at this place, how fondly and longingly you stare and speak of things, your recounting of memories and that desire to be here..." Fili trails off and sighs heavily, "It's, of course, your choice... Forgive us. We just... do not wish for you to go." 

You slowly take a seat on the ground and look up at them with a raised eyebrow, "I wasn't planning on it. Now if you two are done berating me on staying with this company after we reclaim your mountain, I would like for you to go to sleep." 

"You weren't planning on coming back...?" Kili asks, slowly settling down onto his knees with his eyebrows knitted together and a questioning expression on his face. "B-But you said-" 

"I said I miss this place, not that I wanted to come back forever. I would miss you two too much to leave." You feel no embarrassment admitting this, for it's true. "I've grown too fond of you fools to just up and leave." 

It seems they quite liked that.

"So... you intend to stay in Erebor once we complete the quest?" Fili asks more hopefully this time, also taking a seat next to his brother with his legs crossed. 

"Yes." 

"Because you would miss us?" 

"Yes." 

That certainly silences them, and the flabbergasted expressions on their faces makes you laugh lightly. 

"And I guess this ambush has shown me that you also prefer me being her- you like me much more than you want to admit." Your voice is teasing, but you mean it. 

Fili sighs once more and looks at the ground, "I suppose that's true." 

"Well, good." You lean forward a bit and grab one of their hands each, "Now, I won't say it again. It's time to go to bed. Tomorrow we will have to leave early." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

[blackssuunn-mandoandyodito]

Tabaco y Brea

Part 6

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!reader

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, angst, nightmares, dissappointment, I think that's it.

Summary: Everything becomes strained and awkward after what happened in Cali, putting a strain on your friendship with Javi. But you have to fix it, before it's too late.

A/N: I’m  sorry for taking so long but here it is for anyone who’s interested. I hope you enjoy it!

You can find all previous parts in my masterlist

The air of Colombia in the morning feels great after a night of fun with Javi. There are parts of your body that haven't been sore in a while, not since you went to México two years ago at least. The picture from that trip on the bedside table in your room makes waking up easier.

 Your feet make noise as you walk without shoes to the kitchen, finding the sight of Javier shirtless very pleasing. His plaid pants are hanging low on his hips as he hums a tune that sounds a lot like Aerosmith.

His ring glints as he moves his left hand to mix the eggs at the stove, sunlight illuminating him in a way that should be considered as a form of art. His watch looks blurry to you, but you don’t pay too much attention to it.

Sleepy, you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze.

'Why did you get up?" You ask, groggy and warm from the bed. He chuckles.

"Someone has to keep us fed around here”

His voice is rough from sleep too, so he probably hasn't been awake too long either. His hips start swaying to the imaginary music that must be playing inside his head, moving you along with him. His skin is so warm against yours it makes you relax against him, giving him little kisses on his back.

You turn your head to look at the living room. The newspaper that’s on the table has a bloody picture with a big headline that you can’t read. It makes you frown. Maybe you will have to get a pair of glasses soon.

Everything feels warm, safe. Javier presses back against you, sighing deeply. You smile.

Your eyes look to the side and see a shadow moving. Not even a second after, you draw in a startled breath and a ray of sunlight glints off a knife. You pull Javi against you to get him out of the way, but not being fast enough, the blade slices through his chest. You feel the force of the stab through his body, pushing you back when a cry of pain leaves his lips and his body hits the floor when you can't take his weight.

Kneeling, you frantically move your hand to grab at the gun under the table, but it isn’t there. When you turn to see who may have taken it, there’s no one but the two of you in the room.

Or rather, there’s only you in the room. Javier is too still, his chest isn’t raising and falling from breathing. His brown eyes are lifeless as they look up to the ceiling.

You kneel down in front of him, gripping his shoulders and palming his chest, getting your hands soaked with blood. You can’t stop the sob that tears out of you. 

“Javier!” you scream. “Javier, wake up!”

Red hands glint when you look down. His eyes don't shine anymore.

“You promised” you wail, left alone in the room, with a lifeless body in front of you. 

Your body bolts up in your bed, gasping for the hundredth time in the past two weeks and covered in a cold sweat. The rise and fall of your chest feel too quick to be real, even after so many past experiences. The room is filled with moonlight seeping through the white curtains that cover your window. For some reason, it makes your heart ache more.

Pain is universal. Some people feel it down their stomach, with a knot that pulls and contracts at every thought that brings something you don't want to remember or think about. Some others feel it in their chest, something swelling and constricting every breath they take, aching right at the center. Some feel it in their throats, pain and anger clogging their pipe, teary eyes, and swollen face is commonly found those times too. 

The kind of pain you're feeling right now seems to include all of them.

Once again, the bed is empty, and the vague memories of the dream you just had start to mix with every other you've had in 15 days. They are always variations of the same thing, always leave you hopeless and scared. The tears stream down your face once again, increasing the fear that has been clogging your system since everything that happened in Cali. 

The most horrible part of everything is that you're not sure what's worse, dreaming of Javi dying in different ways every night or the knowledge that every single one is possible and you can't do anything about it. 

A ella no la tocamos mexicanito, one narco had said. A ella no la tocamos, pero a vos sí. (We don't mess with her, little Mexican, we don't mess with her but we mess with you)

 They had been saying rude comments about you all night instead of answering your questions, but Javi finally snapped when the one nicknamed Jarrogrande told you to give him "cacho mami, que uste' se ve que es bien conchuda" (a chance, you look like you're shameless) and smashed his head against the table. Both of them realized that what was happening was for real, and started talking. Ironic how every single narco seemed to brag about loyalty but ended up talking when their skin was in the line.

The words of Mosca, the other one, rang in your ears for the rest of the night and stuck in your head to the point of giving you nightmares all these days. You had no clue what he had meant, neither did Javi or Steve. Even after hours of interrogation, spilling about the recruitment of young boys they had been doing in the Comuna 3, not one word of explanation had left their mouths about it. 

It made you uneasy, so much that the idea of sleeping was almost scary by this point, even though you always ended up falling asleep no matter how much coffee you drank and how much you tried to stay awake reading. 

No human should go through this and yet here you are, crying repeatedly over the visual of Javier getting stabbed this time, less perturbed than with the last dream where he flew through the air after being hit by a car several times. And not once, not even the first time, could you have done anything about it. And if you can't do anything about it in your own dreams, what would happen in real life?

The worst one yet had been one where you both were sleeping together and someone broke into your apartment, shooting him right next to you. And you couldn't do anything, just lay there and watch how life slipped away from his brown eyes as his body went limp.

You turn around to the bedside clock. It reads 5:03 A.M.

Tired from a night full of restless sleep, you move your legs over the bed and stand up, rubbing your eyes and wiping the tears from your face. Barefoot, you make your way to the shower and strip your clothes off. A short and a tank top are the only things you can handle at night, the humidity seems to skyrocket as soon as the sun goes down. It should get more fresh, for fuck's sake.

Pulling the curtain to the side, you open the shower and step inside, letting the water wash away the sweat and discomfort that the 15th night in a row tormented with nightmares left you. 

-

"Is everything okay?"

Steve's voice makes you jump as you attempt to read reports in your desk, uselessly. The lack of sleep is finally starting to take its toll, all day you've been nodding off. 

The fact that Javier is avoiding you like the plague doesn't help at all.

"Yeah," you answer, "just tired."

He frowns at you from his brand new desk across yours. Stacks of paper fill it completely, manila folders in every space available. The smoke of his and Javi's cigarettes go directly at your zone, and seeing how he smokes just as much as Javi makes you wonder how he managed to control himself when he was working at your table.

"You don't look just tired"

Rolling your eyes, you turn to Javi's desk, where he's completely buried in studying a map of Cali spread above his mess. The barrio zone in Carrera 8 is underlined with a red marker as he traces the path you followed the narcos after the club. You clear your throat, hoping to get his attention. 

He grunts without turning to look at you. The blue shirt he's wearing today makes his skin glow in a way that makes your hands itch to touch. You swallow the lump in your throat.

"Do you need help?" you ask, sounding much more composed than you feel. Surprisingly, he nods and gestures for you to come close, signaling somewhere in the map.

"Can you remember where we followed them to?"

Distracted, you roam the paper with your eyes and point at where you think they went.

"I know it's right where Carrera 8 crosses the Alfonso López Bridge, but I can't tell you exactly where that is in the map"

His face lights up slightly at the mention of the bridge, bringing his hand up to draw a circle at an intersection you had failed to see. He bows his head at you subtly.

"Thanks"

"No problem"

The interaction feels so awkward and forced that your instinct is activating the urge to either say something or run away. You're more inclined to do the later but end up doing neither as you return to your desk. You can feel Steve's piercing look right on your skull. 

Even the air feels too heavy to breathe. It had never been like that, not even in your first days at the office or worst fights. Javi always tried to fix it by buying you food or cracking a joke to ease the tension, never really addressing what started the fight.

 Maybe that's the problem, you're not used to communicating verbally and this isn't something you just shrug off.

And if it wasn't enough, you're sure Javi has also realized your poor state caused by lack of sleep. Every time you try to make coffee, he drinks it all and doesn't leave any to you, he stays with Steve at the office until they make sure you'll leave, and when he thinks you're not looking, he gives you side glances with a concerned expression you had only seen the first time after your first raid in Bogotá. He knows something's wrong, he's just not sure what.

"Bera," Steve's voice pulls you out of your thoughts, "aren't you hungry?"

You're surprised to feel a void in your stomach at his mention, realizing that yes, you are hungry.

You nod, cocking your head to one side as you look at him. 

Just then Javi straightens and grabs his jacket without saying anything, not even turning to look at neither of you. A lump in your throat makes itself present once again when logic tells you where he must be going at this specific hour.

"Where are you going?" Steve dares to ask. Javi keeps walking.

"Out"

You confirm your thoughts when he puts his hand inside his pocket as if checking for something to be inside.

Your eyes burn as he walks away and climbs up the stairs. Something grips your chest tight, makes your stomach clench, and your temperature rise. 

You shouldn't feel like that, it's not like Javi is doing something wrong. You're not together, he's not cheating on you.

You just wish your heart agreed.

Murphy's voice breaks you out of your pain.

"Here," he gestures for you to get closer as he takes out a big recipient from under his desk and opens it, a wonderful smell of food that floods your senses and eases the ache in your heart a little. Then he pulls out another one and serves some food inside.

You stand up and pull your chair towards him, sitting in front of his desk and moving the folders just enough to leave space to eat. He hands you a spoon and the second recipient, but it feels close to being offered a hug, a sense that you're not alone, that he understands. 

“Connie is trying to learn traditional dishes,” he offers as an explanation, smiling sheepishly. You take a bite and moan, marveling at the taste of Bogotá meatloaf.

“Well she’s doing great”

You eat in comfortable silence for a few seconds, afraid of mentioning what you both know about Javier’s absence. 

You realize Steve is itching to tell you something, so you try to show as much openness as possible. He seems to catch on it, so he swallows and clears his throat. 

“Why do they call you Bera?” he, after so many days of wanting to and not doing it, finally asks. But doesn’t dare to look at you while he does.  

“It’s a long story,” you answer, smiling at the soft tone he uses. 

“I think we’ve got time” 

You take a deep breath and sit back in your chair, with your legs crossed and the plastic container resting on top.

“On my first week,” you start, “we had one of the most important raids there has been in the past two years”

“The one where you found one of Escobar’s hideouts?” he interrupts, looking at you expectantly. You nod, chuckling when he takes a mouthful of food and urges you to continue.

“I met Carrillo, and he wanted to boss me around as if I were one of his soldiers. Javier wasn’t too happy about it but didn’t say anything. We are in his country, after all”

“He can be an asshole, uh?” Steve mutters. You’re not sure who he's talking about, but either way, it’s true, just in different levels and senses.

“When he realized I wasn’t going to let him, he called me berraca. I slapped him because I thought he meant it offensively, but it turned out to be a compliment." Steve arches one eyebrow at that. "He then clarified he had called me berraca with b and not with v while he rubbed his cheek,” you say, smiling at the memory. His skin had been so red you feared it would stay like that for a while. If you had hit him a little to the left, his lip would have probably split open.

“What’s the difference?” he asks, confused. 

“Verraca with v means stallion pig. Berraca with b can mean many many things, but one of them is brave.”

Steve nods, pursing his lips, with narrow eyes as if he was studying something. "Well, he's right."

You smile, pleased that he agrees with it.

"It just morphed to Bera as a way of making fun of gringos," you finish. "You can't pronounce the hard r, so you say beraca instead of berraca. Javi started calling me Bera as a joke and it stuck."

Something inside Steve's mind goes quiet with the new knowledge. He can barely talk in Spanish, maybe he understands it a little better. But he's sure he would use that word to describe you too. It fits.

But now that he thinks of it, Javier and Carrillo say it in different tones, something he hadn't been conscious about before.

Carrillo says it like a challenge. As if he's waiting for you to react, to attack. Something bugs Steve in the way the colonel spits it out of his mouth, almost afraid of something everyone else is unaware of but prepared to take on it.

Javier, instead, says it like a prayer. His eyes sparkle and the corners of his lips rise slightly, amused but with something soft on his face. And it's not like he's not always like that around you because he is, he's less frowny and, dare Steve say, less of an asshole when you're close. He almost becomes nice. But when he calls you that, there is also admiration brightening his skin, shining in his eyes, beyond anything else he most likely feels when he looks at you.

He would have loved a warning before getting inside this mess though.

One of the things that has stuck with him since he arrived was the time both you and Javier left to meet one of your informants and when you came back, Javier was nursing a bruise on his face and others on his knuckles, fuming. You looked at him with such annoyance but wonder simultaneously that it gave Steve whiplash.

When one of the other agents in the office got close to Murphy and explained that that specific informant was always too sassy, especially with you, he understood why Javier came back like that. 

“He’s very protective in general,” the way the other agent had muttered it let him know Javier didn’t like any talk about it, “but there is always something worse than Hell coming for anyone who messes with her.”

It sounded like a cheesy movie, and Steve knew you hated it when either of them tried to protect you, but he could see it was the truth. 

He doesn’t understand how you haven’t gotten together though, it just seems too irrational not to. If Javier doesn’t care about the rule of no relationships with informants, why would he care about the rule that also prohibits them between co-workers?

The phone rings suddenly when he starts to get deeper in thought, making both of you jump. Steve picks it up, frowning.

You start to worry when his face goes white and his back straightens, motioning you to give him something to write on.

He answers affirmatively a couple of times while he writes something on top of the sheet of paper you gave him, hurriedly. When he hangs up, the stare he gives you worries you even more.

"Javier just found a hideout." You freeze at his words. "He called from a public phone and said he needed backup because someone most likely identified him.”

Your blood starts pumping so loud in your ears they feel like they’re going to explode. Your chest feels tight, making breathing harder, and blurring your sight.

