#not really adding extra tags to this since it's just for my own satisfaction but AHHHHHHHHHH!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cocastyle · 4 years ago

Text

Wish — ONE

Pairing — Maxwell Lord x reader

Word Count — 7,234

A/N — and here is the first official chapter! I’m so excited to explore this storyline with you all and having an already established relationship between Maxwell and Y/N is going to make this story just that much more interesting!! let me know what you all think so far in the comments and thank you for the support I’ve already received from you all! it’s so greatly appreciated :))

if you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

W I S H

Wish Series Masterlist

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ONE ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

"Welcome to the future."

The familiar voice of Maxwell Lord spoke through the TV, the sizzling sound of bacon on the stove and the soft hum of a girl's voice harmonizing with the commercial just like it did almost every morning. It was a natural occurrence for the apartment, the familiarity of it all providing a warmth to the place that Y/N herself couldn't describe.

"Life is good, but it can be better."

The girl picked up a small piece of already cooked bacon and took a bite, her eyes flickering over to the small TV while her other hand absentmindedly flipped the bacon in front of her. Y/N let her gaze wander over the man upon the screen, the corners of her lips perking up with each crunch of the bacon between her teeth while she followed every single one of his animated movements.

"And why shouldn't it be? Everything we've ever dreamed about is right at our fingertips."

He was smiling towards the camera, towards the audience watching on the other side. Maxwell Lord was a man who was destined to be a TV star in some shape or form, even if that meant a commercial. His charisma, his charm, his whole being was something the world was meant to see and Y/N had known that since the moment she first laid eyes upon him that Maxwell Lord was meant for greatness.

"But are you reaping the rewards?"

Y/N flickered her eyes back over to the bacon, smiling with satisfaction once she noticed it was almost done. She moved across the room to where pancakes were currently covered with pieces of tin foil to keep them warm. She pulled the tin foil off, tossing the discarded pieces into the trash before grabbing the extra plate she had ready and bringing it over to the bacon which she began to take off the pan one by one.

"Do you have it all?"

Y/N hesitated at that, the question ringing through her ears and swirling within her head. She was too busy thinking that she didn't even register the sound of footsteps until two arms were snaking around her waist, lips gently pressing against his neck and leaving a soft kiss where the lingering ghosts from the night before still peppered her skin.

Yes, she wanted to say. I have everything I could ever want.

Y/N let out a soft sigh of content, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned back against Max, her free hand sliding up into his hair while he moved his lips up her neck and towards her cheek where he left a gentle kiss. "Good morning," Max whispered, his lips brushing against her ears and making her shiver before he was burying his face into her neck while he held her close.

"Morning," Y/N replied a little breathlessly, not being able to help the effect Max always seemed to have on her. She could feel his fingers trailing down her side, gently lifting up the night shirt of his that she had thrown on so that his hands could glide across her skin. He held her waist then, his thumbs rubbing soft circles against her skin while Y/N struggled to pull herself out of the daze she was already falling into.

The smell of bacon was the only thing keeping her from falling into a mess right then and there and she didn't hesitate to pull the rest of the bacon off the pan and on to the plate. She then moved the pan off to the side, quickly shutting off the stove before turning towards her boyfriend—the one and only Maxwell Lord.

He was already dressed to impress, his usual suit hugging his body and his blonde hair styled back to perfection. His brown eyes shone down on her, twinkling as they always did when he looked at her. Then there was that smile, a smile that was very similar to the one on TV but with an extra component reserved just for her. He was a sight to behold, his beauty something that never failed to make her heart skip a beat.

Y/N barely had time to smile before Max was pulling her closer by her waist, his head ducking down to close the distance and capture her lips with his own. She instantly responded, her eyes fluttering closed while her hands reached up to wrap around his neck and pull him closer if that was even possible.

It was a simple kiss, one that still managed to make her breathless while also preventing her from forgetting the food that she had spent a while making while Max got ready for work.

Max pulled away first, his smile never leaving his face as he looked at her before he wrapped both arms around her waist and nodded towards the TV where his commercial was just ending. "You like the new commercial? Same words, just a different concept," he explained.

Y/N smiled and let her hand cup his cheek, her thumb gently caressing the skin there as she said, "It's perfect because you're in it."

Max jokingly rolled his eyes at that, pulling away from the girl in order to help grab the rest of the plates and utensils they would need while Y/N grabbed their coffee and a bottle of syrup for the pancakes. Max set his things down before pulling the chair out for Y/N to sit in. She let out a quiet mutter of thanks while he just pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and sat down beside her.

The two were like a well oiled machine as they got their food situated, neither of them even saying anything as they automatically began passing things to one another that they knew they would need for their food. Before long they were already eating, Max letting out a small moan of delight before whispering, "Honey, you've outdone yourself again. I still think you should quit your job at the museum and open your own restaurant or maybe even a bakery."

"You only say that because you don't want to cook it yourself," Y/N teased, raising her eyebrows at the boy with a teasing smile while he simply winked at her.

"Maybe the half about me not wanting to cook is true, but the half about me only saying it's great because of that is a lie. You seriously know how to cook," Max insisted earning a small chuckle from the girl.

"Well I'm glad you love it so much and I guess you must be right if you've been able to stick with my cooking for almost three years now," Y/N admitted, noticing the way Max's smile grew a little when she mentioned how long they had been together.

"I'm always right," Max insisted earning a small eye roll from the girl which made him chuckle. He bit into a piece of bacon as he lifted up his watch to check the time. "Shit," he muttered, already turning to his plate and beginning to pile all of his dishes on top of it. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I really have to head to work."

Y/N frowned at that, having not noticed it was already time for him to leave. "Really?" she asked, attempting to sound curious and not whiny. "Is it already time?"

Max knew what she was doing and let out a small chuckle as he set his dishes in the sink with the intent to clean them later when he got home. "Sadly, yes," he told her. "And if my calculations are correct, you have about half an hour before you need to head to work and unless you want to work in my shirt all day you might want to get ready. Not that I'm complaining."

Y/N turned to him at that, rolling her eyes at the smirk that dawned his face as he not so subtly looked her up and down. She looked away with a sigh and stood up muttering, "I wish we didn't have to work. I'd much rather spend the day here with you."

"I know, sweetheart," Max sighed, taking one last sip of his coffee before rinsing out the cup and setting it in the sink. "But we have to."

"Life is good," Y/N said before pointing to her boyfriend half heartedly and making the face she was so used to him doing on TV. "But it can be better."

Max gave her a small smile at that before walking over and pulling her in for a hug, one hand holding her head against his chest while his other arm was wrapped around her waist. Y/N closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in, Max's scent instantly filling her senses and making her feel more relaxed than before.

