#me and my grossly long fic ideas i want to read instead of getting my ass together to write

[wheredoesthegoodgo]

my friend convinced me to watch the ultimatum: queer love and now I can’t stop imagining a bkdk au. where izuku shows up with todoroki who gave an ultimatum because he proposed months ago and has patiently been waiting for izuku to decide so he can Cherish him. katsuki of course is there with kirishima who also thinks its time for them to get married, he like, wants kids and all that shit with his main man, which katsuki also technically wants but isn’t sure he deserves kirishima.

but now low and behold bkdk both show up to this weird ass reality thing and see each other after like ten years (which the producers totally knew and of course wanted to start drama).

and izuku’s just Shook(tm) and katsuki’s just high key stressed that fucking deku is here. kirishima was amused until he realizes this is the so-called nerd that was bakugo’s gay awakening tween childhood friend/victim and then he stays amused while also trying to be supportive like “maybe apologizing is what you need to make peace with yourself and feel ready for marriage”

and then after their ‘break-ups’ they end up on dates. obviously bakugo’s dates are with icy hot (who is perfectly pleasant but bakugo decides he hates him anyway) and deku. and with deku it starts off awkward and then turns into arguing w ust and then their last date together melts into a heavy apology where bakugo’s explaining “I realized I’d rather be reading all might comics with you than talking about girls or to girls and it was harder to accept than I realized” and “we knew each other for so long I figured you already knew and I was paranoid you were going to say something or do something and that you were looking down on me, pitying me because of it”

to which of course izuku’s like “no I was just kind of oblivious to my own feelings I’m sorry you felt that” and “I forgave you a long time ago but honestly not sure I ever felt there was something to forgive cause I could tell you were going through something”

and suddenly they both feels so much lighter but at the same time its HEAVY between them like What Could Have Been and there’s Something There

but the date wraps up and before ya know its its the time to choose who they are going to “marry” for a week.

Bakugo chooses Deku.

and he reasons fuck, no one knows him like this nerd even if it’s been a decade since they talked. if anyone is going to help him figure his shit out its going to be this man.

Izuku of course accepts. absolutely reverential about being chosen. after all he and todoroki talked it out and both agreed they were going to fully commit to this, so its totally okay he’s 100% invested in being kaachan’s husband for a week.

cut to bkdk having an absolutely xander/yoli of a lovefest week x1000. just meshing perfectly together, and after their first kiss all bets are off and they absolutely sleep together (bakugo definitely gets off on being better in bed than todoroki) (who is absolutely adequate izuku just has a higher libido and more kinks ok) (this definitely came up on their date together much to izuku’s mortification of saying so on camera and bakugo has been thinking about it since) and bakugo is like…all in. he loves kirishima but they’ve been growing apart and he’s all in with deku like fuck. meanwhile deka is also head over heels but having the occasional existential crisis about todoroki. who is perfect and deserves all the love.

and so bkdk end up married and grossly in love; todoroki decides nothing will piss off his dad more than getting engaged to a guy he hasn’t known for more than a week and ends up engaged inasa; kirishima either gets with kaminari or back with mina idk

Tl;dr bkdk love all around #lovewins

#bkdk #bakudeku #the ultimatum queer love #i just can see todoroki deadpanning to the camera ‘the first thing i noticed about inasa is that he is stacked #me and my grossly long fic ideas i want to read instead of getting my ass together to write #idk if you realize how many drafts of detailed bkdk fics i have that i am incapable of finishing #me with every new ship tbh #my posts

[flowerflamestars]

Do you like Nessian?

I don’t. He insults her, never stands up for her, forces her to wear clothes that she doesn't want to, locks her up "for her own good" and sexualizes her so much that it was uncomfortable to read. I truly hope Elain’s relationship is better, because neither of her sisters married men that are good to them.

Oh god, the ultimate question.

So, I stumbled into acotar right after acomaf was published. I wrote A BUNCH of Nessian fic (which is, I think? still some of my most read stuff but the sw rarepairs are hilariously catching up).

But I don't ship canon Nessian even a little bit.

For just....a huge list of reasons. I hated their book. It was, to me, not just bizarrely badly written (did she get a new editor in the last few years? did she get a more advantageous contract? WHAT HAPPENED AND WHY DO THE SEX SCENES READ LIKE CLICHED STRAIGHT PORNOS WRITTEN BY A DUDE IN HALF AN AFTERNOON), but also egregiously shitty.

You can't dedicate a book to recovery and then publish hundreds of pages about a vulnerable, grieving, suicidal woman being absolutely crushed and molded into someone else's expectations and call it a tour de force.

Nesta's not healed...she's trapped, and the physical safety of her situation depends on her submission. It's a nightmare, not a romance.

I think when we had these scarce details and searing attraction to go on, it was really easily to fill-in almost classic romance into what we didn't know. OF COURSE, Cassian likes Nesta along with wanting to fuck her. OF COURSE, he thinks it's amazing she's a powerful survivor instead of being so immature that threatens him. OF COURSE HE'D NEVER LET PEOPLE HURT HER- OF COURSE, he understands her pain and trauma having lived through similar things, OF COURSE HE LOVES HER-

And then, in canon, none of that was true.

Probably, I should have known from the first insane scene where Cassian is too scared to let Morrigan see him holding Nesta's hand that it was a ship doomed.

Which actually- can we talk about how axing the original plan for Mor's character fucks up...all the ships? Nearly?

Quick roundup: ACOMAF puts in the romance work for something...between Cas, Az, and Mor. It's not once, it's over and over again- there's weird jealousy! there's all three of them, dancing together in a mirror to Feyre dancing with Rhys all night. There's longing and touching and care- there are not people who had a romantic fallout five hundred years ago, these are people PINING-

and for about ten seconds, the narrative cannot decide in what direction that pining goes, which, I'm sorry, I love. Either bat boy being the (probably grossly)Conflicted Bi at least makes more sense than what we got.

But- and really, we'll never know- somewhere between the books we get Mor as a queer character. Which YES! GREAT, GIMME, IN FACT THAT MAKES IT BETTER-

But it's written so badly and weirdly that it reframes everything.

(sidenote but the idea of writing a world where immortal beings are fine fucking across species but cannot fathom queerness is just. deranged. these books are somehow straighter than books that don't even bother TRYING to include queer identities and it baffles me)

We go from Morrigan: shining bright defiant survivor to....Morrigan, who loves her found family but is afraid of them?? Who slept with Cassian and continues to treat him like her de facto boyfriend and vice versa but... isn't and has never been attracted to him or felt for him romantically??

Again, most of this is just bad writing. The unwillingness say lesbian leave us in the dark: is Mor bi? is Mor sexually attracted to more than one gender but romantically attracted to women? is Mor a lesbian who forces herself to have the relationships expected of her??

The narrative seems to lean toward the later, unfortunately. So: Mor/Cas... toxic bearding, cool. Mor/Az... creepy and an active source of fear. Mor/Az/Cas.... maybe not even a friendship.

And then it ripples out! Once Mor is written as queer (I'm sticking with the blanket term because really, I don't know and I'm unsure the books know), the story seems to lose track of her entire character and it effects all the other characters.

Az/Elain... is Azriel literally just. Fixing on Unavailable Blonde Women 2, psychic boogaloo?? Az/Gwyn... I'm sorry, you want a survivor to hook up with a man who has spent 5OO YEARS IGNORING A WOMAN'S WISHES/CUES/BOUNDARIES???

Cas/Nesta: IS THERE A GREATER RED FLAG THAN A MAN INSISTING YOUR TIME BELONGS TO HIM WHILE HE IS ACTIVELY IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH SOMEONE ELSE???

If we're supposed to believe Cassian is in love with Nesta and not Morrigan maybe he should prioritize her...once?

It's not even about Mor, but that's what breaks the fantasty of fanon Nessian- Cassian does not care enough to even, at minimum, be bothered his friends are horrifically rude right to Nesta's face. Its behavior a mature person might notice and be bothering was being directed at a stranger, much less the mystical true love of his immortal life.

As for Elain, I would like to say I have high hopes, but I don't. If the duel nightmares of both Azriel's and Cassian's POV say anything, it's that once a character is slated into Main Romantic Man they all morph into the same character....which is going to strip, most, if not everything, we like from Lucien.

#guys I was SUCH a nessian blog #and then the first snippets and murmurings #were sword fights and blowjobs #AND I JUST KNEW

[bylightofdawn]

I think I'm about halfway through Chapter 40. Not going to lie, writing is going a little slow because my attention span is kinda shit at the moment.

Yesterday I went out and got a hair cut. It's short but I actually like how the lady cut it. I opted for pretty short pseudo-undercut with a longer top. I debated bleaching my regrowth at home which is prolly a good inch and a half at this point but chickened out. I prolly should have taken a picture of my grossly faded and grown out hair before I cut it off. LOL Most of the icky yellow-green was chopped off and tonight I redyed it but I was like "What if I leave it on for like an hour instead of the instructed 15/30 minutes?" And well...it turns out the answer is a dark denim blue which I ain't mad about at all. It kinda melds with the regrow pretty nicely save for the RIDICULOUS amount of salt and pepper gray I have in my hair. That doesn't get affected by the semi-permanent hair dye at all. Le sigh. I was at sally's yesterday eying their permanent blue dye. I think I might end up going that route in hopes I can wear that while waiting for my roots to grow out cause I'm kinda enjoying the navy more than I expected I would.

I'll prolly try and take some pictures in the daylight. My brother and nephew are going to be in town tomorrow so I imagine I'll be busy the next couple of days.

I also fell back down into a Thranto rabbit hole and am re-reading the entirety of post·mor·tem by furiosophie.

Shit, I love this series so much. I'm a sucker for pining and slow-burn and this fic just feeds me SO WELL.

I'm also reading this Boba/Luke series called Little Lies by Harpokrates which I've had open in firefox for months but kinda lost track of. I usually read and download fics to my tablet so if I open a fic on my laptop it's liable to languish there collecting dust sadly for a while but I'm trying to be better about my tab maintenance and actually reading stuff I have open on my laptop. This is definitely making me want to work on that Boba/Luke fic idea I've had for LITERAL YEARS I've been meaning to write.

I think once I finish Seeds I'm going to put up a poll and let people pick which fic I should work on next and that might be a long-shot option I include. LOL

#el writes #seeds for the future fic #el reads fanfic #el's fanfic rec hour #life of el #star wars fanfiction rec #thranto #bobaluke

[barnesandco]

Little Hands (IV)

Series Masterlist

Communication is key.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 2248. Square filled: “Sung to Sleep”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: More Hydra Evilness, More Sad Child, Parental Anxieties. Brief mentions of war, sickness, death, grief. 

A/N: I know 2.2k words isn’t objectively a lot but boy did this feel like it. I hope every word is worth it and that you enjoy! Lmk what you think!!! Also I won’t even lie, the idea of Steve’s kids is 100% from one of my favorite comfort fics, family means no one gets left behind or forgotten, by the genius, the wonderful cosmicocean. IT’S SO SOFT. Pls read it.

You’re stunned when Bucky tells you what’s going on. The idea that his daughter (?) was made in a lab like some kind of experiment, and that the man who led said experiment now wants her back like she is his property, his weapon, is too horrid to consider for very long. Weaponizing an innocent child. Hydra.

Bucky gave you the broad strokes of the investigation – currently running on little more than educated guesses based on the meagre intel they have – and has let you know that he has had to recuse himself from the case, due to his… personal connection. That leaves him somewhere he finds awkward, to say the least.

It's evident in the way the corners of his lips turn down, how he is constantly rubbing the pads of his fingers against the coarse scratch of denim, while he watches Ana watch Zoya, Steve’s 17-year-old daughter, working on a tablet. Zoya tucks a strand of hair behind her hijab, then continues to draw up a storyboard, narrating the events to the younger girl. Steve had apparently forgotten the lunch his kids had made him at home, so Zoya had brought it in, and decided to stay the day.

Ana’s quiet, attentive for the most part, listening with her full capabilities, but her eyes flit away from the screen every now and then to look at you and Bucky, as if to reassure herself that you’re still there.

Besides that, there aren’t all that many distractions present for an already precocious child. Most of the team has dispersed for the investigation, with the exception of Peter, who is sat at a table in the corner making intentionally fruitless efforts at teaching Morgan chess, while she giggles and tries to stack the pieces like Jenga blocks instead.

However, Bucky’s restlessness is infectious, and you think he needs to get it under check before it grows any further. That’s why you stand, saying, “Could we go for a little walk, Bucky?”

He nods, man of few words that he is, and leads the way. You’re sure he knows that you formulated it like a request for his benefit, but he doesn’t mention it. It’s just as well – that he knows you like that, and knows when to accept the proverbial hand being offered.

Bucky takes you to a corner of the roof that you’d mistake for a community garden if you didn’t know any better. The Avengers seem to have green thumbs, or at least, a significant portion of them do. They’re good with plants, and possessive about them, too. Autumn ferns grow outside the circle they seem to have been planted in – with a sign shouting Wanda! – to invade the territory of a vegetable garden labelled Bruce (accompanied by a Hulkish, green thumbs up presumably not drawn by the man himself).  

Meticulously maintained daylilies and columbines, in vivid reds and vibrant purples, litter the edges of the path that has been carved through this little paradise, and the birdhouses between them stake the claim of the owner more effectively than a neon sign screaming Sam Wilson. Bucky’s told you about his abilities, how they veer into the decidedly supernatural but Sam insists are only the residue of a childhood with homing pigeons.

Nothing here looks like Bucky’s, though. He seems to be taking it in, perhaps thinking about his own little paradise back in the city, and how he’s chosen to keep it distant from that of his teammates. That worries you. He worries you.

And this, the situation with Anastasia, becoming a father, it’s terrifying. Hell, if it scares you this much, how is he feeling? You ask him as much.

“Bucky, are you okay?”

He laughs, softly, disbelievingly, no malice in his scoff, only fear. Only the sound of a voice saturated with consternation and total, complete anxiety. “Would you be?” He asks back.

“That’s why I’m asking.”

Bucky evades the questions, turning first one way on the path, and then the other, approaching the edge clear of shrubbery and blooms alike, resting his palms on the top of the wall.

“I can’t be a father.”

The solemnity in his tone allows no room for negotiations, but then, neither do the facts. “You are,” you reply, somewhat hesitantly, because the technicalities of how Ana came to be are still a little blurry to you. She’s far from a normal child, and not quite a clone, either. She is of Bucky, though. His, in any way that counts.

“That little girl was created in a Hydra lab as a super soldier to serve the cause,” he says, shaking his head vigorously as the cause repulses him even more than it does you. “And who knows what else she was put through before SHIELD fell and Orlov got her out, and it’s my fault.”

“You didn’t—”

“I didn’t ask for it to happen but it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t happened. They used me to make a super soldier from scratch, and now I’m supposed to raise her? It’s not that simple. I’m not Steve. I can’t…”

Being honest, you feel you’re pretty far out of your depth here. But you’ve promised him your help, and you’ll do your best.

“You don’t have to. There are other options.” You’re sure you’re overstepping. Perhaps this gentle companionship has not yet reached the point where you can give advice on parenting. But if you don’t, who will? Steve, whose answers don’t enter the gray territory Bucky’s mind is residing in right now, who parents like he was born for it?

Steve chose fatherhood. Bucky has been nailed to it like it’s a new cross to bear, heavier than all the previous ones put together.

His gaze roams the grounds that stretch as far as you can see. You’re both far away from home right now, far outside your comfort zones.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess, sweetheart. It’s not right. You have things to do, and I shouldn’t have—”

“Bucky, I’ve been staring at the same four sentences of dialogue for the past month. I literally could not have been happier to get out of the house. Even if I do wish it was under better circumstances,” you say fervently. You’re here because he needs you. Because Ana needs you. It’s nice to be needed.

“That’s one way to put it,” he smiles, and you’re glad to see it.

“Not to mention, it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault except whoever your team is looking for,” you insist. “And Ana’s a sweet girl. A little quiet, but Baba says I was, too.”

This, Bucky thinks about. You wonder if he was a quiet child, too. “What’s he like?”

“Hmm?” The reverie snaps like a rubber band.

“Your father?” Bucky asks, shyly, his eyes meeting yours, letting you know exactly why he’s asking.

You look up at the clouds, think back to Boston, to time shared between the library and the park. A childhood with books, lunch breaks under a desk in an office at MIT, stealing his glasses and running away with them, rubbing at his stubbly beard like he was a housecat. Inside jokes with your father and rolled eyes with your mother. Laughter and tears, laughter with tears.

After a long while, trying and failing to summarize your father, you say, “A jokester. The most sarcastic person I know. But still kind of neurotic, to be honest. The kind of parent that makes you show up at the airport a full four hours before your flight.” It’s grossly insufficient. For a writer, you’re not very good with words. You suppose it’s not the words that are the problem; it’s the lifetime they have to encompass. “What about yours?”

Bucky sighs. “Soldier. He’s one thing I don’t feel bad for not remembering because it wasn’t Hydra that wiped those memories. He just died when I was really small. Survived the Great War only to be killed by TB a few years later at home.”

“I’m sorry.” You avert your eyes. Grief feels private, even decades later, even in the smallest doses.

He shakes his head, smiles fondly, up at the sky, too, like you did. Only, he’s smiling at it, like he’s thinking of someone beyond the clouds. “Don’t be. Was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t allowed to hurt anymore.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

“I sound like my therapist.”

At this, the two of you look at each other and burst into laughter. It feels forbidden, as though the severity of the situation condemns joy. That isn’t fair, you think. The situation is that of a child, and nobody needs laughter more than kids do. Food for the soul.

When the echo of your exhilarations falls, Bucky grows serious once more. “They have them for kids, now, too, right?” He asks, referring to therapists. “Do you think Anastasia should see one? She’s not exactly… normal, you know?”

“Maybe.” It’s a difficult question, but a good indicator of how Bucky is growing to feel about Ana. “You’d make a good dad, if you wanted to be one, Bucky,” you say, and mean it. It’s plain as day that he cares about her.

“I can’t even remember my own.”

“Parental instincts are intuitive, not genetic,” you tell him.

“You been reading handbooks?” He teases.