Something inside your head whispers that this is going to end just like your nightmares, that you're going to lose him and never get to tell him everything you want. Javier is going to die, and you're too far to do anything about it.

Panic starts to cover your whole body when Steve's hand touches your arm and pulls, forcing you to look at him.

"We gotta be quick! Move!"

His tone orders your body to do as he says, picking up your gun and tucking it behind your pants. Steve does the same while screaming to the rest in the office, ordering around, and putting everything in motion. You can't understand what they're saying, but soon someone is shoving a bulletproof vest for you to put on, and you quickly do it. Instinctively, you pull one from somebody's hands and hold it tight, thinking of Javier. 

All of you run outside to the cars and Steve starts driving like a maniac towards the address that Javier told him. He hands you the built-in radio between your seats and you start shouting orders to anyone who might be hearing on the line. 

 The way the car moves makes your body shake.

Or maybe it's the fear, you're not really sure.

You close your eyes and try to evocate Javier's voice reading to you, a few weeks back. 

 Era en verdad una aldea feliz, donde nadie era mayor de treinta años y donde nadie había muerto. (It was a truly happy village, where no one was over thirty years of age and where no one had died)

Please stay safe Javier, you thought. Please don't do anything stupid until I get there.

Adrenaline starts pumping through your veins like a freight train, shutting down anything else you might be feeling.

In some weird, twisted joke of life, many moments you spent with Javier start to pass in front of your eyes. Back in 1980, when you had gone to the cinema to break away from the depressive aura of the office. The first time you ate in Salomé. When he, for the first and last time, went to your apartment and you had watched Rocky while making fun of Stallone's voice. At Christmas, when he gifted you a tape for your Walkman. The way his eyes had glinted when you had given him a special edition vinyl of Led Zeppelin IV.

It hurts, to think about all that and know you may never live any of it again after this.

When Steve hits the brakes with no warning, you immediately wrench the door open and kneel behind it, pointing in front of you through the window in case someone shoots.

There are four military Jeeps behind you, with soldiers quickly jumping down from them and forming lines around the zone. Their colonel signals them to move forward.

Something gives you a bad feeling, everything is too quiet, too still. There are not even people walking around in their normal day, the streets are completely deserted.

You can hear your heavy breathing, sweat dripping down your back as you look for any signs of movement.

A gun gets reloaded somewhere to your left, and it takes you a second to turn around and point at where the sound came from when someone else shoots them first.

This gives the narcos the distraction they needed. Guns start to fire in time someone yells at your team to get cover, bullets ricocheting from the cars, and breaking the windows to pieces.

From the corner of your eye, you see Javi's back as he hides in one of the alleys, soaked in sweat. He's breathing so hard you can even hear it over the blood that's pumping on your ears. He seems unharmed though, there are no spots of blood on his clothes.

In a stupid decision to try and keep him that way, you scream his name, making him turn to look at you.

His eyes almost bulge out of his skull as he sees how carelessly you are acting by giving away your position, but without a second thought, he starts to run towards you, his gun gripped tight on his hand and moving with such urgency it makes you anxious. 

Once he gets next to you and kneels beside you, you lose all words. He's safe, he's next to you, healthy y uninjured. Around you, there's shouting, followed by gunfires. None of it matters for a second.

Your brain reminds you of the bulletproof vest you brought for him when you look down and see he lost his jacket at some point, so you turn to grab it and give it to him. He seems incredulous, you don't really understand why.

"Just put it on," your voice leaves no space for arguing. He nods, strapping it quickly while you cover any shot that may get you. 

Both of you stand up, pointing in front of your bodies as you walk towards the sudden line of cars that are on the other side of the street.

Even if they wanted, there's no way they're getting out of this. You have them at least five to one, with far more weapons and advantage.

Again, something doesn't seem right. It's too stupid, a mistake that is too careless and idiotic for them to make it without any other intentions.

You stop breathing when, by chance, you get a glimpse of Escobar's hair in the backseat of a blue Sedan.

He feels your stare, turns to look at you, and grins. Your whole body freezes, with your fingers stiff on your gun.

 All air leaves your lungs and the blood from your face drains.

The way he smiles, with a familiarity you don't know where it comes from, makes a shiver run down your spine.

Javi feels it, turning to look at you briefly and ask what's wrong when suddenly, Escobar gives an order you can't hear to one of his men and he starts to walk directly towards you in the middle of the chaos.

Javier reacts immediately. He pushes you behind him, recharging his gun and firing at the same time as the other man.

Everything happens in slow motion.

Both of them fire twice before anything else happens. Javi gets two shots right in the middle of the other's chest, but the man gets two on his chest too.

Blood starts to spread over the man's shirt, red and bubbling quickly. No one pays attention to him as they keep shooting and shouting, the blue Sedan leaving without anyone but you noticing what just happened. Escobar shouts something for you to hear, but you're too distracted to pay attention. 

Panic rises in your throat when the impact knocks Javier back, making him give a short yell when he instinctively moves his hand to grab at his chest. You move fast to cushion his fall, stopping him from hitting the floor too hard.

Tears flood your eyes as you frenéticamente move your hands to assess the damage when Javi's hands grab yours and stop you.

"I'm okay," he mutters, but there's pain in his voice. He tries to smile at you but fails, wincing. The way his grip tightens around your fingers bring your brain back a little to reality, and you realize there's no blood on his body.

The vest.

A relieved sob leaves your mouth when you realize the worst he can have is a few cracked ribs. You thank past you for thinking of bringing that heavy horrible thing with you.

Around you, everything starts to die down when the few narcos that aren't injured or dead climb in their cars and run away. There are just three injured soldiers from your side, and it's nothing fatal.

Steve comes out of nowhere and kneels down next to you, speaking words that come silent to your eyes.

You and Javier look at each other, with fear and relief and anger all mixed together in your eyes. The love he sees in your eyes shatters him, makes the pain in his chest feel sharper. 

Neither of you says anything as Steve helps him stand up so you can take him to get checked up, but he never looks away from you. Your friend is amazed at how quickly Javi can change from completely aggressive to absolute tenderness in just a few seconds. 

But when it's about you, he knows both feelings come from the same place.

You don't say a word on the trip to the hospital, but all the way both of you are gripping the other's hand as if your lives depend on it.

 Maybe they do.

Your body feels like you just went into shock. None of anything that happened feels real, anything but Javier's touch seems fake. He's shaking against you, and that's not common at all. His leg is jumping from the adrenaline in a way that would be funny if it wasn't because he almost died a few minutes ago.

He plants a kiss on your head, gripping your fingers tighter. 

The sun is in your eyes when the car starts heading down another street. You start to crash, leaning your head on his shoulder as a deep male voice sings from the radio.

He wishes he could rest with you too, but something is bothering Javier.

He heard what Escobar shouted at you.

-/-

Tabaco y Brea taglist: @larakassing

@storiesofthefandomloversreblogs

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@thisisthe-way

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@nellyneko

[rainafoxfire]

Sannion has suggested that many people are in need of some direction as to starting or maintaining a devotional practice. I am perhaps not the best guide in that my own practice is rather personalized and idiosyncratic. However, I thought I would give some examples of what I do nonetheless, in case it helps anyone. (Though please, please don’t just copy my examples unless they are truly directly relevant to your own practice and spiritual relationships – rather, use this as a way to spark ideas for the types of things you might do yourself. Devotional practice should be personal, and arise from your own understanding of and history with your deities.) Some folks recently have described a single day in their practice, but each day is too different for me to do it that way. I don’t have many daily practices other than following certain taboos, a few simple things I always wear or do as I go about my day, that sort of thing. More and more, I have been led to a free-flowing sort of approach that tunes in and responds to the forces around me, rather than executing a pre-planned set of actions. This is actually trickier to do well, a balancing act. Ideally, it should lead to more devotional practice and magic, not less. I think I am only ready for this now because I spent so many years building a foundation. One thing that helps me keep the balance is my schedule of holy days. Each month, certain days (calculated by the lunar calendar) are set aside to focus on certain gods or spirits. Right now, I have eight of these, but I’m always in the process of refining it. This ensures that I never go too long without giving Someone their due. It also keeps a sort of rhythm to my spiritual life, going through the cycle over and over. Added to this are festival days (which involve more elaborate and specific rituals and activities), which are more unevenly scattered across the year. Of course, even on a day with no special focus, I might end up doing major ritual or trancework. But here are some of the smaller things I do more often to maintain and deepen my devotional relationships. Prayer Beads – I have a set of prayer beads I made about 5-6 years ago, where each god or spirit or group of spirits in my “personal pantheon” is represented by a different, symbolic bead (amber for Apollon, lava rock for chthonic Trophonios, etc.). I usually take these out on my walk to work in the mornings. I do not have set prayers. Often I simply pause at each bead and hail the entity, and perhaps talk to Them extemporaneously for a bit. Sometimes I ask for help with something, give thanks, etc. Sometimes I go through and with each one mention a certain type of thing sacred to Them, or recall the last devotional act I did for Them, or the next I plan to do, or something of that sort – almost a game, meant to keep my mind on these things. I find this practice nicely centers me in my web of divine relationships. Clothing, Jewelry & Hair – On holy days, I always pay attention to what I wear, choosing the colors associated with that deity, and anything else that seems appropriate. No matter what day, there are certain colors and fabrics that are off-limits to me, and everything I wear must align with the aesthetics of my spirits (which have slowly become my own for the most part, but definitely didn’t start out that way). Every day, I braid my hair in some way – this began several years ago as a temporary devotional practice for one of my spirits, just something to be noticeable and remind me of him each day, but then I felt strongly that I should keep doing it, and I think of the braids as intertwining myself with my gods and spirits. It is also significant to choose to make that more important than any personal preferences as to how I wear my hair. I also choose my jewelry carefully – every single piece I own has meaning, usually directly connected to a specific entity, and which pieces I wear each day are my statement of intent. No matter what else, if I go outside the house I am wearing a ring for my Husband and one for Dionysos, and when I am in my home “alone” I wear a second ring for my Husband. I wear a small piece of jewelry when I go to bed each night to connect with my dream-spirit. I also have stretched ears, which I did on request from my spirits to symbolically open my hearing to Their voices, and only wear a few simple sets of plugs, having given up pretty earrings as a sacrifice. (I also have nearly 30 devotional tattoos which state my allegiances in a permanent manner on my skin, but while I have them every day, obtaining one is obviously a more special occasion.) Images and Playlists – I keep a large folder of images that I find beautiful or powerful on my computer. I have them sorted into various folders, including ones for most of my gods and spirits. My usual screensaver is a random slideshow of all these images (since my computer is on for hours each day usually, it’s a nice way to be reminded of Them, and also useful occasionally for divination), but on holy days I set it to just the folder of that specific entity. Likewise, I keep playlists of music for each of Them and play them on Their holy days or when doing any sort of ritual for Them. I revise both of these periodically, as my relationships and understandings of Them change over time. Shrines – I have shrines for all of my gods and spirits in my house, but some get a lot more use than others. Most are just placeholders of sorts, making a space in my home for Them and an appropriate place to leave offerings if necessary, but not a focus of worship, as a lot of my worship is done outdoors. The shrines for my Husband and Dionysos however have cushions in front of them and I often sit in front of the “activated” shrine (when the candles and incense are lit) and pray and commune with Them. All my shrines developed organically over many years – the items on them tend to have deep significance and I periodically review them to make sure they still represent my current view of Them. I try to personalize anything mass manufactured (for example, by painting common statuary), and mostly focus on unique items that have a history with us, even though those are usually much less spectacular (for instance, the small lump of white marble I found on the shores of Naxos on Dionysos’ shrine, or the bowl of unusual coins I have slowly accumulated for Hermes, or the special ritual pipe for my Husband made from a bone of His sacred animal). On holy days, I light up the appropriate shrine while I am home. But I also often do this whenever I’m feeling Their presence, or want to invite Their presence. Especially at night in a darkened house, the glow of the shrine draws all focus there. Physical Offerings – I make both traditional and personal offerings to the gods regularly. At the very least, I do this on Their holy days, but with my core group I do it more often. These might include things like: alcohol (paying attention to both the type and even the picture on the label), flowers, incense, coins, stones, food, drink, etc. Each one has a wide variety of sacred symbolism to draw on. So I might pour out Stone IPA beer for Hermes, or leave figs on Dionysos’ shrine, or lay out a piece of honeycomb for the nymphs in some numinous spot outdoors. Aside from the shrines, repositories for my offerings might include bits of wild nature throughout the city, special trees or stones, the creek, or I might leave something on the street or at a crossroads, especially if it is for Hermes or might double as a glamourbomb for someone. Activities – On holy days, and sometimes on other days that feel imbued with the presence of a certain god or spirit, I try to tailor every activity to Them – what book I read, what movie I watch, even what errands I do. I might save a shopping trip for Hermes’ day, or go out dancing on Dionysos’ day. I’ll start reading a book about sleep on the day for my dream-spirit, or start an art project on the day for my collective spirits who are closely tied to my artwork. I clean the house on the last couple days of the lunar month, in accordance with the practice of taking out the sweepings on Hekate’s deipnon. Miscellaneous – I say a special prayer to Dionysos each time I consume any kind of intoxicant. On the full moon, I smudge all the animal spirits who live in my house in the form of pelts, taxidermy and bones. I only smoke cigarettes for ritualistic purposes in very precise circumstances, as per the taboo laid down by my spirits (or else I get rather ill). On certain holy days, I do not eat meat, due to Their wishes. On Apollon’s day, I have a special set of taboos and actions due to the oracular work. Almost all of my non-fiction reading is religious in nature, either overtly or somehow related to one of Their interests.  I am constantly open to receiving any omens or communications They might send me as I go about my day; I pay attention to things I see when I’m thinking of Them especially. I do divination when I need to know what They want or am not sure I’m receiving a message properly (and I find choosing the method of divination to be important in itself – runes for Odin of course, a fairytale Tarot deck for my spirits, a Greek mythology deck for my primary deities, etc.). Hopefully that’s enough to paint a general picture of my approach to devotional practice. I would very much like to see more people writing about what they do.

Dver, author of https://forestdoor.wordpress.com/

[jokin-around]

1am trek to Rite-aide in a Batman kigurumi for a bottle of cold syrup and some ice cream

Fic under the cut🎉🎉 ⬇⬇⬇

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826074 

from beneath a pile of blankets a color drained clown groaned miserably, the sound somewhat muffled by the assortment pretty plastic bobbles filling up the half deflated kitty pool they laid in haphazardly.

The clown in question was Gotham's very own mage of mischief. and much as pain played into his game he absolutely HATED being sick.

Funny thing was, Jay didn’t ever get sick. Period.