Y/N then glanced up at the man who smiled and leaned down to kiss her. She instantly kissed back, her hands beginning to slide up his chest and inching their way towards his hair. However, before she could deepen the kiss and somehow convince him to skip work for the day, Max was already pulling away with an apologetic smile.

"I really have to go," he told her. "I'm going to be late if I don't."

"Right," Y/N agreed. "We're still on for dinner tonight after work, right?"

"Of course," Max assured her, smiling as she pressed one more kiss to his lips.

"Good. Have a great day. I love you," Y/N said, kissing him once more which in turn made Max chase after her lips to prolong the kiss.

"And I love you," he whispered before quickly pulling away and grabbing the last of his things. He went for the door and pulled it open before glancing back at Y/N who was standing in the doorway hugging her body with a small smile on her face. She lifted her hand and waved it ever so slightly in goodbye. Max smiled and sent her one last wink before disappearing out the door and leaving Y/N behind.

The girl stood there for a little while after he had left, her thoughts consisting of nothing but her boyfriend. She couldn't help but be slightly upset for this was what every morning was like, Max rushing off to work while they were still in the middle of breakfast. And she knew she wouldn't be able to see him until that night.

Luckily it was a date night which meant he would get off early just to eat with her, but most of the time he would be at the office until so late that by the time he got back it would be time for them to go to sleep and repeat the whole process again.

The weekends were the only days she truly got to spend a lot of time with him, but those were also the days that they were in charge of watching over his son Alistair which meant she didn't really get to have him to herself very often. Y/N never complained about it, but sometimes she wished he didn't always have to rush off or wasn't always so busy.

She just wanted to be able to spend a little more time with him was all, especially at this time since he hadn't always used to be so busy in the three years she had been with him. Lately he had just been going through a lot of things at work and he kept referring to some project that he was trying to get started, but wouldn't tell her what it was because he wanted to surprise her when it was ready.

Max's reminder of work was what kept her from getting lost in her thoughts for too long and Y/N quickly went back to the kitchen to put away the leftovers and clean up the dishes. Once she was done, she went to hers and Max's shared room and got ready, throwing on a nice blouse, jeans, and heels like always.

As she put her earrings in, her eyes flickered over to the picture frame on their dresser, her eyes lingering on the photo of her and Max from a gala the year prior. Max was kissing her cheek, an arm wrapped around her waist and holding her close while she smiled towards the camera and kept a hand upon his chest. It was almost funny to think that back then she still hadn't even moved in with the man yet. Now here she was sharing an apartment with him and wishing for the day that he finally decided to pop the question.

Brushing away all thoughts of Max, Y/N checked her appearance in the mirror one last time before grabbing her bag and heading off to work. She had been blessed enough to work at the Smithsonian Museum for a while now and was probably one of the few people on the planet who really didn't mind working. It was just the having to get ready part instead of staying in bed that got to her.

By the time she reached the Smithsonian, Y/N was already looking forward to her day. She was so lost in her thoughts about what she planned to do that she didn't even notice the person trying to go in the door at the same time as her until she had accidentally bumped into them.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry," Y/N quickly said, snapping out of her thoughts and glancing to her side where she was met with a warm smile. "Oh, Diana, good morning."

Diana Prince's smile didn't waver as she looked to the girl. "Good morning, Y/N, and it's really no problem. I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings," she insisted.

"I assure you it was my bad," Y/N said with a small laugh. "I've just been lost in thought all morning and was kind of going through the motions."

"Is everything alright?" Diana asked curiously.

"Yes, yes, everything's fine," Y/N assured her. "I've just been trying to figure out my schedule for the day so that I'm able to go to dinner with my boyfriend tonight."

For a moment Y/N was sure she saw a flicker of sadness in Diana's eyes, but it was gone before she could fully register it was even there. "Ah, trying to juggle your work life and dating life can be hard," Diana agreed while Y/N let out a small sigh of agreement.

"You have no idea," Y/N said, the two girls chuckling softly before Y/N grabbed the door and held it open. Diana gave her a smile in thanks before walking inside. The girl followed after and was about to engage Diana in another conversation when she noticed that the woman was already gone.

Blinking, Y/N looked around for a moment before brushing off the interaction. After all, it wasn't unusual for Diana to disappear when the conversations became a little too friendly. Y/N didn't blame her. It was obvious Diana wasn't looking for a friend and she wasn't going to force her into any sort of friendship that she didn't want.

Y/N let her eyes wander around the museum as she headed for the back rooms, smiling slightly at all the history that surrounded her and the kids who pointed towards different exhibits in awe. It was only when she got to the back rooms that she reminded herself to focus, instantly heading towards the front desk where she began to pick up her papers for the day and any mail that had come in for her.

She was in the middle of flipping through her mail when she heard the sound of papers hitting the ground behind her. Y/N blinked before turning around, a curious look in her eyes before she noticed a blonde on the ground struggling to pick up her papers.

"Hey, Jake!" the blonde said, eyes locked on her coworker who was walking by at that very moment. "Jake, hi! Can you. . .can you. . .?" she began, but the man merely gave her a look before walking away.

Y/N rolled her eyes at Jake's behavior, not necessarily surprised since he wasn't exactly the kindest person there. She let her gaze shift back over to the blonde who was muttering to herself with a disappointed look on her face.

The woman didn't hesitate to set her stack of papers down before walking over and helping the girl pick her own papers up. The blonde blinked in surprise and glanced up, her eyes locking with Y/N’s as she sent her a smile and said, "Good morning."

"G-Good morning," the blonde replied, still stunned at the fact that someone was helping her and someone as beautiful as Y/N no doubt. Another pair of hands joined in and the blonde's eyes grew even more at the sight of Diana who flashed her a grin as she too helped pick the papers up.

"Hi," the blonde said to the two, still looking at them in slight shock. "Thank you."

"Diana Prince, cultural anthropology and archeology," Diana said as she reached out to shake the blonde's hand.

"Y/N L/N," Y/N greeted next with a warm smile as she too shook the blonde's hand. "Anthropology and curator."

"Barbara Minerva. Geology, gemology, lithology, and part-time cryptozoologist," the blonde said with a smile.

"Woah," Y/N said with a small laugh. "That's amazing."

"I kept busy in college," Barbara explained, quickly diverting her gaze as she grabbed the last of her papers and stood up. Diana and Y/B followed, each of them handing Barbara the papers they had managed to pick up. "Sorry. It's these heels, you know. It's stupid. I don't know why I was gonna wear heels. Scientists don't wear heels."