“You’d be surprised by how much you learn from the rabbit holes you fall down while researching books,” you deadpan.

“Can any of that research get the nightmares out of my head? I think it might scare a kid.”

The self-deprecation hurts, but your response is honest, heartfelt. “She likes you already.”

“She won’t if she thinks I’ve run away,” he answers, straightening up. He might be trying to evade the conversation, but you’ll let him, for now. He’s gotten some fresh air, had some time to clear his thoughts, or sort them, at least. And so you return, to the little girl who has a tighter grip on both of you than you even realize.

------

Ana grows unsettled as night darkens the sky. It could be the ruckus she isn’t quite used to. It could be the toy fire truck Tony has been altering with his utensils to increase its noise output, much to Morgan’s amusement. It could be the actual parrot perched on Sam’s shoulder.

Whatever the cause, she hasn’t succumbed to it enough to make a seat out of the fridge again. She’s sitting in her seat, between Bucky and yourself, eating the hummus Bruce and Wanda have made. Nat discusses sniper scopes with Clint, Peter tries to get away with eating the side of vegetables on Jordan’s plate without Steve noticing, and Bucky eats silently, eyes almost constantly on Anastasia, who takes it all in while her knee bounces up and down with an ever-increasing speed, much like her father’s.

You excuse yourselves soon after dessert, after Morgan has fallen asleep against Jordan’s arm on the couch, and Steve and Tony’s friendly debate is starting to develop the edge it tends to when they’ve been bantering for too long.

Bucky sets up on the sectional in his room, and leaves the ridiculously large double bed to you and Anastasia. It’s been a strange, strange day, and one can only hope that tomorrow brings some ease, a balm for the prickly, fiery ache that has settled over the man you care so much about.

------

When you wake, it’s because of singing. For half a moment, you think you’re in a dream, but as your eyes adjust to the blanket of dark, you see the shadow on the sofa nearby. Only, it’s bigger than just Bucky. Anastasia is sitting on his lap, her head cushioned against his chest. Scrambling for your glasses, and turning on the lamp on the bedside table, you notice that there are trails of drying tears on her little cheeks, and she’s still shaking with the aftershocks of whatever scare she must’ve had during the night.

Not for the first time, you curse your deep sleep that meant you didn’t wake with Ana, but watch in wonder as Bucky sings.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word Papa's going to buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird won't sing Papa's going to buy you a diamond ring

Ana’s eyes begin to close, but she fights the sleep. Bucky doesn’t let her. He lies down, easing her down beside himself, singing all the while.

And if that diamond ring turns brass Papa's going to buy you a looking glass

And if that looking glass gets broke Papa's going to buy you a billy goat

His voice fills the room, low though it may be, and he curls himself around Ana.

And if that billy goat won't pull Papa's going to buy you a cart and bull

And if that cart and bull turn over Papa's going to buy you a dog named Rover

She succumbs to the lull of his tone, his song, his promises, sighs a little sigh, lets the last, little hiccup leave her body.

And if that dog named Rover won't bark Papa's going to buy you a horse and cart

And if that horse and cart fall down You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town

Bucky lifts his hand from where it was stroking the hair at her temple, and lays his arm over his daughter. They’re safe, for now. Together.

#SSB2021 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #dad!bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #marvel fanfic

[multimilfs]

Lilith Clawthorne x Fem!Reader: Scrapes & Dates

Summary: Anon requested “Hii I noticed requests are open, if it’s okay I’d like to request a fic, my idea if that reader is friends with Eda and low-key crushing on Lilith (her and Eda are semi-cool) bu thinks Lilith doesn’t like her because she’s kinda cold and closed off (she likes reader too). If it’s possible ofc, thanks anyway!” 

A/N: Aaaaand I’m back! I hope you like it, lovely. 

Warning(s): None :) 

Walking up to the Owl House, you couldn’t help but jump when Hooty’s eyes popped open suddenly. You knew he was there, but hoped he wouldn’t notice you.

“Hiya, Y/N!” The house demon screeched.

“Hi, Hooty. How’s it going?”

“It’s going great! I ate three bugs this morning!” He said proudly.

“That’s great - is Eda home?” You asked, trying not to be too blunt, but not wanting to hear about bugs for the rest of the afternoon.

“She sure is! Hoot!”

To your relief, the door swung open, allowing you entry. The last time you’d been stuck talking to Hooty, you had to listen to a retelling of his darkest moments. Some of them still made you shiver.

You expected to find Eda sitting on her couch sipping some apple blood, but instead it was Lilith. She was fully dressed for the day despite it only being the early afternoon. Not only did her surprise appearance make you nervous, it made you feel grossly underdressed.

“Oh, uh, hi Lilith.” You greeted her, giving an awkward little wave.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Lilith replied.

Lilith didn’t even bother to look up from what she was reading on her scroll. Her voice held little emotion, or interest. It dampened your demeanor a little bit. You never knew what you’d done to make the woman not like you. Of course you’d catch feelings for the one witch who wasn’t interested.

“Is Eda here?”

“In the kitchen.” Lilith said bluntly.

“Oh, thanks.” You tried to smile, though it looked much more like a grimace.

You shuffled through the room awkwardly. Though you were trying not to look awkward - which made it even worse. Being in the presence of the well put-together witch made you feel self-conscious about the way you held yourself. You may believe that she didn’t like you, but it didn’t stop you from trying to be your best when around her.

“Morning, Eda.”

“Hey, Y/N!” Eda said, surprisingly cheerful until she saw your expression, “You good?”

“Yeah, I’ve never been better! Just a little tired is all.” You lied.

You knew that Eda wouldn’t care if you had feelings towards Lilith. Hell, she’d probably help you out. But you felt embarrassed about having feelings for someone who clearly wasn’t interested.

“Okay then. Ready to go?” Eda asked, throwing on her usual disguise.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

That seemed to be good enough for her. Eda tipped back the rest of her apple blood, before slipping on her shoes. Then the two of you were off to the market. Wanted by the Emperor’s Coven or not, she still needed money. Especially since Luz was still attending Hexside.

Since she could no longer do magic, she’d enlisted more of your help to guard the stand. You needed an excuse to get out of the house. It all worked out perfectly.

“Alright, Lily, we’re off to the market!” Eda announced.

That got a reaction from the stoic witch.

“The market? Edalyn, that’s a horrible idea,” Lilith protested, “You know how dangerous it is! It will be even worse if Y/N is seen with us.”

You were shocked Lilith had included you. Typically, she’d go on about scolding her sister as if you weren’t even there. The change was nice.

“Y/N is more than capable of handling herself and so am I, Lily.” Eda said, rolling her eyes as she reached the front door.

She turned the knob and gave you a look that said ‘well, are you coming?’ and prompted you to get moving. Lilith looked furious that nobody was backing her up, but didn’t say anything further. Just watched with a frown as the two of you left.

You felt guilty not listening to Lilith or backing her up. It was dangerous to go back to the market, you both knew that, but there wasn’t another choice. Money had to be made somehow. This was the best bet.

---

And despite being the best bet, it was also the worst idea either of you had.

Things had been going fine for a while. Too fine. There had been a steady stream of customers for quite a while. Until the Emperor’s guard walked by.

Eda’s disguise was horrible at covering who she was. It’d been all too easy for a Coven guard to look over, spot her, and turn your whole day upside-down. That was how you found yourself crouched behind an overturned table, throwing spells back and forth with a multitude of guards while Eda scribbled some runes on paper.

“We need to get out of here before they call in more guards!” You yelled to Eda above the noise of spells and destruction.

As if on cue, a wave of guards surrounded you from behind. Locking you in completely.

“Damn, Y/N, you have the worst timing!” Eda said, slamming her hand down on two runes and throwing them at the new guards.

You were going to respond, but decided it against it. You needed to focus all of your energy on dealing with these guards. They were slowly closing in on all sides. There wasn’t any time for distractions.

Unfortunately though, it seemed your magical prowess was no match for their numbers. The two of you were about two spells away from being captured and taken to the emperor.

Which made Lilith’s timing perfect.

The witch had appeared behind the larger group of guards, using a combination of rune magic and her remaining magic to knock them down. It drew the attention away from you and Eda for just long enough to attack the rest. The three of you were effective in taking them all down, but you guessed that you had about five minutes before more were going to show.

“Are you alright?” Lilith asked you uncharacteristically. She walked right up to you, inspecting you for any wounds or marks.

“I-I’m fine, Lilith,” You stuttered out, shocked at the treatment, before catching sight of a wound on her arm, “but you’re not.”

Without hesitating you ripped a piece of cloth off of your clothing and wrapped it snugly, but gently, around the wound on her arm. You tied it tight enough that the bleeding would stop, but carefully enough that it wouldn’t hurt her.

When you looked back up at Lilith, her gaze was soft. Warm. It shocked you so much that a bright red blush appeared on your face.

“God, will you two just kiss or something already?” Eda groaned from her place next to you.

You both jumped into action helping the witch up and packing the things around you. Coven guards were yelling from a couple blocks away when you left. The three of you let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Y/N?” Lilith asked.

“Hm?”

“Would you go to dinner with me?”

The question shocked you. Almost enough to stop you in your tracks. But you couldn’t help the beaming smile that wormed its way onto your face.

“I would love to.” You said.

And with one little kiss to her cheek, you sealed the deal to your future.

#lilith clawthorne #lilith clawthorne x reader #lilith x reader #the owl house #lilith toh #the owl house x reader #lilith the raven lady #lilith the owl house #the owl house imagine #wlw #wlw imagine #lilith clawthorne x fem reader #dec2020 #multimilfswritings

[deceitfullyanxioussss]

Must Have Been the Wind

Hey guys! I kinda already posted this on my ao3 a few months ago and just realized I forgot to post it here as well so like, here you go I guess lmao

Summary: Remus goes back to his apartment and wants a nap after a bad day at work. Instead, he finds he is kept up by some very troubling sounds coming from the room above his.Remus decides he wants to help this stranger.

Song fic! Must Have Been the Wind - Alec Benjamin

CW: Cursing, and uh, Remus being Remus ig? Oh, and minor homophobic character (Lemme know if I need to add more)

Proof-read by @queroze, thank you again, even though this was a while ago lol

Remus let out a huff of breath, feeling his tense muscles relax as he practically melded into the couch. The plan was for him to catch a nice nap after his exhausting day at work.

   He was a barista at a coffee shop, which usually wasn’t too bad. He liked his job. Often, he even found it relaxing.

   However, there can be days that are just the exact opposite of relaxing.

   It seemed as though every customer he came across that day woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Oh, and don’t even get him started on the Karens. The Karens were nearly impossible to deal with.

   A frown slipped on his face, recounting the worst part of his day. There was a very verbal homophobe who came in today.

   Remus was very openly gay and always wore a pride pin on his apron next to his name. He had the unfortunate luck of having to take, and make his order. He probably had to stand there for a full 5 minutes, just listening to his lecture about how wrong gay sex is. Remus was able to shut him up by reminding him of the line behind him.

   It didn’t end there though.

   A lesbian couple walked in not long later, hand in hand. It didn’t take long for it to catch the attention of this man, who immediately jumped at the chance to pull another 500 slide PowerPoint out of his ass.

   The rest of his co-workers decided that he had to be ushered out of the shop. Nothing about getting him to leave was easy though, not in the slightest. He went out yelling and cursing the whole way.

    The two girls were very lovely though, they had a nice conversation about the upcoming pride event, and he was more than happy to give them both free refills on him.

    So he guessed the day wasn’t all bad, but it still seemed to drag him out as if he was dough under a roller, crunching off of his bones into powder and flattening all his veins against his skin.

     Yes, a nap seems like a good idea.

     Remus’s eyes fluttered closed, fatigue quickly overtaking his body.

   Just then, a sharp, yet muffled noise cut through the serenity of silence.

   Some barely-conscious part of his mind gained interest in this sound.

   What was that? It kind of sounded like glass.  It had murmured through its TV static atmosphere.

   The rest of his mind, nearly completely asleep, wordlessly communicated that it was probably nothing, and he should just focus on sleeping.

   That seemed to calm his brain enough to settle down.

There was a little sliver of his mind that wasn’t quite ready to let go of the sound yet, though. It kept listening, even if undetected by the rest of the brain. It seemed right to do so, as muffled sounds of yelling and sobbing registered through its cloudy state.

   It was then Remus blearily pried his eyelids open and sat up.

   The fuck?  Remus groaned internally, forcing his body into an acceptable sitting position. Confusion stuck onto his brain like wrinkled cling wrap as he tried to make any sense of the hazy world around him.

   A loud thud was heard from the floor above, followed by an emotionally drained cry.

   Remus grunted and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.

   For maybe just a split second, his heart felt sympathy for the person, but he was just so tired. It’s not like it was his problem, right? He could just ignore it and go back to sleep.

   He flipped over on his side so his head faced the back of his sickly green couch and closed his eyes, trying his best to draw his attention away from the sounds upstairs.

   He must have laid there for a good while, trying and failing to push the sounds to the back of his head, his anxiety amping up little by little the longer the crying persisted.

   Eventually, Remus let out a loud, guttural sigh and stood up swiftly. He couldn’t just ignore them, he had to help.

   Making the decision, he walked towards his coat-rack and hastily tossed his jacket over his shoulders, bee-lining to the elevator.

   He silently curses the elevator for being so slow as he restlessly waited for the doors to push open, and when they do he wasted no time getting in and selecting floor 2.

   Remus usually enjoyed the tacky elevator music, but he found it only served to tick him off this time around. The music seemed to drag time out even slower and he was already so, so restless.

   Ding.

   With that, he stepped out and eagerly trodded down the hallways, stopping in front of the desired location. He raised a hand and knocked on the door with little hesitation, the anxious tapping of his foot echoed within the empty halls.

   Remus listened with rapt attention through the door, hearing as the person inside scrambled to make themself look even the slightest bit presentable.

   He waited impatiently, his gaze anxiously wandering around for some sort of distraction or stimulation. They landed on the grossly patterned navy blue carpet, look completed by the numerous stains that have accumulated over the years. Finding little interest there, he moved onto the walls. The dim, sparse lighting made the colour look like a shit brown. Impulsively, he reached to run his fingers along the many indents that found a home among the distasteful brown. The tactile stimulation instantly captured his focus, and he let the rough surface soothe him.

   Remus, too caught up in the stimulation, had forgotten his original purpose of being there. He startled back to reality upon hearing the soft click from the door. He immediately snapped his head back up, being met with a pair of mismatched eyes and a scarred face. This person was looking up at him with what he thought was supposed to be a confident expression. The effect was dampened by his pink-ish eyes, mussed hair, and the pastel yellow sweater he had hooked all the way up to his chin.

   Remus gave the other a small wave, just then realizing he had no game plan. Did he just… ask? Did he make small talk first? Should he invite him to his coffee shop for a drink and talk there?

   The other reciprocated the wave, smirking. “How may I help you, sir?” He asked politely

   Remus cleared his throat, deciding he should just be direct with this conversation. He was never really good at softening his approach anyway.

   “Hey, so, basically I heard something shatter and a lot of crying and yelling and I was kinda concerned about it, so I came to ask if you were ok.”

   The two men stared at each other for a few seconds before Remus spoke up again. “So, are you ok?”

   He heard the other snicker quietly, a gloved hand waving as if to dismiss the question. “Oh, my. That’s ridiculous. Your ears must be playing tricks on you, my dear.”

   Remus took notice of how he subtly buried his face deeper into the sweater.

   His attention was brought back up as the scarred man spoke again.

   “Thank you for caring, sir, it’s very kind of you, but I have some urgent work to get back to. I wish I could tell you about the noise, but I'm afraid I didn’t hear a thing.” He shook his head. “Perhaps it was merely a harsh gust of wind.” He suggested.

   Remus let out a quiet sigh, but nodded and accepted the answer.

   The two waved each other farewell as Remus trudged back to the elevator.

Remus had been laying down, back pressed hard against the cold concrete of the floor. The chill from beneath seeped in through his spine and into his chest, weighing him down heavily. He just couldn’t stop thinking about his upstairs neighbor.

   It had been hours since his last visit already, and the man upstairs was still pacing across his apartment, occasionally he would stop and silence would follow. The pacing always started back up though.

   Absent-mindedly, his hands fiddled with the necklace around his neck, running his fingers across the cool, smooth metal.

   He just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and he wanted to help.

   Remus knew that he didn’t have all the facts, and he didn’t really want to intrude on the man’s life. There was a possibility that nothing was wrong, and he was  just imagining things. He didn’t want to pester his neighbor with his stupid, false worries.

   But what if something is wrong?   You saw his puffy eyes. You know you heard those sounds.  His mind kept telling him.  You can’t just leave him alone, can you?

   Remus nodded to himself and for the second time that day, stood and made his way back to the other’s door. More hesitantly this time, he knocked. His raps were slow and unsure as he swayed nervously from side-to-side.

   He heard the pacing stop, and he waited, his focus on nothing but his shoes this time around. Then he heard footsteps approach the door and he looked up just as the door swung open.

   He was met with the same mismatched eyes, messy hair, and sweater. He didn't forget to take note of the new eye bags and odor he’s sporting with him though.

   “Oh, it’s you again.” the nervousness of his neighbor's voice managed to carry through despite the fabric covering his mouth.

   Remus ran a hand through his hair and looked to the side. “Yeah.” he chuckled unsurely.

   “I just- I’m still worried,” he said, smile falling. “I know you said you were fine, but… I just felt the need to check again. It’s- those sounds- they’re not leaving me alone.” he tentatively looked up into the other’s eyes. “Are- Are you sure you’re ok?”

   Remus is pretty sure he saw the scarred side of his face twitch, probably in annoyance he’s sure. He knew it was a bad idea to come back up. He was always such a bother, even to his own family. What made him think a stranger would appreciate seeing his face twice in one day?

   “Yes.” the answer cut through Remus’s thoughts and redirected his attention. “I am absolutely positive that everything’s fine.” There was a hint of irritation that Remus desperately wished he didn’t hear.

   “Once again, thank you for caring, it’s very kind. Truly. But I really do have some urgent work to get back to. I wish I could help you with the noise, but I didn’t hear a thing. In fact, I’m almost certain it was just the wind. You need to stop worrying so much over such a trivial thing.”