With the slew of mystery chemicals constantly floating around in his blood he’d always thought he’d be immune to something as innocuous as a cold. yet here he was stewing in misery, surrounded by a sea of used tissues.To say this was the first time he'd spent the wee hours of the night feeling like garbage would be a lie, but it was definitely the first time he’d felt so unprepared for an ailment.

All that considered, He wouldn’t mind the discomfort if he wasn't so hopelessly bored and… not to mention… alone.

Harley, who was probably busy gardening at the moment, hadn’t answered his calls and none of the other rogues would bother coming to his aid if he asked… they didn't like him very much. He didn’t know why and hardly cared but right now he honestly wished he was better at making friends. Of course, Bud, his lovely hyena who was snoring audibly in the other corner of the room, kept him company on long lonely days, but a dog’s unconditional love could only go so far.

He’d been in his room for hours at this point but as the bat shaped clock on his wall struck 1:00 Jay finally decided he’d had enough.

Throwing the blankets aside, sending foam balls bouncing around the room in the process, Jay sat up, hair a mess, rings around his tired eyes, and stood. Trying his best to ignore the how the world spun like a fun top.

He didn’t need Harley or ANY of those other stupid bozo’s. He could fend for himself just fine and he wasn't about to let some stupid head cold keep him down. Without any further thought Jay grabbed his coat, put on shoes, and headed out the door with a pop-gun in his pocket, looking an absolute mess. Grateful for Gotham's shady midnight darkness --------------------------------

It didn’t take long for the clown to reach his destination, Nite-aid pharmaceuticals was right down the street, just close enough to glide the whole way on a pair of unsteady heelys.

When he entered the store the place was mostly empty except for a few unfortunate stragglers. Night owls looking for late-night smokes and liquor as busted fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered above them... A few patrons turned to glance at him warily, not recognizing the clown out of makeup but suspicious nonetheless. Their failure to turn-tail at first sight would be a mistake they'd soon regret as the unkempt clown lifted his pop-gun in the air and lazily pulled it's trigger.

Now a normal play pistol would’ve gone off with an amusingly harmless pop, but Jay liked to personalize his toys. When the cork shot out the sound pierced through the nights silence like a firecracker, a waft of confetti and billowing green smoke flying up with it in an explosion of noxious, candy scented, color.

The fumes quickly spread through the small store, hot boxing it with chemicals that sent all who breathed it into a frenzied fit. The few unlucky customers present dropped anything they held and nearly toppled over each other as they ran screaming with laughter into the night.

At the back though, a store clerk, who seemed to be bared behind his counter, gagged and giggled as he writhed on the floor with his arms clenched around his sids, too disoriented by now to jump to freedom or even unlatch the door leading out.

As Joker came closer the man backed up, amused yet scared half to death of what would happen as the clown peered over the counter and examined him silently.

A few beats passed before Joker let out a small sigh and mentally made a note to tweak his smilex a tad as he wordlessly opened the gate and let the poor, gasping, employee run free, watching him trip over his own feet a few times as he did. His patented giggle concoction seemed a little too potent this time around, he’d have to fix it sometime….

Soon the joint was empty and joker was alone once more. The whole store now nuisance free and it’s contents perfectly ripe for the taking.

Humming a tune to himself Jay sashayed over to the medicinal isle and eyed over his options. All the keysmashed names and multicolored boxes seemed to meld together the longer he stared. he had no idea which one would be his miracle cure and the way his head swirled made it hard to concentrate on all the teeny-tiny words in front of his heavy feeling eyes. Instead of thinking Jay took a bag and filled it with whatever looked right. If he overdosed on Benadryl and Tylenol instead of Nyquil, so be it.

Before heading out Jay decided to take anything else he thought he might need to feel better including a pint of mint-chocolate chip ice-cream from the fridges in back, a page of funnies and a bargain bin DVD copy of Roger Rabbit .

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

As Jay walked out he heard a low rumble coming from a few blocks away, before he was able to recognize the telltale roar of the Batmobile, the powerful car had already charged its way down the street swerving to a sudden screeching halt in front of the small drug store as blinding headlights pointed directly at Jay, temporarily disorienting the already discombobulated clown and exposing his unfortunate appearance.

As Jay clumsily shielded his eyes a dark figure exited the tech loaded vehicle and slowly floated closer. Soon a tall shadow loomed over him, blocking the stunning beams of light. Jay slowly peered up to meet a pair of cold blue slits.

"Batman..…?" said Jay, sounding somewhat surprised despite knowing better

“Shoulda known you’d be here…. you're not gonna arrest me are you?" He asked pitifully

The Bat seemed to examine him for a moment, blue lenses eyeing him up and down. Jay was suddenly very aware of how he must have looked, he hadn't combed his hair, or shaved, or bathed, he was 99% percent sure he'd grabbed a mix-matched pair of heelys on the way out and he was currently wearing a jacket over a onesie despite the fact he was cooking like a hotdog in a microwave, evident by the beads of cold sweat trailing down his face….

His bare, scar riddled, face….

He began to turn red with embarrassment as he averted his weary gaze from the other man's calculated scrutiny, shoulders tensing

"Look are you gonna do your thing or can I take my stolen goods and go?" He asked impatiently, exhaustion in his voice

"My Bat-monitor says you have a 104 degree fever" the Bat states. No inflection.

"right, Which is why I need to get home like, now- " a large hand placed itself on his shoulder as he crouched to collect his stuff from the ground

"What you NEED is medical attention" Batman insisted, gently firming his grip. Jay, stood up, shaking his head in protest despite feeling more and more lightheaded with every passing second

"n-no I-I'm fine, i'll be fine! I just need t- "

Before he could protest further, handcuffs were promptly clasped around his limp wrists with a snug click, Jay looked at his shiny new bracelets and gave Bruce a sharp glare.

"bastard." he grumbled

"You'll thank me later." Bats stated cooly as he took the clown by the scruff of his hood and escorted him to the Batmobile. Jay struggled slightly at first, ragdolling as the Bat pulled him along, the fight in him quickly dissipated though as his energy slowly faded and he realized how shortsighted he'd been to not expect a situation like this. Of course the Bat would be here. you could hardly J-walk in this city without his big dumb ears hearing about it somehow.

But despite the inconvenience he wasn't mad… just… unprepared

he and the Bat had a special little relationship and after the day he'd had, that flowing black cape could be considered a sight for sore eyes. But this particular situation was a little different from their usual routine. Up there on the rooftops they were perfectly matched equals. Jay fast and unpredictable, Bats strong and disciplined. right now, as Jay was silently chauffeured to an impressive looking street demon, the scales were tipped, and instead of being fast he was weak and slow and practically nodding off by the time Bats gently placed his body in it’s passenger seat.

The rumble of the monsters powerful engine shook Jay from his daze and his unfocused eyes were greeted by a colorful array of buttons and knobs that decorated the car's interior.

"Ooohh" he awed quietly

"Don't. Touch. ANYTHING." The Bat warned sternly.

"Fuuuh-INE" he complained. "You don't mind if i eat in here tho right?" He asked as he fished into his bag and took out his pint of ice cream.

Batman shot him a look of disapproval.

"Ah, Don't worry- " Jay assured as he struggled to get the tub open "I won't get any on your p-precious lea-ther interio- " a bout of violent coughs interrupted his snarky remark…

The Bat sighed

"here, let me" he took the tub and quickly ripped it open, before placing it back in Jays lap

"OH HO HO thanks, Armstrong." He teased

"Whatever… Just pipe down and take this." Bruce reached into his glorified fanny pack and pulled out a small green pill.

Jay eyed it curiously.

"S' not some funky sedative is it?" He asks cautiously

Bruce shook his head….

"It's a… chemical agent I made special for you… I uh… mix it with my sedatives to counteract your resistance to them… it won't put you to sleep but It should have the same effect on those meds i’m paying for" he explained, nodding at the cherry flavored syrup Jay swiped.

With a bit of hesitation Jay picked up the small capsule and eyed it further. It was rather large and filled with a bright green gel.

"....well that's pretty... thoughtful of you I guess. "

Bruce looked away briefly, he'd created the compound last time Jay was out cold on his operating table using a sample of his blood. He'd put it to other uses since, but it had ultimately saved the clown's life last time around… that said he should've known Jay might find his over-preparedness odd

After a few beats of silence, Jay bit the bullet, washing it down with a scoop of ice cream. Help from the Bat, no matter how uncalled for, was usually help he could trust, besides he thought it was funny how often the Bat modded his tech just for his sake. Was it obsessive? Romantic? he couldn’t tell, but he was definitely flattered…

With a small contented smile on his face, Bruce turned back to the wheel and revved his engine "Alright clown... buckle up"

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

It didn't take long for the two to arrive at the Batcave. The ride there quick and uneventful. Bruce didn’t have to bother with a blindfold or knockout gas to cover his tracks, Jay had passed out about halfway there and even then, it wouldn't have mattered much. He was sure Jay already knew it’s location despite being in the dark about...other things.

Exiting the car and stalking to the other side with his cape flowing behind him. Bruce opened the door to the passenger seat and watched as the winged doors lifted to reveal a sleeping figure cradling a half melted pint of ice cream.

“Is this the 'guest' you mentioned earlier sir?” Alfred inquired as he came to greet his kevlar clad son.

“It is.” He answered softly as he slowly lifted the pint from the clowns arms and handed It to the older man

"You somehow failed to mention the guest in question was your colorful new nemesis” the servant jested, raising a brow

"Uh… Forgot to I guess" Bruce shrugged, knowing full well he’d swept a detail or two under the rug to avoid another scolding from his free-spoken butler.

There was a pause of silence as they both watched the peaceful perriot rest

“...If only he was this quiet all the time, Gotham would be a much less hectic place… “ said Alfred after a moment.

“Perhaps” said Bruce. eye’s never breaking away as his chest rose and fell

Alfred, of course, had more to say but decided to keep it to himself as not to sour the moment he was having.

“Well this is going in the fridge... a pot of hot soup should be ready shortly. Just enough for the both of you”

“Thanks al”

Alfred nodded then went on his way as Bruce turned his attention back to Jay.

Although he was used to seeing the jolly jester in a more upkept state, he had to admit he was… striking... even like this…

When that perpetually cheery smile of his finally relaxed, it was replaced by soft supple lips and butter knife sharp cheekbones that framed his face in a way rarely seen outside of hollywood.

Gingerly, Bruce reached beneath his guest and lifted him from his seat.

It always surprised him how light he was, not that Jay was very big to begin with but… the way he threw a punch, took hits like they were nothing… it made it easy to forget he was only about 5'4"... perhaps even smaller minus the mane of hair that currently draped over his tired face

With the rest of the man’s features veiled, Bruce’s eyes were drawn to the two deep scars which curled from the corners of his mouth like a jagged grin. They were long healed but Bruce had a feeling the wounds cut deeper than eyes could see...

As Bruce thumbed away a few stray locks of green to get a better look, Jay began to stir. Hurriedly Bruce stepped over to the med bay section of the cave and laid his guest down before his eyes began to flutter open

"W-where?" He asked groggily as his vision focused

"Batcave."

“Again?” He muttered while sitting up “This gonna be a regular thing?”

“Were you expecting a hospital?” Bruce asked.

Jay rubbed his face

“guess not….” Hospitals we’re never really an option for people like them he supposed. Too many nosy doctors and prodding hands… bad memories...

“Here” a small cup of cherry liquid appeared in front of him, held by a black glove. He took it slowly.

“Can't have the whole bottle??”

“Why would you want to?”

Jay shrugged and took the shot

“I dunno…”

Bruce let that comment slide and stepped closer to check his temperature again.

"How are you feeling?"

" terrible" Jay replied miserably. Bruce looked at his monitor, the clown was stable at about 105°. It wasn't common for a cold to come with a fever but Jay was... an uncommon person.

" think a cool shower might help?"

The clown smiled "...mm… maybe…. You aren't offering to join me are you?"

Bruce scoffed "Not with you like this I'm not…"

Jay rose an eyebrow.

"er… not that I would if you…. Weren't…" Bruce's cheeks went pink for a moment. Though he'd looked away he could tell Jay was smiling even wider. Probably holding in a laugh too.

"Uhm...alright uh… washroom's that way, use what you want, shampoo, conditioner, whatever, I can always buy more"

Jay hopped down from the table and stretched with a moan

"I'm sure you can, rich boy."

"Huh?" Bruce tensed, taken aback by the term usually used to describe his alter ego.

"being best buds with Bruce Wayne must have some pretty sweet perks"

Bruce sighed, allowing himself to breath again as Jay made his way to the shower "right.."

_____________

It didn't take long for Jay to return, He made quick work of cleaning up and was soaped, rinsed and dried within a few minutes. His greasy mop now a fluffy, blow dried, up-do And his mind fog free.

The bouncy mane of curls caught Bruce's attention as the clown re-entered the main room, freshly scrubbed, lemon scented and humming a tune.

"You look a little better…. " Bruce complimented

"Just a little?" Said Jay, faking disappointment.

"Uh… w...well" Bruce stammered.

"Just teasing u dummy." He said with a smile as he took a seat on the bannister next to the Bat-computer.

"Right… well.... I see you're back to your normal self" said Bruce, returning to his work

"Mostly." Jay smiled

"Good… that's good." There was some silence taken up by Bruce's fingers tapping the Bat-computer's interface

"Hey." Jay interrupted

"Yeah?" Said Bruce

"Aren't you scared of catching my cold-cooties or something?" The clown inquired

"No." Bruce answered bluntly.

"Why not?"

"bats don't get colds"

Jay rose an eyebrow.

"Oh really?"

"It's true."

"Mhm…"

Suddenly the sound of a throat clearing interrupted their banter.

"are you two quite done, or will supper have to wait?"

The odd couple turned to face Alfred who was holding a silver platter somewhat impatiently.

"er...Now is fine Alfred"

The butler nodded and gracefully waltzed between them to set the plate down. Removing it's dome to reveal a piping hot stew, stuffed with chicken and veggies, with fresh baked biscuits on the side. It’s aroma was even more enticing than it’s appearance

"Wow this is nothing like that Campbell's stuff" said Jay, eyes wide.

"I should hope not.” Alfred huffed. “ I didn't go to culinary school to cook from a can"

“Thank’s Al, it looks great”

"Of course sir… Oh, and, sir?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"You invited this man into your home… least you could do is give him a proper seat"

Jay was still sitting on the banister, swinging his legs happily.

“oh…. Right” he pressed a button and a second chair raised from the floor “i’m… usually the only person down here, sorry.”

“What about that kid?”

“Robin? Never sits still, likes the banister “

“Huh, Go figure….” Jay plopped down in his seat and spun around a few times before grabbing his bowl and testing the soup… to put it lightly, the taste was beyond heavenly.

“Oh my god….”

“Glad to see it suits your taste mr.Jay, young Bruce would fuss about having to eat it every time he was under the weather….”

