#this is such a good side effect cause it's like... a mild inconvenience

[highlifeboat]

the terrible side effect of him getting hexed is it either takes off 2 inches of his height it makes him grow 2 inches, there's no in between

even better, the height change isn't stable so it changes every so often so one day he can't reach the top shelf and one day he face plants into the door threshold

Ooh, I LOVE the idea that it isn't stable, actually.

It can also go one of 2 ways

It can either be constantly taking 2 inches off/on his original height (so he's either always going to be 5'7" or 5'11", effectively he just has to get used to the fact he's sometimes going to have a random 4 inch difference in his height forever)

OR (an arguably more chaotic and funny route, that I prefer)

Every so often he loses/gain 2 inches to the height he's at currently. So if the hex has him put at 5'7" he can either lose 2 inches and go down to 5'5" or gain 2 inches and move up to 5'9". The only upside is there IS a cap for how tall/short he can get, and he never seems to leave the 5 foot range (so he can be anywhere from 5'1"-5'11")

And it can happen pretty much whenever, but the time between shifts is not consistent, so he could be stuck at 5'5 for a week, but then be 5'7 for like 2 days.

Dani and Sarah don't seem to mind the constant height changes, in fact Sarah kind of loves when he ends up being shorter/closer to their height.

[samwisethewitch]

Two Banishing Powders from a Southern Folk Witch

In Southern folk magic, the formula used for a banishing spell varies a little bit based on whether you want to banish an actual person (basically getting them to leave you alone) or a spirit/energy/abstract concept.

Banishing formulas for getting rid of living people tend to focus on causing irritation and discomfort to get someone to leave, which may be less effective if they don't have a physical body. Banishing formulas for spirits/energy are more about deep cleansing and making the space inhospitable for undesirable spirits. The herbs and minerals a practitioner might reach for are different in these two situations.

Below are two all-purpose banishing formulas from my practice: one for living people, and one for spirits.

GTFO Powder

For getting rid of unwanted (living) people.

You will need:

The spiciest red pepper flakes/powder you can find (If you like spicy food, use something so hot you can't eat it in large amounts. I like spice and I use Szechuan pepper flakes, but cayenne will work, especially if you know the person you want to banish doesn't like any spice at all in their food. Discomfort is the goal here.)

Black pepper (Used here to cause mild inconvenience/discomfort/bad luck)

Salt (Good, old fashioned banishing)

(Optional) dried, crumbled wasps nest*

(Optional) dirt from the side of a busy road or highway**

*This is actually much easier to find than you'd think, but be careful not to get stung! This is a traditional ingredient in Southern folk magic because wasps are known for how viciously they protect their homes. Fair warning: this is a mean ingredient (since its purpose is to cause pain/discomfort), so I'll leave it up to you whether to include it or not. If you're dealing with a stalking or abuse situation, wasps nest can give you the extra oomph you need to help keep the abuser from returning.

**Only include this if you're trying to make someone physically leave your space or relocate to a different geographical area. And PLEASE be careful collecting this dirt! My advice is to try to collect it during a less busy time of day and to stay several feet away from the actual road.

How to Use It:

When you mix up this powder, speak over it and state your intention. You can enchant this powder for all-purpose banishing, or you could mix up a batch to banish a specific person. Either way, it is important that you tell the powder what it is meant to do. I like to speak directly to the spirits in the powder and ask them for their help.

Traditionally, you would use this powder by sprinkling some in your target's shoes, but that isn't always possible. You can use it in poppet spells by adding it to the feet of the poppet for the same effect. You can also use it to dress candles, add it to jar spells, or incorporate it into other types of banishing spells. Warning: do not burn this powder, as it can cause irritation or injuries to the lungs.

If you need to get rid of a specific person, you'll want to customize the powder to only work on them. The easiest way to do this is with a taglock (an item that has a physical connection to the target). Some of their hair would be ideal, but you can also use a photo of them or even a piece of paper with their name and address written on it, like you were addressing a letter. You'll want to burn the taglock to ash, then mix this ash into the powder. Make sure you burn it outside, because the smoke will be unpleasant.

You can use this powder to keep someone away from your home or another building by sprinkling a line of it across all entrances to the building. If you do this, make sure you've customized the powder for that person with the method above -- otherwise you may accidentally banish ALL visitors.

Ghost-Be-Gone Powder

For getting rid of unwanted spirits or psychic energy. Can also be used to banish non-physical things, like an illness or a bad habit.

You will need:

Asafoetida*

Salt (Again, used here for good, old fashioned banishing)

Garlic (You know how garlic is supposed to repel vampires? That's basically what it's doing here.)

Rosemary (Used for cleansing and banishing)

(Optional) dirt from a church, temple, or other place of worship**

*Honestly, I've used asafoetida by itself for banishing and gotten really good results. This is definitely the Big Daddy of cleansing herbs in Southern folk magic. You can usually find this in international grocery stores or get it online for fairly cheap, and it's one of the few herbs I think are worth going out of your way to get. Warning: a lot of people complain about the smell of asafoetida, but it honestly just smells like a stronger, more pungent garlic to me so your mileage may vary.

**While dirt from a church is traditional, use something tied to a religion YOU believe in. If you aren't Christian, don't use church dirt. For myself, I might use dirt from the Wiccan temple near my home or from another pagan holy site. The point here is to call on your personal spiritual allies for help. If you are an atheist or agnostic, just leave the dirt out entirely.

How to Use It:

When you mix up this powder, speak over it and state your intention. You can enchant this powder for all-purpose banishing, or you could mix up a batch to banish a specific spirit. Either way, it is important that you tell the powder what it is meant to do. I like to speak directly to the spirits in the powder and ask them for their help.

To use this powder to remove a spirit from your home, use it to clean your floors. You can sprinkle it on the floor, let it sit for a few minutes, and then sweep or vacuum it up.

I don't recommend burning this powder as incense, but you can use it in spells. You can place a ring of it around the base of a black candle or add some to a jar spell, for example. You can also use this to cast a circle around your spellwork if you want to protect it from interference in the spiritual realm.

A Note on Cultural Appropriation

Every time I post some of the more folksy parts of my practice online, I get asked whether it's okay for others to use these spells. Specifically, people want to know if these spells come from a closed tradition or if they have to live in the South to use them.

The folk magic tradition I practice is not tied to any closed cultural practice. I will never post anything from a closed practice online. So yes, you can use these powders no matter who you are or where you are from. You don't have to live in the South or be from the South to practice Southern folk magic, but you will get more out of your practice if you have a connection to the region.

On a related note: some of y'all may have noticed that these powders are similar to formulas used in Hoodoo. The GTFO Powder specifically is very similar to Hotfoot Powder, which is used for a similar purpose in Hoodoo. Hoodoo is a semi-closed African-American tradition that is typically passed down in families or communities. When I post about my practice, I do occasionally get comments accusing me of appropriating from Hoodoo.

Here's the thing: my practice does have some overlap with Hoodoo, because I am in the same geographical region and part of the same regional culture that Hoodoo comes from. Over hundreds of years, ideas get exchanged across racial and cultural lines. Just like some elements of Hoodoo come from European traditions, some elements of white folk magic in the South come from African roots. It's not appropriation -- it's a natural result of living in multicultural communities.

All of this is just to say, what I do is not Hoodoo, but I think of my tradition and Hoodoo as cousins. There's some shared DNA, but also a lot of differences. How I do things might look similar to how a Hoodoo practitioner does them, but the theory or exact ritual process may be different.

[tokoyamisstuff]

drapetomania (n.) - an overwhelming urge to run away

Synopsis: After the painful transformation into Reaper, your comrade has a hard time containing his rage as a side-effect of his newfound strenght...and he had found just the way to let off some steam. Warnings: Consensual NSFW, Facial, Dom! Reaper, Cussing, Angst, Self-Loathing Words: ~1800

Death was always followed closely by darkness, at least that was the way which he prefered.

Whether it was the slightest inconvenience during a briefing, a mild annoyance while training or - for a change - a not so trivial cause for his anger, they all were the same for him.

Ever since the man once known as Gabriel Reyes had perished and Reaper rose on his stead, Moira's experiments had granted him tremendous power - yet that existence came with a heavy toll.

With his cells constantly decaying and regenerating at an enormous speed, this left him in constant suffering, through the sensation of dying countless times over and over again.

It was a state of pure, endless agony - and he needed to do something, anything to make it stop, if only for a brief moment.

The most effective method would be just giving in to those hostile instincts, channeling all of his bitterness and wrath into a murderous rampage like so many times before.

Taking a life to feel alive oneself again - sure an unconventional method, but considering he had become some sort of eldritch horror that fed itself on the life energy of others, it sure made sense that it could ease the burden of eternal life.

However, those outbursts would leave too many casualities among his own comrades, so his superiors insisted on him finding a rather less destructive way.

That was where you came into play.

The little affair between you and the man that was feared even by his own comrades had begun the complete opposite of innocent, and still it had become an important role in Talon's attempts to control their strongest combatant.

Where others wouldn't even dare breathing in his presence, afraid to become the newest target of his fury, most would say you had been too careless around him from the very start.

To this day you wholeheartedly wanted to believe that behind this mask, there still lies a good man - and not the monster everyone made him out to be.

There was no reason for you to be frightened, after all, since Reaper had been the one who brought you to Talon in the first place - only after having harvested the souls of your tormenters, of course.

A man that had saved you from the brink of death, who had spared you a life full of abuse and sorrow could only be someone to admire, you thought.

And you would follow Reaper and his ambitions to the very end, whatever it takes.

Another day like so many before, Reaper's blood was once again boiling as he made his way towards your quarters, as if this useless shell of a body wanted to taunt him for his poor life decisions.

You on the other hand felt ice shoot through your veins as you heared his unmistakeably firm, heavy steps coming closer through the echoing corridor.

Reaper's mind was in a tunnel view, set on the one thing that might bring him satisfaction in this otherwise cruel world.

Having his ways with you however he pleased, knowing you'd gladly comply. Being in full control over another person that willingly gave in to him was even more rewarding than any revenge ever could.

The image of your last encounter was still vividly present in his mind, of your pretty little face looking up to him all innocently, perfectly tainted by his seed. How he'd press his claws to your cheek and shove every last drop of his cum into your mouth for you to swallow.

Such a good fucking girl.

Before you could even turn around to greet him, the lights went off and the whole room was tinted by darkness. You flinched as you heared the door slam shut, just for the key to turn in the lock shortly after.

Caged with the beast, or so they'd say.

Unable to see, you weren't sure how far those altered eyes of his could perceive - yet the feeling of menacingly red irises boring into you, in huge contrast to the otherwise pitch black environment send shivers down your spine.

"Hey, Reyes, I-" You were cut off as the man materialized right behind you, harshly slamming your cheek against the wall. "I told you to not call me that fucking name."

There was not an inch of space between the two of you now, being caged between his arms and the wall as he hindered you to turn around. "Okay, big guy. I'll behave, so calm down okay?"

"You should know better than to tell me what to do" he growled with a low voice even for his standarts, bending you over even more as you desperately tried to support yourself on the wallpaper. "Maybe it's been too long since I've teached you some manners."

Even when your eyes had adapted to the absence of light, you knew better than to enrage him even further. Instead you gave in to his touch, melting against his body as he began roughly kneading your flesh.

"Strip" he demanded and so you did, the feeling of his rock hard member tenting his combat pants making your lends prickle with anticipation.

As Reaper pressed himself even further against your behind a small whimper escaped your throat, and in the blink of an eye the impatient man had your remaining clothes torn away on the floor. He then drew his claws over your back, thoughtful enough with as little pressure as possible, leaving red streams that would've disappeared by the next morning.

Things would always be like this: Quick, rough, demanding.

An unmatched feeling of desire and passion only to be replaced with pure shame and longing as soon as he'd leave.

Who would've thought sex this good could be so unfulfilling at the same time?

Reaper's hand on your throat brought you down to earth again, his other hand on your hip as his cock slid between your already wettened legs until he found the spot he desired.

You yelped as the man pushed in without warning, the sensation of your insides being stretched so sudden making you feel both overwhelmed and so damn pleasantly full.

"Re-Reaper-ah!" you moaned even when his fingers dug into the flesh of your neck, your walls narrowing around his cock every time he cut off your air supply. Still, he'd continue relentlessly hammering into you at a pace that left you breathless itself.

"Disgusting..." Reaper gritted as he watched you writhe beneath him, all pliant and submissive like wax in his hands. Your heart narrowed at the statement, yet the lust you felt right now was stronger than the familiar sting in your chest.

Nonetheless, your lack of reaction only amplified his displeasure - though his words were directed rather at himself than they were for you. "To let an abomination like me do those kind of things to you...you're so pathetic."

"I-ah..." you interrupted yourself with breathy groans as his thrusts became more violent, hitting your weak spot he already knew blindly to find. "I-I'm not afra-id of you!"

"Big mistake."

Like this you could perceive the clacking noise of his mask falling to the floor, alltogether with the dull pain of his fist balling into your hair. Not even once he stopped pounding into you, hips slamming against yours as he violently teared back your head.

His breath was on your ear now, raising goosebumps on your skin as he whispered a hoarse "Look at me", instant regret washing over him as soon as the words left his lips.

The man effortlessly turned you around, your back now pressed against the stone wall as you were lifted by the legs with ease. Still, he wouldn't continue until you'd listen to his command - willing to leave and never come back shall you resent him after seeing what he really is.

You instinctively crossed your legs behind his waist, wrapped your arms around his neck in an attempt to stay close...

...and then you'd finally dare opening your eyes.

You couldn't suppress a slight gasp at the sight, for it was the first time Reaper had ever shown someone his face ever since the incident.

Admittedly, you always knew that Gabriel Reyes had been a handsome person back in the day. Now however...

Moira had already told you that while every kind of new damage would be healed instantly due to his abilities, all the old injuries would prevail - and his near-death experience sure had taken it's toll on the man.

A few silver-greyish strands of hair stood out as a witness of time passed before he stopped aging, scars from several battles covering his whole face. His eyes were gleaming in a crimson red in between black sclerae, and his left cheek had been completely ripped apart, leaving pointed teeth to shimmer through the broken skin.

Reaper's expression turned sombre as you took in his features with widened eyes, mistaking your fascination with aversion. He hissed, yet still gently let you down on the mattress close by.

"It's alright. I'll go" the man spat, his tone more disappointed than mad - in himself, for actually believing someone could feel affection towards this thing he had become.

"Wait!" you blurted out, pulling on his cloak in exasperation. "Do-don't leave. Please."

There was so much you wanted to say, a million things crossing your mind all at once - though you found yourself at loss for words as this literal beast watched you with such an incredible vulnerability in his eyes. "I don't need your pity, Y/N."

That man really is insufferable, you thought as you pulled him down to your height again, bringing his lips towards yours.

Reaper inhaled sharply, unbelieving as you tenderly covered his mouth with yours, hands on each side of his cheeks as you embraced him without any reluctance, not the slightest hint of repulsion.

You smiled against his lips, chuckling as his beard tickled your skin, the man being stock still in disbelief. Forcing yourself away in order to place even more pecks across every scar, every disfigurement of the face he resented so much.

"I think now it's your turn to strip" you teased, sheepishly adding "Who knows what else you're hiding I might like."

"You're even crazier than I thought" he stated the obvious, even while straddling your waist and doing as he was told. And right then, with his his aching skin against your silken one, he could've sworn this was his salvation - the only thing able to make him feel human again.

"Call me Gabriel."

[haikyuu-boys-headcanons]

𝙷𝙰𝙸𝙺𝚈𝚄𝚄 𝙱𝙾𝚈𝚂 - 𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙴𝚇 𝙼𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂

hehe, i’m back at it again with one of these long ass posts but this idea’s literally been in my head all day long so here you go !! obvious nsfw warning :)

tw: this whole post is just nsfw and embarrassing to read so read at your own risk >:)

𝙳𝙰𝙸𝙲𝙷𝙸 » during a super intense and loud session, his voice cracked as he asked you “does that feel goOD- good baby?” to this day, he still prays that you couldn’t hear him over the sound of your own moans

𝚂𝚄𝙶𝙰𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙰 » you were riding him and he went to slap your ass, but something went wrong either because you were riding too quickly or he was shaking too much, boy ended up slapping himself in the balls. you’ve never heard that boy scream that loud in your life

𝙰𝚂𝙰𝙷𝙸 » literally pulled out in the middle of sex to get up and rush to the corner of his room to flip around his childhood teddy bears. your just laying there with your tiddies and coochie out waiting for asahi to shield the eyes of mr. wiggles

𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙺𝙰 » you two were having pretty intense shower sex until tanaka did the number one thing your not supposed to do during shower sex; this muthafucker slipped while holding you. long story short, y’all were okay but just ended up having nasty shower floor sex??

𝙽𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙾𝚈𝙰 » this tiny ass 5′2 man was unconsciously humping your leg while you were both asleep?? his presumably pleasurable wet dream had turned into a sudden nightmare when you literally had to KICK him off you to stop the humping. bad nishinoya, bad!

𝙺𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚈𝙰𝙼𝙰 » came WAYYY too early inside you, but he was too embarrassed to say anything so he just... kept going. sadly, no one had warned kageyama of the intense effects of overstimulation. he was shaking and whimpering so badly behind you to the point where you had to ask him to pull out and bring him a glass of water to calm down

𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙰 » the first time you squirted on him, he just blatantly asked you these exact few words that left you feeling mortified: “did you just piss on me?” nuh uh hinata, this water fountain ain’t yours to drown in anymore >:( 

𝚃𝚂𝚄𝙺𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙼𝙰 » kei was hitting it from the back pretty hard this time, so hard that you were suddenly... on an angle? suddenly, now you two were much closer to the floor than before. the bed ended up collapsing, yes literally collapsing due to kei’s powerful thrusts. worst part is, nobody got to finish since kei dragged you to ikea to grumpily buy a new bedframe. but hey, he bought you ikea meatballs; that shit hits so different

𝚈𝙰𝙼𝙰𝙶𝚄𝙲𝙷𝙸 » one super duper intense night, he passed out the SECOND he came. no matter how much you flicked the temple of his forehead, yamaguchi was dead asleep. you had to literally slap him awake to get him to clean up, you ain’t risking a ranky stanky UTI puthy in the morning

𝙾𝙸𝙺𝙰𝚆𝙰 » kept calling himself a sex machine during the act. i don’t know if it was due to the 6 tequila shots he had beforehand or just his inner ego revealing, whatever it was it was about to make your pussy close

𝙸𝚆𝙰𝚉𝚄𝙼𝙸 » this one time, he kept going in at a weird angle which caused you to repeatedly queef for 7 minutes straight. every time you told him to pull out and go in properly, he laughed and kept going in at that one weird angle!! was your embarrassment a turn on for him?? maybe!! but were you mortified? absolutely!!

𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚃𝚂𝚄𝙽 » i’m sorry to have to be the one to announce this, but this man had the worst case of full blown bush you’ve ever seen. like, he didn’t even try to manscape or anything at all. you ended up begging him to trim just a tiny bit because you weren’t gonna risk choking on a pube whilst your going down on him

𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙸 » rubbed your left labia thinking it was your clit. and he kept doing that. the whole. fucking. time. even when you subtly moved his fingers towards your clit, he just kept going back to the left lip.

𝙺𝚄𝙽𝙸𝙼𝙸 » had the most dry and dull dirty talk you’ve ever heard. like, it’s not even dirty talk at this point; it’s just clean talk. there’s no passion when he talks! he uses the same tone he would use for anyone else at any other moment. to paint the picture, imagine riding kunimi and he’s just there with a furrowed expression like “yup, that feels really good”

𝙺𝚈𝙾𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙸 » tried to pull one of those unexpected anal scenes that he saw from a porno, without telling you beforehand. life lesson here; if you party at shit's house, don't be surprised if shit's at the party

𝙺𝚄𝚁𝙾𝙾 » you two were looking to get a little more kinky in terms of BDSM, so kuroo watched like 30 tutorials on youtube on how to safely tie you up so you won’t fall or anything. this bitch ended up tying rope knots that were practically impossible to undo, which resulted in you hanging from the ceiling for approximately 2 hours pussy-ass naked while kuroo tried to cut you down with a kitchen knife

𝙺𝙴𝙽𝙼𝙰 » wanted to spice things up with some dirty talk, like the real nasty talk they use in pornos but not the normal pornos; the shitty company ones with horrific acting. he really ended up announcing that he was going to “fuck your fucking fanny off, you twat”

𝙻𝙴𝚅 » got super excited while he was opening the lube since he hadn’t gotten to fuck you in a WHILE, which resulted the lube leaked everywhere and a giant 6′5 man slipping and hitting his head on the bed frame. worst part is; he had to go to the ER with a hard on that refused to go away

𝙱𝙾𝙺𝚄𝚃𝙾 » speaking of boners that wouldn’t go away, let’s not forget that one time bokuto took two viagras when you texted him to come over for a special occasion. he horribly misinterpreted the ‘special occasion’ text, because he showed up to your house with a huge buldge in his pants as your parents stand before him holding anniversary cards, completely horrified

𝙰𝙺𝙰𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸 » wanted to make valentines day sex as romantic as he could, so he did the classic lighting candles and giving roses. everything was beautiful, until he accidently knocked one of the bigger candles over during missionary. this not only caused a huge ass fire in your bedroom, but he came right as the fire began to spread. boy was debating on whether his orgasm was to die for or not

𝙺𝙾𝙽𝙾𝙷𝙰 » had a nose bleed when he was going down on you and you both were immediately horrified, you thinking it was your period and him thinking he just ate coochie blood. yet as you went to go clean up, you realized his face had much more blood on it than your coochie did. to this day, he still blames it on your period 

𝚄𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙹𝙸𝙼𝙰 » threw you onto the bed and your head went through the wall. he didn’t even bother to ask you if you were okay, he just sighed and went “well, now i have to make a call to the construction guy. excuse me” and he left you and your concussed ass head sit there once again, pussy ass naked

𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙾𝚄 » during a blowjob, he held your head down right as he was coming causing the cum to shoot up your throat and somehow pour out of your nose. by the time he pulled out, he could barely breath from laughing at you. sure, the classic ‘milk shooting out of nose’ thing was funny at first until you got a sinus infection and had to breath out of your mouth for the next three days

𝚂𝙴𝙼𝙸 » always insists having sex in the most inconvenient places?? like he would pull you to side while grocery shopping and start grinding up against you as you pick which brand of cheese would be better??

𝙶𝙾𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙺𝙸 » he kept getting frustrated that his bangs were clouding his field of vision, so he irritably grabbed a hair tie and frantically tied up the sides of his bangs while he was fucking you. you immediately burst out laughing since he looked exactly like boo from monsters inc. 

𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚄𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙼𝙰 » got so drunk that he ended up fucking the couch. like he was just there on top of you, and his dick was just sliding between the folds of the leather couch. you decided to let him finish like that

𝚂𝙰𝙺𝚄𝚂𝙰 » had a really bad reaction to one of the products he used while shaving and ended up getting super irritated down there so he kept having to pull out in-between thrusts to itch his crotch. to make things worse, you joking suggested that he looked like he had syphilis and he got so disgusted at the idea of that thought that he literally had to pull out and take a breather 

𝙾𝚂𝙰𝙼𝚄 » drizzled ‘warm’ chocolate down your chest and was about to seductively lick it off until you screamed in pain and horror as the chocolate was literally burning your skin off. osamu panicked, obviously not knowing what to do if chocolate was burning his partners skin off so he just... frantically licked it off. you still had to go to the ER afterwards to get treated for mild burns

𝙰𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙼𝚄 » didn’t know what a hymen was until the first time he tried to have sex with you. no matter how much he tried to shove his schlong in, it really just wasn’t working + “yer puss is broken”

𝚂𝚄𝙽𝙰 » pinched your nipples so fucking hard to the point where you started crying. he thoughts these were tears of pleasure until you literally had to kick him off you. but hey, he gave you ice for your sore nipples and mcdonalds! what more could a girl possibly want :)

uh the end lol

also, this idea was inspired by the first haikyuu headcanon i ever read, “awkward sex moments” by @bbytetsu <3

[thelastspeecher]

I had a very aggravating conversation with a family friend today, so here’s your regular reminder to get a fucking flu shot.

“Influenza is a mild illness!”

So, 1889 didn’t happen?  Or 1918?  Or 1957?  Or 1968?  Or 2009?  1918 is especially notable as being a pandemic that predominately affected younger people, aka the people supposedly less vulnerable to influenza.  Even during a regular, not super dangerous flu season, 250,000-500,000 people die every year.  Do you want to be one of them? (source)

“But I’m not in a group at risk of getting seriously hurt by influenza!”

That just reduces your chance of a serious side effect or death.  It doesn’t guarantee you’ll be fine if you catch it.  Perfectly healthy, young people get seriously harmed and killed dead by influenza and its associated complications every year.  “45% to 77% of pneumonia- and influenza-associated hospitalizations occur in those younger than 65 years.” (source)

“Seriously, even if I catch influenza, I won’t get very sick.”

Maybe you won’t.  But anyone you visit while ill could get very sick.  Even just walking around, you’re very capable of spreading influenza.  You definitely know, or maybe even live with, people who belong to groups especially vulnerable to influenza.  They might not be able to get flu shots themselves.  If you get a shot, you protect yourself from getting sick and passing the flu onto someone who won’t be able to fight it off as well or might not even be able to get a shot.  It’s called herd immunity.  The more people that vaccinate, the more they protect those who are vulnerable, even if the people getting vaccinated are not especially vulnerable themselves. (source)

“The shot might not even be for the dominant strain this year!”

See, here’s the thing.  There are different strains of the influenza virus, but at the end of the day, they’re all still influenza.  Getting immunity to one strain might not provide full immunity to others, but it still helps. (source)

“I know people who got the shot and still got sick!”

Yeah.  That happened to me last year.  I got my shot and still got the flu.  But even though I was wiped out, it only lasted for a few days.  Because I got my shot.  If you get sick despite getting the shot, your illness is less severe, because your immune system has a rough idea of what it should be doing. (source)

“It’s an inconvenience.”

That’s the root cause of most people refusing to get their flu shot.  It’s inconvenient to go down to Walgreen’s and sit down for a shot that takes two seconds and doesn’t even hurt like the tetanus shot.  You know what’s more inconvenient?  Getting the flu when there’s already a global pandemic going on.  Do you really want to go to the hospital and risk being exposed to COVID-19 when you’re immunocompromised from being sick with the flu?

Not to mention, it’s drastically more inconvenient for the medical system if a flu pandemic happens this year.  They’re already struggling, they can’t handle much more strain.  Medical professionals are terrified of a “twindemic”, aka having a flu pandemic on top of the current one.  Even a mild pandemic would be devastating, with the current workload. (source)

For more information, check out the CDC’s page on the flu shot.  But essentially, unless it’s “I had a serious allergic reaction the last time I got a flu shot” or “I’m immunocompromised”, there’s no good reason to not get a flu shot, especially this year.

Get.

A.

Flu.

Shot.

[writersrealmbts]

If You Have Half a Brain

Description: Part of the summer #btswritingbingo, hosted by @bangtanwritingbingo! For the Pina Coladas prompt. You’ve been a bit down on your luck, until one of your customers, who is definitely drunk, strikes up a conversation with you and offers you a job. 

Warnings: Mentions of death, drunken antics (mild), mild language, mentions of blood/injuries (very briefly)

Posted: 06/04/2021

Tags: Hoseok x reader, business au, 

Slice of Life/Angst/moments of fluff: 11,698 words

A/N: I think it’s been over a month since I posted a story, so here’s over 10k words. Enjoy! Thanks to @kerikaaria​ for beta reading this

“Sir, you ordered a virgin.”