   Remus’s body became hot with shame as he shrunk in on himself. He nodded at the man before he sluggishly made his way back.

The following morning, he didn’t even bother with breakfast. Immediately going over to slouch on his couch, he stared back up at the ceiling. It seemed to be a new favourite hobby of his apparently.

   He had a lot of time to think about the previous night, about his last interaction with the man upstairs.

    There was no way those sounds were from his imagination. He was in a groggy state when he heard the yelling, sure, but surely the pacing wasn't something his ears made up. Surely, the messy hair and puffy eyes weren't something his eyes made up.

   His mind carefully brought up the idea of confronting him again, but he quickly winced and scrapped the idea. The irritated voice of the other causing his gut to lurch in a nauseating way.

   He was most certainly not going to be looking him in the eyes for a good while now.

   He was starting to break through the surface though, right? Maybe he should just call it quits and admit that he can't help.

   He couldn't just go back up again, he didn't think he could take the ice-cold, biting irritation again.

   Remus sat, rolling the interactions over in his head. Whoever said anything about a letter?  A lightbulb sparked, setting an explosion through his body that jolted him up from his seat with a gasp.

   "A letter! That's so simple! I don't have to face him again, and he doesn't have to feel as much pressure! I'm a fucking genius!" He yelled, pumping his fists into the air with triumphant gusto.

He rushed over to his desk, brimming with excitement as he began to write.

   In Remus's very distinct, messily scrawled printing, he began:

   Sup Mr Scarface! (I haven't even thought to ask your name yet lmao)

   Listen up nerd! I  promise  I'm not playing tricks on you when I say this

   You’re  always  welcome to come in

   You could stay here for an hour or two if you ever need a friend. We can talk about the noise when you’re ready

   But… til then I’ll say it must have been the wind.

   Yours sincerely, annoying dude from yesterday ;)

   Remus let out a long, pleased sigh as he gave it a quick once-over. He saw many mistakes, but he gave them not even a second glance before he was already out of the door.

   He was going to deliver this letter and it was going to be wonderful!

Remus shucked his jacket off and onto his coat-rack upon returning from work the following day. It had been a pretty good day today. No awful homophobes, that's for sure.

   Turning his T.V. on for background noise, he moved over to his miniature kitchen. Distantly aware of a news reporter talking about some murder, he got started on his rice and gravy.

   Perhaps 10 minutes passed by when he heard a gentle rapping on the front door.

   Remus curiously strode over and opened his door, surprised to see the man from upstairs in front of him.

   "Oh, wow. Hey there, dude! Didn't expect to actually see ya this soon!" Remus exclaims.

   "I, uh, yeah…" the scarred man shifted in place for a few moments, burying his face into his sweater. "If the, uh, offer is still open, I’d love to have someone to talk to,” he mumbled through the thick fabric.

   Remus stood and processed the words for a few seconds before grinning widely.

   "Of course! Of course! Come on in, my man! Lunch will be done in a bit if you want some!”

   The other smiled and shyly slunk into his apartment

   "I’d love that.” He said. “Thank you.”

   "Not a problem at all! My name's Remus by the way!" He excitedly extended a hand for the other to shake.

   Said man looked at his hand for a moment or two before carefully clasping his own around it.

   Even more carefully, his shy voice spilled a simple name. "...Janus."

#Demus #platonic demus #romantic demus #Janus Sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic janus #songfic #sanders sides

[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.”

#namjoon fanfiction #rm fanfiction #bts fanfiction #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #rm smut #reader insert #rm angst #rm x reader #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic #bts fanfic #love yourself collab #ghost reader #clumsy namjoon #unspecified gender reader #bts angst #major character death #fic: forever rain #ddaenggtan

[soulful--siren]

A Little Party Never Killed Nobody [Fem Reader x Nicky Valentino]

After being invited as Nicky’s plus one, you find yourself lost in the glitz and glamor of a drunken Halloween party. You’re just hoping that you don’t find yourself hopping into hot water with your gangster boyfriend.

[fem reader x nicky valentino]

Words: 1567

A/N: hello hello there!! first Nicky fic here because like the rest of you I am DESPERATE for any type of Nicky content on this site. I have no idea how long this will be!!! Thanks for reading! :’D

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It’s been a month since your stepping into your biggest role yet: the leading lady of a 1920’s gangster film. To say things were grossly different than the imminent future would be an understatement. New York seemed like a different place entirely thanks to your little wish come true. In some ways, it was odd, foreign and just downright weird. The slang was totally different and the buildings seemed to come straight out of a history textbook. However, in some ways, it was absolutely charming; namely in one way in particular: Nicky Valentino.

If he hadn’t come straight out of a movie you would have been convinced that he came straight from heaven instead. He was charming, romantic, stern yet soft and you were falling hopelessly head over heels for him with every day that passed. You were sure that he would do absolutely anything for you to ensure your happiness, and if you were being truly honest with yourself, you were starting to feel the same for him.

It was a cool day in October when the leaves had finally shed their last traces of life and started displaying their wondrous blends of harvest colors. You found yourself linked in arm with Nicky strolling through the Central Park of New York’s past leaning your head sweetly on one of his broad shoulders.

“I’ll tell ya, there ain’t any fall like a Central Park fall,” Nicky looked down at your figure the edges of his lips lifting in a smile.

“Oh, I believe you,” you replied looking back up at him nuzzling his coat closer for warmth. “Just wish it wasn’t so cold out, you’d think winter was right around the corner.” You laughed.

“Oh, it isn’t. Soon enough the leaves will be gone, and kaput it’ll be winter for the next half of the year.” He took a moment to watch the ground beneath the two of you and your gaze followed his. The ground below was littered in red, orange and gold keeping your steps quiet against the black pavement.

“Fall dies off too fast but that's what makes it gorgeous… it’s fleeting.” his voice became strangely somber for a moment and you instinctively squeezed his arm. The physical affection seemed to bring him back to earth.

“Ah! That’s right I’d almost forgotten!” He stopped mid-step and turned around to face you fully taking both of your hands in his. You felt your heart do a summersault as he gave you his signature million-dollar smile.

“My darling, my sweetheart, my absolute angel, I have a proposal for you.”

“Proposal..?! Did… did you just… did you just say proposal??” You yelped holding tight onto his hands now. You were fairly smaller than him, but Lord help you if he tried to drop down to one knee you would summon whatever powers that be to keep him from falling to the floor.

He saw your frightened expression and laughed. “Oh!! You thought I meant!! Darling, I didn’t mean that typa proposal!!” he sheepishly ran a hand through his slicked hair. “At least… not yet.” You were pretty sure your heart had been stopped and restarted at least three times since he started this conversation but you were somehow still conscious.

“Okay then…dually noted... What proposal did you mean exactly?”

“I’ve been invited to some party right on the sound for Halloween and I am allowed one gorgeous guest of my choosing,” he took one of your hands and pressed his lips against your knuckles sending electricity up your arm. “You wouldn’t perchance have anything to do then would you?”

You smirked humming in response taking your free hand to cup the side of your cheek. “Gosh, Nicky I just don’t know! I’ll have to ask my boyfriend and get back to you,” You snickered your eyes trailing back to him. He returned your smirk pulling you in fast towards his chest snaking an arm around your waist as he loomed over you, his chocolate eyes glittering mischievously. 

“Something tells me he’s gonna say yes.” He touched his forehead to yours leaning near you to close to distance till he stopped suddenly at the call of his name. You both craned your necks from one another to see an out of breath Ralph bending over to catch his breath his hands holding him up by bearing down on his knees.

“Nick we’ve got the fuzz swarming the club downtown. Looks pretty serious…!” You saw his jaw clench as he pinched the bridge of his nose sighing. “I swear those pigs will herd if I’m a second late on their pay off…” He grumbled. He threw a hand up. “I’ll be down there with ya in a minute let me just say goodbye.” He muttered. Ralphie nodded only to turn straight back around this time taking his sweet time in walking to get his breath back. 

Nicky drew his hand into his coat pocket drawing out a few bills licking the tip of his thumb as he counted. 

“I’ll meet you at the hotel at around four. Go pick something nice out for yourself for the party. On me,” he gave the bills to you in one hand and in the other parted your hair gently laying a kiss on the space of your forehead beneath it. “I’ll see you soon okay sugar?”

You were starting to feel lightheaded from all the puppy love. “See you soon.” 

Shopping didn’t take you long, after all, everyone could be considered modest in comparison to Nicky. Halloween costumes while available weren’t nearly as extensive as present-day costumes so you had to throw something together. With a sleek silver sequined dress, a faux fur to wrap around your shoulders and silver eyeshadow, you had convinced yourself it was the perfect look for an ice queen. Getting yourself together took almost no time in comparison to the time it usually took you to get ready(probably because of the lack of supply). You were reaching for your back buttons when you heard a knock at the door. You lifted your dress just inches above your ankles so that you wouldn’t collect any dirt on the way to the door. “Coming!” you called before swinging it open to find Nicky standing in the doorway costume and all.

He looked slick. He always looked unnaturally handsome but today took the cake. His suit was a creamy white with a cotton shirt and tie to match, but at his shoulders hung a long crimson velvet cape that draped to the floor. His hair was slicked back as it usually was but upon it held a crown of olive leaves. It was bad enough Nicky already looked like a roman emperor, now he looked ready to conquer the entirety of Europe.

“Well well well what do we have here?” You leaned in the frame eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise. “I’m sorry Caesar but I’m expecting someone right about now,” You joked while walking back into your room.

“You look gorgeous toots,” Nicky smiled coming up alongside you. 

“Mind fastening my back Nicky?” You asked pulling a bit of your hair away from your neck.

“Why I’d be happy to,” he placed one hand on your hip while the other fastened each button on your dress.

“You look handsome Nicky,” You turned to face him after he finished and got close to him standing on your toes to reach around the back of his neck. 

“With a face like that, I’m sure you could rival a queen,” You blushed leaning your head against his chest. “Softie.” You murmured against his suit. 

“Guilty as charged,” He purred sitting his chin atop your head. “Shall we, my dear?” You looked up at him humming thoughtfully. In all honesty, you would have loved nothing more than to stay in the hotel room all day to hold Nicky close and talk but this was an obvious call to adventure, and who knew? It could be more fun than you thought.

“We shall.”

The drive was drastically shorter than your trips from Manhattan to the Hamptons but it was still lengthy nonetheless. Ralph pulled the car into a long roundabout driveway until pulling to a stop to park. The back car door opened and Nicky stepped out only to offer you his hand to join him.

Looking at the three-storied house you tried to suppress a whistle. They didn’t make mansions like these anymore that was for sure. The whole estate screamed Gatsby with its white marble walls and pillared entrance. The house was surrounded by high hedges which were only just beginning to turn brown. It seemed as if the entire place was barely touched by time.

“Which pal of yours owns this place?” You asked awestruck. The two of your walked arm in arm as you came near the front doors. You could already hear the bustling music and conversation from beyond the ten-foot wooden entrance.

“I don’t know… he’s sort of an acquaintance of an acquaintance that wanted to get in contact with me…” He explained. In a moment you felt Nicky lean in closer to your ear his breath tickling your neck.

“I don’t exactly know what to expect from this goon, but you say the word sweetheart and we’re out of here understand?” You nodded, leaning on his shoulder.

“I think we’ll be fine Nicky,” you smiled. “After all a little party never killed nobody right?”

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

#fictif #two against the world #nicky valentino #fanfiction #fanfic

[ziracona]

i was just wondering what your favourite tropes and dynamics are to explore in fic? either to write yourself or to read!

Oooh, that’s a hard one to answer because I like so many! Uhhh...Let me think.

Well, one of my favorite tropes is definitely Found Family. What is really more satisfying and worthwhile than a group of damaged people coming together and slowly building trust and love until they are inseparably bonded and full of love and have found things they never thought they would? 

I am extremely weak to memory loss both because I have some myself, and the American Dragon Jake Long episode Homecoming ripped out my heart as a kid and left me suffering, then Code Geass stepped on it twice with Shirley the same way. So I really like memory loss centered tragedy tropes bc I am 3x weak to them. I am also weak to that trope where one person is trapped in a room with a bomb, or going to drown, or for whatever reason cannot be saved from dying, so a loved one goes and stays and dies with them too just so they don’t have to die alone. Frkn /shatters/ my heart.

I love hurt comfort a lot. I think my favorite scenes to write and read are often one person is completely at the mercy of person 2, who they have no reason to think will help them and are terrified of being hurt by, but instead of person 2 doing anything bad at all, they are kind and look after them and save them. I die for that. It is the lifeblood of my soul.

I also like big character arcs and well done redemption arcs (bad ones make me rage tho. If I was a card in a tarot deck, I’d be Justice). Personal growth, finding hope again, learning to trust or love yourself. I really like character studies, and I like in-depth looks at serious issues and complex and messed up situations. I also am a big fan of deeply important and lasting platonic relationships, be it familial or best friends or whatever, and like romances where the two in question (or more if poly) just try really hard to be good to each other and communicate well and are full of love and would die for each other. 

Love pets being a big element of story. Love language barriers, and like writing them/communication barriers. I am usually not very interested in stories (writing or reading) that don’t have good rep in a number of ways. Like writing disabled characters well because I see them get written very grossly so much (I like writing tons of groups this is just the one I did most recently, so it’s on my mind rn. I am disabled, but I’m also a lot of other things to & def don’t only focus on/be interested by my own stuff). I am kinda branching out from tropes to just elements now tho. Uhhhhh, tropes, tropes. I love the opposite of that stupid “If you kill an evil person you’re just as bad”--I am here to see people end the people who murdered their friends or abused them. It’s what they deserve. Not here for a woobie redemption arc for an abuser. Very tired of those & angy. 

I love humor in the midst of intense drama or horror or sadness. I’m big into massive sacrifices, but especially if it’s something other than death bc those tend to be more well thought out.

I adore characters who have been through awful things and suffered and been abused getting to actually heal and live happy lives instead of just dying the second they start to taste happiness. I love themes and tropes about the value and lasting nature of human connection and how important and lasting it is.

(putting the rest under a cut bc I am having fun but this be getting long)

Uhhh, I am obsessed with free will > fate and choice, and I really like humanity and things about what it means to be human, and ethics, but like, in an interesting way? Like, Terry Pratchett’s stuff really appeals to me. Like  “What have I always believed? That on the whole, and by and large, if a man lived properly, not according to what any priests said, but according to what seemed decent and honest inside, then it would, at the end, more or less, turn out all right.”    “Just because you can explain it doesn't mean it's not still a miracle.”   “The figures looked more or less human. And they were engaged in religion. You could tell by the knives (it's not murder if you do it for a god).”   “There are hardly any excesses of the most crazed psychopath that cannot easily be duplicated by a normal kindly family man who just comes in to work every day and has a job to do.”    “There’s no point in believing in things that exist.”    “You couldn’t put off the inevitable. Because sooner or later, you reached the place when the inevitable just went and waited.”  and   

“Yeah? How many worshipers have you got?”  “Fifty-one!” The newt looked at him hopefully, and added, “Is that lots? Can't count.” It pointed at a rather crudely molded figure on the beach in Omnia and said, “But got a stake!”  Om looked at the figure of the little fisherman. “When he dies, you'll have fifty worshippers,” he said.  “That more or less than fifty-one?” “A lot less.”  “Definite?”  “Yes.”  “No one tell me that.” There were several dozen gods watching the beach. Om vaguely remembered the Ephebian statues. There was the goddess with the badly carved owl. Yes. Om rubbed his head. This wasn't god-like thinking. It seemed simpler when you were up here. It was all a game. You forgot that it wasn't a game down there. People died. Bits got chopped off. We're like eagles up here, he thought. Sometimes we show a tortoise how to fly. Then we let go.  He said, to the occult world in general, “There's people going to die down there.”  A Tsortean God of the Sun did not even bother to look round. “That's what they're for,” he said. In his hand he was holding a dice box that looked very much like a human skull with rubies in the eye-sockets.  “Ah, yes,” said Om. “I forgot that, for a moment.” He looked at the skull, and then turned to the little Goddess of Plenty. “What's this, love? A cornucopia? Can I have a look? Thanks.” Om emptied some of the fruit out. Then he nudged the Newt God. “If I was you, friend, I'd find something long and hefty,” he said.  “Is one less than fifty-one?” said P'Tang-P'Tang.  “It's the same,” said Om, firmly. He eyed the back of the Tsortean God's head.  “But you have thousands,” said the Newt God. “You fight for thousands.”  Om rubbed his forehead. I spent too long down there, he thought. I can't stop thinking at ground level. “I think,” he said, “I think, if you want thousands, you have to fight for one.” He tapped the Solar God on the shoulder. “Hey, sunshine?” When the God looked around, Om broke the cornucopia over his head.

Are all just from Small Gods, and like, boy is that my kinda good shit. Love history and sociology and anthropology. 

I love people fighting to do something they know is doomed to fail just because they know it’s the right thing. I also die for characters who are loyal undyingly, and characters admitting they were wrong and trying to do better, and that trope where someone says something but the exact opposite is happening in the background or happens immediately after. Love that trope where someone should be dead but they just. keep. getting. back. up. to defend someone they love. Love the trope where character A dies and character B takes something of theirs like a bracelet or a necklace or a headband or something and wears it forever after. : (((    

I know there’s a ton more but ima swap to dynamics. 

Let’s see. I adore familial relationships so much? Blood family, adopted, doesn’t matter, it’s exactly the same. I am huge on one character becoming team mom or dad or parent, or adopting some of the others. I love parent-kid relationships, even with adults and older adults, because it’s just as important. I adore small children being cared for by gruff war-hardened people, or selfish dicks who have to be better for the kid, or kind people who always wanted a kid and lost their own or never had one, or who are happy to add one more, or big sisters Clemtine style stepping into parenthood. Live for that, and I seek out video games that let me play it. Very excited to be trying out Plague’s Tale Innocence, because you play as a big sis taking care of your little brother (he’s like 6? 5-8? I’m not sure). But it’s such a neat idea for a sibling dynamic to explore, because while they’re siblings and know each other’s name and have like, a familial bond, it’s also all kind of awkward and new, because he’s been sick for years and in quarantine with just their mom, so even though they’re siblings and love each other and like, baby brother trusts you, they don’t really know each other at all, and that is just fascinating and so cool to explore to me! I also love someone adopting someone else as their new sibling(s) and dragging them into the family. I love siblings where one starts to go evil or mess up, and the other sibling fights with everything they have to save them/bring them back/help them become good again, because it breaks my heart and sibling relationships are /so/ important to me.

