#everything is falling and im constantly vibrating out of my fucking skin with it

[theonewhopees]

.

[sinner-as-saint]

ok so i know that this is a far cry from reality but to add on to your sebastian hcs,,, sebastian edging you for a solid week until one night he ties your arms and legs to the bed and you think that finally tonight's the night,,, but no. instead he gets himself off right in front of you, all while you can't stop writhing on the bed bc it's been /so/ long and his cock just looks so good and his /moans and dirty talk/ are driving you absolutely fucking insane, and eventually (1/2)

it becomes so overwhelming that you just. cum untouched. which is something that shocks even yourself bc you didn't think that you could become so desperately aroused. sebastian's so shocked that he was able to make you orgasm without even touching you that he either cums on the spot or doesn't even care that you came without his permission and finally fucks you into oblivion im so flustered ok bye (2/2) 

MKAY

wow... 

I think it’d be after a fight. 

And he’d be pissed at you for something. And while you’d constantly ask him to forgive you, he’d just drag it out for as long as he could. 

1 week and he still hadn’t touched you yet

Neither would he let you touch yourself

And you desperate

Each day he’d tease you until you were dripping

He’d perhaps even make you go out in public with him with a plug up your butt. 

Then he’d leave you in that state like it was funny

Vibrators, plugs, handcuffs... everything but his cock

“Seb...please” you’d whine 

But he’d just chuckle at how pathetic you were

“Look at you. Fucking begging me to fuck you,” he’d pause and watch you whimper under him while he pressed one of the vibrators onto your wet folds, “Do you even deserve my cock, huh baby? Maybe you would if you hadn’t been such a fucking brat,” 

Then came the night when you thought you’d finally get what you want because Seb seemed to be in a better mood

But no

Oh no...

He simply wanted to toy with your body a bit more; he just wanted to push your limits some more. 

He had you bound and restrained to his bed that night; using handcuffs and satin ribbons. 

He made you watched as he got undressed and pumped his cock right in front of you

Meanwhile you whined and try to clench your thighs together; a certain dampness leaking out of you as you watched him 

He’d kneel right in between your tied legs and jerk off; throwing his head back and grunting in pleasure

His erected cock looked so good that you almost physically drooled

You’d helplessly watch how his large hands moved up and down his throbbing cock

He’d make sure to cum all over your lower abdomen; making you whine as you watched him with pleading eyes

But what he didn’t expect

Was for you to come as well

untouched... 

you just gushed out all over the bed sheet; all by just watching him because that’s how desperate and needy you were. 

Seb watched you in awe and surprise. 

It was all too hot and too sinful; there you were, tied to his bed with his cum all over your skin and now you came without him even touching you. 

He didn’t even care that his girl didn’t ask for permission before coming undone; he was too mesmerized

He didn’t even say anything as he hurried to untie your legs and your hands. 

After a week of teasing you, he finally leaned in to kiss you properly. You panted and moaned into his mouth while he pushed his tongue into your mouth. 

“That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, baby,” he’d whisper against your lips then look down at the mess you made on the bed. 

He’d smirk; and would be so fucking proud of his girl

He’d whisper a soft “come here” then proceed to hook your legs to his shoulders

And he’d place his mouth to your sensitive core and devour you hungrily

And he wouldn’t stop until you came again

and again

He’d probably even make you squirt just by using his tongue and his two fingers before fucking you properly

He’d have you in any way he’d like 

From the back

Pulling on you hair

Making you ride his thigh before you get to ride his thick cock which you had missed so much

And through out it all, he wouldn’t stop whispering in your ear about how much of a good girl you were

You were his play thing

His

And he’d make sure you remember that

That night, Seb would fuck you until you begged him to give you a break

Even then he’d push your limits

“Come on baby, one more time. I know you can do it. ‘Cause you’re my good girl,” he’d whisper in your ear as he’d push himself in you and proceeding to fuck you into oblivion... again. 

And you’d take it

You’d take whatever he’d give you. 

By the end of it, he’d be kinda more gentle with you. 

He’d kiss away the tears which would fall down your cheeks, while still pounding into you. 

Your legs trembled and your body was shaking under him

But you wanted more like the needy brat you were

His needy brat

And he’d happily give you what you wanted. 

a/n: oh look, i’m a puddle

[goldafterglow]

embellished lungs

Summary: Ezra buys a pretty thing for a pretty thing.

Request: hc about what renders Ezra speechless 😶 - @lose-eels (this is not even what you asked for but fuckin here ig im sorry sgkfjdshg)

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a big fat drabble?, very really soft, not beta read and tbh barely even normal read i read this maybe twice oops

Author’s Note: i almost put this just like under the ask but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is a drabble bc i’m a clown. i don’t want to talk about it. and spitting this out bc I was soft for Ezra and @mrpascals made me

Gif Cred: my wife and my baby @pascalplease

masterlist | taglist modifications

He spies it in the open market while he’s stocking up on supplies.

The day is hot, the Sun bearing down on its disciples with a violent red fury, but it’s light is strong, bright. Everything is reflective, hot to the touch from boiling in the heat, and all of the creatures begin to melt together like dyed wax to form one big discernable blob, if you really squint. Ezra’s sweat escapes the barrier of his brows and leaks past his lashes, dragging across his eyes and stinging a little, blurring his vision and dripping onto his arms, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too exhilarated.

The market in itself is absolutely brilliant to him; he’s always been enthralled by this, by people and pretty things, and to be completely surrounded by both felt like something akin to sensory overload. His heart is racing at the sight of people traversing the dirt road, loitering and browsing through produce colored so vibrantly he wonders if the bright red apples and deep indigo berries have been dipped in the tinted glow of fairies that dance in the forest. And he’s utterly taken by the art and trinkets. He’s always had a little soft spot for art - a tender, exposed section of his beating flesh that is so sensitive, so delicate and so easy to provoke. And right now, he seems like he’s subject to a battering ram, pounding against his chest in the best way possible.

His eyes dart around quickly as he tries his best to take everything in. He finds himself cherishing every little interaction, every stranger whose shoulder he is forced to brush in an attempt to make his way through the market, every vendor that begs to him, calls to him to try “just one last berry sir. I’m sure your lover will be delighted by the raspberries from yesterday’s harvest.” He ended up buying a quaint six ounces just so that he could feed them to you. But that would be a treat for later.

And just like that, he is thinking of you. The prettiest, most beautiful thing. A sculpture with imperfections so perfect that he knows it must have taken eons to craft you out of gold and diamonds and the soft fluff of hummingbird feathers and butterfly wings. You are art, a walking, breathing, touchable piece that he gets to admire up close. It’s a privilege, really, to have been gifted with Kevva’s finest handiwork.

As his pupils peruse the stands, admiring his surroundings, they suddenly become frozen in place, permanently stuck on a little trinket that’s caught his attention: a necklace. The gem sitting in the center isn’t aurelac; it’s much more vibrant, much more dramatic and almost rainbow when he looks at it from different angles. The chain isn’t long, and knowing you the gem would fall right between your collarbones. He can already envision you wearing it, like a child flicking watercolors onto the Venus de Milo, but he wants to see his deep green paint draped around your shoulders. The way he sees it when you wear his clothing, when you’re adorned with bruises of his passion like stars adorn the sky, when you wear him. It’s intoxicating, seeing that he’s had any impact on your life and that you parade it around like a trophy. That you think about him without him prompting you to do so - not that he isn’t constantly in your presence. But he wants to buy it just so that he can see you wear it. Perhaps even only wear it.

He’s already thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look in it. He is thinking about putting it on you, tugging on it ever so lightly in a way that signals to you - that is, rather than exerting any true force on you - that he wants a kiss. Perhaps pulling on it a little harder so that metal bites your skin and you can feel it, feel him digging into the soft flesh of your neck. Now he’s imagined a thousand scenarios in which he can have his way with you just by getting you to wear this piece, and he has to purchase it.

When the vendor finally hands it to him, packaged with care and placed deep into the hollow of a black velvet box, he finds that it barely fits in his pocket. He doesn’t care, though, because it’s too exquisite an accessory to be thrown in with the other supplies and it’s too precious for him to take it out of the box. He’s excited when he comes back to the pod, back home where you are.

Home is you.

He assumes you must’ve heard him come in, the pod door loud and rambunctious as he dumps the bags into the center of the pod space and then crawls in himself - it was hard enough with two arms, nonetheless one. He lets out a sight as if to let the excitement drain out his vessels and into the atmosphere of the cockpit, mingling with the peace and solitude to create a soft buzz that zings through his ears and vibrates his eyes. The exhilaration from being the market was utterly electric, but he is home now. He can crawl into you, let you absorb into him, and he likes how you can make his heart race a million miles and yet also pacify him, a cold compress to his aching soul to help reduce inflammation. He wants to maintain that semblance of the intricate pastel harmony, adorned in lilac and peach hues. So he stands in the middle of the cockpit and closes his eyes, lets himself sway to the rhythm of his lungs for a moment. Just a fraction of solitude, and he doesn’t mind because ever since he met you he has never felt lonely, not even when he’s alone. He always feels you with him.

Once his head has cleared, he palms at his pocket where the little black box still resides, as if to check that he hadn’t dreamt up some fantasy ornament that would look so perfect on you. It’s still there; of course it is, and he feels foolish for thinking that the pretty butterflies would have fluttered it out and flown it away, but sometimes he wonders if the same thing will ever happen to you. If one morning he will wake up and you will have migrated with the birdies, off to seek true warmth because you’re not real, because nothing so good as you could ever be caged by him.

He steps into your shared bedroom and spies you with your back to the entrance. The room is cool, but you’ve elected to wear his shirt, even foregoing pants. His favorite outfit of yours, and he knows you know it. You’re wearing headphones, something he’d picked up for you on your last supply run, and he can tell you’re playing one of those instrumental stations you so adore listening to when you were working. A mutely-colored map is stretched out onto the desk, and he’s not even sure you can focus the music because your mind is moving faster than your poor hand can keep up as you mark up a new dig site. He almost feels bad for interrupting you while you’re in such deep concentration, your forehead smashed into wrinkles without even noticing, but Ezra cannot resist his greed for your attention. Ever so gently, he places his hand on your shoulder from behind so as not to startle you.

You almost immediately register the delicate touch, turning the radio off and pulling your headphones off your ears so you can give this kind artist your undivided attention - Kevva herself knows he's earned it. You turn your head to face him, craning your neck back so you can take his softly smiling depiction like pressing a plush blanket into your face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you coo, letting your pen fall tumultuously from your hand. The sound of it clanging against the table and then rolling around to a stop fills the room, but you can’t hear it; Ezra is talking now.

“Hey, sweet stardust,” he greets back, voice orange and warm like the heat that simmers under the stars during the summer at midnight.

Comfortable.

 “Hey” was never his preferred salutation, and he’d tried to omit it from his vocabulary for so long, but he started to notice that he likes it when you say to him. Like a little pearl of your voice, so sweet like honey with the honeycomb still mixed in, a little grainy and so cheeky.

“Did you get everything we need?” you ask, beginning to stand to that you can press a hand to his chest, grounding him to the pod and to your sanctuary soul. Ezra grins wide, unable to hide his excitement at your words.

“I in fact exceeded our needs, sweet rose bud,” he says with a pride that fills up your chest and makes you want to hold him tight because you love when he gets giddy like this, with the childlike enthusiasm of showing your parents the shitty drawing you made or your ugly macaroni art. Ezra is light, his tone airy. “I happened to spot a gem that reminded me of your vision and I couldn’t resist the urge to get it.”

You brow furrows a little, not out of confusion but out of curiosity. Ezra’s taste has always inspired you, and you knew his never ending quest for art is always in an attempt to find beauty in everything. You don’t even have to look at it to know that it will be stunning because his stamp of “pretty” approval is your gold standard.

He pulls the box out and opens it facing you so that you can get a good look, really admire it, and you are already taken by the shimmering pendant.

“Oh Ezra, it's - it’s utterly magnificent,” you gush, and he can spot that little glimmer in your eyes that you get when you’re looking at something that you’re enamored with; they way you look when you’re gazing at him. You raise your chin to look at him, his cheeks rosy with delight and sweet eyes crinkled at the corners. “Put it on me.”

It’s not so much of a demand as it is a gentle instruction; you know he wants to, know he’s been thinking about it since he bought it, and you want to be open to him. You want to invite him into your heart, inside of the flower garden of your chest, with open arms because he deserves to feel wanted.

You help him pull the chain out of the bottom of the box, keeping one end in your right hand and letting him take the clasp in his left. He wills himself to move slowly, to savor every little stimulation you send through his skin as he steps behind you. His fingers press against your clavicle, tracing along the bone before traveling up over the valley of your shoulder, tips of his hands brushing against your throat. He is feeling you, mapping out your body because he’ll never get to see an angel in his life but he’s certain you must be the spitting image.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and intoxicating as a small film of dampness coats your exposed back and neck. Your right hand rests at the nape of your neck, waiting expectantly, but you don’t rush him. He takes his sweet, sugary time, because the surface of your skin feels like he’s running his fingers through a field of silicone needles, firm but harmless as they stimulate a sensation he never knew he could feel before he touched you for the first time. You’re addictive, the best high he’s ever gotten, and he almost lets his hand lose all abandon and travel so carefully down the front of your body, palming your breast along the way and pressing right into your diaphragm before he keeps going down, down, down…

Almost.

But he will save it for a later time, especially since he’d been fantasizing about you wearing the necklace like a carefully chiseled bust is adorned with sashes. So finally, after what feels like hours of roaming and teasing, you feel that calloused, worn sensation of your lover’s fingers seeking solace against yours. You pin your breath to your lungs, not daring to let it go as you wait for the heavy release of his hand indicating that the necklace is secure. But even once you feel it, even as you let your right hand fall down at your side, Ezra does not take his hand off of you. You don’t want him to.

Slowly, so that he never has to cease his touch, you turn to face him. You’re still looking down at the pendant, in awe of how the gem rests so perfectly between your collarbones. You can’t see Ezra’s adoring gaze, his completely awestruck fixation on how ethereal you are to him. Like you’re emitting a golden glow, too hot to touch and yet begging, inviting his fingers to feel and press and hold. 

Celestial.

He feels his emotions expand in his stomach, diaphragm threatening to spasm. His hand trails up to your chin, palming your jaw as he tenderly lifts your line of sight so that he can see your pretty eyes.

“You’re divine,” he mumbles to you, not wanting to disrupt the tight silence, so tense he’s afraid of speaking too loud lest it break and snap against his cheek leaving an angry raised brand.

Overwhelmed with appreciation, you balance your hands on his shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger so you can savor the honeysuckle dew on his skin. “I love it,” you whisper with a grin.

Ezra giggles.

When you pull back to face him proper, his face is utterly red. His smile reaches the lobes of his ears, bashful and boyish like his belly has just been tickled by the sweetest of baby chicks, and he can barely get a word out. He can’t speak. His mind is in overdrive, completely inundated with a blistering adoration for you and your approval because you said you loved it. His gift is not a splash of children’s watercolors; it is a clean swipe of gold running along your jaw, accenting your beauty and emphasizing just how exquisite you are to him.

“Yeah?” he managed, a soft giggle still passing his lips like the first cries of a baby deer, the first flutters of a newly hatched butterfly.

Adorable.

You can’t resist the urge to giggle back, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a true kiss on his glittery lips. It only lasts seconds, however, because Ezra can’t stop smiling and you can’t stop giggling, so you both settle for the blissful solitude of pressing your foreheads against one another, breathing in each other's air and taking up the same space.

“It’s gorgeous, Ezra. Thank you,” you whisper lightly so that the wisps of air tickle his upper lip, and suddenly he is so inclined as to press his left arm into the small of your back so that you’re so much closer and kiss you the way you deserve; a dynamic series of long, deep, searing kisses that send you to the clouds and drop you into an endless pit of lavish fluff at the same time. You don’t know how he does this, makes you feel like you don’t exist and that there isn’t anything in the world but you and him, and you often wonder if it’s because Ezra is within you, or that your broken parts and his broken parts make some hauntingly majestic sculpture of its own; something better than the fucking Venus de Milo or Athena or Great Sphinx because it should be something so hideous and yet it feels to utterly priceless to you.

It’s precious.

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[burnedbyshoto]

Sex Tips 101: Domming Your Man

Kinktober Day Three ~ kink: dom!fem

pairing: bakugou katsuki x dom fem!reader

warning: smut, cussing

word count: 3,635

a/n: ITS LATE IM SORRY BUT ALSO SUB BAKUGOU???? sorry if you hate the format I liked it LMAO

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Everyone always expected Bakugou Katsuki to be a dom in bed. In their defense, they weren’t wrong for assuming so. Bakugou Katsuki was a leader, he loved to be in charge, hated being overrun. But that was outside of the bedroom. You knew him better.

Whenever your friends would ask how it was to sleep with bakugou, you would just smile, your eyebrow quirked. Everyone always assumed it was because Bakugou constantly had you against the wall. 

Drilling into you until you couldn’t think.

Making you scream his name until your voice went raw.

“Come on, y/n-chan!” Mina cried as you once again avoided talking about your sex life with bakugou. “We told you about our stories! why won’t you tell us yours!”

As always, you laugh and place down your drink. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to share, it was that Bakugou was embarrassed to admit that the one time he wasn’t in complete control was in the bedroom.

You looked at the curious faces of your beloved classmates and laughed again, thinking back to last night.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Bakugou walked into the house, he was utterly and completely ready for you tonight.

Having a day off from work, you had spent your free time sending Bakugou… provocative pictures. The entire time he ignored you, only leaving you with a growing smirk. You knew that every time you sent something, within two minutes Bakugou was opening it. It didn’t matter where he was, hell, you were positive he took his phone out during an interview today! He may not be responding, but you could feel his annoyance and growing want through the screen.

So now he was home. throwing his bag on the ground, he walked through the halls quietly, hoping to catch you off guard.

His vermillion eyes locked on you sitting by your vanity mirror. Your hair was curled delicately, red lipstick stained your plump lips as you stared into the mirror. With your fingers running through your hair, you micro adjusted things before smiling softly.

Bakugou watched as you stood up, his black t-shirt swamped over your torso, ending right beneath the swell of your ass. His mouth felt dry as he continued staring at you. Your shimmery eyeshadow catching in the light of the room as your eyes slowly locked on him. 

A kind smile fills your face. Warm, inviting, welcoming. It was everything Bakugou wanted from you, but after a long day of teasing, it just wasn’t what he needed. “Hi, baby.” You drawl out, your steps are agonizingly small as you walk to him, your painted lips kissing his. 

Bakugou growls lowly, the sound vibrating in his chest as he pulled you close. His fingers dug into your hips as your arms wrapped around his neck. “You’re such a fucking tease,” Bakugou snaps, his lips trailing your neck as you exhale softly. Soft giggles hit his ears as his hand's stroke down to grab your ass. The soft flesh filling his hands. “You have no idea how annoying it is to see you in those clothes, not able to do anything about it.”

“Do something about it then,” You smile as your fingers tangle into his thick ash-blond hair. Your eyes closing as he grinds his crotch into you. 

“I will.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Your eyes trained on the girls, a smile on your face as you took another sip of your tea. You shrug your shoulders as you place the cup down, moving your hair to the side as you displayed the arrangement of purple and yellow bruises on your neck. 

“OH MY GOD!” Mina shrieks as she presses her face near your neck, her eyes wide as the other girls try to slip in. Everyone was curious to see the hickies on your flesh. 

“That doesn’t surprise me!” Jirou laughs as she covers her face, embarrassed. 

“My darling prudes,” Hagakure’s voice interrupts everyone, and the table stares at the invisible girl who places her hand to your face. “The real question is: where they place before, during, or after sex?”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Bakugou’s mouth sucked harshly on your neck in multiple areas. His teeth nipping your skin as your fingers roamed his chest. You let him have his way with you, his built-up frustration from the day seeping out as he walked you towards the bed. Pants escaping your lips as you can feel the nth hickie on your neck. 

The back of your legs hit the mattress, and you go down, Bakugou fluidly following you to the surface. You hum contently against his determined lips, and you get Bakugou to submit to a much slower pace as you unhook a single arm around his neck. You crawl backward on the mattress, Bakugou shifting to keep up with your fleeting form. As soon as you feel the headboard of the bed frame, you grin against his lips. Tucking a single leg around him, you rolled the two of you around, straddling his waist. His vermillion eyes opening as he pants. Lust and need heavy in his eyes, and you giggle. 

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

You smile, taking her hand off your face as you shake your head, “It was before and during.”

“Okay, you know that I would never, ever actually date Bakugou, but I have to admit… I would not mind sleeping with him. If you know… you never dated him, to begin with.” Mina admits, her cheeks puffing slightly. “I really just want to be controlled and dominated! Is that so much to ask for?”

“I think sometimes you just need to take over,” You say, trying not to reveal the secret in your sex life. “Dominate the dicks for a change!”

“Like you’ve dommed??? With a guy like Bakugou, I wouldn’t be surprised if you never commanded him before!”

There’s agreeing laughter, and you laugh the same, a knowing smile on your face as you grab your teacup. You take a slow drink.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

You pull off Bakugou’s top, your hair falling messily back onto your shoulders as you toss it to the side. Bakugou’s breathing hitches as he takes in your form. You’re clad in a rose gold lace flutter bodysuit. The sheerness of the fabric leaves nothing to be imagined, and the intricate lacing over your breasts makes Bakugou moan in anticipation. 

“You were not wearing this one earlier,” Bakugou snaps as his hands grasp your waist, and you laugh. “Where the fuck is the set you wore when you were teasing the hell out of me?”

“I figured you wanted to see this new piece!” You interject, a smile on your face. You didn’t really care for the other set, while this one was nowhere near as sexy as the black piece you owned, you didn’t want Bakugou getting too riled up for what you had planned for him. You lean against him, your breasts pressed against his clothed chest, and your lips ghosting the shell of his ear. “Besides, you forgot to greet me… I don’t think I loved that.”

A soft whimper escapes his mouth as you pull away with a sadistic grin, “Well, maybe if you didn’t fucking tease me all day I wouldn’t have been--mmph!!”

You effectively shut him up with a kiss, your hands immediately snaking under his shirt to run against his toned muscles. You roll your hips up and down his crotch, smirking when you feel his arousal through his pants. Oh yeah, he was not going to enjoy tonight.

“Now, I’m gonna tie your hands to the bed.” You say as you quickly roll off Bakugou, leaving him breathless and dizzy headed as he attempts to sit up. Before Bakugou can even adjust to the lack of your body on his, you’re back on, your hips grinding into his as you pull off his shirt. Your mouth trailing down his torso as he groans. “Hands up.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“Well, I don’t think I really want to know about Bakugou-san in this way…” Momo admits to the group, and their attention is momentarily diverted away from you. 

“Yaomomo,” Uraraka begins to speak, a teasing tone in her voice. “Our very good friend needs help for domming a dominant boy! It is our job as her friends to help her out!”

“Yes!” Mina and Hagakure shriek as everyone whips their heads around to you, stars gleaming in their eyes. 

“I will give you your first tip!” Mina announces, a cunning smirk on her face. “Tip number one: tell him you want to try something new.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“I’m going to try something new tonight.” You sigh as you fasten the silk fabric around the bed frame. Your hands tugging on the ropes as you stare at the flustered Bakugou underneath you, his breathing is eerily calm, but his pupils are blown up in anticipation. “All you’re going to be able to do is go along with it.”

“You know, I can easily break out of these bonds, right?” Bakugou informs you, his arms testing the bonds and he nods. He can break out of them for sure.

“Then do it.” You breeze, flipping your hair over your shoulder as you stare at him, challenging him. Bakugou could win if he wanted to, but you know him thoroughly, he wouldn't dare.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“Next tip,” Hagakure interrupts the conversation where you were playing dumb. You just weren’t sure how to bring up something new to him! “Start with a simple command.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Bakugou throws his head back hissing loudly as your mouth sucked a bruise onto his collarbone. Your eyes locked on his turned head as his hips buck into yours. It throws you off slightly, the pleasurable tingles running through your core at the pressure. Your lips continue trailing down, your teeth grazing his nipple. Your hand moving to pinch his free nipple as you focused on one. 