“Whoa, no! I didn’t even know that this was that kind of place, I mean, kudos on the confidence and I mean that in the best way because you shouldn’t be ashamed—“

“Your drink,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes. “It’s non-alcoholic. You ordered a virgin drink.”

“What? No I didn’t, I ordered a pina colada!”

“No, our menu doesn’t offer pina coladas. What you ordered was our Niño colada, which is from our non-alcoholic menu. I apologize for any inconvenience, but if this is you with a little bit of alcohol, then I think you should stick to sobriety.”

He stared at you, slack-jawed and blinking. “Why don’t you have pina coladas?”

You sighed. “We don’t stock rum.”

He made a choked sound. “The…rum…is gone?”

“Yes. The rum is gone.” You had a sinking feeling that you knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Why is the rum always gone?!” He exclaimed, flopping onto the table.

“From your behavior, I’m going to assume you’ve consumed every last drop of it, Captain Sparrow,” You replied dryly. Well, your boss was right. You were not cut out for this job. “Now, if you’re not going to order something else, I’m going to go turn in my apron and start job hunting again.”

“Wait! Wait! Do you like piña coladas?” He asked, catching the pocket of your apron.

“I swear to God, if the next words out of your mouth are anything along the lines of ‘and getting caught in the rain’ I will murder you without regret.”

His teeth clicked shut. His eyes darted over your face. “But do you?”

You took a deep breath. “I can’t stand coconut.”

“You…don’t like…coconut?” He looked horrified. “Then…coconut chicken?”

“Ew.”

“Coconut ice cream?”

“Waste of sugar and time, a lot like this conversation. I don’t like coconut. I hate it when people cook in coconut oil because saying it’s tasteless is Bull.” You crossed your arms. “New drink or what?”

He stared at you for a while, then smiled softly. “You’re too good for this job, anyway. You should work for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come work for me.”

“Repeating that doesn’t tell me what you’re saying.”

“I own a company. I need someone who can deal with trash like me and keep them away from me. You do not have to be polite to the trash either.” He leaned his chin on a propped-up fist. “Your job would quite honestly be saying what was on your mind and telling me and anyone else off.” He looked and sounded surprisingly sober compared to before.

“Please tell me you didn’t use piña coladas to test a potential hire.”

He grinned. “Not intentionally.”

I folded your arms, trying to gauge whether or not he was being serious. “You’re not saying this because you’re drunk, are you?”

“I’m not drunk!” He argued, eyes wide. “I’ve only had one glass of wine!”

You cringed. “At least tell me it was a large one.”

“N-not particularly.”

“Oh dude, either your acting is pretty on point, or you’re a serious lightweight and should stick to the non-alcoholic menu.” You shook your head.

His already flushed cheeks turned more red. “Wha—“ he huffed. “Do you want the job or not?”

You considered it, a little surprised you were even considering it, and shrugged. “Not sure I believe you still.”

He huffed and fumbled to pull out his wallet, fumbled more, then handed you a business card. “That’s me. Call or show up or anything. My personal cards are like golden tickets.”

You took the card warily.

The side of the cards facing you had a phone number in shimmering gold lettering, and the other side looked like a splash of summer colors—Bold black lettering spelling out his name and the name of the company.

“Hoseok Jung, CEO of HopeWorld Incorporated,” you read aloud, a little…skeptical. “If you are this person, what the heck do you want me for?”

“Honestly…I need someone sensible who won’t just try to stay on my good side. I need someone who will risk their job to threaten anyone that is being ridiculous with murder. I’m bad at that. I need a spiky person cause I’m just…I have things I’m strong on, but there are times when I just need someone to say things like they are. No bull.”

“And based on our interactions here, you think that’s me?”

He nodded. “I only played up the antics a bit.”

“Do you often hire your waitresses?”

He grinned. “No, but I have found most of my best people by chance. One other waiter, but I knew him before.”

“Your best people?”

“You’ve heard of my company?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“Then you’ve heard the names Suga, RM, and V.”

You paused. “Yes.”

“Suga and I met at a club. RM and I met in a museum, and I met V when I was at an animal shelter.” He shrugged. “We had a good rapport. I offered them jobs. My friends over there are also part of my inner circle. It would have been better if you liked piña coladas, but you should still be okay with them.”

You stared over to where his friends were goofing off in the pool. Those idiot men were part of the inner circle of one of the biggest companies ever? The company that….

Two screeched as they went into the water, losing the game of chicken.

“They are part of your brain trust? Is the one even old enough for alcohol?”

“Yeah, he just tends to pick people up when he’s buzzed.”

“So, scandal prone.”

“No, no, I mean physically lift them. Usually just us. He’s not really a social person. Just us.”

“Ah.” You weren’t sure what to make of that.

“Actually—“

“Y/n! I’m not paying you to stand around!”

“With all due respect, sir, I’m done after I finish discussing our menu with this gentleman, Sir.” You called back, then turned to Hoseok. “How much would I be paid?”

“To start...how about $16 an hour?”

You stared at him. “$16 an hour?”

“Plus benefits, we have an excellent benefits program.”

“$16 an hour?” You repeated, a little shocked and numb. Plus benefits, even if you only worked there for a week, you’d be able to cover all of your expenses.

“Alright, okay, fine, $18 an hour—but no more than that until we know if it will work out. Then we can discuss raises. Deal?” He stuck his hand out.

You considered it for a moment, then shook his hand. “Right. Okay. When do I start?”

“Tomorrow, 8 a.m.”

You nodded. “Business dress?”

He shrugged, “If you like. Just dress nicely.”

You nodded. “Fine. Okay. See you then. I have a job to quit.”

He nodded with a smile. “I look forward to working with you.”

———

If you had thought that your means of obtaining this job had been strange, nothing had prepared you for your first day working there.

You had dressed well, wearing your favorite interview outfit because it was the nicest outfit you owned and you would be shopping later today so you knew what you needed to buy.

You entered the sleek looking building, and went to the reception desk. “Hello, I was told to come in today.” You pulled out the business card and showed it to the secretary.

Her eyes widened. “Whoa. You met Mr. Jung?”

“Uhm, yes. Yes I did. And he told me to come in today, at eight.”

“Right, okay, um, let me get you a temporary I.D.so you can get around today, and you’ll have to talk to H.R. later about your permanent one. Take this, and then head up to the top floor, he’ll want you to report straight to his office. At least, that’s what protocol states.”

You nodded, absorbing the information easily. “Top floor, his office, report to HR later for a permanent ID. Return this at the end of the day?”

“Yes, thank you, and good luck on your first day!” She practically sang, going back to her computer.

You slid the ID necklace over your head and went straight for the elevator, hitting the button for the top floor.

The way she spoke was almost like she had never met the CEO, which seemed unlikely to you, but maybe you were just misreading it.

The top floor was as quiet as the rest of the building, and you had a feeling most employees didn’t start until 9. But there was faint music coming from the biggest office—the CEO’s office.

You took a breath to steady yourself and then knocked on the door.

“Come on in, y/n!”

You shook your head slightly and did as told, walking into the office.

Entering the building, you had been pleasantly surprised by the way everything seemed light and airy, with bright splashes of color in appropriate amounts in the appropriate places, making it feel less like an office and more of a...you weren’t sure what it felt like, but it felt nicer than an office.

Entering Hoseok Jung’s office had a similar effect. There were knickknacks, but they weren’t overwhelming, and splashes of color were all throughout the room, but was balanced by a sort of modern elegance of his sleek office furniture and the immense natural lighting.

“Do you like it?”

You considered it all. “It’s not to my taste, but it is well balanced and I can appreciate the aesthetic.”

He grinned. “See, you’re already doing better.”

“The receptionist acts like she’s never seen you before.”

“Oh, well, most people only see J-Hope, one of the senior workers who reports directly to Mr. Jung. That’s how I got into the business to take it over from my father.” He shrugged. “Eventually, they’ll find out that J-Hope is me, but for now, J-Hope is well-liked. My ‘brain trust’ as you called them, will be here in about half an hour, which gives us time. Come on, I’ll show you to your office. Remember, it’s not your job to make friends, it’s your job to call things as you see them.”

You shrugged. “And if that means holding my tongue?”

“Then I trust you to say something later, when you deem the time to be right.”

“You know this is crazy, right?”

He grinned. “I know that you think it’s crazy, but I’m glad you’re telling me.”

You shook your head as you followed him out, noting that he wasn’t wearing a full suit. More like slacks and a shirt that wasn’t a button-up, but also wasn’t a plain t-shirt? Very loose-fitting, possibly a few sizes too big. His slacks weren't even slack, not really. Just grey, loose-fitting pants.

“You don’t dress much like a CEO.”

He chuckled. “I know. Jimin tells me that all the time, trust me, I do when I have to. But J-Hope likes loose clothing.”

You shook your head a bit.

“This will be your office.”

“It’s right next to yours.”

“Well, you are going to be my left-hand person. Left hand office.”

You followed him into the office that was way too good to be true.

“Obviously you can decorate it as you like, outside of the desk. The desk chair you get to choose from a magazine that we use for office supplies. We also ask that you don’t break any walls or windows.”

“I have a balcony,” you breathed.

“Yeah. There’s actually a door out there that connects our balconies, my side is pretty much never locked, but you can lock your side as well.”

“Like in hotels.”

“Yes.”

“So, if I'm your left, who’s your right?”

“Suga. Yoongi. You’ll like him, I think.” He picked up a random sticky note, looking amused. “Last guy didn’t clean out very well, sorry.”

“Shouldn’t a janitor have made it in here since?”

He paused. “Oh. Yes.”

“Which makes me wonder when the last time anything up here has been cleaned.” You ran a finger over the desk, nose wrinkling in disgust at the dust on your fingers.

Hoseok’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Oh no no no.”

“I need to wash my hands,” You said, feeling a little contaminated. “Bathrooms.”

“This way.”

The bathrooms on the top floor were actual bathrooms, as in, one toilet and sink per room instead of the public bathroom style. There were three of them, mostly the same size, but one also had a larger vanity area with drawers under it.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to follow you in, but this bathroom is one that we usually keep locked, so if you want to keep makeup or other things in here, no one uses the third drawer over right now.” He tapped it. “You’ll be getting a key to it later today, so you can put it in later if you need to.”

You nodded, wrinkling your nose at the smell of the soap. “Oh, you’re kidding me. Piña colada soap?”

He chuckled, scratching his neck. “You can also bring in your own soap. Yoongi does. He just hasn’t replaced his yet.”

You shook your head. “Right.”

“If it helps, it’s only that during the summer.”

“What is it in winter? Eggnog?”

He shook his head. “Cinnamon rolls.”

“Are you all trying to psychologically torture yourselves?” You asked, drying your hands. “Piña coladas when you have to work, cinnamon rolls to make yourself hungry….”

Hoseok shrugged.

You sighed. “Alright. Where to now?”

“Morning meeting.” He waved for you to follow him, and led the way down to a conference room. “Jimin and Tae bring coffee and pastries and we go over our agendas and projects. Today that will include introducing you. I do have one thing to ask, and it might be inappropriate so if it is you can just hit me—“

“Or you could just not ask it.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Right. Yeah.”

You helped straighten the chairs, seeing the frown on his face at how disheveled the room was. “So, what will I be doing today, besides accompanying you to fire the janitor.”

He cringed. “Well, tour the company. Stop by HR. Meet the security team. Talk to the janitorial staff and threaten firing them to improve their work ethic. Then if that doesn’t work, yes, you will be there to help me fire people.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be the bad guy. You keep your J-Hope persona.” You sighed. “Really? No one caught onto you being the CEO with the name J-Hope?”

He just grinned again. “Best disguise is right under your nose.”

“The best disguise is an effective one that actually exists.”

“I’m glad I met you,” He responded with a light laugh.

“I’ve been criticizing you since I arrived.” You actually felt guilty about that, but only slightly. You weren’t about to lose sleep over it.

He just smiled. “You’ve been honest. I…I really missed honesty.”

“Your inner circle aren’t honest?”

“They are…but they’re…it’s different. Sometimes you need to shake things up. I think we all need shaking up.”

You frowned. “Okay. Level with me: what happened?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What happened to make you think that things need to be shaken up?”

His face relaxed, eyes seeming to glaze as they shifted to the meeting table. “I…uh, I lost someone I cared about. You know that cruise ship disaster?”

You nodded. “HopeWorld donated a whole lot of money to cover the bills of those injured, and help cover funeral bills for others. Some people wondered if you guys had some sort of stock in the cruise ship or had been involved in the explosion, but you were just being kind. Plus by helping them out financially they could stand up to the cruise company.”

He shrugged, but also nodded. “And I needed a reason to be there. Looking.”

“Girlfriend or boyfriend?”

He choked out a laugh. “Yeah. And my sister and her husband. And my parents. I was supposed to join them at a different port.”

You felt like you’d been sucker-punched. “Oh my God.”

“Didn’t lose all of them. My dad is still in the hospital, Mom is home but she visits him everyday.” He rubbed his neck. “My sister's husband went back to work just a week ago, and he’s not having an easy time of it, but he’s pushing on. My sister hasn’t woken up yet, but we’re still hopeful. I hope she wakes up soon. She’s the other person I always relied on to be honest with me.”

You slowly nodded. “And your…significant other?”

“Idiot died. One of the lifeboats got stuck on release. Climbed out and cut the rope. Snapped back.” He shrugged again.

“Could have been worse,” You murmured, clenching a fist. You knew that description. You gave that description.

“Ok, this is one time when maybe you shouldn’t be honest.” He rubbed his forehead.

“Hey, my step-dad died because he thought he could swallow a golf ball and decided to try when no one was home. My younger brother tail-gated a semi. My father died from a sliver after saving eight school-age children.” You shrugged. “There are all sorts of ways to go out of this world. Doing the right thing…the heroic thing, that counts for a lot in my book. But there is such a thing as stupidly heroic.”

He stared at you wide-eyed. “A…golf ball?”

You shrugged. “I believe I implied that he wasn’t intelligent.”

Hoseok snorted and then started laughing. “I-I’m sorry!”

You smiled. “Good. Your brain trust will be here soon.”

“Did he…did he really…?”

“It was a little more complicated, and there was booze involved, but essentially, yes.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t sound so heartbroken.”

You shrugged. “Life goes on.”

“What does it go on from?” A new voice asked.

You turned to see one of the boys from the pool yesterday.

He looked you up and down, and offered a slight smile and his hand. “Hey. You must be the waitress that Hobi got so excited about hiring yesterday. I’m Taehyung, or, as the media knows me, V.”

You shook his hand. “Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“Do you like Pina Coladas?” Taehyung asked, setting the box of what you assumed were pastries on the table.

“No.”

He froze a bit. “Really?”

“Really.”

“But...why? Wait...oh no...you don’t like them?” He stared at the box of pastries.

You looked at the box. “Let me guess, non-alcoholic pina colada donuts.”

“We don’t normally get them, I just saw them and I thought it’d be fun….” He looked completely dejected. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I ate breakfast anyway. I had an omelet, and I have a chocolate muffin in my packed lunch in my office. So, if you would like, I can get that and you can pretend you got it specially for me because I got it from the same shop.”

He gasped. “Their chocolate muffins are amazing.”

“Do you want me to pretend?”

He considered it a moment.

“He doesn’t want everyone to be eating and not you,” Hoseok chuckled. “He’s sweet like that.”

You nodded. “Did the door to my office get locked?”

Hoseok shook his head. “I left it open so that you could get in and out without your keys, and so we could send a janitor in after the meeting. Maybe put your things in our breakroom for now.”

You nodded sharply.

“I’ll get it, if that’s okay with you?” Taehyung said.

You shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”

He bounced a bit as he raced out.

“Good job, offering to lie on your first day.” Hoseok looked amused.

“He looked like a kicked puppy. I’m honest, not abusive and heartless. Besides, it’s more to make him feel good. Most people would figure it out, right away.”

Hoseok nodded. “I guess so.”

“It doesn’t breach my not-yet-existing contract to lie, does it?”

He shook his head. “No. It doesn’t.”

Both of you fell quiet as Taehyung came back and slipped the muffin into the box of donuts (carefully).

Then several men arrived at about the same time.

“Hi, y/n! I’m Jimin, and I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got you a chocolate crème frappuccino. Is that okay?”

You nodded, smiling. “Sounds good. Thank you.” You took the cup and studied where they were sitting before taking a seat yourself--at the left hand of Hoseok--when he indicated for you to sit there.

“For the future, what do you normally drink?”

“This,” You answered, smiling. “I try to limit my caffeine intake.”

“Great, I’ll add it to my list and we can discuss alternatives later.” Jimin opened the donut box. “Tae, what have you done?”

“Pina colada donuts,” Tae answered, grinning. “And a muffin for y/n.”

Half of the boys had already grabbed a donut, or were in the process of doing so, but all seemed to freeze a bit.

“Why a muffin for y/n?”

“I don’t like coconut,” You answered, shrugging.

“Wait...at all?” One of them asked, eyes wide.

You sighed. “Nope. That is possible, you know. Just like I’m sure the odds are in my favor that at least one of you doesn’t like seafood. One of you probably doesn’t like coffee, one of you probably doesn’t like tea, and a few of you probably don’t like mint ice-cream.”

They all seemed to be surprised and yet also guilty.

“Well….”

One huffed. “Why did you hire her again? She doesn’t even like pina coladas.”

“Not everyone does,” Hoseok replied easily. “Shall we start our morning download?”

You studied the others as they dug into their donuts, wondering where the odd obsession with pina coladas came from--not for the first time. But they weren’t the only people you’d ever met with the obsession, and you doubted they would be the last.

“Besides, it can’t hurt us to look at things other than pina coladas.”

“Please,” One of them grumbled. “I don’t want to get sick of them.”

“Fine. Then let me ask this,” the huffy one asked. “Y/n, what is your beverage of choice?”

You met his gaze evenly, calculating all of the answers he could expect and all of the answers you could give him. But one stuck out as particularly perturbing for someone like him and a situation like this.

You leaned forward, smiled slightly, and answered, “Water.”

His eyes widened and he spluttered. “Water?”

“Water,” You confirmed cheerfully. “If I have to choose anything, I choose water.”

“Great, you can be the designated driver,” Taehyung joked, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

Huffy sat down, looking like he lost five years off of his life. “No way can we do a water theme….”

“If we could get back to what we’re being paid to be here for, that’d be great,” You said, in a tone that was too sweet to be honest.

Hoseok chuckled a little. “Right. Y/n is here to keep things...possible and practical. Her job is to be bluntly and brutally honest about things. After she gets a feel for this place, I’m sure she’ll feel more comfortable giving us all a piece of her mind. She’ll be shadowing me as J-Hope, and I’m not going to announce her job title for a while.”

“Because you don’t know what to call my job?”

“Pretty much. Anyway, as you guys know, we’re...running a little thin right now, and that’s on me. We’re going to be tightening up the ship, and making sure we’re running properly. Jimin, I need finances from across the company. Tae, I need all of the reports from HR. Jin and Jungkook, I want a list and summary of all of the projects we’re working on right now. Yoongi and Namjoon: keep working on that one project. Anything I need to know right now?”

“We have that event tomorrow, with the food trucks, and we need to decide on the judges.”

“Okay, so, we let everyone who wants to judge put their name on a list, then we’ll draw names from a hat. Jimin’s on the judgement panel as well.”

“I am?”

“You’ll eat anything, the rest of us are too picky. And Jungkook will be filming.” Hoseok made a couple of notes. “I have to talk to our janitorial staff, and y/n will be with me. They haven’t been cleaning up here like they’re supposed to. Y/n’s office was disgusting, and this room was a mess.”

“Uh oh. Firing anyone?”

“He wants to see if talking to them will fix the issue first,” You said dryly. “Which, in my experience, is a waste of time. There’s always someone dragging their feet and I bet if we looked through the HR reports, or even sent me in under cover for a few hours, we’d be able to pinpoint the weak link and remove it from the chain.”

“She’s got a point. I could take her down and tell them she’s doing some work in each department. We’ve done that before, for people who were actually working for one of the departments.” Jimin clicked his pen a couple of times.

Hoseok considered it a moment while he worked on a bite of his donut, then nodded. “Alright. Then we’ll do that. You might need different clothing. If it takes more than a couple of hours, don’t worry about it. If this works, we’ll put you in different departments as though you were experiencing everything. Because I think we need a spy in the HR department as well. Plus anything you find about employee welfare and happiness, that’s always a good thing. We’ll say you’re one of Jimin’s random hires. Get it done.”

Jimin nodded, then checked you over. “They’ll give her a uniform, so we don’t need to worry about her clothing. Maybe just fix your hair so that you look more like ‘random girl’ instead of  ‘sophisticated lady’.”

“Did you just call me a lady?”

“Have you seen yourself?” Jimin shrugged.

“Anyway, finish things here, then y/n dress down and we’ll discuss your work later today. You’ll eat lunch with us, Jimin, make sure to mention that.” Hoseok wrote a couple more things down. “I’ll be in my office, reviewing things. I’ll let you know at lunch what the real plan is. We’re gonna change things.”

“Okay,” Huffy said firmly. “That’s that then. Donuts done, coffee drunk, work to do. Off we go. The sooner we work, the sooner we finish, the sooner we can get a drink.”

That seemed to be the signal for everyone to get up and get moving.

You followed Jimin out, letting him lead you to the bathroom. “Sophisticated lady?”

“Make your hair more casual, maybe remove some of your makeup. And lose the jacket.”

You sighed and did as you were told as he disappeared for a moment, returning with a different shirt and a sweater.

“Try these.”

You looked at them, a little concerned.

“They’re clean, trust me. And they’re more casual than what you’re wearing.”

You waved him out of the room again, changing into the new shirt and sweater, a little disturbed at how well they fit. “Where did you get these?” You asked, opening the door again.

“Someone left them behind. Can’t remember when, can’t remember who, just remember they didn’t work here.” He checked his own hair while you switched your hair from a bun to a nice-looking pony-tail. “Can’t even remember why her shirt and sweater were left behind. Think she borrowed one of mine?”

You stared at him. “Did you sleep with this girl?”

He turned back to you with a half-smile. “No. I was drunk, but no. My boyfriend at that time wouldn’t have been too thrilled.”

“Do you have baggage about said boyfriend as your friend does about the significant other that he lost?” You asked, studying the impish man in front of you.

Jimin’s smile died a bit. “Told you about that, did he?”

“More or less. Focused more on the ones that survived rather than the one that died. So, baggage: yes or no?”

Jimin came and stood right in front of you, then moved closer, reaching and closing the bathroom door, locking it.

You clenched a fist, just in case.

“Baggage...yes. Same ship. All of us, the whole board, everyone in there. My boyfriend...we were at the point of breaking up anyway, so I feel guilty about that, because he wouldn’t have been there if I had. Hoseok was going to propose. Namjoon’s childhood friend. Yoongi’s girlfriend was paralyzed, and her brain...she only recognizes her family and she’s...not doing well. Two of Taehyung’s friends. Jungkook’s brother. Seokjin’s whole family, except his nephew. He jokes about drinking, but he really just wants to get to the daycare at a decent time. If he knows he has to stay late, he has a babysitter that brings his nephew here. Hoseok feels a lot of responsibility because he was the one who suggested we have a board retreat and invite family and friends. Seokjin, Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jungkook were all there when it happened. Myself, Yoongi, and Hoseok were delayed because of an emergency on a project we were heading up.”

You nodded slowly. “Got it. So, this company is being run by seven people who have undergone a whole lot of trauma and grief in the past six months. That doesn’t sound at all like a recipe for disaster.” Eight, a little voice whispered, eight if you’re included.

Jimin nodded a bit. “Right. What did you lose in that accident?”

You held his gaze steadily. “The will to please others with false actions and honeyed words.”

Jimin’s head tilted slightly and his eyes narrowed just a bit.

“My older brother worked on that ship, one of the engineers. He’d been filing reports like a good little worker bee about some of the issues they were seeing, but the reports were being ignored. He was threatened, and told to keep quiet if he wanted to keep his job. He told me, I told him to fight, to make sure no one got on that damn ship.”

“But he didn’t,” Jimin whispered, gaze shifting away from you.

“But I gave the people suing that company everything they needed to win their case, especially with HopeWorld providing the financial means for everyone to fight. It was serious neglect on their part, but even I was too pliant to do anything about it. So I’m done. I’m done trying to please others and put up with their crap and if you don’t unlock that door, I’m sorry, but I might punch you.”

He unlocked it. “Right. Sorry.”

“I’ve been dealing with too many thugs from the cruise company. That’s why I was job hunting. That’s why I got that job at the bar. It was a favor that a friend called in from the owner, but they both thought I was a bad fit. I was just desperate. And then Hoseok came in drunk on one glass of wine and complaining about a virgin pina colada.”

“That’s why he wouldn’t stop talking about virgins,” Jimin muttered. “He kept saying something about virgins being confident, and that he wished he was that confident, and that he was joking about not ordering virgins and it was all weird.”

“He should not be allowed to drink.”

“Well, normally he’s a sober and sleepy drunk, so, yesterday was a bit of an outlier. Happiest I’d seen him in a while, though. Especially after he met you.” He was studying you again.

“If you have something to say, then say it. I told you, I’m not waiting around for BS.”

“You’re not like the person he lost, I can tell that right away. But you’re the first person he’s shown...interest in. I guess I’m just curious about what he saw that intrigued him so much.”

“My winning personality and barbed words,” You answered, then grabbed your wallet from your purse and tucked it into your pocket, shoving the purse into the empty drawer that Hoseok had pointed out earlier. “What was the person he lost like?”

“Soft, a little...out-there, artistic, wild dreamer, adventurous, spontaneous,” Jimin listed, then shrugged. “Different.”

You paused to look at Jimin again. “When you said he’s taken an interest in me, did you mean….”

“Possibly romantically. Not definite, but there’s always a few different paths interest in other people can take us, isn’t there. If you’re anything like I’m assuming you are, you’d actually be a good match for him.” Jimin walked out. “Now, come on. We’ve got work to do.”

-----

-----

You were undercover in HopeWorld for a week before you finally were able to return and start moving into your office--having turned in a twenty-page report on your findings while working undercover.

And it was spotlessly clean this time, and there was a computer there. It was even sporting a nice, new plant in the one corner with a card that read it was from all of the other board members.

The winky-face said that Taehyung had been in charge of delivering it and writing the note.

So you set to unpacking the small box of office supplies that you were bringing in.

You were getting a corkboard and a whiteboard later, plus two more chairs so that anyone else in your office could sit down (or you could switch seats through the day if you needed to), and you definitely planned on bringing some more plants here since it got more sunlight than your tiny flat did.

So you unpacked a couple of empty binders, sheafs of paper, a few notebooks, your new pens and pencils, and your pen and pencil holders. You set a photo-frame on your desk. You pulled out a bottle of lotion and put it in one of your desk drawers.

And that’s where you found the photo of Hoseok with the person that had to be his lover.

“Of course,” You murmured, sighing, then you set the photo aside to return to him at your meeting later.

In the past week, you’d gotten a pretty good read on most of the boys, even Yoongi.

But Seokjin was distant, and kept you distant. He didn’t stick around on the days you were in what was technically his department, instead finding an excuse to be elsewhere.

Taehyung and Jimin had both shrugged when you told them that Seokjin was avoiding you.

“Don’t see why he would,” Jimin said, and you knew he was being honest.

It was fine. The boys weren’t your job anyway. Your job was to look at things practically, find problems or potential problems, and present them to people who could fix them. Your job was to question everything so that every eventuality is considered and the best product of the workers' time is produced.

“That’s not a very big box for such a big office.”

You jumped and dropped the stapler, but jumped back so that it wouldn’t staple you on accident (something that had, unfortunately, happened before). “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Seokjin shrugged, strolling in casually and picking it up. “Not my intention.”