I also love shit like Jeff in dbd, where one character adopts younger characters who just /super/ don’t deserve it, because as much as they’ve fucked up, they love them anyway, they just do, and they want to be there to give them support and a chance to keep trying if they’ll take it. And like, I love all of Legion’s relationships with him, but especially Joey, because it’s /so/ sweet, and Joey is just a scared kid hurting and alone and he wants /so bad/ just to be loved and thought well of and okay, but he’s terrified of getting hurt or killed, and confused, and guilty and afraid of what will happen because of all the bad shit he did, and Jeff is just so warm and forgiving and full of nothing but unconditional love and kindness, and in the sincerest of ways, and they’re such good friends, which is like, not optional to a good parent-child relationship. Or way older brother filling in for parent-kid, there’s a lot of overlap. Anyway! Also just cute shit where someone falls in love with the idea of getting to look out for and stay close to someone younger they want to protect and parent, and there’s this kind of hopeful and almost fragile unsureness that the other person will want or need them in that capacity, like Ace adopting Nea, and not just picking looking out for someone who needs it over former life of thrill, but like, never regretting that choice, and just being truly happy and fulfilled in the adventure they now are on.

For friendships, god. I like so much shit, I don’t know what to say. I am so sorry I am giving you a novel for an answer to this short ask, rip. But I just love all kinds! I like groups with an established rhetoric between them, who are just so comfortable in each others’ presence, and people you know love and value each other so much they’re going to be together forever just as much as the two other characters getting married. I love one is a nice person, and the other is an asshole, but they make an amazing team and balance each other out, and the asshole stops the kind one from dying doing shit for other people, and the kind one helps the asshole be just a little more in love with their friends and things other than themself, and they’re great together. I love idiot friends who riff off each other and do bits all the time, and ones who turn into the “Holy shit there’s two of them” whenever they hang out, and ones who are just so on the same wavelength they’re totally comfortable in silence together and seek it out and would die for the other. I like wingman to person who is dying of embarrassment dynamic, and hardcore fighty person protecting either small and easily hurt person, or just as great, protecting dedicatedly person who is ironically either just as tough as them or even more, but it’s still really sweet and kind of double soft and sweet because tough friend never gets cared for.

God, what don’t I like? ...People being toxic assholes together?

I like super opposites that mesh well, but look hilarious next to each other, and goofy best friends who shamelessly sing loud to the most embarrassing karaoke track they could find. Lesbian and himbo is pretty great. As is the opposite, gay dude and stupid amazing slut or bimbo. (Fkn Mateo and Cheyanne kill me). Sweetest person you will ever know surrounded by 20 people who would die for them. Person who thinks they’re unlovable and takes a long time to notice like all their friends already love them, and then they get to be happy. Person who has never once had a good relationship is dragged into a healthy friendship and /super/ suspicious at every turn because they just aren’t used to being loved and treated well, but eventually softens and probably straight up breaks down at some point.

Person who was formerly bad or did something super fucked up is forgiven and welcomed into a group which they can barely even understand, and they are full of guilt but their loved ones reassure them and help them heal and just accept them and support them. Friends who are super mean to other friend but like, in a loving way, and would also take a bullet for the friend.

Uhhh, for romances, my fave is characters who just fucking love each other. I am real tired of relationship drama. Like pining and issues and star crossed lovers are all great (I think of those, star-crossed lovers is my fave), but I mean like, the shit where people keep having misunderstandings or not talking or cheating on each other just so there can be drama--that I am sick of. I love it when person A does something super badass and probably a little unexpected and person B is like “That’s my wife!!!” or just goes : O with love in their eyes, and this happens constantly.  I love gushy mushy sweet displays of affection. I love relationships where the people who are dating were best friends first and still are after, all the way, and tease and rib and are so in love.

I like it when one person thinks they don’t deserve the other, but clearly their partner feels none of this and is always just like “Babe...” and hugs them and is just as in love, and helps them begin to love themself more. 

Uhhhh, I like it when there’s someone who doesn’t think they’re in love and there’s that trope where they suddenly get it and you get the Oh or the Wait in italics as it drops internally. I like ships where the characters balance each other out well or provide good support and get better together than they were apart, triple points if they’re super aware of that and comment on it. Also whatever the fuck Maureen Robinson and John Robinson in the Lost in Space reboot have going on. That’s like, goals. She’s chaotic evil living lawful good by sheer force of will, and he’s a himbo too in love to realize any of that and never questions what she thinks they should do beyond the physical logistics of it and would die for her and not think twice about it or the fact that she moves really fast to the pragmatic “Okay,”--not because she doesn’t love him, she does--but because someone does need to be alive for their kids and she’s just wired too practical for him to have to pry her off sobbing to not stay and die with him. (This happens verbatim in like episode 6, but it’s not a mega spoiler bc he doesn’t actually die--he just almost does. She figures out a way to save them both right before committing to it.)

I also like “two fools both in love but really nervous about asking the other if they are because of their past, or situation, or because this is the first time or first time with that kind of relationship, so there’s just intense romantic tension all the time where they pause mid-sentence to just stare into eachothers’ eyes and forget what they were saying, but they’re both too ineffective to just fucking go “Do you like me?” for such a long time. Hurt/comfort paired with pining. Uhhh, but Star Crossed Lovers is up there for sure. I love the pain of two people wanting to be together but it’s just /impossible/ and they know it but that doesn’t make the feelings go away, and it’s miserable, and maybe they’re upset, because they shouldn’t feel this way, but they can’t not, and it’s confused, and it hurts, but they’re also so /happy/ when they see each other. I like that good shit in any romance where the characters can just look at each other and they know, and you know. That’s the choice shit, I tell you that.

Jeeze I’m sure I missed stuff but this is already so long. Uhhh, I like so much I don’t really know how to answer. But my favorite like, vibe/....flavor genre? Is Hope Punk. Uhhh, and mostly I dig any relationships that end up healthy and sweet. I really like second-chances, and characters confronting and moving on past their bad or complicated pasts, or trauma, and healing. Hurt comfort is love, and so is angst with a happy ending. I like a good villain or a wonderful asshole, but I feel like characters that are just good and doing their best really get overlooked and undervalued a lot, and I am here for them. Like Sam Gamgee? One of the /best/ characters in LOTR. So is Bob Newby--and I do get the irony in them both being played by Sean Astin. But uh, anyway, I really like to explore how decent people try to act when confronted with terrible situations and choices, because I really value people who stayed sweet and kind and merciful and full of love even after all the awful shit life has put them through, and I really like writing about how /hard/ that is, and what it looks like, along with the other stuff. I also like characters who are very flawed and very medium being given something to lose and something to gain that go in opposite directions, and being forced to confront their reality and make hard choices. I like people being given intense opportunities to grow or to rot, and seeing which they’ll chose and why and if they’ll make it to the end. Mostly I just really love characters who try, even if they fail, because that can be a lot harder to do than it seems. I like dynamics where one character is very flawed, or in a bad place, but they love someone they think is amazing, and so they’re working hard to catch up to them, or to get close enough they can reach out and hold their hand, and are fighting to make it to a person themselves who can do that someday. I’m sure I forgot a lot and that this was super rambly, but I hope you at least enjoyed some of it! Thanks for asking! ^u^

#ask #anonymous #personal #writing #Anonymous

[misstinfoilhat]

Whumptober 2019 #19: Muffled Scream- Bungou Stray Dogs

I was finally able to tear away from the in-laws! This is the first holiday I've ever had a serious boyfriend and coming from a really small family myself, it's super strange to suddenly be a part of his enormous one. I went to him on the 25th, thinking I would stay over the night. Now, four days (and three family-gatherings later, with another two or three to go) … (and that's only his family)... I'm still here.

But, I was able to sneak off into the guest room where I have my computer and a bottle of wine, and now I'm itching to write!  So, this chapter is dark; consider yourself warned. Also, there’s a lot of character study (I guess?). Especially concerning Kenji, who is usually very under-represented in the fics I’ve read. That made me curious since after watching the anime and reading (most of) the manga, I still haven’t created a clear image of him. Read the first part of this story here ---

“These are all just spanning missions,” Tanizaki complained, sighing as he rested his chin in the palm of his hand, putting away yet another mission file from a suspicious spouse or a businessman, paranoid about his associate's intentions. “They always take up so much time and involves traveling and every time they are grossly underpaid!” He tiredly stretched out onto the hardwood table and buried his face in the fine-grained timber, groaning as his joints creaked with fatigue.

“None of these cases seems urgent enough to spend time on right now,” Kenji agreed solemnly, picking a random manila folder from the pile, opening it up in his lap.

“Maybe we can make something up. Like a missing person's case somewhere in the Caribbean,” Naomi suggested dreamingly, turning the page in her own file absentmindedly.

“Talk about wasting time,” Tanizaki responded a bit agitated and shot a glare towards his sister. “Besides, we wouldn't get paid to do that.”

“I just want a vacation,” she smirked, hand reaching out and making its way underneath the redhead's shirt. Tanizaki blushed violently and immediately tried to fight her off.

“That's so disrespectful to Dazai-san! This is a matter of-”

Ignoring the Tanizaki-sibling's bickering, Kenji's eyes trailed intensely over the new binder at hand, reading it quickly with great vigor, before he tried to break into the slightly disturbing fight going on at the other side of the counter from him.

“Guys?”

“-life and death and we don't have time for a freaking vacat-”

“Relax brother, I'm just messing around. What's with you-”

“Hey, guys?”

“...you're never any fun anymore.”

“I'm trying to focus!”

“Guys!” Kenji finally raised his voice. Not loudly; he wouldn't do that. His mother had raised him right, and shouting the loudest was not part of his gentle demeanor. But, the good thing about always being the jovial one, was that once he did speak up, everybody would hold up and listen. This time was no exception. The Tanizaki siblings turned, Naomi having nearly crawled under her brother's shirt and Junichirou trying desperately to keep her out.

Kenji paused for a moment to take in whatever was going on in front of him, eventually shrugging it off as being some big-city thing that he didn't quite understand yet. He hadn't seen anyone else try to crawl up someone else's shirt in the middle of a heated argument before, but he also didn't have any sisters... Maybe he could ask them about it later.

Satisfied with that, he slid the piece of paper over the table towards them.

Tanizaki picked it up and read silently before handing it over to Naomi, who had finally taken a seat at the chair her brother had initially set out for her.

“Niko Saito,” Junichirou mused while Naomi finished skimming through the papers. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

“It's the kid that we were looking for when Dazai went missing,” Naomi reminded him. Kenji nodded affirmatively.

“Six months ago, it was their mother who requested our help to find her missing daughter. But this time, it's her older sister. Look at the date,” Kenji instructed, pointing a chubby finger, nail coated with dirt from his small vegetable garden, towards the top of the page.

“That's only two weeks after Dazai went missing,” Tanizaki noted.

Kenji nodded again with a slight furrow between downy eyebrows, wrinkling his freckled forehead.

“Yeah... and two weeks after they recovered Niko Saito's body.” -------

The tray stood in the corner of the room, mocking him. Dazai hadn’t known that he was able to feel hunger anymore. He could go for days on end forgetting to eat, and only remembering when close to passing out. He didn't know how long he had gone this time, but apparently, longer than he used to in his life before. Maybe he had passed out already, but he couldn't be sure. Sleep and unconsciousness had always been two completely different things to him, but at this point, he took what he could get. Anything to get away, if only for a couple of minutes.

He wasn't even actually hungry anymore. It had gone far, far beyond the craving for food. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine that he felt his body eating away through the thin layer of fat he had, devouring away at his muscles instead.

It wasn't going to break him though. They would not make him get down on all four and eat from that tray like a dog. Not again.

The first time he had gotten to a point of hunger where pure animalistic appetite made him desperate enough to degrade himself to that extent; ignoring how they had literally glued the bowl to the floor and only tossed a scoop of an unidentifiable paste onto it- that’s when he had found out that whatever that pulp of brown puree was- it could not have been considered food for several weeks.

Anyone who truly knew Dazai could testify to that he had always been hyper-sensitive about what he ate and that he had a very weak stomach. For a moment, all he could do was to gorge into it in blind mania; desperately filling his gut with long sought-after nourishment. Then, after a short while, as the first bite where he could feel the maggots squirming between his teeth finally registered, he had instantly hurled out all of his meager stomach’s contents back into the bowl.

They left it there, deciding that he was ungrateful and needed to finish his meal before he could get a new one, and he had sworn that he would never eat anything ever again.

He hadn't been able to hold that promise to himself. He had failed, several times, and it had made him horribly sick. But after a while, they had started to replace his “food” more frequently. Dazai figured that they had noticed how sick he was, and figured that they would have to make some changes to keep him alive.

This had only fueled his determination to not eat. It was a small victory, but he took what he could get.

The sound of heavy boots echoed outside his isolation, and he felt his body tense up instinctively. He held his breath, praying they would pass him by. As they stopped only a small distance away from him, he started wracking his brain about when he had showered or been to the toilet the last time. Maybe it was time for that? Usually, nothing too bad would happen then. Only a couple of half-hearted kicks or whacks over the head if he was unable to pay attention.

...but he could remember the last time they had taken him out for that. He had no idea when it was, but the fact that he remembered at all was a bad sign for what was to come.

It creaked in a high pitched noise as the lock on the other side of the door he was shackled to slid open, and Dazai held his breath in anticipation for the pain to come. He wasn't actually afraid of the pain- it was simply something to be endured. Sometimes it would be gone in an instance and sometimes it would start small and gradually increase to a climax where it would absolutely suck- but it was still nothing to be afraid of. Other times, it would only be a dull, slightly irritating ache, and sometimes it would never truly go away. In the end, even if he hated it, it was the promise of it that was worst.

Suddenly, finally, he was yanked backward by his neck. The wounds on his knees were once again reopened as his scattered knees raked across the floor while a dizzying, immeasurable pain wracked through his body from his dislocated hip. His air supply was cut off right as the door was wrenched open and it felt as if his windpipe was being crushed by the force of it.

A strangled gasp swirled around in the cold hallway for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. He was getting lightheaded; he wasn't getting enough oxygen and he felt his whole body shudder with the effort it took just to draw a breath.

Half-aware, he could hear someone talking to him. Dark pants and combat boots were crowding around him, their prods lingering threateningly and close to him as they kept throwing commands at him, waiting for him to react.

Even if he couldn't make out what they were saying, he knew what they wanted and it made him want to chuckle. Because he couldn't get up on his feet even if he had been trying, and he wouldn't be trying even if he had thought he would be able to. Giving him a shock in the state he was in, would only make him less coherent, and make their job that much harder and make it absolutely hopeless to try and make him talk- yet again because he wouldn't be trying even he thought he would be able to.

A faint memory of an old folk tale about a snake eating its own tale came to mind. The ouroboros, he remembered. It was supposedly meant to symbolize life, death, and rebirth, but to Dazai, it had always seemed like it was a tale of a double-edged sword. People doing stupid shit and continuing doing stupid shit without gaining anything. Because no matter what, the snake would end up cannibalizing itself.

He wasn't sure if the snake was him or them in this scenario, but it didn't matter. None of them were getting anywhere anyway.

The sharp pain of electric shock pulled him out of his musings, aimed at his bare ribcage. Dazai was hardly able to react before his head was forced up by a death grip on his hair.

The man that spoke faded in and out of focus and his voice was nothing but a muffled sound that told Dazai absolutley nothing about what was going to happen next. Two strong hands were grabbing onto his skeletal arms and hoisted him up between them and started carrying him through the hallway, towards his inevitable doom. ----------

“Kunikida-san, we found something interesting,” Kenji announced as the three teenagers came rushing back into the office. A single casefile was fluttering in the blonde's hand and quickly, it was resting on his idealistic elder's arms that were still lingering at the keyboard connected to his computer.

Kunikida's hazel eyes slowly trailed down from his screen and onto the file, a small irritated nerve twitching at the edge of his eye.

“Yes?” he answered darkly before he shifted his attention to the eager fourteen-year-old. He was clearly trying to suppress his anger at being interrupted in the middle of work by yet another impatient teenager. But looking into those hopefull emerald eyes, his fury quickly diminished, albeit reluctantly.

Being mad at Kenji was much like holding a grudge to a puppy. In the end, it would only make him feel like a heartless monster.

He took a deep, steadying breath, mentally sifting through different voices and reactions, once again realizing how big of a void the loss of Dazai had left. 

With him, it was so easy. No matter how Kunikida reacted, how much abuse and rage he subjected the glorified toilet-roll to, it would just roll off his back as if the reaction to his antics hadn’t been (slightly) unreasonable.

It was just so liberating. Kunikida always had to censor himself around other people, in fear of hurting them. In the end, that had been his downfall as a teacher. But that was mainly because kids were just so damn stupid. There were so many feelings all the time; so many feelings that always seemed to get hurt by him. In the end, that hurt him as well, but that didn't matter much when he was called into the principle's office for a tongue-lashing or a peace offering to the student he had offended's parents.

Admittedly, he respected all the brats he worked with at the agency, and things had been going well while he had his verbal punching-bag there, with him. Now, however, he found himself stepping over the line more often than not.

He needed to do better, if not for himself, then for the kids and Dazai. Because Dazai cared for those brats. Often, it seemed like Dazai even cared about him, which... felt strangely nice. Because people didn't usually like him at all. They thought he was too stubborn and rule-abiding and mean.

But not Dazai. If Kunikida hadn’t known any better (which he absolutely did) he would have thought that Dazai was slightly stupid, accepting a bitter and angry man like himself for who he was just like that. There was simply no logical reason for it if he couldn’t think of one.

“A-are you okay Kunikida-san?” Kenji suddenly asked, bringing Kunikida out of his toxic train of thoughts. Moss-rimmed eyes stared at him with a concerned squint to them, and the frost that had crept up on him seemed to melt away in a moment.