"Sometimes we do," Diana told her with a kind smile.

"Makes things fun," Y/N said, winking at the blonde. "And it might be just me, but I love the sound of my heels clicking down the hallway."

Barbara let out another nervous laugh, feeling slightly intimidated by the two gorgeous women in front of her who were both wearing heels. "Right. Right. Those are cool," Barbara said, pointing towards Diana's cheetah print heels. "I like those. Animal prints." She then did a small growl and Diana and Barbara both awkwardly laughed while Y/N let out a small breath and reached over to grab her stack of papers from the table nearby.

"Do you want to get lunch?" Barbara asked suddenly, her eyes flickering between the two women who blinked in surprise.

"I, uh. . ." Diana began, already sending the rejection that made Barbara's smile deflate a bit.

"Not now, obviously. It's morning. But later today, or whenever. Like, around. . .Like, at lunchtime?" she asked, hope still flickering in her eyes.

Y/N felt a wave of guilt wash over her and she gave the girl an apologetic smile as she said, "I'm so sorry, Barbara. I actually have to work through lunch today so I can get some stuff done."

"And I have a lot of work today as well," Diana said. "But maybe some other time?" Y/N nodded her head in agreement, both of them looking to Barbara who was obviously trying to hide her disappointment.

"Oh. Yeah, I'm busy today, too," Barbara muttered making Y/N feel ever worse.

"Great," Diana said, but before any of them could say anymore, their boss Carol came walking up, her fingers pointing towards Diana and Y/N.

"Ah! Diana, Y/N, do you happen to know who a Barbara Minerva is?" Carol asked, genuine confusion upon her face.

"Oh, hi, Carol. Hi!" Barbara exclaimed, forcing her smile on to her face despite the confused look upon Carol's face. "It's me. I'm Barbara. Remember? You hired me. Started last week."

"Oh!" Carol exclaimed, although Y/N had a sneaking suspicion that Carol really didn't remember her. "Gemologist?"

"Yes. And zoologist," Barbara added. "We had a couple interviews."

"Yeah. Well, the FBI are gonna drop off some artifacts later this afternoon," Carol told her causing both Y/N and Barbara's eyes to widen while Diana suddenly walked back over to the conversation.

"The FBI?" Barbara asked while Y/N let out a breath of disbelief.

"Wow," the girl muttered, knowing that whatever it was that the FBI had to bring in had to be good.

"Yeah. Yes," Carol told her.

"They're coming here?" Barbara asked, still in shock.

"The mall heist yesterday, apparently they were using a jewelry store as a front," Carol explained.

"Front for what?" Diana questioned and even Y/N found herself taking a small step forward out of curiosity and anticipation.

"Black market. Stolen jewels and art meant for private buyers. But we could use your help identifying one in particular," Carol explained, gesturing towards Barbara who smiled widely.

"My help?" Barbara asked before laughing. "Yeah, I'll help the FBI with whatever they need."

"Is that a yes?" Carol asked, obviously wanting to get the conversation over with.

"Yes. I would, um. . .I would love to assist you," Barbara told her.

"Wonderful. It's nice to meet you," Carol said before walking away.

"We've met," Barbara lowly called after her, her smile disappearing into a look of utter defeat.

Y/N watched the blonde for a moment before reaching out and placing a friendly hand upon the girl's shoulder. "Don't worry about, Carol. She treated me the same way when I first started working here," she tried to assure her earning a small grateful smile from Barbara in return. "I really am sorry about lunch, but I'll try and stop by later and talk to you for a bit if that's alright?"

Barbara's eyes lit up at that, her smile widening as she said, "Yes, yes! I would. . .uh, I would love that."

Y/N gave the woman a small nod before beginning to back away. "I'll see you then," she told her before turning and going to head to her office.

"Have a nice day," Diana said as she too turned to leave.

"Bye, Y/N. Bye, Diana," Barbara called after them, a small smile dawning her features all because of the two friendly faces that had made her feel not so invisible for the first time in a long time.

- - -

Y/N let out a small sigh of triumph as she leaned back in her chair, her eyes slowly flickering over the now finished work that she had laying on her desk. It seemed she was going to not only be off in time for dinner with Max, but now an hour earlier than she had expected. All she really had to do was go see Barbara like she had promised and then she would be free to go.

The woman had a little bit of a pep in her step as she got up and began to clean up her desk, putting away the papers that needed to be filed and sending the last couple of emails that she had written throughout the day.

It was when she was in the middle of filing the last of her papers that her phone went off. She didn't even bother looking at the caller ID as she picked it up and said, "This is Y/N L/N speaking."

"Good afternoon, Miss L/N. This is Raquel, Mr. Lord's secretary," the woman on the other end of the line said, her voice just a tiny bit shaky.

"Yes! Raquel. How are you, dear?" Y/N asked, not really paying full attention to the girl for she was too busy trying to file her stack of papers in her hand.

"I'm doing good, Miss L/N. Mr. Lord asked me to call you and deliver a message for you. He's really sorry, but he won't be able to make it to dinner tonight," Raquel said, her words making Y/N freeze almost instantly.

Raquel then went into this big discussion on how Max was held up at work and wouldn't be able to get home until later that night. Y/N could only stand there and listen as the girl rambled, her eyes closing as she sat down at her desk and leaned her forehead against her hand.

"Miss L/N?" Raquel's voice echoed through her ears.

"I'm here. I'm here," Y/N assured her before she let out a small sigh and sat back up in her chair. "Thanks for letting me know, Raquel. If you don't mind just letting Max know that we can just reschedule and that I'll see him when he gets home tonight, that would be great."

"Of course, Miss L/N," Raquel said. "Have a wonderful day."

"You too, Raquel. Don't let Max push you around too much, okay?" Y/N asked.

There was a small chuckle on the other end of the line before Raquel said, "Of course, Miss L/N."

Y/N smiled softly and pulled the phone away before setting it down to end the call. She sat there for a moment after that, momentarily glancing at the paperwork that she had so desperately tried to finish that day only for it really to mean nothing in the end.

Although, she really shouldn't be surprised. This had become an often occurrence in the past couple of months.

Letting out a sigh, Y/N got back up and made no effort to work quickly as she put the rest of the papers away. When she was done, she collected all of her things and made her way to where she knew Barbara would be dealing with the new artifacts.

To her surprise, Diana was already in there with the blonde, the both of them standing over a small box as Barbara muttered, "Here it is."

"What is it?" Diana asked while Y/Nnodded in greeting to a few of the workers as she walked over to the two girls.

"Um. . .Uh. . .I can't tell. Some light," Barbara muttered as she moved a lamp over the box.