A smirk on your face as he calls out your name, his red eyes snapping back on your pouty lips as you left lipstick stains around his stimulated nipple. You suck on it gently, rolling the skin with your tongue and Bakugou barks words at you. Words you don’t understand as you finally bite down on his sensitive skin. Your tongue is quick to lash out and soothe his inflamed skin with your tongue, his moans telling you that you had done it just right. 

You shift over to give his other nipple the same treatment, only this time Bakugou manages to have his eyes locked on your the entire time.

You pull away with a satisfying pop. You look down, smiling at the sight of the shiny and slick skin of his pecks, and you lean down. You blow soft cold wind over the few areas of wet skin and relish in the way your name is groaned from his lips. As if this was some rehearsed dance, your hands slam into the mattress by his head.

“You’re not allowed to come until I let you come, okay?” You ask, your face leaning in close. 

“I’ll come whenever I damn well please it!” Bakugou snaps at you, and your eyebrow raises. You lick your lips, relishing at the feeling of his body now trembling underneath yours. Oh yeah, this was going to make Bakugou a pile of mush by the end of the night. 

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“Tip number twenty,” Uraraka speaks up, surprising everyone there. “Make him beg.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

The sharp intake of breath from Bakugou caused you to giggle as your hand stroked his hardened dick through his underwear.

You maintained eye contact with him as you took off his underwear, your hands now gripping the hot skin of his cock. Running your tongue along the underside of his dick, you made your way back down to the base, your teeth teasing the sensitive skin. The stuttering groans from Bakugou’s mouth enticing you to continue. Your tongue licked the tip of his head, the salty taste of pre-cum hitting your senses. Your tongue lay flat on the underside of his cock, and you slowly sank your mouth around his cock. Bakugou let out a rough breath through his nostrils as his legs tremble intensely. Your free hand moved to Bakugou’s balls, squeezing them between your fingers, his legs twitching in surprise.

You pushed yourself further down his cock, your tongue swirling around his length as you took him in deeper. You felt his tip hit the back of your throat you pulled up, gagging on his dick, but you drown it with a hum. Bakugou’s eyes clamped at your actions, cursing you as he tried to conceal his lewd noises.

Bakugou stared back at you and gave you a darker glare. It was challenging, once again, but you knew better. His hands slam against the restraints, and you have to remind yourself not to laugh as the lewd noises of your throat being stretched out by his dick resonate in the room. 

This time Bakugou groaned deeply, his hips bucking up towards your touch as he almost cries in frustration. You smirked up at him as you continue your movements, uncaring of his pleas for you to go faster. Your speed is agonizingly slow. 

Bakugou grunts as you pick up your pace. The hums now intermingling with gagging as his dick continued to hit the back of your throat. The sounds only exciting Bakugou further.

His cock twitches in an all too familiar way, and you pull away. Saliva trailing on his dick and your lips as you gently pat your wet lips. 

Bakugou’s eyes are wide in anger, frustration, and lack of release.

“You fucking--”

“Ah ah ah! You can’t come yet.” You remind him, and you shift over his aroused cock and straddle his chest as you lean down whispering against his lips. “Maybe if you beg for it, I’ll let you off with a lighter sentence.”

His vermillion eyes burst with a million emotions, but you grin at the most prominent ones. Refusal, love, and lust.

Bakugou Katsuki was, after all, the biggest sub on the planet with the attitude of a dom.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“I think, I get it now!” You exclaim happily, your eyes shining with faux realization as they finished telling you their tips and tricks for dominating men who were unwilling to give control to anyone but themselves. “It seems to me that within the fifty-three tips you guys gave me, the most important is that it’s okay to be rough? I felt that it was a common theme for about forty of them!”

“You have to be rough sometimes,” Tsuyu agrees her finger to her mouth as she pondered. “If you aren’t they’ll try taking over.”

“Yeah, especially someone like Bakugou!”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Bakugou was sweating profusely. His chest heaving with frustration and from constant denial. 

You dropped the vibrating ring to the bedside with a laugh as you painted yet another bruise onto his tanned skin. “You’re such a good sub.” You moan as you rub your slicked wet core onto his dick. Bakugou groaning in lust as his hips bucked, desperate for both your pussy to be wrapped around him, and for the release he had been denied.

Five times now.

You had made out with him so intensely at one point, he almost came in his shorts, you then face fucked him twice, rode him once, and now he could not remember his own name anymore as you stopped the torture with the vibrating ring.

“Do you wanna cum?”

“Fucking shit, y/n!” Bakugou yelled, but there was no malice in his voice, only the gravely tone of his arousal in his voice. “Please, god fucking hell, I wanna fucking come inside of you!”

You easily laugh, and Bakugou sighs as your swollen lips are pressed against his own. The first time in a while, and he moans softly as the kiss is slow. It’s slow, and sweet with your hands threading through his hair in a way that makes his mind spin. 

“Let’s get you to come.” You promise against his mouth, as you lean towards the headboard. You quickly untie the silk ropes, and Bakugou’s hands fling to your waist. His grasp is tight, bruising even.

You moan slightly at his touch, rather impressed that he did not try to assert his faux dominance over you.

“Please baby,” Bakugou begs against your lips, and a shiver runs down your spine. He’s putty in your hands and is relying on you to get him over the edge. 

You break away from the kiss and position yourself over the tip of his dick once again. “Ready?” You ask as his fingers grip even tighter around your hips. Bakugou nods his head, and you sink yourself onto his dick. Hisses escape both your lips at the since forgotten feeling, your hops moving to help better the initial pain.

But the single movement is too much for Bakugou to spare, and he comes hard in you. Your eyes shine brightly as his grunts are soundless, his fingers digging harder into your definitely bruised skin. “Did you just--?” 

“Please, shut up…” Bakugou pants, his eyes sealed shut. You stilled for a bit, trying to see if he was wanting to continue on despite his… early release. 

Deciding to test the waters, you swivel your hips into a small circle, and Bakugou’s jaw falls open. You can feel him hardening within you in seconds as you shift again. “Oh shit, why are so--FUCK--why are you so damn tight?!”

His head is thrown back as you begin to ride his cock, your own arousal building up entirely too quickly at the sight of your blond, sweating, and quivering lover underneath you. You lean against his chest, your naked chest pressed tightly against his, you ass bouncing as his grip intensifies. Your lips seek his out, and he kisses you with ferocity.

The kiss is sloppy, teeth clashing, and wet noises emitting from your mouth as you grind down tightly against him. “Baby, you’re so fucking big!” You shrill softly into his ear as his hips begin to slam into you.

It seems that he was still near his high as he comes again into you.

The ecstatic laugh that is heard from you makes Bakugou growl in anger. He may be a sub, but he definitely did not enjoy this humiliation. In your current state of amusement and pleasure, he begins to thrust deeply into you. His movements overpowering yours as the power of who was in charge was quickly turning. 

Gasps leave your mouth as you arch off him, your hands on your breasts as you play with your nipples. You get the timing right and are soon bouncing in rhythm to his powerful thrusts, but he’s testing waters, trying to get you to come too.

You realize this as you scream out his name, your pussy throbbing and dripping from your arousal, his name the most repeated word on your lips. Bakugou sits up so that you’re riding him in a seated position, and you pant into his neck as you pull his hair harshly. The stuttering grunt from his voice causes you to sigh in satisfaction, and in his own moment of pleasure, you grind your hips in the opposite direction of what you had initially begun at. YOur bounces are higher, the penetration is deeper, and Bakugou is pleading for you to come around him.

You’re panting, your hips desperate as they turn, as you almost crumble as with a snap of his hips Bakugou hits your g-spot.

It’s over and over, your g-spot is slammed into and muffled shrieks escape your lips as you attempt to drown them with Bakugou’s mouth.

The two of you pant hot breaths of air into each other's mouths.

The liquid heat in you pooling out until you begin to see white.

The coil is tightening with no mercy as Bakugou’s mouth latches onto your breast, his hands gripping your bouncing ass.

“I’m going to--ahhh oh my god, yes ‘Suki like that!!--I need to come!” You moan, your head tossed backward as your speed and roughness increases.

Bakugou keeps up, his face buried into your neck now as he nods his head, unable to speak.

“Please... come…” His voice is small, begging, pleading for you to come, and that’s all it takes.

You scream as you come around his throbbing cock. Your walls clenching tightly around him as you ride out your orgasm. Bakugou hisses as his hips falter under yours, and with an echoing moan, he releases too.

Panting, he falls back. Without bothering to remove yourself, the two of you groan as you lay against his chest, your fingers tracing shapes into his chest. “How was that?” You ask unaware if the orgasm denial was something he was going to like.

“Humiliating…” Bakugou gruffs into your ear, but his tone indicates that he enjoyed it.

“I’m glad.” You say as you place a kiss against his jawline.

“I love you…” Bakugou whispers utterly exhausted.

“I love you too,” You agree, a smile painting your bruised and lipstick-stained lips. “Do you need anything?” You ask him as you snuggle into his chest.

“A fucking nap…”

“That sounds fantastic.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“I’ll have to try it out one night, who knows maybe it’ll work!” You laugh as the girls look at you not quite believing you would try it out.

“You promise?”

“With all my heart, but I have to go! Bakugou’s expecting me!” You say as you stand up, gathering your things as you throw a few yen on the table to pay for your tab. “You know girls if you want, I think I’ll actually try your tips!”

“YES QUEEN, GO DOMINATE THAT DICK!!!!!”

You walk away laughing as a text comes in from Bakugou.

katsuki: what’s the harness for?

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Holographic Sand is a Kickass Band Name

pairing: peter maximoff/OC(graciella decuerpo) (high school AU/not canon)

summary: peter learns that a fuckton can change in the course of a week

warnings: none? bad language and peter is simp but thats it

notes **please read**: Heyyyyy how are you doing? good? that’s great. so ik this fic is a peter/oc fic, but honesty i only use her name a few times and a few defining features but like. thats it. so you can totally just imagine urself in her position. also this fic is 5,550 words exactly. that’s the most ive ever written and I am SUPER fucking proud. I think i might become one of those blogs where i write super huge monster fics that im proud of instead of just writing to fill requests.if u dont want that then just lmk and i will not do that. i dont know. maybe. also this fic is peter centric because uh it is. anyways enjoy <3

taglist: @creator-appreciator, @simonsbluee

--------

Monday

           Peter sat across the room, his arms crossed neatly on top of his knees as he rested his chin on his forearm. He wasn’t paying attention to the lesson being taught in front of him, in fact, he wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. No, Peter was lost in his head again. Peter’s mind was a chaotic minefield of music and cheesy one-liners and random facts that he seems to just know. But this time, he wasn’t envisioning himself beating up a police officer or playing with Pink Floyd. This time, he was picturing a perfect world where nothing ever happened yet nothing was ever boring. Peter had built a utopia in his mind-- a kingdom created to his exact preferences. A blissful tower of joy and happiness and energy and satisfaction. A paradise where he stood on top of the world with Graciella DeCuerpo, the pretty girl from algebra  class, standing right next to him.

          Now, Peter was well aware that the pretty girl from algebra  class had no idea who Peter was. The pair had never exchanged more than a few words, but somewhere within those few words, Peter managed to decide that she was his soulmate. He’d created an image of her in his head that would make God weep tears of envy, the perfect personality for the perfect person.  Peter willfully ignored the fact that he was setting himself up for heartbreak as he imagined how nice it would feel to have her fingers intertwined with his. 

           All of Peter’s friends thought he was ridiculous, ‘you can’t love someone you don’t know,’ they’d say. Peter would only scoff and shake away their words. He absolutely can love someone he doesn’t know, it’s getting the other person to reciprocate those feelings that’s nearly impossible. However, that doesn’t stop him from fantasizing at night. That doesn’t stop him from imagining the various ways he’d confess his love to the pretty girl who doesn’t love him. Or maybe she does. Peter doesn’t know, he could never know; unless, of course, he worked up the courage to talk to her. 

          Scott constantly teased Peter about his one-sided infatuation, but Peter paid no mind to him. He was 100% content with his perpetual pining for someone who probably didn’t know his name. He was totally okay with the unending ache in his chest that would appear any time she walked by or met his gaze. Peter was alright with his ceaseless yearning and the eternal feeling of disappointment that overtook him every time he snapped out of one of his fantasies. He was a-okay with all of that.

          So, there he was, spacing out during biology class as Professor Hargreeves struggles to teach the silver teen about photosynthesis. The Professor looked at Peter with desperate eyes, soon deciding that having his usually energetic student be quiet and still was the silver lining of the situation-- no pun intended. Professor Hargreeves droned on as Peter glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes until 7th period. Counting the seconds until he got to see the pretty girl in algebra  class once again.

Tuesday

          6th period was always the worst part of Peter’s day-- the dreaded english class. There were many contributing factors to Peter’s hatred for this class; the professor was a bore, the material itself was uninteresting, and Peter could never seem to sit still or retain any of the words he read in english class. Worst of all, english class seemed to go on forever, leaving Peter to impatiently wait for the bell to ring and release him to 7th period. At the end of the period every day, he was practically vibrating in his seat. 

          “Can anyone tell me what Juliet’s suicide is supposed to symbolize?” the Professor asked expectantly. Peter couldn’t care less about the symbolism of some chick’s suicide-- he’d much rather be studying the features of his algebra  class infatuation. 

          She sat next to him yesterday. There were at least 5 other open seats and she sat next to him. Yes, Peter read too much into it and yes, Peter spent the entire class period trying to make himself seem naturally cool, but he didn’t care. Peter would act like the most desperate, pathetic, lovestruck loser in the world if it meant that she would like him. They didn’t talk, they didn’t exchange a single word, nevertheless, Peter was in a state of euphoria for the entire class period. 

          Sometimes Peter feels like a stalker. He watches her whenever he can-- he doesn’t follow her around or anything, but if she’s around, he’ll stare at her. He has her features memorized, the curve of her nose, the dark brown irises surrounding her pupils, the way that she always seems to have chipped black nail polish on. He sees the small things. He sees the way she bites her nails when he gets bored and he sees the way her leg never seems to stop bouncing. She hums the basslines to songs as opposed to the melody. 

          English class came to an abrupt end as the bell cut off the Professor’s teachings as well as Peter’s distant daydreaming. Peter was out of his seat within seconds, his notes and books quickly being swept up in his arms as he walked out of the room. The hallways are crowded and chaotic and busy, each individual student attempting to get to their locker then to their class on time. Peter watches as kids swing their lockers open, fatigue and weariness apparent on their faces as they disappear into their classrooms. Peter reaches his locker hastily, the few small posters of classic rocks bands adorning the inside of his locker door. A playful giddiness overcame his body as he made his way to algebra  class, a small smile left on his face.

          Graciella shows up across the hallway, her bright red hair catching his eye in a sea of brown and blonde and blue. His stomach flutters as they get closer and closer to each other, finally meeting outside of the classroom. Her eyes rise to meet Peter’s, and instead of pulling away, Peter keeps looking. She smiles at him before disappearing inside the classroom, and Peter felt his knees get weak. With a deep breath and a triumphant smile, he walked into the classroom.

Wednesday

          Lunchtime; possibly one of the most enjoyable parts of Peter’s school day. Peter is free to kick back and stuff his face full of whatever junk the school board deems nutritious enough for highschoolers. Usually, he ate lunch under the bleachers with his friends, but in some sick twist of fate most of them were absent. So, Peter was left to eat alone in his usual spot.

          The quiet was comfortable, refreshing. The gentle summer breeze would blow every few minutes and Peter would listen to the rustle of the leaves. There’s a certain tranquility to being alone; Peter can lay back and relax and just… think. No stress, no panicking, no--

          “Hey, uh, Peter, right?” Peter’s eyes snap up so fast he’s afraid they would detach from his head and fall out. His breath faltered and his hands began to shake a bit-- why was he so freaked out? She was just a girl; sure, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and yeah, he was madly in love with her, but that’s besides the point. 

          “Uh-- uh, yeah, P-Peter. That’s, uh, that’s me,” He chuckled awkwardly, desperately trying to stay cool. Peter was an awkward person, but he’d rather die than fuck up his chances with Grace.

          “You dropped this on your way out of class yesterday, I, uhm, didn’t get to return it to you until now,” She holds out a small key chain with three small keys hanging off of it-- Peter’s house keys, along with the key to his mother’s car. He quickly takes the key chain from the red-haired girl in front of him.

          “Holy shit, uh, thanks! I couldn’t get into my house yesterday so I guess you saved me from another broken window,” Peter held up his hand and showcased the scattered pattern of small cuts on his palm. Grace laughed lightly before gently running her fingers over the cuts on Peter’s palm.

          “Oh fuck, dude, these look pretty bad. Maybe keep a spare key hidden under your welcome mat or something,” Peter doesn’t fully process Grace’s words; he’s too preoccupied with trying not to collapse at the feeling of her fingertips on his palm.

          “Hey, you okay? You look… pale,” Grace pressed the back of her hand on Peter’s forehead in an attempt to check for illness, but that just made Peter’s skin erupt in goosebumps. 

          “I, um, I’m fine. I’m just st-stressed about the algebra  t-test on Friday, I th-think,” To be fair, Peter was stressed about the algebra  test. Peter may or may not have spent the entire class staring at Grace instead of, you know, learning the material.

          “Oh! Well, if you want, I can help you study. I’m also kinda worried about it, and I study better with other people,” Peter silently thanked god for what was happening to him.

          “That would be fuckin’ fantastic,” Grace smiled a smile that made Peter shiver.

          “Cool! Uh, I’ll give you my phone number and we’ll meet up tomorrow. One day isn’t much time to study, but it’s better than nothing.” She pulls a pen out of her backpack and rips a small piece of paper out of one of her notebooks. Peter watches as she scribbles down her phone number and hands the paper to him.

          “Thanks. For everything, the keys, the studying-- everything.” Grace smiled.

          “It’s no problem, Peter, really. I’ll call you later,” And just like that, she walked away. Peter was left alone under the bleachers, a wide smile plastered on his face as he read the piece of paper in his hands over and over and over again.

Thursday

          30 minutes. 30 minutes until Grace Reaper DeCuerpo, the prettiest, nicest, funniest girl Peter had ever met would show up on his doorstep. She would be inside his house for god knows how long. She would sit next to Peter-- either on the coffee table in the basement or on the floor of his bedroom. Needless to say, Peter was freaking the fuck out.

          The plan was simple: Grace shows up, they study, they get comfortable, and she goes home. Yet, in those four simple steps, so much could go wrong. Wanda could interrupt, his mother could lose her temper, Lorena could start crying-- worst of all, Peter could embarrass himself and drive her away. 

           Peter was in the middle of reorganizing his record collection for a third time when he heard a knock at the door. His blood went cold and an electric excitement ran through his veins. Peter checked his hair in the mirror one last time before running to the door. He stood silently, staring at the chrome handle hesitantly. This was his one chance. His only chance to make his perfect kingdom real-- Peter really, really, really didn't want to fuck it up. With a deep breath, he slowly opened the door.

          "Hey, Peter!" Her voice was smooth and melodic and it made Peter's heart light up. He’s about to respond with something smooth and witty when a squeaky voice chirps behind him.

         “Hi!! Are you the pretty girl Peter talks about?” Peter can physically feel his face turn bright red as he turns to see his six-year-old sister, Lorena, standing behind him. She’s wearing a purple princess dress that has a syrup stain on the sleeve. Grace laughs before stepping through the doorway. 

          “Lorena!” Peter groans in annoyance, a pleading look on his face. The young girl just giggles before scurrying away, her dress flowing behind her.

          “‘The pretty girl Peter talks about’, huh?” Grace grins at Peter cheekily. Peter runs his hand through his hair before motioning to the staircase.

          “God, Lorna is quite the kid. Well, uh, we can work in my room,” He sighs. “And Grace? Uh, m-maybe don’t let Lorena change your opinion of me,” She just smirks before walking past Peter.

          “Too late,” She called before disappearing down the stairs. Peter could hear the faintest trace of a smile in her voice. His heart skipped a beat as he quickly followed after her. 

          She was wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt and holding a backpack with various pins on it-- her left ear was pierced in three places and her right in five. The earrings she was wearing were black, or maybe grey; her bright red hair blocked Peter’s view of them. She was wearing rings, some odd words engraved in the metal. Peter couldn’t read them from where he was standing. She was wearing a skirt with fishnets, her hand buried in the pockets that seem to have been sewn in herself. She has callouses on both her hands, but Peter knew that already. Her appearance would put Aphrodite to shame-- suddenly, Peter was much less confident in himself than he was before. He ran his hand through his hair again before reaching the basement.

          He held his breath as Grace looked around his room, her gaze lingering on the plethora of stolen signs and band posters covering the walls. She placed her backpack on the floor and walked over to Peter’s record collection, her fingers carefully flitting through the different albums. She seemed… impressed. It was then that Peter realized it had been silent for much too long.

          “Y’know I can, uh, p-play some music if you want me to. You can just pick a record and, uh, I’ll... play it,” Peter winced at his words, cursing himself for being so awkward in front of the girl he’d been pining after since the beginning of the year. He felt like everything had spiraled out of control, and he watched idly as it happened. Then, Grace shot him a smile and pulled out a record.

          “You have a good taste in music, Silver,” No one had ever called Peter ‘silver’ before. He liked it a bit more than he should. “Although, that’s not really a surprise. I had a feeling you were cool.” 

          “You think I’m cool?” Peter asked, shocked. He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.

          “Oh, totally. I see you in the hallways sometimes and you always seem so… carefree. Genuine. I don’t know, I guess it’s just… you, ya know? You’re naturally cool.” Every syllable that rolled off her tongue shot euphoria through Peter’s veins. Grace DeCuerpo, the girl Peter Maximoff had dreamed of for almost a full year, was telling him that she thought he was cool. Naturally cool. 

          “I know a lot of people who would disagree with you on that one,” Peter joked. There was truth behind his humor, but of course, he didn’t want to get into his insecurities now. “They think I’m a total loser, which isn’t totally wrong I guess.”

          “Well those people are stupid,” She stated matter-of-factly with a smile. “Speaking of stupid, we should probably get to work.” Peter nodded before sitting beside her on the floor. 

          For three hours they poured over their algebra  books. They quizzed each other and checked each other’s work; Peter’s proficiency in simplifying radicals aiding them both. Every now and then their hands would brush against each other, or the conversation would stray away from school and into their personal lives. Peter learned that Grace had two brothers, one of which passed away when she was younger. Peter talked about Lorena and Wanda and his miraculous abilities in the same way that she talked about her hometown and her own abilities. The conversation was smooth and natural-- Peter didn’t feel like he was being too annoying or too chatty and there was seldom an awkward pause. The pair were content in their time together, not a single moment went by where one wished the other would leave. 

          Eventually, Grace had to go home. Peter wished that she could stay forever, but of course, that would be considered kidnapping. He walked her to the door, although Peter didn’t feel like he was walking. He felt like he was floating.

          “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Silver,” Grace said softly as she turned to face Peter. She looked him in the eye and he could feel his stomach flutter. 

          “Yeah, I guess so,” She opened the door, but before she left, she froze. She turned to look at Peter once again. 

          “Peter?” she said. “You’re not a loser.”

Friday

          Peter could tell the second he walked through the front door of his high school that something had changed. The energy that radiated in the halls shifted from a dull buzz of boredom to a rush of anticipation. The students in the hallway looked the same as always; tired and anxious and wishing for the day to go by quickly. However, Peter wasn’t wishing for the end of the day, and he certainly wasn’t tired. He was determined and energized and absolutely terrified, because that morning Peter Maximoff made the most important decision a seventeen-year-old could. He decided that he was going to ask Grace out on a date. 

          Peter made the choice to keep this from his friends-- it’s not that he didn’t trust them, it’s just that Peter knew he would be teased for his infatuation. It’s happened before and it will happen again. He walked down the hallways with a brave face on, his eyes forward and his heart racing. Truthfully, the silver teenager was terrified of… well, everything. The looming image of a harsh rejection forced itself into his mind; the idea that she would laugh in his face made his heart break a tiny bit, even though it wasn’t real. Peter simply shook those images away and walked on. 

          The day flew by much faster than Peter was comfortable with, and for the first time ever, he was dreading algebra  class. He was terrified that he would walk through the door and have everything be exactly the same-- he feared that Grace would go back to not knowing who he was, just like before. Peter was alright with never being her boyfriend, but he didn’t want to be a stranger. He didn’t think he could take being a stranger anymore. 