“Yes, Kenji-kun. I got lost in thought for a moment, that's all. Don't worry about it,” Kunikida answered, slightly surprised by the softness of his own voice. As the worry slowly vanished from the boy's face, Kunikida continued just as calmly, “what is it that you've found?”

The teen's face lit up in an instant and opened the file for him, pointing towards the page where the applier had to register their personal information.

“This case came in just two weeks after Dazai-san went missing,” he explained eagerly.

“It's about the same girl he was looking for, except this time, it's from the girl's sister,” Tanizaki shot in.

“But they found her, didn't they?” Kunikida asked as he read through the first page, scratching the small stubbles on his chin.

“Yeah, unfortunately, they found her washed up along the Yokohama river, but that's not actually the point. Dazai-san went missing just a few days after she was found dead-”

“It looked like a drowning, but the girl was an excellent swimmer,” Ranpo interrupted Kenji, stepping forward between the three teens and gaining their attention.

“Her sister, Hinata, said that Niko was captain of the swimming team when she and her mother came by when the girl initially went missing. She held a record for holding her breath the longest on her swimming team,” he reminisced.

“I remember that,” Kunikida murmured thoughtfully.

“So, when she was found, the police decided it was an accidental drowning and closed the case. Apparently, the sister must think otherwise,” Ranpo deducted.

“Do you know what she was wearing when they found her?” Kunikida asked.

“She had stripped to her u-undergarments,” Ranpo said shyly, blushing as he remembered the crime-scene photos he had gotten a small glimpse of while helping the police with a different case.

“It was in the middle of summer. She might have felt like a spontaneous swim,” Naomi pointed out.

“But she had swim practice every day. It seems unlikely that she wouldn't have her bathing suit with her,” Kenji retorted.

Silence fell upon the room for a while as the five of them thought. Eventually, it was Kenji who broke the silence.

“So, what do you think Kunikida-san? Is this a lead we should be looking into?”

This time Kunikida didn't miss a beat. If anything, he was kicking himself for not having doubted the outcome of the case that Dazai had gone missing after sooner. When did he start trusting that the police knew what they were doing if not Ranpo had aided the investigation anyway? Those lazy bastards were getting way too comfortable these days.

“Absolutely.”

------------------

This was new, and new was never good. Not in this place, anyway.

Dazai was strapped to a table he recognized from his days in the Port Mafia. It was a surgical table, there was no doubt about that. But not the soft leathery ones, covered in blue or green rolls of paper. This was made of steel and felt unyielding and chilled down his bare back and every part of his body that could possibly move was strapped down by belts with big buckles that buried painfully into his skin as he tried to move.

His eyes darted from one side to the other- trying to get just the slightest of hints about what was about to happen to him. Slight recognition of the room dawned upon him, but he would only wake up there when he was at his weakest; at the absolute brink of death. That gave him a faint hope of not getting out of there alive.

That made him calm down a little, with the hope that this could possibly be the last stop; the stop he was getting off on after an endless train ride with a long-expired ticket.

An apparition appeared at the edge of his vision. He expected that it would be Dr.You-shall-no-pass, as he had nicknamed him, inspired by a long-ago memory he had after being forced to watch a strange movie at the cinema as an important client's date in his Port Mafia-days.

Dr.You-shall-not-pass would make sure that he got the life-saving treatment each time they had pushed him too far (or as of late; when he had pushed himself too far), but this time, that was not what met him.

It was Him. The middle-aged guy with the smoker's laugh. Icy blue eyes stared down at him with a satisfied grin, uncovering his yellowing teeth. Without meaning to, the small amount of air Dazai was able to inhale got caught in his throat and if he wasn't so dehydrated, he would spit into that smug face.

“Now, young man,” the man said with his graveled voice. The parting nicotine-stained teeth revealed a souring breath; not being able to breathe properly while having his nose stuffed with sickness after days, weeks or months of malnourishment was all that kept Dazai from vomiting. 

“I heard that you haven't been eating the food I've prepared- just for you. Now that just breaks my heart.”

'Food is a strong over-statement,' Dazai wanted to say, but as he opened his mouth to speak, two calloused hands abruptly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and hastily made their way between his teeth, forcing his jaw open.

He immediately started to struggle, but his limbs were held down tightly and he could hardly move millimeters from the table. Dazai arched his back and bit down as hard as he could, but the hands that held his mouth open hardly seemed to flinch by his futile efforts.

Amidst his desperate fight to gain some control back of his own self, he could hear the venomous voice of his captor.

“If you won't eat, I guess we'll just have to feed you, won't we?”

A pale yellow tube closed in on him and his jaw was forced even wider. A small click sounded from somewhere close to his temples, and he wondered if his jaw had been dislocated. The hands holding the tube didn't relent by this, and Dazai stuck his tongue out to make yet another hinder for the feeding tube to pass, but all that left him was blood coating his gap as the sharp edges of the tube cut into if before the device was forced down his throat.

Panic like Dazai had never felt panic before hit him; something feral; animalistic providing him with a strength he didn't know he had. The bands against his right wrist suddenly snapped and immediately, he went for the tube, trying to tear it out from his throat.

A guard was quickly grabbing onto it, forcing it back far enough that they could hear the bone snap. Dazai let out a choked cry of anguish before several crackling prods were pushed into his line of sight.

He was able to feel a nauseating sensation of something filling up his gut before the shock-sticks shot him from several different angles. His vision was tunneling, and hicks for air ravaged through his entire body from the offending article forced into his insides while a muffled scream tore its way through his broken form, and he finally lost consciousness.

----------

Oh wow. That is becoming darker than I had anticipated. This story will be in several parts! So stay tuned!

#whump #whump community #whumptober #Whumptober day 19 #muffled scream #fanfiction #fanfic #bsd fanfic #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #OSAMU DAZAI #kenji #bsd kenji #tanizaki junichirou #naomi #kunikida #torture fic

[justsomelarryfics]

Here are the fics that I read in the month of March, 2019, that I finished and enjoyed. I will first shows fics from this month, and then older ones.

Sorted by length

New this month

Do You Wanna Ride by @phd-mama -  When Liam's attractive new business partner wins riding lessons with Harry, hilarity ensues. (one shot, 4k)

Tell Me I’m Punk by @tiniinbookland - ""How punk do I seem?"" The one were Harry wants to be a punk but Louis loves him just like he is. (one shot, 4k)

Just Go With It by @rainbowsandlovehl - “Brett, there’s something I need to tell you,” he started, inwardly cringing at his choice of words before taking in a deep breath. Brett seemed curious, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “The reason I haven’t been texting you back is that...” “Harry, they were all out of organic guacamole,” a raspy, unfamiliar male voice interrupted, startling him into silence. “So I got us the normal one. Hope that’s alright?” Harry has no idea how to escape awkward situation but luckily for him, Louis swoops in to help. (one shot, 6k)

Only One at the Finish Line by @horsegirlharry for @1dgayboficfest - “What don’t I know?!” Louis shouts, and then Harry is rounding on him, close enough that he can feel the heat of his body, the rage and the glory and the pain of it so close that it blinds him.“I want to be another alpha’s omega,” is what he says, and it comes out like something reckless, something wild. Like he doesn't care anymore if Louis hates him or not, if Louis understands, he just needs to speak his truth aloud to darkness, to the slender pines that surround them like a jury panel. (one shot, 9k)

fall in love with the moon (and everything beautiful) by @microlouis -  “It’s adorable that you think you can compromise with me on this,” Louis says. He places his hands on his hips and tries his best to look intimidating. “But I am not budging on this. Every book pun you say will result in one quarter in the jar.” “What jar?” Harry asks. He furrows his eyebrows together. Louis rolls his eyes. “Like a swear jar, but now I’m going to make yours ‘Harry’s dumbass pun jar.’ Maybe I’ll have you put a quarter in for every pun you say, not just the ones about books. Niall was right - you tell the worst jokes.” “One time Niall told me I’d never said a funny joke in my life,” Harry says casually. “Funny. He told me that too.” or, louis and harry work in a bookstore together and harry tells dumb jokes and they fall in love (one shot, 10k)

Naked Attraction - Naked Attraction: a gameshow where the contestant views 6 naked possible partners and narrows them down based off of pure attraction. Harry was not a fan of the shallow gameshow, so he decided to mix it up a little. Louis Tomlinson was the only gay and unfortunate staff member chosen to step in for one of the six possible partners when someone drops out. He hated working there, and he definitely didn't want to agree, but it was too good of an offer to be turned down. Nothing would come out of it, surely, and they even agreed to keep his identity a secret.That all changed when famous singer Harry Styles walked out. Louis had no idea who he was, and Harry liked that about him.. . .Or the one based off a British TV show called Naked Attraction that I found hilarious. (one shot, 12k)

All I Want Is To Fall With You by @2tiedships2 - The pair looked at each other for a few moments before Harry moved forward and gathered Louis in an unexpected hug. It was nice, but why the fuck was an unknown alpha hugging him? Maybe an even better question would be why did Louis feel so secure in this stranger's arms? Harry quickly let go and Louis felt something pull at him."Sorry," Harry said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Shit, um, that just seemed a natural response for some reason. I’m so sorry." Louis smiled up at the alpha. "It's okay. Thanks again, Harry." "You're welcome. I know it's horrible weather, and less than optimal circumstances, but this was a brilliant meet-cute." What the fuck was a meet-cute? Or the weekend ski trip where omega Louis discovers that he can’t change a tire and his skiing skills are debatable but still manages to find the alpha who will change his life. (one shot, 16k)

the act of making noise by @suspendrs - “Oh,” Harry frowns, waving him off. “No, I could never. I respect myself too much to sing for a living.”It feels like a slap across the face, but Louis does his best not to stiffen, blinking once and then frowning. “What?” “Those people are always so miserable, you know?” Harry says, hopping down off his stool and straightening his sweater. “There’s so much pressure on them, and they have to work so hard to keep up appearances, I can’t even imagine how difficult that is. I can’t even stand to listen to pop music today, let alone watch TV or read the magazines. It makes me so sad, thinking that those people, you know, the ones who actually went into it with heart, they only ever just wanted to make music and instead they got turned into things on leashes being paraded around to make money for other people,” he says. “Anyway, you can have the stool.” Or, Louis's famous, Harry has no idea who he is, and they get snowed in together at a ski lodge in Vermont. (chaptered, may be continued, 22k)

Take Me Down Slow (Don’t Let Me Go) by @jacaranda-bloom for @1dgayboficfest - Louis has always felt different. Not necessarily on the outer realm of societal norms, but pretty damn close to the edge. As an Omega, he’s supposed to want certain things; to want to raise a family, to want to build a life with a partner, and to want that partner to be an Alpha.Well, two out of three ain’t bad.OR the one where Louis wants to find the right kind of partner to love, Niall hates snowboarding, Liam wants to settle down, Harry is really good with his hands, and mother nature could be the thing that changes everything. (chaptered, complete, 26k)

Steady Eddie - “We’re bringing in a guy.” Ben said. Eddie stared at him.“You’re what?” Ben shrugged. “Apparently the gay market is grossly untapped,” he commented. “We stand to make a fortune. We have it on good authority that the gays love you. Of course,” he added with a dirty smirk. “Your size and all…” “Of course,” Eddie replied drily; something smarting in his chest. “I’ve been asking for a guy for the last two years…” “Well, now you’re getting one,” Ben smiled. (chaptered, complete, 84k, locked, read tags for a better understanding of what this fic is about)

Older fics

sweet, sweet fate by @bottomlinsons for @1dshortficfest -  Harry’s lived with a NSFW soulmark for almost twenty-five years now. When he finally meets the man responsible, he gives him a little piece of his mind. (one shot, 1k, feb. 2019)

Say It With Flowers by @reminiscingintherain - From the prompt: Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?” (one shot, 2k, jan. 2019)

Got Me an Appetite by @flamboyantdaddy for @1dgayboficfest -  So it's something, and Louis isn't sure how to approach it. She doesn't want to sound ungrateful. The past few months have been heaven, and she doesn't want to make Harry feel like Louis doesn't worship the ground she walks on (ok, a bit over dramatic, but sometimes it feels like that). She just wants to make her girlfriend come. (one shot, 8k, feb. 2019)

All Hearts Come Home For Christmas by @itsprobablylarry - Gemma, who the fuck is that?” Louis hisses as he watches her wave back with a big smile. Her brows furrow for a second as she looks at Louis. “What? That’s my brother, you dork. Told you he’d pick us up, didn’t I?” Well fuck. Apparently, Mr. Handsome over there is Gemma’s brother. And Louis is spending a week with him. Pretending to be his sister’s boyfriend. Shit. (Basically: Gemma brings ‘her boyfriend’, Louis, home for Christmas and her brother is really hot.) (one shot, 8k, 2015, I also recommend the sequel)

You’re home now kitten by @thesedumbboys - “But, I'm just a stray” Louis looks so broken, sad, disappointed almost. Not even daring to look up from the floor, fumbling with his hands, ears down submissively. The sight almost makes Harry, known to everyone for his soft heart, tear up. “Nope, followed me here, this is your home now.” Harry smiles, speaking confidently, surprised himself that his voice didn’t come out shaky with emotion. “That’s the rule” He shrugs.... Louis is a stray and he follows Harry home. Harry likes him too much and makes him stay and Louis ends up quite liking it. (one shot, 9k, feb. 2019)

Your Touch Is The Only Thing I Feel by @2tiedships2 - Liam. Liam was finally here. Louis kept his eyes closed and cuddled farther into Liam’s side, revelling in the pheromones Louis’ body desperately needed. He wasn’t sure how long Liam had been holding him, but Louis figured it had to have been at least an hour by the way his body had loosened. The need of an alpha’s touch seemed to have been temporarily lifted from his mind. Louis listened to the sounds of the pub around him. It was louder than before he had fallen asleep and he briefly wondered why Liam hadn’t just woken him to go back to their flat.“Who the fuck are you?” Louis’ eyes flew open at the sound of Niall’s voice, and the arm that had been around Louis shoulders lifted in the same instant. He missed the warmth immediately. Louis looked from Niall’s stormy face over to the person who was definitely not Liam. The alpha Liam impersonator, who smelled a lot better than the actual Liam now that Louis was alert, looked back at Louis with wide eyes and familiar furrowed brows. Or the one where Louis refuses to settle for just any alpha despite intense touch deprivation. Fortunately Harry isn't just any alpha. (one shot, 15k, 2018)

bring out feelings in me i never show by @tomorrows - “I really think you should stop reading,” Liam says, having moved to hover behind Louis’ back at some point. “I can already see the cogs turning in your head, Louis, and I don’t like this.” “Shut up,” Louis waves him off and continues reading. I can do these things, at your request: openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don’t notice; start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion; propose to you in front of everyone; pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry I don’t drink, but I used to); start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see. [Louis accidentally hires a felon to be his fake boyfriend for Thanksgiving. Or, the fake boyfriends au no one asked for, inspired by this.] (chaptered, complete, 24k, locked)

don’t tell the gods (we left a mess) by @bottomlinsons - After a misunderstanding with Liam’s mother, Louis agrees to accompany his best friend to a family wedding and pretend to be the world’s best boyfriend. But their simple plan goes awry when he learns that Harry, ex-boyfriend/ex-love of Louis’ life, will also be in attendance. (aka: fake!boyfriends with a twist ft. bromance, romance and cake.) (chaptered, complete, 71k, (I know, I also can’t believe I only just read this fic, as you can tell I was just really into fake relationships this month))

#monthly fic rec #larry #Larry Stylinson #larry fanfiction #larry fic #larry fic recs #one direction fanfiction #louis and harry #fanfic #fic rec

[bards-witcher]

What if someone wrote a story for OhmToonz based around the song I know I’m a wolf by Young Heretics? Like Cartoonz would be the ‘wolf’ and Ohm would be the ‘rabbit’.

Okay so I listened to the song and read through people’s comments and there are some dark theories with the song which I decided to play on a bit XD.

Listen to the song here.

Warning: There is abuse/death in this so please don’t read it if it’s not your thing. 

Also, I don’t want to offend anyone with how I potentially treated issues in this fic, if I have grossly misrepresented something please tell me so I can fix it :)

.

[Ohm POV]

It was Tuesday evening, and like most evenings he had nothing special going on, so like normal he was lounging across his couch and trying to pay attention to the show playing on his TV, however, he’d long since lost attention in it and the plot was now far beyond his understanding.

As he was watching who he thinks is the suspect be interrogated, he hears a knock on the door, somewhat thankful for the distraction as he gets up off his couch to open his door.

He was expecting any one of friends to potentially drop by, maybe a neighbor asking if he had any eggs or sugar, but what he didn’t expect was to be looking up at his ex-boyfriend Luke, the same boyfriend who hadn’t hesitated to slap him around when he didn’t get what he wanted.

A spike of fear ran through him and immediately he tried to shut the door, only for Luke to step his foot in the way, keeping the door open no matter how hard he pushed against it in an effort to close it.

“I know I’m probably the last person you wanna see Ryan, but please can we just talk for a minute? I know I’ve been an asshole, and a bastard and every foul name under the sun but please can we just talk? I won’t try to come in I swear”

With a sigh he stopped his efforts in trying to shut the door, instead opening it slightly so that he could peer out, but that he could still somewhat shut the door if he had to, the hand behind the door pulling out his phone and putting 911 on speed dial just in case.

“Say what you want to say and leave, I want nothing to do with you” It hadn’t even been a minute and he could already feel tears burning behind his eyes, and it took all of his willpower not to let them fall.

“I want you back Ryan, I love-“

He couldn’t help his scoff as he tried to shut the door once again “You’ve got to be kidding me, Luke, did you honestly think I’d give you a second chance after what you did to me?”

“I know, I did the worst thing imaginable, and I hate myself for it more and more every day. There are no words to tell you how sorry I am for treatin’ you like that, but I’m better now, I-”

“Luke I want you to-“

“No please, just listen. Since you left me I’ve been a complete wreck, half the time I couldn’t bear to get up off the couch…”

“Oh, woe is you-”

“…But I realized how something was not…right with me. So, I sought help, I’m seeing a therapist, and I’ve got a stable job at a car shop, all that’s missing is you, Ryan.”