“Then what is your intention?” You asked, wondering what could have brought the illusive man to your office before the morning meeting. According to the others, and your own experiences, he was always just barely on time for the meeting.

He just looked at you carefully. “Can I ask you a question, and get an honest answer?”

“Fire away,” You replied, lifting an eyebrow curiously.

He moved closer so he was looking you in the eye. “Why did you take this job?”

You frowned a bit, stepping back and trying to figure out why he was asking that. But also, how to answer.

“Please answer honestly.”

“Jimin told you about my brother, the cruise ship?”

“Yes. He told all of us, Hoseok too. Hoseok had his suspicions. I don’t think they know that you were on the ship as well.”

You huffed out a laugh and leaned against your desk. “Good. I don’t need any of that nonsense.”

He nodded. “You were answering my question.”

You took a deep breath and then released it, looking at the ceiling. “Desperation. Have to pay the rent. And he seemed...optimistic.” There was something appealing to that optimism. Something familiar and comfortable. Refreshing.

“What did he tell you your job was going to be?”

“Dealing with trash that tried to get near him.”

“What’s on your resume?”

“Nothing to make me qualify for this office. And if you think I’m here because I’m taking advantage of his kindness...I can’t say that you’re wrong, but I’m also just curious about what he intends for me. Don’t think that I enjoy saying that someone is dead weight. They’re people, and they need to make a living somehow, but they need to make that living honestly. THere are people who want jobs, who need jobs, who are actually willing to put in the work.”

“So, going undercover…?”

“It was a solution that would alleviate the feelings of guilt that our boss might have felt if we hadn’t fully investigated and ended up firing someone. Besides, he strikes me as a bit of a neat freak, so I figure the janitorial staff should be top-notch. I did hear a rumor that J-Hope had liberated a cleaning cart and taken it to the top floor, though.”

Jin sighed, shaking his head. “He really hasn’t trusted the cleaning staff since your first day.”

“Lovely. Did he clean this office?”

“Gotta admire his work ethic.”

You shook your head. “So, I’m not the only person who’s almost completely in the dark about what my job actually is, am I?”

“I think he keeps rethinking what he wants for you.”

“And you’ve been avoiding me because…?”

He shrugged a bit. “I haven’t. It’s been a bad week for my nephew. I’ve been in and out of the office all week. Plus I’ve been working with Hobi.”

You both jumped as someone banged on your office door.

Hoseok threw it open with a grin, then halted, surprised. “Oh, hyung.”

“Hey, Hoseok-y. Y/n and I were just talking. I’ll leave you two to discuss y/n’s job. Because I think we’re all confused about it.” Seokjin took one of your paperclips and left.

Hoseok looked after him in confusion. “Did he ask if he could take that paperclip?”

“Um, no, but it’s just a paperclip. You read the report?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Good work on that. Sorry you were thrown into it so soon after starting.”

“You mean my first day.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Your first day. So, I’ve figured out what your story is going to be.”

“My story?”

“Whenever a higher-up is brought in, they’re presented to the company. There are already rumors about a higher-up being brought into Mr. Jung’s board, and it’s extremely unorthodox for us to not present you within the first two weeks. So, we’ve got a couple days leeway to get you settled into your actual job.”

“I’m pretty sure that was part of my actual job.”

“Right. Anyway, I thought we might tell people that you’re the eyes and ears of Mr. Jung, and that one of your jobs is ensuring that we are at top potential.”

“Ok.”

“Which is basically what we already said, but I want to make it clear that you are in direct communication with HR and all reports go to you at the end of the day. I’m just having trouble coming up with your title.”

“Quality manager?”

He paused. “Ok, you’re really good. How have you not worked in a job like this before?”

“Hard times, big sacrifices. So, if I’m understanding things correctly, you want me to look through the reports on behaviors and such and make sure they’re looked into and that we’re paying attention, but also you want me to check in on projects and make sure we’re asking all the right questions.”

“Exactly. Quality manager is an excellent way of describing that job. But also, your job is to keep people from trying to see Mr. Jung. Mr. Jung has enough on his plate.”

You nodded. “I can do that. Shall we practice? I read through the notes on that memory core device.”

He grinned. “Sounds great. But first, the morning meeting.”

You nodded. “Thank you for cleaning my office, by the way.”

He just smiled back. “I can’t stand messes.”

“I gathered. You’ve got a pretty big one downstairs, though.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of dreading firing people though.”

“Then let me handle it. You can be there as a known authoritative figure and I’ll do the talking.”

“They might get mad at you for spying.”

“Then I trust you to handle their subsequent anger appropriately. I’ll try to keep things professional.”

“Thanks.”

“For?”

“Even offering to do any of this. I wasn’t really ready to take on the boss position. But I can’t sit by while people abuse their place in this company. I have to deal with the messes. My family didn’t build this legacy for me to let it fall apart.” His gaze was darker, but held determination to continue forward. A sternness to see things through.

The side of J-Hope that was the CEO of HopeWorld.

“I think once you get over the first trials you’ll be just fine.”

He looked at you in surprise. “You think?”

“I believe,” you amended. “I believe you are capable of being a great leader. I believe even though you are generous and compassionate, you will be able to handle the harder parts of this job for the good of the many employees who are doing their jobs to the best of their ability. Because that’s what it means when people are fired. The waste they accumulate is returned to the company and those that are still with it can benefit, or others who need the job take it and actually accomplish it. You’re improving efficiency, which makes the company prosper so you can do more for your employees.”

He slowly nodded. “That makes sense.”

You nodded. “Look at me: I could actually afford a new work outfit.”

He grinned, looking you over. “And it’s a great outfit.”

Okay. You hadn’t expected that.

“Are you implying something inappropriate?”

“Never. I just think it’s a very appropriate look and that it is very good at accentuating your good looks. You’re very good at shopping.”

You weren’t. Not really. Taehyung and Jimin had tagged along and helped you shop because you weren’t sure what would be best for the job and position. You had picked the items out, but Jimin and Taehyung had helped you style them together and decide on them.

“Sounds inappropriate to me.”

He chuckled. “Can’t you just take the compliment? It’s early.”

“If you compliment me, people might think that you’re showing favoritism.”

“Let them,” He answered easily, shrugging and holding the door open for you.

“Are you drunk again? I told you, you really shouldn’t drink.” You folded your arms.

He just laughed. “In. We’re late.”

“If we are, it’s your fault,” You replied, walking in and waving to the other men.

“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t dream of blaming you. Morning, everyone.” Hoseok took his seat. “What’s the day look like?”

“Same as yesterday, except whatever you and y/n are up to. My project is almost ready to present, Seokjin’s coming to help me today.”

“I do have my nephew today, he’s having a bad day,” Seokjin said quietly, making notes.

“That’s fine,” Hoseok said firmly, Namjoon merely nodding. “People like seeing him, and we’ve always said that kids are welcome as long as they don’t disturb others.”

“And he can come to my office anytime,” Taehyung said with a fond grin.

Seokjin nodded. “I have a meeting with my division just before lunch?”

Taehyung grinned. “We can color!”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Work, Taehyung. He can color, you can design.”

“Right. Right. That.”

“I need Yoongi-hyung’s help on the memory-core project.”

Hoseok looked mildly intrigued, glancing at you.

“I can head down after I check on my project. Might be an hour or so.” Yoongi checked his watch.

Hoseok nodded. “And we’ll be there in about two hours so that Y/n can look things over as my second set of eyes.”

Jungkook looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “O-oh, o-o-okay.”

The others looked mildly surprised, but quickly moved on.

“I’ll be on phone meetings to organize that event most of the morning. Our employees really enjoyed the food truck war, and it’s summer, so I think it’s best to try and have enjoyable events as frequently as possible during the weeks we can’t give them 3-day weekends.” Jimin twirled his pen as he spoke, looking over something on his planner.

“I’ll leave it in your hands, just don’t go over budget.” Hoseok jotted a few things down. “Okay. Y/n and I have to deal with some unsatisfactory employees, then we’ll be down to see how things are going with the memory core. Not sure about our afternoon, but I might leave that for her to settle in. How does that sound to you?”

“If ‘settle in’ means looking over reports, then that sounds fine.”

He nodded, flipping his book closed. “Alright. Then off we go.”

You got up and followed him out, and into the elevator.

“It’ll be best to go to them since it would draw a lot of attention to bring them up. We need the head of janitorial service with us as well, and I want to apprise her of what’s going to happen before we do it. You were smart to record the conversation, I’ll present that to Chiseul.”

Chiseul had been in charge of sanitation at the company for eight years, she was kind, but firm and had no patience for slacking. When you’d worked under her, even for a day, you could tell she expected the best. She had put who she thought were her best people in charge of cleaning the top floor, but instead they had been doing very basic cleaning and actually stealing from the company.

Her reaction to finding out was silent fury. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fire them?”

“We believe that it’s best for us to handle it, that way others will know that they can’t pull anything. I’m sorry we deceived you,” You said respectfully, because you did respect her. You’d put in your report that she should get a raise.

Hoseok nodded. “We will be implementing a system to keep people accountable soon.”

She accepted that with a sharp nod and then went to call those who would be fired into her office.

Hoseok groaned as soon as the elevator doors closed. “That could have gone better.”

------

You held the ice to your face and shrugged. “Could have gone worse. Security stepped in at the appropriate time. And I didn’t fight back, which means I can’t be charged with assault should they try anything like that. There were also multiple witnesses.”

“But you got hurt,” He argued, rubbing his face. “You got hurt.”

“So, I’ll have a black eye. I walk to work, so it’s not like I’ll be driving while mildly impaired. We got ice on it pretty quickly, and I don’t think it will end up being too bad of a black eye.”

“You got hurt,” He whispered.

“And I’m fine. Hoseok, we’re on our way to look over a major project in your company. Pull yourself together.” You reached over and straightened his collar. “It’s a bruise, not a fatal wound.”

He caught your wrist, holding you in place so he could move the ice pack with his other hand and see, the whole time his expression holding worry and what might have been nausea. “Why would they attack you? I was there too. Why would they only attack you?”

He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t listening.

“Betrayal,” You answered anyway, sighing a little and forcing the ice-pack back to your face.

“Uh, you two coming out of there or do you need another moment?” Yoongi asked, an eyebrow raised as he looked between you, not seeming to care that he’d startled both of you since you’d been too busy looking at one another to realize the elevator was open. But his gaze stuck on the ice pack. “Shit, they hit you?”

“Don’t you start too,” You groaned, exiting the elevator.

Hoseok stopped you, pulling you back so he could look at your eye again. “Hyung, look at her eye.”

Yoongi frowned a bit more, but complied. His eyes widened a bit. “Uh…infirmary.”

“Thought so.” Hoseok pulled you back into the elevator.

“Oh, come on,” You groaned.

Yoongi just shushed you. “Your eye looks bloody.”

“Oh.” Well, that was special. It didn’t especially hurt, but that might be because you were numbing the area.

But Hoseok ended up taking you to the hospital for evaluation.

As the two of you walked out of the hospital, you sighed for the fortieth time. “Told you I was fine.”

“That’s not what he said.”

“He said that I should be fine and to come back in if my eye gets worse or I start having other issues. It was probably her ring that got me.” You glanced at your watch. “Man, I’m not going to experience a regular workday, am I?”

His head dropped. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault. I’d probably get bored if it got too quiet. And feeling sorry doesn’t do any good. You didn’t hurt me, so you’re wasting energy by being sorry.”

“I know, but I got you into this job—“

“Are you thirsty?” You asked, stopping.

“What?”

“Are you thirsty?” You asked slowly.

“Um, I guess?”

You nodded and pulled him into the restaurant, dragging him to the bar.

“I don’t think you should have alcohol—“

“Hi, can I get a water with lemon and a Piña colada?” You asked the bartender, ignoring Hoseok. You had no intention of drinking, but Hoseok was so tense it was making you tense.

He stared at the piña colada. “What?”

“Drink. You’re driving me crazy. You need to relax and I doubt you’re going to do it on your own. I’ll make sure you don’t end up in a back alley.” You patted his hand.

“So…if you could drink, what would it be?” He asked.

“Probably a gimlet, with extra lime. But like I said, my preferred drink is water. I like to keep my head clear. There’s less golf-ball swallowing.”

He snorted and choked on his second sip of his drink.

You patted his back as he tried to recover from choking, and he was laughing in between coughing which wasn’t helping at all.

The bartender was looking concerned.

“His wife left him for his sister and his brother in law confessed his love to him, it’s a royal mess,” you told him, rolling your eyes.

Hoseok died a little more. “Stop,” He gasped, finally just laughing.

“It’s not my fault he thinks your butt is cute.”

He collapsed off of the stool, thudding to the ground and laughing harder.

“Man, two sips and you’re already drunk. You better not ask me if I like that nastiness again.”

He got up with your help, starting to calm down. “I won’t ask that.”

“Good. But seriously, I’m cutting you off. You’re too much of a lightweight.” You settled the bill with some extra for the bartender, then guided him toward the door.

But both of you stopped at the door.

“It’s raining?” Hoseok asked, still a little breathless.

“It would appear so.” You looked up at the sky.

“Do you like getting caught in the rain?” He asked quietly, holding out his hand.

You laughed softly, taking his hand. “I actually really do.”

“Really?” He smiled as he laced his fingers with yours.

“Really,” You confirmed, looking out at the rain with a little excitement.

“You might ruin your clothing.”

“Clothing washes, as do I.” You tugged and pulled him out into the rain, giggling as the rain started soaking into you.

He laughed as well, looking less comfortable in the rain, but like he was willing to let you lead him through it.

No.

Like he would follow you into anything.

“Why did you offer me the job?” You asked.

He met your gaze with surprise.

“Why me?”

He smiled at you, stepping closer so he could be heard. “I couldn’t say goodbye.”

You tilted your head.

“I couldn’t say goodbye to you, not at that time, and I don’t know why, but I’m trying to figure it out.”

You could work with that.

Hoseok touched your cheek, then moved in.

You knew your eyes were a little wide.

He gave a slight smile and then leaned in to kiss you.

You allowed it, and you didn’t regret it as his lips met yours. It was…new. Different. Right.

Except for one tiny detail.

You pushed him away gently. “Okay. But you need a new go-to drink because I forgot to mention I’m actually allergic to coconut, so, I’m gonna take some allergy meds now.”

His eyes widened. “I like mimosas and daiquiri.”

You nodded, swallowing an allergy pill. “Great. We won’t kill me, then.”

“How allergic are you?”

You shrugged. “I should be fine now.”

“Okay.”

“So, if you want to kiss me, we can do that again.”

He met your gaze, smiling. “That sounds like a bad idea.”

You rolled your eyes, then pulled him in. “Kiss me.”

He grinned. “Man, I love your honesty.”

And in the rain, you kissed your piña colada man, ignoring what might happen in your future.

“Might not be a permanent job, my judgement might be clouded. I might show favoritism.”

“Then call me a consultant pending permanent employment and depending where this takes us we’ll…let the others decide my fate.”

“Works for me. Let me walk you home. Where do you live?”

You gestured vaguely. “That way. About fifteen minutes from your building. Work. Place.”

“When you said you were a virgin—”

“I never said I was a—walk. We’re getting soaked standing here like idiots and I hear thunder.” You started walking, keeping hold of his hand. “That or I start reevaluating what parts you really need.”

He laughed. “You know what’s funny?”

“No.”

“When you’re actually being honest, your hands relax, and when you’re bluffing, they get all tense.”

Huh.

“What is your biggest concern with the memory core?”

You considered it for a moment. “It could just be a matter of wording.”

“That’s still important.”

“The proposal suggests imprinting all of the memories of the player onto the memory core so that full immersion is more stimulating.”

“Right.”

“But it’s wording makes it sound like the game is replacing their memories. Imagine someone overwrites the data: what happens when the player tries to re-immerse themselves?”

He was quiet for a while. “That…could be….”

“Disastrous. This machine is supposed to work with your brain, but corrupted files could shut the brain down or damage it. It is incredibly dangerous if I’m understanding it correctly.”

“It could hurt people. We have to tick every box. And come up with fail safes.”

“To me, it’s not worth the risk. But that’s why I wanted to talk to them, to make sure I was understanding things.” You gestured to a building. “This is me.”

He nodded, only following when you tugged on his hand. “Are you sure you want me—”

“We’re soaked and the wind is picking up, and—” lightning flashed through the sky, “the storm is getting worse. We’ll call you a cab or something.”

“Right. Inside. Good idea.”

You ditched your shoes the moment you got in, rushing to the bathroom to grab towels so the two of you didn’t drip all over everything. “It’s a bit hot in here, sorry, my AC broke.”

“Just means we’re not going to get chilled,” He answered, taking the towel and looking around. “It’s nice.”

You glanced around as well. You’d opted for minimalism since that was the only way to make the place not feel claustrophobic. “It does the job.”

“So, you’re allergic to coconut?”

“Mostly the consumption, but I do have mild reactions externally as well.”

“How’d you find out?”

“Coconut hair treatment with my friend when I was fifteen. They had to cut my hair off because my scalp blistered and broke out and it was…traumatizing. But that was because it was coconut oil right against my skin for over an hour, undiluted. My daily allergy meds help if I happen to use, I don’t know, soap with coconut in it.” You put the kettle on the stove since you were feeling kind of chilled. “Tea?”

“Sure.” He started examining the photos on your wall (all three of them). “So, if I hadn’t been the last straw for that job, where do you think you’d be right now?”

“Dumping a scotch-neat on my boss���s head, if not down his pants, after quitting and looking for a job with less drunk people. My boss was drunk, my coworkers were drunk, everyone was drunk, except me. Do you know how surreal that feels?”

“And yet you accepted a job from me, someone who was drunk?”

“So you admit it,” You pointed out.

He rubbed his neck. “I usually only drink in the evenings, it generally makes me sleepy.”

“You had caffeine with your alcohol, then.”

“Accidentally.”

“That would explain the whole ‘why is the rum always gone’ debacle.”

He was very red looking in profile, but that could have been the lighting. “Yeah. I was embarrassed as I did it and yet I didn’t stop. Stupid.”

“If I hadn’t been having a terrible night, I probably would have enjoyed the reference, honestly. But, as you put it, you were the last straw. I would probably be applying to fast food right about now if it hadn’t been you.” You watched him studying your photos far longer than they were worth studying. “Are my photos that interesting?”

“These three were the ones you consciously decided to display, which means they mean something to you.”

You thought about that for a moment, thinking about all of the photos of families that the people you’d worked under while spying had shown you. Always the kids, always the wife, always the beloved pet.

But Hoseok had no photos in his office.

“You don’t keep any photos visible in your office, and office photos are, arguably, the ones that provide the most insight into people,” You countered, sitting on the floor with the tray of tea on the coffee table.

He joined you on the floor. “It’s a precaution. I keep the photos in J-Hope’s desk, the locked drawer. I’m surprised you noticed, though.”

“I wouldn’t have, but people kept shoving their photos in my face and if they weren’t, then I was redirecting their attention to their photos so I would get away with my snooping. People like to talk about themselves.”

He was watching you, a soft smile on his face. “You really are something else.”

You shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you there.”

“We could hide it, you know. Us, whatever we are?”

“Professional flirtation,” You guessed, holding the mug and surprised at how cold your fingers had been. “Workday dalliance?”

“Wow, um, anyway, we could just not tell anyone about us.”

“9 to 5 lovers,” You quipped, trying to come up with more.

“Are you purposefully ignoring me?”

“Ye-es,” You dragged out, trying to think of another thing to call it.

“You don’t think we could?”

“I think the boys would figure it out before the morning meeting ended.”

“Oh, right, I didn’t mean from the boys.”

“Oh, ok, please continue.” You leaned on your hand and watched him.

“We stay away from anything unprofessional at work, with the exception of in private, and we make sure no one catches on. Then, when I officially take my position...we reevaluate where we are and adjust accordingly.”

“Officially take your position?”

“Technically, I’m not yet the CEO, my father is, but I’ve been acting CEO for about three years.”

He didn’t add that they had been the most prosperous three years of the company’s history, but maybe he was trying to stay humble.

“So, once he’s better and we finish a few things, he’ll hand over things to me officially. In front of the company.”

“Revealing that J-Hope is actually his son and everyone’s boss.”

He nodded. “Which would also be revealing that you have been working for me.”

“All of which could be potentially disastrous.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I bet you’d say I should have been open about it the whole time.”

“Not at all. I think this was the best course of action. Everyone respects J-Hope, they like him. They like his work ethic, they like how he listens, and they like how he cares. They like how bright and cheerful he is. They don’t know if they can trust their CEO, but they know that the board has been taking care of them and the CEO has been allowing it. They’re curious, and a little apprehensive.” You remembered all of the conversations you’d had over the week.

But one stuck out to you.

You’d been getting coffee with one of the employees in the marketing department, discussing the company and it’s leadership.

“I don’t know about the CEO. Or, well,” She flustered for a second. “I don’t know why he feels the need to hide from us. His father never did, but maybe there’s a plan. Every now and then, they have someone who sort of...scopes things out. They had me in project development for a couple of weeks so that I could tell them what I thought of the person that was testing the projects. That person was Mr. Jeon.”

You’d tilted your head, confused.

“Jeon Jungkook, he’s one of the board members, the youngest board member. He’s really good at catching on, which makes him a prime test subject for things that are about to be released. We can’t bring people in, not often, because information tends to get leaked. He’s been a godsend to the company. Mr. Jung found him, too, he’s found just about every top employee, and all of the board members--except J-Hope. He worked his way up through the company, and then impressed Mr. Jung Sr. and was given a job on the board. He looks after employee welfare and we’ve had an amazing increase in our benefits program ever since. It’s a shame Mr. Jung Jr. didn’t start out like J-Hope.”

“What’s that look for?”

You jumped a bit, refocusing on him. “All of the things that J-Hope has done are your accomplishments. You’ve improved the benefits program, upgraded the retirement package, made sure that everyone has received pay increases, and you worked your way up through the company. Your intellect lies in people, and your devotion to your job as their employer has inspired loyalty to you. I’m not saying you should go out tomorrow and reveal that you’re Mr. Jung Jr.”

“Do they really call me that?” He cringed.

“But you shouldn’t fear...telling them who you are. Yes, it could cause problems, but only momentarily. Until then, you want me to help you deal with trash and question everything so that the ship is running tightly when the official transfer happens. Right?” You asked, sitting up straight. “That way if anything happens with stocks, or the market, the company is running smoothly and will stay afloat.”

“You have a business degree, don’t you?”

“I never graduated,” You corrected easily. “But I did study some business, yes. This is what you want from me, correct?”

“Yes. I need you to tell me to suck it up when I hesitate.”

“Okay. Did you read my report on the other departments?”

He nodded slowly.

“Then I suggest you decide what should be done to those employees, and what you’re actually willing to do. Because I outlined my suggestions for each of them, but ultimately, it is up to you. You want to run a tight ship, you need to get rid of excess crew, which sounds terrible, but it’s true. If they’re not doing their job, they have no reason to be on deck. And some of them were on the wrong decks.”

He nodded. “I’ll review it once more, but we’ll probably go with your suggested actions.”

“Okay. Glad we understand each other.” You grabbed your phone, checking it. “Taehyung wants to know if I’m alive, and if I’m alive, is Hoseok alive as well.”

“Crap,” He went into his pocket. “Oh. They just wanted to go drinking. Taehyung is our usual designated driver. He’s not a big drinker like Jungkook and Jimin. I’m going to ask him to swing by and pick me up. If that’s okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t know how you felt about where you lived. You’re kind of hard to read.”

“I live here, I pay the rent, it’s small, but it’s mine. Or were you referring more to a bunch of men knowing where I, a single woman, lived?”

“The latter.”

“Ah, sweet of you to be concerned, but Jimin’s already seen my place.”

“He has?” Hoseok frowned.

“He dropped me off after we went shopping. None of the stores had bathrooms. Nature called.” You shrugged.

“I don’t like that,” Hoseok muttered, obviously more to himself.

“You don’t like that he had to use the bathroom? Or that we went shopping together? Because, technically, he was the only board member I was allowed to be seen with as one of his employment experiments.” You pointed out, waiting for him to pull himself together and continue texting Taehyung. “Also, you might want to text him before it’s too late.”

“That he saw your house.”

“Interesting. Text Taehyung,” You instructed carefully. “Before you have to pay for a cab.”

He did, but he was frowning the whole time.

You rolled your eyes. “Jimin was here for all of five minutes. I doubt he could even tell you what color the walls in the bathroom are.”

“Color,” He muttered, getting up and heading to the small hall.

“Um….”

“Purple. Walls are purple. Take that.”

“Oh my god, there is no way you’re even buzzed, why are you acting weird?”

“Purple. Blue. White. Three pictures.”

You rolled your eyes, and shook your head. “Weirdo. I mean, I knew that, only weird people like pina coladas--”

He caught you and kissed you again. “Don’t let Jimin in. He’s a minx. He’s a fox. That magic trickster fox that seduces you. A succubus.”

“Incubus,” you corrected. “Which is a sort of demon. Magical fox thing is a kitsune. You’re mixing your mythologies.”

“You’re so smart,” He said, but he said it in a sort of happy, sighing way while looking at you so softly and gently and adoringly….

You believed him.

He touched your cheek, then quickly pulled his hands away. “Alright. How about a rule?”

“Depends on the rule,” You replied.

“You have good judgement, and self control,” His gaze shifted to your eye, and his fingers brushed the edge of the bruising with a feather-light touch, “So, I want there to be a rule that at work, any...personal things between us are initiated by you. Which means you can shut me down at any time, anyway you feel necessary.”

“You mean, like asking you about your ex?”

“Ouch,” He muttered, looking down. “Yeah. Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Am I replacing your ex?”

He shook his head. “Not even remotely.”

“I’m in their office.”

He looked up, then shook his head. “No, you’re in my mom’s old office. Yesuel never worked at HopeWorld. Too much of a free-spirit.”

“But you loved them all the same.”

“I did. I thought I did. Love is...tricky.”

“Are you ready for another significant other?” You asked.

He met your gaze, holding it. “Do you like getting lost in the rain?”

You smiled. “You know I do.”

“Then you know I am,” He replied easily, fingers resting under your chin. “Are you going to be okay, with your eye like that? They did say it could get worse, and if it does….”

“Are you asking if you can stay? Because you’d have to borrow clothing, or live in a blanket until your clothing is dry. I don’t have much that would fit you.”

“I’m worried about you. I’ll stay on the couch.” He touched a strand of your still-damp hair. “Eye injuries are dangerous.”

“Didn’t you already tell Taehyung to come pick you up?”

He shook his head. “I was just going to walk down to work and get my car and pretend that Taehyung picked me up.”

You hit him lightly. “And if you got struck by lightning?”

“My company would be in good hands,” He answered, shrugging slightly. “But I would miss out on a few things. But you can get hit by lightning and live.”

“Not well,” You argued, frowning.

He gently ran a thumb over your eyebrow, as though to ease away your frown. “Besides, I was already struck by you. I don’t think anything could knock me off my feet like that, I don’t think anything ever has. You’re new and unique. And I want to know everything I can about you. Even if you don’t like pina coladas. Even if you are a virgin.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re addicted to it,” He replied easily, smirking at you.

And yes.

You were.

It was crazy, but you were completely addicted to the banter with him, the way he smiled while you were grumbling, the way he asked what you thought of things and actually listened. You liked his gentleness and compassion.

He brought hope back to your world.

“I agree to your rule,” You whispered.

Hoseok grinned and kissed you.

Your future was going to be crazy...but maybe the consistency of his smile was enough to get you through.

[marvelyningreen]

Aftershocks - Night 1

Night 1 | Night 2 | Night 3 | (deleted scene)

[Summary: Peter Maximoff is an unflappable sorta guy. He’d never let anything get to him before, and this recent misadventure will be no different. ...Right?