"Whatever it is. It's kind of pretty," Y/N spoke up causing Barbara to jump in surprise before smiling once she saw that it was Y/N.

"Y/N, you came," Barbara said in slight surprise.

"Of course. I told you I would, didn't I?" Y/N replied, smiling softly at the girl who only blinked with a look of disbelief on her face as if she couldn't understand that someone had actually wanted to talk to her.

"R-Right, of course you did," Barbara laughed awkwardly. "Uh. . .I was just showing this to Diana. It's the artifact that they wanted help identifying. I think the technical term here is 'extremely lame.'" She laughed in defeat while Y/N and Diana both chuckled softly with her. "Um. . .It's. . .It's citrine. A classic stone used in fakes throughout history," Barbara told them, gently picking the stone up and sighing softly. "I can't imagine this is worth any more than $75. What do you think?”

"Fakes aren't my forte, but let me see," Diana said, taking the stone from Barbara and beginning to examine it. "Mmm. Latin."

"At least it's an antique, right?" Barbara suggested.

"Or a purchase from a stall on the Ponte Vecchio last week," Diana retorted. "You never know."

"I wonder what it says," Y/N admitted, carefully reaching out to run her fingers across the Latin words while Diana kept the stone in her grasp.

"'Place upon the object held but one great wish,'" Diana read off earning a surprised look from both Barbara and Y/N as the later girl pulled away.

"You read Latin?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah. Yeah. Languages are a hobby," Diana explained.

"Wow and here my hobby is watching TV until the sky is suddenly screaming good morning to me," Y/N muttered between laughs which Barbara and Diana quickly joined in.

"So maybe it's, like, a lucky charm or something?" Barbara suggested.

"Yeah, I guess. Strange," Diana said, letting her eyes flicker over the rest of the objects upon the table and the box the stone came from.

One of Barbara's coworkers Roger must have overheard because he walked over and placed his hand upon the stone before saying, "I really wish I had a coffee."

Y/N cracked a smile at that while Barbara laughed a little too hard for Roger's joke and said, "You're funny."

It was at that moment that another coworker walked in and said, "Hey, I got Erika a coffee, but she's out sick. Does anybody want this?"

Roger blinked before laughing and looking back over at Diana, Barbara and Y/N, "What? Yeah, I'll take one." He took the coffee happily and went to take a sip as he walked away, "Ooh, hot! Hot, hot!"

Y/N watched the man go, furrowing her eyebrows slightly before glancing back at the stone that was in Diana's hands. Barbara let out a small gasp of disbelief, "Did you see that? Can you imagine?"

"If only," Diana whispered.

"Hmm. So many things, I don't even know what I would wish for," Barbara admitted.

Y/N smiled softly as she stared at the stone in Diana's hand before lowering her gaze and moving to look at the other artifacts. She knew exactly what she would wish for if given the chance—to spend more time with Max and Alistair, the two people in the world who made her the happiest she had ever been each time she saw them.

"I do," Diana said, a distant look in her eyes before she set the stone back down. "Well, um, anyway, sorry to bother you. If you need anything, I'm around."

"Oh, yeah, I'm good," Barbara told her. "But thank you for. . ."

"That's okay. It's my job. And I'll look into it more when I have a chance," Diana replied.

"Okay. Well, thanks for. . .talking to me," Barbara added before glancing towards Y/N. "The both of you." She let out an awkward chuckle and looked down bashfully. "I'm. . .I'm sorry, uh. . .I mean, I'm fine."

"You know, we could go and grab early dinner and talk about exactly how lame that stone is," Diana suggested, her words making Barbara look back up at her in surprise.

"Really?" Barbara asked, her voice barely above a whisper and sounding so fragile.

"Yeah, I mean, citrine? Who are they kidding, right?" Diana joked.

"So lame," Barbara agreed between laughs.

"Dorky," Diana added.

"Lame," Barbara said. "That's, like, the lamest of lames."

"Yeah, let's go," Diana told her and Y/N watched as the two began to leave before biting her lip nervously and then running after them.

"Hey, uh. . .if it okay if I come too?" Y/N asked. "My dinner plans kind of flopped and I'd really like to make up for the missed lunch."

Diana watched her silently and Y/N knew she was thinking back to what she had said about going to dinner with Max, but Barbara was already smiling and saying, "Y-yeah. Of course."

Y/N smiled widely. "Great," she said, falling into line with the other two women as they began to head out the building. "Thank you."

And with that, the three made their way out of the building and off to dinner while Barbara silently thanked whoever was looking out for her for putting the two amazing women in her life.

- - -

Y/N had to hold back a snort as she leaned back in her chair, laughter shaking her body while she tried to ignore the fact that maybe she had one too many drinks than she should've.

"Wow. You're so funny," Diana said as she looked to Barbara, Y/N quickly nodding in agreement.

"Oh. Thank you," Barbara said a bit surprised seeing as no one had ever told her that before.

"My sides hurt," Y/N admitted, using her hand to brush her hair out of her face as her eyes sparkled at the girls. "I think my smile is now permanently on my face."

"I've got to agree with, Y/N. Wow. I mean, no one's made me laugh like this in such a long time. I mean, it's true, I don't get out much socially, but—" Diana began, but Barbara gave her a loo of disbelief.

"You don't get out much?" Barbara asked.

"No, not really. No," Diana said and Y/N had to hold back her utter of agreement for she knew how anti-social Diana could be if she wanted to, but she didn't want to let her know that she had noticed it.

"I'm sorry," Barbara laughed. "I'm just surprised. Because you just seem like the kind of person who's, like, always out. Like, people are asking you to go out all the time and you live out. You're just out."

The three laughed at that as Barbara began making hand gestures, "Like, you never get in. You just seem like you'd be really popular. And I would know because I've never been popular."

Y/N frowned a little at that, feeling a pang of sympathy for the girl who no one really seemed to give a chance to. "I wasn't popular much either," Y/N assured her. "It happens to the best of us."

That made Barbara laugh and Diana joined before saying, "I'm surprised you two haven't. You're both so personable. So. . .free. I mean, honestly, I gotta say that I envy that."

"What?" Barbara laughed in disbelief. "You envy me? That doesn't make any sense. Oh, my gosh. People think I'm weird. They avoid me and talk behind my back when they don't think I can hear them. I'm like, 'Guys, I can hear you.'" The blonde looked down at that, awkward laughs escaping her lips while both Diana and Y/N looked at her sympathetically.

"Barbara, my life hasn't been what you probably think it has. We all have our struggles," Diana told her.

"She's right. As much as I wish it were true, no one's got a perfect life," Y/N sighed. "Life is good, but it can be better," she whispered like a mantra.