            So, there he stood, staring at the door to his algebra classroom from across the hall. He felt confident and prepared himself for the task at hand. In four long strides, he entered the classroom. Grace was sitting next to an empty desk, her eyes stuck on the small notebook full of doodles on her desk. Peter watched as her eyes raised to meet his, a wide smile forming on her face as she motioned him over. 

          “Hey, silver! I saved a seat for ya,” she called, and Peter felt his knees get weak. He then decided that he would wait until after class to ask her out. 

          “You did?”

          “Of course,” She grinned. “I like you, dude, you’re my friend,” Peter’s heart fluttered as he sat down beside her. Grace shot an odd look his way before reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. “Hey, you look stressed. Don’t sweat it, silver, you’ll do fine. We studied for, like, 3 hours yesterday. You’re gonna ace it,”

          To be frank, Peter had forgotten all about the test. The real reason he looked so stressed was because he happened to be sitting next to the love of his life, and the love of his life happened to be touching his arm. 

          “O-oh! Uh, yeah, thanks. I was just nervous because of… the test,” The bell rang and class began, the professor strictly laying down the rules that were to be followed while the test was in session. Peter could feel the lingering touch of her hand on his skin. It made his head feel fuzzy.

          Peter soon came to learn that sitting next to Grace during a test was a huge mistake. He couldn’t focus on anything other than her-- it didn’t help that she kept shooting him glances from where she sat. The numbers and letters on the paper in front of him seemed to rearrange before his eyes, instead spelling out various taunts. He feels a little pathetic for how easily Grace can unravel him, but hey, he’s a teenager. 

          The silver-haired boy’s eyes were struggling to decipher the words on his page when a small folded square landed on his desk. It came from Grace’s direction, and a small smirk had formed on her lips as she solved equations. Hesitantly, he unfolded the paper and read the neatly written message.

          Hey silver :)

          Peter smiled softly. He quickly pulled a pad of post-it notes out of his backpack and scribbled down a quick reply.

          I have no idea what I’m doing. I think Professor Stedman decided to write our tests in hieroglyphics this time.

          He flicked the note onto her desk and quickly turned his face downward. Class would be over soon, and Peter knew he couldn’t turn in a blank test. He uses his enhanced speed to do his assessment in seconds. Sure, he was almost certain he’d barely reach a passing grade, but hey, he had bigger matters to focus on. By the time he finished, another note landed on his desk.

          That bad, huh? Looks like we better study longer next time. 

          Peter’s heart swelled a bit. He really thought the study sessions were a one-time thing. He’s overjoyed to know he’ll get to see Grace semi-regularly, even if he never manages to ask her out.

          I think I’d rather hang out with you without the looming threat of schoolwork. 

          That’s the closest Peter could get to asking her out. He put deep thought into every word, he examined the phrasing and checked the spelling of every word. His english teacher would be proud.

          That can be arranged ;) 

          Peter had no idea that four words could make him feel so much. He had no idea that 17 letters could make him want to scream in the middle of a silent testing period. His hand was shaking and his careful planning was abandoned as he scribbled back a reply.

          Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?

          Patiently, he waited. He waited for Grace to finish writing her response and he waited for her to toss the note back over. He didn’t wait for more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. He was panicking, and he was sure she could tell. She was probably joking, right? She was probably writing an awkward clarification-- she was probably explaining that she would actually rather die than be around him for non-academic reasons. He braced himself as the yellow post-it landed on the center of his desk.

          My aunt owns a drive-in a few miles from here and she gave me keys to the projector room and the gate. She managed to snag a copy of The Exorcist-- I thought you’d like to join me during my midnight escapade tomorrow night.

          Peter’s heart stopped. For a moment, he thought his eyes were fooling him. Maybe this was all some sick joke. Maybe he was being set up. Maybe he’ll get in her car tomorrow and she’ll drive him into the woods and murder him. To be completely honest, Peter wouldn’t mind if she murdered him. Peter wrote his reply.

          Really? You want me there? I might be a drag. You could probably find at least 20 other people who would probably be more interesting than me.

          Grace frowned at his response, and suddenly Peter decided he never wanted to see her frown again. She wrote confidently, her words solid and sure.

          You? A drag? Impossible. I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to be with anyone other than you, Maximoff. 

          This note was his undoing. He couldn’t help himself, he read it over and over and over again-- he almost forgot to respond. He wanted to hold onto it forever, he wanted it to be framed and hung on his wall. Hell, he wanted it tattooed on his arm. Peter had never been so happy while taking a test, that’s for sure. He wasn’t sure exactly what to say; he went from heartfelt responses to witty retorts. Finally, he decided to be totally and completely honest.

          I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Saturday 

          There was seldom a time in his life where Peter Maximoff felt wholly content. Even in the most peaceful moments, there was always something bothering him, there was always something to pull him back to reality. However, sitting in the back of Grace’s dad’s convertible with the seats down and the roof pulled back, his head resting on her shoulder as they watched a cheesy horror movie, Peter was as close to nirvana as he’d ever been. 

          Life had always been so hard for Peter. He’s always had to fight for his seat at the table, to claw his way into a state of mind that wasn’t a hellhole. It seemed as if the world was plotted against him; he was ostracized from society and taught that he, along with his closest family and friends, were monsters. He never met his father and his mother spent so long fighting her own battles that she forgot to love her kids. Peter had to steal to stay fed, and he had to do his best to raise his little sisters to be good people. But right there, right then? That wasn’t hard. Peter didn’t have to be anyone or do anything-- he just had to exist next to someone who wanted him. That was the easiest thing Peter had ever done.

          Peter wasn’t exactly sure how he got there. Of course, he knew that they had driven to the drive-in, but he wasn’t sure how he was the person next to Grace. They had spoken for one day, maybe two, and somehow he landed himself in the most perfect spot in the entire universe. Less than a week ago, she didn’t even know his name. Or, maybe she did. Maybe she was just like Peter-- maybe she had spent the past year pining for him, and finally she worked up the nerve to just talk to him. Maybe. Peter isn’t complaining either way.

          “Can I ask you a kind of cheesy question?” Peter is startled by the sound of his own voice. Grace sits up and glances at him.

          “Shoot,”

          “Do you-- well, uh, don’t read too much into this, but, do you believe in love at first sight?” God, he sounded awkward. 

          “Nope,” She said bluntly. Peter wasn’t expecting that answer, but he wasn’t exactly disappointed by it. “I mean, it’s kind of a stupid idea, ya know? Like, isn’t there a million poems and sonnets and books written about how love is this weird complicated monster of a feeling? I don’t think you can really love someone just by looking at them. You can love the idea of a person, sure, or maybe the look of a person, but you can’t love that person. Because a person is so much more than ‘first sight’,” she sighs. “I don’t know, maybe I’m being a killjoy. It just seems dumb to me-- dumb and, I don’t know, exclusive,”

          Peter stops to think for a moment. He steps out of his lovesick chaotic hellbrain and looks at his feelings from an outside perspective. He thinks back to the kingdom he created in his brain-- a kingdom built on a foundation of sand. Or, less than sand. Holographic sand, because the sand he built his kingdom on wasn’t real. He made a mental note that ‘Holographic Sand’ is a kickass band name, then resumed his impromptu soul-searching. She was right-- he could see  that now. Scott was right, too. You really can’t love someone you don’t know, because if you don’t know them, you fill in the gaps. You fill in the gaps with what you think fits, and then the other person stops being them and starts being parts of you. Peter suddenly felt weird.

          “I’m sorry if I said something wrong,” Grace interjects after a while. Peter hadn’t realized he’d been silent for so long.

          “You didn’t say anything wrong. On the contrary, you, uh, you made things a little bit more… right, in my brain. You somehow managed to take a little chunk of chaos and tame it, which is scarily impressive,” he joked. “Remind me to ask you your opinion on the meaning of life and the root of true happiness,” They’re joined in a chorus of laughter and Peter realizes that his little brain kingdom didn’t hold a candle to the red convertible he was sitting in. She slings an arm around his shoulders.

          “Y’know, I might not know the meaning of life, but I am pretty close to true happiness right now,” She says, softer than before. “Maybe the root of true happiness is you, Maximoff,” She chuckles. Peter smiles. He doesn’t want the ruin the moment-- god, he is desperately trying to keep himself from fucking it up, but he feels obligated to tell her about his year of pining.

          “Hey, uh, can I tell you something kinda pathetic?” He cringes at the way his voice trembled on the last word. 

          “Go ahead, Peter,” She used his name this time. Peter thinks she knows he’s about to say something mildly serious.

          “I’ve liked you since, like, the beginning of the year. You seemed so… cool. So nice. I saw you in the hallways and my stomach would get all twisted up and my head would hurt a little bit. It was like I was allergic to you, but I enjoyed it. That sounds weird. I’m sorry,” He stopped for a moment, attempting to take the buzzing mass of words in his brain and string them into a sentence. “I was too afraid to talk to you, so I, uh, asked around. I got other people’s opinions of you and then built a little version of you in my brain. I realize now that, uhm, the little brain version of you is like, way way worse than actual you,”

          When you talked to me the first time, you threw me off. I wasn’t really nervous about the test-- I mean, yeah I was nervous but that’s not why I looked so pale. I just wasn’t expecting for you to talk to me, like, willingly. So I lied because I was embarrassed. And I lied again in class yesterday. Because I was embarrassed,” He stopped talking. Peter felt like he was digging himself into a hole-- he felt like he killed the sweet sugary mood. 

          “Why are you telling me this?” Grace asked. She didn’t sound angry. She sounded a little confused, and she sounded like she was trying to help Peter decipher his brain. 

          “I don’t know, I guess I just feel bad. I feel bad for, uh, for not being honest I guess. I feel bad for being a coward,” Yep, definitely killed the mood.

          “Peter, you shouldn’t feel bad for being afraid, you know,” She assures. “I would’ve done the exact same thing in your position. Hell, I did do the exact same thing in your position,” That caught Peter’s attention.

          “What?”

          “You didn’t drop your keys in algebra. You dropped them somewhere in bio and my friend found them. She was gonna take them to the office, but I wanted an excuse to talk to you, so I said I’d return them,” Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was being pranked, he had to be. “Being awkward and weird is like a requirement in high school. Don’t sweat it, Maximoff, really. We’re all the same in that way, I think,”

          Peter felt a wave of relief wash over him. He was feeling too much at that moment, he was letting the bad drown out the good. He didn’t want to remember the day in a sad light.

          “I like you. A lot. Even if you are awkward and weird,” He smiles softly. Slowly, ever so slowly, he intertwined his fingers with those of the girl beside him. It was a simple display of affection, but it made Peter feel like he was floating.

          “I like you too, dork,” Peter smiled widely before placing his head back on Grace’s shoulder. Peter wasn’t paying attention to the movie, in fact, he wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. No, Peter was lost in his head again-- but this time, he wasn’t standing on a false kingdom with a false version of the girl he liked. No, this time, he was thinking about the very real girl beside him. He was thinking about the perfect world they had created in the small car they were in; a perfect world where he felt so much emotion and so, so safe. They had built a utopia in the back seat- a blissful tower of awkwardness and comfort and clumsy confessions. A paradise where he sat in the back seat of a Ford Galaxie with Graciella DeCuerpo, the pretty girl from algebra class, sitting right next to him. 

[ddaenggtan]

forever rain | knj | m

Being dead isn't anything exciting. Just a lot of walking the same halls of the same apartment day after day after day. Things change when the new tennant arrives, though. Kim Namjoon isn't anything you could have expected; not the way he's so careful and gentle with his plants because he breaks so many other things, not the way his friends joke that he's psychic because you refuse to let him get in the face one time, and certainly not the way he comes home after literal months spent moving things away from table edges for him and announces that he knows he's being haunted and he has some questions for you. You didn't know ghosts could fall in love, but he makes you feel alive again, like you're standing in the rain while thunder crashes around you. You should've known nothing good would come of falling in love with someone living, though. You should've known that heartbreak was the only way this could end...that the rain doesn't last forever. 

part of the Love Yourself Collab, please please please go check out the other fics. Everyone involved is so freaking talented and I have been vibrating out of my skin with how excited I’ve been to read all of these. 

pairing | kim namjoon x reader (unspecified gender, even!)

word count | 18.8k | cross posted to ao3

genre/warnings | ghost!reader, slight fluff, hard angst, literally the most angst ever it gets fluffy for a bit but litERALLY this is an angst fic, major character death, unprotected sex (idk what the etiquette for ghost sex is but you should still wrap it before you tap it fam), depictions of terminal illness (v mild), mentions of blood (several, but not graphic), major character death, allusions to violence, namjoon is a klutz whats new, depictions of terminal illness, major character death, i added that tag three times pls dont read this if you aren’t comf with mcd bc i literally tagged it three times so y’all would definitely see it, also probably have some tissues ready bc i cried while writing it so 

a/n | this is, to date, the saddest thing i have ever written in my entire fucking life. formal apologies to this joon bc oh my god you poor soul. i’m not kidding when i say you might cry, because i’m a big baby wuss and cried while writing the fucking outline when i first decided to write this for the collab so like......rip my own heart. i was really honored when i was approached about the LYA collab, bc like,,,,,mE? WHAT? and i was really nervous because i’ve never been part of any collabs in any fandom ever, and to have to do something like forever rain and mono as a whole justice, like,,,,,,, *screaming* y’know?? so i went on mono lockdown and just had the whole thing on repeat and was like “alright. what emotions does this make me feel.” and i eventually settled on the loneliness and isolation that he expresses, and feeling like no one understands what you’re going through, but that ultimately the album as a whole and forever rain give off this feeling of like. things get better, you’re not as alone as you feel, and you just gotta get through the bad stuff to find the good stuff. basically i just got really in my feels about it and was like ‘lets make myself cry ahahaha’ and,,,i dID i cried several times while planning and writing and editing bc im a Soft Bitch and don’t read much angst for that exact reason lmao. so buckle tf up y’all, this a helluva ride!! 

Of all the things you'd heard about death, all the different possibilities that existed in the world, the one thing you hadn't been prepared for was the boredom. You hadn't been prepared for any of it, really, too surprised by your own demise to plan at all, but even if you'd been able to, you don't think that this is what you would've counted on. An eternity - or however long ghosts existed - of being stuck in the same studio apartment you'd lived in when you died. The same walls, the same floor, the same view out the only window of the alley beside the building. It's boring and lonely and boring.

You've found more creative ways to entertain yourself as time passes. First, you started by figuring out just what being a ghost meant. You can't really communicate with anyone, haven't figured out how to make sure everything you say is heard, but you can manipulate objects pretty easily these days. The most difficult thing is becoming fully corporeal - completely visible and able to interact with things at the same time. It's hard enough to be visible, and you aren't really sure what the point of it would be when it would just scare whoever's living in your apartment; that's the last thing you want to do, run them off when they're the best source of amusement you've found.

You won't lie, you were a little offended when the first tenants moved in after you. It was difficult to watch your things get packed up and moved out by your friends, hard to lose all of the little things you loved in your apartment, like the shitty bead curtain you'd gotten as a gag gift or the photo collage of all of your loved ones. It's frustrating to not know how they're all doing these days; the one time you got brave enough to fuck with a laptop to check on them, you nearly broke the thing, and you haven't tried since. Still, it seemed cathartic for them to clear out your apartment, and it was a bittersweet sight, but you tried to focus on the positive side of it.

And then the couple moved in.

Not only did they fuck like rabbits - which is something you're going to stay pissed about, because there's no satisfaction to be had by you anymore, and it's the one thing you can think of that would be endlessly entertaining - but the couple was also grossly obnoxious. They had zero respect for your apartment , or you, and while one could argue that they didn't actually know you were there, it still made the sting of losing your entire life that much worse. You spent you don't know how many nights hovering awkwardly in the bathroom while they fucked, would constantly wander in to see them going at it on the kitchen counter at ass o'clock in the morning, and once you came in to see them tossing actual literal eggs at the ceiling like the absolute fucking weirdos they were.

So, naturally, you got a little mad. How dare they treat your apartment like that? They had no respect, but they were going to learn it real quick if they were going to live there with you, whether they wanted to or not.

They didn't last long after the first night of slamming cabinets and squealing hinges, but the thrown picture frame of their family was the conclusive end to their stay.

There have been others, since then. They haven't all been terrible, not like that first couple, but most of them have been sub-par roommates, and if you decided early on that if the rest of your immortal life is going to be locked in one shitty apartment with the absolute worst view in the city - because no one wants to see the drunken hookups and potential body dumps that take place in that alley - then you're at least going to share said apartment with someone nice to exist with.

You release a heavy sigh, staring at where your hand disappears through the shower wall. You've taken to testing the boundaries of the apartment again; you already know what the result will be, learned in the first few hours that you're stuck here, but you can't help trying when you get really bored. You just got distracted fucking around with the pipes in the meantime, because you're literally too bored to even focus. It's part of why you miss the last tenants so much, because you weren't ever really bored with them around.

A single mother and her two kids, crammed into a much-too-small apartment because it was all they could afford, and they were the light of your un-life. One a budding teenager that wrote angsty poetry who loved your trick of making things float around, and one an adorable toddler who adored playing peekaboo with you and coloring, and a mom that was too busy to notice anything out of the ordinary. It was like having a family again, made you feel useful when you could pull the meat out of the freezer for her to make dinner with or scratch a quick 'do your homework' on a steamy bathroom mirror. It was fun and it made being dead that much more bearable.

You really should've known that letting the toddler draw the two of you would be a bad idea, especially since there were several artistic liberties taken. It's not your fault the kid thought you'd look cool with fangs and bloody holes instead of eyes and claws that reached the floor. It was art, it was supposed to be a little different from reality. Still, you can't blame her for seeing the picture of her kid and 'my new best friend' and immediately calling the landlord. And a priest.

So, perhaps you gave the apartment a bit of a reputation. Maybe it's been a couple of months since the mom moved out and took your two buds with her. There might be the possibility that you've been the slightest bit salty about losing your friends and you've been extra-ghost-y whenever someone comes by to view the place in an attempt to make yourself feel a little better. Can you really be blamed for that? You just want a decent damn roommate for your life after death, and if that means putting the potentials through a little bit of a test, then so be it. You only feel a little bit bad for the landlord.

The creak of the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and the echo of a voice makes you narrow your eyes. Your first instinct is to slam some windows to scare off whoever's in your apartment, but you repress the urge. You'd die of boredom if you could die again, and whoever this is could provide a few hours' entertainment at the least.

You pop your head through the bathroom wall to see what's going on, and wow , who let an actual giant into your apartment? Fucking with the pipes could definitely wait for this guy.

"I know it's last minute, yeah," He says into the phone that's held carefully between his cheek and shoulder. His arms are loaded down with boxes and he's angled away from you just enough that you can't see his face, but he's tall and broad and wearing what looks like the world's comfiest sweater, and you want to badly to wrap yourself up in him. "But you know Joon needs the help. Don't pretend you aren't constantly willing to put off your thesis, I know for a fact that you went out to look at stationery with Tae last week, and everyone knows that's the most boring thing on the planet."

He's quiet, listening to the soft crackle of a voice from the other end. You slide through the wall completely, hovering as close as you dare to try and hear what the other person is saying. Tall, Broad, and Comfy scoffs.

"He can stare at one sheet of paper for at least ten minutes, Yoongi. Do I need to remind you of the time he spent an entire fucking hour debating which set of holiday scrapbook to buy because, and I quote, 'this one has the really nice rose pattern on it that would look great with the invitations, but, oh, look at the pinstripes in this one!'" His voice morphs into what you guess is an approximation of whoever Tae is, and you laugh at the high-pitched, nasally tone.

Tall and Broad spins, eyes narrowing as he looks around the room, and fuck , he's literally gorgeous. You've never seen someone more attractive in your life or your death and it would probably knock the wind out of you if you actually had breath. Comfy McGorgeous turns back around and sets the stack of boxes in the corner, continuing his tirade about Tae and stationery while simultaneously trying to talk Yoongi into coming, you assume, to help Joon move. You don't know who any of these people are, but they're already proving to be the most entertaining bunch that's ever graced these walls.

The door to your apartment flies open, making both you and Boyfriend Material whip your head around.

"Christ, Jin, you couldn't hold the fucking door open for us?" Someone grunts. Beauty Von Softness - or, Jin, as you should probably refer to him - winces and strides over to do just that as two more guys stagger in with a couch suspended between them. The second they're in the door they drop it to the ground and flop onto it, panting and sweaty.

"Listen, I was busy trying to get our resident hermit out of his cave to help us carry some of this shit," Jin spits back. "And you all know what it's like getting him out and about."

"Did you tell him that there's pizza after we're done? Because I've found that food is the best motivator for him," the guy closest to the door says. His hair is soft-looking and long and you wish you could pet it.

The other guy, the one who cursed Jin out and has the softest pink hair you've ever seen, laughs. "Jeongguk, you always think the best motivator is food."

"Well, yeah, because it is."

"For you, maybe. Other people require actual rewards."

"But food is a reward," Jeongguk mutters into the fabric of the couch. Jin tsks and smacks As Yet Unnamed on the back of the head.

"You're lucky I hung up on him when you bombarded your way into this place, or he'd definitely not come help us," Jin says as he leans against the back of the couch.

Unnamed starts to say something else but is cut off by someone running straight into the end of the couch. They all shoot to their feet, spouting apologies as the three of them maneuver the couch into the apartment properly.

"Sorry, sorry, Jimin distracted us from properly finishing our job," Jeongguk says quickly. He looks to the stranger with a small apologetic smile, and you're pretty sure if it were humanly possible, there would be actual literal stars in his eyes.

"Oh, it's okay, Jeonggukkie. I should've been looking where I was going." New Challenger walks straight towards where you stand, and you realize seconds before it's too late that he is not aware there is a massive stack of boxes in his path. Instinctively, you shove them to the side with your foot. Tall And Oblivious sets his boxes down without any trouble, none the wiser about any of it, and the three near the couch are too busy bickering in hushed whispers to have noticed you doing anything.

The newcomer straightens and turns to look at them all with a bright smile, and you think you might actually see The Light in the way his cheeks dimple. If you thought the other three were beautiful - which they are, no doubt about that, you're seriously wondering why the hell a bunch of supermodels are moving stuff into your apartment - then this guy is easily an Actual Fucking God or something. His brown hair is soft and shiny, his smile is warmer than the sun, and you're fairly positive that for the first time since you died, you feel goosebumps along your arms.

"Seriously, Namjoon, we should've realized you'd be up soon. You stay, start unpacking while we go get the rest of the furniture." Jimin shoves Jeongguk out the door while he's speaking, ignoring the taller's complaints, and Jin just shakes his head at the sight.

"Yoongi'll be here soon, he's finishing up another draft of his thesis. Hobi and Tae are stopping to get the pizzas and then they'll be here, too." Jin's voice is calmer than it was Jimin and Jeongguk, more soothing, and it makes you curious. Not only because of the tone change, but because you know Hobi, he owns the building and is the one who rented you the apartment when you first moved in. One of your favorite things to do is scare him when he comes by to make sure everything’s ready for a viewing.

"What? No, I said I was gonna pay for pizzas!" Namjoon looks distinctly more upset about this than someone should over not having to pay for pizza, at least in your mind, and it only makes you more curious.

"Yeah, but you also just moved out of your old apartment because it was too expensive, and had like an hour to load everything into a truck, so you're gonna let their trust fund asses pay for pizzas. We're seven adult men, and Guk could eat an entire horse and still be hungry. I'm not letting you pay for that."

Silence hangs in the apartment for a while before Namjoon gives a soft thanks to Jin. They share a smile before Jin makes his way back out. You follow each step, shadowing him all the way to the door before you're stopped. You lean your entire body forward, struggling against the invisible barrier keeping you inside, and the force of it nearly slams you back into the wall when you sag in defeat.

You aren't sure why you try anymore, but you know yourself well enough to admit that you're not going to stop until you can at least make it to the hallway.

Whatever you expected Namjoon to be like as a roommate, however unknowing he is about the situation, you don't think you could've guessed what he's actually like.

Out of the seven boys you saw the day he moved in, he's the only one living there. Not a complete surprise, considering it's a studio apartment, but you remember when there were nine people living there at one point, and there was barely room for anyone to breathe even if it had been pretty consistently amusing. Still, for one person, he's got a ton of stuff, and it's a shock it all fits. His bed is massive and comfortable and the best place to lay during the day because it's shoved between the brick half-wall and the large windows that take up one wall. The area's supposed to be for a dining table, you think, but you'd had your bed there, too, and the familiarity is nice.