“You punched me in the face Luke, and for what? Because I didn’t clear your dishes?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I had no idea what was goin’ through my mind, it was so so wrong of me to even think of layin’ a hand on you like that-“

“You broke my nose, Luke!” He tried not to let the visible wince from Luke affect his standing in the matter.

“Look, I’m not sayin’ we pick up where we left off or anything, but please, just give me a chance, the smallest chance you can so I can prove to you I’m different, that I’ve changed”

He let out a sigh as he rubbed at his eyes “Luke-“

“Please. Please, Ryan. Please, I know you still have feelings for me, just as I do for you, give me a chance to make things right, I’m beggin’ you”

Despite the part of his brain telling him to shut the door for good, to literally and figuratively close the door on this part of his life, he couldn’t deny the older man’s words. Despite his best efforts to put all of his anger and hatred towards the other man, he still loved him, still wishes he could wake up to version of Luke that had placed gentle kisses across his face to wake him up, and who’d be at his beck and call after a particularly stressful day of work.

He looked up at the taller man, trying to find any hint of a lie or malice, but all he found were the pleas of a desperate man, begging for anything he had to offer.

“One chance, you get one chance, or I’m gone. You so much as flick a finger at me then we’re done, for good, understood?”

He could see the relief wash over the man’s face and he allowed himself to feel the smallest spark of hope light up in his chest before they said their goodbyes, shutting the door behind him he fell to the floor questioning whether his choice was the right one.

**********

Things were tense at first, the first few times they met up he always made sure to have a friend with him and always made sure they were in a public place, just in case things were to go south, not that he expected Luke to be dumb enough to actually attack him in public.

Eventually, though, he gradually became more comfortable being around the older man, a few months after Luke had first turned up at his door and he was now inviting him over for dinner and to play some games, something that had been the norm for them back when things were good between them.

He feels some trepidation, in the beginning, making sure to tread carefully and to be aware should the older man's mood change at an instant, but no such change came. Instead, he found himself relaxing against the man next to him as the night wore on, laughing in a way he hadn’t for a very long time and genuinely having fun.

He allowed that little feeling of hope to grow when Luke offered to wash up the dishes, cleaning the kitchen as well, before saying his farewells. They were teenagers almost, standing shyly in his doorway as they determined what to say or do next, and he was slightly endeared by a blushing Luke who was trying to get out just how much he enjoyed tonight.

He leaned up to kiss the man’s cheek, noticing his blush get redder before they finally left each other for the night.

**********

Over the next couple of months, Luke started coming around to his more and more often, and it’s almost like the first time they were together, Luke devoted and willing to do anything and everything he could for him.

So, caught up in their ever-changing relationship that he paid no mind to the increasing pile of Lukes’ belongings making their way into his apartment, instead letting out a fond sigh before finding a place to put the item with the multitude of others.

Tonight, he and Luke are cuddled up together on the couch watching some show Brock had recommended to him, when in the corner of his eye he notices Luke swiping through his phone and tapping out a message, not long after the older man pried himself away from him as he made his way towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be back in about an hour, ‘kay”

“Luke, this is my only night off this week, you agreed to spend the night with me so unless it’s some kind of emergency-“

“I said it’s none of your business Ryan, so leave it” Just as Luke turned to leave he got up off the couch and ran after him.

“No, you don’t get to just leave without an explanation, so tell me what the hell is going on Luke”

Before he could blink he felt Luke slap him across the face, his face already burning hot from the impact as tears began to brim his eyes, all he could do was stare at the older man in shock before Luke seemed to come to his senses, apology quick on his lips.

“Ryan, I’m sor-“

“Get out”

“Ryan, please, I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“

“Get the fuck out now or I’m calling the police”

“Ryan, c’mon…“

He didn’t listen to what Luke had to say, instead turning his back on him as he headed towards the couch where his phone now lay, planning on going through with his threat, at least that was until strong arms wrap around him.

“Let go of me, Luke! I want you gone; I want you out. I never should’ve given you another chance” He only felt the arms around him get tighter, but with a well-aimed kick he was able to break free, quickly grabbing his phone before running towards his bedroom where he could lock himself inside.

However, just as he was closing the door, Luke came barrelling through it, a murderous look on his face as he wrestled the phone out of his hand and threw it across the room. He felt pure terror as he saw Luke stalk towards him, unable to stop the tears now streaming down his face as he begged Luke to leave.

Instead he felt a gentle hand come to rest on his cheek, thumb swiping along his cheek in an effort to get rid of some of the tears that had spilled, but he wanted to throw up, to smack the hand away, but it was his fear of the man in front of him that prevented him from doing so.

His breath got caught in his throat for a moment when said hand moved down the side of his face to rest against the bottom of his neck, and this time he did react, breaking himself away from the touch as he tried to move across to the other side of the room.

“Why couldn’t you be good Ryan? Why do you have to ask so many questions when it’s none of your business?”

“Luke, please…go, I don’t-“

He stopped when once again Luke stormed towards him, grabbing a hold of his neck and he clawed at the tight grip around it as he tried to breathe whatever air could.

“Why couldn’t you be happy? We were happy, weren’t we? I’ve tried so hard to be good for you but no matter what I do you always berate and snap at me”

He tried clawing, kicking anything he could to try and break the other man’s hold, but nothing worked, he could only plea on deaf ears as black spots started to appear across his vision.

“I love you so much Ryan, why can’t you see that? I’d do anything for you…”

He couldn’t hear the rest of what Luke wanted to say, a ringing in his hears getting louder as the darkness started to invade his vision, with the last of his energy he tried to scratch at the hand around his throat but still Luke took no notice of his peril, tears falling out of his eyes as he prayed for the wellbeing of his friends and family until there was no more breath to be had.

“..do you even love me Ry?” Luke looked at the man in front of him, failing to notice his limp frame and glazed over eyes as he shook him slightly, letting the man go so he could speak, only to watch in horror as he saw the smaller man's body crumple to the floor in front of him.

“Ryan? Nonononono, please no, you can’t-“ He collapsed onto the floor, moving the body so that he could try and attempt CPR, but it wasn’t too long before he realized that he was too late, the sight of the purple bruising around Ryan’s’ neck almost causing him to throw up. “Ryan, please. I’m so sorry, I love you, please don’t be dead. RYAN!”

He could only rest his head against the younger man’s chest as tears spilled out of him, pleading for Ryan to come back, but there was no answer, the only sound being his cries and apologies for the man he loved falling on deaf ears.

#ohmtoonz #ohmwrecker #cartoonz #abuse tw #death tw #yeah this is pretty dark and angsty

[sockablock]

Hey, Jay, sorry to bother you, but I'm feeling kinda crappy about my writing tonight, and I just wanna know how you do it so well? Something New is a gorgeous story with so much depth and world building.

Aaaaaaaaaaa welllll first I just want to say that I’m really really sorry you’re feeling that way!! I know how it can be buddy, and it reallllyyy sucks ass 😓. That being said, I’m very honored you came to me for advice! I’m by no means an expert, but I’ll certainly do my best!!

I think in terms of “writing well,” it all comes down to stubborn bloody-mindedness, a ton of dedication, and a frankly terrifying amount of practice. Just in the last year, since joining the critrole fandom, I’ve written over 410,000 words (and that’s just the stuff published to my AO3, don’t even get me started on the 1k and 2.5k fic giveaways). I know that many people don’t have the luxury to just take an hour or so a day to sit down and write, and I’m very lucky that I’m in a position where I can! It’s also, however, this ridiculously long amount of time that’s allowed me to get where I am; I’ve addressed this before, but a lot of my older stories, and my first fics (In the Moments included) are no longer representative of what I can do (and I’m even a little embarrassed by them!). I’m very very honored that you think I write well, but I never could have written a story like Something New a year ago, and even six months ago I hadn’t really developed a sense of where the plot was going yet. It happened all very organically, only because I stubbornly kept to the goal of telling a good story, and didn’t stop no matter how frustrated or stuck I ever felt.

That being said, I’ve certainly learned a few things in my time as a (fic) writer, and maybe they might also help!

Breaks are your friend!! Holy SHIT they are your greatest friend. I’ve taken a number of hiatuses during Something New, just so I could step back and reevaluate where I was going. Stuff like Ch. 35 and Ch. 24-28 would never have been possible without them, and as hard as it is to stop writing, sometimes you just have to, for your own sake

Another good thing to do is have multiple projects at once! Sometimes that can lead to an army of WIPS (*cough* Dreamers *cough*), but I find it really helpful to have a few things to bounce around with when I’m stuck on one

For fics, go back and watch the source material. Take notes of how the characters talk, how they interact. Listen to the cadence of their voices, and try to imagine how they would say, or if they would say the dialogue you write for them

Read. Go and just read, anything, anything at all, Terry Pratchett is my #1 choice in “how does a fancy published author spin words,” and then take that knowledge and make it your own, babey

Sometimes I make playlists. Sometimes I literally lie in bed and scream until the next scene comes to me

I also write down literally every single idea I’ve ever had, and keep a copy of literally everything i’ve ever deleted in a word doc titled “discard pile.” You never know when you can re-purpose that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Go back and reread comments. Any of them. All of them! Validation can help a bunch, especially when you’re feeling down...

...but DONT let AO3 stats be the only metric by which you judge your work!! My very very first fic, which ended up being grossly inaccurate anyways, didn’t have nearly as many hits or comments or kudos as my current project, even though I was beyond proud of it at the time. But I kept going!! Kept writing!! And now I’m at where I am today. Statistics should never impact your own confidence in your ability!! They might be a good launchpad for you to see where you stand compared to others, but that mentality can be very toxic and very self-damaging. From what I’ve learned, fic visibility can be pretty dang arbitrary anyways, and all that really matters, really and truly, is that you tell a story that you love about something that you love. And maybe it’ll get views, and maybe it won’t, but it will be worth it because of your own enjoyment, and because--and this is very important--you will get practice out of it. You will learn from it. You’ll grow! And when you’ve finished, or when you’ve moved on, that’s the knowledge you carry over to your next story, or to whatever comes next. And that will mean so much more to you--as a writer, as a person--than any statistic could.

My last piece of advice, along with literally just continuing to write (no matter how shitty you might feel about a piece) and taking plenty of brain breaks, is to also go back and look at your old work. You never know what good ideas you might’ve had back in the day, and it can help a lot to see how far you’ve come. Don’t focus on the “I could have done this better”s or the “this isn’t good”s; instead concentrate on how much you’ve grown and just think about how much more you can do if you just stick to it!! I’m still excited to see where No Grave goes, and I think you’re a wonderful writer and person, and I can’t wait to see what you do next!!! Good luck, my friend, and just know that in terms of getting into funks, you’re not alone 💜💜💜💜💜

#aaahhhh oh man i got kinda rambly i really really hope that this helps!!! #jay answers #long post #fic writing #writer things #text #something new for me and you #ophelia-markov

[sidehowriting]

Captured

A/N: This shockingly isn’t for any challenge. This was just something I thought up and I’ve been kinda thinking about writing for Steve? I’m nervous as I don’t know his character as well (or Nat or Bucky). I’ve never seen AoU and have no recollection of Captain America 1 or 3. But I’ve grown found of reading fic about him so I thought, why not? The subject matter is also a bit darker than I normally go so there’s that. Anyways, enjoy? Also let’s not talk about the challenges or grad school work I should be doing instead. 

Italics are flashbacks 

Masterlist in bio

Prompt: None

Pairings: Steve x Reader

Summary: You were captured by HYDRA for five days

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Pregnancy, swears, angst, aftermath of rape (nothing described, all implications) and torture (nothing described besides superficial cuts and scraps). 

Five days.

That’s how long she had been held captive by HYDRA. Five days of nonstop worry and stress. Five days of no sleep and constant searching.

They finally found her in a dark, damp room. The others were taking care of the HYDRA agents while he went in to rescue her. “Y/N?” His voice echoed in the room. “Can you hear me?”

“Steve?” She half moaned half sobbed. “Steve?”

She wasn’t tied or gagged. She just lay on the ground in a crumbled mess. She was dirty and bruised and naked. He crouched down next to her, removing the pack he was carrying. He yanked a large blanket out from it. “I’ve got you, doll.” He coaxed her into his arms, wrapping the blanket around her. “I’ve got you.”

She didn’t fight him. She simply let him swaddle her, her body lax and eyes half closed.

He stood up, holding her carefully in his arms. She was still limp, making his grip on her awkward. “If you can, doll, hold on to me. As tightly as you can.”

She moaned her response, throwing her arms around his neck and weakly holding him. He rushed out of the building as fast as he could. She bounced in his arms, groaning.

Thankfully everyone else did their job and it was an easy escape to the quinjet. He stayed by her side the whole trip back. She didn’t talk much. She stayed silent, eyes unfocused and rolling. Her hair was matted on her head, caked with dirt and dried blood. Her lips looked grossly pale and horribly chapped. Bruises of varies shades littered all her flesh. He could only imagine what had she had been through.

Once back at the compound she was rushed to the infirmary. He wasn’t allowed to go in with her. She needed a thorough examine and care. He paced outside the doors, nervously waiting for some kind of news. Natasha and Bucky waited with him. Bucky appeared to be nervous, but Natasha looked more collected.

She placed her hand on his arm. “She’ll be okay, Steve.”

He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax. “You didn’t see her, Nat. You didn’t see the state she was in when I got to her.” His fists clenched at his sides just thinking about it.

“She’s tough,” Bucky commented. “She can pull through.”

Steve didn’t respond, and a silence fell between the three. A few minutes later the door opened, and the doctor stepped out. “How is she?” Steve demanded to know.

“She’ll recover. She just needs to stay here for a couple days so we can monitor her.”

“What,” Steve started, debating on if he actually wanted to know. “What all did they do to her?”

The doctor handed Steve a tablet he was holding. “She’s not saying much about what happened, but these are my notes.”

Steve took them with shaking hands and looked over it. His stomach sank, and his rage started to boil as he read of the doctor’s notes. His worst fear confirmed. He wanted nothing more than to punch the HYDRA scum that hurt her.

Natasha took the tablet from him, her and Bucky reading over the notes as well. Steve heard them both let out muffled gasps as well as “poor thing,” and “those fuckers.”

“You can see her if you want. She is skittish and needs rest, though,” said the doctor.

Steve looked to Nat and Buck, a bit unsure. He wanted to see his girl, but he wanted her to rest too. They both gave him a nod of approval and that was what made up his mind.

He pushed through the doors and went right to her bed. She was curled up, her back to him. He could faintly make out the hospital gown she was now wearing as she was tucked beneath the white sheets of the bed. He slowly approached her. “Doll?” he said softly. She didn’t move. “Doll? It’s me. Steve.” Still, she didn’t budge. He walked around to the other side of the bed.

He leaned down and looked at her face. Her cheeks were blotchy. There were tiny bruises and cuts all over her face. Her eyes were unfocused, staring blankly ahead of her. Even when he sat down next to her. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He reached out to touch her hair and she flinched away.

So, he simply sat next to her in silence. He stayed next to her as she softly cried and eventually fell asleep.

She wasn’t much better the next day either. She did move more but she remained silent and didn’t want to be touched. That didn’t stop Steve from being near her, though. He spent his day at her bedside, just sitting with her. He’d talk and tell her stories. She’d lay there, sometimes looking at him but sometimes not.

By the third day the doctor dismissed her. She was still reluctant to talk but allowed a few touches from Steve. She didn’t want to talk to the rest of the team and they respected that. Giving her her space.

That evening, after a quiet dinner, they were in their shared bedroom, sitting on the bed. Steve was running his fingers through her hair which seemed to relax her. “It’s probably been awhile since you had a good washing,” he said. “Do you wanna take a shower with me? I’ll wash your hair for you.”

She stiffened. “Shower?” She barely whispered. “With you?” She started shaking her head furiously, her face flushing with upcoming sobs.

“Okay,” Steve said quickly. “Okay, okay. We don’t have to. I just thought you could use some pampering.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “No,” she said, “please, no. Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me.”

Steve pulled his hand away from her. “Y/N? Sweetheart?” He said softly, trying to catch her eye. She had bowed her head, shying away from him. “Hey, Y/N,” he tried again. “You’re safe here.”

She continued to shake her head. “Please don’t look at me,” she cried.

Steve was at a loss. There didn’t seem to be anything he could do to help her. “Hey,” he said, tying to think of something that could comfort her. “Why don’t I go make you some of your favorite hot cocoa? Would that help?”

He thought she nodded and got up. She stayed sitting on the bed, curling more into a ball. On the way to the kitchen he stopped by Natasha’s room and knocked on her door, hoping she was there. He was relieved when she opened. “Hey, Steve,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Can you watch Y/N for me?” He asked.

“Sure,” she replied, “Is she okay?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I thought she was, but then I asked her if she wanted to shower and she had another break down. I told her I would get her some hot cocoa. Maybe that will help her.”

“That’s a good idea,” Nat said, stepping out of her room and closing the door behind her. “I’ll go check on her.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Nat. I don’t like leaving her alone.”

“No problem,” she said and walked off. He watched her go for a moment before going back to his original mission.

He reached the kitchen and started gathering the supplies for her hot cocoa. As he was bringing the milk to a simmer Bucky walked in. “Hey, everything okay?” he asked Steve.

As Steve stirred the milk he said, “I don’t know. She had another break down so I’m making her some hot cocoa. Nat’s checking up on her now.”

Bucky put a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder. “As someone who personally knows what HYDRA is like, I know she’ll get through this.”

Steve sighed. “Thanks Buck, but I don’t think they did the same to you as they did to her.” He took the milk off the stove and started to pour it into the mug he had grabbed.

Bucky nodded sympathetically while helping Steve and adding several spoonfuls of cocoa mix. “You’re right, but that doesn’t change how strong she is. And she has you. You never gave up on me and I know you’ll never give up on her.”

Steve watched as Bucky mixed the cocoa together. “I know,” he said, leaning his back against the counter. “I just…” His fists clenched. “That never should have happened to her. I never should have let her finish the mission.”

“I can’t find the device,” Steve said, looking around the small office.

“It has to be here somewhere,” she said, moving things around to look. “The intel said it was here.”