"Yeah, it just sucks," Barbara said and Y/N chuckled softly at that. The blonde let her eyes flicker over to her new friend and she gave her a curious look, "So Y/N, you mentioned earlier that you were supposed to be getting dinner with your man, what happened if you don't mind me asking?"

Said girl let out a soft sigh, her eyes focusing on the glass of wine in her hand and the way the liquid spun as she slowly moved it. "He got caught up at work," she explained with a sad smile.

"You don't sound surprised," Barbara pointed out.

Y/N glanced up to find both women staring intently at her and she just shrugged. "It's happened quite a bit lately, but it's okay," she said. "He's had a lot to deal with, so I'm not mad or anything. I just miss him is all."

"I'm sorry," Barbara frowned. "I know it must be hard."

"It is," Y/N admitted with a sad laugh.

"How long have you guys been together?" Diana asked.

"We'll be coming up on three years next month," Y/N replied, a genuine smile appearing on her lips as she thought about what an accomplishment that was and how lucky she was to have Max.

"Three years? Wow. You must really be in love with the guy," Barbara teased.

"Yeah," Y/N said with a small blush, her thoughts suddenly being consumed with everything that had to do with Max. "He's the love of my life and he has this kid who is just the greatest. I'm very lucky with what I have. I just wish we were able to spend more time together, you know?"

"I get it," Barbara told her, reaching out to gently squeeze the girl's hand in comfort before glancing at Diana. "What about you, Diana, you ever been in love?"

"Uh. . .Yeah. A long, long time ago," Diana told her. "You?"

"So many times, yeah. All the time. Often," Barbara replied instantly making Y/N chuckle softly despite the ache in her heart that had reappeared at the thought of Max. "So what happened? Where'd he go, your guy?"

"He, uh. . .He died," Diana explained, her words making Y/N still. She couldn't imagine the type of pain Diana had to be going through. She didn't know what she would do if Max ever passed away. "But I still think sometimes that I see him up there in the sky. He was a pilot."

"Oh!" Barbara exclaimed.

"That sounds fun," Y/N told the girl. "I bet he was an amazing guy."

"He was all kinds of things, but he was great. It was true," Diana said.

"I get it," Barbara said, her eyes flickering between the two women who were invisibly now thinking about theirs guys. The blonde was quick to pick up her drink, smiling at the two as she said, "Well, cheers to us. Wishing us better luck, I guess."

Y/N smiled softly at that before clinking her glass with the two beside her, but she would only be there in spirit for the rest of the dinner for her thoughts would be on Maxwell Lord.

Just like they always were.

- - -

By the time Y/N got home from dinner, she wanted nothing more than to curl into the embrace of the man that she loved. She knew she should be mad at him for ditching her once again, but she knew what it was like to be busy at work and would never blame him for working hard like he did.

However, she couldn't stop the small pit of despair that was growing in her stomach once she got back to their shared apartment only for the lights to still be off and for Max to be no where in sight.

The girl let out a soft sigh before walking towards their bedroom, stripping off her work clothes in favor of something more comfortable before pulling her hair back into a ponytail as she plopped down on the couch to watch a little TV while she waited for Max to get home.

It was at least another hour before the door opened up, Max tiredly shuffling inside before closing the door behind him. Y/N could already tell that he was tense and she frowned before slowly getting up from the couch, her eyes trailing over the man as he took his jacket off and went to hang it up.

Y/N came up from behind him, her arms snaking around his waist so that she could hug him from behind. She felt him relax under her touch, a small sigh escaping his lips as he leaned back into her while she rested her head against his back.

He sounded tired, but she could still practically hear the smile on his face as he said, "Hey there, sweetheart."

"Hi, Maxie," Y/N whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his back. "How was work?"

"Stressful," Max admitted with a small laugh. "I'm sorry about dinner. I just had a lot I had to deal with today and I didn't realize how long it would take."

"It's alright," she assured him, but Max was already turning around so that he could gently cup the side of her face.

"It's really not and I promise I will make it up to you, alright?" he told her and although she knew he would only forget just like the other times, Y/N still gave him a small nod and a smile in response.

Max smiled and leaned forward to press a kiss to her lips, his arm slowly snaking around her waist and pulling her closer before he pulled away and went to sit down on the couch. He held onto her hand and dragged her along beside him, pulling her down into his lap as he wrapped his arms around her waist and looked to her with a small smile.

"How was your day?" he asked. "A lot better than mine, I hope."

"It was the same as every other day," she told him, her eyes closing slightly in content as he pressed a small kiss to her neck before holding her tight and resting his face in the crook of her neck. "Just a lot of paperwork as always. I met a new coworker today at work named Barbara and went to dinner with her and Diana."

Max hummed in response before muttering, "Sounds like fun."

"It was," Y/N said. "Oh, and we got a shipment from the FBI with all of these cool artifacts."

Max hesitated at that and pulled his head away from her neck in order to look at her. His eyes sparkled with curiosity as he asked, "What kind of artifacts?"

Knowing that her boyfriend was intrigued, Y/N smiled and continued, not seeming to notice the way Max looked off into space as she spoke. "Apparently the mall heist the other day revealed the jewelry store was selling stuff on the black market. We got a big shipment of all sorts of artifacts. I only got to glance at a few, but there was this one gemstone looking one that I saw with this engraving on it. Diana said it mentioned something about making wishes with it and—"

It was then that she noticed Max's behavior, the way he was just staring off while being so quiet she would've assumed he was asleep if it weren't for the fact that his eyes were still open. "Max?" she questioned, her gaze flickering over him until he finally seemed to hear her voice and blinked himself back to reality.

His eyes flickered her way and she gave him a confused look. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Of course," he told her, sending that smile of his in her direction that made her heart skip a beat. "I just love listening to you talk is all." He pulled her closer to his body if that was even possible, pressing a small kiss to her cheek before whispering, "I love you."

Y/N didn't even have time to blink before he was closing the distance between them, his lips capturing hers perfectly while his hands slowly moved under her shirt before resting upon her hips. She couldn't help the way that her eyes fluttered closed and she knew her face was heating up due to the intensity of the kiss that literally came out of no where.

When Max pulled away, Y/N was sure her face had gone bright red, but thankfully the only light in the room was coming from a lamp nearby which meant that her blush was semi-hidden by the darkness.

"What was that for?" she asked breathlessly.

Max just shrugged with a small smile as he whispered, "I love you."

"Yeah, yeah," she chuckled, her eyes fluttering closed once again as he felt him slowly begin to kiss down her neck. She leaned back with a heavy sigh while Max smirked against her skin.