His couch is small and old but manages to fit five of them, and it's a pleasantly jarring difference from the coffee table that looks like - and might actually be - an old steamer trunk. The exposed brick wall you love holds his mounted TV, a feat that took Jeongguk and Yoongi a solid hour and a half because they kept stripping the screws, and it's got one of those 8-cubicle bookshelf things under it that stores a frankly obnoxious amount of books.

He's got mugs for days, an adorable if odd collection of figurines and mini-statues scattered around the apartment, a strange obsession with some reclaimed wood shelf he's got hanging above his bed, but the absolute highlight of it all is The Wall.

It took them three hours to get it installed and set up the way he wanted, between the placements and the thick wooden shelf they’re perched on with supports and a small safety bar along the edge to keep them from falling off, but along the entire windowed wall and partway after it turns the corner runs a long shelf absolutely covered in plants. There are some elsewhere, like the one he keeps hanging from the bathroom ceiling and the couple in the kitchen, but most are on The Wall. Each one is in its own special pot, each a unique color with a name painted carefully along it, and most of them look half-dead. They're all distinct and unique from each other and they all surely have different needs and ideal conditions, but you'd never guess because Namjoon is so wholly committed to them all. He takes time every day to water them and prune them if he needs to, he checks on them constantly. He even reinforced the safety bar for the ones that sit beside his bed, so there was less chance he'd accidentally knock them around while sleeping.

It's fascinating, watching him tend to them. He's so careful and gentle, with absolute precision in every moment. He cares for his plants the way some people would care for a pet or a child. He doesn’t believe any of them are past caring for, slowly nurses all of them back to health and frequently turns up with more he’s saved from some department store. The most endearing thing, though, you decide as you sit curled among the haphazard blankets of his bed and watch, is the talking. It's every day, for as long as it takes him to care for the plants, and it's the cutest thing in the world. He's talking to some succulent as you just stare at him, filling the comfortable silence of the apartment with his soft, soothing voice, and you wish he could hear you when you talk back to him.

"I know they mean well, but at some point, I've just gotta live my own life, y'know? I can't study something just because everyone expects me to, and I can't pursue some dream just because people think I'd be good at it. I've gotta do what's right for me, don't I?" His tone is positive and bright, a contrast to the gloomy sky that casts shadows across the apartment.

You float over, hovering beside him to look at the plant he's lovingly stroking with his thumb. It's in a pretty periwinkle pot, with the name 'Mang' painted in careful but shaky black handwriting. It's not your favorite - that's the one in the bathroom that hangs over its light blue bowl, a quickly scrawled 'Koya' on the bottom - but it seems to be one of Namjoon's personal favorites based on how often he talks to it specifically.

"I think it's nice you do things for yourself," You tell him. He doesn't react, unable to hear you, but it's nice to hear your own voice after so long. You slide one of the plants - Chim, in a small yellow bowl - to the side and away from his elbow, and he doesn't notice. "You know yourself better than they do. You should trust yourself."

He keeps mumbling to Mang, something about everyone following their own dreams and doing what they need over what people want or expect, when you lay your hand over his.

Thunder cracks through the sky and the first raindrops hits the window as your non-existent skin hits his, and it's the most real thing you've felt in a long time. It's as if the scent of ozone and electricity is in the apartment itself, crackling in your hair and filling your nose with the overpowering scent of the sweet summer rain. You can almost feel the water hit your skin, the way the wind whips at your hair, and it's so intoxicating that you almost miss the sharp inhale from the man beside you.

He's not looking at his plant when you look up, but instead at the window in front of the two of you. You glance at it, and for a fraction of a second, you can see yourself in the reflection. The glimpse has you jerking towards it before you can stop yourself, desperate to know if something has changed. You haven't seen your reflection since you died, not in the mirror or the window or the toaster, and maybe, just maybe, it means something's changed.

Your hand stops against the glass of the window as you reach forward. You can't feel the cool of it under your palm, but it's no less a barrier for you as it would be for Namjoon. Something in you breaks as you watch the raindrops race each other to the ground.

"Ah, I forgot the forecast called for rain today," he mutters, eyes focused on the lightning that streaks by. He doesn't react when your fist slams against the glass, nor when you let out the scream that's been building in you for however long it's been since you died. You're so close, not even a hair's breadth from feeling something new yet familiar for the first time in so long, and you can't. You're still stuck in these four walls, unable to even reach the air outside.

You just want to feel the rain again.

You move dejectedly away from the window, ignoring the way Namjoon shivers as you pass. The temperature in the apartment has dropped considerably, you think, between the storm and your own mood. You can't tell, really. You haven't felt warm or cold or hungry or anything since you died that isn't the oppressive loneliness of life after death.

A dry sob tears itself from your throat and you hurry to hide in the bathroom as Namjoon turns to look around him. He mumbles something you can't hear and after a few minutes, he returns to tending to his plants, leaving you to your tear-less cries in peace.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that Namjoon should really have a roommate, if only to save him from himself. It takes a few weeks for you to realize this, but luckily he seems to narrate his life as he goes through it - which is overwhelmingly adorable to you, and you refuse to acknowledge that - and that means that you hear it every time he goes, "Ah, Namjoon, be more careful next time," or "Oh, shoot, that's not, fuck, I gotta buy more eggs now." It's painful to watch, even for you, and at some point, you just couldn't take it anymore. No one else is around to help, but someone needs to you, and clearly the universe means for you to be that someone.

It's a full-time job, protecting him from himself. You've saved countless mugs, pushing them farther away from the edges of counters and tables, and been just in time to shove bowls or vases an inch over so that his elbows glide harmlessly past them. It's almost exhausting, if you could get tired you would, but it's worth it, you think, as you catch the bookshelf under the TV as it tilts. You slide it gently to the floor, glad that Namjoon is distracted by how close he came to losing a toe to notice.

Because that's the other thing about this tree of a man: he's the most oblivious person you've ever fucking seen. It doesn't matter what it is you do, whether it's bouncing his spray bottle of water so it doesn't break on the hard floor or shake the counters so that the knife he's about to drop on his fucking hand falls the other way, he doesn't see a single fucking thing. You'd think he was blind if he wasn't so attentive to the way his plants grow. He notices nothing and you're glad for it because you really aren't sure what he would do if he knew you were going around haunting him just to keep him alive. You just want to help, want to keep the soft smile he wears more often around for as long as possible.

You don't dare to look into why you want that, too afraid of what you might find there.

It's also just fun to watch him and his friends, relaxed and unreserved. You never had many friends when you were alive, just a small handful that you really truly loved and whom you miss every day. Watching these seven boys fills you with nostalgia and a strange sense of joy because they really are some of the funniest people you've ever been around.

Like now, with four of them sprawled on the couch while Jeongguk and Hoseok make themselves comfortable leaning against the bookshelf under the TV - which has been bolted to the wall since it almost broke Namjoon's foot - and Namjoon watches them all from his bed since it's the only other place to sit. There are beer bottles scattered around and decorating the half-wall that separates the bed from the room proper, everyone is varying levels of drunk, and you're curled up close to Namjoon, leaning against the wall so you can stop him from knocking over any of the bottles nearby because you know him too well at this point.

"I'm just saying, I don't understand why they made him so over-powered in the new movies, because he's supposed to be some kid from Brooklyn! Giving him the high-tech suit essentially strips him of the friendly neighborhood persona that he's always relied on!" Jeongguk has been ranting for a while about the newest release in the Spiderman franchise - apparently, he's part of the actual Avengers now, which is a shock to you since the last thing you heard before you died was that the franchise was canceled until further notice or something.

"And I'm saying that if they didn't give him the suit then it would've made no sense how he was able to do those things," Yoongi responds. You're pretty sure he's just arguing to be contrary at this point, because you remember him telling Namjoon the other day that he prefers DC over Marvel.

"Garfield's Spiderman could do those things," you mutter, "And he didn't have a fancy suit."

"Okay, then how do you explain Andrew Garfield's version being able to do that stuff? He doesn't need the suit, he never has!" You preen at the way Jeongguk echoes your thoughts. "I'm telling you, I don't care how good the relationship with Holland's Spidey and Iron Man is, by giving him the tech and the advancements they did, they've undermined everything that Spiderman is supposed to be about."

"Jeongguk come off it, everyone knows Garfield's Spidey was just all bad writing. I mean, what kind of person can do all that stuff, realistically? He's the one that really needed the Stark suit." Taehyung's voice is slurred and quiet, definitely as drunk as the rest of them. 

"What-! No! I could do half of that without being bitten by a weird science spider!" Jin scoffs at Jeongguk's words. 

"Yeah, sure, Guk. The same way you can do that bottlecap challenge."

"Bottle cap challenge, and yeah, I could!" The youngest stands and you don't bother to hide your grimace. 

"This isn't going to end well, is it?" You ask. No one acknowledges you, too busy finding something Jeongguk can kick the cap off of as the boy readies himself. He's steady on his feet but his face is red and he can't seem to stop giggling. 

"If I do this, you gotta call me SpiderGuk from now on, okay?" He says. No one agrees, but it doesn't stop him from laughing again and doing a couple of roundhouse kicks to warm up. 

"Okay, okay, Joonie doesn't have any regular water bottles, but we found a screw-top beer in the fridge so ya gotta use that," Jimin says as he stumbles over with said bottle. Jeongguk just nods, an adorable focused expression on his face. Jimin holds the bottle in the air, and you can already tell his grip isn't tight enough to keep the bottle still when Jeongguk kicks it. 

The next ten seconds happen in slow-motion. Jeongguk's leg flies out to kick but his drunken body isn't able to handle the sudden shift in balance, and he slips. His foot hits the bottle slightly too low, and it goes flying out of Jimin's weak grip into the air. Everyone in the room watches as it hurtles straight towards Namjoon's face, and you react out of habit and instinct, catching it in one hand before you even realize you've moved. 

Everyone freezes, staring at where the bottle hovers in front of Namjoon's face. You're the only one able to see your fingers wrapped around it. A shock jolts through you at the realization of what you've done and you drop the bottle as if it burned you. Fuck, they were all going to freak, then Namjoon would move out and you'd be stuck alone once more. You should've just shoved him out of the way, what were you thinking, you're so fucking stupid-

"Dude," Hoseok mutters from where he's perched on the arm of the couch. "Holy shit, Joon, you're fucking telepathic." 

Yoongi rolls his eyes and smacks his chest. "Telekinetic, you fucking-"

"Holy shit, you've got fucking superpowers!" Jeongguk squeaks. "Do it again!"

Namjoon isn't even able to get a word out before there's a book flying at his face, and you panic. You can't catch it, too rushed, but you manage to deflect it so it hits the bed with a soft thump instead of braining Namjoon straight in the nose. 

"Woah, you really do have superpowers," Jimin whispers. He lobs a bottlecap at Namjoon, and you catch it in your palm before letting it drop onto the half-wall. 

"I don't have...what the fuck you guys," Namjoon insists. His eyes are as wide as saucers behind the thick glasses he has on. He looks freaked out and you want nothing more than to hug him. Your hand reaches out of its own accord, halfway closing the distance to stroke his hair before you catch yourself. 

"Hey, levitate your plants," Jin demands. Namjoon looks panicked as he glances at the wall of plants, and you heave a sigh. With any luck, they're so drunk that they'll remember this as a strange fever dream, but you can't just let them keep throwing things at him. You crawl over to the wall, avoiding Namjoon as you do, and grasp one of the plants tight. It's a white pot with red polka dots, a simple RJ on the side, and it's fucking heavy. You only get it a few inches off the shelf before you're forced to put it down.

"Oh my god, catch this!" Taehyung throws a coffee mug straight at Namjoon's head and you panic again. You catch it, and you've decided you're fucking sick of them throwing things at him, so you lob it back and dart across the room to bounce it safely to the counter before it can break. 

Everyone in the room stares at the mug and then looks back at Namjoon, who hasn't moved from his spot on the bed. 

"Oh my god, you're a superhero," Jeongguk whispers, awe in his eyes. 

"That's fucked up," Yoongi mutters, wincing when Hoseok elbows him. 

"Maybe we should get some sleep," Namjoon says quietly. The others look like they want to disagree with him, and you have no doubt they want to explore the newfound 'abilities' of their friend, but they still start gathering trash together before they head out. 

Namjoon lays awake for a long time that night, glasses folded and sitting atop the half-wall beside you. He's oblivious to the way you watch him, too lost in thought to feel the weight of your stare or the chill in the air. 

"I don't understand," He says after a while. "I really don't, but there's got to be a reason for it." He doesn't elaborate, merely turns over and evens his breathing out until he starts snoring, but you watch him for most of the night. He's fascinating, this human, and you wonder what makes him so different from the others you've met. 

He apparently decides to experiment. You've known Namjoon is intelligent since he first moved in and you saw his collectible encyclopedias, but you hadn't realized just what it would be like in actuality. 

It starts simple. He'll toss something in the air and let it clatter to the ground. Nothing big, just little things like pencils or bottlecaps, and not far, just enough that his eyes narrow as he apparently tries to use his telekinetic abilities to manipulate them. 

It slowly graduates from there. Next comes the way he stares at something across the room, hyper-focused on whatever it is until you notice and move it around for him. It's a guessing game, sometimes, trying to figure out just what he wants to move or how he wants to move it, but each time you're successful, he smiles so brightly, dimples on full display. Who wouldn't want to make him smile like that?

It's hit or miss, sometimes. You're only so strong, and while you've had a lot of practice, you still get tired. You lifted his bookshelf almost a full inch before blacking out. Next thing you knew, a couple of days had passed and Namjoon was staring at a coffee mug. That was a significantly less fun day; between losing time and having to catch coffee mug after coffee mug, you were exhausted and a little shaken. 

So when he stops staring at things for extended periods of time, when he starts to go back to reading and scrolling the internet and bingeing all the completed shows that Netflix and Amazon had to offer, you're grateful for it. He still occasionally tests it out; he's always subtle about it, choosing to stare quietly until you notice and make whatever it is float around for a minute. Once you wandered around looking for him - a feat in a studio apartment - and found him just sitting on the bathroom floor, staring at a shampoo bottle.

You'd like to say that you don't move things entirely because he wants you to. It's a good test of your abilities and how far you can push yourself until it becomes too much, and it's always nice to have actual evidence that you still exist - in some form, at least - in the world. The validation that comes from seeing him smile every time you lift a pencil or slide a coffee mug to the side, it's not for any reason but the satisfaction of knowing that you have some kind of existence. Some kind of impact on the world, even if you can't be seen and can't leave the apartment.

It's part of why you start moving things around yourself more often; you're hoping he just blames it on his overactive 'abilities' if he notices because you really aren't sure what he would think otherwise. But you also know for a fact that just seeing that you have some kind of sway over the world still - over the things inside this tiny apartment - makes you feel just that bit better about being dead.

Which is why it's such a fucking shock when the door to the apartment slams open one evening just for Namjoon to slam it closed again and announce into the air, "So I know you're haunting me, please don't try to deny it, I only want to talk to you."

You freeze where you are, halfway through the closet door from where you were reorganizing his clothes because they made no sense and you were bored. He's looking around the apartment, almost desperate in the way he's searching, and you can't bring yourself to move. It's obvious he can't see you, and you aren't even sure if he's being serious, but the way he huffs and clenches his jaw before moving into the kitchen tells you that he probably is.

You follow him, curious, and watch as he pulls a small package out of his bag and starts ripping it open. You float the remains of what looks like gift wrap over to the trashcan, because you know Namjoon will forget, before going back to watching him. He's only a little careful as he cracks something in his hands and then slaps it onto the fridge, and you peek around him to see that it's some kind of words or something. There’s a wide variety, with no clear theme to them, as well as at least one of each letter of the alphabet. It's then you remember the throwaway comment Yoongi made during that night - "You need, like, poetry stuff, like those magnets that go on the fridge that people write that deep shit with, y'know? I'm gonna buy you one," - and realize that he'd followed through on his vow. 

"Alright," Namjoon says, leaning against his kitchen counter and staring at the magnets. "First and foremost, am I really being haunted or is this some kind of hallucination?" His gaze never falters, doesn’t ever drift from the magnetic words now spread across his fridge doors. It takes several minutes to build up the energy and the courage to move closer to the fridge.

You don't look at him as you move the words around, but you can hear the sharp intake of breath. That's likely all the confirmation that he needs, but still you clear a spot and let the words ' I am here ' sit where he can see them clearly. You wrinkle your nose, disliking how formal it sounds, but you have to make do, you suppose.

"Okay," Namjoon breathes. "Okay, prove it. My brain could work this into a hallucination. How do I know you're really a ghost?"

"Seriously?" You huff. "What the fuck am I supposed to do that wouldn't work into a hallucination, dude?"

He gets fidgety in the few minutes that you spend wondering how the fuck you're going to prove that you're a real actual ghost to someone who clearly doesn't believe in them. His foot taps at the floor and he scratches at his hand, which only makes you want to wrap your own hands around his until he stops, much like your best friend used to lay her legs across your lap to get you to stop shaking your knee.

The realization comes in a flash, and you're moving letters around before you can stop yourself.

Face book, Park Jihyo, best friend.

Namjoon stares at it for a long while before he brings his phone out of his pocket and begins to tap at the screen. You don't get too close; you've got a history with shorting out electronics, and you aren't sure you want to know what your best friend is up to without you there with her.

"Okay," Namjoon says. "Okay, I've never seen her before, so I don't think my brain could work her into a hallucination. Okay. Alright. I'm being haunted. This is fine."

"Calm down, I'm haunting the apartment, not you." He doesn't react to your words, as usual, but it still makes you feel the slightest bit better. He stares at his phone for a little longer, and the curiosity burns under your skin, but you resist. You know from experience that if you try to get too close, his phone will stop working. Just like TV, the stereo, the laptops, everything. You've had enough experience with that kind of thing to know what will happen.

"Okay, Casper," Namjoon huffs out after several minutes of waiting. He looks up and his eyes dart around the apartment, and you wonder if he's just nervous or if he's trying to spot you. "Where are you right now? Can you make yourself visible? I mean, I know you're a ghost, but it feels rude not talking to you to your face."

You huff a laugh but reach for a coffee cup. You know you can't just make yourself visible at will; you've only done it a couple of times, to your knowledge, and none of them have been on purpose. It's even more difficult to make yourself corporeal and physical, harder than just manipulating objects, but you did it once. Back when the single mom still lived here, when her toddler was falling and you had no way to cushion the fall except with your own body; you still aren't sure how it happened, but you remember being able to feel the floor against your back and the warmth of the baby on top of you for a split second before you were gone again. You won't forget that any time soon.

You float the mug towards where you stand, holding it in front of your face long enough that when you pull it away, Namjoon's eyes don't follow it. It's a strange feeling; you know he can't see you, can tell by the way his brow furrows and his eyes slide around the space, but it feels like he's looking straight at you. It feels like you're being seen for the first time since you died.

"So, where are you from, Casper?" His tone is forcibly conversational, as if he's trying his best to keep himself calm. You roll your eyes and move the magnets to show ' here ' and he nods. "You're not gonna try to possess me, or kill me, or run me off, are you? No offense or anything. I figure you would've already at this point, but...cover my bases."

No. Am nice. I think.

"You think? You don't know if you're a nice ghost?"

Does anyone truly know if they are nice? You frown, trying to figure out how to say what you want to say with the limited words available. I can only try. It's still not perfect; there's more that you want to say, more that you want to be heard, but this has to do for now.

"I can accept that. Alright. Just talking to a ghost in my kitchen. Okay. This is totally normal." He rubs a hand over his face, and you're a little impressed. Everyone else that's lived here has freaked when presented with the knowledge that you're a ghost. Namjoon looks very much like his world is exploding, but he doesn't have the same fear and apprehension in his eyes. He's certainly coping better than the single mom.

"Are you the only ghost? Here, I mean, are you the only ghost here?" He breathes a sigh of relief at your 'yes.’ "Can you see other ghosts? Do you know any other ghosts?" The 'don't know, no' that you move around on your fridge seems to unsettle him a little, but there's a curiosity burning behind it that makes your skin tingle.

Can't leave, is what you say next, cutting off whatever question he was about to ask.

"You can't leave at all? The building, or the apartment?"

The second.

"Wow. You're really stuck here?" He looks around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time and sucks in a breath. "What do you do all day?"

Watch. He cocks a brow. You are... You hesitate. The word you need isn't there, everything that comes to you is too poetic or corny for you to actually say, but the weight of his eyes is heavy on your hands. Fun is what you settle on, but it's not right either. 'Interesting' isn't there, nor is 'fascinating' or 'lovely,' and you don't want to scare him off by telling him that part of the reason you watch him so much is that he's so full of life that you feel less dead when he's around.

He laughs at your words though and shakes his head ever so slightly. "Alright, well, I'm gonna shower, so just, don't...watch that?" You squawk at the insinuation that you would, quickly rearranging the letters to spell ' privacy' and making a large angry face out of the rest of the words. He's already turned away, though, and it makes you angrier.

You don't want him thinking that you would peep at him. You already make sure that you're facing the windows when he finishes showering, you've been determined to not be creepy since the day he moved in, and to have him think otherwise is like a slap in the face. You slam the mug against the counter and he startles, turning to gape at it. You carry it to where your words and make-do emoji sit waiting for him to notice them.

"Okay," He says quickly. "Okay, privacy, yeah, got it. You respect my privacy. Appreciated."

"How fucking rude," You mutter as you set the mug back down. You don't adjust the magnets as he disappears into the bathroom. You want him to see them, want him to be reminded of the fact that being dead doesn't mean you don't have basic decency.

You can't get him to shut up now that he knows you're there. He still forgets sometimes, mostly when he's talking to his plants or narrating the way he carefully constructs some origami creation, but more often than not, he's talking to thin air. He spends a lot of time perched on his counter, watching you move magnets around his fridge through the thick lenses of his glasses before he spouts off some other question for you to answer. 

He covers the basics first: how old you were when you died, when your birthday is, your favorite color, what you were studying in school, and of course your name, though he insists on calling you Casper. You aren't sure why but you also don't get a chance to question it, because he hits you with more and more questions every day. Sometimes you don't answer because you can't, too limited by the poetry magnets to be able to really converse; sometimes you just don't have the energy to move the magnets around, but those are days are rare. The only times you use the tired magnet are when you find your limbs too heavy to move, weighed down with the memories of what it meant to be alive. 

Those are the bad days, but his questions make them just a little easier.

"How do you move around? Do you just float everywhere?" Walking, but different. No weight. Soft.

"How are you able to manipulate things in my world? Are they different from things in your world?" Focus. Takes time. Same.

"Do you sleep at all? Do ghosts dream?" No sleep. Just existing.

"You don't eat, do you? Should I be stocking up on snacks for you?" No. Save your sustenance. "What was the last thing you ate?" Don't remember. "Huh. I hope it was something good." Same.

"Were you ever in a relationship?" Once. A long time before. "Do you miss them?" Not anymore.

"What did you do while you were alive?" School. "Oh, really? Do you remember what you studied?" Boring. Important then, but it made me forget to live. Not important now. Namjoon goes quiet for a long moment after this one, staring out the window at something you can't see. He nods but doesn't ask any more questions, and he reads for the rest of the night.

It only takes a couple of weeks for both you and Namjoon to get tired of standing in his kitchen fucking around on the fridge. His legs get tired and he gets distracted by his thoughts, and you can barely keep up with the rapid-fire questions you get.

So Namjoon buys one of those cheap cookie sheets with the slightest lip at the edge and dumps the magnets on that. He leaves it on the coffee table, usually, there for you to pick up if he asks something but out of the way for when he stretches out to nap lazily in the afternoon sun.

You like the cookie sheet more than the fridge. He watches you as you work out your responses, can see the way you start to move one word before moving another instead; it makes it feel more like a conversation.

It becomes a favorite pass-time of Namjoon's, curling on the couch and putting some sort of music on in the background and just talking to you. A lot of nights his questions stop with a lingering silence from one or both of you; yours because you don't have the ability to share the words running rampant through your mind, and his for reasons still unknown to you. Still, you've missed it. You've missed talking to someone, being heard when you speak, having someone ask how you are at the end of the day.

It's the little things.