Warnings: mild language, references to injury, general trauma-related angst

Notes: Peter Maximoff x reader, of the established relationship variety. A ‘what if Fietro really was Peter?’ scenario. Same continuity/reader character from Linger and Late-bloomer. ]

On your first night back from Westview, you hesitate at Peter’s door. You’ve gotten so close to saying goodnight to each other half a dozen times, but here you still are.

“Why don’t you stay for a while?” Peter asks after an awkward few seconds of silence. “I’m not really all that tired. Are you?”

“Not really,” you lie.

Judging by the dark circles under Peter’s eyes, he’s not being entirely honest either.

It was late afternoon when you’d gotten back. Well, it was late afternoon here, at least. The passage of time in Westview was nebulous, to say the least.

Hank had been there to meet you when you all emerged from the portal – Peter, yourself, Mr. Lehnsherr and the professor, and the newcomers: Wanda Maximoff and her twin sons, Billy and Tommy. Hank summarily hurried you all off to the lab for debriefing, and also for a precautionary exam. Who knew what side-effects there could be from traveling between realities?

None, as it turns out. Wanda and the boys were just fine. Peter was a little dehydrated and underfed, but was otherwise in good health. You were ultimately the most scuffed-up from the experience.

In addition to the same issues as Peter, you’d amassed a fair amount of cuts and scrapes and bruises. Thankfully, the worst of it is just a badly sprained knee that’ll take several weeks to heal. Inconvenient, but bearable.

Peter has been pretty positive the whole time. If anything, he’s maybe a little too chipper, all things considered. But then again, he was immersed in playing cool uncle to the twins, and was probably just trying to keep their spirits up. They’d been through quite a lot, too.

“You should at least try to sleep, though,” you say, as you limp into Peter’s room.

Peter scoffs good-naturedly. “Are you trying to baby me?”

“Well, one of us has to be the responsible one.”

Peter rolls his eyes. Before you can blink, he’s changed into shorts and an old Pink Floyd t-shirt. He leans in to kiss you.

“I’ll try to sleep if you’ll at least sit down,” he says. “Deal?”

You smile. “Deal.”

As Peter climbs into bed, you settle yourself on the sofa. To say that it’d been a long few days would be understating things to a criminal degree.

You’d stepped through a mysterious portal to rescue Peter from wherever he’d been abducted to. You’d found that the culprit was a witch who’d taken him in an attempt to steal the power of another witch, and that witch is an alternate reality version of Peter’s sister… sorta? Or maybe not. You still aren’t completely clear on how any of this works.

Regardless, you’d ended up helping a woman named Captain Rambeau – who has powers like a mutant, but apparently isn’t one – to free Peter from the witch’s control. And then the young sons of Peter’s not-sister were in danger from some military creep, because said military creep had apparently made a cyborg zombie version of Wanda’s late husband.

Or something. Again, this was a lot to take in in a short period of time.

And no sooner had the business with magic and the military been cleared up than the professor and Mr. Lehnsherr appeared, intending to serve as backup. Luckily, there was no need.

Peter went to make his goodbyes and, in true Peter Maximoff fashion, wound up inviting Wanda and her sons to come back to the mansion with all of you. You weren’t the least bit surprised that the professor was fully on board with this. He’s always the first to reach out with compassion to a soul that’s lost and hurting.

What shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did was hearing Mr. Lehnsherr do the same. Between the three of them, Wanda was convinced to come to the school and to learn about her powers in a place where she and her sons would be safe and among friends.

It was at this point that Peter was trying to be in two places at once – serving as liaison to Wanda and the boys, and also making sure that you were alright. He only succeeded in making everyone dizzy, until Mr. Lehnsherr stepped in. He instructed Peter to focus on guiding the newcomers and volunteered to look after you himself. You found yourself leaning on Mr. Lehnsherr for support as you limped through the portal and back to your own world.

“Y’know what I can’t stop thinking about?” says Peter.

“Hmm?”

He turns to grin at you. “Your strawberry rhubarb pie.”

“I know I canned some of that this summer,” you say. “Do I have any left…?”

“If you don’t, one of the students has plant manipulation powers. I’m just sayin’.”

You laugh, and the conversation goes on in much the same vein - talking about a hundred little things that don’t matter.

Westview isn’t brought up, and neither are witches and magic. Nobody mentions Wanda and her twin sons in the room down the hall.

Peter hadn’t been able to give very clear answers to Hank’s questions about his experience. He said that it was all pretty blurry, and chalked up to a side-effect of that weird mind-control necklace thing.

You aren’t sure whether this is cause for worry or not.

The conversation with Peter has been fading in and out for a while now. Typical sleepover experience, really. Silence for a few minutes, and then a bit of banter, and a scattered response here and there, and then more silence.

It’s… It’s actually been silent for a while now. And when did your eyes close, anyway?

You look at the clock to see that over an hour has passed since you last checked the time. But you’re awake now, and you find that you’re not tired anymore. Moonlight streams through the windows, falling across Peter’s bed. He’s still sleeping, thank goodness.

At first you think that the sudden sense of reassurance is just because Peter’s getting some rest. He’s had quite the experience, after all. But there’s more to it than that. You realize that you’re just glad that Peter’s home and safe.

You haven’t really thought about it before, but part of you had always seen Peter as, well, sort of invincible. He’s clever, and capable, and impossibly fast. He can outpace an explosion. He can redirect bullets as easy as breathing. Nothing outside of a godlike entity or an otherworldly power had been able to touch him.

But you can’t stop thinking about this other man – this Pietro. He was fast, too, and he was probably just as capable. That didn’t prevent him from being shot to death while saving the lives of two other people.

Odd coincidental similarities aside, Peter and Pietro aren’t the same. You know this. And yet… You’ve already almost lost Peter once.

In Westview, once you’d found yourself abruptly separated from Vision, you’d realized that you were in way over your head. There was something sinister going on, and you had no idea whether Peter’s kidnapping was a part of it, or if it was something else entirely.

You’d wandered the streets, trying your best to look like you were supposed to be there. At first glance, everything seemed normal. But the more you looked, the more things just felt… off.

It seemed to be summer, but there were no kids at the pool, or in the park, or riding their bikes up and down the block. All the cars looked just a little too shiny and new for a small town. All the yards were too perfectly manicured. Every single person wore well-coordinated outfits. It all felt staged.

Down the block, you noticed a mailbox labeled with the name “Vision,” and-

You hesitated. Maybe best not to go barging in, right? Leaning against a streetlight, you pretended to rummage for something in your bag while you kept an eye on the house. Again, the oddly regimented behavior continued. People walked past the house at intervals that seemed random at first, but weren’t quite. It was more like they were spaced out intentionally to seem random.

Aside from that bit of weirdness, nothing unusual had happened. You hadn’t seen any trace of Peter in your wanderings. This Vision guy was your only lead. Steeling yourself, you started walking down the street, intent on knocking on that door and figuring out the rest from there.

And that’s when somebody clamped a hand over your mouth and twisted your arm, pinning it behind your back. Before you had a chance to struggle or even scream, the scenery in front of you blurred and darkened.

You blinked. The world was still again. You were in a dark, oddly-shaped room. It might’ve been hexagonal, but you couldn’t move to look around. The person who’d grabbed you was still holding you immobile.

“So, they sent another one in, huh?” said an unfamiliar voice. “You’d think they would’ve learned by now, but that’s military types for you.”

The speaker stepped into view. It was a woman – middle-aged and dark-haired. She wasn’t worried like Vision had been, nor was she blithely serene like the other people you’d seen. Her presence was commanding, unconcerned. There was something about the way she sized you up that unsettled you.

“I’ve got it from here, thank you,” said the woman.

The other person released you, and you immediately felt some strange energy wind around you. It tightened around your wrists and ankles, binding them fast, and yanked you several inches into the air.

“Who are you? Let me go!” You struggled to free yourself, but you couldn’t budge the restraints even an inch. Even your powers seemed to glance off them ineffectually.

The woman raised an eyebrow.

“Now that’s interesting,” she said. “How did you manage to get into Westview with your personality intact? Even he was calling himself ‘Ralph’ at first. You’re not with S.W.O.R.D., are you? And I can tell already you’re not a witch. Let’s see…”

The woman made some complex gesture with her hands. A purple mist crept across your vision. You felt something wrapping itself around your mind – covering it like a net, humming like an electric current. You shook your head, trying to clear it away, but it clung like a spider web.

The professor. Just before you’d left, he placed some sort of psychic shielding around your mind, just in case. He wasn’t sure what sort of dangers you’d be facing. You doubt this was what he’d been anticipating, but whatever this woman was trying to do to you, the shield resisted it.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. You felt the web’s grip on your mind tighten, vice-like. At first it was just uncomfortable, but the pressure increased until it was a stranglehold on your consciousness. The edges of your field of vision started to go gray. There was a pounding in your head, a ringing in your ears. You tried to scream.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t breathe.

And then its hold released, leaving you gasping for air. If you hadn’t been suspended in midair like that, you would’ve collapsed. The woman watched you with something like fury in her eyes.

“What are you?” she demanded.

Dazed, you blurted out an answer. “I’m nothing. I’m nobody. I’m just trying to find my friend.”

You nearly ignored the movement in the corner of your eye as you tried to pull yourself together. You’d honestly forgotten that there was somebody else in the room. You looked up, and-

Your blood ran cold.

“Peter!”

He was there. He was alright! He-

No. No, he wasn’t. Something was wrong.

Peter watched you with the blank, nonchalant gaze of a stranger.

“Sorry, babe,” he said, shrugging. “Peter’s not here right now.”

“Wha… What did you do to him?!”

You wrenched uselessly at the restraints and Peter… he actually laughed.

“What, him?” said the woman. “He’s fine. I needed a replacement Pietro, and he was the best I could do on short notice.”

She eyed him critically, reaching up to adjust his hair like some sort of demented stage mom.

“Get your hands off him!” you snarled. “And who the hell is Pietro?”

The woman laughed incredulously. “You’re really not from around here, are you? You followed him from that other reality, and- Oh. Oh… I see it now. Oh, that’s too adorable. You’re in love with him.”

Her laugh turned into something that was almost a cackle, and Peter joined in. You felt sick.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do to this town, but Peter’s got nothing to do with it. Let him go.”

“What I’m trying to do-? Oh, pumpkin, you have no idea what you stumbled into.” The woman shook her head in feigned sympathy. “Sorry, but I’m not done with my Fietro yet. And as for you… I won’t be able to get rid of you, but I can’t have you running around getting in my way. I’ll just have to put you someplace for safekeeping, and I know just the spot.”

The woman raised her hand again, and smiled menacingly at you.

“You can try to tell them who you really are,” she said, “But I wouldn’t count on anybody believing you where you’re going. Buh-bye, hon!”

Movement in the room catches your attention, drawing you out of your reminiscing.

Peter stirs in his sleep. He reaches out for a moment, and then his hand falls back onto his chest. He exhales heavily – not quite a sigh – and is still once again.

Then, his hand moves restlessly towards his throat, fingers gripping at nothing like he’s trying to pull at the collar of his shirt, or-

“No, please,” he mumbles, “Please…”

Your knee is stiff from being motionless for so long. It just about gives way under you as you scramble to Peter’s side. You stumble, falling rather than sitting on the edge of the bed.

You catch Peter’s hand in yours and smooth his hair back from his forehead.

“Peter?” You’re surprised at how frantic your voice sounds. “Peter, wake up!”

Peter snaps awake with a gasp. He yanks his hand free of yours, scrambling to push himself back towards the headboard and staring wildly around the room.

You hold up your hands where he can see them, careful not to reach towards him at all. “It’s okay! It’s okay. It’s just me.”

“You…?” Peter stares at you for a moment, as though trying to remember where he is. “Listen, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but can you tell me something only you would know? Anything. Please.”

For a second, your mind goes blank. Something only you would know? You’d spent enough time with Peter that there has to be…

You’ve got it.

You look Peter in the eyes, giving him a little smile. “Who else would know that you’re my hummingbird?”

Peter’s laugh is brief, but genuine. You’d called him that once as a joke – saying that it’d be a fitting codename with his speed, attitude, and love of sugar – and it’d since become your teasing pet name for him. You’d never said it in front of anyone else, though. You may only use it to get a rise out of him, but you never wanted it to become an embarrassing nickname for him or anything.

Peter’s initial panic is replaced by an apologetic smile, but you’re certain that his heart is still racing.

“Thanks. And I’m sorry,” he says. “Bad dreams, y’know?”

“No kidding. You wanna talk about it?”

“I…” Peter looks away, frowning slightly. “I can’t say I actually remember what I was dreaming about, to be honest.”

If you were unsure before, you’re definitely starting to worry now. You make up your mind to talk to Hank and the professor about Peter’s memory lapses. Maybe it’s nothing, but for your own peace of mind, at least…

Still, you don’t want to let on to Peter that you’re worried about him.

“Are you gonna be okay?” you ask. “Need me to get you anything?”

Peter musters up a grin. “Oh, I’ll be fine. And there’s no way I’d send you off to get anything for me with your knee all messed up. But… would you mind staying a little longer? Or you don’t have to leave at all. I mean, it’s already late, and it’s pretty cold out there.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you say, smiling gently. “You just lay back down, alright?”

Peter nods. Once he’s resettled himself under the covers, you lean down to kiss him.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you, too.”

Peter reaches over to hold your hand. He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes again.

That Peter falls back asleep within the hour is a testament to how wore out he must be. As for yourself, you remember seeing the horizon brightening outside the window before you finally drift off.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written)

Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! If you don’t want to see these you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories, whether it be for bad things happen bingo or any of the other series, one shots or in general!

Requested via AO3 comment.

General Taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @im-an-anxious-wreck​ @logans-library @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi​

Rage Against the Machine

Summary: The door at the end of the hall has been locked tight for some time now and things seemed to have finally calmed down. Truly, that's where their first concern should have been (Happy Ending)

Warnings: food mention, maggot mention, mild swearing, somewhat disturbing imagery provided by Remus, strangulation, bruising, violence (if there are more please let me know)

Prompt: Lifted by the Neck

Ships: Intrulogical, Logan x Remus

WC: 3566

Before you read! This work is a direct sequel to Faulty Logic; I would recommend reading that first if you haven’t to understand the context of this story!

“So we’re just leaving him locked in his room? Seriously?” Thomas looked around at all of  them, utterly confused by the decision they had made. Patton sat with him on the couch wringing his hands nervously while Roman sat on his other side, his lips pressed together in thought. Logan and Remus occupied the whole of the loveseat adjacent from them while Virgil was sprawled on the stairs. Janus nodded from his seat in front of the T.V., a chair conjured up in front of it in an attempt to actually hold their manifestors attention. 

It was a couple of days after the incident, most everyone wanting to let things calm down at least a bit before taking the situation to Thomas though they all knew it would have to be done sooner rather than later. Rage had been as secured in his room as he could be, now that Thomas knew about him and had at least put a name to his function there wasn't much he could do to get out of having a physical form, making the boards they had nailed to the outside of his door and the chains they ran and secured through a thick lock adequate protection for everyone else's security. Unless he figured out a way to force the door down through brute strength alone, which Janus was very doubtful he'd be able to do, they would be safe for now; a thought which put most of their minds at ease though Logan was understandably still a bit shaken and had taken to hanging out in Remus’ room more often than not, the sight of the hefty morning star and various other weapons throughout the room putting his mind at ease that he wouldn't be so easily taken a second time. Yes, he had told the others, he was there for his own peace of mind and no other reason. 

Though if he was leaning more heavily on Remus from his place on the couch, the Duke having an arm thrown over the back of the couch to just barely brush the back of his shoulder, no one said anything. Janus merely rolled his eyes at the display before turning his attention back to Thomas. "Though it certainly isn't the most elegant solution, it will work for now, giving us the time to talk you through things and prepare you as much as possible before you meet him and actively try to work things out with him."

 "I just don't-" Thomas dragged a hand over his face and gestured to Logan. "He was locked in a cage! And told he was useless! i don't think that I- Logan I don't think like that."

 Logan smiled thinly at Thomas and sat up a bit straighter. "I know Thomas. What was said and done wasn't the result of some underlying goal that you secretly wanted to have happen. It just so happens that Logic is a fairly versatile tool when used to overcome certain negativities in your mind, so I was the first to be targeted as a result."

 "But I-"

 "Thomas." Logan cut off patiently. "I assure you- I am shaken but unharmed. Best to discuss what we can do moving forward rather than what we could have done. I don't hold it against you, so don't hold it against yourself."

 Thomas ran a hand through his hair slowly, looking as if he still wanted to argue but didn't want to risk upsetting Logan by bringing it up further. Deciding to concede for now he turned to Janus who was waiting patiently for the conversation to move to something more productive. "Okay. I...okay. Janus?"

 "Yes, Thomas?"

 "What do we do now? How can I- I'm not...Janus am I secretly a violent person?"

 Janus' eyes blew wide. "Thomas what- no. Why is it that everytime you learn you have a less than favorable trait- actually we’ll table that for another time. Considering just how often it is that you attempt to maul anyone who so much as looks at you funny speaks for itself I should think."

 "So why is Rage so violent then? And why do I even have a side dedicated to anger? It doesn't seem like that would be something that would ever help me."

 "Rage is..." Janus screwed his mouth to one side trying to think of how to explain it without causing more trouble. "He's not violent...usually. In that he isn't going to always take every opportunity to attack someone or influence others into shouting matches they wouldn't otherwise get in. Anger, as an emotion in and of itself, is a response to something you find unfair or unjust. Whether the belief is founded or not, anger is a part of you that rises up when you feel you have been unfairly treated, or something or someone you care for has been unfairly treated."

 "It's like fear," Virgil piped up with a quick glance to Janus. "It's a part of you that responds to your surroundings and makes you aware of how they're affecting you. Anger is a part of you that cares for you and wants you to see the possibility that things could stand to be better for you or those around you."

 "Exactly, thank you Virgil." Janus smiled at the anxious side who only nodded and went back to fiddling with his hoodie strings. "It's usually not something that's an inherently bad thing to have unless you frequently find yourself blowing up at even the smallest inconvenience. Like most things it's good in moderation."

 "So then why is Rage such a..."

 "Raging dick?" Remus helpfully supplied.

 "Language.' Patton chided quietly. 

 "Oh stick it up yours, Morality."

 "Remus." Janus warned, effectively shutting up the intrusive side. "But yes, your anger, Rage, acts the way he does for much the same reasons that Remus acts the way he does. He's been suppressed."

 "But I didn't know I was suppressing him!"

 "Just like you didn't know you were suppressing Remus. Rage works the same way. He gets pent up and bored and then frustrated that he isn't being acknowledged. Which again, he wasn't acknowledged for the same reasons as Remus. You didn't want to see him, so I hid him away. Anger isn't a bad thing in moderation, but to deny you have it at all is almost as detrimental as letting it out too much."

 "It's my fault again, kiddo. Part of being a good person, in my mind, is having patience and understanding." Patton hung his head. "I thought that meant it would be better if you just didn't react then...when things made you mad."

 "Everyone loves a martyr Patton truly." Patton's head snapped up, hurt flashing across his face.

 "That is to say, it isn't solely your fault." Janus quickly amended. "I also had a part in it, as did Virgil and even Logan to an extent. Now isn't the time to see who can carry the most blame, we're trying to get Thomas to understand what went wrong and how we can fix it."

 "But how can we fix it? I know I get angry; I was angry about the wedding, I get frustrated when I don't meet my deadlines or something happens that prevents me from doing the things I want. I even swear at traffic jams. What more am I supposed to do?" Thomas looked from Patton to Janus and back and then desperately at everyone else when no one spoke up. He just wasn't an angry person, there were always going to be obstacles preventing him from doing things or some unfair policy that made it more difficult for his friends to do something which was always upsetting. How much more angry did he have to be to satisfy a side he had never met?

 "I think," Roman spoke up. "that just letting yourself feel the full extent of it more often would help. Acknowledge it and actively work to fix whatever it is that's making you frustrated would probably be a good start. You're a very passive person Thomas and while in theory that's a very good thing to be, well..."

 He gestured to Remus. "No offence but it doesn't always have the best result. You just let things sit and fester, believing that any slip up is a moral failure on your part, and it makes you miserable- whether subconsciously or not. I love you Thomas, and will always fight for you, but there are some battles you have to lose to come out the other side."

 "We're not saying you have to start kicking puppies and beating kids." Remus ignored Patton's pained gasp and held Thomas' gaze. "Just like- get a punching pillow or something. Or walk away and scream. All you do is push everything down when you get too full. But eventually you're going to have to take the trash out, and I think you'd rather deal with three day old stinking onion cuts than maggot filled meat."

 "I- okay yeah I get it. Thank you Remus." Shaking the image from his head, Thomas nodded and looked back to Janus. "Do you think starting to do that would calm him down enough that he'd eventually listen if we summoned him up?"

 "Hard to say. I don't think it should happen for a while yet anyway; letting him tire himself out before we start trying to work with him might be the best course of action. I had definitely realized just how physical he was willing to be to get the acknowledgement. Absolutely no tact but really he comes from you so I don't know what I was expecting." Janus winked letting Thomas know he was only kidding, making their manifestor roll his eyes and sigh deeply. 

 "So all we can do is wait and see then?"

 "Essentially yes. We'll keep watch over his room to make sure he doesn't come after one of us again and when the time comes to call him up we'll have to make sure proper precautions are taken so we're all safe when doing so, but there isn't any harm that I can see in letting him throw himself against the walls for a bit. Rather amusing to see him get so riled up after lurking in your subconscious for years, only coming out occasionally to nudge one of us into conflict like a child tugging the tail of a dog." Janus smiled at Thomas. "For as violent and scary as he is, at his core he only wants to protect and fight for you, even if his methods can be immature at the best of times. You are and always will be in charge when it comes to us. Once you understand that he has as much influence over you as you let him he’ll be much easier to communicate with, and we all trust you that you will never let it go too far."

 They all nodded in agreement as Patton spoke up. "You are a good person Thomas. Having anger and intrusive thoughts or telling lies- those are things everyone deals with. It's how you choose to let them influence you that makes the difference. As long as you realise when you've let things go too far and work to fix where you've gone wrong, well- that’s all anyone can ask for."

 "Thank you, Patton." Thomas smiled as the fatherly aspect squeezed his knee affectionately and stood, stretching before placing his hands on his hips.

 "Welp," He glanced around. "It's getting pretty late, and we have work to do tomorrow so I think we'd all benefit from a good night's rest."

 "Agreed. We can better address this in the morning when we can put together-" Logan shuffled through a few notecards. "...a game plan. As much as I would love to have this resolved sooner rather than later we have other responsibilities that need our attention."

 "Just remember what we discussed here moving forward," Janus suggested as he stood and snapped away the chair. "and we'll have a much easier time handling Rage when the time comes to do so."

 "I will. Just- be careful. I don't want anyone hurt because I can't seem to handle negativity."

 "We're imaginary Thomas, it's almost impossible for us to actually be hurt." So saying Roman sunk out, quickly followed by Patton after giving Thomas one last reassuring smile.  

 "You got this." Virgil gave a two fingered salute before sinking out himself, making him smile as he watched Logan nod and sink out with Remus. 

 "Thank you again, Janus." Thomas turned to the only side left in the room.

 "As much as I'd love to take all the credit, I'm hardly deserving of thanks. I'm just one side, guiding you through your constant moral dilemmas as you question yourself as a person; truly not as big a deal as it seems." Janus sniffed as he tugged at his glove, smirking as Thomas waved him off playfully.

 "Alright, alright. Get out before I decide to bring something else up I've been suppressing since childhood."

 "If only you knew." Janus mumbled as he sunk out, coming up in the hall where all of their doors were located and looking to the one at the end covered in boards and chains. Seeing nothing amiss he turned on his heel and made his way to his own room across the hall, content in his belief that everything, for now at least, was fine.

 -----

The hallway had been suspiciously quiet for a while now- a week to be precise. Janus tested the chains occasionally, careful not to make any noise so the room's occupant wouldn't be suspicious of anything going on outside their confinement. Through all his caution and constant checking and even Remus and Virgil's fussing over what might need to be added to keep the door more secure the room stayed stubbornly silent. It wasn't a bad thing per se, it might mean that maybe Rage was calming a bit since Thomas actually had been taking the time to acknowledge and let out his feelings however and whenever he could, usually through a good vent to one of them or a close friend.

 Later, much too late for him to do anything about it, Janus would realize that's where he went wrong. They had all become complacent, assured in their safety with Thomas taking the proper steps on his part and the heavy chains on the door putting all of their minds at ease that for now, everything was okay. Even Virgil began to feel as if things were relatively safe, only occasionally venturing far enough down the hall to make sure things truly were. None of them stuck around long enough to hear the careful scratching on the other side of the door, evidence of which was hidden by the thick boards nailed over it, large gouges and holes gradually growing bigger to weaken the door as much as possible without anyone being any the wiser from the other side. Janus kicked himself for not expecting it, so used to Rage being brash and heavy handed in everything he did that he didn't expect him to do much more than relentlessly throw himself against the door until he was forced to simply sit and wait his sentence out.

 So when Logan felt brave enough to check the door himself- read that as when Remus let Logan out of his sight long enough for him to check the door himself- Janus should have been expecting the sound of splintering wood and chains being whipped against the wall. He should have expected the short lived shriek followed by the dull thumping sound of a body hitting a wall or floor. He should have expected it so he could react better- faster. But as it was by the time he had burst from his room, staff fully extended and hat flying off behind him as he ran to the scene, Logan was already in the air, legs kicking as hard as he could against the side that held him by the neck, fingers digging into the soft flesh where bruises were already forming from the harsh treatment.

 "Remus!" Janus' scream threw the other dark side off for just a second, but it was enough for him to slam into him heavily, catching Logan's waist with the crook of his staff and using the momentum to swing him into Remus as he pinned Rage to the ground. He was only just able to confirm that Remus had caught their logical side and was carrying him away before he was violently bucked off the one he had pinned, getting a fist slammed into the side of his head as he was tossed aside like a ragdoll. He rolled to his feet despite the black spots dancing in his vision before they engulfed his vision completely, causing mild panic before he heard Virgil's echoing voice booming through the darkness.

 "Get him up, Remus, make sure Thomas is blocking him!" Janus braced himself as a wave of pure, unfiltered fear crashed over him, gritting his teeth against the screaming darkness and hanging onto his staff for dear life as it passed him over him in favor of its actual target.

 "Janus?" He felt Virgil's shaking hand brush his arm and he immediately grabbed it in his, squeezing gently to let the anxious side know he was there. "Go up with them, I can handle him."

 "Like hell." Janus growled and pulled him a bit closer, eyes finally adjusting as he brought his staff to rest in front of them both. He saw Virgil's eyes flash brightly but he held his gaze firmly until the other huffed and faced forward.

 "Fine, but I'm only saving your ass once." They watched as Rage stumbled to his feet, cracks appearing in the floor underneath him and flaring a warning in bright orange. Shadows still licked at the edges but fizzled out as they got too close, making Virgil growl in annoyance beside him. Janus stepped forward as the cracks grew bigger, scales glowing bright yellow through the darkness themselves, determined to protect his family- Rage included- for as long as he could.

 -----

 "Hey Lolo." Logan winced as he cracked his eyes open, mouth parting to speak but all that escaped was a thin whine as his throat flared with pain. "No no no, don't try to talk! Here, this will help."

 Something soft and featherlight was placed across his neck and then a light, cold pressure was applied, instantly making him close his eyes and sigh with relief. The pain mostly calm he now noticed he was laying on a rather lumpy surface- most likely the couch- and that his head was being cradled on something warm and squishy. Opening his eyes once more he was able to focus on the fact that Remus' head was directly above his own and quite close, which meant he was being held in his lap, on Thomas' couch, with Remus looking at him with eyes so full of concern it made him want to cry if he wasn't certain that would make his throat swell.