"I love you so much," Max whispered, his emotions heightened even more as he tried to process how his beautiful girlfriend had been able to help him achieve his dream without even realizing it.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh as she opened her eyes to look at the man, taking note of the way his eyes seemed to sparkle as he stared at her. "Oh, really? How much?" Y/N asked, smirking at the man who merely chuckled before pulling her up off the couch with him.

His eyes were practically flashing at her as he slowly began to back her towards their bedroom, his lips curving up into a smile as he whispered, "Let me show you."

- - -

Tag List

@blogforhoes @mrschiltoncat @haileyybird @vampgguk @buckysalefty @elfwoodfae @imcalledflorence @skullchik89

#wonder woman 1984 #wonder woman x reader #wonder #woman #Wonder Woman #ww1984 #ww84 #diana prince #steve trevor #gal gadot #chris pine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord imagine #maxwell lord #alistair lord

253 notes · View notes

redhawtriot · 5 years ago

Text

Operation Unvirgin (Bakugou x Reader)

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

I had this idea the other day that Bakugou probably would be super celibate. Like he is very goal oriented and doesn't like to attach himself to others, so I feel like he wouldn't have ever bothered with girls or even beat his meat or anything (the shit’s fucking perverted okay?! how could any decent person touch themselves?)

But he hears that Deku is boutta get laid and he gets pissed bc WHAT? That loser is gonna beat him in something?! So he goes on a mission to loose his virginity before Deku.

So I wrote the NSFW piece of this and it was UTTER GARBAGE, but I know that many of you guys are writers so think of this as a very informal request: Anyone can write the second half of this and tag me and I will repost it (except no non-con plz). It doesn’t matter how long it is.

If this completely flops I will ... sigh... post my shitty NSFW next week... (But please spare me and yourselves from that outcome)

HnM💕

Bakugou never could understand all the hype surrounding the opposite sex.

The blond man would wrack his brain as he tried to remember the exact moment where his fellow peers stopped looking at girls like the enemy and started looking at them like walking deities, mindlessly floating behind them as if an invisible scent enchanted their spirits. Sometimes he felt like a lone soldier in sustaining self-respect.

In his isolated state, he only watched in disgust as freaks like Mineta and Kaminari drooled over women and reduced themselves into warm bodied zombies in the presence of a vagina. Pathetic.

He would never in a million years let a woman rule over him. He had seen how his hag of a mother treated his father, and he would rather stick his face in a vat of acid than have his soul belong to someone like that.

His stupid mom always told him that he would probably meet someone in high school that would change his mind, but there he was, the night after graduation, victorious in his pursuit of staying the fuck away from crazy broads like her.

In fact, this ridiculous graduation party that Kirishima had dragged him to was probably the last time he would see most of these extras, since he doubted many of them would make it past being D-listers or side-kicks—and that was him being generous.

The colorful beams of light took turns fading in and out of the dark room as the heavy bass of multiple speakers pounded into his body, sending a flurry of vibrations in his abdomen. Although, Bakugou would never admit this out loud, he actually enjoyed this scenery. The stomping of the music reminded him a lot of his own quirk and the lights weren’t completely hideous.

Yeah, as long as no one at this shitty party tried to talk to him or get on his nerves he would be just fine—

“Baku-brooooo!”

God Dammit.

“Hey, dude!” Kaminari threw a sloppy arm over the angrier blond’s shoulders as Kirshima, Deku and Mina all followed behind him through the dense party crowd. Now, if this had been two years ago, Kaminari just might have found himself short an appendage through an explosive altercation; however, throughout his high school career, Bakugou found that simply ignoring the idiots was usually enough to deter them from trying to converse with him.

So Bakugou swallowed the increasing rage that was bubbling in his throat and simply scoffed instead, swatting the man’s arm away from him and turning his back on him and his incoming entourage. Kaminari only laughed in response, “C’mon bro we are officially graduates! Ditch the bad boy act and loosen up a little—we are men now! Just ask Midoriya!” he slyly suggested.

The sound of his rival’s name piqued his interest, yet the stubborn man still refused to give the short-circuited idiot the satisfaction of knowing such a thing, so he continued to glare away from him as Izuku spoke up, “N-no it’s nothing really… Uraraka and I have just been together for a while. Honestly, I don’t even know if I will go for it. I don’t wanna be a jerk or anything bringing it up to her! Forget I said anything at all, actually!” the young man frantically waved his hands as his face became obviously red even in the dimly lit atmosphere.

Mina snickered as her hands found their way to her hips “The shy guy act is cute and all Midoriya, but every girl wants confidence in bed! I am sure she wouldn’t mind if the two of you at least talked about it,” she bumped the green haired boy with her hips as Bakugo furrowed his eyebrows even deeper.

Kirishima was the next to speak up “GO for it, man! There worst that can happen is that she’ll say no!” he heavily patted the concerned Izuku’s back, “But the manliest thing for you to do is respect her boundaries,” he quickly added in.

The green haired man shook his head at the ground, “I should have just kept my big mouth shut...”

“She won’t say no,” Mina sang with a mischievous expression drawn across her face.

The three boys turned their attention to her with confused glances before Kaminari spoke up, “C’mon Mina! You know something don’t you? Spill it!” he begged.

Mina looked as if she were contemplating for only a moment before he gestured for the men to come closer, “Don’t tell her I told you, but…” she trailed off for dramatic effect, “She was totally gonna try to seduce you tonight, Midoriya!!” She winked. Bakugou’s ears perked up at this statement,

“WhAT?” both him and Izuku cried out.

Kaminari and Kirishima laughed at the blond’s outburst, “So you were listening after all, huh Bakugou?” the latter questioned.

“What do you think of the situation, buddy?” Kaminari leaned into the explosive man with a smirk.

“I’m not your damn buddy,” Bakugou bumped the electrical dumbass away from him, “I think you idiot perverts need to stop worrying about whose panties you’re gonna fail getting into and worry about not being able to keep food on your fucking plates when your careers flop!” he barked as the four blinked in surprise at his sudden outburst.

Kaminari saw this as the perfect opportunity to mess with him, “Bakugou are you… a virgin?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“MIND YOUR OWN DAMN BUSINESS, PIKACHU,” the man under interrogation screeched.

“He totally is!” Kaminari threw his hands up in feign shock, causing Mina to giggle.

Izuku awkwardly shifted on the balls of his feet as Kiri loudly spoke up, “Hey guys, it’s not manly to butt into another man’s personal life like that.”