"You said you can't leave, right, Casper?" Namjoon's curled up on his couch, tucked into the arm with a blanket thrown over his lap, a mug of something warm in his hands to combat the chill of the season, and some R&B track playing lightly from his phone. You knock your fist against the cookie once - a sign for yes that you'd both agreed on. "So, are you just always here then? You don't go anywhere else?"

"Fuck, how do I explain this?" You mutter. You stare at the magnets in front of you for a long time before rearranging them. Not always. Tired sometimes, disappear.

"Disappear?" He reads. "What do you mean? You just, what, stop existing?"

Don't know, you respond. Only happens when tired. When used too much of me. He hums an acknowledgment, eyes focused on where the cookie sheet sits on the couch between you. You? What entertains you?

"Everything," he answers without hesitation. "I'm trying to work through my stack of books I want to read and finish all the shows I'm interested in, but the guys would have my head if I didn't get out and do things like a normal person."

That's where you leave to?

"Yeah." He sets his mug - now empty - on the coffee table and settles into the blankets. He looks cozy and soft and you would wrap yourself up with him if you could. "I take a lot of walks, and bike rides. I like to see the river, the trees, all the animals that live there. The beach is always fun, I get to see all the crabs and whatnot that wander in and out of the ocean."

"I wish I could go with you," you whisper.

Fun is what you spell on your sheet.

"I guess," he mutters. "It's enjoyable, at least. I'll bring you some souvenirs, or pictures next time."

You let the sheet settle on the couch as he turns the TV on, setting up a drama that he's on recently. He doesn't say anything else for a few hours, waits until the sound of rain hits the windows and stifles the apartment in an otherworldly haze.

"How long have you been dead?" His voice lingers in the air. You've been expecting these questions, and you're honestly impressed he's held them back for as long as he has. That angsty teen hadn't hesitated a single second to start asking you questions.

A while. Years. I think .

"Do you ever get tired of being a ghost?" There's something in his voice that you can't place, something that tells you this is more than just his usual morbid curiosity. Every part of your soul - whatever's left of it, anyway - is screaming at you to lie to him, to tell him that no, being a ghost is great. You've never wished he could hear you more than this moment, when all you want to is wrap your arms around him and ask him why he looks so much older than he is.

Sometimes, you tell him. It is lonely here, and boring. Fun to be unseen, but unable to do much more.

He nods like that makes all the sense in the world to him, and he brings the blanket up around his shoulders. "Do you ever miss your friends, or your family?"

Would you not? He huffs out an unamused chuckle, nodding again.

"Yeah," He says softly. "Yeah, I would. Do you want me to help you check on them? See what they're up to?" The single knock that echoes in the room is deafening to you, filled with a hope that you haven't felt in years. You've never let yourself think about them for long; if you did, you don't think you'd be able to come back from whatever that place is that you disappear to when things become Too Much.

Namjoon pulls his phone closer and starts fiddling with it. He doesn't hesitate when he types in your name, and you feel an emotional blush fill you when you see that he doesn't even have to finish typing for your profile to pop up. You glance at him, the way his brows are furrowed behind his glasses and his tongue pokes into his cheek just a little while he concentrates, and you wonder how many times he's looked at the pictures of you when you were alive. How many times has he scrolled through, reading the words people shared after you were gone, scrolling through the grief and loss to get to the words you posted yourself, the little snippets of your daily life that you would give anything to be able to relive?

"Do I still look like that?" You wonder aloud. As expected, he doesn't react, just continues tapping at his phone.

You two spend the rest of the night like that, each curled at opposite ends of the couch while Namjoon slowly looks up your friends and family and updates you on each of them. Jihyo got married, to someone she'd gone on a date with a few weeks before you passed, and she's apparently trying to start having kids; Your mother and father aren't very active, but they never were. They both share pictures of you when you were a baby each year on your birthday, and more recent photos of you on the anniversary. They have a dog now. It's cute. You wonder if it helps them cope with the loss.

Your other friends are doing well, too; most of them are still figuring out their lives, but it seems like all of them are settling in their skin and finding comfort in who they are. They're out there, navigating the world and doing things they enjoy, meeting new friends and making new memories.

You stand by the window for a long time, cookie sheet of magnetized words pressed against your chest as if you can feel the cool of the metal against your skin, and watch rain drip down the panes as you imagine what your life could have been.

You can always hear Namjoon before you see him. He whistles as he walks down the sidewalk, his small way of letting you know he's on his way back from wherever he's gone that day, and today isn't an exception. Relief sags through you and you move away from the windows, let your fingers trail against the ceramic of the newest succulent he'd bought, and head towards the kitchen. The kettle is turned on and heating a few moments later while you pull a mug down from your cabinet and set it carefully on the counter where Namjoon will see it.

It's a regular routine, for the two of you. He heads out, usually in the early morning after turning on some music or a show for you, and when he comes back, you make sure there's hot water for his tea or cocoa or whatever he feels like drinking that day. The sound of his whistling gets louder the closer he gets, a simple way to let you know he's safe and he's home. You glance through the cabinets and quickly make a note on the fridge that he needs to buy more of his special tea blend soon.

The lock turns and you smile, waiting patiently as Namjoon saunters into the apartment. He sets something down on the kitchen counter just as the kettle starts to scream, and you wait while he pours the water and gets it ready.

"The cherry blossoms bloomed," He says. You grin. "They look great. I got some really nice pictures while I was there, I'll show you tonight. I was thinking we could try to finish Voltron tonight if you want. We'll have to go back an episode though, I think I fell asleep during the last one." You knock once against the counter beside you, and he turns with a wide grin to glance at the spot where you stand.

It's ridiculous for your heart to speed up in your chest, for the hair on the back of your neck to rise, for breath to catch in your throat; you don't have a heartbeat, you don't have breath, you're a shadow of the person you used to be, and yet...

And yet, seeing his dimpled smile focused so naturally on where you are, as if it's just second-nature, is like a breath of fresh air after years underwater. It smells like flowers, like dirt and earth and a new beginning. It feels like you're alive again, and you don't want it to end, but too soon he's turning away to finish steeping the tea. Something lingers in the air for a moment after but it's gone too soon for you to place it.

You both settle on the couch, Namjoon tucking whatever he brought home with him under his arm, between his body and the arm of his ratty old couch. Your cookie sheet is in its place on the coffee table, unneeded at the moment. You can't help the glare that you give it; the things you would give to be able to just speak and be heard are endless.

It rattles a little and you look away.

Namjoon is quiet as the show plays. He doesn't react when you move to turn the oven on, but he does laugh quietly and thank you for it when he goes to put his dinner in. He eats and you don't bother him, though the way he keeps his little package hidden away makes curiosity burn through you. Eventually, once he's eaten and washed his dishes and laughed at the way you rubbed them dry before setting them carefully in their places, he settles back into his blankets and turns on the music he loves so much.

He's got a book balanced in his hands and your cookie sheet rests on the coffee table, and you both just sit like that for a long while, enjoying existing.

"You remember your life, right Casper?" You thump lazily against the wall in response, eyes drawn from where you watch the gloomy sky slowly get lighter with the dawn. He isn't looking at his book anymore; he probably hasn't been for a while, based on the way the pages have migrated around his thumb, too busy staring at the wall across from him. "Do you remember your death?"

You hesitate. You've tiptoed around the subject before. He's always been too afraid to ask directly, and it's too painful for you to offer it freely. You thump against the wall once more, and he nods like he already knew the answer.

"Are they very different?" His glasses are falling down his nose and your fingers itch to push them up. Instead, you reach for your cookie sheet. He makes a sound in the back of his throat when he sees it moving, reaching under him for his package. "I forgot, I got you this. Thought it might be easier."

He sets it down and you slide the contents out of the wrapping easily. Inside is a small dry-erase board, complete with markers and eraser, small things that should be easy for you to manipulate. You beam at him; he can't see it, but you think he might be able to feel it because he perks up and smiles a little.

"You don't have to answer," He adds. "I was just curious to know if being dead is really as different as everyone makes it out to be." You nod and thump once against the board before you uncap a marker and start writing.

It's a bizarre feeling, after so long. The muscles in your hand don't ache, no matter how much you write, and you can't feel the smooth surface of the board under your fingers or the weight of the marker in your palm, but it glides against it cleanly and leaves a thick black streak behind.

It takes you a minute to write everything out, get it worded how you want. Namjoon doesn't interrupt you, just watches the marker move against the board and smiles every time you go to erase something that isn't right. Eventually you show it to him.

There are similarities. I'm still me, I still enjoy TV and music and books. Things are duller now, like there's a filter over them, and it's harder to do things. Like when you're in water, or mud, like that. Resistance.

"Oh," Namjoon replies, "That's not what I expected. It makes sense though I guess." His hand moves against his chest, rubbing lightly as he looks over your words again. "Is there anything you actually like about being a ghost?"

"Well, being invisible is pretty cool," You say, writing the words as you do. "And it's actually really fun being able to walk through walls and stuff, even if I can't go anywhere outside of the apartment."

"I'm sorry you're stuck here," Namjoon says. You startle a little, looking up at him. You think he actually heard you for a split second, but his eyes are locked on where you're writing your words out on the dry erase board.

"Yeah, me too," You tell him. He stares at the board for a long moment, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as he does. "Ask what you want to ask, Joon," You write as you say it.

"How did you die?" He blurts. You sigh and he jumps a little, looking fully at where you sit. You're shocked; you know that sometimes little noises cross over, like when Jin heard you laughing, but it's still rare. You can't figure out how it works, but you want to.

You write for a long time, letters small so they fit on the board. The whole thing is crowded together, looks like one long string of letters instead of the story it is.

There's a lot of violence in this neighborhood. You probably know that by now. People are always getting robbed or mugged or something around here. Someone tried to break into my apartment by banging the door down. It didn't work, luckily, but I got really paranoid afterwards. One night I was cooking, and someone's door slammed really hard. I spilled the water I was boiling, slipped. Blacked out after a while, and when I came to, there were police everywhere. I guess I hit my head harder than I thought, because they carted me away, and I couldn’t follow.

"I'm sorry," Namjoon says softly. "You deserved more time."

Yeah. The universe had a different plan, I guess. He smiles at that, and it settles the anxiety thrumming under your skin. Wouldn't have met you, so I guess that's a bonus. He rolls his eyes at you but he laughs softly, so you consider it a win. You doodle on the board then, simple little designs that don't mean anything beyond being able to see your effect on the world.

Namjoon sucks in a breath beside you and you look up at him. He's always been good about looking towards where you are, doing his best to make eye contact with someone he can't see, but he still always tends to look through you.

Not this time.

This time, electricity sings through the air as your eyes meet his. You don't know how, but you know he can see you. His eyes roam over you, taking in the crumpled sweater you were wearing with the stain you like to think is pasta sauce on the arm, the hair you can't ever really tame, the way you sit cross-legged on his old thread-bare couch with a dry erase board in your hands.

Neither of you moves. He looks torn between fear and amazement, every emotion in between flitting quickly over his features, and you're terrified that if you move, whatever spell that's been cast will fade. It had been so long since you talked to anyone when Namjoon slammed those magnets on the fridge, and the conversation has been a reprieve, but to be seen for the first time in years...

It's invigorating.

Watching Namjoon just look at you is something you won't ever forget, not for as long as you exist in the world. He looks at you like he's memorizing every detail, every hair and wrinkle and pore, and just knowing that he can see you fills you with something new.

"Namjoon...?" You call hesitantly. His eyes fall on your lips.

"Again," He says. Your brows must furrow, maybe you frown, you don't know because it's been so long since you've needed to pay attention to your facial expressions, but he notices your confusion. "Will you say something again?"

Breath you don't have catches in your throat, wraps itself around a heart that doesn't beat, but you smile a little. "I'm glad I met you."

Namjoon smiles. It's big and blinding and knocks everything out of you except for that emotion that's been sitting in your chest since the first time you watched him talk to his plants. You lean forward, and you can tell the exact moment you disappear, because his smile falls and his eyes unfocus. A whimper leaves your throat, but he doesn't react, and that may be the most painful thing that's ever happened to you.

"Can I feel you?" His voice is hushed but the words reverberate in your head. His eyes dart around, looking for any glimpse of you, and your hand trembles as you reach out.

Goosebumps raise on his cheek where your hand touches him and his breath stops for a moment, but he smiles again and leans into the chill. You bring your other hand up to cup his other cheek, your dry erase board lying forgotten on the ground, and Namjoon's eyes flutter closed.

"I think I might love you," You say quietly just before you press your lips to his. He doesn't react to your words, but he lets out a soft sigh at your kiss. Thunder cracks through the apartment, a torrent of rain unleashed on the windows, but you don't move.

The two of you sit like that for hours, until he starts shivering and his nose turns red, like it does when he forgets his scarf on the cold days, and his breath puffs in the air. When you finally pull away from him, he smiles, and the blush on his cheeks has nothing to do with the cold air that makes up your form.

"Yeah," He says softly, voice nearly drowned out by the storm raging outside. "Yeah, I can feel you."

If you expected things to change much after that, you were wrong. At least a little. Namjoon still disappears to go on his walks, you still start the kettle the second his whistles drift up to the apartment. He still asks you a million questions, but they're more normal now. Your favorite music, color, what you wished you'd done with your life, if you've been able to corporealize again recently, what you wanted to watch that night.

"Come on, Casper," Namjoon groans. "I promise you can do it." You huff and he smiles, clearly having heard it. You're tempted to just disappear somewhere, rattle some pipes in the bathroom or the kitchen so he thinks you're in there and leaves you alone, but he smiles at you again and you're weak for that dimple.

You grip the watering can again, doing your best to lift it and manipulate it the way you need to. It's heavy, and something about the metal makes your skin itch, but the more you struggle the more you're able to pour the slightest bit of water where RJ - a giant plant that you don't even know the name of - sits in the corner of the room across from Namjoon's bed. It's the twentieth-something time you've tried this today, and you're ten seconds from just giving up completely, but you can tell this is important to Namjoon.

He's been talking all week, between the late nights where you lay over his blanket-wrapped form and the mornings where he ducks out with a soft goodbye. He's told you everything about his plants that you think he possibly could, teaching you about them and showing you how to care for them. It's interesting, you won't lie, and it's always fun to see him light up when you recall something he's told you, but you're exhausted and every part of you is shaky, and you're more than a little worried of what might happen if you push too far again.

Still, Joon hasn't looked great lately, like he might be getting the flu, and you want to be able to help him with all the things he does in the house. You've already started doing the dishes and folding laundry, since those were the two things he was the absolute worst at, but you feel like you should be doing more.

"Good job, baby, I'm proud of you!" You grunt and let the watering can fall back to the ground with a loud thump that almost definitely has the downstairs neighbors cursing Namjoon's name. "See, and now we're done for the day! C'mon, we can put on Sens8 and cuddle."

He's on the couch before you can stop him, wrapping himself in blankets except for one lone hand that sticks out, expectant. You roll your eyes and sit beside him, close enough that if you had a body you would be cuddling instead of just sitting awkwardly beside him.

You know that this is just going to make your hand all pink and gross, right?

He just smiles when the board flips around to reveal itself and wiggles his fingers. "It's worth it," He says. "I'd rather be pink and gross than never get to hold your hand at all."

You can't even feel my hand, Joon, there's literally no point to this. He huffs and wraps his hand around the marker in your hand, shivering at the chill that runs through him when he does. He grins and gestures down to where the tips of his fingers are already turning red.

"Clearly I can feel it, Casper."

You're glad he can't see you, that you don't have a heart that beats or blood that runs, because if you did, your face would no doubt be red. You have no doubts that Namjoon would tease you about it.

He's quiet as you both watch the show; he makes the odd comment here or there, but his mood seems to have calmed some. When he first got back from whatever place he visited that day, he'd been anxious and jumpy and entirely too on edge.

"Hey, Casper?" He asks quietly. You slide a hand against his cheek to let him know you're there, and he leans into the chill again. "What do you think about me?"

You don't move for several seconds, hand still poised around his cheek.

"Like, your feelings. What are they? Will you tell me?" You knock once on the wall behind the couch. Your hand stays poised over your board for long enough that Namjoon starts to get a little restless. Words refuse to come to you. Every time you start to think you have a way to describe to him what he means to you, they disappear as quick as fog on a summer's afternoon. Frustrated, you let the board fall to the couch and scrawl a quick 'hold on' so he knows you aren't just ignoring him.

It's been weeks since you've seen what you're looking for, your cookie sheet with the word magnets having been basically forgotten in lieu of the more personal and convenient dry-erase board, but right now you know that if words won't come to you, you'll have to go to them.

You finally find it, shoved under several encyclopedias and magazines, and the noise you make is so triumphant that even Namjoon hears it. You curl back up beside him, careful to make sure the blanket is wrapped tight around him, and make sure he can see the words as you move them. It still takes a long time, constantly changing and rearranging and stacking to make sure it conveys the things you need it to convey.

You are like music. A symphony of summer days and peach skies with soft rain. You are a storm in the moonlight. I'm not lonely when I have you pouring around me. You make me feel alive again.

Namjoon is silent for a long time, and you wonder if you've gone too far. It's more poetic than you'd like, too frilly and fancy and emotional than you usually are, but they're the only words you have.

After too long, he exhales. It's heavy and deep and it feels like he's trying to expel more than just air from his body.

"You make me feel alive, too," is all he says, whispered into the softness of his blanket in a voice too small for his long limbs. He shivers, and you hear him choke down a cough, and then he disappears into the bathroom for a long time. When he comes back out, he doesn't say anything, just slides into the mass of blankets on his bed and lays his arm out across the mattress. You spread out across from him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks through you and out the window where the rain is letting up.

"Looks like the rainy season is gonna last longer than everyone thought." You slide your hands around one of his large ones and just hold them like that. His eyes sink closed and something like relief stands on his face for a moment before it's gone, swept away by the peace of sleep.

You wonder what it is that he sees when he looks out the window. If it's the plain brick wall and windows of the building next door, or something more.

You aren't sure you want to know.

Namjoon's flu only seems to get worse. He leaves early in the mornings, as if he thinks you might not notice the way he coughs into his scarf just because the sun hasn't risen fully yet. He stays gone most of the days, and even when he apologizes quietly during the twilight when he slinks back in to the sound of the kettle screeching on the stove and his tea already waiting to be steeped, he still doesn't stop.

You've taken to playing blues while he's gone, mostly the old school stuff, digging out the vintage record player he has buried in the closet and setting it up on the coffee table. It’s the only technology you can use without shorting it out. You don’t know why, but it makes you grateful the record collection Namjoon keeps tucked away inside the coffee table that you’ve learned is in fact an actual steamer trunk that he salvaged and restored himself.

The music fills the apartment, distracts you from the oppressive weight of his absence. He knows you wait at the window for him, you told him that back when the two of you were first getting to know each other.

You're so fragile, you had told him. He had laughed at you, quiet and fond, and waited for you to explain further. You're so full of life and breath and possibility, and the world is so big and so dangerous. I'm scared you won't come back.

"Of course I'm going to come back," he told you. You didn't even need to tell him that you're afraid of what being alone might do to you, now that you're so used to his presence. You're being heard again, sometimes even seen, and you don't know if you can go back to the stagnant depression of solitude. "I'll always come back to you."

That was the first time you thought you might love Namjoon. The feeling has only gotten stronger, and now that you wait at the window with your eyes focused on that tiny section of sidewalk you can see at the end of the alley, it threatens to consume you whole.

You wait at the window for hours. You know because you glance at the clock every minute and a half, mocking you with every tick as it hangs limply on the bathroom door. The sun sinks below the horizon, the moon rises to take its place, and they switch again while you wait. The dawn paints the sky in beautiful shades of pink and red and orange and the faintest purple, but you can't appreciate any of it, because you're too anxious.

He could be hurt. He could be gone, and you wouldn't ever know until his friends came to pack his things. He could have left, too; maybe he finally decided that living with a ghost was just too much for him and just ran. Maybe he figured out that you love him, that you would move heaven and earth if it meant he was safe forever if only you could leave this apartment, and it was too much for him.

What if he knows about how you lay beside him every night? How you tuck the blankets tighter around him, cover him in warmth and comfort before settling on top of them and closing your eyes and pretending that you can feel his arm draped over your waist and his breath on the back of your neck. What if he felt you, that night you wandered into the bathroom while he was showering to write on the steam-covered mirror that he needs to buy more eggs soon and got distracted by the way he looked stepping out of the shower? What if he knows your stomach flipped at the long limbs and the hidden muscles and the sheer size of him? What if he knows the real reason you were quiet that night, the way you kept replaying the moment in your mind and wishing you had a body so you could have just touched him, at least.

It's closer to noon than midnight when his whistle echoes up through the window.

"Hey, I'm home," He calls as he enters the empty apartment. You're upset, but you're more filled with relief than anything because at least he's safe and he's here now. He makes a beeline for where the kettle is just starting to whistle, already reaching for the honey and the tea you set out on the counter for him, and you do your best to calm the storm of emotions inside you.

Did you have fun, wherever you were? You ask him, floating the whiteboard in front of his face so he has to acknowledge it.

"Yeah, I did," he responds as he stirs his tea. "Jin invited everyone over for some end of summer thing. I didn't feel too great at the end of it, so I just spent the night there."

Don't party too hard, you might remember how to have fun, you joke. It falls a little flat based on the grim smile Namjoon gives you. Are they gonna come over here again anytime soon? I've missed scaring Hoseok.

He lets out a real laugh at that. "I don't know, maybe. My birthday's coming up, after Jeongguk's, so they could definitely be planning something. I'm heading over to Yoongi's later to help plan for Guk's party. I might stay there tonight, so try not to worry, Casper."

I'll try, you tell him. You both know you'll stand at the window every second he's gone, but you don't want to tell him why. You don't want to tell him that you love him through a dry erase board, or some fancy poetry magnets. It doesn't matter that you may as well have already said so by telling him that he makes you feel alive again; you haven't said the words to him, he hasn't seen 'I love you' in the messy scrawl that is your handwriting on some stupid board, and therefore he doesn't know.

You don't know if you want him to.

He stays gone that night, as he said he might, and reappears the next day to shower and change before he vanishes again. The next time he shows up, he takes a bag with him when he leaves, which only worsens your fears. He stays gone for three days this time, doesn't apologize when he turns up again and just mumbles a soft hello into the air before he makes tea and sags into his couch. He's asleep in seconds, and as much as you want to scream at him, you can't bring yourself to disrupt how peaceful he looks.

When he wakes, he takes a shower and ignores the ' can we talk ' you scrawled in the steam. He packs a bag of fresh clothes and doesn't say goodbye when he leaves, just disappears and leaves you standing at the window with the pail in your hand, caring for the plants he isn't. The slam of the door sounds like nails in a coffin and breaks what little was left of your soul.

He shows back up nearly a week later, and the relief at seeing him again is overridden by the sheer anger at being left in the first place. You don't start the kettle when you hear his whistle, the quiet and hoarse tune of a familiar song barely reaching the window, but there's plenty of noise when he enters.

The cabinet doors are quaking with your fury, the lights flicker and threaten to burst, and Namjoon just leans back against the door. He’s soaked from the storm thundering outside, even his jacket plastered to his skin, and he’s shivering slightly, but you can’t see anything past the rage.

"Where the fuck were you?" You demand; there's no point, it's not like he can hear you, but the way he sighs makes you feel like he can, so you continue anyway. "It's been almost a week, you didn't even think to stop by for ten seconds so I know you're okay? I thought you were dead somewhere, you could've been, like, shot, or something, I don't know, just bleeding out in some ditch, and I wouldn't know! And what about all the plants? I know how to take care of them, sure, but do you know how hard it is for me to do it?"

Namjoon sighs again, the breath catching in his throat and coming out in a cough, but you don't pay much attention to it.

"Why would you act like this, Namjoon? What did I do, is it because of the things I said? Do you not want me to feel like this about you? Because this a damn good way of making sure I don't, I assure you, so by all means, just keep disappearing and leave me alone with the plants you decided to rescue and save!"

His cough gets worse and he just shakes his head, covering his mouth and making his way towards the bathroom.