 "We'll do this and then see if you can swallow some tylenol to get the swelling and pain down and then- Logan? Am I hurting you? Are you uncomfortable? Do you want me to call someone else up to-"

 Logan reached up quickly, wincing slightly with the movement but managing to lay a careful hand on Remus' cheek. He really wasn't able to speak but he was hoping his thanks was conveyed through eye contact as he smiled gently at the other. Remus gave him a small yet loving smile as he brought his other hand to Logan's and turned his head, kissing the palm lightly. "Fucking asshole. You're so smart but you pick the dumbest times to be out of sight."

 Logan huffed through his nose and flicked the Duke's playfully, getting a quiet laugh in response as he lifted the ice pack and readjusted it so it covered more of the bruising. "Thought I was gonna come out and you'd be stuffed in a cage again and beaten this time or strung up and hogtied or-"

 Logan tapped his cheek sharply to stop the spiral. He was far too hot despite the ice pack and he knew he was smiling quite stupidly up at the other side even though tears were streaming down his face and he wished more than anything he could just speak-

 "I love you so much, Logan. As soon as you heal I'm kicking your ass for scaring all of us." Remus swept his hair out of his eyes before resting his hand on his cheek. "We'll take care of it though, and we'll take care of you and everything will be fine."

 Logan made to reach up again, a question in his eyes but Remus beat him to it. "And before you ask: Virgil and Janus have done this...too many times; believe me when I say they're fine. Thomas, Roman and Patton are right in the kitchen. Everything's fine, just rest for now."

 Dropping his hand to the one on his cheek, Logan would take a ridiculous amount of time to admit he snuggled in further on the Duke's lap, content for now that everything was fine.

This work is also available on AO3!

If you like this, please consider reblogging, as sharing a creator’s work is very encouraging to us and helps our creations reach more people!

[my-soul-sings]

just my luck: chapter 2

Fandom: Wannabe Challenge Characters: Taehee x Reader

Summary (placeholder): Having been cursed to live a life filled with misfortunes, moving to a new city to start anew was, as expected, a difficult process. But things start to change after you encounter a mysterious doctor who seems to know you even though you’ve never met him before.

chapter 1

***

“I’m sorry, this is all my fault.” 

It was a familiar voice, one that made your heart pound and ache painfully in your chest. And it was the only thing replaying in your head when you woke up, though it began to rapidly ebb away as your eyes opened, receding like a tide as quickly as it had come. 

Waking up from what felt like a long, distant dream, the first thing you noticed as you blinked your eyes open was the moisture clinging to your eyelashes. You raised your fingers gingerly to touch your cheeks, staining its tips with tears. Glancing around, you realised you were in a doctor’s office, lying on an examination table. It didn’t take long for everything to come rushing back to your memory as your head throbbed and pulsed in pain. 

You remembered coming to the clinic because you had a fever—how could you forget, with this shitty headache and the faint nausea that was rising from the sheer pain—and then the doctor had started acting strange, and then nothing. You must have fainted, and then he probably carried you to the examination table afterwards, but now he was gone. 

The office was empty and silent, save for the sounds of your ragged breathing. Staying and waiting for him to come back didn’t sound like a good idea at all. There was no telling what he might do to you and if he pulled anything—you didn’t have the strength to call for help in this state either. 

You groaned and clutched your head from the fresh wave of pain that washed over you as you struggled to sit up and push your legs over the edge of the examination table. Gingerly, you stepped down, feet unsteady on the hard flooring beneath you. Black spots covered the edges of your vision, and you squeezed your eyes shut in an effort to will the nausea away. You had no intention of fainting twice in one day. At least, not until you got to another clinic where hopefully the doctors were more normal.

Unfortunately, at that moment you heard the door click open and then you heard footsteps rushing to your side. You felt hands on your shoulders trying to support you, and you didn’t have any strength to try pushing him away. He helped you back to the examination table and pushed you back down into a lying position. Like a rag doll, your limp and weak body made no attempt to resist. 

“You shouldn’t be moving,” Dr. Kim chided with a frown. 

“How… How long was I… out for?” Damn, it was hard to even speak. Not when you were lightheaded and when you could only manage shallow breaths. 

He checked his watch. “About five minutes. I checked your temperature earlier and you’re having a very high fever. It’s 39.2 degrees.” 

“Shit.” The curse left your lips before you could stop yourself. All this because of a little rain? Screw you, rain. 

“I wanted to wait until you were awake before I continued the check-up,” he continued. “I don’t think you need to go to the hospital since you didn’t hit your head. The main issue is the fever, but if you want to go to the hospital for a check-up to be safe I think that would be a good idea too.” 

“No, it’s fine,” you said. “If you say I don’t have to go then I trust you.” You really didn’t. It was just that you’d rather not imagine the hospital bill if you actually made a trip to the A&E or something. 

“Alright then, I’ll just do a quick check-up on you now.” 

Admittedly, you were worried that he might try something funny. But then the rest of the check-up went by smoothly, and he maintained a completely professional demeanour while doing his job. It was as if everything that you recalled happening before you fainted had been a mere figment of your imagination. There was not a single trace left of the emotional doctor from before. The man in front of you now seemed like a completely different person—dare you say, even normal. If he did have any emotions, they were masked behind a polite smile and a courteous voice as he asked you questions about what you’d been eating, what might have caused the fever, whether there was pain in the areas where he was lightly applying pressure. 

Could it have been the fever conjuring up some nonsensical drama in your head? Maybe you had knocked your head earlier and you didn’t even know it. 

“I’ll prescribe you with medication for your fever and cough,” he said, returning to his desk to type some things down on his computer. 

“Thanks,” you said, sitting up. It didn’t feel as difficult this time, maybe because your head was starting to clear up a little. You just hoped you’d be able to get home in one piece.

“Do you need more time to lie down?” he asked, eyes widening in mild alarm when he turned around and saw you trying to get off the examination table again. 

“I’m feeling better now,” you replied, but made no protest when he held you by the arm to help you down. He released you when you looked like you were steadier on your feet, and you took a few steps forward experimentally, to show him that you would be fine.

“Thanks. That’s all, right?” 

“Just one more thing,” he added. “I’ll need you to come back in three days so I can check up on you.”

His words took a couple of seconds to register in your muddled head. “What?” Was it normal for a general practitioner to ask you to return for a check-up? 

“Is it inconvenient?” he asked, raising a brow. 

“Oh, no it’s not. I mean- I live pretty close by so it’s not that inconvenient.” You were beginning to ramble in your confused state. “It’s just- I thought GPs usually don’t ask patients to come back for a second consultation.”

“I suppose it is a bit unusual,” he admitted with a smile. It was difficult not to be charmed by it, or by the way his eyes met yours. His smile was brighter and more genuine than the polite ones he had been offering you for the past couple of minutes, and it looked good on him. “It’s something I ask of my patients sometimes, just to be thorough and make sure that everything’s alright. And the follow-up consultation will be free of charge, so if it’s convenient for you I’d appreciate it if you came by so I can make sure that you’re okay.” 

The words “free of charge” did make his offer sound a lot more attractive. This was entirely to your benefit too, there was no compelling reason for you to turn him down. There was still the nagging thought in the back of your mind clinging to the memory of his odd behaviour before you passed out, but you decided to ignore it for now. He didn’t seem bad, and if he really wanted to try something funny he could have done it earlier, but he hadn’t pulled any tricks with you so far, so that had to mean something. 

“Alright. Thanks for the offer. So I’ll come back in three days… Should I come at this time?”

“Any time that suits you is fine,” he answered. His smile seemed to have grown bigger, or maybe you were just imagining things.

“Okay then, thanks.” With a curt nod and polite smile, you turned to leave. The friendly smile he gave as he watched you go lingered in your mind as you waited for the receptionist to call on you to give you the medicine he had prescribed.

What a crazy day it had been—and it had only just begun, seeing as it was still technically morning. 

The small plastic bag of medicine in your hands rustled as you left the clinic, but just as you took a couple of steps outside, you heard someone call your name from behind.

You winced when your head jerked back sharply, and there you found Dr. Kim jogging towards you. He was no longer wearing his white coat, and now you could see his outfit in full: a navy blue button-up shirt paired with black business pants and a pair of black derbys. His soft black hair bounced lightly with his movements, a little like cotton candy. You couldn’t help but stare at the sight — he was effortlessly handsome, turning heads as he went. It felt strange to feel eyes on you when he approached you with a breathtaking smile.

“Did I leave something behind?” you asked, peering at his hands to see if he had brought whatever it was with him. They were empty, however.

“No, it’s my lunch break now. I thought I would walk you home since you said you lived nearby.” 

Alarm bells in your head went off again. Was he trying to follow you home? What if he turned out to be a crazy stalker? 

Your apprehension must have shown, because he immediately raised his hands in surrender and his eyes widened in panic. “I know this sounds strange. It’s just— I was worried since you fainted earlier… I’m worried you might faint again on the way home. So I thought I should walk you home in case anything happened.” 

...Okay, that sounded fair enough. You had fainted earlier and also insisted on not going to the hospital. Still though, he was going above and beyond. Either he was an exceptionally good person or he was being a creep. Taking the risk didn’t sound worth it. 

Choosing your words carefully, you replied in a measured tone, “Thanks for worrying, but I’ll be fine. My place is within walking distance from here. I feel better after lying down so I think I can manage.” 

The concern didn’t disappear from his face. Instead, the wrinkles in his forehead only deepened at your response. “Still… just to be safe. If it makes you feel better,” he added with some haste, “let’s just say I’m doing this for my benefit. I don’t want to be accused of medical negligence if anything happens to you on the way home.”

Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but breathe out a chuckle. “I promise I won’t press charges, alright? I made the decision on my own.”

“Can I really trust that?” he retorted, although the kind smile playing on his lips indicated that he wasn’t really taking offense. Not to mention, it was doing an effective job of melting away the tension in your shoulders. 

He didn’t seem like a bad person… maybe you could take that risk. Besides, he looked like he might actually cry if you didn’t let him bring you home. 

“I’ll leave once I see you to your place. I won’t enter or do anything weird. If it’ll make you feel safer you can turn on the audio recording function in your phone—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted him mid-ramble. “I’ll trust you.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, looking genuinely happy to hear that. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug. “You’re a bit weird but I don’t think you’re a bad person.” 

The confusion that showed on his face was almost cute. “I’m… weird?”

“Let’s just walk,” you muttered, mentally kicking yourself for saying that out loud. “How long is your lunch break anyway?”

“An hour,” he replied, walking in step with you. “Is your place very far from here?”

You shook your head, pointing to the building in the distance. “It’s just a five-minute walk.” 

“Oh.” 

Maybe you heard wrong, but you thought you detected a hint of disappointment in his short response. 

“I’ve been working here for a while, but I’ve never seen you before,” he remarked. “I suppose that’s a good thing. It means you’re healthy, right?” 

A cynical laugh left your lips at that, which made him stare at you quizzically. “Was I wrong?” he asked. 

“I just moved here yesterday,” you told him, omitting the part where you weren’t exactly the healthiest person either. It wasn't that you fell sick easily, it was more like you got injured far more often than the average person. But if your bad luck continued, maybe you’d be seeing this doctor more often than he expected. 

“I see.”

You snuck a sideways glance at him, noticing how his eyebrows were pressed together in a thoughtful look. His eyes seemed distant, like his mind was far away. You wondered what he might be thinking about.

The rest of the short walk was filled with him asking you questions and making small talk. It consisted of the usual questions any stranger might ask you: How are you adjusting? Where did you come from? Why did you decide to move here? 

It was strange how easily you were able to open up to him, despite the guardedness you felt earlier. It just felt natural somehow, like seeing a friend you hadn’t met in a long time. Easing into the conversation and listening to the sound of his voice was nicer than you expected it to be. 

Before long you found yourself at the entrance of your apartment building, and you weren’t sure if the small twist in your heart was disappointment at not being able to ask your share of questions of the doctor. He had asked you questions the entire way here but you hadn’t learned all that much about him, other than that his smile was contagious, his laughter felt like a refreshing summer breeze and that every time he looked at you it made your heart jump in your chest.

 “I’ll head in on my own. Thanks,” you said, forcing a smile to your face. 

He took a moment to survey the building, his lips pressed into a line. Then his gaze returned to you, the serious expression on his face compelling your eyes to drop to your feet. The intensity in his eyes was a bit too much to handle. 

“Before you go, could you add my number to your phone?” 

“What?” Your response was immediate, and when you looked at him again he seemed a bit more bashful than before. 

“I know this is strange, but in case anything happens, you can call me. You don’t have to give me your number, but I’d feel better knowing that you have mine just in case, especially since you said you don’t know anyone around here.” 

You pondered over this, but found no reason to reject him. So with a shrug, you took your phone from your pocket and dialled the number that he gave you into the keypad, before saving the contact as ‘Dr. Kim’. 

Maybe he could tell that you didn’t feel comfortable giving him your number. He didn’t take out his phone or wait around after that. He simply gestured for you to go into the building, reminding you to take your medicine and to get some rest. 

The walk into the building felt a little more lonely than before, now that you could only hear the sound of your footsteps. You didn’t realise before, but coming here to a new place all on your own had made you feel a twinge of loneliness you didn’t feel back home. It wasn’t like you had many friends in the first place, but at least Seohee was there. 

You sighed. This was just the fever talking. You tended to crave company when you were sick, after all. It didn’t change the fact that you were excited to start a new life here. You could pursue your dreams, do what you had wanted to for so long, without anyone holding you back. 

Still, just before you disappeared into the lobby, you looked back. There wasn’t a real reason for it, but you did it anyway. 

And then you saw him, waiting at the gate, watching with a pensive expression as you went in. When he noticed you had turned around though, his expression melted into a bright smile and he waved. 

It cleared away the loneliness you felt in that moment. In its place, a pleasant warmth spread in your chest at the sight, and a smile lifted your lips before you realised it. 

When you returned to your apartment, the first thing you did was change the name of his contact.

Dr. Strange.

You grinned, satisfied. It had a nice ring to it. 

[realityhelixcreates]

Dance of the Spheres Chapter Six: Meteoric Mambo

Chapters: 6/?

Fandom:  Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG 13

Warnings: kidnapping, forced marriage, death mention, mild body horror

Characters: Loki(Marvel), Heimdall(Marvel)

Additional Tags:  Loki Goes Overboard, But When Doesn’t Loki go Overboard, Mature Reader, Disabled Reader, Political Intrigue

Summary:  

Gave my love to a shooting star But she moves so fast that I can't keep up, I'm chasing I'm in love with a shooting star But she moves so fast, when she falls then I'll be waiting                                              Shooting Star-Bag Raiders

Loki leapt for the door, bellowing for somebody to fetch someone named Eir. Then he was at your side, lifting you effortlessly in his arms and carrying you through your beautiful rooms, to lay you down on your warm, comfortable bed, where you writhed uncontrollably in terrible pain.

Loki unbelted your dress, and drew the blanket up to your chest, then seated himself next to you, holding your hand, stroking your face, and murmuring things you could barely understand through the pain. Eventually a graceful, middle-aged woman appeared with several handheld devices, and a sound scolding for Loki for being so irresponsible with the Apple.

You couldn't even take pleasure in the dressing-down he was receiving, as the woman attached one of the devices to your arm, and set the other one above your bed. A projection of your body appeared above you, hovering in midair. It showed all kinds of information that you didn't understand, like the graphics in a science fiction film.

“It's started in her spine.” Eir said. “That's why the pain is so severe to begin with. It's effecting her nerves first.”

“What does that mean?” you cried, your voice twisted into squeals of agony. “What is it doing to me?”

Eir began to launch into another scolding, but Loki drowned her out with speedy explanations.

“The Apples of Immortality contain enzymes that act as catalizers on the genetic codes of certain species. So far, we know for certain that they effect Vanir, Asgardians, Jotun, and Humans. They effect us in slightly different ways, but in humans, the change is most drastic.

The Apples give humans greater strength and durability, energy efficiency, speedier healing of wounds and resistance to disease, and a greatly extended lifespan. However, it does this by stimulating the cells of your body to divide en masse, and changing the DNA as it is replicating, resulting in one cell that it original, and one cell that is enhanced. The enhanced cell then devours the original cell, eventually eradicating all traces of original DNA in the body, and leaving a fully enhanced individual behind.”

“My body is making a new me, and cannibalizing the old me at the same time?” you shrieked.

“That's a remarkably lurid way of putting it, but yes, it's accurate. Don't worry, you will still be you at the end of it. Only stronger, and with greater longevity.”

He was so desperately trying to reassure you of the good that would come of this, but all you could do was scream curses at him for the pain, and the lack of permission, and the recklessness. You didn't care if you destroyed the illusion of complacency you had planned to weave-the agony stripped you of any guile you'd thought to employ. But he stayed by your side anyway, gently kissing your hand and wiping your face with a dry cloth as you writhed and screamed.

It didn't matter that you couldn't tell the time; time was meaningless. There was only moment after moment of suffering, an endless, enduring, torturous present. Each minute brought fresh distress, and greater disorientation, as your senses altered under the effects of the Apple, and the agony spread throughout your body as if carried in your blood.

Perhaps it was the trauma of pain effecting your compromised mind, but you were sure that your sense of touch had been so enhanced that your could feel your body devouring and replacing its most sensitive and delicate parts. Your eyes, your tongue, your throat and lungs-you were certain that you felt them rapidly dying and changing. You saw sparks as you writhed helplessly, the colors so bright that you had to squeeze your eyes shut.

And still he babbled on, and still Eir monitored the illusion body, and still you suffered without end. You expected to fall unconscious into exhaustion, begged for it to come, but remained trapped firmly in the grip of the eternal Now.

It reached into your heart, slowed it so much you could hardly move or breathe, It reached into your brain, dampened everything, sound, sight, and finally, even the pain. As your brain ate and replaced itself, your screams faded, and you found yourself unable to feel, think, or do anything. It was a form of death, and you welcomed it with gratitude, though remained conscious throughout.

You vaguely registered that Loki was panicking, believing the Apple might have somehow killed you, blathering about love and apologies, snapping at Eir, who coldly shut him down.

He was insane, this whole ordeal really proved it. Mad royals weren't uncommon, mad, immortal, super-powered rulers were a much rarer problem, but a problem you now had.

Maybe not for long. Maybe you really were dying. Maybe your brain didn't replace itself fast enough. Maybe other parts of your body were failing. Maybe you would be free of this nightmare soon.

But the replacement must have gone well, because pain began to fade back in, from the parts of you that weren't finished with their self-cannibalization. Loki threw his arms around you when he noticed you beginning to writhe and gasp again, holding you firmly, yet tenderly. Some small and guilty part of you took comfort in it, even as you hissed hatred into his ear.

Time did pass, even if you couldn't perceive it, and you only had so much body to devour and rebuild. The pain finally dissipated, but ache and shock remained. If what Loki said was true, if it wasn't just a lie that Eir was going along with, then you had been changed; irrevocably changed without him even asking or letting you know what was happening until it was already happening. No choice, no consent. And he dared babble about love.

The shock dampened the resentment, and the exhaustion kept you from struggling; Loki kept holding you like it was okay, like he hadn't just subjected you to a trauma nearly equal to the one you had already endured. You could feel your leg. It had been years since you'd felt those phantoms, but this brought it all back.

All you could really do was cry in the arms of the monster that now held you, tenderly as a beast cradling a chick.

You could feel his horrible strength, his cloying warmth, his humid breath on your hair was hot in the dry air. You hadn't yet thought about him having a scent, but he did, the kind of scent that any living animal had, similar to another human being, and poorly covered with soap or cologne, also like a human being. He smelled alive; alive, and breathing, and warm, and you were cold with sweat, ravenous and sore with exertion, weary with exhaustion.

“Don't...want to be here.” you breathed piteously.

“Shh.” he soothed, dabbing your tears with his cloth. “It will be alright, my dear. I will make it so.”

He said it with such firm confidence, as if nothing in the universe could stand in his way. But then, he was perfectly capable of just killing inconveniences, wasn't he? All authority was; from the small-town cop with their false drug or gun allegations, to entire governments who politely asked their people not to call the internment camps at the border 'concentration camps' please.

All your life you had been under the thumb of that authority, and all your life all authority had done was try to take more and more control from you-from your mind, with constant propaganda and psyops, and from your body, with never-ending financial drains and restrictions. But it had never been as direct as this. It was exhausting and soul breaking, but it wasn't like this.

This man held you like a lover while he destroyed you.

“Let yourself rest. Rest.” he murmured  “Nothing else will hurt you. You'll be safe from now on, I'll see to it. My precious bride, just wait. After this, we can look to the future. After this, I can make you deliriously happy. Just let me.”

You were already drifting off, but you didn't miss the command behind that. What would he do if you were unable to comply? Would he find some way to 'make' you, like he had 'made' those people follow him when he first came to Earth? Or would he just remove you somehow? It was clear now that he wasn't planning to replace you with some other woman, not after this. This 'mistake' was permanent now.

You didn't fight the slumber as it came over you. It seemed like the only thin that would free you, if only for a little while.

                                                                         ******

Loki didn't want to leave your side, not even while you slept, but Eir all but dragged him away by the ear, to scold him for his recklessness.

“This is not one of your magical experiments, your highness, this is your wife! She is human! She is delicate, and distressed, and you have dropped a great deal on her in a very short time. Humans are not that strong, my prince. You must treat her gently, moreso than her own people apparently have.”

Loki took the tongue-lashing as he deserved, guilt gnawing at him. He had been reckless. He'd rushed things that hadn't needed to be rushed. Things that, in fact, should have been taken much more slowly, so that this case of mistaken identity could have been revealed and safely resolved.

It was far too late for that now. Loki was tied to you, and you were immortalized, and there would never be another for him, and your life would never be the same. More than his overflowing love for you, he now owed you quite a bit, for the tremendous disruption he had caused you.

He needed to find out what happened. Why had this all gone so wrong? It was tempting to attribute it to a curse upon his life; like every great plan he had ever made, it had come crashing down disastrously. But no, there was something else at work here, something outside of his knowledge or control. Someone was working against him.

Only a handful of humans knew he still lived, and was here. Several key U.N. leaders, those Thor had deemed either the most powerful, or the most trustworthy. It was a knife's edge of political power balance: if Loki stepped too far out of line, those leaders could reveal to the world that he still lived, and all of humanity might turn against Asgard for it. But likewise, Asgard could turn it back on them; after all, those leaders knew he lived, and ignored it for their own gain. Human lives were so brief, and human leaders were so terribly aware of their own mortality, so terribly obsessed with holding their power until they died. To lose that was the greatest fear of each and every one of them, and he was entirely willing to use that against them as viciously as necessary.

Showing mercy, while making it clear what unmercifulness would look like was one of Asgards oldest and most powerful negotiating tools.

Had someone in power in your homeland interfered with the selection process? Had an enemy of your homeland done it? He had expected a relative of your country's leader, a daughter, niece, or cousin. Perhaps an even more distant relation. Had a third cousin objected to their daughter being sent to him, and replaced her with you at the last moment? Treachery.

Why had they deemed you a suitable replacement then? Was it the leg? Was it that you were poor? They must have known that you would become rich beyond measure as his wife.

What had happened?

He couldn't shake free of the memory of your face, contorted with agony, begging for death, cursing his name for hours. It had taken nearly a day for the transformation to be complete, but it had been so long since a human had been blessed with an Apple, that Loki didn't know if that was normal or not. Maybe that was why they were given to humans so rarely. Few would go through that kind of torment willingly.

You hadn't even done it willingly.

His heart squeezed tight in his chest. He had to find out what had happened.

                                                                       ******

“Ah. If it isn't my favorite face, before me once again.” Heimdall said, voice as flat as always.

“How is it possible that you've gotten even more insufferable since the last time we met?” Loki shot back. “All this extra sunlight must be overheating your brain.”

“And yet, it was your highness who decreed this be my new lookout point. Do you complain now?”

“No, no, look. When I picked up my wife, did you see anything unusual? Anything surrounding the event at all?”

“I saw two men, dressed identically, in a vehicle that lacked some of the marks that they usually have. They threw her walking aid into the grass a few miles away from your pick up site. A dog dragged it away. I did not see them escort her, as I did not know who I was looking for at that time.”

“Could you find them again?”

Heimdall gave him a stoic look. Loki sighed and nodded.

“Find them again. I wish to know what they are doing right now.”

Heimdall gazed out, ignoring the beating sun, and sought his targets.

“One is eating a sandwich at an outdoor cafe. He has an iced coffee. The waitress is flirting with him, but he does not respond to it.” he said in the hollow voice he got when he was far away like that. “The other...rots under the desert, naked.”

“He's dead?” Loki exclaimed. It had only been a day since he had received you. What could the man have done that warranted his death? He had delivered you, as promised.

Unless the men weren't supposed to deliver you. Unless they had been part of a plot, and perhaps one man had sacrificed his partner in order to escape. Unless...any number of possible intrigues.

“Extremely.” Heimdall confirmed.

Loki sighed and shook his head. There was too much missing information.

“I will need to speak to him.”

“The dead man?”

“No, of course not! The one having lunch. But not right now. When he is alone. Keep an eye on him.”

Heimdall said nothing, but merely settled into his long distance gaze. Loki approached a nearby worker. He was dressed in the heavy duty working clothes of a miner, and looking over a stack of reports. Loki joined him under his sun shelter.

“Find anything new?”

The miner started at his sudden appearance.

“Your majesty!” he exclaimed. “I didn't know you were coming.”

“I just happened to be in the area. How are your findings?”

“Uh, well,” the miner shuffled his reports nervously. “the iron has turned out to be substantially more that the traces we initially assumed, and we have discovered more water to be extracted. Several locations, in fact. We've also discovered  titanium, however...”

“Is there some kind of problem with it?” Loki asked.

“It's pretty far to the south...on land that technically hasn't been ceded to us.”

“A complication, to be certain. Well. Let's look at it as Midgardians would.” Loki began ticking points off on his fingers. “One: does anybody else live there? No, this entire rock is uninhabited, save for us. Two: Has anyone else laid claim to that land? Doubtful. I believe there have been treaties regarding that. Treaties which, incidentally, we have not signed. Three: is there any indigenous wildlife in the area that needs to be protected?”

The miner laughed.

“So the problem we are faced with here is largely non-binding. And if we keep our operation mostly underground, they might never notice in the first place. And even if they do, wasn't this land-gift meant to be a way for them to observe how we transform difficult terrain into livable space? They cannot observe us if we do not do it.”

“As you say, my liege.” The miner said.

Loki left him to his business, and made his rounds to each of the workers who were out plying their trades under the bright sun; water gatherers, stonecutters, road builders, brick makers, and maintenance workers, listening to their worries and spreading encouragement.

This was something he felt Odin must have forgotten; that kingdoms were not built on secrets, but by the hands of every member of society. Addressing their concerns was important, and often not all that difficult. The commoner was most often interested in simple things, such as food and safety for their family. The worker was usually concerned for their project, and their concerns were worth hearing, as they knew what they were doing. Loki did not know what stone was good and sturdy, or what stone was flawed or too weak for building with. A stonemason did.

Also, it was worth the time to be known by the people he was meant to lead and rule. Who could proclaim allegiance to a mystery?

He heard Heimdall softly call for him, as if the watcher was right next to him. He wished the man he was talking to well, and made his way back along the sun-drenched road.

“Well?” he asked.

“The man has retired to an inn. He is alone in his room.”

Loki smiled thinly. “Perfect.”