Steve groaned. “If we can’t find it in two minutes, I’ll calling it off. The others can’t jam the security cameras for much longer.”

“Not to mention the HYRDA agents that are no doubt on their way.” She was over turning furniture, looking everywhere. “Hey!” She called, grabbing his attention. “I think I found something.”

She was crouched down on the ground where a desk had been. She was pushing on the wall. “What is it?” he asked.

She continued to push. “I think this wall has a trap.” With a final shove, a small opening appeared. “I knew it!” She cheered. “I bet what we’re looking for is in there.”

Steve looked at the little hole, leading down a dark crawl way. “You’re probably right.” He stood up. “But its too small. And we don’t have time to find an alternative. Let’s just cut our losses here.”

She stayed crouched and he didn’t like how she was looking at the hole. “I can fit,” she declared, standing up. “I can make it through there.”

He shook his head. “No way. We didn’t know this existed. We don’t know if the room is clear. It’s not worth it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You worry too much.”

“Y/N, you’re not going and that’s an order,” he said firmly.

“If HYDRA gets that device before we do,” she said, getting angry, “they’ll have access to our military codes, the identity of our undercover agents, and who knows what other classified information. We have to find it and destroy it.”

“Y/N, no,” he said threw gritted teeth. “You will not disrespect a direct order from your Captain.”

“Listen, Captain,” she said, mocking him, “We can get it all done and over with now. Just let me crawl in there. I’ll smash the device and crawl back out. The whole process will take less time than this conversation.”

“Y/N…”

“I love you,” she said. “And I need you to trust me. I can do this.”

“Fine,” he said, giving up. “Just make it fast. If anything seems wrong get the hell out of there as quickly as you can.”

“I will.” She gave him a quick kiss before disappearing through the secret tunnel.    

He paced nervously, instantly regretting his decision to let her go. She just had this effect on him that made him cave into her requests. He crouched down by the opening in the wall, ready to call out to her to just forget the whole thing when he heard her voice echo from the tunnel.

“I’ve found the device!” she called, and he felt relief. Not just that she had located what they were here for but also that she was alright. He heard the sounds of her smashing it. “It’s destroyed!” she called again.

“Great!” he responded, yelling into the tunnel. “Now get out of there!”

He waited for her response, but it never came. Instead he heard explosions and then her scream. He was powerless as her heard the sound of a body hit the floor. He screamed her name again and again, fists colliding with the wall. The wall didn’t budge as there were more explosions and then silence.

“I told her it was too dangerous,” Steve said, pounding his fists on the cabinets beneath the counter. He was sure he heard the wood start to split. “She didn’t listen. She never fucking listens.”

Bucky handed him the mug of cocoa. “And that’s why you love her.”

Steve took it, staring down at the chocolatey brown liquid. “She’s my girl, Buck. And knowing what that HYRDA scum did to her…” The thought of it was sending him into a rage.

“I know,” Bucky said. “And you’ll have a chance to get back at them. But she needs you. She’s your mission right now.”

Steve nodded, knowing that Bucky was right. The things he wanted to do to the HYRDA agents who hurt Y/N would have to wait. Taking care of her and making sure she’s okay is the number one priority for him.

Holding the hot cocoa, he went back to their bedroom. The door was cracked open and he quietly entered. The bathroom light was on and he could hear soft voices coming from the room. Clutching the mug, he went over towards the light.

“Don’t you feel better now?” He could her Natasha say and the sounds of what he assumed was bath water sloshing. “It had been what? Over a week since you were really clean?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Y/N’s voice sounded so small and weak. “Thank you, Natasha.”

“Of course,” Natasha replied. He heard her open a bottle. “Lay back. I’ll deep condition your hair.” He heard more sloshing of the water and the squirt of the conditioner. There was a few moments of silence as he assumed Natasha was working Y/N’s hair. Then he heard Y/N’s content sigh.

“I haven’t felt this relaxed in a while,” his girl said, and he smiled. He was happy she was enjoying herself. She deserved to be pampered.

“Thank you,” Nat replied. “You know Steve would do this for you too.”

There was another pause. “I can’t let him see me like this.”

“He loves you,” Natasha responded.

Y/N started to cry again. “I can’t, Nat! I can’t!” More water sloshing. “I can’t…” she whispered, breaking his heart. “I’m not…I’m…”

“Sh, sweetheart,” came Natasha’s soothing voice. “Whatever you think you are, you’re not, okay? None of us think any less of you for it. Especially Steve. He barely slept while you were gone.”

“Steve…” She sobbed. “I should have listened to him… This is my fault. He deserves someone better.”

He had to fight the urge run into the bathroom and take her in his arms. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair and tell her how much he loves her. Nothing that HYDRA did was her fault and how he wishes he could go back in time and stop it all from happening.

Instead he politely knocked on the door. “Hey. I have your hot cocoa,” he said through the wood.

There were a few hushed whispers before the door opened revealing Natasha. She closed the door behind her, keeping Y/N from Steve’s view. “Thanks. She appreciates that.” She wiped her wet hands on his pants, leaving discolored spots on the material.

He handed her the mug. “She doesn’t want me to see her, huh?”

Natasha shook her head. “No. Honestly it took a bit of coaxing for her to let me bathe her.”

Steve sighed. “I don’t care what she looks like. I just want to hold her.” He thought about when he found her after days of searching. The bruises and dried blood that she was covered with. He was sure some of the marks had to have faded. Even if they hadn’t, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Practically perfect.

“I know,” Nat said. She placed a hand on his arm and rubbed, trying to sooth him. “I’m gonna give this to her.” She turned and went back to the bathroom, closing the door before Steve could see anything.

He heard more hushed words coming from the bathroom, but he didn’t press to listen. He simply sat on the bed and waited for them to come out. He heard the sound of the bath water drain and what sounded like more cries from Y/N.

A few minutes later the bathroom door opened. Natasha walked out with an arm around Y/N. She wore Steve’s clothes, his sweat shirt and pants way too big on her. But she looked comfortable and clung to them. Her hair leaving dark damp marks around her shoulders and back. She gazed up at him and quickly averted her eyes, looking down at her feet that poked out from the flood of his pants.

He walked over to her. “You look better,” he said softly.

Her eyes looked up at him, her head still cast down. “Thanks,” she muttered. “And thanks for the clothes.”

“Of course, doll.” He reached out his hands for her to take. She looked at them and slowly, reached out to touch his hands. Her fingers were light and soft as he intertwined them with his.

“I’m gonna go,” Nat said, breaking the silence that had fallen. “Do you need anything else from me?” She addressed Y/N who shook her head. With a glance and sad smile at Steve, Natasha left the room.

Steve gently pulled her towards him. She went and soon he had engulfed her in a giant hug. “I love you so much, sweetheart,” he mumbled into the top of her hair. He felt her smoosh her face against his chest, light sobs shaking her body.

He held her until she calmed, his fingers combing her hair. When she had stopped shaking, he said, “Wanna lay down?” She nodded, and he gently led her to the bed. She buried herself under the covers, wrapping them around her body. He stood at the edge of the bed for a moment, watching her get comfortable. “May I join you?”

She nodded again. “You may,” came her quiet voice.

He climbed into bed next to her. He waited for her to snuggle against him, but she didn’t. She kept her distance and he felt his heart crack. “I love you,” he repeated. “No matter what I love you.” She muttered her reciprocation and he smiled. “I’m here for you, sweetheart. I’m here and I’ll be by your side for as long at it takes to get your through this.”

True to his words, he stuck by her side every day.  It took several days for her to be okay with the physical touch he wanted to give her. He wanted to hold her, stroke her hair, kiss her forehead. It was stupid, but he almost felt like he could absorb her pain if he just held her tight enough. If he just kissed her enough.  

This feeling was especially powerful at night. She started having severe nightmares. She’d wake up screaming and crying and thrashing. He woke up in an instant, going to shush her and sooth her. “Sh, you’re okay,” he would mutter to her. He’d coax her onto his lap, his arms a protective cage around her. “I’ll keep you safe.” He felt like it was a lie though. He was the one who let this happen to her in the first place.

Nonetheless, this seemed to help calm her. He’d still hold her until she fell back asleep. Then he’d slowly lay back down, keeping her in his arms. Only then would he close his eyes and drift back off.

Over the next month, things were getting better. She spoke more, not just to him but to the other’s as well. She was more willing to join group dinners and movies. The other’s treated her no differently than they had before. They were warm and welcoming, and Steve noticed her getting more relaxed each interaction.

She wasn’t allowed to go on missions. She didn’t seem to care about that though. She wanted to stay at the compound. Steve always stayed with her. Even when she tried to persuade him to go. He refused. Being with her was more important.

Physically, he noticed her getting better as well. The bruises changed colors and had mostly faded. Her cuts and gashes were almost healed as well. Replaced by faint scars that he often caught her fussing with. “We all have scars. They don’t define us,” he’d remind her, but she would usually ignore him.

As the second month started to come to a close, he noticed her withdrawing again. She was quiet, barely talking. She was pulling away from him more and more. She didn’t want Steve to touch her, hold her, kiss her. It was like all the progress she had made disappeared tenfold.

Even at night, when she would wake up screaming, she was more reserved. “You know you can talk to me about anything,” he said to her one night. He got her a glass of water which she gladly accepted.

She didn’t say anything. She simply took the glass, bringing it to her lips and sipped. He watched her for a moment before climbing back into bed. “I love you,” he said, laying on his side facing her.

“I love you too,” she whispered back to him, setting the glass down on the night stand. She rolled over, body away from him. He just couldn’t understand why. Why she had suddenly withdrawn so much. Why she didn’t want to talk.

With a sigh, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, she was still sleeping. She had moved during the night, her body now hovering very close to his own. He took a minute to watch her, happy she was able to find some peace. He fought the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek, afraid he would wake her up. Instead he pulled himself from bed and got himself ready for a run. Before he left, he did lean over the bed and kiss the top of her head. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

He enjoyed his morning run outside. It gave him a chance to clear his head and let off some steam. He was frustrated with her relapse. He knew it wasn’t her fault. It was HYDRA. And all he wanted to do was beat the shit out of the HYDRA agents who hurt her. But they weren’t here. He didn’t know where they were. So, running would have to do to get that frustration out.

He ran for almost a half hour before starting to slow down. His breathing was labored, and he was sweaty. Feeling more level headed, he went back into the compound to shower and change.

He entered the bedroom and was surprised to find that she wasn’t in bed anymore. He scrunched his brows in confusion and checked the bathroom. She wasn’t there either.  “FRIDAY,” he said, “Where did Y/N go?” he asked when he didn’t find her himself. This wasn’t like her.

“Miss Y/L/N left the compound about twenty minutes ago,” the unit replied.

“Left the compound?” He muttered to himself. That didn’t sound like her. She hadn’t left in the couple months since she was rescued. He instantly started to worry. He thought she was doing so much better.

FRIDAY wasn’t much help in finding her exact location. Of course, it would be hard to find her. She’s an Avenger after all. If she doesn’t want to be found she won’t be. “But,” FRIDAY said, “she ran into Miss Ramanoff before leaving.”

After finding where Nat was, he sprinted off, his shower long forgotten. “Natasha!” he called, finding her in the gym. “Natasha!”

“Hey,” she said, smiling, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. She was sweaty, no doubt from working out. “Everything alright? You look panicked.”

“Nat, where did she go?” He asked, getting straight to the point.

“Steve…”

“Where did she go, Nat? Is she safe? Why did she leave without telling me?”

She sighed. “She’s safe. She’ll be back soon.”

“Where is she?” He was getting frustrated.

“I can’t tell you that, Steve. It’s not mine to tell.”

He looked at her, confused. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Just…trust me. She’s okay and when she comes back you can talk to her about it.”

She wasn’t saying anything else no matter how much he pried. Angrily, he gave up and went back to his room incredibly stressed.

He decided to take his shower, but he did so quickly. Just in case she came back, he wanted to be waiting for her. When she didn’t come back by the time he got out, he tried to be productive. There was paper work he could do, filling out mission reports. But his mind wasn’t letting that happen. There were too many questions floating through his head. So, he started pacing and thinking. Where could she have gone? She’d shown no desire to leave the compound at all since the incident. Honestly, he was starting to think she never would again. He didn’t blame her for that. So why would she leave now? Sneaking off without telling him.

His pacing grew more frantic the longer he waited. Finally, close to an hour after he had discovered her missing, she walked through the door.

She froze as she stepped into the room. “Steve,” she said softly, her eyes widening with shock.

“Y/N,” he rushed over to her. “Sweetheart,” he wrapped his arms around her and she stiffened. He pulled away. “Where did you go? I was so worried.”

He saw her bite her lip, a telltale sign she didn’t want to talk. She pulled away from him and went to the bed, sitting down. He stayed standing and watched her, unsure of how to proceed. Silent tears were falling from her eyes. It had been weeks since she last cried, and he hated to see them return so soon.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Without looking up she lifted her arm and handed it out to him. He took it carefully, keeping his eyes on her. When she still refused to look up at him, he opened the paper and read it over thoroughly. His stomach dropped.

She was pregnant.

It wasn’t his.

“Baby,” he said softly, crouching down in front of her. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, finally lifting her head to meet his eyes. “Steve, I’m so sorry.”

He reached out and took her hands in his. She let him. “Doll, you have nothing to be sorry for. You did absolutely nothing wrong.” She just continued to cry and mutter how sorry she was. “Doll, it’s okay.” He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her shaking figure. She froze at first but quickly leaned into him, grabbing onto his strong body desperately.

Her face was nuzzled into his neck and he could feel the wetness of her tears. He rubbed her back up and down trying to calm her. However, she just kept sobbing and shaking and clinging to him. He decided to lift her, setting her higher up on the bed with him next to her. She didn’t loosen her grip on him and neither did he.

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” she kept crying. “I didn’t mean to… Please don’t be mad.”

He pulled her onto his lap, cradling her. “I know, doll. I know. I’m not mad. I could never be mad.” He rested his chin on top of her head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I didn’t mean… Please don’t leave me.”

He kissed her head, feeling his own tears start to fall. “I would never, sweetheart. Never. Not over something like this.” She clung to him tighter. “I love you so much, Y/N. You’re my girl.”

She cried for a bit more, tucked neatly against him. His heart filled with love and protectiveness. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she croaked out. “This baby… I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered to her. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. And I’ll be here every step of the way.” He started rubbing her back again. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s okay. You don’t have to. If you want to keep the baby, well, I’ve always wanted to be a dad.”

She looked up at him, eyes red rimmed and tearful. “Steve…” She shook her head. “I can’t ask-“

His thumb brushed against her cheek. “I love you, Y/N,” he said. “And you don’t have to ask me to do anything. I love you and I’ll love our child.” There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he would love and care for this baby.

“Steve, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he said. “Only if it’s what you want. You don’t have to have this baby if you don’t want to. But,” he placed his hands on her stomach. “I’ll try to be the best dad for this little one if you want.”

“I…” she started, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “We can figure it out together.”

She nuzzled against his chest. “I love you so much, Steve.”

He held her close, stroking her hair. There was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for her. He would stay by her side and support her with whatever she wanted to do. “I love you so much too, baby girl.” He kissed the top of her head again. “So much.”

Tags: @dsakita

#steve x reader #steve x you #steve x y/n #steve rogers #steve #steve rodgers x reader #steve rodgers x y/n #steve rodgers x you #steve angst

[ongnable]

hold me too tight { daniel / jihoon }

hold me too tight (and i’ll want to run away)

for: SUMMER, @porkjeojang; happy new years my love! 💖 i love you so much, you’ve made my 2017 so much better and brighter 💖 thankyou for introducing me to so many amazing amazing people 💖 and being the sweetest hooman alive 💖 ily~~ 💖 ALSO HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE!!! wishing all my mutuals/followers/other readers a better 2018. stay healthy everybody!!! prompt: nielwink fic, both want to confess to reader, broduce christmas party (>>> new years party) a/n: re-uploaded, dubious… a lot of things, slightly intoxicated/damaged reader (i haven’t really specified whether reader is of drinking age… oops), angsty (i’m sorry all my daniel works so far have been angsty T^T)

there’s no aim in their wandering

the crowds of people moving against the flow of escaping teens - trying to reserve a good spot on the rooftop for the countdown -

busy themselves for no apparent reason but to busy themselves

you play with the champagne in your flute, twirling it around, effervescence sparkling prettily under the warm lights as you tip it back, taking a small sip –

determined to make it last.

what a pretty distraction from people you had in your hands.

just like you,

a pretty distraction for the hectic celebrity life your friends led.

you didn’t even know why they invited you,

the fancy black tie party at an immaculately decorated villa just on the outskirts of seoul nothing like the familiar hot pot restaurants you might’ve spent new years at as a kid

how far they’d come…

downing the rest of your drink before you start reminiscing, you looked around to try and spot a face you might know

which wasn’t hard.

you’d seen her on the cover of vogue last week. him last night on the saturday night drama.

but they weren’t who you wanted to see.

you were looking for your boys.

they spot you before you spot them

sitting by yourself despite the crowded room, the velvet dress you wore rising up past your heels - up to your ankle as your crossed your legs

“y/n! you made it!”