Bruce a blushed a tint

Jay smiled

“I guess bat’s DO get the sniffles”

“Wasn't a bat back then, doesn’t count”

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn't”

“Yes it- “

“Children!”

They froze… Alfred gave them a stern look. Free of malice but intimidating nonetheless.

“Do try to behave yourselves, I have enough trouble with robin as is and he’s much better mattered than the both of you”

“Yes, Alfred”

“Sorry, Alfred…” they apologized

The butler one last look,turned on his heels and left the room in silence.

“Man you’re butler’s mean…” Jay whispered

“Don't worry, it’s just an act…. I think…” As they both returned to their gourmet supper Jay suddenly recalled the DVD he'd brought with him.

"Oh HEY! Can we watch a movie???"

"Movie?"

"Yeah!" Jay scrambled over his bag and ran back with the box in his hand.

"Roger Rabbit! It's a classic!"

"Never seen it."

"Really? well we'll have to fix that… it's a detective story! you'll like it!…"

Bruce slowly took the case, studying its colorful cover…

"Suppose… I'll... take your word for it."

Reluctantly, Bruce popped a hatch on the Bat-computer and let the movie play on one of it's many monitors. Jay sitting back with a satisfied smile as Bruce sunk deeper into his work...

Or at least, tried to.

Jay's amused chuckles here and there made it hard to concentrate but the sound wasn't… unpleasant. Every now and then the clown would tap his shoulder and tell him to pay attention to a favorite scene or line if his… eyes flitting between him and the screen, searching for a reaction, however small or unreadable … smiling whenever Bruce's lips curled even a millimeter or two.

As the night continued, Bruce recalled the large home theater he had upstairs in the mansion

50 seats and rarely more than one taken at a time...

He imagined himself up there now with his arm around the other man's shoulders, sharing snacks and a large blanket, huddled close…

Perhaps he could’ve come up with some elaborate lie about "Bruno" allowing visitors in his humble abode, but as much warmth as the thought gave him, it was greatly overpowered by his own paranoia…

He wasn’t quite ready to break that barrier no matter how much he wanted too...

So maybe not today…

But maybe later….

Someday.

After a few passing moments Bruce realized Jay’s little interruptions had stopped and turned to find the man fully asleep on the chair beside him. With a light sigh, Bruce carefully removed his cape and draped it over the man just as he’d done before a year or so ago, Quietly calling for Alfred to prepare the Batcave’s guest bed.

With all the cordial tenderness in the world, Bruce lifted his nemesis and carried him downstairs. for now, somewhere in between all the imaginary lines they’d drawn in the sand, just this close was close enough.

[writers-blogck]

Opposites [ The Mandalorian x Reader ] 05

A few weeks had passed by since you started this journey with the Mandalorian. The Child had quickly formed an attachment to you, which wasn't shocking. Mando was fine at taking care of him but he didn't show as much affection as a kid that age craves. This was his first time having to take care of a child, at least you assumed. Everyone had to start somewhere and he seemed to have done a well enough job before you joined. He kept the kid alive and happy which was more than a lot of parents you had seen. It was endearing to see how hard he was trying, he knew he wasn't the best caretaker. You could see his shoulders lose the tension in them when you took the kid when he was crying, able to immediately calm him back down.

At the moment, nothing was calm or endearing. The ship shot through the air like a bullet, a smaller yet still dangerous ship on your tail. Mando was up in the cockpit with the Child while you were in the body of the ship, rushing around to repair on the go. There still was only so much you could do while the ship was in flight. There were repairs that would have been dealt with when the ship was docked somewhere. You couldn't give a full feedback report on the status of the ship without looking outside. At the moment, you were making sure the blasters still were in working condition. One of the ships had torn some of the wires but as long as you hold the two ends together, it was enough to work.

"Mando, what's taking so long up there? I can only do this for so long!" You shouted, back against the cold floor of the ship, torso through a panel so you were able to reach the wires. Your helmet was strapped tight to your head, keeping your face as protected as possible. It was uncomfortable and you only wore it when working inside of the ship. You learned that the hard way when working on one of the ships in the graveyard. It jerked and you ended up hitting your head on one of the iron pipes, knocking you out for fifteen minutes.

"I'm working on it! Hang onto something!" That didn't sound good for you.

The ship came to an abrupt stop, your body hitting the side of the panel. Your ribs would be bruised but it was better than dying in a ship explosion. This was why you needed to wear a helmet! The lights went out for a few moments before the red emergency lights came on. This couldn't be good. You pushed yourself out of the nook you were working in, moving back up to the cockpit to figure out what was going on.

"Guess Mandalorians aren't the best pilots, huh?" You joked, sitting down in the copilot seat that you had claimed as your own. Mando would sit in the pilot's, you would sit in the copilot's, and the Child would be in his makeshift crib behind the two of you. A routine was forming for the three of you, Mando no longer seeming as scary as he was before.

"You want to try your hand at steering this thing? I got us out of their alive and that's all that matters."

"The ship isn't going to be alive for long if we don't get some repairs." You leaned back, eyes trained on his figure.

"I know. We're landing on this planet for a pitstop."

...

Peli was strange, that was for sure, but you looked up to her. She treated you almost like an apprentice since Mando didn't want any of her bots working on his ship. When you brought up your own experience, Peli was more than happy to have the assistance. Out of the two of you, she was the more experienced but you were eager to learn anything new. What you lacked in skill, you made up for in enthusiasm.  That was more than could be said about most people. No one was willing to learn how to do things by hand anymore, they just relied on technology to make even more technology. Didn't they want a special touch in things?

"Peli, this goes under the wing, right?" You called out from your position under the ship, just your head peeking out at the woman. She saw your face covered in oil and grease yet you wore it just like a debutante would wear glamour makeup. If you weren't part of that man's crew already, she would offer you a job here with her.

"Yeah, you got it! You gonna run me out of business if you keep learning this fast. That Mandalorian ain't paying you enough hun!"

"He isn't paying me anything." You joked as you crawled back into the small area that you were working on. It was good that you weren't afraid of small spaces or else you wouldn't be able o do internal repairs such as this.

"That's even worse then!"

Comparing you to Mando was like seeing night and day. Peli saw the Mandalorian as some gruff man who was all work and no play while you were more likely to take the lighter side of a situation, even if that meant that the job took a bit longer. Mando was able to keep you focused if you truly began to get distracted and you were able to make sure there was some joy in his life. He may not say anything but Peli was smart enough to see past his mask. The chiding and the sighing weren't as threatening as he wanted people to believe, not with you anyway. She couldn't say what it was but he didn't hate you like he wanted people to think. He was trying to put distance between the two of you, he didn't want to get close. The older woman kept her mouth quiet, knowing that it wasn't her place to bring it up to you. You would learn in time, as long as you weren't as oblivious as Mando made you out to be. He made it sound like you were a helpless crewmate that he had to protect just as much as the child. As you worked with Peli, she was able to see the truth of who you were. You were hard working and weren't afraid to stand up to the intimidating man you called a pilot.  

From the looks of it, he liked that. Peli couldn't help but wonder what else the man liked about you. Perhaps there was something more developing within him than just respect. Even if anything did form, would the Mandalorian be strong enough to accept his feelings? How long had it been since he had a friend? Did he ever have one? What happened to make him so withdrawn from forming any attachment?

...

When the Mandalorian got back from the strange job, he was greeted with a sight he was afraid of. Peli and her robots were up in her glass room, blaster in hand. She wanted to help but she knew well enough that she would only end up making it worse. As he approached his ship, Toro walked out with a gun pressed to your head and the Child wrapped in your arms. It made his stomach drop and his pulse quicken though he made sure to keep those feelings hidden.

"Now, I'm sure you know why this is happening, don't you Mando?" His voice dripped with pride, obviously believing he was the smartest man in the whole star system. Your mind tuned out of the conversation enough to allow you to think of a plan. While in the ship, you had thought over some options but there was nothing you could know for sure until Mando got here.

Though just a glimpse, you saw a flashbang stuffed into the man's jacket pocket. You had never used one before but you knew enough about them to know how they worked. That would be enough of a distraction for you to get yourself and The Child out of harm's way. The man would loosen his grip and you could get out of his hold. The only issue would be what would happen afterward. You would have enough time to get to a safe place but Mando would be just as taken aback as Toro. With a knot in your stomach, you hoped he would live up to his expectations.

"You know," You spoke up, drawing the attention of both men to your voice allowing you to pickpocket the flashbang, "It doesn't seem very bounty hunter like to have to take a hostage. It seems kinda like you can't do your job by yourself so you have to resort to threatening people, including a baby. Bet the ladies love that."

"Shut up bitch!" He shoved you in the shoulder with the butt of the blaster while still having a loose hand around your waist. You could see the twitch of Mando's hand, ready to shoot at a moment's notice. There was a dull pain radiating from your shoulder blade but it was worth it to allow you to get the item without notice. Now palming the small machine, you just had to wait for the right moment. It had to be far enough away so as not to hit you or the baby but close enough not to hit Mando.

The man focused on Mando again, going on some speech about joining the bounty guild. With both arms wrapped around the baby, you would be able to shoot forward into the dirt. If you were ready for the blast, you could get out of the way even with the blinding light. Mando was staring in your direction, though you couldn't tell what had his focus. Was he staring at Toro or was he watching you? Was he worried or was he just trying to kill this man like any other threat to him? It was hard to tell with his helmet. With the few weeks you had spent with him, you were learning to translate his body language. He wasn't very good at concealing his feelings through his movements. He was lucky his face was hidden or else everyone would be able to read him like an open.

You stared directly at him, waiting a long enough time until you were certain he had to be paying attention to you. You could at least hope. While still holding the flashbang with two fingers, you showed him what was in your hand. It was the most you could do to prepare him before using it. Sending a prayer to any deity of Luck that was listening, you aimed at the ground and pressed the button.

There was no time to prepare or even notice before the burst of light exploded. With all the force you could muster, you pulled away and tumbled off of the loading dock ramp. A blaster shot rang out as you landed on your knee, pushing yourself behind one of the many wooden crates. Dust and smoke began to fill the air as the light faded away, the outcome of the fight unknown to you. A gentle hand placed itself on your shoulder, causing you to quickly spin around. A throbbing pain radiated from your knee, had you hit it that hard?

"Hey, it's alright, you're fine. That fighter of yours took care of that guy." Peli leaned down, taking the Child from your arms, "Now that must have been loud for those big ears of yours, huh? Yeah, I bet it was."

As Peli walked away, another more hulking figure came to stand in front of you. All you could do was smile sheepishly, knowing that whatever was coming was going to be a scolding. You could have done it perfectly but the Mandalorian would still find something wrong with it. He was such a narcissist, thinking he could do everything the best. He didn't need the help of others.  Yet here you were and you had made it your goal to prove to him that companionship wasn't always a nuisance.

"Do you realize how dangerous that was?" He asked, hands resting on his hips as he looked you over.

"Why aren't you getting up?"

"I think I may have hurt my knee when I fell but I'll be fine. I just need to rest it for a second and then I'll be as good as new."

A loud sigh escaped his helmet, quiet enough to keep from going through his modulator. As you were just about to go on this long speak of how you were alright, you were instead silenced when two strong arms lifted you in a bridal style carry. Your arms reactively wrapped around his neck, eyes widening at the new height and loss of control. You had never been picked up like this before. When anyone tried to pick you up at your home ended up with a black eye or bloody nose. This felt different. Where others picked you up to joke around and tease you, Mando didn't seem the type to follow that pattern. A quick flutter filled your chest but you pushed it to the side. You couldn't focus on that, not now.

"Well, it seems like I'm interrupting something," Peli joked as Mando carried you back towards the ship. He only gave her a silent stare in response, prompting her to give the child over to you. He could be intimidating at times but he seemed to have two types of intimidation. There was the one no-nonsense type which he gave to those he had a semblance of trust in and then there was the type he gave his enemies. Today had been the first day you had ever seen the second type in action.

The Child cooed for your attention, wanting to play. How was he able to be so calm after something so chaotic occurred? That would be a gift for him in the future. With the amount of trouble that had followed him already, there would only be more as he grew. Being adaptable would be his only chance at happiness in this life. You knew that all too well.  

Once Mando paid Peli what she was due and then some, he moved back onto the ship with the tiny crew he had acquired in his arms.

[minsugapie]

Now You See Me: part 28 (3512 words) - rap sex

• • • • • •

You’re a content creator that is wanting to change up your brand a little bit.

Yoongi is a faceless musician. Well, he’s two people at once. He’s Agust D online and while performing, but he’s Min Yoongi in real life.

Who will he be to you?

• • • • • •

PART 27 // PART 28 // PART 29

masterlist

• • • • • •

tags : @dixonsbugaboo @mayumioutloud @minhyukstealer @pocketfullofsuga @pwinny00 @rjsmochii @yoonglemickdoongle @live-2-fangirl @cherryicy123 @vernooope @okaysoplshelpme @thebleuprince @minyoongone @original-internetmonster @princesskimnamjoon @waddlingmyg

• • • • • •

With the best outfit that you were able to conjure up from your closet on a budget, you walked into the bar with alone. Everyone was going to meet you there.

You were easily the easiest person to impress, and although you had already seen Yoongi perform before, you were sure that you were going to be amazed, no matter how much you wanted to avoid him and hide your feelings from the world. After what Jade had told you about their relationship compared to your relationship with him, you knew that you wanted to at least tread lightly in the waters of Min Yoongi.

She basically flat out told you that Yoongi liked you, but other than the kiss in the hallway, you weren’t sure that he even liked you. People could kiss other people without wanting to actually be with them. You’d been played by guys in the past. It happened.

And then there was the fact that you were still unsure about seeing Hoseok again. Your father had made it clear that he wanted you to marry him (I mean, you already knew before but still). You’d barely breached the subject with Hoseok on game night, but you just couldn’t see it. Why would Hobi be in love with you of all people. He deserved someone good, someone positive.

The bar was already dark and foggy, but you couldn’t tell whether it was a fog machine or simply a bunch of smoke from vapes and joints. You thought it was probably the latter. It even smelled a little ripe in there, a mixture of alcohol, sweet JUULs, and MJ. Along with the smell, the air practically felt sticky, the temperature already hot.

The search for your friends was brief. Tae and Hobi were always the loudest, currently making a fool of themselves amongst your newer friends, Jimin and Jungkook. Jade was yet to make an appearance. You distantly wondered if she was keeping Yoongi company until he went on stage.

Speaking of the devil, he was clearly not with the group because this was his performance, but you wouldn’t have minded just getting a glimpse of his surely mask-covered face. You’d very nearly forgotten that he was Agust D here and not your Min Yoongi.

Your Min Yoongi. Even the thought was bordering on problematic. If this night didn’t go as planned or even head in a remotely positive direction, you’d be crushed. The only reason that you’d agreed to go was to clarify and/or solidify what was going on between the two of you. If he didn’t make any sort of move. You were going to. You had to.