[myhealthcarecbd]

Can CBD Oil Help Relieve Sciatica Pain? Here's the Answer.

Can CBD Oil really help with relieving sciatica? Is it effective, and strong enough to actually tackle the pain? Or is it all smoke and mirrors and too good to be true? Let’s find out! Before we start, though, I want to say in full disclosure that I’m not benefiting from or promoting any product or brand of CBD oil. This video is just my personal thoughts on the matter that I wanted to share. If you’ve ever suffered from sciatica, you know how much of a nightmare it can be.

It pretty much makes almost every daily activity uncomfortable and inconvenient. For many suffers, they rely on over-the-counter painkillers to make it through the day. 

And in more severe cases, pain management through opioid pain medications, steroids, and injections may be prescribed. 

It’s no secret that the opioid epidemic is real, and many people have reservations about taking something that has a high risk of side-effects, including addiction. 

That’s why the appeal of CBD is growing, since it offers the potential for effective pain relief on top of being natural, non-habit forming, and having little to no side-effects.

No doubt, CBD use is also growing steadily, and is being used for treating conditions such as anxiety, insomnia, chronic pain, and much more. 

So let’s take a look at how CBD may help relieve sciatica pain, and start by going over what exactly CBD oil is and where it comes from. 

CBD, or cannabidiol, is commonly known as hemp oil. It is a form of cannabis, which includes the well known marijuana plant. Cannabis contains a number of different compounds, each with different effects on the body and mind.

The two main active ingredients are Tetrahydrocannabinol, or THC, and cannabidiol (CBD).

THC is the part that produces the characteristic ‘high’ of marijuana, while CBD is associated with therapeutic qualities and is not psychoactive. Producers of CBD have developed cannabis strains that have virtually no THC, primarily hemp plants. 

The oil produced from these hemp plants contain less than 0.3% THC, which means it is not intoxicating and DOES NOT have any mind-altering properties.

Due to that, CBD oil is federally legal in every state and does not require a prescription. I want to note, though, it is also not regulated by the FDA and is considered a supplement. 

Next, let’s move on to some key aspects of sciatica. If you’re unfamiliar with sciatica, especially its causes and symptoms, and want to know more, I’m going to provide a link in this video’s description to another video I’ve done that goes over it in more detail.

Sciatica is pain that travels, or radiates, along the path of the sciatic nerve. This large nerve begins in your lower back and forks into two (left and right) to travel from the buttocks, into the legs and feet. 

Sciatica has a couple main causes, with the most common being a lumbar herniated disc that presses onto and pinches a nearby nerve. 

The other is due to spinal stenosis, which is when the spinal canal (where the nerves travel through) narrow and close off, again pinching nearby nerves.

The sciatic nerve is very sensitive, and when it becomes compressed or irritated by one of the reasons above, it may cause symptoms like mild to debilitating pain, tingling, or numbness into the areas it travels.

One of the things that makes sciatica pain difficult to treat is that it is often a combination of two different kinds of pain, nociceptive and neuropathic. 

Nociceptive pain is caused when nerves are reacting to tissue damage, which sends signals to the central nervous system (your brain) that something has gone wrong. 

Neuropathic pain is when the nerves themselves are damaged, usually through compression causing inflammation and irritation. So what is it about CBD that makes it potentially effective in taking on sciatica pain? 

It’s this: CBD stimulates a part of the brain called the endocannabinoid system, a system responsible for communicating "good and bad signals" throughout your body.

When CBD stimulates this system, it can change a bad signal to a good one, which may have the ability to alleviate both neuropathic and nociceptive pain, as well as CBD Oil helping to reduce inflammation. 

Currently, though, studies on cannabis, including both CBD and THC, are still in the early stages. I could not find one definitive study directly linking CBD use and pain management of sciatica. 

However, the process in which CBD works is very promising and could be an all-natural alternative to opioid drugs and other painkillers. 

So please do not take it as a substitute for getting the proper care you need from a licensed healthcare professional! For those sciatica sufferers that have tried CBD oil, please leave your experiences and results in the comments section below, all of us would like to hear from you! Also, if you have any other comments or questions, please feel free to leave them.

[theoldaeroplane]

HARDWIRED: 2. Observation

"That your wife?"

The first time Dell was asked this question he nearly spit out his beer. That, however, was almost six months ago. Today, settling up the bill for his and April's breakfast at the diner closest to the motel, he just shakes his head and glances back at where April sits in their booth, staring out the window. "Nah. Old friend."

"Oh?" says the cashier. She's a woman of middle age, with hair leaning silver and early crow's feet complementing a soft smile. "Then you won't mind me asking where you've been all my life, hm?"

He laughs, demure. It's a rare thing for him, flirting, though to his relative confusion it's increased a great deal as he's aged. "Sorry, ma'am," he says, sliding a ten across the counter to her. "Afraid I've got to leave again just as quick."

"Oh, all the good ones do," she says with a snort and a smirk. "That's my lot. Where you headed?"

"Don't know, if I'm being honest. She's the one driving."

"You sure she's not your wife?"

"I think you'd have to hog-tie her to even get her near a ring, let alone wear one. Keep the change."

When he returns to April, she sits with her head resting against the sun-warmed glass, staring at nothing. Her shoulder, too, is warm when he nudges her and says they should get going.

---

Six years ago (God, six years, really?) Dell would have made a good deal more fuss about being driven somewhere without any particular idea of where. Even after the arsonist had proven herself more friend than foe, he certainly would not have gotten in a car with her for longer than a few minutes. Oh, he had more responsibilities then: BLU might call at any time, and he was something of a pillar in tiny Bee Cave as the best mechanic available---to say nothing of the fuss his extended family would raise if left without an idea of where he was.

That family, though, is still under the impression he is dead, as is Bee Cave. BLU is gone. He no longer has a dog to mind, as Shep is well and truly April's now.

And of course it is not the arsonist he has been riding down the flat, winding highways with for the last day and a half. The master of this expedition has a name, and a face that is not made of rubber.

This is why he does not ask April where they are going.

That, he muses as he watches her take yet another random back road, and the fact he has a pretty good idea she doesn't know, either.

---

The first time he had visited after Jeremiah's wedding had been the first of the mid-month sojourns, and at April's specific request. She had been in good spirits after the wedding, after the revelation of Tobias's park, and so he'd thought she was fine, at least as far as she went. It had been a surprise when she'd called him just two weeks after with a request that he come to see her, though less of one when he heard her choice of words: it just feels empty here.

In truth, it had been inconvenient at the time. He was house-hunting and had several appointments with several people that would all have to be cancelled. Also in truth, it was April. He went.

The house hadn't changed, of course, big and state-of-the-art and with over half a dozen chimneys leading up from over a dozen fireplaces, sitting haphazardly in a patch of land hidden from the highway's view by the acacia copse. Shep nearly got himself run over in his excitement to see his old master; the old boy's got one eye that might be going, and he's getting gray around the muzzle. He knows all this, and it wasn't a surprise.

The woman that opened the door, on the other hand, startled him. She's unmistakable, of course, but he almost mistakes her anyway, because she looks nothing so much as the arsonist that haunted his property that summer of '68. It's not the rumpled clothing or the Zippo in one hand, or even the way her blue eyes seem to have sunken in her burned face---and at least those seem to light up a little when she sees him---it's---

"You cut your hair," Dell says.

She lifts her eyebrows and touches the short black hair, hacked off by unsteady scissors. It doesn't look bad on her, but he had grown used to it long, and had liked it. Not that his opinion on what she does with herself means jack, but---it's still a startle.

---

Long roads. Long hours. But sometimes he can stir conversation out of her. Or say the wrong thing, as the case may be: he's commenting on the contents of the local paper he'd picked up at the diner when she interrupts, all brimming frustration and bile. "Why the hell do you go along with my shit?"

Dell allows himself a few seconds to formulate a response. "How do you mean?"

"You know what I mean!" she says, slapping the steering wheel. Shep's ears swivel toward her in alarm. "Shit like this, like driving off somewhere without saying anything. I don't know where I'm going."

He considers this. "Well," he says, "I imagine you'll know it when we find it."

"Dell," she growls. "Don't fuck with me."

"I'm not, missy."

"Don't call me tha---"

The next few seconds is a racket of sound and broken glass and screeching brakes, because one of those antlelope from the day before has just come careening straight in front of the truck.

---

The good news is the antlelope survived.

Dell's truck is a little less lucky. The hood is crumpled, and blood smears both engine and body. Through some miracle, there is only a palm-sized cobweb of shattered glass in the passenger-side corner of the windshield. April, hardware savant but hopeless with cars, paces and drags Shep away from the fascinating knots of blood and fur stuck haphazard in the grille while Dell tries to diagnose the damage.

"I think she'll take us to wherever the next town is," he says, with no small amount of trepidation. The last time he'd touched a vehicle was Coldfront, and that had been touch-and-go. "Worst case, we pick up a new one while we're there, leave this for repairs."

"I'll pay for it," April says, fidgeting with the lighter that had---of course---appeared in her hand.

"What's it matter?"

"If it doesn't matter, then just let me do it."

She is looking for a fight. "Okay," says Dell. "D'you want me to take over driving?"

---

That first visit after April had cut her hair was colored by more than the haircut.

Dell's observant, he has to be. He's gotten to be very observant of April, especially over the last year and a half: there was, after all, nothing else for him to do but observe, when Esau was holding him down. He's learned about her, how she moves, the way her mouth curves when she's annoyed or amused. In truth he knows three different Aprils, and the language of this newest incarnation is its own animal. Pyro was another; the arsonist, the first.

This is why it's troubling that he's noticing things April's never done, but that the arsonist did quite often. It's the constant fidgeting with lighters and matches, it's the short, sharp way she interacts with things around the house, it's even in how she touches Shep. Her speech is clipped and distracted. He mentions none of this that first night, after setting up in the guest room, which has not been touched since his last visit.

She asks him how he is, and it's code. Has Esau done anything? It's the first time she's been April that day, not the arsonist. He's too relieved to see her again to put as much care into his responses as he should.

He tells her about his search for a new house---he's renting in El Paso, taking his time to figure out where he wants to settle down again. "Cool," she says, absently. She has not been out to see him. "El Paso sounds nice."

"It's nice enough. How you been holding up?"

"I'm fine," she had said, and the dreadful thing is that he thinks she believed that.

---

The mechanic they find is every inch a stereotype, grizzled and gruff and covered in grease. Dell feels a mild kinship with him, but bristles at the way his eyes keep darting to April. To her scars, mainly. "A week at a rush," the mechanic tells him. "Best I can do."

Dell relays this to April; it's questionable if she really hears him.

It's a good-sized town, this place, Musabruk or something like that. Big enough that they take advantage of the mechanic's offer of a ride to the nearest hotel, and once again Dell feels himself souring each time he notices the mechanic's eyes roving over to the rear-view mirror to catch sight of April's burns. As if she hasn't got enough to deal with. He's not sure if it's for better or worse that she doesn't seem to notice.

It puts him in a mood, anyway. Enough of one, apparently, that when they finally make it to their room and he excuses himself to the bathroom, the ring of lights is waiting for him.

Dell has never suffered the dramatic effects of looking-glass syndrome that had plagued April. He hallucinates little, he has almost never had cause to doubt his faculties. This makes it all the more startling when Esau does appear, a hexagon of electric blue lights looming in space. He does not acknowledge the lights as he goes to wash his face.

You are angry.

It's a simple observation, in the same flat, observational tone that Esau's voice always takes in his head. Dell does not respond. It takes a great deal to make him respond to Esau, at least when Esau does not have any purpose to his manifestation. He knows he is angry. He does not need to be told.

She has heavy scarring. Most people go a lifetime without seeing anyone as disfigured as she is.

A response jumps to his lips---she's not disfigured---but he stifles it. But apparently he is too tired to resist him entirely, between the driving and the deer and the mechanic. "You got something to say?"

The lights flicker. Not as you intend the question. I am only curious how long you will go without addressing the problem.

"And I guess you know what the problem is?" he says, but the lights are gone.

[roseategales]

WHERE FIELDS OF FLOWERS BLOOM  —  CHAPTER TWO: GHILANAS, DYS.

fic rating: explicit, for eventual smut. | chapter rating: teen. | categories (for this chapter): missing scenes, mild angst, hurt/comfort. | pairing: solavellan. | content warnings (for this chapter): canon typical violence, death, war, racism, experimentation on lavellan as a prisoner. | word count: 4.3K. | alternate link: ao3.

author’s notes: all my love to @brietopia and @spacedadpicard​ for beta’ing and putting up with me going, “but! but! but!” every few comments. full authors notes are on ao3. | ghilanas — luck, fate, destiny, lit. "guiding soul" the force that seems to operate for good or ill in a person's life, as in shaping circumstances, events, or opportunities; dys — chance, luck. translation by fenxshiral.

_____________________________

The Herald was a symbol of his mistakes made manifest.

She was of the People. Dalish. Left without empire and without home. Sundered from her history, herself. Marked and marred by vallaslin, the chain by which the Evanuris’ slaves were bound, that elves once died to have him break, in an attempt twisted by ruination and ignorance along restoring what was.

Were that not enough, she had found her way into the Conclave between the Templars and the mages, and thus stumbled upon Corypheus and the ritual meant to unlock the foci, the Mark bestowing itself upon her hand in the process. She would have died in the explosion if not for that chance encounter, and all the world would have been reshaped to feed the arrogance of a madman he had never wanted to enable. He would have had to devise new means to again procure the foci and tear down the Veil—if he even survived.

But whether her survival could be called miracle or mercy remained to be seen. For her and for the People.

And yet… It seemed she would be unlike anything he expected.

It was nearly nightfall when he arrived at Haven’s gate, the first rift having burst into the sky that morn. Already it was spreading—like a wound unable to heal, splitting across the heavens, sickly and virid, over the high mount that cradled the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The ancient structure itself was a wreckage. Broken, jagged pieces of its remains hung suspended in between the two halves of the world, visible from the village below.

There, the Divine’s people were reeling from the shock. Bellringers sounded continuous alarms to action. Scouts were racing to uncover answers, soldiers marching to fight against the demons pouring from the Fade, clergy and pilgrims were scattering. Everywhere, a whirlwind of boots hitting the ground, hoofbeats, blades ringing in the air, confusion searching for clarity. The same questions repeated over and over again, in a multitude of forms:

What happened? Sabotage? Who would do this? Why?

Treading on a snow-laden road and leaning on his staff, Solas navigated his way through the people moving past him, the breezing winds and snow flitting by, grazing his cheek. Those who noticed him threw suspicion with their glances. They murmured their surprise, and some even stared. The two male guards standing at the gate in particular.

They saw an apostate mage, after all, donning wool and linen. Arriving on a day of a cataclysm, during a time when mages across Thedas were demanding freedom from the confines of the Chantry.

Although he was no threat, he called out his surrender and intent to assist as he came to the gate, and gave up his staff as a gesture of goodwill. The guards immediately seized his pack, bound his hands with tightened rope and arrested him—as he expected they would—and one of them barked for a soldier to take him to a tent near the chantry on the hill, where one whom they called Sister Nightingale would subject him to questioning.

The soldier who was called to lead the way took him and charged forward. He was a man who could not have been more than thirty, whose bold features curled into a sneer, and whose gauntleted grip would bruise flesh through to bone of the arm he pulled on. Solas said nothing, but showed a slight smile, determined to ignore the injury and the onlookers. It was a minute inconvenience, in the grander scheme. One that would end quickly once they reached the Sister.

Who, he recognised upon seeing, was no mere Sister of the Chantry at all, but a figure of high rank, associated with the Divine herself.

She was surrounded by wooden tables set at each corner of the tent, supplies, and scouts receiving and handing over missives and messages. She gave orders like it was bred into her nature. And unlike the laity and the other robed clergy about, she was outfitted in plate and mail, an insignia emblazoned on her chest that differed from that of the Templar Order’s. It was not a sword upon flames. It was an open eye in the midst of them.

Hearing the crunch of footsteps on snow, the Sister turned her head from missives arranged on a table facing west. The soldier announced the arrival of an apostate, and repeated his alleged surrender and offer of assistance. Waning light glinted off the Sister’s hard gaze, and she dismissed the soldier. Leaving herself alone with a character unknown, to interrogate without interference.

No time was wasted in launching her inquiry, her conduction of it extensive and circumspect. What was he called? Why had he come? Where had he traveled from? Would there be witnesses who could verify his story? Did he have family? Friends? Connections? What did he know about the tear in the Veil? How had he come into his talents? Pursued his studies? And how did he avoid capture by the Templars? She spared no boundary, no diversion of her waiting, watchful gaze.

Solas answered as required. He told the Sister his name, his purpose for coming, the village he embarked from. He told her there were indeed witnesses who could place him, that he traveled alone and had no family, friend, or connection to speak of. The paths that led to details he could not give, he furled into half-truths and omissions, spun back toward his knowledge of magics, the Veil and the Fade. He explained to her what he’d seen, the tools and gifts he gleaned and dreamed, how he walked through memories ever fluid. He laid out secrets of the Fade, made plain its nature and channels, expounded on its hosts and dangers presented. Still, he named his childhood village, for needed trust.

And it was then that the Sister cautiously asked: Did he know there was a survivor?

He heard the rumours.

Did he know who she was?

He did not.

He took the opportunity for his own inquiry: If he might study the survivor, for signs of what caused her survival, as he believed that could be the key to sealing the tear in the Veil.

Could he help them wake her?

He would try.

There was a falter in the Sister’s trained mien. Solas saw the denouement in shard-like precision, when resignation demanded a choice be made.

She slid a dagger from her sleeve to cut his wrists free, a warning and an agreement without need of speech. He thanked her, and she escorted him within the sunburst-painted doors of the chantry.

The chill of winter had stolen through, even there. Stone walls had become vessels for it.  Any warmth the candles, torches, and the Eternal Flame could provide was feeble, snuffed out by damp air, the further down and down he and the Sister went, into the depths beneath the place of worship. A sting of cold shot up his soles with each step. She assessed him in peripheral view, for a flinch, an indication of duplicity, as he did her. They were silent but for their footfalls, passing by intervals of luminescent sconces and deepening shadows, empty cells and statues of Andrastian legends on both sides, to the end of the tunnel—where the prisoner was lain.

There were two Templars at the mouth of the corridor, atop the steps that led to the prisoner, in the low incandesce of torches fixed at the four corners of the cell. A man and a woman, who saluted the Sister, gauntleted hands at the hilts of their swords, faces hidden behind the visors of their steel helms. They were waiting, undoubtedly, for some volatile effect of the prisoner’s magic, or for her to turn into an abomination upon her waking.

She would pay the price for his failings.

They all would, if he could not set things right.

The Mark flared virescent. The guards tightened their grips on their swords. Solas looked warily to the Sister, who stood steel-stiff. The guards moved to protest whatever he would do, but she shook her head and gave her permission. He was enabled to take the steps down, to kneel beside the prisoner herself.

She appeared a slight thing. Sweat beaded at her forehead, down the dust and halla-spirals of her vallaslin, her body shivering and paled, shrinking into the too-large coat of a human mercenary she had padded out, into itself. As helpless as the Dalish patchwork depiction of the Halla Mother. Bound as the would-be goddess was in the stories as well, her hands cuffed in iron chains. Like a hunter’s kill.

A waft of elfroot hit him. He spotted an emptied flask in the corner, used up to afford them precious time and opportunity before her probable slaughter, and he questioned if it was too late. If he had failed before he’d begun.

He turned to the Sister, and gave her a list of spells he might attempt, what he could try, gently drawing the prisoner’s marked hand to his. It was like ice. Magic ebbed from the scar along her palm—magic composed by him—pulsing green, a current thrumming on his skin, strange and unfamiliar now.

The Sister nodded. She bid him to do what he could.

He sheathed himself in a layer of protection, and cast above them a map of the prisoner’s channels and links of mana and magic.

That was the first day.

The second day passed. Solas was again interrogated by another of the Divine’s aides, a Seeker Pentaghast. She assumed suspicion of him until witnesses could corroborate his story, and threatened execution if he did not wake the prisoner. Then they returned to him his pack and staff, conditions and expectations clear. They placed him in a hut, Templars stationed and stalking outside. Everywhere he went, there were eyes on his back, waiting for a single offence.

All the while, the first rift continued to spread and grow. Reports of more rifts came from the surrounding areas. Demons were ravaging whole camps and villages. Scouts and soldiers were lost. Refugees replaced them in exchange for shelter and safety. The tear in the Veil was dubbed as the Breach, perhaps so they could comprehend it: what was swallowing the world whole.

And the prisoner? The prisoner remained unconscious.

He did what he could. He tried to separate the Mark from her, but he was still too weak. He tried to siphon the excess energy to lessen its effects, but it overflowed. He penned notes with each attempt, each method he could think of and perform. At his request, the apothecary, who attended to her with elfroot every morn and eve, brought him a draught of spindleweed to combine with his spellwork. He had to stop a trial when the Mark resisted and her body began to thrash. Reading his report, the Sister and the Seeker pressed the importance of her survival and a solution to the Breach.

At his wits’ end, he entered the Fade with the intent to make contact with the prisoner’s mind or a spirit who could advise him, or one who might’ve witnessed her actions preceding the blast, to grant her time and prove her innocence. It was of no use. Ill as it was, her body hadn’t the strength to sustain itself, and her spirit was compensating for it, confined to its form in the cell, unable to slip fully into a dreaming state. The spirits who possessed knowledge of the ancient magics were driven away by the Breach. The ones who might’ve witnessed the events of the Conclave were twisted by Terror. His options for saving her life and the Mark were all but exhausted.

The best he could do was give her a less fitful sleep, by suppressing the Mark’s link to her mana.

No one expected her to wake by the end of the third day. While Solas hoped—neither did he. How could she? When she was a mortal made in a world rendered immutable? A mere shadow of who the People were? When she had been thrown physically through the Fade? When the foci’s magic was never supposed to be tuned to anyone else’s but his own?

No, she would pass. He had to find other means of repairing the rifts, and brace himself to flee.

He turned his back on the prisoner, and diverted his research to alternatives. To mending the Breach alone.

She woke on the dawn of the fourth day.

She was an impossible sight—a force who fought her way to the riverbanks, the Seeker at her side, staff in hand, flickers and flares of flames and thorns at her fingertips, her face a fury as sharp as the crimson shock of her vallaslin. He nearly stumbled as he saw her, the rift at his back, demons outpouring toward them, assailing. She burned a number of demons to ash at her feet, the Mark’s magic pulsing and crackling in the air, as awake and alive as she.

There’s a chance, he thought, banishing the demons before him, opening a path to race to her side. There’s a chance, there’s a chance, he repeated to himself, like a plea, a prayer, as he grasped for her hand, and felt the surge of power, pushing it up toward the rift.

She sealed it. And another at the forward camp. And another in the valley. The Mark and effort drained her, left her gasping for breath as they forged on to Temple’s remains, but she persisted, assured him she would do what she could while she lived. And she did. She closed that first wound in the sky, stabilising the Breach, and the Mark’s symbiosis to herself. The world had its hope of healing the Veil.

But what little relief their victory had, Solas could not take comfort in. Talk of her divinity, her mantle as Andraste’s favoured, flew faster than ravens across Thedas, witness accounts carrying its wings. They spoke of the woman behind her in the Fade, the echo of the Divine’s tenebrous slayer. As a new villain entered the story, she was titled its hero, her transfiguration occurring over a matter of days. From survivor, to prisoner, to the Herald of Andraste.

How bitter the irony was. He had devoted his life to freeing his People from would-be gods and their false images, and here, his actions had indirectly led to the creation of yet another.

He would deserve his enemies’ mockery.

Thus, his service to the Inquisition would be twofold. He would lend his expertise and talents as they were required, and he would take it upon himself to observe the Herald, to counsel her, to check her if necessary. Corypheus, the Breach, and the Mark were his responsibility. She was the solution and a consequence, a complication that could put an end to his plans if he was not careful. He needed to learn who she was, gain her trust, and prepare himself for who she would be.

At first, he thought to do so at a distance. But after her recovery, she’d come to him. She wanted to understand the nature of what befell, the cause of the Breach, his theories on the Mark on her hand and its effects. She asked to see his notes. Reasonable requests. Pragmatic. If she was the possessor of unknown power and subject of study, it was her right and, arguably, her obligation to be informed. He sat with her in his hut, on the stone floor warmed by the hearth, his notebook between them, the desk’s nook too small for them both. Snow was falling with the afternoon sun outside, strong winds blowing past. They explored each topic, one by one. How could the Veil be rent like this? Think of it as a chord’s constant vibration, anything with enough power can disrupt it. Could such a thing be expended, destroyed in the blast? She survived, did she not. Will the Mark’s volatility resurface with use? It’s difficult to tell, but it appears stable, for now.

She paused when they turned to the dog-eared page of his tests on her. Her fingers traced the diagram he drew of her mana lines, like veins, like roots and branches forming an indistinct figure. Beside it was his scrawl, in Common for transparency:

Using spindleweed achieved the opposite of the desired effect. Its remedial properties on wounds caused by demons and spirit magic were absorbed by the Mark, amplifying it momentarily. The survivor’s connection to the Mark is too intrinsic. Casting a sleep spell stopped the thrashing. Pulse is still elevated. Other methods may have to forgo supplementary elements, or prove fatal.

Frowning, she thumbed the scar on her palm. Cast in the light of the fire, shifting shadows and golds on her sun-warmed skin, Solas remarked to himself how she looked less like a religious icon, or a helpless creature, and more like one of the People who fled to his rebellion; with circles under her eyes, her form meals away from filling her plain cotton tunic, apprehension at her spine and heavy on her exhale, his notes echoing Ghilan’nain’s. It was like the past impressed upon the present. Yet that would imply she chose the road they were on. On some level, he pitied her. He wondered what she must have thought of it all.

A strand fell from her flaxen braid. She tucked it behind her ear, and asked him softly: How did he wake her?

He told her the truth. He didn’t.

Her eyes snapped to his, disbelieving. She lifted her hand from the page, curled it in her lap. He anticipated reproach. Anger. Contempt. For her to spit that colourful Dalish curse at him. May the Dread Wolf take you. Instead, she asked him another question: Was he threatened?

Would she absolve him for that reason?

No, she said. To absolve him would be to declare him condemnable, his position easy—he did what he had to.

He wasn’t sure what surprised him most. Her understanding, her willingness to be sacrificed, or her solicitude, genuine and thoughtful. She swore she wouldn’t let anyone use his help against him. Of course, this was in part due to her deeming his knowledge and skills an asset. No one else could offer her the explanations she wanted, not in detail. But when had anyone in this world, let alone a Dalish elf, considered his point of view so readily?

He didn’t know how, but over two weeks, their time together became routine. If she wasn’t in meetings with the Inquisition leaders, or in her hut, or with whomever needed her, she was with him. They discussed the Fade, his travels, the war, lands and cities navigated by her clan, texts she’d read, heroes of the age and prior, hour upon hour. The company was unexpected, but not unwelcome. It was refreshing to have someone listen, and to hear them speak to him so freely, without reverence, without prejudice. And he was provided opportunity to learn much of her. Of her idealisations for a world of peace and magic, of routes she traveled in the Free Marches and Ferelden that overlapped or just missed his own, of her decision to scout in her father’s honour, of her inclination to study, her discomfort in her new role as Herald.

He commented on that discomfort once, people bowing to her as they walked by and she entered his hut. The door closed, safe inside, she told him it was like no one saw her as she was.

He knew the feeling, he said, before he could catch himself.

Did he?, she questioned. But a sadness underlied her smile, and she supposed that he did.