Bakugou ignored his defender and continued screaming at dumb and dumber through the loud music, “S-Shut the hell up!” his face was dusted in a light shade of red as he spoke. He tried to shake these foreign feelings of embarrassment away. So fucking what if he was a virgin?

“Deku still ain’t shit! Who fucking cares if he’s gonna get his dick dirty?! I could fuck any of these bimbos!” he loudly called out, causing a few girls crowding the area to throw him wary glances before they cautiously moved away. The group of friends noticed this and Kamari and Mina failed miserably at stifling their laughs at the scene.

“It’s ‘make love to’, dude…” Kirishima quietly correct his angry friend in a feeble attempt to save his future endeavors with women.

“NO. FUCK! I said what I meant dammit!” he yelled as he once again fought away the redness on his face, “I could fuck any one of these bitches within an inch of their life!” he furiously vowed.

“Any, huh?” Mina questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s what I fucking said, Raccoon eyes!”

“Then how about…” the yellow irises scanned the dense room for a moment before a smile split her face. She happily pointed a finger, “that one!”

Bakugou followed her finger through the crowd and found you on the other side of the room. The fading lights intermittently illuminated your features, but he knew exactly who you were— Y/N L/N. The only other person at U.A. known for being just as proud as himself if not more. Also known for having a slough of men on your heels at any given moment, but not giving a single one of them any significant time of day.

Mina snickered at Bakugou’s sudden silence, causing him to throw a glare at her. He fought of any creeping feeling of disheartened as he began a march toward your dancing figure, “Fucking easy” he roughly hyped himself up before approaching you.

“Hey,” he barked roughly. It didn’t really come off as much of a greeting and had more of a threatening tone to it, but in your shocked state you could only offer a half-hearted smile at the daunting man before returning to the conversation that you were having with your friends.

However, after a while, you noticed that your friends were distracted as their scared eyes kept darting behind you. He was still there wasn’t he?

You rolled your eyes before throwing a glare in his direction, “Do you fucking want something, dickhead?” you snapped.

“I SHOULD—” he began to threaten but he clamped his mouth shut and bottled up his feelings of rage from being disrespected before he continued, “You…” he barked, an unfamiliar feeling of uncertainty gripping at his chest, “I want you,” he said sternly. He had heard Kaminari say some stupid shit like this before and it worked. If it worked for an idiot like him then surely—

Bakugou’s thoughts were cut off as you simply threw your head back in a fit of laughter before turning your back to him to converse with your friends again, “Anyway,” you loudly began before beginning to talk to you friends again.

Bakugou’s face contorted in aghast uncertainty before he looked back to his classmates. Kaminari was giving him a thumbs down, Mina was giggling like crazy, Kirishima was beaming him a reassuring smile and Deku was no where to be found. Fuck! he probably went off to find Uraraka!

The thought set a competitive fire in his chest as he looked back toward you, “Let’s--“ he stopped himself to re-frame his approach. He thought of the words of encouragement that shitty hair might give him in this moment,

‘Treat her like a queen!’ ‘Ladies love a man with a code! Don’t tell her what to do, ask her!’

“Do... you want to dance,” he forced himself to ask through slightly gritted teeth. This was utterly humiliating.

“You think you can handle it?” you joked through a small smirk before eyeing him up and down. The man only averted his glare from you in response as he scowled at a nearby wall. You gave a small laugh at the display. It was almost childish how he was acting.

You suddenly noticed the red tint that was adorning his cheeks, sending a wave of excitement throughout your body. A sudden predacious urge clutched your abdomen at the sight.

“Okay,” you smiled after wetting your lips. You leaned into him before grabbing his forearm and leading him deep into the hot pool of dancing bodies. He stiffly followed after you.

If he thinks he can handle it then you’ll just have to show him how wrong he is...

#bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #mha #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki Bakugou #bnha smut #mha smut #reader input

863 notes · View notes

927roses-and-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Miracles in Gotham: Chapter 4: Unwelcome Discoveries (Part 2)

Hey, guys! This fic is inspired by @ozmav’s Maribat AU. Shoutout to @mystery-5-5 for brainstorming ideas with me for this fic.

Woah, updating twice within the same week? It’s like I finally learned how to manage my time!... Not. Honestly this is my stress relief right now because I have two papers due tomorrow and those subjects are not as much fun to write about. On another note, I just finished my midterm and passed! So, yay! Anyways, hope you guys enjoy and have a little bit of luck come your way too.

Btw, after you’re reading this can you guys please tell me if I’m writing too much angst after reading through this chapter??? I am writing what I think would logically happen in this type of scenario, but I also tend to be really pessimistic.

If you want to see more, follow: #miraclesingotham or ask to be added to the tag list.

Tag list: @northernbluetongue @zerotosiki @spicybelladonna @my-name-is-michell @legendaryneckjudgestudent @lokiifriggasonn

First Previous Next Fanfic

By the time Marinette entered the classroom, her mood had lifted considerably from moments before. She sat at her usual seat and prepared her things as the rest of the class filed in. Her mood was slightly disrupted by a disgruntled Lila who roughly swept past her, but otherwise it seemed like today was finally going to be a normal day; well as normal as one could get in Paris, anyway. As the last remaining students settled in, Mme. Bustier walked into the room with a huge stack of papers. She settled them on her desk before addressing everyone.

“Good morning, everyone!”

“Good morning, Mme. Bustier,” the class parroted back in varying degrees of enthusiasm. Mme. Bustier smiled in satisfaction.

“Now before we begin our usual morning exercise, I would like to call up Marinette and Alya to help me distribute these packages for you. I will give you a few minutes to look through it before discussing it further,” she said, as she split the pile of papers in half and handed one half to each girl. Marinette’s eyes bulged. The stack of papers consisted of multiple stacks of paper about twenty pages long each. She and Alya shared a glance before obeying Mme. Bustier’s orders. She started at Chloe and Sabrina’s desk and ended with Rose and Juleka at the back. Then, she returned to her seat, analyzing the stack of papers in front of her.

“Wayne Enterprises Sponsored International Connections Program in Gotham City, USA Information Package and Permission Forms”

After that was a bunch of paragraphs that Marinette skimmed over. The first few pages detailed what the program was for, their accommodations, costs for travel along with what necessary documents were needed, and all sorts of other details that made Marinette dizzy. The next few pages after that outlined the risks specific to Gotham and resources that students and their guardians were strongly recommended to review before even stepping onto Gotham grounds. The pages after that were permission forms asking for the legal guardian’s consent, her personal info, insurance, etc.