“of course!” you smiled. the brightest you could muster because you loved them and that’s what they deserved.

all the love they were receiving

all the love in the world

you pull them in a hug, and they fit perfectly against you.

just like always - too broad for your arms to circle around them completely and too tall for you to put your head on their shoulders without them having to bend

so they’d wrap their arms around you instead

daniel around your waist, jihoon around your shoulders

you tucking neatly in between them

it’s always been you

remember how they were too ‘manly’ to hug when you first met them all?

it’s always been you in the middle

“how could i not come visit my boys when you guys went out of the way to invite me! it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.”

the way the two of them seem to freeze when you call them yours doesn’t go unnoticed

is it because you haven’t seen them in so long?

maybe you’re getting jitters from excitement

or nervousness

something in the air feels grossly thick and chokingly heavy

something about the way the two aren’t sharing knowing smiles

joking about an inside joke

or teaming up to tease you since you’re all dressed up.

the way they avoid each other’s eyes

daniel notices your empty hands quickly, “want a drink?”

he’d never let you go without a drink

(or let himself)

you wonder whether he’s asking for your stake or his

but you nod anyway

yes.

that’s probably a good idea

it’ll make your forget how nervous you are,

how out of place you feel

dull your senses. ease your stiffness.

you were starting to overthink things

jihoon keeps you company whilst daniel fetches the two of you a drink,

drinking his own glass greedily -

you’re not quite sure what he’s having

(cola?)

when his hand comes to sling over your shoulder - you lean in, and the sofa dips. reclining under the combined weight of the two of you

none of the other wanna one members seem to notice the fact that the two of you are taking up the whole couch as they busy themselves around the party

well camouflaged drinking games and old arcade machines despite the high class setting

rules blurred for even the younger ones

the busy chatter seems to quiet down in his arms

and daniel comes back with something pretty. again.

sugar laced glass and rosy bubbles, a lone strawberry bobs cheerfully in the mix

“thank-you.”

daniel looks between the two of you, eyes scanning you - as if trying to look for something different - out of norm - before his gaze falls on jihoon again.

questioning

the slight squint of his eyes missing it’s normal playfulness

“any time.” taking your hand in his own, the glass is guided into your hands as he wraps long fingers around your’s

gesturing at the bar - “you know where to find me.”

there’s always space beside me for you

the smile you muster is a wonder with the tension that’s in the air

something happened between daniel and jihoon

you’re not sure you want to know

you don’t know if you want a clarification to your fears

“i know.” daniel turns to leave quickly, but you know he’s heard you

jihoon doesn’t quite understand why you don’t question anything when you’re so curious by nature. “you can ask, you know.”

“i know.” you repeat dumbly.

you know. you know. you know.

the only thing you don’t know is your own heart

“do you want to know why we’re fighting?” jihoon says it so matter-of-factly, you’re actually slightly mad

why?

“no.” you sip on the champagne, determined to push it out of your mind.

gulping down the sugary drink, jihoon’s eyes never leave you as you toss the whole drink down, shaking his head slightly

dipping his fingers down your flute, whatever protest you had prepared in comeback to his blatant displeasure at your habits dies in your throat when you see him pick the strawberry up by its cut stem,

devouring the sugar-syrup coated red fruit

ruddy lips wrapping around the berry, expertly removing the flesh

his eyes follow your’s

“you glutton”

jihoon shrugs, he knows you don’t mean it, you’re the one always shoving food his way

“you weren’t going to eat it anyway”

in that moment, his eyes fall to your lips, mirroring your earlier actions

and the sugared edge you were savouring suddenly feels rough on your tongue

it’s not like physical affection is uncharted territory, you’ve always lapped up on the skinship daniel and jihoon spoil you with

indulged in stolen indirect kisses, hands in hand’s and big bear hugs

but the way he looks at you is too intimate

you halt immediately

and even though it should be the other way around - because he’s the one that’s laid his intentions out bare for you to see exactly where it was going - you feel vulnerable

muscles tensing under jihoon’s grasp, jumping against the soft pads of his fingers

“y/n…”

i need to go

dirty blond hair peeks at you over from the bar, broad shoulders and self assured aura

i need to go

as he tilts his head slightly, beckoning you over to the bar

you wonder

did daniel understand you?

“daniel seems to be calling me”

stroking the side of your head so gently he might as well have been fixing a stray strand of hair - jihoon lets you go without a word

pecking the crown of your head before you stand

the ends of his suit jacket gripped tightly, only staring at you - you, who was heading over to daniel - as his knuckles turn white

“be proud of me, i worked hard so we could have accidental eye contact,” daniel hooks his pinky around yours as soon as you take the empty seat by him

(how did the seat remain empty when there’s daniel sitting next to it?)

for some reason the action doesn’t feel as sweet as it should

almost as if it’s done to attach you to him

fingers locking you

keep you by his side and keep everyone out from the bubble he’s created around the two of you

but it makes your heart skip a beat still  

“you kept looking away”

“i was distracted.”

“ahh.” daniel peers over to the empty couch. by jihoon? he thinks. wry

(it’s you. it’s him. it’s the two of you.)

“i missed you. i really didn’t think you’d make it tonight.”

“i missed you too.”

“sometimes i wonder what you’re doing without me.”

“it’s hard. i see the two-”

two two two,

your words ring with daniel, who seems to know what you’re trying to do. trying to reel his ‘me’s back the the shelter of ‘us’

“-the two of you out there achieving your dreams and i try hard to think about what i want out of my life and nothing comes out.”

“you have time.” daniel has you in a quick hug. always eager to give them out. no matter big or small. and it feels platonic enough that you let him linger a moment too long. “you have us.”

because ‘us’ fixes everything

“ahhh. i really didn’t want to go all sad.”

“it’s fine,” daniel examines the state of your drink. knowing you get emotional easily when you’re tipsy. “it happens to all of us. sometimes i wonder if you’d forget me.”

“how?” i could never forget you

“we’re never around, so i’d worry that you’d find someone to replace me with.”

he’s mixing the pronouns now. daniel knows you won’t run if he does that.

knows all your habits too well.

“i could never.”

there’s a welcoming rumble of laughter running through the other’s chest and you love it

daniel’s laughter is infectious and his sunshine smile is almost blinding

and you love him

but you love them more

sliding the empty shot glass next to him, he traces his finger’s along the cleaned rim

eyes never leaving the bar

his only acknowledgment of your presence is the hand resting on your left thigh

it’s hard to know whether his palms are warm or cold through the thick fabric of your dress

“i love you, y/n”

his out of the blue confession isn’t a surprise

maybe it’s the buzz of the alcohol

but you’ve known for a while. maybe.

but how did you feel about daniel?

the boy

the man in front of you -

since when did daniel become a man to me?

- let’s out a shaky breath and decides that you must have trouble making up your mind

you do.

daniel has always been able to read you well

“i must be losing my mind” he said at your silence. his mind going haywire.

grabbing the back of you head to pull you close, he presses his lips against you, hard -

no. daniel corrects himself. i’m following my heart

though daniel lips are soft, the inside of his mouth is hot, his tongue traces the inside of your bottom lips -

he kisses as if pressing his soul into you, imprinting his feeling onto your lips, pouring everything into the kiss

his bangs tangle with your lashes, and hands are roaming

there’s traces of nails on his skin and when he lets out a groan for more,

your hyperaware of everything

what have i done

there’s a million things racing through your head in the few seconds you’re connected

the gravity of the situation sinking upon you. drowning you.

what will happen to you guys? what will happen to jihoon?

what have you done.

daniel tries to kiss you again and you recoil, pushing him away

even as your ankles are bending as they get tangled with the foot rest of the bar stool,

“me or him?”

him? why is it suddenly about him?

i don’t want to talk about this.

“i don’t want to talk about this today; please.”

you’re not above begging. not for friendship.

not for them.

please please please please please

“y/n. i said i love you.”

“i… daniel… why are you being like this?”

“so it’s him?”

what was he saying?

why was daniel doing this?

you haven’t seen each other in so long, the three of you were supposed to spend new years together

happily

not this way

never this way

“we’re friends”

daniel and jihoon. daniel and you. jihoon and you.

all three. it’s always been three.

“is that it?” is that all?

you step back. he’s eerily silent and for someone who’s personality is usually so…. benevolent towards you

it’s almost scary how deadly still he is in the face of your denial of him

daniel pauses. catching himself. and you see him wet dry lips. you’re only looking directly at him because you’re too terrified to move

what have i done?

“dan-“

“don’t follow me”

it’s with teary eyes that you make your way up to the rooftop, pushing past drunken minors and entangled couples on the staircase

stumbling on the last step

the arms you fall into are familiar

comforting

jihoon’s

and he’s draping his coat around you in silent understanding, and carefully untucking your hair from under it’s collar when he drags you to the side of the roof - where you’ll get a clear view of the fireworks

“people usually kiss the closest person to them at the start of the new years.” jihoon doesn’t look at you when he says that

most likely because of how you reacted previously

“mmm.” you hum. well aware of the tradition.

you were the one that convinced daniel and jihoon to kiss on new years before, ducking away from them at the last moment

briefly, thinking back

how long had this lasted?

this ambiguous push and pulling and unknowingly stringing along

last year, you were still happily sandwiched between their embrace

“i’ll make sure that i’m the closest person to you when the clock strikes midnight.”

but it’ll hurt, you want to say

funny how no words you want to say seem to be said tonight

“TEN!”

the countdown was beginning

“NINE!”

“this doesn’t mean anything”

you saw jihoon fidget at your bluntness,

unexpectedly, alcohol seemed to make you bitterly blunt and honest

or maybe it was daniel that made you this way

“EIGHT!!”

“but it could mean everything” he tries

something –

the hope in his voice?

the nervous thumping of your heart?

sweating palms on the cold rooftop?

– was making you regret coming out tonight

“SEVEN!”

you should have just stayed at home

watched the countdown on the tv like you had every other year

“it can’t mean anything because I don’t feel that way about you”

nor daniel

“SIX!”

jihoon looked hurt. conflicted.

rightfully so.

the rueful smile only served to make his face even more beautiful

because jihoon had always been beautiful. unfairly so.

the night sky sparkles in his eyes

it was as if his soul was made of stardust and all the constellations aligned perfectly when he was born

“FIVE!”

“than it doesn’t have to mean anything.” jihoon leaned in.

carefully. his arm holding you in place.

“FOUR!”

as if scared you might break.

“THREE!”

might fall.

“TWO!”

might run away.

“ONE!”

you couldn’t see the fireworks even though the noise was dizzying, knocking you off balance as you felt soft lips land on yours.

everything seems to fall in slow motion

the way his lids dropped down to your lips before he closed in,

the way your lips meet messily for your first kiss despite how slow it was,

how he focuses on your bottom lip unknowingly, the uncontrollable shyness you feel as you tilt your head for him to have better access

the sheer intimacy is terrifying

if daniel was like a raging fire, jihoon is the calm ocean

his hands never strayed from your side as your body reacted

jihoon only took what you offered

the kiss lingers on your lips, lingers between the years you’ve spent together; as his hand slides down to hold yours tightly,

bringing them up to leave kisses along fingers

gestures that whispered words you didn’t want to hear

too scared to acknowledge

you’re my everything

“happy new years, y/n”

masterlist

#kang daniel #park jihoon #wanna one #wannaone #kang daniel scenario #kang daniel imagine #park jihoon imagine #park jihoon scenario #wannaone imagine #wanna one imagine #wannaone scenario #wanna one scenario #wanna one angst #kang daniel angst #park jihoon angst #jas writes #for summer #porkjeojang

[nancyswhlr]

warm (jonathan x nancy)

You know what this fandom needs? More teeth rotting fluff. Since the writers will never give me it, i’m doing it on my own. Also this will never be seen on my ao3 (its too short imo) but if anyone has any jancy fic requests let me know in my ask & I can post them on here!

Nancy stretched her limbs, trying not to shiver despite the goosebumps already on her skin. This was ridiculous, it was late January in Indiana and she’d lived here her whole life. She should be used to the snow piling up outside and the heater generating less heat than she would like.

She groaned, quietly, as she looked over. Jonathan was asleep too, curled into her and his couch, the movie they weren’t really watching now rolling through its credits. But he had a sweater on, still in his jeans as well though. She tried to get back into a comfortable position, laying her head back down and to fall asleep again. She didn’t want to get up. Tried to ignore the scratch of her sweater and her involuntary shivering. But she was cold.

In her defense, the blanket they normally wrapped themselves in was missing from it’s spot behind the couch. And after a few minutes of trying and failing to fall back asleep, she gave up.

For a second she thought about if it was worth it to squirm out of his embrace and find something. Before she talked herself out of it though, she was untangling herself from his arms. Instantly even colder than she was before, she rose off the couch, still somewhat groggy.

“Jonathan,” her voice was thick. Still, she gently shook his shoulder and repeated until he finally woke up. “Finally.” She mumbled, grabbing his hand. “Bed.” She commanded.

He seemed to be slightly more aware as he sat up, going to turn the TV off. He didn’t say anything but just nodded as she lead them to his room though, and she knew it was because he was so tired. A tiny part of her was guilty for waking him up, considering he didn’t get a lot of sleep as is, but she knew they’d both sleep better in an actual bed. And they’d still wake up to each other, except without sore backs from the couch.

She remembered they were home alone too, and felt somewhat proud and lame at the same time they’d fallen asleep instead of taking advantage of that. It wasn’t like they didn’t get a good amount of alone time together though, considering Mrs. Byers’ was spending more and more time at Hopper’s cabin. And Will with Mike or one of the other boys, sometimes even with El.

Still, she treaded lightly to his room out of habit more than anything else. She landed herself in his room, Jonathan already pulling clothes out of drawers without thinking about it when she let go of his hand.

Nancy stood there, rocking on the balls of her bare feet on his carpet, waiting for him. If not to snap out of his sleep daze and offer her some clothes, than to at least move out of the way so she could grab them on her own. Just for a second, she thought the idea of keeping an overnight bag here wasn’t a bad one.

“Can I get changed now?” She asked after a moment, chuckling. Jonathan turned to her, seeming to take in her sweater and jeans combo before it dawned on him.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, of course.” He turned back to the drawers, rifling a bit before pulling out a sweatshirt. “Are you cold?” He looked back up at her.

It earned him a shrug, the ever confident and stubborn Nancy Wheeler not wanting to admit she was, indeed, freezing. She didn’t answer for another few seconds before finally caving. “Fine. Yes, I’m cold.”

That seemed to make him laugh as he opened another drawer, pulling out pajama bottoms for her too. “Are these okay?” He handed them to her as she nodded. He didn’t miss when their fingers brushed though, hers feeling like ice against his. But she begrudgingly admitted it already, so he wasn’t going to tease her. “Want me to turn the heat up too?”

Nancy shook her head, changing quickly. She instantly pulled the hoodie over her head, feeling warmer despite the fact the clothes were cold. It was still thick and soft and just a little long on her but it smelled like him. And without a second thought, she was changing into the bottoms as well.

She felt a little like a ten year old playing in her parents clothes at how over sized they were on her, but still fit her better than she would’ve thought. At least she wasn’t swimming in them, she noted as she looked down at herself.  Then snapping her eyes back up to Jonathan, tilting her head.

“Do I look okay?” She was teasing him now, but it was gentle.

Jonathan, on the other hand, looked much more awake than he had a few minutes ago. His eyes were wide as he nodded, taking in her appearance. “Yeah. You look great. I mean, you always do.” he mumbled and Nancy cracked a smile at how genuine and easily he said stuff like that. 

He still looked somewhat nervous. A look on his face that screamed he couldn’t believe that this was happening. That Nancy Wheeler, his girlfriend, was standing in the middle of his room wearing his clothes. As if they haven’t been dating for months and she wasn’t wearing his stuff to bed with him because they were that adorable but grossly domestic couple. She’d almost bet money his hands were shaking.

But she knew he had nerves, that he’d never done anything like this before. She did too, but hers lay more along the lines of she’d never been in love like this before, and less about doing such intimate things for the first time. Deep down, she was selfishly glad she was his first everything though.

And if it were a little earlier or if she wasn’t so tired that comment might’ve sparked something more in them. But it was late and she was suppressing a yawn as she walked over to him, standing on her tiptoes before meeting his lips with hers. It didn’t last very long but, like every time before, it made her jittery with electricity and a small shiver she knew wasn’t from the cold now. She pulled away only a few inches. “Is this okay?” She asked, and he knew what she was referring to.

She was great at not pushing him with anything, even if he was eager to do every disgustingly in love thing couples do with her. This was no exception, but he was genuinely okay with all of this as he nodded.

“Good.” She nodded, pecking his lips one last time before trailing her hand down his arm to catch his hand. She lined up their scars before she pulled them to his bed, climbing on the soft mattress.

It gave him another chance to take in her dressed down state, her hair already a little messed up from when they first fell asleep. And Jonathan was against cliches and everything they stood for (something about him being pretentious rang in the back of his mind) but he found himself reciting words from a sappy romance novel, standing there wondering how she looked so beautiful in literally anything she decided to wear. He was too in love for his own good. It wasn’t long before she was tugging on his hand, commanding him without words to come to bed.

“Sorry,” He muttered, climbing under the sheets as well, even though she wasn’t moving to curl into him quite yet. To be fair, the lights were still on.

“Is’ okay.” She replied, sleepily. “What were you thinking about?”

He decided to answer honestly. “You.” He shrugged, bringing back his favorite look on Nancy, that flattered sort of shocked ‘I can’t believe you’ smile that lit up her features.

“Stop being so cute.” She mumbled against his lips now, causing Jonathan to flush a little now. “I’m too tired for this.”

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry.” He replied, still not lessening the distance or, in fact, even sounding that sorry. He killed the reply that was on her tongue with his, giving her one last real kiss before pulling away.

She didn’t look necessarily happy with this development, but didn’t oppose to him turning over to flick off the light. “What time is your mom getting back tomorrow morning?” She asked seeming to have no ulterior motive for such an innocent question. He could read her like a book.

Jonathan shrugged, facing her again. “You know my mom, morning is always right before noon.” It was true, but after the year they had no one dared to stop letting Mrs. Byers’ sleep till ten or eleven. Especially since she was always with Hopper, who Nancy idly wondered still took the couch when she did fall asleep over there.

Nancy just smiled, a small mischievous smile that allowed Jonathan to pretty much read her mind. “Good.” She said, innocent enough if it wasn’t for the glint in her eyes before she pecked his cheek.

He just laughed. At how cute she was and how in love with her he was. At how he couldn’t wait for tomorrow morning. He didn’t push it anymore as she pulled away, mimicking a yawn from him. “Goodnight Nance.”

She smiled, before wrapping herself in his embrace, and tangling his legs with her own. “Goodnight Jonathan.” It was barely a soft and she was curled into his under his comforter. But she was safe, and content, and happy, and now she was actually warm.

#THIS ! FANDOM ! NEEDS ! MORE ! FLUFF ! #jancy #jonathan x nancy #nancy x jonathan #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #jancy fanfiction #jancy fanfic #otp: definitely you #my writing #sorry this is kinda cheesy & short for me but these two mean the ENTIRE world to me so i had to write something anyways enjoy! #jancy fic