Such was her longing to make sense of her circumstances, and for connection, that she laid down her skepticism, accepted him. By this, he was disarmed. He would give away more of himself than he intended. Encourage her jokes and teasing when he should have been more reserved. It was dangerous, frightful. She had an openness he admired, and he’d forget himself in it. He had to raise barriers, recall the purpose of dialogue with her.

Yet—he regretted not returning her favour.

One mistaken sentence, spoken unfairly of the plight of the Dalish, and she was gone. He felt betrayed, that he misjudged her. She was the one who asked for his opinion and insights on Elvhen culture, only to scoff and turn on him, as a foolish, insolent child would, like the rest of her kind, was she not? He was left cold, dismissed, abandoned as soon as she heard truths she disagreed with. He caught glimpses of her on two occasions, when the apothecary requested his assistance; once as she was leaving the chantry with the Inquisition’s Chief Ambassador, another when she was ushered into the tavern by the Child of the Stone. He wanted to go after her, but thought better of it. And if she indeed cared for him or what he had to say, wouldn’t she have approached him by then?

He didn’t think... She’d felt betrayed as well. Nor did he guess she would have apologised, though she was not to blame, and neither were the Dalish. But she did.

She called him lethallin. Her friend. Her kin. As if their People were one and the same.

As with all his mistakes, however, Solas paid a price. Although she was still happy to listen, she was comparatively reticent with what she shared of herself. His questions on her clan and her life before the war would often be met with nonanswers, subject changes, or questions of her own. Her trust was damaged. On these matters, at least. It had to be mended, with time.

But as for the matters she continued to trust him with, he was grateful for them. The day after the Sister’s agents were sent out, they received a report, that the Mother was found tending to wounded in the Hinterlands. Because he was to accompany the Herald along with the Seeker and the Child of the Stone, he was privy to the briefings. A section of thirty soldiers was to travel with them, six as an escort, the rest to bolster the forces already there. They were warned of what awaited in the war-snatched territory—corrupt Templars, apostates driven to madness by desperation, displaced refugees, farmers and village folk clinging to semblances of their lives in between—and charged to set up posts, protect whoever they were able to, win influence and allies, gather supplies, and make their way to acquire a horsemaster if they could. The journey lasted two days, and they paused little for rest and refreshment.

The Herald was at the center of preparations throughout. She’d ask the Seeker for advice on Chantry politics. Write letters with the Child of the Stone to a mutual friend in Kirkwall’s alienage. Rise early and retire late to help the soldiers around camp. Allow him to examine the Mark periodically for any signs it would conflict and destabilise with use of her magic.

The one thing they could not fully prepare for was the devastation of the Hinterlands itself. Ancient towers were torn down, homes razed, the crossroads blocked by bandits taking advantage of the chaos. People were at death’s door due to lack of medicine, food, shelter, and something as simple as a blanket to keep them from the bite of winter’s winds. Worse, the Templars and mages were little more than animals. The Inquisition’s party was attacked upon arrival, calling out peace to both sides. Neither could be reasoned with, even as the Seeker and the Herald pointed out the Inquisition’s banner, the camp of sick and injured nearby, their voices high above clashes of metal, blasts of fire, lightning, screams.

War, as ever, spared neither the neutral nor the innocent.

He could feel how the battle weakened the Veil. Terror, Despair, Rage, all threatened, humming on the hairs at his neck and in the back of his mind. The party was disconcerted by the encounter, the scene of death and suffering around them. The Herald especially.

She was no soldier. The first time he saw her fight, she was driven by pure instinct, against creatures she’d been taught to fear, to see as an other. But against humans and elves, those living and breathing to her, her spells were defensive, roots and vines coiling up from her staff as shields or holds. Were it not for his barriers and the Seeker’s blade, she would’ve been wounded. Her kills were hesitant, last-minute. And in the aftermath, horror and grief were plain on her face. Grief for her parents and clanmates, perhaps.

Perhaps that was why she wore her diplomatic posture like armour when meeting the Mother to acquire potential allies. Why she turned her focus to aiding the refugees, hunting medicine, food, and whatever they needed to survive. Why she insisted she was fine when he and the Child of the Stone expressed concern, refusing to eat, or even sit, until she was certain every last supply they had was distributed.

He would never forget how she knelt before a dark-haired Elvhen woman and her daughter, gently placing a blanket in the child’s small hands. Cooking fires limned the camp, ambers and golds painting its inhabitants, the background of obsidian night tinted green. The Elvhen woman prompted her daughter to thank the Herald. But, she shook her head, leaned close to the child and said, “Eludysia will do,” as an entreaty, not unlike when she first came to him, sadness in her forest-green eyes.

Eludysia. In Elvhenan, your name’s meaning evoked who were. Your vices and virtues, your past and your present, your deeds, your failures, your triumphs. Hers meant: She who’s lucky with a secret.

He hoped she would be.

[elwinioxrph]

Positive Character Traits

Below is a list of 219 positive traits to describe your character.

Accessible - friendly and easy to talk to; approachable

Active - engaging or ready to engage in physically energetic pursuits

Adaptable - able to adjust to new conditions

Admirable - arousing or deserving respect and approval

Adventurous - willing to take risks or to try out new methods, ideas, or experiences

Agreeable - enjoyable and pleasurable; pleasant

Alert - quick to notice any unusual and potentially dangerous or difficult circumstances; vigilant

Allocentric - collectivistic personality attribute whereby people center their attention and actions on other people rather than themselves

Amiable - having or displaying a friendly and pleasant manner

Anticipative - anticipating or tending to anticipate; expressing, revealing, or containing anticipation

Appreciative - feeling or showing gratitude or pleasure

Articulate - express (an idea or feeling) fluently and coherently

Aspiring - directing one's hopes or ambitions toward becoming a specified type of person

Athletic - physically strong, fit, and active

Attractive - appealing to look at; sexually alluring

Balanced - keeping or showing a balance

Benevolent - well meaning and kindly

Brilliant - exceptionally clever or talented

Calm - not showing or feeling nervousness, anger, or other strong emotions

Capable -  able to achieve efficiently whatever one has to do; competent

Captivating - capable of attracting and holding interest; charming

Caring - displaying kindness and concern for others

Challenging - testing one's abilities; demanding

Charismatic - exercising a compelling charm which inspires devotion in others

Charming - polite, friendly, and likable

Cheerful - noticeably happy and optimistic

Clean - morally uncontaminated; pure; innocent

Clear-headed - alert and thinking logically and coherently

Clever - showing intelligence or skill; ingenious

Colorful - full of interest; lively and exciting

Companionly - befitting a companion

Compassionate - feeling or showing sympathy and concern for others

Conciliatory - intended or likely to placate or pacify.

Confident - feeling or showing confidence in oneself; self-assured

Conscientious - wishing to do what is right, especially to do one's work or duty well and thoroughly

Considerate - careful not to cause inconvenience or hurt to others

Constant - a situation or state of affairs that does not change

Contemplative - expressing or involving prolonged thought

Cooperative - involving mutual assistance in working toward a common goal

Courageous - not deterred by danger or pain; brave

Courteous - polite, respectful, or considerate in manner

Creative - a person who is creative, typically in a professional context

Cultured - characterized by refined taste and manners and good education

Curious - eager to know or learn something

Daring - adventurous or audaciously bold

Debonair - confident, stylish, and charming

Decent - conforming with generally accepted standards of respectable or moral behavior

Decisive - having or showing the ability to make decisions quickly and effectively

Dedicated - devoted to a task or purpose; having single-minded loyalty or integrity

Deep - very intense or extreme

Dignified - having or showing a composed or serious manner that is worthy of respect

Direct - something that is the shortest way or someone honest and to the poin

Disciplined - showing a controlled form of behavior or way of working

Discreet - careful and circumspect in one's speech or actions, especially in order to avoid causing offense or to gain an advantage

Dramatic - intending or intended to create an effect; theatrical

Dutiful - conscientiously or obediently fulfilling one's duty

Dynamic - positive in attitude and full of energy and new ideas

Earnest - resulting from or showing sincere and intense conviction

Ebullient - cheerful and full of energy

Educated - having been educated

Efficient - working in a well-organized and competent way

Elegant - pleasingly graceful and stylish in appearance or manner

Eloquent - fluent or persuasive in speaking or writing

Empathetic - showing an ability to understand and share the feelings of another

Energetic - showing or involving great activity or vitality

Enthusiastic - having or showing intense and eager enjoyment, interest, or approval

Exciting - causing great enthusiasm and eagerness

Extraordinary - very unusual or remarkable

Fair - in accordance with the rules or standards; legitimate

Faithful - loyal, constant, and steadfast

Farsighted - having or showing imagination or foresight

Felicific - relating to or promoting increased happiness

Firm - in a resolute and determined manner

Flexible - ready and able to change so as to adapt to different circumstances

Focused - pay particular attention to

Forceful - strong and assertive; vigorous and powerful

Forgiving - ready and willing to forgive

Forthright - direct and outspoken; straightforward and honest

Freethinking - a person who thinks freely or independently

Friendly - kind and pleasant

Fun-loving - light-hearted and lively.

Gallant - brave; heroic

Generous - showing a readiness to give more of something, as money or time, than is strictly necessary or expected

Gentle - having or showing a mild, kind, or tender temperament or character

Genuine - sincere

Good-natured - kind, friendly, and patient

Gracious - courteous, kind, and pleasant

Hardworking - tending to work with energy and commitment; diligent

Healthy - complete physical, mental, and social well-being - and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity.

Hearty - loudly vigorous and cheerful

Helpful - giving or ready to give help

Heroic - having the characteristics of a hero or heroine; very brave

High-minded - having strong moral principles

Honest - free of deceit and untruthfulness; sincere

Honorable - bringing or worthy of honor

Humble - having or showing a modest or low estimate of one's own importance

Humorous - causing lighthearted laughter and amusement; comic

Idealistic - characterized by idealism; unrealistically aiming for perfection

Imaginative - having or showing creativity or inventiveness

Impressive - evoking admiration through size, quality, or skill; grand, imposing, or awesome

Incisive - intelligently analytical and clear-thinking

Incorruptible - not susceptible to corruption, especially by bribery

Independent - capable of thinking or acting for oneself

Individualistic - marked by or expressing individuality; unconventional

Innovative - introducing new ideas; original and creative in thinking

Inoffensive - not objectionable or harmful

Insightful - having or showing an accurate and deep understanding; perceptive

Insouciant - showing a casual lack of concern; indifferent

Intelligent - having or showing intelligence, especially of a high level

Intuitive - using or based on what one feels to be true even without conscious reasoning; instinctive

Invulnerable - impossible to harm or damage

Kind - having or showing a friendly, generous, and considerate nature

Knowledgeable - intelligent and well informed

Leaderly - befitting a leader

Leisurely - acting or done at leisure; unhurried or relaxed

Liberal - open to new behavior or opinions and willing to discard traditional values

Logical - characterized by or capable of clear, sound reasoning

Lovable - inspiring or deserving love or affection

Loyal - giving or showing firm and constant support or allegiance to a person or institution

Lyrical - talk in a highly enthusiastic and effusive way

Magnanimous - generous or forgiving, especially toward a rival or less powerful person

Many-sided - having many interests, qualities, accomplishments, etc

Masculine - having qualities or appearance traditionally associated with men, especially strength and aggressiveness

Mature - reach an advanced stage of mental or emotional development.

Methodical - orderly or systematic in thought or behavior

Meticulous - showing great attention to detail; very careful and precise

Moderate - make or become less extreme, intense, rigorous, or violent

Modest - unassuming or moderate in the estimation of one's abilities or achievements

Objective - not influenced by personal feelings or opinions in considering and representing facts

Observant - quick to notice things

Open - willingness to try new things or to hear and consider new ideas

Optimistic - hopeful and confident about the future

Orderly - neatly and methodically arranged

Organized - having one's affairs in order so as to deal with them efficiently

Original - an eccentric or unusual person

Passionate - showing or caused by strong feelings or a strong belief

Patient - able to accept or tolerate delays, problems, or suffering without becoming annoyed or anxious

Patriotic - having or expressing devotion to and vigorous support for one's country

Peaceful - free from disturbance; tranquil

Perceptive - having or showing sensitive insight

Perfectionist - a person who refuses to accept any standard short of perfection

Personable - having a pleasant appearance and manner

Persuasive -  good at persuading someone to do or believe something through reasoning or the use of temptation

Playful - fond of games and amusement; lighthearted

Polished - accomplished and skillful

Popular - liked, admired, or enjoyed by many people or by a particular person or group

Practical - being more concerned with or relevant to practice than theory

Precise - exact, accurate, and careful about details

Principled - acting in accordance with morality and showing recognition of right and wrong

Profound - very great or intense

Protean - able to do many different things; versatile

Protective - having or showing a strong wish to keep someone or something safe from harm

Prudent - acting with or showing care and thought for the future

Punctual - happening or doing something at the agreed or proper time; on time

Purposeful - having or showing determination or resolve

Rational -  based on or in accordance with reason or logic

Realistic - having or showing a sensible and practical idea of what can be achieved or expected

Reflective - relating to or characterized by deep thought; thoughtful

Relaxed - free from tension and anxiety; at ease

Reliable - consistently good in quality or performance; able to be trusted

Resourceful - having the ability to find quick and clever ways to overcome difficulties

Respectful - feeling or showing deference and respect

Responsible - being able to consciously make decisions, conduct behaviors that seek to improve oneself and/or help others

Responsive - reacting quickly and positively

Reverential - of the nature of, due to, or characterized by reverence

Romantic - a person with romantic beliefs or attitudes

Rustic - a plain and simple fashion

Sage - having, showing, or indicating profound wisdom

Sane - reasonable; sensible

Scholarly - having or showing knowledge, learning, or devotion to academic pursuits

Scrupulous - diligent, thorough, and extremely attentive to details

Secure - feeling safe, stable, and free from fear or anxiety

Selfless - concerned more with the needs and wishes of others than with one's own; unselfish

Self-critical - critical of oneself, one's abilities, or one's actions in a self-aware or unduly disapproving manner

Self-deprecating -  modest about or critical of oneself, especially humorously so

Self-denying - the sacrifice of one's own desires; unselfishness

Self-reliant - reliant on one's own powers and resources rather than those of others

Self-sufficient - needing no outside help in satisfying one's basic needs

Sensitive - having or displaying a quick and delicate appreciation of others' feelings

Sentimental - excessively prone to feelings of tenderness, sadness, or nostalgia

Seraphic - beautiful in a way that suggests that someone is morally good and pure

Serious - acting or speaking sincerely and in earnest, rather than in a joking or halfhearted manner

Sexy - sexually attractive or exciting

Shrewd - having or showing sharp powers of judgment; astute

Skillful - having or showing skill

Sociable - willing to talk and engage in activities with other people; friendly

Sophisticated - having, revealing, or proceeding from a great deal of worldly experience and knowledge of fashion and culture

Spontaneous - having an open, natural, and uninhibited manner

Sporting - fair and generous in one's behavior or treatment of others, especially in a game or contest

Stable - sane and sensible; not easily upset or disturbed

Steadfast - resolutely or dutifully firm and unwavering

Stoic - a person who can endure pain or hardship without showing their feelings or complaining

Strong - showing determination, self-control, and good judgment

Studious - done deliberately or with a purpose in mind

Suave - charming, confident, and elegant

Sweet - pleasing in general; delightful

Sympathetic - feeling, showing, or expressing sympathy

Systematic - having, showing, or involving a system, method, or plan

Tasteful - showing good aesthetic judgment or appropriate behavior

Thorough - complete with regard to every detail; not superficial or partial

Tidy - inclined to keep things or one's appearance neat and in order

Tolerant - showing willingness to allow the existence of opinions or behavior that one does not necessarily agree with

Tractable - easy to control or influence

Trusting - showing or tending to have a belief in a person's honesty or sincerity; not suspicious

Uncomplaining - not complaining; resigned

Understanding - sympathetically aware of other people's feelings; tolerant and forgiving

Undogmatic - unwilling to accept authority or dogma (especially in religion) free-thinking, latitudinarian, undogmatical

Upright - strictly honorable or honest

Urbane - suave, courteous, and refined in manner

Venturesome - willing to take risks or embark on difficult or unusual courses of action

Vivacious - attractively lively and animated

Warm - having, showing, or expressive of enthusiasm, affection, or kindness

Well-bred - having or showing good breeding or manners

Well-read - knowledgeable and informed as a result of extensive reading

Well-rounded - having a personality that is fully developed in all aspects

Winning - attractive; endearing

Wise - having or showing experience, knowledge, and good judgment

Witty - showing or characterized by quick and inventive verbal humor

Youthful - young or seeming young

[sweetlangdon]

And Baby Makes Four (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: Roommates ‘verse domestic fluff! There’s also a hint about a future Roommates fic in this one (future as in it’s yet to be written, but in the ‘verse timeline, it already happened). 

Word Count: 3.2k+

Warnings: Brief mention of vomiting. 

 A cloud of dust blossoms in the sunbeams on the floor when Michael drops another cardboard box at his feet. It immediately triggers a sneezing fit. You look up from where you’re unpacking a box of bathroom towels and laugh as Michael loses his composure. He’s indignant when it’s over, a little red-faced, a deep frown forming creases between his eyebrows. It makes you laugh harder, bent-double over your folded legs, your stomach aching. You can’t help it—the move has you running on a sleep schedule that isn’t worth mentioning, and it’s so rare to see Michael like this. He’s gotten as much sleep as you have and yet, frustratingly, it doesn’t affect him in the same way. You think it’s got to be the damn Antichrist thing.

He grumbles something you can’t quite make out, but you’re sure it’s full of swearing and mild grievances.

You sneeze when the dust drifts over to you. “You’re human,” you tell him. “I know you only hate it when it’s an inconvenience.”  

Like when his appendix almost burst. Or when he sliced his hand open on a broken glass. (Though that one didn’t require a trip to the ER, just some Antichrist magic.) You’ve been with Michael long enough to know he doesn’t get sick. And although it’s easier to forget he’s not completely human these days, there’s always something inane to remind you.

“We can clean this place up once I find the broom and dust pan,” you say, rising to your feet. It’s precarious, maneuvering around the piles of boxes that have taken over your new living room. But you aren’t used to all the space. “You know, this would go a lot faster if I helped carry in the boxes.”

Michael holds up a hand. “No.”

You notice the dust and lint that’s speckled his usual all-black attire. It’s more casual than what he normally wears—jeans and a dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up—but you’re baffled by how it still makes him the most ethereal person you’ve ever met.

You’ve been married for a couple years and he still has that effect.

“We have…a lot of shit, Langdon,” you answer. Married and you can’t help the affectionate use of his last name. Even though it’s yours now. It’s a habit you’re not looking to break. “Who knew? All this shit crammed into that tiny ass apartment. I mean, half of it is your wardrobe, but…”

A smirk, barely there, finds its way through Michael’s fading annoyance. “I’ve got it,” he insists.

“I’m perfectly capable,” you reply. You kick lightly at a box labeled Kitchen. “I did pack them and load them into the truck.”

“Well, then, you can unpack them,” he says. And you know it’s because he’s shoving the chore on you, because you both really hate the whole packing and unpacking part of this whole exhausting deal.

“Sure.” You exhale and cross your arms. “Give me the fun job.”

“You say that like you think I’m having fun.”

“Aren’t you?” You arch an eyebrow.

You know you both really, really hate the actual moving. You just want to mess with him.

Michael brandishes his arms at his sides, all sarcasm and mischief. It’s hilarious, you think, because Michael looks practically regal since he’s grown his hair out. Like he belongs anywhere but here, standing in the middle of your spacious, albeit dusty living room, beads of sweat trickling down his temples from the exertion. Unloading boxes off the U-Haul truck while looking like a fucking GQ model. It’s really fucking unfair. The hair that now brushes his shoulders, like gold silk, makes him even more attractive and otherworldly. It’s distracting. And you think the neighbors have already started eyeballing him.

But he’s the one who chose this. Who chose you and this life. He chose it.

There isn’t a day that goes by that you’re not a little stunned by it all.

Michael closes the distance separating the two of you and leans in to press a kiss on your forehead. You turn up your face to catch him before he tries to move away, a soft press of your lips to his, a grin shared between you.

“I hate it,” he says, slightly breathless as the words are whispered against your lips, mischief still flashing in the bright blue of his eyes. You don’t believe him, not completely; you know he’s playing the same game you are. He nudges your nose with his. “But I can handle it. You should rest.”

“I’m fine.” You roll your eyes when Michael pulls away. “I’m feeling better already. This move is just stressing me out.”

But he stares at you a little too long, and you think that he doesn’t exactly buy it. “Take a break and find the cat,” he suggests, voice drifting in before he shuts the front door behind him.

“He doesn’t want to be found,” you shout back. “He’s mad at us.”

And it was true. You set the little hell beast free in the house—probably against your better judgment, in hindsight—so he could settle into his new home. The two of you are sure he isn’t pissed off enough to run away, and you’ve been keeping close watch on the only door that’s been opened and shut all afternoon. But you haven’t seen him for hours, not even when you shook the pouch of cat treats and the rattle of them echoed through the empty rooms. He’s hidden himself somewhere good in a show of protest. For uprooting him from the comfortable, quaint city apartment he’s known all this life to this massive old Victorian in the suburbs.

He’ll come around. Eventually.

You were the first to fall in love with the house. Right before you realized it bore a passing resemblance to the house Michael was born in, the house that had caused him so many night terrors. And you let go of it because you didn’t want to do that to him. You couldn’t. It didn’t seem right, to have him try and make a place like this home. But then he surprised you, assured you that the past was firmly behind him and this house was nothing like that wretched Hellmouth. That there was nothing evil to be found here except a few repairs that the realtor warned you about. No bones buried in the backyard. No vengeful ghosts roaming its halls. Not even a death on the property. It was all sunlight streaming through windowpanes and dusty hardwood floors and stained glass and vintage charm. It was, in a word, perfect.

The cat would think otherwise.

Standing in the middle of your living room, hands planted on your hips, you consider the overwhelming task ahead of you. There’s brief moments where you miss the cramped apartment, if only because you’re sick of unpacking. New furniture sits in the boxes they were shipped in. The few pieces you took with you from the apartment have been draped in old sheets. Michael refused to part with the couch—his couch, but he claimed the cat wanted it more—so you’ve agreed to put it in the den at the back of the house. There’s boxes on top of more boxes and you’ve been sorting them for a fucking eternity.

Maybe it is time for a break. You’ve been assuring Michael that you’re fine since yesterday morning when you started moving things into the house. He worries about you endlessly (and, given your shared history, you think he has every right to) but you don’t want him to be anxious over nothing. Moving house is stressful enough. It’s worn you down, made you anxious and restless and tired. A little fatigue and a queasy stomach isn’t something that’s worth obsessing over.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you’re uselessly shaking the cat treats throughout the house and calling your cat every terrible nickname you’ve collected for him over the years. You wind through the kitchen to the den, then backtrack upstairs, down a hallway lined with vacant bedrooms. You don’t get a response, not even a half-assed, angry meow from a closet. The nausea you’ve been fighting off for the past few days rears its ugly head again. It’s happened in waves, at random, disrupting your busy schedule. You know stress makes your stomach unsettled, makes you feel like absolute shit, so you haven’t thought much of it except irritation.

This time, it hits you like a goddamn truck, sends you running for the upstairs bathroom. You make it—barely—and you’re left feeling more like shit once you’ve lost the contents of your stomach in the toilet. The antique tiles under your knees are cold. You lean over the toilet bowl until you’re sure it’s passed, until you don’t have anything left in your stomach. Catching your breath, listening to the loud flush of water, you sit on the chilled floor with your back against the wall.

You tilt your head back to lean on cold, outdated tile. And you’re left with a few scattered thoughts. You haven’t thrown up like that, aside from the occasional hangover, since you caught the flu a few years ago. But this doesn’t feel like the flu. Panic rising, you start going over dates in your head. Counting. The move has thrown everything off; you haven’t even realized that your period is late. Absurdly late. Uncharacteristically late.

“Shit,” you mutter to the empty room. Your voice echoes. “Am I that oblivious?”

You dumbass, you think to yourself. How could you not notice?

Things have been so hectic lately. You try not to blame yourself too much. But you can’t help the rush of anxiety that seizes you on your way back downstairs. You forget the cat treats in the hallway and decide to leave it, hoping it will lure him out. Michael passes you in the doorway, arms laden with a couple of boxes labeled Clothes. You’ve already grabbed your purse, and you kind of hate how you dash past him without meeting his eyes, your cheeks flushed.

“Did you find the cat?”

“Nope,” you answer. Quick, short, and completely suspicious.

Michael stops in the threshold. “Going somewhere? What did we forget?”

You turn around, halfway down the path that winds up to the front porch. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I’m grabbing lunch. Any requests?”

You try so hard to appear calm and nonchalant about the shitty excuse you’re giving your husband, who definitely knows when you aren’t being honest. It’s that preternatural intuition he has, sniffing out lies. You realize before you say it that he’s not going to believe you, but you’re surprised when he doesn’t question it.

“Whatever you want.” He shrugs one shoulder and disappears inside the house.

You’re shaking the whole way, hoping that you don’t have to throw up again. It’s not that you dread the news, exactly; the two of you have talked about it. You want kids. It just seems like it would be horrible timing—two huge life changes within a span of months.

The trip to the nearest convenience store is an adventure. No one knows you here, yet you look over your shoulder as you’re contemplating pregnancy test brands like you’re a teenager being caught by their nosy parents. It’s ridiculous. But the paranoia’s already set in and there’s not much you can do to stop it. Michael still has enemies lurking. There’s a reason beyond the myriad of other reasons why you carry around pepper spray and took some self-defense classes.

Even though they’re miles away in New Orleans, the witches still freak you out. Actually, after the last encounter you had with them, you fucking hate them. What if they wanted to take all of this away from you before you even had it? They’ve tried before. What’s stopping them now?

It’s not fucking easy being the wife of the ex-Antichrist.

You sigh and push four different tests into the plastic basket. You’re jittery the whole time you’re waiting in line, steal glances around you as the cashier rings them up. You’re so damn preoccupied with your own frantic thoughts that you almost forget about lunch entirely. And by the time you get back to the house with takeout and the bag from the store shoved into your purse, you’re not even hungry. Michael notices you wandering into the kitchen in a daze and pokes his head around the corner before he leans against the doorframe.

His eyebrows pull together. “Are you all right?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answer. “Just tired. I’m…not really hungry. Think I’ll take a nap before I start unpacking the kitchen stuff.”

Michael takes your hand when you meet him in the threshold of the kitchen. His long fingers lace between yours for a moment, then his fingertips brush across your knuckles, skipping over the sapphire on your wedding band. His gaze flickers from your hands to your eyes, and you try to avoid his look of concern.

“Are you sure?” His voice is deep and quiet. At your nod, Michael is reluctant to let go. “I’ll unpack them—get some sleep. Take care of yourself.”

He kisses the top of your head and you lean into him for a few seconds longer; he’s all warmth and rich cologne and soap, a balm for your unsteady nerves.

Whatever happens, you know you’ll be fine.

***

The wait is unbearable. You pace around the upstairs bathroom—which is about twice the size of the one in your old apartment—with enough nervous energy to power the whole house for at least a year. It’s so quiet up here, even with the door cracked open slightly, that you can hear your own pulse rushing in your ears.

Still no sign of the cat, though.

The timer you set on your phone makes you jump out of your skin. Once you’ve eased yourself down on the edge of the bathtub—one of those vintage claw foot ones, peak luxury in your opinion—you have to remind yourself to exhale. It takes a minute to calm your racing heart and another two or three to summon the courage to actually look at the results.

And when you do, the test is positive.

It’s all right there, clear as day, spelled out for you in bold, black letters. Positive.