"If you want me to hate you, it's too fucking late, Joon!" The slam of the bathroom door punctuates your sentence, and you quiet at the sound of continued coughing. You knew his flu was getting worse, but it's never sounded like that. Even when you were alive, you knew that the wet sound that's muffled by the bathroom door isn't what a cough should sound like. The lock of the door clicks, and it shocks you into movement because he's never - never - locked you out of anywhere. He knows it wouldn't stop you, knows it as well as you know that you'd respect that boundary if he set it, and yet here he is, locking you out even as he coughs up what sounds like a lung in the other room.

You hesitate at the door, torn between respecting his boundaries and knowing what’s happening. You want him to trust you, always, and yet you find your hand disappearing through the door before you can stop it. You stand like that for a long moment, just listening to the sounds of his wracking coughs; the sound of a crash echoes through the apartment, though, and you’re through the door completely in the span of a heartbeat. 

Nearly everything that had been on the counter is scattered on the ground, Namjoon himself gripping the sides of the toilet as if he would fall apart otherwise. A single glance tells you that the crash happened as he turned from the sink to the toilet, and if his jolting shoulders didn’t tell you why, the sounds of his retching would. That isn’t what fills you with dread though; the disorientation, the vomiting, all of it comes with being sick sometimes, but the red staining the bathroom sink? 

That’s not normal, and you know with every part of you that it’s the reason he’s been gone so much. 

The temperature in the apartment drops with the sun, but your arms surround Namjoon as best they can. Goosebumps break out on his arms, shivers run down his back, but you don’t move away from him; he doesn’t say anything, just sits there with his forehead pressed against the cool of the porcelain. He stands eventually, ignores the way he passes completely through your body to rinse the sink and brush his teeth. 

You let him stay quiet until you’re both on his bed; you’re pressed up against his side and running your hands along his forearms, idly wondering if you would be able to feel his heartbeat if you were alive. 

“It’s not...it’s not gonna get better,” He says eventually. “There’s not a cure, just some things to draw it out and give me a little bit longer even if they come with more pain. I go once a week to see if it’s gotten worse, check how much longer I have. It’s why Hobi let me move in here rent-free. He pays the bills, says it’s the least he can do. I wanted to be closer to him anyway, so that’s a bonus, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry, Joon,” you whisper. Your board lies forgotten, somewhere on the couch maybe, you aren’t sure and can’t be bothered to pull yourself away from him long enough to find it. You don’t need it right now, though; he knows what you mean by the way the cold presses against his bicep with your palm. 

“I didn’t want you to know.” You’re not exactly surprised at that; you’d figured as much. You just don’t understand his reasoning. “I didn’t want you worrying about me, or anything like that, like the guys do. They always look at me and it’s all they can see. Like they’re already mourning me, even though I’m still here. I didn’t want to feel like that with you.” 

“I know,” you say. You don’t, not really. Your own death was sudden, a shock to everyone you knew; you didn’t get the luxury of saying goodbye, didn’t have the burden of knowing you would be gone soon. 

The two of you sit in silence for a while, until you can feel Namjoon’s chest quivering under your palm. When you look up, he looks at you, really and truly at you , and he has tears in his eyes. 

“I don’t want to die, Casper,” He whispers. You suck in a breath because he can see you, and you don’t even know why, but you don’t want to lose this moment. “I don’t want to leave all of this behind. I don’t want to leave you.” 

“It’ll be okay,” you say softly. His brow furrows and a tear slides down his cheek. “I promise you it will be okay, Namjoon. It gets easier, and people remember but they aren’t stuck forever. And I…” You falter, and it takes his eyes meeting yours to make you realize he can hear you. And there’s only one thing you’ve ever needed him to hear. 

“I love you,” You tell him. “I love you, and I will never forget you.” 

He surges forward, lips meeting yours in a rush of air. You moan at the feeling of him against you, realizing that for the first time since you died, you can feel something under your fingers. His skin is warm against your fingers, his lips soft against your own, and when he reaches up to cup your jaw with his hand, he doesn’t pass through your form. Instead his hand settles heavy against you, and he moves your head to lick into your mouth. 

Tears that won’t fall prickle at the back of your eyes and you climb into his lap before he can stop you. He’s still crying so you wipe away the tears before they can fall, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, his dimples, his nose, every bit you can reach. A question sits at the back of your mind, and you can see it lingering in his eyes, but neither of you asks it.

“You’re so cold.” His whisper is nearly lost amidst the thunder that shakes the apartment, but it makes you smile a little. 

“Warm me up?” 

His chest is still quivering with unspoken sobs, but he nods. “Always,” he tells you. “I’m always going to be here.” It doesn’t take long to pry him out of his clothes, takes even less time for him to sink into you. It feels just like it did when you were alive, only magnified; you can feel him hot and warm inside you, can feel the beat of his heart in the firm muscle under your hands. His moans are quiet and hoarse but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He keeps one hand on your waist and the other on your neck, holding you close enough that he can kiss whenever he wants. “You’re beautiful,” He whispers. “The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” You just press another kiss to his chapped lips and let him dig his fingers in hard enough that it would bruise if it could. When he’s close to his peak, he stops thrusting, just sits inside you as he grinds your hips down to his, and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I love you,” He tells you, lightning casting his shadow across the wall for a brief moment. “I love you, I do, I wish-”

“I know,” you tell him before he can continue. “I know, Namjoon, I know, and I do, too. I love you, too.” He comes a few seconds later, the warm seed soaking into his sheets because it has nowhere to go. His warmth disappears from under your hands and his arms fall to his lap when the only thing holding them up is gone. All you can hear is your quiet sobs mixed with his and the rain against the window, and for the first time since you came back, you really, truly, wish you had died. There’s no point in being a ghost when you can still feel your heart breaking in your chest. 

“Casper, are you ever scared?” 

It’s the middle of the afternoon. Namjoon is sprawled across the couch wrapped in blankets while Lucifer plays in the background and you doodle aimlessly on your board. You don’t need it as often now; you’ve gotten better at focusing your energy into being heard, though being corporeal still eludes you. You don’t know how you did it that night, but you’re grateful for it. 

“Of what?” You ask, looking towards him. He’s not looking at you or watching the show, just staring at the ceiling. He focuses at your words, lifts himself up into a sitting position. A shiver runs through him when his legs move through you, and you settle a weightless hand against his knee out of habit. 

“I don’t know,” He replies. “Just...whatever comes next. If there’s something that comes next. Being forgotten. Being stuck here forever.” 

You aren’t stupid; you know why he’s asking. The question lingers in the air, colors all of your conversations now, but the truth is that neither of you has the strength to ask it and neither of you knows the answer. 

“Sometimes,” You tell him. “Sometimes I wonder what Jihyo is doing, if she ever had a baby like she wanted to. I wonder if my parents are still alive, and what they say if they visit my grave, what they tell me now that I can’t respond to them.” 

Namjoon nods like he’s already thought of that, and he probably has. 

“Most of the time I try not to focus on it, though. It’s not helpful, it only upsets me, and I don’t…” You trail off, unsure of how to word your thoughts. “I don’t know what might happen if I only focus on the negative. I don’t know anything about what’s true about ghosts and what isn’t beyond that I exist now, and I can’t risk becoming something bad. So I try not to focus on it. It’s easier when you’re here.”

He grins and blows a kiss in your general direction, and you pretend not to notice the blood on his cracked lips. He’s quiet for the rest of the episode of half of another. 

“Have you ever seen a light?” 

“What?” He doesn’t seem to hear you, and you repeat your question on your board for him. 

“A light,” He echoes. “Like, the light.Y’know, the light at the end of the tunnel, ‘don’t go into the light,’ that thing.” 

You hesitate at that. You knew what he meant, what he actually wants to know here. He’s easier to read now than he was in the beginning. 

You watch him as he watches the space where you sit, curled up beside him on his couch. He can’t see you, of course, but he can see where the board rests in your hands. His gaze is heavier than it was when he first moved in; his cheeks are hollower, skin more gaunt with a grey tint that’s only made worse by the constant rain. The sun is just starting to break through the clouds, a brief reprieve after weeks of the dreary stone-colored clouds. It casts shadows along the walls, reflects off something in the window across the alley, and backlights Namjoon beautifully, casts a halo of light around the brittle brown hair you love. 

Once, you tell him. Just once.

“Why didn’t you go to it?” 

There are so many things you could tell him, so many different ways to answer such a simple question, but you find yourself lingering on the one thing you know is the ultimate truth. 

Because I love you.

September comes with even more rain and a bittersweet atmosphere. Jeongguk spends his birthday at Namjoon’s apartment and then comes back a little over a week later, surrounded by the other guys and carrying enough food to last a few months. You stay curled on the bed, one of the only safe places for you to not mess with anyone or anything. Your board is tucked into the blankets, ready to be used but hidden from view just in case. You watch as Namjoon sits on the couch, tucked between Taehyung and Yoongi with both of them leaning into him as much as possible, Yoongi’s hands wrapped in one of his and Tae’s head on his shoulder. 

The other’s aren’t far, leaning against the back of the couch and on beanbags they’d brought with them, all laughing as Hoseok does his best to act out whatever he’d been given in charades. He’s not bad at it - you’ve guessed the last few he’s done - but he is utterly ridiculous in his mannerisms. You know why; it’s the same reason everyone kept smiling when Namjoon refused all of the food he was offered, why Seokjin would crack a terrible joke whenever it got too quiet for too long, why everyone is resolutely ignoring the growing pile of tissues on the table. 

It keeps a smile on Namjoon’s face, though, and a laugh in his eyes, and you can’t ever be anything but grateful for that. 

Hoseok stumbles, nearly falling and whirling his arms to catch himself before eventually falling anyway. You laugh along with the others, grinning at the way Hobi pouts and rubs at his hip. You’re focused on the way Joon laughs, the way it lights up his face and brightens the entire room, which is why you see it first. 

The tickle at the back of his throat quickly becomes a cough, wet and wheezing and enough to make him throw the blankets from his lap and stumble to the bathroom. 

You’re there before he is, helping him slide the door closed and locking it behind him as he bends over the toilet again. The six of them are quiet in the main room, speaking in hushed whispers that neither you nor Namjoon wants to hear. You turn the knob on the sink, wetting a towel while you drown out the sound of voices, and letting a hand run over Namjoon’s back. 

“I’m okay,” he mutters. You ignore the way his voice shakes, the way his lips are redder than before, the way this happens more often than before. Instead, you just press the damp rag to his neck and watch his eyes close in relief. When he stands and flushes the evidence away, you already have his toothbrush ready and waiting, and you stay as close to him as you can until he takes a deep breath. 

“I’m okay,” He repeats. “I’m okay. It’s my birthday, and I’m okay.” 

He goes back out with a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice, teasing Hoseok about the way he fell and reenacting it, even. When he settles on the couch, he urges the others to continue the game. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before Jimin declares that he’s next and pulls something from the bowl on the table. 

You know you aren’t the only one that notices the way Namjoon’s eyes linger on the six men around him, but you are the only one that notices the way they also linger on his steamer trunk, the shelf with his books, the TV, the record player, the scrapbook of his life that they all worked on and Taehyung pieced together over the months, the plants on the wall that he had cared for. He looks around his apartment as if he’s looking at it for the last time. 

As if he’s already planning who’s going to get what. 

He finally asks the question you both have been thinking about, nearly two months later. His breathing comes in ragged pants, his lips stay chapped, and he keeps several blankets around him at all times to try to hide the shaking of his body. Your soft sobs echo through the apartment constantly; while you reheat the tea he doesn’t drink for the millionth time, while you quietly water and prune the plants he’s saved from death the way you wish you could save him, while you sit curled around him as he sleeps, soothing his coughs with quiet whispers. 

Night has just begun to fall, the rain of the day turning into a soft drizzle, and you stare at him blankly, unsure how to process what you’ve just heard. 

“Do you think I’ll come back?” He asks again, slightly louder. As if you hadn’t heard his shaky voice the first time. It’s not the question that floors you. You’ve been expecting this for weeks, months even. You’ve wondered it yourself as you prepare tea and ignore the sounds of him vomiting blood in the bathroom, as he disappears to the hospital and returns with a worse prognosis than before, as you’ve adjusted to the idea that you are dead and he is dying and you cannot do anything to help him. 

You never would have expected the hope that his words carry though. 

“Why does it sound like you want to?” You ask. Your voice is clear in the air and you’re glad for it, because this isn’t something you want to talk about through your board. 

“Because I do?” His response is delayed and sounds more like a question than a real answer. 

“Why?!” You demand. 

“Are you serious, Casper?” His brow is furrowed as he sits up and lets the blankets fall away to sit haphazardly off the couch. 

“Are you? Joon, why would you want to come back?”

“You’re seriously asking me that question? Why would I not? I’ve got so much I still want to do, I never thought I’d get the chance to after I got the diagnosis and now I might be able to. Why wouldn’t I want that?”

“Because it doesn’t work like that! You don’t get to just wander the world and fuck around, Joon, you’re dead.”

“Yeah, but you can still read and write and everything. I’d have all the time in the world to read the books I want to read, watch the shows I want to watch, write the music and stories and lyrics that I want to write.”

“Yeah, so long as it all stays in this apartment!” The light in the room flickers slightly with the force of your irritation. “You can’t do anything that isn’t in this room, Namjoon, you can’t use any of the electronics, you can’t read a book unless it’s here, you can’t write music unless it’s on actual paper, you can’t do anything.” 

“Yeah, and I could make that work. Why are you so upset about this? I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy? You think I’d be happy that you’d be stuck in these four walls forever, too? Why would that make me happy?” Namjoon stands, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. 

“Because I’d be with you! We’d be together, forever! Do you not want to be with me?”

“Of course I want to be with you, Joon, but not at the cost of you being stuck here. I don’t want that for anyone, certainly not the man I love.”

“And what if that’s what I want? What if I want to spend the rest of time with you? I’m already spending the rest of my life with you, I’m in love with you, I don’t want to leave you.”

“And I don’t want you to go, but Joon, why would I want you stuck here, too? This isn’t something fun. This isn’t anything that I enjoy.”

“Oh, so you regret it all then?”

“I didn’t say that, I just don’t want you to be stuck in a shitty studio apartment for who knows how long when you can’t fucking do half of the things you love! You wouldn’t go on walks, Namjoon, you wouldn’t go with Guk and Jimin to the movies, you wouldn’t get visits from Hobi, you wouldn’t get to shop with Taehyung or Jin, you wouldn’t get to drag Yoongi away from his thesis or celebrate with them when he finishes it! It’s not like being alive, Namjoon, you’d be dead and alone and in hell!”

“Whatever,” He mutters, shoving his arms into his coat. “Why can’t you understand for one fucking second that it wouldn’t be like that with you? I’d rather be stuck here forever than have to die in some shitty apartment and not even be able to touch the person I love.”

“Why can’t you understand that it’s still death? You’d be dead, Joon, your friends would go to your funeral and disappear from your life, and you’d be stuck staring out that window at that shitty alley for the rest of time. You don’t get it, you don’t how terrible it is to be stuck here and watch life pass you by.”

“Then why the fuck are you still here?” He asks. The door slams behind him before you can answer him, and your scream shakes everything in the room. You just barely catch one of the plants in the kitchen, a brown-potted one with ‘Shooky’ scrawled in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting, before it crashes to the ground. You return it to its place gently and huff another frustrated groan. 

You wish you could explain it better, but you know he wouldn’t get it even if you could. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be trapped between four walls and unable to do anything without massive amounts of effort. And he won’t, not unless he experiences it himself. 

You’ve already watched him wither away. You’ve watched him become thin and sallow and a shadow of the Namjoon who first moved in, and you don’t know what you would do if he came back. You wouldn’t be alone anymore, of course, and you’d have him here with you, but at what cost? Namjoon was built for cherry blossoms and sunshine and the riverside. He would hate being trapped here even more than you do.

Still, you could have been more understanding of his view. You can admit that even being stuck in a shitty apartment wasn’t so terrible when you had Namjoon there to make you laugh or watch TV or read to you. It may even get better if he turned into a ghost; maybe you could hold his hands in yours, could feel him wrap his arms around you, could press kisses to his skin again. 

You move to the window and stand there waiting. It’s not good for him to be out, even if the rain had stopped a few days ago and the forecasters promised it was the end of the downpours. He was still weak, you’d be surprised he even went anywhere to begin with but you know he likes to walk to calm himself down. 

You worry for what feels like hours. You can’t focus on anything, not the way the sun starts to set, not the sound of cars passing or the neighbor leaving. You’ve worked yourself into knots by the time you hear his whistle echo up through the streets, nearly lost in the sound of some argument in the alley below you. You catch a brief view of his coat and smile when you see that he’s got some half-dead plant tucked under an arm. There’s the briefest glimpse of what looks like a Ca scrawled onto it, and your heart jumps in your throat.

You make your way to the stove, turning the heat up slightly too high so that it’ll be ready when he comes in. The arguing outside gets louder but you pay it no mind, pulling the honey out and setting it next to his favorite mug. You’re reaching for the tea when you hear something else. It definitely sounds like Namjoon’s voice, but it’s not in the hall or at the door like usual. It’s raised, like he’s yelling at someone, like it was just a while ago when he was fighting with you. A crash startles you and before you can even reach the window to see what’s going on, there’s a deafening bang. 

You slam your fist against the window, watch the red mix with dirt, and the kettle isn't that only thing that screams. 

“I think that’s the last of it,” Jeongguk says. His voice is scratchy and quiet, but it’s deafening in the silence of the apartment. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok replies. His eyes are rimmed with red and his hands shake as he slides the last mug into a box. “Thanks for the help, Guk. I don’t, um.” He sniffles. “I don’t think I could’ve done it myself, y’know?” 

“I know,” Jeongguk agrees. They’re quiet again, adjusting the things they’ve boxed and avoiding finishing what they’re doing. 

“Oh, can you get that?” You don’t have to look to know what Hoseok is talking about. Jeongguk grunts an affirmation and makes his way over. It’s a strange feeling, having someone pass through you again for the first time since. His hands fly into the air as he tries to lift, clearly not having expected it to weigh anything. 

His reflection in the window frowns, and he tries again, tugging on the pot. 

“I can’t get it,” He says. “Do you think he glued these things down or something?” 

“No,” Hoseok replies as he wanders over as well. “He used to pick them up to re-pot them, remember? And the others came up with no problem.” 

“Well it’s stuck or something, you try.”

Hobi takes Jeongguk’s place and pulls hard at the plot, but your grip doesn’t waver. He huffs and disappears. When he returns, he’s got a butter knife in one hand that he does his best to slip under the pot. He tries hard to pry it up, so hard that you almost want to give in. You don’t though. 

The knife clatters to the floor with as much force as Hoseok can put behind it, a curse following quickly behind it. 

“Fuck it,” Hoseok says. His voice is shaky and you know he’s near tears again. “Just fuck it.” 

“But that was-”

“You can try if you want, Guk, but I just-” He chokes back a sob, shaking his head and moving to pick up the boxes he’d set down. “I just can’t, okay?” He disappears out the door in a hurry, and you wish you could follow after him. 

Jeongguk looks down at the small plant, with its painted periwinkle pot and soft leaves. He runs a quivering finger over the leaf and sniffles. He doesn’t try to lift it again, just stands and lets his tear soak into the soil.

“I wish you could come back to us,” He whispers. “We thought...we expected more time. It’s not...it’s not really fair, y’know? So if you can hear me, if you can come back to us, please do. Please.” 

He turns and leaves, the apartment door slamming behind him like the lid of a casket. Your grip on Mang loosens now that you know no one’s going to try to take it. You’d watched them pack everything else up; you’d let them take the steamer trunk full of records, the shelf full of books and movies, the collection of mugs, the soft blankets, the ratty couch, the rest of the plants he’d cared for so tenderly. 

Piece by piece they had packed Namjoon up and walked him out of the apartment, but this was the one piece they couldn’t have. This was his favorite and none of them knew how to care for it like you did, and you had to. You owed it to him. He deserved to come back to at least one familiar thing, never mind that you woke up not even a day later and it’s now been weeks. If there was one thing you wanted him to see when he got back, it was his favorite of his plants. 

The sun glares into your eyes from where it shines down on the city. It reflects off something in the window from across the alley, would be blinding if you actually had eyes. You pay it no mind, focused instead on the remains of the broken brown pot down in the alley, the way you’ve pieced them together in your head a thousand times just to trace the word Casper with your eyes. You can almost hear his voice saying it, even now.

You whip around, eyes darting through the empty space of the apartment as your hands tighten around Mang.

All that rests there is empty space, mocking in its loneliness. You remember when he moved in, remember how it felt to test the boundaries of the apartment and wish you were free. The want is still there, to leave and never think of it again, never think of him. You know better, though. You could never escape the memory of him, the way he laughed and smiled and spoke. You could never abandon Mang. Not when he said he’d always come back to you. 

You turn back to the window, cursing the sunlight with every other breath. It fades, slowly, into the black of night, before returning again, and again, and again. Days pass, each one feeling like years. Hoseok doesn’t appear to show the apartment, no one comes to collect the small periwinkle pot between your palms, and the ghost of his laugh echoes around you. 

The sun blinds you again. You don’t even know how long it’s been, just that you’ve yet to move. Light glints off whatever hangs in the window across the alley. That's when you see it, a vague reflection in the weathered glass of a dimple and a grin, and warmth surrounds you.

“I told you I’d always come back, Casper.”

[hatsukeii]

I've been thinking about slytherin! Tsukishima dating a slytherin! S/o who joined the death eater because their parent force 'em. And they were so depressed and always crying every night, then tsukishima noticed and then comfort 'em. They ended up ran away with tsuki and joined the battle of hogwarts to fight against voldemort. Oh my god i love this>-

Okay I love this PLUS I’m a Slytherin (according to Pottermore) BUT I have a confession

I never finished the Harry Potter series bc I couldn’t be bothered w Order Of The Phoenix THERE I SAID IT SUE ME UNFOLLOW ME IM A DISGRACE

I DID watch almost all the movies though

But don’t attack me if this one isn’t like 100% canonically accurate though please I cannot

Btw I’m not gonna do the fight YET I might make a part two idk lolol it’s a bit too much for one fic and I need to go read a summary of the fight-

Run away with me// Slytherin!Tsukishima Kei x Slytherin!Reader

Word Count: 1800+

Warnings: None

Summary: Controlling parents are never good, especially when they force you to side with evil.

“They forced you to do what?” Tsukishima was beyond furious. Fuming. He was absolutely ready to murder your parents if you didn’t do it first.

“Kei, stay quiet! They’re gonna kill us both if they hear you!”

“Do I look like I give a flying fuck right now?”

You looked at the floor, the guilt slowly consuming you as you avoided his piercing glare. How could you face him, when you broke such a huge promise you made to one of the most emotionally unstable people you know? Fiddling with your fingers, you racked your brain, hoping to find a sensible explanation for what you did. “I didn’t have a choice! You really think I would give up on everything? Give up on you, my friends, my education, my hopes and dreams, just to fight alongside Voldemort? You seriously think I would be heartless enough, to kill innocent wizards?” If anyone was around and heard your words, you would’ve been sent to Dumbledore instantly, maybe even gotten executed for treason. Just the slightest mention of He Who Shall Not Be Named, or the death eaters, was enough to trigger almost all the staff and students, especially with the situation going on in the wizarding world currently. With Voldemort back from the dead and on the loose, Hogwarts has one upped their security, the atmosphere tenser than ever.

Hearing the click of a door, Tsukishima clamped his large hand over your mouth, the other gripping your waist as he pulled you into the tall grass, putting a finger over his lips. From the hut, stumbled out a wobbly, possibly drunk Hagrid, a huge ass axe in hand. “WHAT’S THAT EVIL SHIT YER TALKIN’ BOUT HUH? COME ON OUT MUGGERS! I’LL GIVE YER A PIECE O’ THIS!” The man swung the axe from side to side, as if he was expecting it to hit someone. Not seeing blood on the blade, the shaggy haired wizard mumbled a few curses, swinging the wooden door open as he stumbled back in, tripping on his own two feet as he dropped the axe far away, the blade sinking itself into the wooden material of his little hut. Scrambling back to his feet, he grabbed the doorknob angrily, slamming the door shut with a heavy thud and a gust of wind.

The blond poked his head out slightly, looking around to check for people that might be lurking in the darkness. Sighing in relief, he sat himself back down on the ground, crossing his arms. Sweating, you bit on your nails nervously, anticipating his next words.

“Why was I in the dark about this?”

“Because you would leave me.”

His brows knitted together in confusion and pain.