Looking around, you were happy that there were more people here than the last time. He’d been rapping here for a few years under his alias, but no one had put two and two together. With the release of “Seesaw”, he’d finally revealed to the online community that he was a musician that not only played Piano and got people to sing on his tracks, but also that he rapped. It had surely increased the crowd for this show. On the way in, there was even a lineup at the door. You were able to just walk in, thankfully, because he’d still put your name on the list. He had told you on multiple occasions that he would never take your money if you came to watch him because just your being there was enough of a reward for him.

The greetings from your friends were almost lost to your ears because you were craning your head to see if Yoongi was possibly walking around, visiting with other people. It was quite obvious to everyone that you were not here to see them. You were definitely here to see the man on your mind.

“Hello, earth to Y/N?” Jimin waved his hand in front of your face when you were staring directly into the drink that you’d picked up from the bartender on the way to the already full table of guys. You were clearly only here for one thing.

As much as you loved them all and enjoyed their company (most of the time), you were not up for any chit chat. Frankly, you were still trying to pull yourself out of your depressive state, and you were also not entirely sure that you were ready to meet Jade yet.

After stalking her profile, you were 100% sure that she was both prettier and a better person overall than you were. You’d never seen someone spread so much love and happiness. The only rival that you could think of would have been Hobi.

“Sorry, Chim. I’m just a little distracted,” you answered, spinning the bottle of alcohol in your hands.

“You’re just nervous about having to talk to Yoon about the kiss, right?” Jungkook piped in from beside you. From the corner of your eye, you saw Hobi look at you and frown. He then quickly looked at Tae, but your brother just shrugged. Hobi was always so protective, just like a brother would’ve been.

“H-how do you even know about that?” You stuttered, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear in embarrassment. Yeah, you kissed Yoongi, but you just assumed that he was not much of a gossip and wouldn’t have told anyone. You were clearly wrong.

“Your guy told us. He also may have revealed that he was nervous about you meeting Jade,” Jimin slyly admitted, putting his arm around your shoulders.

“Because she’s his ex, and he still hangs around with her?” Everyone, including your brother were surprised that you didn’t have a bigger reaction than that one. Your eyes wandered to the stage, only to find it still lifeless and unlit.

With a sigh, you listened as Jungkook continued, “Yeah…how do you know that?”

“Jade and I have been texting a little bit here and there. She initiates the conversations, but I can’t not answer her.”

“Speaking of the devil,” Jimin announced with a huge smile. “Jade is walking this way.”

“Sorry, but who exactly is Jade?” Hobi asked, completely unaware that she was coming up right behind him. You were completely astonished at how pretty she was. You wondered how it was physically possible to be born that way.

“I’m Jade,” she whispered in his ear, causing him to jump and fall off his chair. While he was seated on the ground, she smiled at him and politely took a seat in the chair that he was occupying. Turning to me, she beamed. “You must be Y/N! Yoongi has to me so much about you!”

You couldn’t say the same.

“Hi,” you replied, not being able to take your eyes off her hair. It was literally curled to perfection.

Once Hobi finally got up at the floor, you could see him shifting his eyes from you to her, wondering what exactly was going on.

“I’m Hoseok,” Hobi introduced himself with a bow.

Jade graciously took his greeting and then commented, “Oh, so you’re Hoseok…”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He started, but all of the lights suddenly went out and everyone’s head turned to the stage.

You instantly stood up and walked closer, nursing your drink on an open potion of the floor. A few more people joined the space, filling it quickly. Jimin and Hoseok came and stood on either side of you while the other stayed back and kept the table.

Yoongi slowly walked onto the stage and took the microphone that was waiting nicely in the stand. Absentmindedly, you wondered what Yoongi and Jade had been talking about backstage. You were in such a daze that you completely forgot to ask.

He was wearing a cap and a mask under his chin for hiding his identity. It was a special request to keep the lights down to avoid anyone seeing his face through the shadows. It didn’t matter to you any way that he came. To top it all off, he was sporting ripped jeans and a jacket —typical. Did he even own anything else?

The performance was similar to the last one, except that there were a few new songs. After the first few songs, you again confirmed that the man was meant for music. Agust D’s performance was truly hype. He got the crowd into it and talked about so many difficult things like depression and social anxiety.

You realize then that you are definitely in love with Yoongi. How could you not have been? Maybe you’d even been in love with him for a while, you weren’t too sure. You’d been talking for months, and he was the only person you’d thought about in weeks. He captured your full attention, even when you weren’t with him.

His passion was a large factor of that love as well. When the beat for “Agust D” rolled in, you can’t look away, you’re entranced. The people you’re with all noticed this. It wasn’t long into the song that Yoongi’s eyes found yours. You were surprised that he found you with all the people in there. You were hidden behind a couple really tall guys and their girlfriends, and when he focused in your direction, they were quite excited.

It wasn’t until they realized that he was not looking at them but at you. It was the fastest part of the song, and he just kept looking at you and walking closer to the end of the stage and towards you. The people in front of you parted slightly to give him a better view of you. Your cheeks reddened at the intensity of his rapping. Just thinking about how fast he could move his tongue made you think back to the kiss. You wanted his tongue against yours again.

When you realized that you definitely should not have been thinking about that right now, you brought your hands to your cheeks and covered them with your hands. You felt a pair of hands on your back push you forwards slightly, but you wouldn’t budge. It was Hobi, and you didn’t notice that after he nudged you, he backed away, clearly distancing himself mentally and physically from you.

This moment was yours and Yoongi’s. It felt like there was nobody else in the room, but also felt so intimate that you were sad that there were many people all around.

His gaze never leaves your face for the rest of the performance. It’s his closing song before the second artist came on, so when the song finished, he was breathing hard and clearly sweating. His eyes were still on you as he pulled up his mask, trying to hide his identity from the prying eyes.

The bouncers were very strict on not having flash photography either —they would hunt you down. It was basically an unwritten agreement that when people came, they would just not post videos and keep the performance to them.

“What?” You asked, finally being able to breathe again. You hadn’t noticed, but your breath became uneven and hard when Yoongi was performing for you.

“He totally just had rap sex with you.” Jimin’s voice was even and sure when he looked at you.

What the hell was rap sex?

Yoongi was still staring at you

Rolling his eyes because he could clearly tell that you didn’t know what he was talking about, he continued, “I shouldn’t need to explain this, Y/N…In fact, I’ll just let you figure it out on your own.” You didn’t need to know what Jimin was talking about. All you knew for sure was that just the words sex and Yoongi in the same sentence made you flustered. They were making you flustered and hot.

Yoongi bowed, thanking the crowd one more time before exiting the stage. You weren’t sure what you were going to say to him now, but you knew that you needed to reign in your emotions and get yourself together or else only gibberish would come out of your mouth.

Making your way back to the table, you were still flushed and had to get yourself together. People were sure to comment on your state. Plus, if you wanted to hold your own in front of Yoongi, you couldn’t be looking like you were. So there you were, standing awkwardly around the table, waiting.

It seemed like hours until he made his way to your table. You hadn’t participated in any conversations with your friends, opting simply to nurse another drink and wait for Yoongi. You had no idea what you were going to say to him or how you were even going to react when he finally said a word to you.

He greeted all your friends and Jade before going to stand between you and Jimin.

“Hey,” he said, taking quick sip of your drink. You looked at him like he’d grown two heads. This guy hadn’t spoken to you in ages, and there he was, acting as if you were together, or at least that you had been talking.

Biting your lip, you answered, “I enjoyed your set.”

When the tension between you two was able to be cut with a knife, Jimin nudged you into Yoongi’s arms. Instead of being bashful about it, your brain allowed to to simply put your arms around his waist and embrace the contact.

He didn’t hesitate to hug you back before moving his mask under his chin and whispering, “I’m really happy that you came.” Quickly putting his mask back on, you didn’t realize that you’d be so affected by everything that he said and did.

Yoongi’s breath on your ear tickled and sent shivers through your body. His sweat smelled sweet, and you only want to run your fingers through his damp hair. There were many other people around, so obviously that would have to be saved for another time.

******

Hoseok and Jade were sitting on the other side of the table, observing their two friends, relishing in the unrequited love of it all. They were happy for the two of you, they really were, but taking it from their perspective. It would fucking suck.

“Ugh, I hate love,” Hoseok grumbled, pushing away from the table. Jungkook, Jimin and Tae had left, going to watch the second performer on stage, so it was only the four of them at the table.

Jade looked at him like she’d never seen him before. “Why do you hate love? I hate love.”

“I’ll get us some drinks and we can talk it out.”

When Hoseok made his way back with two bottle of soju in hand, he started, “I’ve been in love with Y/N since the moment I met her. She was 14 and I was 12. It was all too much for me, especially because her brother is my best friend. She’s liked him since she first met with him at the coffee shop. I’m sure of it.”

“Similar story, bro. Agust D and I have been best friends since birth and I’ve always had a crush on him. He’s been thirsting after her since he received her first message. JK and Chim didn’t help because they clearly think she’s hot.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they were in love with each other now.”

“Honestly same. Did you see that performance? I’ve seen him perform many times, and that was something else”

“…It really be like that sometimes.” It was a thought that they both shared; a thought that shaped the generation.

******

Neither you nor Yoongi realize what exactly was happening between Jade and Hobi when you asked, “Are you going to let me go at all?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.” But he loosened his grip and simply let his arms drape around your shoulders comfortably. You liked being there. You’d never been this close to him for such a long period of time.

Looking at him, you still couldn’t get Jimin’s comment from earlier out of your mind. So when Yoongi pulled back to walk towards his friends in the crowd, you stopped him by grabbing his arm. The action surprised him, and what you about to do was something that you’d never have done with anyone before you’d met him.

He looked at your concentrated face in question. There were people everywhere, but you didn’t care when you pulled his mask back down under his chin and asked, “Why haven’t you tried to kiss me since the first time? Why did you not talk to me about it? You seemed so sure that you wanted it to happen then, and now I’m just confused if you act-”

Yoongi grabbed your hand and started dragging you away from all the people and into a corner of the bar that you weren’t sure that you’d ever seen before. It was a deserted corner that looked like it was never visited. Actually, when you stopped talking, Yoongi wasted no time in connecting your lips once again. The kiss this time was urgent and hotter than it had been int he hallway of your place.

He tasted sober this time, still vaguely damp from his performance when you took off his cap and placed it lightly on your head. You ran your fingers through his hair like you wanted to earlier, and he took that opportunity to get you good. With a groan that literally turned your insides into mush, his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to his body.

Yoongi’s skin was soft under yours. With every movement of his lips, you realized that he wouldn’t want to talk about anything, so asking him about that rap was out of the question…for now. Soft movement paired with everything else that was Yoongi —his sweat, his smell, his taste— had you wanting more, needing more. After this, you knew that you’d never be able to be friends with the man. Being friends would simply be too painful. You’d never be able to see him again without wanting a kiss or a touch. It almost scared you how much your desire for him had increased in the days that you hadn’t spoken.

You gently pushed him back until he hit the wall, and absently, you found yourself grinding down onto one of his legs, straddling it. Your kisses became sloppier, open mouthed, and needy with every grinding movement into his leg. Whatever it was that you were doing, it felt good. No matter what it was, you knew that Yoongi was able to make you feel good.

You weren’t even sure that he was fine with what was happening until his hands gripped your waist and aided the movement, crouching lower to give you more access. You could even feel his quad muscles flex between your thighs. He pulled back, looking into your eyes, watching your facial expression as he helped you grind down. It felt better than good because it was infinitely better than touching yourself. Even though you were fully clothed, you’d get off in minutes if he kept it up.

Yoongi’s lower lip was taken between his teeth as he watched you more. His eyes did flicker behind you to see if someone was a coming or watching, but the coast must have been clear because his eyes then travelled down the length of your torso to where you were grinding against him.

Your breathing wasn’t even, trying to focus on the feeling, but you decided that this was neither the time, nor the place that you two should have been doing this. You didn’t want to have to clean yourself up in the bathroom, and you didn’t want Yoongi to have to deal with a boner in the middle of the bar (although you were sure that it was too late).

When he noticed your movements slowing down, his eyes went back to your face. “Let me take you home later,” he whispered, lips brushing yours and hands moving from your hips to feeling down your body and around your butt. He squeezed gently, pulling you closer to him.

The brushing of his lips on yours was enough to drive you crazy. There was no way that you would ever be able to deny this man what he wanted that night. “Mhm. All right.”

“Well, then let’s go join our friends for a little longer. I’ll buy you a drink, and then I’m taking you home. Don’t even think about not finishing what you started,” his tone was clear and low. He was definitely turned on and wanting.

His words excited you. A smile grew on your face, and then you suggested, “How about one dance, too?”

It took him a moment to answer. He didn’t seem like the type to want to dance in a bar, but you knew his answer was solely for you. “Fine.”

Hand in hand, you lead Yoongi away from the dark corner and back into the visible bar, unaware that there had been people that noticed.

• • • • • •

LET’S GET IT, FAM...in case you didn’t get it, they are having sex tonight. But I didn’t write it. I can write the smut if you want me to. I won’t say it’ll be the best, but I would try.

Hope you enjoyed ✊🏻🤓

[dcnativegal]

Day 9 of a National Emergency

Day 11 of a Pandemic

It’s Day 9 of a National Emergency, as declared by President #45. (On March 21, 2020)

There are many creative memes floating around the interwebs: this might be my favorite:

“Kinda feeling like the earth just sent us all to our rooms to think about what we’ve done.”

Valerie and I are in the house in Paisley, with Griffey the poodle and Moe the cat. We have fabric and yarn for making masks to protect people, including us, from the novel coronavirus known as Covid19, which popped out of the animal kingdom to the bipedal mammalian one known as humanity, in Wuhan China, in December of 2019. The deaths from covid19 in Italy have surpassed the ones in China where many more people were infected.

“A staggering 793 people died TODAY alone in Italy from the Coronavirus. That makes it the single deadliest day for any nation in the entire pandemic.” (Shaun King, Instagram.)

Although the medical system in Italy is sophisticated, the people and public health system were too slow. And the average age is higher than average? Iran is also devastated, while the USA screws down tighter with sanctions. The countries that have dealt with the virus while ‘flattening the curve’? South Korea, Singapore, and finally, China.

There are no positive tests in Lake County because there are no tests. There are a few people reporting the symptoms of sore throat, fever, shortness of breath, and fatigue. Valerie’s friend, who is also Valerie’s second husband’s eighth wife, but who’s counting, had a sore throat and just didn’t feel well, and went walking with Valerie and Griffey on the desert road by the Paisley airport, to my consternation. Valerie is 72, and is hale and hearty most of the time, but has this little flaw: an autoimmune disorder that kicks her butt, or rather the myelin sheath of her nerves, following any immune battle. I wasn’t around to forbid it, so all I can do is point out that Valerie is at higher risk than the average 60+ year old.