“Okay,” you whisper to the empty bathroom. Your stomach lurches and you’re surprised it’s not nausea. It’s excitement and joy and fear and love all at once, so overwhelming that your hands start to shake. Blinking away a few tears, your palm settles on your stomach. A reflex. Maybe some instinct. “So, there’s that. Let’s just make sure…”

Three tests later, you line them up on the counter and study the four positives staring back at you. You’re sure, at this point, that they’re right. There’s no mistake. You can feel it, even—you know it’s true, now, once you’ve had time to process everything you’ve overlooked. You’re pregnant. Everything is still and quiet, except for distant chirping of birds somewhere outside, as you stand there gawking at your future. It terrifies you, but the fierce, protective love that’s suddenly surging through you is so much more powerful.

Fuck it, you’re going to be okay.

A soft knock on the door interrupts your scattered thoughts, the immense quiet. You feel Michael step into the bathroom before you turn around to face him; everything is always so much warmer with him nearby. And when you look at him, you’ve got silent, overwhelming tears spilling down your cheeks.

“I came up to check on you.” He moves closer, fingertips grazing your elbows lightly. You uncross your arms to trail a hand down his arm until your fingers stop at his wrist, your fingers finding their way between his. You don’t even have to look. “What is it?” His words are a low, rumbling whisper and you’re so close that you feel it in your ribs.

“I’m…sorry for getting all weird on you earlier,” you reply. “I guess now I have an explanation for that.”

He reaches out, eyes narrowed a little, and brushes your cheek. There’s a grin somewhere on his lips but he’s holding back. “And that would be…?”

“Well, four tests later, and,” you’re crying still but there’s a smile on your lips, “I’m pregnant.”

You watch the slow, radiant grin that illuminates Michael’s face, the tears that make his eyes shine in the dim overhead lights. And it takes you all of twenty seconds to understand that it was there all along, he was just waiting for you to finally break the news. For you to catch up.

You laugh. “You knew.”

Michael’s head tilts to one side, golden hair spilling over one shoulder. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him. “For about a week and a half.”

“Fucking hell, Langdon.” You brace your hands against his chest. Not so much an accusation as it is a surprise. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he says. “I wanted you to find out yourself, tell me when you were ready.”

“How in the…how did you know?”

He stares at you. Pointedly. But that grin is there. “You should know by now not to ask.” He holds you, forehead resting against yours, and his gaze wanders down to your stomach. “I felt it—sensed something that was barely there. But I knew it then. It was sudden, one day while we were still packing up the apartment.”

“I can’t believe you kept it a secret,” you tell him. “That must’ve killed you.”

Michael presses his lips to your temple, leaves a soft kiss. “Every day.”

“And that’s why you insisted on moving the boxes yourself,” you realize. “Which is ridiculous.”

“Can’t be too careful.”

This time you kiss him, untangling your fingers to loop your arms around his neck. He’s gentle with you, maybe too much, but you can’t fault him for it. You notice how light his touch his, how he holds you against him like he doesn’t want to hurt you, like he won’t let anyone else harm you or the baby. But the kiss isn’t exactly gentle—it’s fierce and simmering and then blazing hot, just like his skin. You can feel every single fucking thing in it; Michael’s intense love for you, the love he has for your child, the fear and excitement thrumming through his veins, all of it fighting against whatever this world told him he was supposed to be. Whatever he was born for, whatever fucked up purpose he was going to serve, that’s all in the past now.

It’s only you and him and your baby.

And the cat.

The kiss is only broken, the heat tempered when something soft and furry winds in between your legs. Michael groans, all dramatic, as you’re left to catch your breath. He glares down at the pitch black lump rubbing against his pant leg, electric green eyes upturned to you both.

“Well, there’s the fucking cat.”

You snort a laugh. “Figures.” Sighing, you comb your fingers through Michael’s slightly disheveled hair. “Hey there, you little shit. Guess what? You’re going to have to share us in about nine months, and you’re probably going to hate it.”

The little hell beast blinks at you slowly and offers an indignant meow.

Michael’s laugh reverberates in your chest. You feel warm and loved when his hands settle on your stomach, when his nose bumps yours. “He hates us.”

You put a hand on top of his. “Oh, yeah. He’s pissed.”

***

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @wvntersldr @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo  @batgirlbride  @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition  @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon  @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @michaelsapostle​ @wroteclassicaly​ @monsucre @ritualmichael  @queencocoakimmie @bluelancesredswords @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr @prettykitten123 @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies  @tiny-ruby-seeds @confettucini @xavierplympton​ @kaetastic

[lemonietrinket]

I’ll Admit ||| Wonpil x Reader

Summary: "I’ll admit, I didn’t think I would ever do all of this under a bed with a cold pretzel, and yet here we are.” Genre: Fluff, humour? Warning(s): 1x Hell (mild cursing), otherwise none Word Count: 4856 Theme Song: Mixtape #1 - Stray Kids; Best Part - Day6; Stay - Ateez AN: a pushed request from @idontknowapil I have no have no short-fic ideas lately ok. I’m here to fill the apparent void of day6 stuffs :((

~~~

To be absolutely honest with yourself, you were beginning to wonder if you’d offended some ancient deity, whose only remaining power was to cause minor inconveniences for a target chosen upon whim, and that you were said victim. 

Because, truth be told, what had you done to deserve being thrown onto the sofa like a sack of potatoes?

You hadn’t intended to get in their way—you weren’t even aware they were chasing each other round the tiny halls of the flat, and you hadn’t the slightest clue as to why either. 

You’d been helping Sungjin cook dinner in the cramped kitchen, effortlessly working around one another in peace as you jammed to the music over the speaker you’d set up.  Neither of you said much, opening your mouths to merely sing the lyrics together, or ask for the flavouring to be passed from the first kitchen counter to its only companion. 

Listening to the man sing in his gritty and soulful voice never failed to settle you into tranquil, even if the words he was singing weren’t exactly what most would define as deep and meaningful.

“I see that I’m icy~”

You choked back a laugh. You would never have noted him as the type to bop to Itzy—and neither did he, usually—but every now and again he seemed to like a rousing pop song, and since it was only you there he didn’t mind letting down his reserved guard and sing along.  It didn’t stop the contrast between his vocals and the tone of the song from being stark, though, and there was something amusing about hearing a mighty voice that was designed for heart-aching alternative songs chant sunnily to a summer pop hit. Still, it allowed you to join in without feeling so out of league like you would have naturally done. 

The heavy thunk however shook the entire block no doubt, and it also stopped your little concert in the kitchen abruptly short. The two of you flicked your heads to where it had somewhat resonated from: the living room.

“What the hell...?” you murmured, your knife frozen against the chopping board.

“Those damn kids,” Sungjin tutted, quickly going back to his work at the pan, “if I get another complaint from that poor elderly lady from downstairs again I swear I’ll...”

You were going to join him in cooking again as you had done before, when a high-toned shriek emanated from the furthest hall. At the sound of it, the leader hissed grumpily into the steam of the half-prepared meal, but you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander.

There was no plausible owner of the cry other than Wonpil, and that made you worry.  You couldn’t help it. The others may not play often, but when they did it sometimes was a little rough—and this didn’t count the occasionally relentless teasing that Jae and Younghyun could indulge in on a surprisingly regular basis. And Wonpil, bless his heart, was just as regularly the target. He was just so sweet and kind and gentle, and when he wasn’t, he was surprisingly, underhandedly sassy. These were the reasons why you’d fallen worryingly swiftly for the man and his cute habits and neediness, and it was also the reason why he was chosen as the one who got teased; his reactions were normally pretty funny.

But it also had to be said that though Wonpil could handle himself better than many would expect, there were a couple of scenarios where he couldn’t, perhaps. And going by the sudden flurry of footsteps that charged into someone’s bedroom and forced Sungjin to lean against the counter and pull the wide-eyed expression he always made whenever he was considering whipping someone into shape, you deduced this may have been one of those circumstances.

And so, you finished chopping the mushroom before you, dished it out onto the plate for the main chef to use, before throwing, “I’m just going to check everyone’s ok,” over your shoulder and heading out into the hallway. 

Peering both ways you couldn’t see a single culprit or victim, which was unnerving to say the least.

Heading towards where the original thud had originated from, you barely got to the other side of the living room when there was a flash of white and suddenly you were scooped into the air with a yelp.

A victorious laugh that was clearly Younghyun’s tapered off within seconds as you were immediately put back on your feet. “Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry I thought you were—”

“What the hell are you doing?” you exclaimed, still in shock from your sudden, albeit temporary, flight. 

The handsome smile before you became even more sheepish. “Nothing bad I promise! Have you—”

“Nothing bad?!” you echoed incredulously. “You’ve been lumping around causing an absolute ruckus! If you’ve caused any offence to the other residents up or downstairs I swear I will—”

“—seen Wonpil?”

The sound of his name sucked any threats of spite out of you. He was the reason why you’d risked life and limb by exiting the kitchen. “N-no, but why do you want him?”

Younghyun chuckled at your defensive scowl. “He stole my pretzel and I want it back.”

“I can’t believe you guys—over a pretzel?” You rolled your eyes. “Even if I had seen him I wouldn’t hand over any information, and you know that.”

The man looked mildly panicked as you began to head back towards the kitchen. “Wait, Y/N! It’s a cinnamon pretzel! You know they’re like, really damn good...!” 

You stopped in mere steps as a plan gradually began to spin in your head. You span on your heel, sending Younghyun a sweet smile. “A cinnamon pretzel you say?” 

He nodded earnestly as you slowly drew to the archway where he stood, coming to lean against the arm of the sofa nearest it. “Interesting...”

“Will you help us find him? I’ll let you have a quarter of it!” Younghyun pleaded, pulling the best puppy eyes he could.

“A whole quarter? Wow I am lucky.”

You had to bite back another laugh as you watched him panic again. 

“Because I’ve already made an offer to Dowoon and Jae to help me catch him, ok?” he explained poutily.

You pretended to think for a bit, though your mind was already made up. It was time to put your plan into action. “Fine.”

Relief washed over him as he flashed you that charming grin that made everyone’s hearts flutter. Well, perhaps everyone except you as you’d swiftly rationalsied. Your butterflies only seemed to make an appearance whenever he was around, and as if to make up for their rather useful vacancy in normal situations, they made a habit of appearing at all times when you were with him—which wasn’t as lucky, but what were you to do? Ask him out? Don’t be daft. 

“Ok, good, that’s great!” Younghun sighed, jumping straight in with an outline of his oddly detailed plan on how to smoke out Wonpil from his hiding spot and reclaim his pretzel in an elaborate trap. You weren’t listening, though, and it was rather fortunate really that he didn’t get to continue for long enough to ask you questions that you then wouldn’t be able to answer.

He was interrupted halfway through explaining he was going to head towards Wonpil and Sungjin’s room by another thunder of footsteps wracking through the apartment. A shape that you would soon identify as Jae barrelled right through, in and out of the living room like a lightning bolt, calling, “I see him!”

And unfortunately for you, the image of a sweet, pristine cinnamon pretzel had overcome his senses, and since Younghyun was in the way, he took the fastest option of bumping him out of the way. But this created a domino effect, as in an effort to recapture his balance, the younger had stumbled forward and sent you over the arm, onto the plush cushions with a startled cry.

As you lay squashed on your shoulder and your elbow slotted between the leather you couldn’t help but think about your predicament, yet also your future rewards. 

The plan you had concocted was of the same level as a secret agent’s master plan, you were sure, and you couldn’t help a devilish smirk rise to your lips as you thought it over.

It involved stealth, deceit, smarts, and a good dose of luck.

A double-cross. The ultimate spy-movie-move. And you were going to pull it off to-the-T.

Truth was, if you found Wonpil and hid with him, you were guaranteed to get half a pretzel. Maybe even more, since the man who had stolen your heart so cleanly without even realising most likely, was kind like that.

Ignoring the ebbs and flows of your heart that dictated that you would always take his side over the others’ any day anyway, it made much more sense to bluff.

Not only this, you also had a great advantage over Jae and Younghyun, and that was you knew Wonpil very well. Yes, they’d known him for longer, but you knew him on a deeper level, from all the time you’d spent with him late in the evening and in cafes in the morning and everywhere you went with him. Because you listened to what he had to say, because you cared with your whole heart.  And so it meant that this time round you were going to beat them, and win that pretzel too.

And so, you pushed yourself up—with frankly a ridiculous amount of energy required, because the sofa seemed very keen to grip your hand and pin you down—and slipped in the direction the two had come from, into your room.

As your eyes settled on your bed, there was no chance of you wiping the pride off your face.

Though Wonpil was softer than the others, that didn’t mean he didn’t still have a few tricks up his sleeve; after all, he wasn’t as ditzy as everyone always figured he was.

Your room was in fact the safest option—it was your private space, so the others rarely came in, thus they didn’t know it well at all. The wouldn’t know where to begin. Add this to their discomfort to even being in your room without your permission, let alone scouring their eyes in every nook and cranny, that had origins in your rare but mighty wrath, it all amounted to the best choice. 

On top of this, Wonpil actually did know it well. He was the only one that frequented your room, because the two of you were so close. And though you weren’t as close as you wished to be, he always came to you in the evenings, wrapping up in your blankets at your side and sprawling over your lap, your shoulders, your stomach. 

This in itself made you repeatedly rethink your wishes to finally work up the courage and ask—as what if it ruined everything? And you didn’t like to think down those lines for long, as it made your stomach churn enough emotionally to make you feel physically nauseous. 

But this was why he had an advantage by hiding in your room (as well as why you’d held your tongue for months on end). 

Banking on the fact that you two had a lot in common too, you could certainly have a good guess at where he was, since you knew where you would choose to go.

Lifting the covers that hung like curtains from the edge of your bed to the floor, you found everything in order—the drawer you kept under there still in its place. A good sign.

You made your way round to the other side of your bed.

The drawer did not fill the expanse of it, after all, and left quite a lot of space under there. And since the frame was reasonably high off the ground, this would be the prime spot to hide if you needed to.

Crouching down, you glanced up to the door left ajar as to not arouse suspicion but also maintain some privacy if your deductions were correct. No one there, and no sound of anyone approaching.  Success.

“Wonpil,” you whispered to the carpet, fingers fiddling with the embroidered lace upon the cover, “it’s Y/N. I’m coming under, yeah?”

A series of shuffles was heard while the tiniest ‘hi’ graced your ears. You slipped under the bed on your stomach, hurriedly repositioning the covers to hide your position once again.

Your arm ended up nudging into something soft that then emitted a small hum as a greeting of sorts. “Oh, Pillie, I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” he responded meekly, shifting his weight to further accommodate for you, “you’re not searching with them are you?”

You shook your head, coming to settle resting on your elbows. “Nope. I told Hyun that I was though.”

“Y/N L/N, world’s best double agent,” he giggled, and you couldn’t help but smile at him merely being happy. 

You couldn’t see much under the bed since a lot of the light was blocked by the drawer and overhanging bedsheets, but you could just make out the lines of his face and the corners of his beautiful smile. His dark eyes also caught the slivered beams of light that crept beneath the furthest end of the bed, appearing like distant constellations in them. He was a masterpiece, never appreciated fully as he deserved—but for those that did, they would find all his quirks as food for the soul, and as such he rendered you feeling at true peace in his company. You longed to speak out again.

You were brought out of your thoughts by the one who had caught your heart so accidentally holding a soft pretzel towards you. “Do you want it?”

You prayed he hadn’t seen your stare in the dim light. “Hm? Oh, I’ll have any part you don’t want, it’s ok.”

“Well...” he offered the packet to you more insistently by brushing your arm with the back of his hand, until you accepted it. He then rolled over onto his side, settling into the carpet. “I don’t want it, so you can have it.”

You analysed the knot of the pretzel, before frowning at him suspiciously. “You haven’t eaten any of it...? You didn’t drop it on the floor did you?”

“No!” he cried in a whisper that verged on just-a-bit-too-loud. Much as you feared, footsteps came at a slower pace down from the living room, sending the two of you into a bout of silence, hoping that they wouldn’t turn into your bedroom.

To your luck, they continued on into the studio.

You exhaled in relief as you continued with your interrogation over the lukewarm, but still very delicious cinnamon pretzel. “But, Pillie, my Wonpil loves pretzels, especially cinnamon ones! My Wonpil dared to throw a pillow at Sungjin over a cinnamon pretzel! And yet here he supposedly is, handing one over completely untouched? I say, sir, you have been outwitted—now tell me, who are you and where is the real Wonpil?”

Your tone had been humorous, perhaps overly so. You couldn’t help it though; the rush of calling him yours, even with it being uninterpretable to mean in that manner, sent electricity through to your heart and left it thumping against your ribcage. 

Wonpil meanwhile only laughed under his breath softly, his brilliant smile tapering off into a gentler, sleepier one. “I am the real Wonpil, I promise! I just want you to have it.”

“Why?” The word came out of you too fast and before you could even attempt to stop it. You cursed your neediness in your head, shying your head away as you leaned into the scent of cinnamon as a feeble attempt of a cover. 

He shrugged, though it was awkward to see at his angle. “Because you really like them and I’d rather you have it over Jae or Younghyun.”

You snorted. “What did they do this time?”

“They hid my phone!” he whined, a pout clearly on his face in the dark even if you couldn’t see it clearly, “I looked all over the place desperately for like, ten minutes, and then they laughed at me when they gave it back!”

“That’s so mean,” you agreed, “do you want e to kick their asses?”

He laughed sweetly, rolling closer. “Nah, I got the pretzel. That’ll teach them not to mess with Kim Wonpil!”

“The Almighty and All-Seeing,” you finished with a grin, taking a bite into the dough at last. Even though it was a bit cool, it still tasted phenomenal, and you hummed out of reflex and in satisfaction.

“Is it good?” Wonpil chirped, shuffling even closer. He was still merged with the shadows, but you could feel his warmth by your arm. He couldn’t stay away for long, after all.

You nodded assertively, torn between chewing quickly so you could reply and taking it slow to savour the taste. Considering the size of how much was left, you opted for the former and eventually asked, “Where did you get this from?”

“I don’t know actually. I just saw it in Younghyunnie’s bag and took it.”

You couldn’t stifle the chuckle at the image of the man’s devious behaviour, and ended up choking.

“Are you ok?” Wonpil’s voice was concerned, his hand already on your arm, gently rubbing and squeezing the skin there as he waited for you to gather your breath together.

As soon as you erupted into giggles that you attempted to smother as much as you could, he sighed.

“I’m sorry, I just imagined you in full, stereotypical robber costume with the mask and everything, running away with a pretzel and, I don’t know, it just...?” 

Wonpil seemed to not really be listening—not an entirely uncommon occurrence—and instead took the opportunity to wrap his arms around your free one and lean his head against your side.  “I’m so glad you’re ok!” he whispered.

Hearing a clang from the studio nearby you tensed up, but after a few more seconds of hearing nothing, you allowed yourself to pay full attention to Wonpil again. 

“Of course I’m ok,” you said, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“I was worried you were going to die on me, and that just wouldn’t be ideal.” Hearing you scoff a laugh at his terminology, he avidly continued, “Look, we’d have to write on your obituary that you died from choking on a cinnamon pretzel, and then you’d become a cautionary tale for kids, and that’s just not a fate anyone deserves!”  It was then as if his mouth continued without him really being aware of it.

“And if you died, Y/N, then what am I supposed to do? I would be so alone, I don’t think I would—” 

These moments happened to everyone, it was fair to say, though his reaction to his own words as he cut himself short was an enigma to say the least. It was as if he’d said to much of something he’d promised he would never say. 

And then he was quiet. In fact he was dead silent.  Not a Wonpil-thing to do to say the least.

It was good timing however. There was a creak, as another person entered the room.  You hadn’t heard the footfalls, so you weren’t able to work out who it was, until he spoke.

“Y/N?” Sungjin called.

You didn’t respond.  This wasn’t exactly good news.

The chances were the leader would try and catch one of the others and ask them of your whereabouts, if he was searching for specifically you of his own accord. Or worse, he had joined the search—unlikely, but a possibility nevertheless.

After what seemed like hours of waiting, the door creaked once more and you were able to release the air you’d been subconsciously holding. 

Glancing down, you realised you’d better get on with your pretzel. You spoke to clear the silence and anxious energy emanating from the man who was clinging to you. 

“I wouldn’t know what I’d do without you either, Pillie.” Deciding to take smaller bites but often, you began to eat and savour the taste of the stolen delicacy as best you could, while finishing what Wonpil had insinuated in his accidental words. “I don’t think I would cope at all with you gone, too.”

“Really?” 

You imagined his bright eyes wide and gleaming at you in surprise, as you wouldn’t be able to see even if you looked back. “Yeah, my life would be so empty, I think,” you bit down the nerves that began to rise as you spoke, “like a huge part of me and my life would be missing, and I never want that to happen.”

“Do you really mean that?” Wonpil’s voice was so small you could barely hear it, “You... want me here with you... forever?” 

You froze on the spot.

Was this the time?

Evidently, yes.

You let the the pretzel fall to the floor, shifting yourself so you were on your back and able to hold Wonpil’s cheeks delicately in your hands above you, as you had longed to do for months.  “Yes. Without a single doubt, Pillie. I’ve liked you for so long I haven’t been able to say it, but now I’ve... finally kicked myself up the ass and said it,” you chuckled to yourself, watching his glorious smile rise in the dark, “so, Pillie, do you want to be my boyfriend?”

He nodded desperately, coming to rest his forehead against yours.

And it was as if your heart had burst in two out of sheer joy. You could have very much burst into tears right there and then, but Wonpil was not finished. 

“Kiss me?” he requested, in a voice so delicate and sweet that it instantly mended your broken resolve.  

You closed the distance carefully, not wanting to mess up and make a fool of yourself, even though the circumstances really did prompt it. Fortune was on your side though, as your lips found his without an issue.

Threading your hands through his hair, you revelled in the tenderness of his kiss. It felt so right as your heart throbbed, his chest lowering onto yours as he sank into your touch. It was so chaste and impossibly sweet, and yet it carried the weight of the world within it—you hadn’t been the only one waiting. 

As much as you longed to remain there, your beating hearts dictated that you needed to take in air.

He moved away first, his breath tickling your skin as he giggled. “You taste like cinnamon.”

“And now so do you!” You ran your thumb across his temple, unable to contain your smile. 

Overcome with shyness, Wonpil bit his lip as he ducked his head into your neck, mumbling phrases of disbelief into your shirt. 

Stroking the soft tress of his hair you attempted to ease him into more calm. “I’ll admit,” you began, “I didn’t think I would ever do all of this under a bed with a cold pretzel, and yet here we are.”

“How did you picture it?” he enquired, voice still muffled by your neck.

“I don’t actually know...” you answered, pausing to consider what you had originally intended, if anything at all. “Maybe after the cinema? That’s the classic way, right? Wait, no... Probably one time when you come to hang out with me like you always do?”

He lifted himself up, cocking his head to one side. “Why then?”

It was your turn to get a little bashful, “Because you’d be right there in my arms, and it would be much easier than under a bed hiding from the others...”

“Well,” Wonpil reasoned, his voice nothing but a whisper, “I’m here in your arms now...”

You sighed, “I know, it took me long enough right?”

“I could have done something about it too,” he pouted, “so don’t worry about it... and instead, maybe do it again?”

There was no way you could have stifled the chuckle that bubbled from your chest, but it tapered off when your new partner leant in to kiss you again.

Nonetheless, luck is a finite resource, and so it had to run out at some point—and for you, it was at an admittedly unfortunate moment, as it was right there and then.

Light was released from its coil outside as the bedsheets were drawn back and a face appeared in its wake.

“Boom! Found y—Y/N?!” Jae’s voice was way too loud in comparison to the peace, and then it was absolutely ecstatic, “Y/N?! Are you making out with our keyboardist?!”

You were stunned by his sudden appearance as you hadn’t heard a single bit of noise to offer the idea that anyone was nearby. Then again, you were enraptured with the beautiful man before you—there was little chance of you noticing the low creak of a door.

As you floundered however, Wonpil handled the situation instead, unusually disgruntled.

“I asked her to, Jae,” he countered, sending him his best mean look which only really involved a nose scrunch, “now go away and let her continue.”

“Oop—” The eldest disappeared from sight, and darkness returned.

“Now, where were we?” Wonpil hummed, but you were reluctant.

Your inhibitions turned out to be well-calculated too, as you heard Jae, not three seconds later, yell, “Brian! Y/N and Wonpil are making out under the bed, come see!”

You rolled your eyes. “We’d better get out of here.” Confronted with Wonpil’s pout however and your grumpy tone melted. “It’s ok, we’ll continue later, I promise! Just, I have to go kick Jae’s ass real quick too, you know?”

You felt his weight shift from you as he admitted defeat. “Ok, but get him good, baby.”

You choked on air at the sudden pet-name. So many things sounded like pure perfection coming from his lips. Even so, it seemed the term ‘baby’ in reference to you did not share the same effect.

“Eh?”

“What?” he said, confused by your outburst. 

“I think you need to find another pet-name for me,” you explained as you crawled out from beneath the bed. 

“What’s wrong with baby?”

Once you were out, you extended your hand for him. Handing you the pretzel which you then discarded on your bed, he began to shimmy himself out until he could accept your offer, while you searched for a reason other than ‘slightly cringey’. “I mean... I can’t be baby, because you are baby.”

As he got to his feet, he dusted the both of you off shyly. “Am I?”

“Hell yeah you are, baby,” you finished, making your point with added flair as you raised his chin to face you.

His eyes went wide at the touch. “Y-yeah, you’re right.”

“Oh, ew.”

Your eyes rose to the voice to find Jae still standing there, though this time with Younghyun in the doorway who suddenly looked panicked. “Don’t look at me, I’m fully supportive of young love.”

Your gaze focused on Jae, then, who was smiling brightly, though it was turning more and more worried by the second.  “Thank you for reminding me about the other problem at hand,” you chirped, “You get a ten second head-start, Jae, as I’m feeling kind today.”

“It’s because of all that love in your system,” he retorted with a cackle, though he didn’t then waste much time in making a mad dash for the door, shunting Younghyun out of the way once more.

“Kick his ass, sugarplum!” Wonpil encouraged by your side, and you just about hid your wince. Younghyun merely ducked his head out of the doorway to snicker.

“Yeah, maybe not that one either, baby,” you suggested, resting your palms on his shoulders and pressing a kiss quickly to his cheek. “But I’ll make it count, don’t worry.”

He sent you that glimmering smile, this time in the light where you could see, and you stood transfixed for well over the designated head-start. 

“Come on, go!” Wonpil ushered, thriving on the drama. “Avenge me!”

And with his blessing you grabbed your pillow and tore off out of the door.

To see you so smitten was endearing, Younghyun thought. He’d been wondering how long it would take you to finally ask, and was starting to worry a bit. Clearly he shouldn’t have lost faith in you quite that easily.

He managed to avoid getting trampled by you too as you ran out of you room, leaving Wonpil to take in everything that had happened. He’d expected him to gush about it, or have a fit of giggles, but the man just sat on your bed and sighed, looking at a pretzel happily—

Wait, that was his pretzel—

“Hey, that’s—!”

“I know,” Wonpil interjected, scooping it up and offering it to him, “you want it?”

Younghyun eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you and where is Wonpil?”

The younger tutted, rolling his eyes. “I am Wonpil, and I don’t want it, so you can have it.”

Younghyun, after a few moments, stepped forward to claim his prize. Until he had an epiphany.

“Wait, it’s been on the floor, hasn’t it.”

~~~

AN: I feel like I’m gonna hate this tomorrow but oh well. here it is!

and it wasn’t supposed to be this long but oops

(also itzy’s music and lyrics are also obviously not mine—I’m not taking any chances though so, I repeat: I have no ownership of the song, lyrics, etc they all belong to JYPE ok)

Masterlist