“I won’t. I’m just mad.”

“You would if you knew more about me.”

Tsukishima may be a Slytherin, but that didn’t mean he wanted it. You saw the incredibly disheartened look on his face when the sorting hat blurted out the house. He refused to talk to anyone for days. He got in trouble countless of times for talking back to Snape. Everyone, even you, hated him. He was disrespectful, irritating, provoking, and inconsiderate to everyone that crossed paths with him. It wasn’t until months later, did you realise the reasoning behind his rotten attitude for his house. A fight broke out between Hinata and Tsukishima, with Hinata screaming about how the latter had no right to be disrespectful to his seniors. That was the exact moment, when the entire school was graced with his story. Later that night, you approached him, apologetic for your attitude towards him and hoping to understand more. Turns out both his parents were killed by death eaters. He was eight, and watched as his parents burned to ashes in front of him, the two murderers laughing to the screams and cries of agony. He was quick to run to safety, the two wizards too occupied with killing his parents to pay any attention to him. Since then, he’s never had a proper home, running errands for whoever would pay him even just the minimal amount of money. His dream was to get into Hogwarts, and kill the ones that eliminated his parents from the world, but his one condition was to never get into Slytherin. He was not going to associate himself with those disdainful, cold blooded murderers known as the death eaters. It wasn’t a surprise he would be furious about this.

You were now a shaking mess, not even noticing the tears that were streaming down your skin. The moon reflected off Tsukishima’s glasses, a look of fury and sorrow buried in his dull irises. The two of you sat in silence, not knowing what to say to the other. You cursed yourself. Why did fate have to do this? Why did fate have to send your soul to a pair of death eaters? The two death eaters that bragged to eight year old you about the victims they tortured, and eventually murdered, masking the truth and portraying it as if it was something to be proud of? Why did you have to fall for their victim’s son? Why were they so goddamn desperate to turn you into one of them? You’ve known all three of the Unforgivable Curses since you were merely a preteen. You constantly feared for your life in Hogwarts. You knew how powerful your parents were. If you disobeyed them, they could’ve had all your friends, everyone you’ve ever cared for, dead in a heartbeat. As a result of that, you never revealed anything about your family, not wanting to give anything away. However, that didn’t work with Tsukishima. Infatuation is a dangerous feat. Before you knew it, the two of you were meeting in Hagrid’s field every night, getting to know each other better. Your parents being death eaters accidentally slipped out one night, and for the next week, Tsukishima refused to talk to you at all. He avoided you everywhere, sat as far away from you as possible at dinner, left you waiting for hours in the field. And yet despite his cold attitude towards you, not once did you leave him alone. Maybe that was what he really admired about you.

A sob erupted from your throat, breaking the silence of the dark, cloudless night. You were done. You were done with this. You were done with hiding your problems from him. You were done with hiding your past, your parents, your feelings, everything. The suffocating guilt, the strained throb of your heart, you were sorry. You were sorry for not telling him anything earlier on. You hated yourself for being born to two cold blooded murderers. You hated yourself for acting weak in front of him right now, but the chord just snapped. The thin, thin chord that held your emotions just gave out, and you burst into tears. Hot, salty, flowing tears. You fell forward as your hands held you up, head bowed down and shaking. Your tears wouldn’t stop, flinging themselves onto the floor as Tsukishima just stared.

“WHY? WHY DID I HAVE TO BE BORN LIKE THIS? I CAN’T DO THIS! I DON’T WANT TO! I HATE THEM! MURDERERS! FUCKING KILLERS! I CAN’T BELIEVE THEM, SERIOUSLY! OH, AND WHY, OF ALL PEOPLE, DID I HAVE TO FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU? WHY YOU? YOU SHOULD HATE ME! THAT’S HOW IT SHOULD BE!”

Salty droplets clumped up in your eyelashes, rolled to the corners of your lips, into your mouth, you could taste the warm liquid on your tongue. The blond was frozen. Never had he ever seen you like this, crying and wailing as you put yourself down for something that was out of your control. He was confused, because one thing lingered in his mind.

“I should hate you? What are you talking about?”

Chuckling hopelessly, you sniffled, enjoying the last few seconds of his obliviousness.

“Oh yeah, I never told you. My parents killed yours and bragged about it at home afterwards. I was eight.”

Something in Tsukishima’s heart dropped as his mouth staggered open. “Your parents were the killers?” You continued to laugh manically, screams emitting from your throat despite feeling empty inside. “Yeah, so hate me. Leave me. Don’t make yourself suffer any more.” Tears glistened in his eyes as his words got caught in his throat. Her parents were the murderers. Let her go. She’s becoming one of them as well. “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” Gripping his head, Tsukishima screamed, trying to block out the deafening voice in his head that urged him to just get up and walk away, break all ties with you, throw everything into the abyss, never to be seen again. The thoughts were dizzying as he fell to the ground, curled up. “I’m...sorry. I’m so, so... sorry.” His cries of agony never stopped. Desperate to comfort him, you slowly got up to your knees, leaning forward and grabbing his shoulders as you forced him to look at you. Your eyes were desperate, shaking and watery. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I don’t want to become one of them. I don’t care if you hate me, or leave me, or kill me. You have all the right reasons to. Just please... help me.” What you expected, was for him to fling you away. What he did, was lunge forward, arms wrapping around your neck as his head landed on the side of it, tears making your skin wet as he continued to cry.

“Kei, I’m so sorry.”

No reply.

“It’s okay, I’ll love you even if you don’t feel the same way anymore.”

“No.”

His mumble sent vibrations down your neck, waking your entire body up. Strained breaths made their way into the cold night air. Wrapping your arms around him, silent tears continued to roll down your cheeks as you held him tighter, refusing to let go.

“Run away with me. I’m done with all this. I’m not gonna leave you, ever. I love you. I don’t care if your parents killed mine, or if you’re being forced to join the death eater. Come with me. We can run away to who knows where. No one will find us, maybe finally we’ll be free. We can get fake identities, hide in the city, I don’t care. I’ll keep my owl here, when the school finally fights the death eaters, he’ll tell us, then we’ll come back. I’m sick of constantly waiting for evil to knock on our door. Let’s just go and live how we want. Run away with me, (Y/N).”

An arm extended towards you, willing for you to take it.

“You’re absolutely insane Kei, I’ll come with you.”

Grabbing his hand, you hoisted yourself up, giving him another tight hug.

“You wanna go now?”

“Yeah, let’s just go.”

And the two of you run.

You run, and run.

Away from the school.

Away from your friends.

Away from your belongings.

And you don’t stop.

Tags:

@sunshines-and-tatertots @justachillgirl @trashcanweeb @izzyphantomgamer @mariechan123 @macaronnv @itmekisuu @kaylacinderella @random-fandomlover @inlwlevi @bokutokoutarou @for-ests @emsvegetables @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @just-another-bored-writer @agentvicinity @sakusasgarbage @thirstyvolleyballhoe @tiredgr3mlin @animebsposts @artsamber @sneezefiction @xonfusedsoul @iwaigroomi @poppirocks @burnt-tomato @ewfilthymundane @skyeackermans

It’s probs just because I wrote it but I think you can see how I was slowly dying or maybe you can’t.

Apologies for the inaccuracy AHSHJDGAYGSDhAS-

Have fun reading:)

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird “Pet Peeves”

Don’t forget to comment with what your weirdest pet peeve is, and also a reminder that I am open to prompts if you have them, no need to ask permission :) 

Also a book update. Chapter 2 of the book has been with my beta readers for a few days, so I might be able to post it soon, so look forward to that.

Unlike other species, humans fall on a wide spectrum of temperaments from happy and laid back to angry and aggressive. As would only be logical, humans on either end of the spectrum can be easily annoyed or difficult to annoy, but there is one interesting fact about ALL humans laid back or aggressive; they have a list of small inconsequential things that will make them inordinately angry at the drop of a hat (Of course some of them may not be inconsequential, but I find that they tend to be). They call these pet peeves. You might assume that these would be large things relating to improper social behavior, or something similar, but most of them are just unfathomably unimportant. And, while a human isn’t likely to act out their anger on these, they will probably dislike you forever, or  if it doesn't involve you they will go out of their way to avoid the thing that annoys them.

I asked the humans this question about their pet peeves, and this is the ist that I received.

Commander Vir: Um, well that is a good question, I have a few of curse, who doesn’t. Um I hate it when my nails are cut short, and I have to touch some sort of grainy fabric, like velvet for instance. I mean I absolutely HATE velvet to begin with its like if you skinned Satan and made curtains out of him, and now you are going to make e touch it with the most sensitive part of my body…. *shivers* nope, no thank you. The only place velvet should exist is as red velvet cake. 

 Or, or…. *the human grows more agitated now* how about when people are CONSTANTLY late, and then you talk to them about it and they are all like *human changes to an annoyingly high voice* ‘sorry that's like, just how I am, the world is like, to focused on being late, well I have trouble waking up, and they just don’t understand me’ like BITCH SHUT UP and get to work ON TIME dear lord in heaven! You are WASTING MY TIME and the time of everyone else here by being LATE! *human clears throat awkwardly* um sorry….. I also hate it when people use like too much, I don’t know if you got that one….. I mean it is TOTALLY fine in simili, but when you just throw it in there. 

*he pauses to think* OH! One last thing, people who walk slowly in crowded hallways. You know sometimes I just have the urge to take a running start and shoulder check all those slow walking assholes into the floor and then go over them like a speed bump….. Is that an over reaction? 

Lieutenant Keita: Oh, do I have a list for you. Mouth noises, always mouth noises, I don’t care what it is, if I can hear you chewing, breathing, yawning, or coughing excessively, I just become filled with this…. This OVERWHELMING desire to hurt you. Like just close your DAMN mouth and stop eating like an ABSOLUTE COW! And those people who constantly chew gum, like no one is in greater need of a throat punch especially when you are having one of those bad days and you just hate everyone.

Speaking of especially, it's pronounced ESPECIALLY not EXPECIALLY, Like even grown ass adults have no idea what they are doing, and it just drives me insane just GTFO out of my life and get an education.

Also anyone who feels the need to say ‘basically’ in front of everything they say just needs to basically go and die! 

*humans eyes narrow* but of all the things I hate most of all…. irreguardless , that isn’t a fucking word. We have been doing this shit for 2000 years, and people are still saying this. Regardless means despite something, however if you add an ir in front of it, it's like a double negative which makes it NOT regardless you backwater sludge troll. 

*she takes a deep breath* I don’t know why this makes me so mad.

Corporal Ramirez: How about when my girlfriend says she isn’t hungry, but as soon as I get my meal she INSISTS on stealing my food. I mean seriously, if you wanted food you should have just ORDERED some food, these are my fries, get your own. I will pay for you to have your own, but you may not say that you don’t want any and then immediately take mine…. Unacceptable.

*the human rolls his eyes* Oh and don’t get my STARTED on astrology people. Listen guys it’s 4010 we KNOW that you aren't being a bitch because venus is in retrograde. Or when some backwards ass person stabs you in the back and is all ‘lol ssry its because im a candy-corn or a cheerio or a zebra. Like what the hell does that even mean! 

Or when they complain about things that can easily be fixed, or is totally their fault. Like when they are all cold and complain about it, and somehow, its impolite for YOU to say, well sorry you should have brought a coat, but I’m not giving you mine.

Sgt. Kae: Kids, whistling, people who have a special set of dishes that are for decoration and not for eating.

Systems officer Johnson: People who have mustaches, like seriously dude, people think your a pedo, everyone thinks your a pedo, or an 80s porn star, and not in a good way. Beard is totally fine, beard can even be hot, but the mustache is just creepy as hell. On that same line though, I absolutely hate it when guys with beards won’t shut up about their beards. It's like as soon as they see another guy, its beard wax or beard oil, or how anyone without a beard is just a little girl. Or when you tell them you don’t like beards and they take it as a personal offence to their honor and then tell you you just haven't been with a real man, and you would grow to like it. NO, no I will NOT!

People listening to stuff in pubic without headphones.

Or how about when people who sing take a song that you like and then add a ton of unnecessary runs to show off. Like thanks, you absolute trash bag, you went took my favorite song and ruined it. Like I will always love youuuuuuuoooooooahhhaooooahhaoooooooaaaaaahhhhooooo. It sounds like trash and it doesn't make you talented, so please go away.

Cadet Leu; Having something stuck in my teeth, people who leave the lights on, people who are indecisive, or when you are watching a movie and the dialogue is really quiet but the action scenes vibrate your insides at the same volume. 

I have found that it is completely plausible to develop a pet peeve if you spend long enough with humans. And you want to know what my pet peeve is…… do you really want to know?

Humans 

[fortheloveofpearlet]

I'm not the one who asked about Famelet, but I just remembered how their friendship is beautiful. I'm having some bad time now..Im bipolar and have anxiety and in one of my depression phases, and it is not helping that my best friend has recently cut me off. So, i was thinking about a Famelet drabble(them not being famous)with Jason in a depression phase&suicidal and Kurtis hugging&talking with him, trying to comfort him. Thank you so much, your stories distract me from my dark thoughts x

Thank you darling! Currently not taking requests.I’m sorry this has taken so long lovely. I hope you are feeling better and I’ve said to you before you’re always welcome to message me if you need to talk 😘 This is a friendship fic mostly and contains depictions of self-harm, suicide attempts and some homophobic language. It starts super angsty but there is a happy fluffy ending 😊

Jason was at breaking point. He’d been here before, way too many times to count. If he really wanted to he could figure it out, he’d just need to count his scars. Each one that embedded into his flesh were painful reminders of times in Jason’s life he wished he could forget. He carried his scars everywhere he went. Maybe one day if he ever got passed this he would wear them as badges of honour. Maybe one day when things were less bleak he could look at them and smile and say, I survived. But for now the thought of survival wasn’t very comforting. Survival was the last thing Jason wanted.

Growing up was hard for Jason. He’d always been ‘different’, always found it hard to fit in even within his own family. His parents didn’t understand him. His peers didn’t understand him. Hell, half the time he didn’t even understand himself. He was a shy little gay kid obsessed with fashion and all things flamboyant. He couldn’t supress that within him even if he tried. People called him names when he turned up at his catholic high school in his altered school uniform. Weirdo, faggot, freak and other such words were uttered under breaths on a daily basis as he entered school. It didn’t get a lot better when he got home. His parents always looked at him as though there was something wrong with him. He would over hear his mother and father talking about him at night. There’s something wrong with Jason. Why can’t he just be a normal kid?Jason had never felt normal. He was anything but normal. But all he wanted in this world was to be normal. Things would be easier that way he thought. If he was normal maybe his parents would like him. Maybe he would have more than one friend, fellow weirdo Kurtis. If he was normal maybe he wouldn’t be constantly battling with the idea of ending it all.

Why was I born this way?

He stared down at the scars lining his inner thighs. He could sit here and recount a memory, an emotion for each of them but even for him that felt too self-destructive. The scars faded in and out of Jason’s vision as the tears hindered his line of sight. They rolled silently and slowly down his porcelain face and down onto his scars. He could taste the salty tears as he chewed his pouted bottom lip. His eyes flickered up from the scars and to the small item in his hand as it caught the light in his bedroom. The item was poised above a clean bit of flesh on his leg. His hands used to shake when he did this; not for a long time. He gently touched his leg with it, not hard enough to break the skin, but he quickly pulled away.

It won’t be enough. It’s never been enough. This won’t end the pain.

He took a deep breath and lifted his hand. He brought the razor blade to a stop at his wrist.

One long, swift cut and it could all finally be over.

He continued chewing on his lip. He hestitated. He wasn’t sure why.

Just do it. End it all. It’ll be so peaceful.

He was gnawing on his lip so hard he split it and he tasted blood. He needed more blood. He wanted to watch the blood seep from his body until there was nothing left.

Sweet release.

'Don’t.’The voice came from behind him, startling Jason a little. He knew instantly who it was and it had nothing to do with recognising his voice. There was only one person in the world who cared enough about Jason to be here right now.'You can’t just bust into my apartment whenever you feel like it Kurtis.’ Jason didn’t turn to look at him, he also didn’t move the blade from his wrist.'I can when I’m worried about you. Don’t do this Jason.’'Get out of here.’'I’m not going anywhere.’ Kurtis took a few more steps into the room closer to Jason.'Well be prepared to see a lot of blood then.’ Jason felt the weight of the bed shift and then he felt Kurtis’ hand on his shoulder.'Please Jason. Please god put the razor down and talk to me.’'What’s the point?’ Jason suddenly turned to look at his friend. His eyes were blood shot and tears continued to roll down his cheeks. His lip was bleeding and Kurtis found himself using his thumb to wipe the blood away.'You promised me Jason.’ He wiped the blood off his thumb on his jeans not caring if it stained.'Yeah well, promises are made to be broken.’ He still held the blade to the skin on his wrist even though he wasn’t looking at it any more. Kurtis knew he had to tread carefully. If he said the wrong thing, one wrong word he knew Jason wouldn’t hesitate in slashing his arm. Kurtis inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly.'You promised me it was the last time. You looked me in the eyes and swore to me you wouldn’t do this to yourself again.’ Kurtis cupped Jason’s face and started stroking at his tear stains. Jason stayed quiet. 'I thought you said you didn’t ever want to go back to that hospital?’'I don’t.’'Well that’s where you’re gonna end up if you do this again Jay. They let you out because they thought you were better. If you hurt yourself again there going to keep you in longer.’'That’s not going to happen.’ Jason shook his head and shuffled backwards out of Kurtis’ hold. 'I’m not going back to the hospital. This time it’s over. This time you won’t be able to visit.’Kurtis’ blood ran cold. He knew what Jason meant.'Don’t say that.’'Why not? It’s true. No hospitals. Only a fucking grave.’Kurtis felt his own tears well behind his eyes as Jason jumped up from the bed. He started waving his arms about, the razor still clutched between his fingers.'I can’t do it anymore Kurtis! I can’t fucking cope. I feel like I can’t breathe, I feel like I’m suffocating. I need the pain to be gone, I need for everything to just go away. I need peace!’ Jason’s voice was raised as he frantically moved about his room. Kurtis’ heart was breaking for his best friend. He’d always known Jason had issues but this was the worst he’d ever seen him. Kurtis pushed himself up from the bed but didn’t dare move any closer yet.'Jason, you have to believe me when I say it gets better.’'Bull.’ Jason scoffed. 'You’ve been telling me that for years and it’s never gotten better! It gets worse Kurtis! It always gets fucking worse!’ He leant against the wall and placed the blade to his wrist again.'Jason,’ Kurtis’ tone was very stern all of a sudden. 'You don’t want to do this.’'Fuck you! You don’t know what I want!’ Jason yelled staring down at his wrist now.'If you wanted it to be over you would have ended it by now.’ Kurtis knew that was a risky thing to say. He knew that could push Jason over the edge. He knew his words could have led him to witness his friends suicide. But it could also go the other way. Kurtis hadn’t had time to weigh up the risks and rewards. He just hoped it worked the way he wanted it to. Jason’s eyes fluttered upwards and met Kurtis’. His brown was furrowed and he kept his hand firmly in place.'What the fuck does that mean?’ His voice was lower again.'If you really wanted to end it you would have. I saw you when I came in, you were hesitating. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to do this. You need to listen to that part of you Jason. There’s a tiny shred of hope still in you, I know there is. Fight back against the dark thoughts. Don’t let them win.’ Kurtis took a few steps forward.'Don’t come any closer!’ Jason raised his voice again. His tears were falling heavier now. 'Don’t fucking come any closer. You take one more step and I swear to god I’m gonna do it. Just turn around and walk away Kurtis. Pretend you never saw me. Leave now or you’ll have to watch me die.’Kurtis took a few deep breaths. He knew what he was about to do was another risky move but he knew he had to do it. His legs shook but he managed to step closer to Jason. Jason looked from Kurtis, to the blade and back again.'Give me the blade Jason.’ Kurtis was amazed how calm he sounded.'No.’ Jason sounded like a scared child.'Give me the blade.’ Kurtis repeated.'No.’ Jason’s bottom lip quivered. Kurtis took a few more deep breaths before he slowly reached his hand towards Jason. Jason whined a little as Kurtis’s hand latched around his arm. He was slow in his movements as he guided Jason’s hand that held the blade away from his wrist. He was even slower when he used his free hand to pry the blade from Jason’s finger tips. Jason’s grip on it was lose and Kurtis got the blade from his hand and put it down on the side. Seconds later Jason fell into his arms, sobbing heavily. Kurtis threw his arms around his friend and walked them back towards the bed where they both sat down. Jason buried his head into Kurtis’ chest as he cried and cried. Kurtis sat in silence and let him get it out of his system. He rubbed little circles between Jason’s shaking shoulders and placed the occasional kiss on his head.'It’s ok sweetie, I’m here. It’s all going to be ok.’ Kurtis would whisper periodically, ensuring Jason knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Jason felt frail in his arms, like the small, scared little boy he was on the inside. His whole body practically vibrated through shaking and crying. Kurtis felt like his heart was tearing in two. He hated seeing Jason so broken. Each time Jason got like this Kurtis prayed it would be the last time.

Please god make him better this time. Please god let him get better.

He wasn’t a religious man but he’d try just about anything to help fix his best friend.

The room fell quiet. Jason’s sobs subsided into small sniffles mostly muffled by Kurtis’ shirt. Kurtis continued to hold him. Eventually he stopped shaking. Finally he stopped crying. Kurtis never stopped holding him.

When Jason looked up at him, his eyes were more blood shot than they had been earlier. He sniffed and chewed his lip. Kurtis kept one arm around his body and used the other to stroke Jason’s hair back off his face.'How do you feel?’ Kurtis whispered.'Exhausted.’ Jason admitted. 'Always exhausted.’Kurtis wiped the damp patches on Jason’s face and kissed his forehead.'I swear to you Jason it’s going to get better.Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow either but one day. And I promise you I will be by your side every step of the way. You’re my best friend, I’m not going to let the darkness beat you even when you want it to.’ Kurtis smiled softly at the younger man. Jason nodded his head ever so slightly. 'When it feels as though the whole world has turned its back on you, I’ll still be here. We’re in this together, I’m not letting you battle this alone. If you try and carry this weight on your own you might not make it. But I’m here to share the weight with you. Together we can get through this ok? We’re going to get you through the dark days and pull you into the light. You, Jason Dardo, are going to beat this. You’re strong and you’re ferocious. You’re a survivor.’ Kurtis gave his forehead another soft kiss. Jason sniffed again but to Kurtis’ surprise he saw a small smile forming on his lips.'I’m a survivor.’ Jason whispered. Kurtis smiled and nodded.'You are sweetie. You’re a survivor.’For the first time in a really long time Kurtis saw a hint of a sparkle behind Jason’s eyes.'I’m a survivor.’ Jason whispered once more. And for the first time in his life, being a survivor didn’t sound like a bad thing anymore.

[hotcocosharing]

Second Chance Part 15 (IM RP)

Shunichiro Tachibana 

To say I’m shocked to find Midori lying next to me would be an understatement. Have I been so out of my mind to a point where I retain no memory of sleeping with her- is my initial first question but judging by how fully clothed we are, I sigh in relief before walking down the memory lane of the exact reason that brings me in this very spot. Sharing the same bed with my ex girlfriend who pushes me away then invites me to a launch party which I now realize we have both missed out.

Watching the innocent look on Midori’s quiet face as she drools (ever so little) on the covers and imagining her hilarious reaction about sleeping though the night with make up- how it ruins her perfect skin and how much money or spa she would need to undo the damage. The not so peaceful morning is quickly escalates by the sound of heavy rain outside that suddenly accompanies by the loud clack of thunder, causing the angelic face to wake in distress and confusion for a second follow by her real panicking realization to the fact that I am staring at her overnight makeup and morning look which consider to be all women (and maybe men) nightmare.

But what are we more afraid of? The storm outside or what’s up ahead?

After a rush breakfast buffet downstairs, I wait for Midori as she checks out and offers to drive her home under such crazy weather, “It’s the least I’d do to make it up to you.” It doesn’t take too much convincing for her to hop in the car, suspecting that she wants back at her sanctuary as soon as possible after such eventful yet boring night.

Midori remains quiet through out the ride and after the fail attempt to ease the funny tension with the radio which obviously has no reception under the state of rain so my lips part and ask something I never should. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head and replies with such calm that I am so frustratingly familiar with, “It’s nothing.”