I might be, too, given my general lack of aerobic fitness and, um, insulin dependent diabetes. Also, sleep apnea and hypertension.

The person I worry most about is Toni’s husband, Al, who has been smoking cigarettes for 50+ years and uses oxygen now. He had just resurrected community theater in Paisley and we were rehearsing when the ‘social distancing’ directive from Governor Brown came down. I am to play Cora, a busy body and gossip in a small New England town, foil to the proper but also gossiping member of the welcome committee, Reba. And we both apparently dislike Willa Mae, played by Valerie.

The play will happen at some point. But I refuse to memorize my lines until I know when we start up rehearsals again.

Covid 19 would take out Al in a New York minute.

Schools are closed, restaurants are ‘take out only’. No one is traveling, with the exception of my sister’s youngest child, 19 year old Makoto, who flew east from Japan, to Los Angeles, to Philadelphia, cutting short his adventure as a student abroad. He became fluent in Japanese, and posted daily on Instagram. Now he’s in quarantine at his father’s home, just to be safe.

I have had moments in the past two weeks where I had trouble feeling at all safe or grounded. Join the club, Miss Lincoln. I sat in a meeting in a large circle of mostly women who all have an interest in helping ‘senior citizens’: the Aging Services Collaborative. And for me, there was a large elephant in the room that had my attention the entire time called ‘Coronavirus.’ It was Thursday, March 12. We were meeting in the Lakeview Senior Center, and the director got rather defensive when someone asked if she had shut down the lunch program. She said there’s be a serious backlash if she shut it ‘too soon.’  No such thing as too soon in the pandemic: by the next day, the senior lunch program was shuttered.

I was cranky and agitated in that meeting, and the younger women, new to the Collaborative, probably though I was a menopausal bitch. I wonder if they look back now, a week later, and think me prescient. Maybe a prescient menopausal bitch. At one point I said something to the effect of, we can choose to be South Korea or Italy. Let’s be like South Korea.

I also still get really wound up when the conservative Trumpian assholes in this county pipe up on Facebook about how the whole thing is a fraud, a hoax, a tactic to get to “Marshall Law.” Omigod. Like this guy:

Snowflake waving wildly here. If I could address this man directly, I would say the following:

Except we are not paying for it equally. Poor people always have a harder time.

Someone pointed out that, when this is all over, it will not be the CEOs and billionaires who saved us, but the nurses and janitors and grocery store clerks. Also, the truckers, the doctors and family nurse practitioners and physicians’ assistants.

I can’t retort to the delusion MAGA Lake county resident because we who work for Lake Health District are frequently scolded about posting anything in social media about Covid 19 because we ‘represent the hospital.’ Hmf, I’ve been muzzled. I try to read less of ‘Lakeview Announcements’ and more NYTimes. Still, I overhear bullshit at work. It’s not good for my blood pressure.

I am trying to figure out how to be useful at work, and I’m signed up to be a ‘greeter’ at the front entrance, and staff the ‘hotline’ which means I call folks who have symptoms to see how they’re doing, and wait for calls. The clinics are closed, the acute care is cleared out for the most part, the Operating Room where Hope works is ‘emergencies only.’ People drive up to a tent in front of the hospital and get their temperature taken. They’re asked, by a medical assistant who has a high school education and some extra training, whether they’ve been traveling, have a sore throat or any other symptoms. If they answer no to all and have no fever, they may be allowed to proceed to the emergency room, clinic, or to an appointment with the staff, like the head of corrections who came by on my greeter shift. He’s an enormous man, married to a pretty woman who holds at least 3 jobs in Lakeview including a part time Area Agency on Aging gig that’s directed by the Klamath group. Many non profit or governmental entities are based in Klamath and have a partial oversight in Lake County, the red-headed step child of Klamath County. This woman, and a south Asian man nicknamed “avatar’ by the BLM staff because they couldn’t remember “Arvinder”, and I were to start working on developing a “Village” volunteer effort in Lakeview. Then, the virus.

There are some volunteer activities spontaneously springing up in Lakeview; one facebook group is called Helping Hands of Lakeview. There are helpful things going on in Paisley through informal networks. I have one primary volunteer job: to pick up books at the Lakeview Library that sit in canvas bags labeled Paisley. And drop them off to Jan, who I think is the informal town mayor. She knows everyone, and everything, and reared her kids here.

I saw this on twitter: 

Most of the volunteer stuff seems to happen via Facebook, a group called Lakeview Announcements. That’s where a lot of political bickering also happens. Missing dogs. Reports of ‘tweakers’ thieving around. Well of course they’re stealing, when no one will hire them, when the US of A punishes what is actually an illness, not a crime. An illness born of childhood trauma. But I digress.

No more crochet/ knitting/ rug hooking at the cavernous Bowling Alley’s party room. No more church, either.

We watched the marvelous Presiding Bishop Curry preach on our computers last Sunday, and listened to gorgeous church music and sonorous prayers, online from the Washington National Cathedral, one of my favorite Episcopal places. We’ll see what’s streaming again tomorrow, Sunday morning.  

The knitting group is contemplating making face masks. So is Valerie. I’ve been looking at ‘the literature’ and there is one and only one study, in 2013, looking at the efficacy of homemade masks versus ‘respirators’ or ‘surgical masks.’ Of course, they are not as good but they are better than nothing. And corvid 19 seems to go straight for the throat. I’m thinking, those Safeway employees have been working really hard, and they are more at risk at the moment than health care workers at Lake Health District.

It’s a very strange time, full of opportunity for goodness and for greed. I’m glad my kids are safe, we are healthy so far, and I still receive a paycheck. We’ll see how this evolves.

"Nothing has prepared us for this moment. All we have is each other. Your safety is my safety. Protecting myself means protecting you, too. We are one race. Human race." - Jose Antonio Vargas

[babybluebanshee]

Seared With Scars - Chapter 7 (Mystery Nerds AU)

Previous Chapter

“When it comes to controlling human beings, there is no better instrument than lies. Because, you see, humans live by belief. And beliefs can be manipulated.”

- Michael Ende

---

Ivan knew it was almost time. 

He rose from his cot, standing to his full height, and stretched a little. No sense in being stiff and achy for what was soon going to happen. 

He looked again at the newspaper clipping, still clasped tightly in his fist, as if it were an extension of himself. He supposed, in a way, that’s what it was. It displayed what Ivan truly wanted and strived for, all the reasons he was still alive. True, those reasons could very well spell his death later on, but he’d had plenty of time to come to terms with that. 

But for now, all that mattered was the culmination of tonight’s endeavors with Stanford Pines.

The thought of Dr. Pines made his jaw clench involuntarily. Ivan wanted very badly to blame him as the cause of all this. After all, he was the one who summoned that triangular abomination into their world, offered up his hand and mind to forces he couldn’t hope to understand or control. Had a hand in everything Ivan holding dear inching ever closer to destruction. 

He wanted to hate Dr. Pines. It would have been so much easier.

He’d tried to force himself to, assailing him with a pipe and fists and kicks, trying to work his body up into a frothing rage, something that had never been hard for him when his plans were stymied by a foolish man who had almost ruined everything. 

He’d tried emotional manipulation, which had proven even more effective than attacking him bodily. He’d actually shocked himself a bit with how easy it was to watch devastation slowly inch into a man’s already-weakened frame, the desperate crumbling of his resolve play out on his face like a beautifully choreographed dance. 

It was the closest he’d come to truly hating Dr. Pines all night. The rush of satisfaction, the sick glee that came with knowing that he’d finally dealt a blow strong enough to chip away at the other man’s defenses, bring him low enough that he’d do anything Ivan asked. 

A part of him delighted in the suffering he’d foisted on another human being, and it almost completely eclipsed the part of him that should be horrified by that. 

But this unsettling sadism flared out quickly, no matter what he did. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to hate Dr. Pines. After all, if he hadn’t summoned that triangular monster, someone else would have. The demon was crafty that way, full of silver-tongued promises and flattery, and it took a strong will to resist him. 

It would have been so much easier to just hate Dr. Pines. But Ivan knew he couldn’t.

He couldn’t blame Dr. Pines entirely. He was a weak human, the same as all the others. He wasn’t the first idiot to be tricked by the demon. But, if tonight went well, he could be the last. 

Tonight would put an end to this distraction. No one - not Dr. Pines, not his brother, not Dr. Bergstrum, and certainly not Fiddleford McGucket - would stand in the way of him and his army any longer. He was going to end this, and then send that demon back to whatever hellish dimension he’d crawled out from. 

His hands were far too stained to even think about looking back now. 

The sound of rustling paper caught his attention, and he looked back down the clipping. It fluttering in his trembling hand. Ivan took a moment to breathe deeply, willing the tremors to cease.

Anger that a few stupid people could throw everything he’d worked so hard for in jeopardy.

Fear that all this would not be enough in the end.

Exhaustion, for he’d been at this fight for some time indeed.

And, worst of all, guilt. He felt guilty for so many things: the lying, the subterfuge, the torture - for, yes, he admitted to himself that what he’d done to Dr. Pines was torture, plain and simple. 

This hurricane of emotion roiled away in his stomach, making him feel sick. 

Oh, it would just be so much easier if he just hated Dr. Pines. 

He seemed to remember feeling this way many times before. 

Fortunately, he also knew how to make it stop.

The memory gun sat on the floor by his cot. He reached down and picked it up. He twisted the dial a few times, not even having to look at the screen to know that the words “PAIN” flickered on the screen in bright green letters. 

Ivan took one last glance at the newspaper clipping, one last glance at the sad young boy staring into the camera. For a brief moment, it felt as if the boy was staring directly at Ivan, beseechingly, brokenly. Ivan exhaled slowly, then tucked the clipping into his sleeve. 

Then he put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. 

And all that was left was the hate for Dr. Pines. It flowed through him, like an angry, flooded river, ready to swallow everything in its path. 

It came so easily.

He felt better. 

----

To the outsider observer, their little group looked utterly ridiculous, and Fiddleford knew it. 

There was Stan, who just fifteen minutes ago had given Fiddleford a brutally honest and insightful dressing down through a haze of cigarette smoke, covertly slipping a pair of highly illegal, suspiciously-stained brass knuckles into his pocket. 

There was Helen, a baseball bat Stan had given her slung over her shoulder as nonchalantly as if it were a trusted walking stick. Like they were all about to go on a Sunday drive, and not on a rescue mission.

There was Ed, still dressed in his Society robes, who’d politely turned down a crossbow when Stan offered it to him. “I’ve never even been target shooting,” he’d told them. “I wouldn’t even know how to hold that thing right.”

And then there was Fiddleford himself, with nothing more than a knapsack slung over his shoulder. True, the knapsack held a very important bargaining chip for him, but he kept that to himself for the time being. 

Yes, they were an odd assortment with a frankly deranged quest in mind. If he hadn’t lived through all the events leading up to this moment in time, he would have laughed. But he knew better. 

Ivan had to be stopped. The Society needed to be reigned in. Ford needed their help. And they were going to make sure that happened. 

Fiddleford began to open the door to the front seat, but Stan suddenly barked, “You’re in the back with Helen. Matthews is up here with me.”

Fiddleford arched an eyebrow, then looked back to Dr. Matthews. The older man was staring back in confusion, his hand hovering over the handle to open the door behind the passenger seat. Fiddleford saw that Helen had already slid into the seat behind Stan’s, her face stony and serious, gaze so firm on the headrest in front of her, it looked like she was trying to bore a hole in it. 

When Dr. Matthews turned his head to look at her, possibly expecting her to say something to Stan about how it wasn’t a big deal if he sat near her, things were fine, nothing was wrong, she didn’t meet his gaze. She didn’t utter a single word. She simply lowered her head a little and stared at her feet. 

With a sad sigh, Matthews took his hand away from the handle and walked to the front seat. Fiddleford stepped away to let him pass, then ducked back to slide into the backseat. As he did, he caught a glimpse of Stan’s face. Whereas Helen was regarding Matthews like she was trying to pretend he wasn’t there, Stan settled that steely, fiery gaze on the doctor, and didn’t stop watching him until he had ducked into the front seat and was safely buckled in. 

Fiddleford supposed that Stan’s distrust was understandable. Not only did Stan have a decade’s worth of experience with people it was incredibly foolish to trust, but there was also Helen to consider. As the car sputtered to life around them and eased forward, Fiddleford stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye. He had no idea what she and Stan had talked about after she’d retreated to the porch, but whatever it was had left her quiet and pensive. Even now, her gaze was focused outside, her chin resting on her hand. 

For the entire time it took them to gather their supplies and get out the door, Stan had been very unsubtly planting himself between Helen and Dr. Matthews. Every time the older man got too close to her for Stan’s liking, he’d shove himself up next to her, like a protective, bulky wall, until Matthews got the hint and moved away. Stan clearly blamed Matthews for causing Helen’s panic attack, and he seemed determined to keep Matthews at arm’s length from her. 

Fiddleford would have found it noble if Stan hadn't insisted on bringing her along. 

When he saw Stan handing her the bat before they left the house, he’d almost balked, demanded to know why Stan thought it was a good idea to hand a person who’d just thrown up in the sink and nearly hyperventilated a weapon and invite her along on a potentially dangerous mission. 

Then he’d caught a look at Helen’s face - mouth set in a determined line, shoulders squared, fist clenched tight enough around the grip of the bat to make her knuckles turn white. She was a woman with a mission.

Still, he’d tried to open his mouth to say something, anything. After all, he didn’t want her to be hurt anymore than Stan did, and unlike Stan, he knew that an exhausted and vulnerable person tended to be the one who was hurt the most in situations like these. 

It was like she’d read his mind. As soon as his mouth was open and a breath of speech had escaped him, Helen’s head snapped in his direction, and Fiddleford had actually taken a step back. Her eyes were full of an angry fire, hot and intense, ready to burn down anything that stood in her way, him included. 

He’d quickly snapped his mouth shut, but nothing about Helen being here sat right with him. She should be resting. Even the bat currently resting against her leg didn’t do much to assuage his concerns. 

A bump in the road jostled Fiddleford from his thoughts, and he realized that they had left the uneven dirt road of the woods, and onto the paved streets of town. The only light around them was the dusty yellow of the streetlamps. The only sound was the vague road noise around them. Fiddleford looked at the clock set in Stan’s dash. It was five minute to two. 

“Take a left at the next stop sign, then keep going straight until you hit Huckabone Street,” Matthews said suddenly, voice tight and quiet, slicing through the silence like an arrow shot by a quivering hand. As they passed under one of the streetlamps, Fiddleford saw his Adam’s apple bob in a nervous gulp.

“You’re not even going to tell us where we’re going?” Helen asked. Fiddleford looked over at her, surprised not only that she’d finally spoken, but at the sheer amount of venom behind the words. 

“I figured it would be easier if I just gave directions to the man who’s only lived here for a couple of months,” Matthews replied. There was an odd playfulness in his tone, like he was trying to joke with Helen, ignore the tension between them and just get back to the professional friendship they’d had as colleagues. 

From Helen’s face, Fiddleford suspected the effort was in vain. She just let out a derisive sigh through her nose.

Matthews turned quickly in his seat, the leather groaning beneath him. Fiddleford felt Helen start beside him. Stan’s hand tightened on the steering wheel as his shoulders tensed up, ready to fight. 

“Helen, look,” Matthews said, pleadingly, “I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to say it enough.” His eyes were watery and slightly puffy in the weak light. “I’ll never be able to fully fix what I’ve done. I thought I was doing the right thing-”

“You never bothered to see if that’s what I wanted,” Helen replied, more quietly, but still with rage bubbling just below the surface.

“I know that,” Matthews replied. “I thought the Society...at the time, I thought they could help you. Before tonight, I thought that it would do you good. It was so hard, watching you suffer and knowing there was nothing I could do…” 

Matthews trailed off, his eyes once again gaining that distant sadness, like he was one million miles away from them in the blink of an eye. After a moment, he gave his head a hard shake, and continued, “If I had known this was what Ivan was planning, I never would have given him that key. What you and your friends have been through is my fault, and I’m going to do as much as I can to make it up to you.”

Helen didn’t answer him right away, but she did finally turn to meet his gaze. Stony silence hung oppressively between them.

Helen’s face was totally unreadable. She seemed to be studying Matthews, searching his face. For what, Fiddleford couldn’t rightly say. 

Whatever it was, she seemed to find it. A small smile tugged at her lips, and she finally said, “Damn right you are, Edward Matthews.”

Matthews’ shoulders slumped as he returned the smile.

“You can start,” Helen continued, “by taking my shift on Tuesday. I’m gonna need an extended vacation after all this is over.”

“You say that like I’m not gonna take Tuesday off to recuperate from all this,” Matthews joked back.

“This is a bad week to be Simon,” Helen said, shaking her head.

“Simon?” Fiddleford asked before he could stop himself. Helen and Matthews turned their gazes on him almost like they’d forgotten he was there.

“Simon McBride. He’s the other doctor at the hospital. He’s in Miami for the weekend, at his parents’ condo,” Helen replied. Her brow furrowed in thought before she mumbled, “He’s gonna be so confused when he gets back.”

Matthews chuckled a bit, and even Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile a little. It was nice to see Helen be able to talk like this again to someone she obviously had a great deal of respect for, and who obviously cared about her a lot. 

Then his gaze moved up to Stan in the driver’s seat. His grip on the steering wheel had not lessened. The tension had not left his shoulders. His jaw was still set rigidly. Fiddleford wished he could tell what he was thinking. Seeing him looking so on edge made him anxious, and that was not something he needed to deal with, given what they were going to try and do.

Stan finally spoke up and said, “Alright, Doc, we’re coming up on Huckabone. Now what?”

Matthews turned from Helen to look out the windshield, then said, “Kill your headlights and pull up along the curb. We’ll have to walk the last block.”

Stan gave him an incredulous look as he said, “Pardon me?”

“Ed, all that’s down here is the history museum,” Helen said. 

The words “history museum” hit Fiddleford like a brick to his face. His nose was suddenly filled with the scent of dust and mildew. Chanting flooded his ears, drowning out whatever the others were saying. And before his eyes…

His footsteps echoed across the cold stone floor, as he drew closer to the trembling young man. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. He reached out a hand, and laced it through ashen fingers. They fluttered against his grip like a baby bird. “I promise, it won’t hurt. It’ll be over before you know it.”

The young man looked up at him, his filmy red right eye focused intently on the bulb of the gun pressed to his forehead. After a moment, the young man gulped and said, “I trust you, sir.”

Fiddleford inhaled sharply as the memory ended and he was flung back into reality. Stan had parked the car, away from any street lamps or overhead lights from stores. The dark and the quiet smothered him like a down quilt drawn tight around his face. 

His small gasp for air had drawn the attention of the others, and they watched him cautiously as he took a few deep breaths. His lungs ached, like he’d been underwater and holding in air for hours. 

“You okay, Fidds?” Stan asked. He’d unbuckled his seatbelt to twist in his seat, arm slung around the headrest. Fiddleford noticed that, now that he was focused on him, the tension was totally gone from Stan’s body. 

Fiddelford merely nodded, taking another deep breath before he began to speak. “Matthews is right,” he finally said. “I remember the history museum. It’s our base.”

“How do you hide a memory-wiping cult in a public museum?” Helen asked.

“The best way to hide something,” Fiddelford responded, “is camouflage.” 

Stan and Helen glanced at each other quizzically.

“There’s a false wall in the building,” Fiddleford explained. “Ivan found it, and thought it’d be the perfect place to conduct the Society - perform the ritual, store the memories, that sort of thing.”

“Wow, who could have foreseen that a shady group that wiped people’s memories run by a guy who insisted they do it in secrecy in a musty basement would ever turn into something sinister,” Stan said flatly. 

Fiddleford shot him a withering glance before saying, “At the time, I agreed with him simply because I was running out of places to put the memories. At least down there, we had storage. But as time went on and more and more people asked to join us, we decided to hold the meetings there too.”

“It was good to protect our privacy,” Matthews added. “Some of the members preferred to hide behind the hoods and the anonymity. Not many people want to give up their secrets lightly.”

“Yep, not in the slightest bit creepy,” Stan muttered again.

“Do you have a point, by chance?” Fiddleford asked, .

“Two, actually,” Stan replied. “First, if you really looked at all this weirdness and didn’t think it was the most unsettling shit ever, you have even less foresight than I thought.”

“Noted,” Fiddleford grumbled back. “Anything else?”

“Second, because this is the most unsettling shit I’ve ever come across, and because these people have already proven themselves to be desperate and dangerous, I’m starting to think just busting Ford out isn’t going to be enough.”

“What do you mean?” Matthews asked. 

“He means,” Helen said, nodding her head in the direction of her baseball bat, “that these will help us get Ford out, but we need a guarantee that they won’t retaliate.”

Fiddleford decided it was time to reveal his ace in the hole. “I might have a way of doing that,” he said, flipping open his knapsack to reveal the memory gun.  

Helen, Stan, and Matthews looked down at it like he’d just revealed a loaded pistol to them. 

“I brought it with me in case Ivan proved to be troublesome,” Fiddleford continued. “But Stan and Helen have a point - desperate people will do crazy things. I hope it won’t come to that, but if things get out of hand...I will use the memory gun on my followers.”

Matthews’ face fell in devastation. “Sir, are you...are you really prepared to do that?” he asked quietly. “To bring yourself down to Ivan’s level like that?”

The question hurt, but not for the reason that Matthews probably thought it did. The thing about it was, Fiddleford wasn’t bringing himself down to Ivan’s level with what he had planned. 

Ivan had already lowered himself to Fiddleford’s level. 

What Ivan had perverted the Society into was never what Fiddleford had intended, but his intentions no longer mattered. Fiddleford wasn’t sure if they ever did. After all, what had his intentions been? To keep people ignorant? To give them a place to hide away from their fear, to forever be victim to it? 

What, in the end, had the group ever succeeded in doing, under his direction? If tonight was anything to go by, it had only succeeded in creating people who were so afraid of what they didn’t understand, that they didn’t just want to forget it anymore. They wanted to destroy it. 

As selfish as Ivan’s motives were, all he’d really done was take the core tenants of the Society to their logical extremes. If he hadn’t done that, someone else would have. Fiddleford had provided all the groundwork needed for the Society to be turned into something dark and dangerous. All it had required was the right demagogue to complete the transformation. 

Fiddleford brought his eyes up to meet Matthews’, and said, “There’s this philosphy I learned about in college called the paradox of tolerance. It basically means that, if tolerance doesn’t have its limits, it’s eventually seized and destroyed by the intolerant. So the only way to make sure that doesn’t happen, is by being intolerant of intolerance.”

He looked down at the gun in his lap. Even in the thick blanket of darkness, it glistened like a living thing. Even though he had boasted upon this device’s creation that it was lightweight and sleek, easy to hide in the sleeve of a robe with no trouble, it felt thirty pounds heavier now. It was a testament to all he’d done, everything he’d caused, and to all that he was determined to make right. 

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep Ivan from hurting anyone else,” he said firmly. “And I will break my own rules to do it.”

He looked into the faces of the three people surrounding him. Matthews’ face was still raw with emotion, like his entire world was crashing down around him. 

Helen’s face was unreadable as she studied Fiddleford’s face intently. He fought hard to keep from squirming under that intense gaze. 

Stan, however, gave Fiddleford a small smile. It brought a warmth to Fiddleford’s chest that only strengthened his resolve. He hoped Stan realized how much he’d done to finally make Fiddleford see the truth about what needed to be done. 

“Alright,” he finally said, his words strong and firm in the dark, quiet car. “Let’s go.”

The others nodded, and slowly began to get out of the car. Fiddleford closed the knapsack, clutched it tightly to his side, and flung open his door into the cold, damp February night.

---

Darryl’s knife glinted in the weak light as it sliced through the last set of ropes, around Ford’s right wrist. He flexed his left hand a bit, forcing blood to start pulsing through it again, ignoring the raw skin where the ropes had bitten into his skin and left angry red marks. 

He could worry about the pain later. He focused, picturing a large foot squashing down the pain bubbling up inside him, squashing it down until it was nothing more than a dull blip on his brain’s radar.

Finally, the ropes gave with a satisfying snap. Darryl tucked his knife back into his boot. He began throwing the ropes off and said, “Do you think you can walk?”

Ford didn’t respond, just waited until the ropes had landed on the floor with a dull thud, then grabbed the arms of the chair with his shaking hands. With  all the power in his quivering arms, forced himself to stand.

He barely had a moment to realize that that had been a huge mistake, swaying dangerously as soon as his hands left the support of the chair. Darryl dove to catch him, wrapping two strong arms protectively around his chest to keep him from falling. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Ford muttered, despite the shrieking warnings from the back of his brain saying no, he was not okay, he couldn’t do this. His vision swam for a moment. His head feeling like it was going to explode. The shaky breath he drew felt like a hot knife being driven into his side. 

He shoved it all back into the dark corners of his thoughts where they belonged. 

“Here,” Darryl said gently, guiding Ford’s right arm around his shoulders. Using his free hand, he put a firm hand on Ford’s left side, just below his ribs to avoid hitting any broken ones. “Just lean on me, Dr. Pines,” he said. He gave Ford’s right hand an encouraging squeeze.

“Please, after all that’s happened, call me Ford,” Ford replied, smiling a bit despite himself. 

“I’ll call you ‘Long, Tall Sally’, if you want,” Darryl replied. “But I’ll do it once we get out of here.” He chewed his lower lip for a moment, then added, “This is gonna hurt, I won’t lie. I’ll try to go slow, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“I’ll be okay,” Ford lied. Even just standing here made him ache in ways he didn’t even think possible. But he wasn’t going to let Darryl know that. He simply gritted his teeth and concentrated on that mental image of a foot stamping down. 

Darryl gave a crisp nod and said, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Darryl began moving them towards the door, and instantly, Ford felt a shot of pain up his side. He clenched his teeth harder, balling his free hand into a fist by his side, willing the pain to fade, or at least lessen. After about thirty seconds, it did, though not by much. As Darryl reached the door to Ford’s prison, his side still throbbed dully. He ignored it as Darryl eased the door open. It gave one soft creak, but did no more to give away their position. 

Fluidly, like a cat, Darryl ducked them both out of the room. Despite everything, Ford took the opportunity to look around, and was frankly amazed at what he saw. 

Before them was a short, stone hallway. It was like something out of a medieval castle, lit by torches and lined with tapestries, all in brilliant red with a crossed out eye stitched into them. A few other doors were scattered about. Occasionally, the hallway dipped into an alcove, where stone statues of hooded figures with their arms lovingly outstretched stood, silent and imposing. 

How had Fiddleford managed to do all this in the span of a few months?

Pain suddenly exploded in Ford’s side, nearly making him lose his footing and take Darryl down with him. He could practically feel the broken bones somewhere inside him shifting and stabbing at him, tearing soft tissue and threatening to make him bleed. For a brief moment, he was crippled by the imagine of one of his ribs slicing through his lung, and choking slowly on his own blood. 

Goddamit, Sixer, stop being so morbid and focus!

The voice echoed from a small, forgotten place in Ford’s mind. In his panicked state, his first thought was that this was Bill, mocking him from his mindscape, but then the voice barked out again. You ain’t dying yet, Sixer. Now get moving!

This wasn’t Bill. It couldn’t be. It was gruffer, but kinder. Encouraging, supportive, and certainly not putting up with his melodramatic bullshit. 

Stan. 

That voice could only be Stan’s.

As his senses flooded back to him, Ford slapped his hand over his mouth and pressed hard. The shrieks of agony that wanted to erupt from within him came out now as mere strained grunts. He screwed his eyes shut against the pain. He ground his teeth together to have something, anything else to focus on. He begged whatever deity was watching all this that the pain would pass. 

It will, Sixer, Stan’s voice said. I promise it will. 

Finally, after several agonizing seconds, it did.

Ford took his trembling hand away from his mouth, and only then realized that Darryl had stopped moving and was watching him. He shifted his gaze over to him, and watched Darryl mouth, “Okay?”

Ford nodded, taking in heavy, quick breaths. He still shook, though now it was less from the pain and more from the unrelenting terror of knowing that, no matter what they did, there was always more pain to come. Ford allowed himself only a moment of hopelessness, unsure if he would be able to make it. He’d never known such pain in his life. There was no direction his body could shift where more wasn’t waiting for him. The hallway might as well have been an endless, dark cave, with nothing but a sheer drop waiting for them at the end. 

But then he felt that encouraging squeeze from Darryl again, and the black stain was gone. He looked over, and saw that Darryl had set his lips in a determined line. Strangely enough, Ford was once again reminded of his father, and the only concrete memory he had of his father talking about his time during the war. 

Whenever he and Stan had come home from school with blackened eyes and bloodied noses and ripped clothes and broken glasses, Stan almost always seemed to have it worse than Ford. His shiner was always worse. His nose always gushed harder. He’d once come home with an entire sleeve of his shirt missing. But one could tell by looking at his busted-up knuckles that, while Stan had gotten the brunt of things, he gave as good as he got. 

One day, their mother, her voice harried and exhausted had sat Stan down and asked why. Why did he always get the brunt of this. Why did he act like a common street thug whenever these boys did this?