And here we go, witnessing, experiencing history all over again, looping in the endless hell of nothingness while she is obviously upset about something!

[ It’s nothing. ]

Probably the most annoying sentence on earth, at least it manages to enlighten the fire in me every single damn time! The mystery of Midi’s departure till this day has never been satisfactorily explained, and I have good reason to resent this regrettably familiar statement.

A sudden loud pop follow by one of the tires flopping over and over again comes quickly after one another. I curse, figuring that it’s just my luck to be stuck in a car under the heavy rain with a heated conversation (storm) coming any minute now.

“Damn it!” Letting out another curse as I carefully pull over and hear Midori asks if I’ve got a flat tire. “Oh no, it’s nothing. We are just stuck!” A silence descends while more words pouring out in my chaotic mind- we are stuck again, stuck with each other, not going anywhere, neither going forward or backward is on the menu and I fucking hate being stuck. I’m a creative director, I don’t get stuck!

Midori stays quiet, there’s no sound except for the raindrops hitting the windows. “Enough!” I raise my voice with clenched fists on the wheel, “just go right ahead and say it! I have neither the time nor mood to play mind reading, we are way too old for this, don’t you think?”

She’s still quiet.

“What is it Midori? What did I do this time? I’m sorry I got sick and ruined your precious opportunity to attend the party! I’ve work to do too, a few hours of sleep was all I got, so yeah sorry I didn’t have the luxury to take better care of myself! Is that it, an apology? Is that what you want? Or because I was late? Or I forgot to reply a text? Or was it the fact that I chose the suite instead of your place? What the fuck was it, Midori? Or do you want to run out the door like last time without telling me a reason that I don’t ever deserve?!”

The weather forecast’s right, I am still under the curse of a gloomy weekend, just fucking great!

Midori Katayani 

It’s December 24th at a little after 10pm and he’s still nowhere to be seen. I’m in his apartment - standing in the kitchen, looking out the window to waste time which overlooks the city scape below and frames the hustle and bustle of the busy city near picturesquely and it hits me that I’m lonely. The helpless, naïve – completely out of my control feeling consumes me faster than the rain that’s starting to fall and I’m starting to wonder if he’ll even make it home for Christmas at all.

“Baby it’s business, but I promise… I’ll make it home.” “I know but so close to Christmas? I mean – it’s our first together and, and… I know I’m just being selfish but I don’t want you to go.”

That night had been the first of a tangent string of squabbling and bickering and fighting and whatever other name or term it could have been called but it was at that moment that I realized for the first time, for the very first time how much one person could mean to me. I figured I was allowed to be selfish – I was in love, or at least that’s what I thought the feeling was. Head over heels, take your breath away and make you smile crazy in love which I never assumed in my wildest dreams I’d actually be experiencing.

Had you asked me then – perhaps even now; the feeling was just too good to be true. As the rain kept on calling, harder and harder, a monotone storm brewing up ahead, the crashing sounds of thunder and lightning coaxed me, convinced me that I should go to bed.

But he’ll be here soon —.

Folding my arms across my chest in his oversized sweater that I’d sat in all day and which still lingered in his scent, another roar of thunder rumbled over head. Biting my lip worriedly, I was about to call it a night when the sound of keys jingling at the door grabbed my attention. He was here – he’d kept his promise. He was home.

—-

The sound of thunder vibrating  softly across the hotel suite windows was enough to wake me up. The last few years I’d turned into a light sleeper, something I didn’t really enjoy but none the less – my paranoia had risen after I had to get use to once again sleeping alone. Groaning as I rub my eyes and shift with a wiggle to get comfortable on the bed, it’s another clack of thunder that wakes me – completely and I push myself half up to sit in bed.

“Shu…Shun – Shunichiro?”

I can tell that I’m definitely not dreaming but a panic begins to run like electricity through my veins as the sight of my ex in a bed next to me – watching me…fuck. I know for a fact we didn’t do anything last night; I mean I wouldn’t be complaining if something had happened but I’m well aware that apart from a ridiculously failed attempt at a rekindled first kiss my luck ran dry rather quickly.

We’re both silent – it’s not quite an awkward silence yet not a comfortable one either. Things seem to stay this way between the not so delicate tip to around one another through to the breakfast buffet and then finally, the offer to be driven home. I snap the opportunity up quicker than one could ever say yes – my bags are thrown into the car quicker than imaginable and like I always use to; I slip quickly into the passenger seat.

A part of me wonders if Shun will need directions to find my place yet he hasn’t asked so I don’t bother with speaking up. The city looks different from the passengers seat; or at least in my eyes it does – I start noticing the little things I usually take for granted and miss out on when I’m driving myself or busy with my eyes glued to my phone in the back of the cab and in the midst of enjoying the serenity, Shun decides to stupidly, in my own opinion – ruin the silence by opening his mouth and asking my all time most hated question.

“What’s wrong?”

As a woman – I can tell you right now that even though I’ve got a million and one things which are racing around inside my head, my answer – just as anyone elses of this sex is always the same.

“It’s nothing”, I whisper, trying to regain focus on what’s happening outside and around the car. I know he hates the answer; even after all this years apart he’s clenching the steering wheel tight, the whites of his knuckles starting to show. I’m sure if I answered his question like that one more time just out of sheer utter frustration Shunichiro would explode. It’s more mumbling and grumbling and a bit of cursing as we pull over onto the side of a street and I ask the typical overly obvious female question as to whether there’s something wrong with the car and get a near typical male reaction back which doesn’t exactly help me in understanding what the hell is going on.

Silence – we’ve been reduced to sitting in silence with the radio cutting out and I can tell that Shun’s been stretched out thin to his last limits because he’s constantly putting a pressure on himself that he just doesn’t need. Something extra to just push himself over the edge. As the rain starts pouring harder and harder, I half contain a giggle at the fact the animosity between us has grown thick enough that it’d need to be carved through with a sword and whilst he’s never usually one to raise his voice – Mr near always cool, calm and collected bring to the surface everything it seems, that not just recently has been bothering him.

I try not to let his words have any affect one me yet it’s the last thing he says which causes a knee jerk reaction that coaxes me to snap.

[“Or do you want to run out the door like last time without telling me a reason that I don’t ever deserve?!”]

“You want a reason?”, oh shit Midi no… this is bad, bite your tongue, bite your tongue it won’t be worth it in the end. Of course – I wouldn’t be me if I had the ability to keep my mouth shut.

“Fine! I’ll give you a god damn reason – you never talk to me and you’re never there. Okay! It doesn’t matter if you fall sick because you know I’ll be there to take care of you. I don’t care about not going to the party last night because honestly, it was fucking nice just to spend a little time with you. I’ve never cared if you’ve been late or if you don’t text back because I know that’s just you and you’ll be there. I doesn’t matter to me that you picked the suite instead of my place because let’s be honest here if you were in my place and I in yours I’d have made the same decision to. I miss us talking. I miss how trusting we were and how honest we use to be. I miss staying up until early in the morning discussing things which could wait until another day but we didn’t want them to. It got to the point where we just stopped talking – I don’t know if we just got bored, if we were keeping secrets or if we were tired or perhaps we just didn’t need to but then whenever we did it always about work. That became like the biggest and only priority for you and then because of work, because of the job you were basically in a full time relationship with you stopped being there. You were hardly ever there. It just became a vicious cycle of work, talk about work, not there because of work, work, work, work, work, work and I get it – you like your job, but if you showed and expressed as much enthusiasm as you did about that with me we wouldn’t be having this fucking conversation.”

Sighing with a huff and unbuckling my seat belt to lean over and pull the button which popped open the car trunk where I knew the spare tyre would be, I gritted my teeth before getting out, instantly regretting having worn white on a day like today but at least the rain would conceal the tears I had swelling in the corners of my eyes.

“Give me fifteen fucking minutes and I’ll change the god damn tyre”, I snapped not bothered to continue with the argument that we were having, “..and then I want a response – none of this falling into silence because it’s an easy excuse.”

[dayeemah]

Dive //Stepbrother au part// 4

 Bts Kim Taehyung

A/N: I am so sorry for updating so late. I’ve been so freaking busy with test, school and personal things and now i’ve had a day off. FINALLY got a chance to finish and update !! 

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 (teaser) - Final Part

Warnings? May contain Angst, smut and other strong language.

~ Step siblings au ~ (M)

It was hard to stay away from a boy whom you had feelings for before your parents even came together. Especially when the boy you needed to stay away from was playing mind games with you and constantly annoying you..

He pulled the covers over your naked bodies, cuddling you until you fell asleep, he sighed staring at your beautiful sleeping form. He wanted to stay in your arms forever, to kiss, hug and touch you whenever he felt like it but he couldn’t and thats what pained him the most. “I love you so much princess” he breathed against your skin. Falling asleep with you in his arms, he wished thats how he could end all his nights.

The next past days were rough on him more than it was on you. You were good at holding in your emotions and putting others before yourself. But Taehyung, he wasn’t his normal self and it hurt, it hurt because you both shared an intimate moment a few days ago and he was so cold to you afterwards.. Pretending it never happened. You knew this would happen and it wasn’t that Taehyung didn’t love or care about you because he did, it was the sacrifice he chose to make for you and your parents happiness.

“Y/n, whats wrong, you’ve been silent all day” Seokjin asked, sitting down next to you as you stared into a blank space.

Your ears felt so worn out and washed up, all day, you didn’t hear a thing your teacher said and now you were confused on how to do your homework.

“Y/n.. Hello?” Jin snapped his fingers in front of your eyes and you jumped, shaking away your blank facial expression and looking at him, confused.

“You good?” he asked, a look of concern written all over his face.

You nodded, flipping through the pages of your history book, lost and mopey as you let out a sigh. 

“Don’t do that with your face, it give you wrinkles” Jin said, closing your text book. 

He placed his hands on your shoulders, leaning in, squinting his eyes a bit trying to read you, which was quite difficult. You were always good at putting a face on when on the inside you would be hurting and hardly anyone could tell.. except Jungkook but he wasn’t here today, and he would be the only one to keep you from falling apart.

“Taehyung.” Jin mumbled.

Clicking his tongue, he stood up, putting your books back into your bag then pulling your out the library by your arm.

“Where are we going?” you sighed, not really in the mood to speak.

“Im taking you to him.. Honestly you two need to work out whatever issues you have its not healthy to sit around and frown all day” Jin said, pulling you to the the courtyard. 

Their were a few boys out playing basketball and from what you spotted, and Yoongi was one of them.

Yoongi winked at you as he quickly spotted you, then dunked on the other team. Looking around you gulped, seeing a few student huddled together on the benches, probably studying. Jin was walking straight towards a few students who were relaxing by the tree. You could hear loud laughter, a females voice and Taehyungs; of course you recognized his voice anywhere.

Jin stopped, making you stumble into him because you weren’t paying attention but to busy focused on Tae’s hand that was resting on her upper thigh. 

“Taehyung, I brought her here so you could talk” Jin said clearing his throat. 

His noticed the affection between the girl and Taehyung but he didn’t care and ignored the girl who stood next to him.

“Oh hey Y/n” Hoseok greeted, smiling widely.

“Hey” you weakly smiled, waving, trying to hide behind Jin. 

You hated that Taehyung didn’t even think to remove his hand off the girl, in fact he kept rubbing her thigh as he leaned against the tree. You bit hard on your lip then looked away from the painful sight.

 “What am I going to talk to her about? Don’t you see that i’m a bit busy?” Taehyung spoke not bothering to look at you. 

“Hey isn’t that the same girl you-.” Hoseok paused then stared at you for a good minute then started grinning…

“Shut up Hobi… Don’t you have something to do?” Taehyung spit glaring at him. 

Jin rolled his eyes, then pulled you from behind him until you were directly in front of Taehyung… 

“Anyways… Hoseok do you mind leaving us alone we need to talk?” Jin said, stuffing his hands in his pocket and tilting his head to the side with a serious tone..

Hoseok nodded, getting up immediately and walking off to the court joining Yoongi in a one on one.. 

The girl scoffed, eyeing him.. “How dare you.. Im his girlfriend, if you or her has anything to say it can be said in front of both of us” she huffed folding her arms. 

“I’m not your boyfriend.” Taehyungs face was emotionless as he eyed the girl in annoyance, “Fuck buddies don’t mean were a couple.. Now give me privacy.” Taehyung said with a stern voice.

Scoffing, the girl got up, folding her arms and grabbing her purse stomping off. 

“What do you want Hyung? I told you so many times.. Im starting to think your brain dead.” Taehyung hissed sitting up.

Jin eyed Taehyung, arching his eyebrows as he stepped closer to him.. “Don’t forget i’m your hyung. You and Y/n need to talk out your shit because its giving me a headache” Jin explained annoyed, pushing his hair out his face. 

He pushed you into Tae, making you fall on top of him then he walked away as if he had nothing to do with anything…

“Oh.. I-I’m sorry.” you attempted to get up but Tae’s grip was firm on your hips. 

“Y/n.” You paused, breathing heavily against him. 

Your heavy breathing against his neck set fire to his skin.. 

“I need you.. Please don’t go.” 

You were in shock from his sudden confession.. “Tae.. I don’t understand I-.” 

But Taehyung cut you off, “My car is over there lets talk okay.” 

You sighed, nodding.. You guys needed to talk, actually you needed more than to talk.. Taehyung was really serious about this because he was dragging you by your arm to the car. Grabbing the keys and pressing the button to open the car doors. He watched you get in and then climbed in after you. You both sat there for a few minutes before Taehyung broke the silence.

“Im sorry princess. I know this looks bad but honestly i’m so broken and fucking Brooke isn’t helping.. I can’t do this shit anymore.” Taehyung complained.  

You looked away knowing exactly what he meant..  

“Tae Its messing me up inside.. Honestly I don’t care about what they think anymore. I need you. I need you now. I miss us.. I made a mistake okay. I chose us.” you sniffled looking at him.

Taehyung was taken aback by this but he cupped your face as soon as you finished the last word. He began kissing you so gently and passionately, in this moment you felt like the only girl in the world. That it was the fourth of July and fireworks were above you as you shared such a intimate moment. 

“I love you so much baby. And I’m sorry I made you feel like shit these last few days.” He sighed intertwining your fingers.

“I love you to Taehyung, please I need you.” you looked up at him with puppy eyes biting your lip as you squeezed his hand. 

Taehyung pulled you into him, kissing you roughly as he worked on your jeans, slowly undoing them as he laid you back on the soft cushion of the seat. Sliding between your legs as he tugged off your jeans, he was kissing you with so much passion and lust that had you melting into him.

The windows were fogged up, and every breath and moan you made had Taehyung begging for more. His hips rolling into yours and his mouth sent vibrations throughout your skin as he marked up your neck.

You hated how persistent your mom was, you didn’t even have a boyfriend but you couldn’t explain the dark purple bruises that rested on your neck. So here you were in front of your mom as both of you sat on the couch waiting for Yoongi. 

“So how long have you and Min Yoongi been dating?” Your mom asked smiling.. 

You cleared your throat sitting back placing your hands in your lap before speaking. 

“We go to the same school. Hes older than me though. Me and Yoong”- You paused mid sentence upon hearing the door.

Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach you stood up, pretending to be excited as you hurried to the door opening it and hugging Yoongi as tightly as you can. 

“Yoongi- Oppa, so good to see you.” plastering a big forced smile on your face, before placing a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

Yoongi smiled, putting his arm around your waist as he greeted your mom.

“Well its good to finally meet you- the famous Min Yoongi" Your mom grinned as she stayed seated.

Everything was awkward for you after Yoongi took a seat next to you, his hand on your thigh, but not to high up. Your cheeks were a small tint of red as you avoided your moms eyes. 

"So Yoongi. Have you thought about what college your going to?" Your mom asked.

Yoongi began to speak simultaneously as the stairs began creaking and Taehyungs voice filled the room.. All three of you stopped and turned around to stare at Tae.

"Tae. I'm sure you don't have anything to do. Come join Yoongi and your sister." Your mom smiled standing up to pat the seat next to her.

Taehyung was a little confused and once his eyes found yours you quickly looked away. Ashamed and nervous.

"Y/n is my step sister... And what is he doing here?" Taehyung groaned in frustration.

"Your wonderful mom invited me over for dinner. And besides I love spending time with my beautiful girlfriend." Yoongi kissed your left cheek, rubbing his thumb across your thigh and you couldn't help but blush and bite your lip.

“Yep.”

You couldn’t wait until this acting stuff was over..

Taehyung arched his eyebrow humming as he watched the sight before him. 

“No thanks mom, I wouldn’t want to disturb the “beautiful” couple let me help you in the kitchen.” Taehyung offered, pulling your mom to the kitchen with him. 

When you knew they were gone you stood up taking a deep breath. 

“ I can’t believe your my fake boyfriend.” you whispered your face red from embarrassment.

“Yeah I am..Now.. Why don’t you show me your bedroom so I can get more comfortable.” Yoongi smirked biting his lip. 

“N-No.” You stopped looking away as your cheeks were flushed and you had butterflies now. 

It wasn’t like you had a crush on Yoongi, or anything. It was just the fact that Yoongi was a flirt and his words made you blush.

“Sweetheart one day.. And you know what I mean.” Yoongi winked as he reached for the palm of your hand to pull you between his legs as he remained sitting in the chair.  

A small laugh left your lips and you looked away knowing Yoongi was watching you. But this was all an act, and a fake relationship just so you and Taehyung could be together. But as much as you hated to admit it in this moment you felt how wrong it was and snatched your hand out of his.

“Im sorry.” 

Im sorry was all you could say and Yoongi nodded knowing exactly why you pulled away from him and he respected that. 

“Maybe we should go into the kitchen and help serve plates” Yoongi suggested standing up. You only nodding following him into the kitchen. 

“Taehyung you know Yoongi is a really good rapper and pianist” Taehyungs dad smiled staring at Yoongi who returned his nice gesture. 

“Interesting” Taehyung hummed staring at you. 

He showed no interest in Yoongi all night, his only focus was you and you knew why. 

“Tae honey you haven’t touched your dinner, you should eat” your mom frowned, eyeing his barely touched plate. 

But Taehyung didn’t reply.

Yoongi sat next to you and caught on to the way Taehyung was staring at you and something made him decide to lean over and kiss your cheek which made you blush and Taehyung saw it.

“Dammit. Keep your fucking hands off her!” Taehyung glared at Yoongi across the table.

“Taehyung your behavior tonight is unacceptable. You are to apologize to Yoongi right now.” your mother snapped, her eyes squinting as she gave Taehyung the look. 

“I will not apologize for my behavior. This fucking guy just comes into my house touching all over my girl. He should be apologizing.” Taehyung snapped back.

“Don’t talk to your mother like that.” his dad yelled as he slammed his fist on the table.

Your eyes went wide and you jumped along with Taehyung, and your mom who was startled. 

“Oh my god!” you mumbled covering your mouth in shock. 

“I think I should go.” Yoongi mumbled clearing his throat placing a napkin over his plate. 

Tae quietly stood up throwing the napkin into his plate, he glanced over at you then your mom. 

“That women isn’t my mother and Y/n isn’t my fucking sister. I’ve been trying to do things the way she wanted them because of her sacrifice for you two to be happy but I can’t do it anymore.” Taehyung scoffed.

“Tae don’t do it.” you whispered shaking your head discreetly at him.. 

Yoongi decided he would stay for the show and begun to rile Taehyung up just to see if he would have the heart to say it..

“Taehyung, I understand if its hard for you to see me and Y/n together but you need to move on.” Yoongi said. 

Taehyung screamed in anger, as he charged for Yoongi but you quickly placed a hand on his chest stopped him from getting pass you to Yoongi. 

“Taehyung stop it. How dare you try to fight Y/n’s boyfriend.” your mom shouted getting up but Taehyungs dad reached for her wrist.

Yoongi was mumbling under his breath which made Taehyung even more annoyed and want to fight him. 

“Both of you stop it now.” Taehyungs dad yelled using a stern voice and you jumped slightly, letting go of Taehyung. 

Taehyung calmed a bit, but his fist were still balled up. 

“Taehyung i’m disappointed in your behavior, and Y/n i’m so sorry that Taehyung can’t control himself in front of your boyfriend. Yoongi I am deeply sorry that my son tried to fight you.” Taehyung’s father apologized.

“Fuck this shit” Taehyung snapped breathing heavy as he pulled you by your waist pulling you into his body. 

Taehyung placed his lips on yours, capturing your lips in a kiss. Your eyes widened from the sudden kiss, before your eyes slowly closed, and your hands gripped the shoulders of Taehyung’s shirt. Yoongi smirked, as he enjoyed the scene of his plan working out, quietly he left out the kitchen and out the front door.

Taehyung pulled away leaving you breathless before looking towards both of your shocked parents. 

“What the hell is going on.” your mother cried, taken aback by the scene that just unfolded in front of her. Taehyung hugged you tightly to him afraid he would lose you. 

“I love Y/n. She’s not my real sister, and Yoongi isn’t her boyfriend, I am.” Taehyung confessed.

Your mom was startled, holding her chest as she looked at Taehyungs dad for words but none of them spoke. 

“Mom please say something.” Your shaky voice spoke up as your eyes watered but she just shook her head no.

Your were confused and afraid of the outcome of this situation. Taehyungs dad still remained silent as if he was gathering words to say to the two of you. Your moms eyes were watering with shame of what you had displayed in front of her. She thought you two were close like siblings and knew where the line stopped. She didn’t expect for you to be seeing each other romantically.

“How long?” Taehyungs dad asked, “how long has this been going on?”

You and Taehyung continued holding each other tightly knowing what was to happen and preparing for the worst.

“Before you guys got married.. But dad we cared for each other before this whole arrangement.” Taehyung spoke confidently, “please don’t be upset. We did this for you, please understand.”

Silence rained down and no one said anything, no one even glanced at each other. 

“So you’ve been fucking your step sister for us?” Taehyungs dad spit harshly.

You bit your lip going to defend yourself but your mom put a hand on his chest to stop him from saying anything else.

“I think we should discuss this privately before we say something regretful” Your mom spoke softly, looking her husband in the eye.

You looked at Taehyung unsure of what to do, squeezing at his shirt as he held you. 

“Go to your rooms. Separately and wait until we call you downstairs” Taes dad spoke in a hushed voice but loud enough for you to hear,

“and no touching.”

You and Taehyung remained holding hands as you walked to your rooms. Tae opened the door for you, kissing your forehead softly. He watched as you went inside your room then he closed your door and begun to walk to his but something in his gut made him stop. He turned back around opening your door and locking it behind him.

“Tae.. W-what? They said.-”

Taehyung cut you off before you could finish your sentence. His lips were finding yours in a deep and passionate kiss. Your hands instantly reached for his shirt pulling his lusting body towards you for a frenzy kiss. Taehyung wanted more than your lips, he wanted to feel you. He wanted to make love to your mind and soul.

You pulled his shirt over his head letting it fall on the floor, next was your dress, Taehyung unzipped it letting the fabric pool around your feet. He then picked you up, your lips never leaving his as he laid you on the bed. He hoovered over you, sliding off his sweats and then he pulled your panties down your legs.

“Just relax princess.. Let me help you feel better.”

You nodded, the reassurance in Taehyungs voice made you relax, knowing he was indeed going to help you feel better. Closing your eyes, you held onto Taehyung, his soft lips kissing up and down your neck making your breathing hitched.

Before you could beg for him to hurry up his cock was already entering you making you gasp and squeeze his beautiful body. Moaning softly as Taehyung pinned your hands down to intertwine your fingers. Rolling his hips into you hard and slow making sure you felt every inch of him. He leaned down to pepper kiss your face and you wrapped your legs around his waist, arching your back off the bed.

In this moment you knew that this may be the last time you and Taehyung will ever get intimate again but you didn’t care because you had him right now. He was in your arms right now and so many thoughts were filling your brain and all you could think about was being with the man you loved. You didn’t love anyone like you loved Taehyung and you were prepared to be with him whatever the case may be..

A wave of pleasure washed over you and you gasped, moaning Taes name as you came. Followed behind you was Tae, finishing as sweat dripped from his hair. He held you in his strong arms, his arms wrapped around your waist and his face in the nook of your neck leaving small kisses up and down your neck.

“Don’t worry princess. Everything will be just fine. I promise.”

“Lets run away together..”