Stan didn’t looked her in the eye, but he said, “‘Cause they’d just beat up Ford worse if I didn’t.”

And before their mother could even open her mouth to respond, their father had said, “You don’t leave a man behind, Caryn. Leave him be.”

Dad hadn’t even been upset about having to buy Ford another pair of glasses after that. 

It was obvious that Darryl subscribed to that same dogma. Even when it’s hopeless, you don’t leave a man behind. 

As they worked their way further down the hall, Ford realized that they were heading towards a curtain, hung in an archway ahead of them. It was a dark red, the color of blood. He tried not to think too hard about that as he forced himself to keep taking step after step. 

The sound of footsteps echoed around them. Ford realized quickly that they were coming from the direction of the curtain. Someone was coming.

Darryl stopped moving, his eyes darting like a trapped animal, looking for a place to hide. He turned his head towards a statute slightly behind them on the right. He tugged Ford back towards it and stooped down to fit them both behind it. The fit was tight, and Ford fought not to give a gasp of pain as a rib stabbed maliciously inside him, but at least it was dark and well out of the line of sight of anyone coming down the hall. 

Not that that helped still the wild pounding of his heart. This close, Ford could feel that Darryl’s heartbeat was very much the same. 

The footsteps drew closer, and Ford began to hear voices along with them.

“...just be grateful when this whole thing is over with,” said a gruff, masculine voice. “Having that six-fingered weirdo here gives me the creeps.”

To Ford’s shock, the voice of an older woman answered the man. “At least no one is looking at you like you’re some kind of failure.” He heard her give a frustrated huff. “Still can’t believe that little bitch did this to my face.”

“It’ll heal, Louise.”

Louise? Wait, the grandmotherly secretary from the hospital? That Louise?

“How the hell am I supposed to explain it to my husband, huh? Between Helen and that oaf who was with her, I look like I’ve been in a bar fight.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. You are a pretty dern good liar after all.”

Louise let out a small giggle. He’d never have believed that something so small, dainty, and innocent-sounding could ever send an unsettled chill down his spine. 

“You’d make a girl blush, Leroy Muggins,” she said, as casually as if they were exchanging pleasant small talk.

Leroy Muggins? As in Sheriff Leroy Muggins? The sheriff was in on this?

“‘Sides,” Muggins continued, “at least you got a few good hits in on the grimy one. When I saw him at Helen’s, he looked pretty rough.”

“Serves him right for hitting a lady. I should have given Helen a few good ones too. Never did like that uppity little tramp much…”

“Well, don’t you fret too much, alright? If everything goes the way Ivan wants tonight, you’ll get plenty of chances to pay them back…”

The voices faded as the two figures walked on, and Ford heard a door close. They must have gone into a different room. 

Ford and Darryl stood there for another full minute before either moved a muscle. 

This wasn’t just a group of frightened townsfolk anymore. The Society was out for blood, and their reach was deep enough that the medical community and law enforcement were involved. 

When Darryl finally seemed to snap back to life, he turned his head and looked Ford directly in the eye. The message in them was clear, for it was the exact same thing that was now screaming in Ford’s brain.

They needed to move faster. 

Slowly, Darryl edged them back out into the hall from behind the statue, and eventually reached the curtain at the end of the hall. Darryl lifted it back, less than an inch, checking the room that lay beyond. He let it drop back, then gave Ford’s hand another reassuring squeeze. It must have been all clear on the other side. 

In one fluid motion, Darryl parted the curtain and walked them through. They were now in some kind of open, circular chamber. In the middle of the room was a chair, with straps on the arms. Less than a foot away from it was a pedastal, upon which sat an orante box. The bulb of a memory gun, the large one that Ford had seen Ivan weilding earlier, glinted in the weak light. 

The sight of it made Ford shudder, and he forced himself to look away, pushing down the roiling nausea that flared up in the pit of his stomach. 

“Almost there,” Darryl said in a low whisper. He was taking Ford in the direction of another curtain, at the foot of a small set of stairs, set between two stone pillars. 

 A sense of inexplicable relief washed over him. He didn’t know how much farther they had to go, but knowing that beyond those curtains was “almost there”, out of this living nightmare he’d spent the last several hours in, away from the pain and the torture, was enough to dull every aching part of him for a moment. 

Then the curtain began to rustle. 

He felt Darryl’s body tense up against him in fear. Darryl whipped his head around sharply, doubtlessly looking for another place to hide. 

There was none. 

Ford’s heart began to beat wildly against his broken ribs. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. There was no way they could have come this far only for it all to amount to nothing.

The curtain parted, and Darryl took a tentative step back, clutching Ford tighter to him that ever before.

And through the curtain stepped Stan, looking around at the bizarre scene in front of him. Helen followed shortly after, looking just as confused. She was carrying a baseball bat.

Ford didn’t think before he let out a raspy, “Guys?”

Stan’s head whipped in their direction, and the confusion gave way to pure shock, like he was looking at a very familiar ghost.

“Ford?” he said quietly.

“Yeah…” Ford ground out in response.

“Holy shit, Ford!” Before Ford could say anything else, his brother was upon him, pulling him close to him in a tight hug. 

Ford’s eyes welled up instantly. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been needing this, the strong, loving support of his twin. He thought back to that morning, now seeming like a lifetime ago - Stan’s hand on his back to soothe away his anxiety, his gravelly voice offering soothing platitudes and nonsense to ease his guilt, his warm smile making him feel like everything would be okay. 

He’d been genuinely afraid that he’d never get to experience any of that again. He buried his face against into the crook of his brother’s neck and let out a strangled sob.

“Hey, Sixer, hey, it’s okay,” Stan said. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Ford wanted to say something, but Stan shifted his arm, and suddenly his broken ribs were stabbing at him again. Ford pulled his head out of Stan’s shoulder and gave a weak cry of pain. He managed to say, “Stan…” in a strained whisper before it was swallowed up in a desperate gasp for air. 

Stan pulled his arm away immediately and began babbling, “Oh god, Ford, I’m so sorry. You’re gonna be okay, alright? We’re gonna get you outta here. You’ll be okay, pal, you’ll be okay.”

“Oh my god, Ford, what did they do to you?” Helen’s worried voice reached him, and Ford managed to pull his head back up enough to see her practically running to close the distance between her and the brothers. Behind her was Fiddleford and Dr. Matthews, from the hospital. Ford didn’t have time to ask what he was doing there before Stan stepped off to Ford’s unsupported side to let Helen in closer to him.

“How the hell did you guys get here?” Darryl asked incredulously. 

Helen and Stan seemed to realize in that moment that Darryl was there, and turned to take him in - his mouth hanging agape, his eyes wide. 

“Darryl? The fuck are you doing here?” Stan asked, his voice practically climbing an octave in shock.

“You know what,” Helen finally said, sounding so very tired, “I’m not even surprised.”

A brief look of sheepishness flashed across Darryl’s face. He composed himself quickly, though, and said, “He’s in pretty bad shape, Doc. We need to get him out of here.”

“What’s the damage?” Helen asked, clearly trying to keep her gaze analytical and objective, to force herself into doctor mode. But Ford could see the concern in her eyes, that maternal warmth that had let Ford know, from the moment he met her, that she was someone he could trust. It was clear she wanted to embrace him just as much and as hard as Stan did. Instead, she merely reached out a hand and stroked it quickly, but lovingly, through his hair. She winced a bit when her finger got caught slightly where it was matted with blood.

Ford leaned into her touch, not even caring how silly it made him look. He was past that. 

“Blow to the back of the head, broken ribs. ” Darryl replied. “He’s been having trouble breathing, so I’m thinking one of them is getting close to his lungs. We need to get him to the hospital before we got a real mess on our hands.”

Helen nodded, her eyes watery behind her glasses. “Let’s get you out of here,” she said, voice strained. 

“I’ll help Darryl support him, Stan,” said Dr. Matthews, coming up to Stan’s side. “We need you at the front.”

Stan didn’t move, and gave Matthews a look that could have frozen molten steel. Ford felt his brother’s grip around his waist tightened protectively.

“Stan, he’s right,” Helen said. “You’re the semi-professional boxer. If we run into any trouble, we’ll need you to do what you do best.”

That finally seemed to get Stan to relent, and he gently helped Doctor Matthews arch Ford’s arm over his shoulders. Ford noticed that, throughout the entire maneuver, Stan never took his steely gaze off Matthews, even for an instant. They began to move toward the steps.

“Let’s hurry and get back up into the museum,” Fiddleford suddenly said from his position at the bottom of the stairs. He was pulling back the curtain, and frantically looking beyond them, clutching a knapsack close to his side. 

The museum? They were under the museum? Had Fiddleford been that close to him this entire time and Ford hadn’t even realized it? All he had to do was come into town and come to the museum, and he could have spared his friends this horrible night?

Fiddleford wouldn’t have been targeted by a mad cultist with a mysterious but dangerous agenda. 

Stan wouldn’t have a series of angry-looking stitches trailed down his temple.

Helen wouldn’t have had her very sense of peace and privacy violated.

Darryl wouldn’t having to risk his life for someone who’d caused him nothing but misery.

Once again, if he’d just been a better person, none of this would have happened. 

A wave of pain that had nothing to do with broken ribs crashed over him as his eyes welled up again.Before he had a chance to think about it, Ford murmured, “I’m so sorry, guys. Th-this is all my fault.”

“Shut up, Ford,” Stan said firmly. “Just shut up. You’ve got nothing to apologize for, you hear me?”

“He’s right,” Helen added gently, “This isn’t anyone’s fault but Ivan’s.”

“If it wasn’t for me, Ivan wouldn’t even be a problem,” Ford countered miserably. “This entire night, i-it’s my fault...I’m sorry…”

His eyes drifted shut as the tears trailed down. He was just so tired, not just physically, but mentally. He was tired of being the one who dragged everyone else through emotional hell because he was too much of a short-sighted ass to see beyond what he wanted, how he was feeling in that moment. Even when he tried to make things right, all he did was fuck it all up worse.

He heard footsteps approach him, soft and tentative, but determined. Then he felt two hands reach out and cup his face. A calloused hand gently wiped the two streaks of tears away. “Aw, hush,” Fiddleford’s kind voice said. 

When Ford opened his eyes, he didn’t know what he expected to find in Fiddleford’s expression - distrust, fear, maybe even anger. The way they’d left things at the start of all this, Ford really wouldn’t have been surprised by any of them. 

What he was greeted with instead was the soft, sweet smile of his dearest friend in the whole world.

That damn smile. It had always been like concentrated sunshine, something that always made Ford feel better when they were in school together, even at his most frustrated, his most lonely, his most afraid.

The effect hadn’t changed. 

“There’s no need for talk like that,” Fiddleford replied. Before Ford could say anything back, Fiddleford had moved his hands from Ford’s face, and wrapped his arms around his neck, in a small hug. “We both made mistakes,” he muttered into Ford’s shoulder. “At least you owned up to yours and tried to fix them. I hope, when we get you out of here, that you’ll let me do the same for you.” 

Ford couldn’t find it in himself to respond, so he just nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stan and Helen, watching the two. They both wore relieved smiles. 

After holding Ford for a another few seconds, Fiddleford pulled away, and said, “Back up we go.”

That seemed to spur the rest of the group on, and Helen and Stan started down the stairs, Fiddleford following shortly after. Darryl and Dr. Matthews began gently guiding Ford toward them. 

“Y’all never did answer my question,” Darryl said. “How the heck did you get here? I wasn’t exactly planning on running into any friendly faces.”

“You can thank Ed for that,” Helen replied. “Without him, we never would have gotten this far.”

A voice from the shadows suddenly boomed, “How fortunate for all of us, indeed.”

Everyone froze, only for an instant. Then in a dizzying flurry of red, almost a dozen hooded figures emerged from the shadows and descended upon them. 

One collided with Fiddleford’s back and slammed him into the ground. Stan and Helen were blindsided by two more figures and knocked the rest of the way down the stairs, landing in a tangled heap just inches from the curtain that lead to their freedom. Ford watched as they tried to kick and throw punches, but another pair of figures leapt into the fray and added more weight on them both. One even jerked the bat from Helen’s hands and tossed it away. It landed with a clatter on the stone floor, at least fifty yards away.

The support at Ford’s right was suddenly wrenched away, and Darryl only let out a shout of surprise as a robed figure wrapped an arm around his neck in a chokehold, and began wrestling him to the floor. 

Only Ford and Dr. Matthews were left standing, and he knew this old man wouldn’t stand a chance against feral cultists out for blood. He was just about to tell Matthews to run, to do something to protect himself, when suddenly he felt his left arm being wrenched backwards. He gasped as it popped in protest, pulled back further than he ever thought possible. The pain struck him like a bullet to the chest, and all he could do was let out a strangled gasp as he was forced to his knees. 

“Be a good boy and stay down, interloper,” he heard Matthews hiss at him, “or I’ll dislocate it right now.”

Through the pain, something clicked in Ford’s mind - the angry words, the voice that sounded minutes from snapping, the hands that gripped him like a vice. 

Dr. Matthews was the follower who’d been with him when he first woke up. 

Ford heard Helen yell, “Ed, what the hell are you doing?!”

Almost overlapping her, Ford heard Stan practically scream, “Matthews, get your goddamn hands off him, or I swear to God I’ll-”

The voice from the shadows rang out again. “Not to point out the obvious, but there’s not much you can do, Stanley.” 

Ford lifted his head, heavy and trembling on his shoulders, towards the source of the voice, and from the shadows emerged Blind Ivan, seamlessly as if he’d melted into reality from the inky blackness. On his face was a satisfied smile. Ford felt his heart fall to his shoes.

This had been Ivan’s plan all along. 

He’d used Matthews to lure Stan, Helen, and Fiddleford here. 

Matthews had been working against them from the beginning.

And now Ivan had all the pieces he needed.

The realization hadn’t seemed to dawn on Stan, and he spat, “You’re not gonna be looking so smug once I knock back your goons, cueball! When I get my hands on you, you’re gonna wish all I’ll do is kill you!”

Ivan didn’t respond. He just snapped his fingers. 

At the sound, Matthews reared back his foot, and brought it down sharply on the back of Ford’s knee. It gave with a sickening crunch, like a piece of rotted wood being split by an axe.

A roar of agony was ripped from Ford’s lungs, and he lost his balance completely. He hit the cold stone roughly on his side, and he let out another, tighter scream of pain as he landed squarely on a broken rib. Matthews brought his foot back down roughly on Ford’s back, applying just enough pressure to make Ford fearful to even breathe, for fear that Matthews would start grinding his heel into more of his broken bones.

Ford let his head fall limply to the floor, and looked to his friends. They all stared, in dumbstruck horror, between him and Matthews. 

There was nothing any of them could do to help him.

They’d lost.

“Now then,” Ivan said. “I believe it’s time we got down to business.”