Needless to say, the whole class was baffled. In fact, some of them were downright lost, considering they didn’t even know a Gotham City existed in the US. Or what Wayne Enterprises was supposed to be and why they were offered to join this program. Only Max and Alya seemed excited at the prospect of the field trip, judging on the excited murmurs that Marinette could hear. She picked up on the word “vigilantes” from Alya and “greatest detective” from somewhere behind her and suddenly it all made sense. She wasn’t sure if she heard correctly, but she was pretty sure she heard Lila talking in self-assured whispers to the confused people around her. She held in a scoff, before returning her attention to the papers in front of her.

Marinette frowned, closing the package and pushing it away from her. She waited for Mme. Bustier to explain the details more clearly. Unfortunately, Marinette already knew there was no way she could go, at least, not without risking Paris’ safety.

“If you have finished, please bring your attention to me. I will explain everything. Please leave all your questions till the end,” Mme. Bustier said, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. “As you may have noticed, this opportunity has been given to us by M. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises. He has chosen our school as a trial school for a program that he wants to implement next year to help expand student achievement nationally and internationally. As well as to encourage young students like yourselves to make connections with students from other countries. In fact, I believe it was Mayor Bourgeois who sent M. Wayne a glowing recommendation of our class from fundraising events to everyone’s extracurriculars and achievements! I am so proud of all of you.”

At the front, Chloé straightened in her seat and smiled smugly. Beside her, Sabrina was looking from Chloé to the stack of papers in front of her in disbelief. The class was in a similar state of shock, and soon whispers erupted excitedly from most people in the class before Mme. Bustier silenced them all.

Oh, that made sense, Marinette thought. Despite the sense of pride she felt for herself and the class (their hard work deserved some reward after all, especially with all the akumas recently), she knew Mayor Bourgeois was not the type of person to recommend just anyone from the goodness of his heart. He had recommended this class to M. Wayne for Chloé’s own success. Which was a bit of a shame, Marinette thought, since Chloé had more than enough resources to find opportunities for herself. However, she couldn’t help but feel grateful to whatever deity convinced Mayor Bourgeois to include the class, anyway.

“Anyways,” Mme. Bustier said when the class had calmed down. “I expect everyone here to listen to what I have to say and take it to heart.” Mme. Bustier’s voice settled lowered, her tone becoming dangerously low. “This program is a huge opportunity however, Gotham City is full of many risks and I am making it absolutely mandatory for everyone in this room, as well as their legal guardians to use the sources outlined under “Risks to be Aware of While in Gotham City” Section. While M. Wayne has assured the supervisors for the trip as well as M. Damocles that our accommodations will be in Gotham’s financial district, there is still going to be danger; more than what we’re accustomed to in Paris.”

At the end of her spiel, the atmosphere in the room weighed heavy on Marinette. She had never seen Mme. Bustier so strict before, her teal eyes piercing through everybody in the room.

“Um, Mme. Bustier?” Lila spoke and stood up. The class swivelled their attention to her. “I’ve actually been to Gotham City and have met M. Wayne before for a humanitarian project. I’m sure M. Wayne will make sure to do everything to keep us safe.”

“That may be, Lila, but I assure you, these instructions were given to me by M. Wayne himself via email. He will do his best to make sure our trip is as safe as possible, but that means we need to do our part in keeping ourselves safe.”

Blinking owlishly, Lila faltered. “Yes, of course, Mme. Bustier.” She forced a smile. “I was just saying so because it would be an absolute shame for anyone to miss out on such a great opportunity!”

Marinette rolled her eyes. Sure, she thought. That, or she just wanted everyone to know that she knew Bruce Wayne- whoever he was- and be impressed. At least she didn’t claim that she saved Bruce Wayne’s horse or something similar. Or claim to be friends with the vigilantes Alya had been fangirling about earlier.

The rest of the morning was spent going through the rest of the package from how to ensure that everyone had their visa, to what they should bring and how they should behave while they were there. Marinette frowned; there was something off about this trip. She wasn’t sure whether it was the duration of the trip ( which had a minimum of one month, with extra time being granted in case of any future interruptions), or why an American company would choose this specific French class for the trial program instead of a class in say, London, or any other country that spoke English. It seemed that Max was thinking along the same lines as her, because the moment Mme. Bustier finished, his hand shot up in the air.

“Yes, Max?”

“I have a few questions concerning this program. Why is there a minimum allotted time for our stay? Would our parents need to agree to any extension of staying? And how are we supposed to communicate or even understand anything when most of us don’t speak English?”

Mme. Bustier smiled. “Those are all excellent questions. As I have said before, Gotham City is dangerous so there might be trips that are part of the program that will need to be rescheduled or we may need to take a later flight in case anything happens at the airport. Therefore, we need to be aware that our trip may last longer than the required month. Next, while we are there, you will be put in remedial English classes along with any classes you choose to take at Gotham Academy for the duration of our stay. This way, you will have the opportunity to brush up your English skills.”

Alya was quick to stand up and shoot her hand in the air. “Will we be going on any field trips outside of Gotham City? Like Metropolis?”

Mme. Bustier stared at her. “Maybe, but as for now, all details of the trip are included in the itinerary in your packages.”

Alya deflated, slumping in her seat. Marinette turned toward her and whispered, “What’s so special about Metropolis?”

She perked up and whispered excitedly. “It’s the home of Superman, Booster Gold and Blue Beetle!” Marinette had absolutely no clue -nor any real desire to know- who those were. It didn’t seem to matter as Alya rambled on. “And, and, and, it’s also the home to Pulwitzer prize-winning journalist Lois freaking Lane from the Daily Planet. I love her. I think I told Nino once that I would leave him for her (Nino gave an affirmative “uh huh”) if the opportunity ever arose and he said he wouldn’t mind as long as he could be with Superman. But that’s alright because Lois Lane is a badass and I love her; she is a genius-”

“Ahem.” Mme. Bustier coughed. Alya stopped mid-speech and laughed sheepishly. Her voice must have been louder than she realized.

“Sorry Mme. Bustier.”

“No problem, Alya. Just keep your excitement until the end of class.” She smiled softly. “And, I will see if I can mention your love for Lois Lane to M. Wayne.”

The way Alya froze in her seat, her jaw unhinged and wide eyes, Marinette wasn’t sure if she was in normal shock or if Mme. Bustier had actually managed to kill her with words. She chuckled before nudging her side to bring her back to reality. Shaken out of her stupor, Alya thanked Mme. Bustier and sat in her seat. Her smile was record-breakingly wide and she seemed to vibrate in place.

Letting out a giggle, Marinette was ecstatic for her best friend. Sure, she may not know the superheroes she mentioned, and still wasn’t too sure of who Lois Lane was, but Alya looked like she won a million euros and meeting her idol would be a great opportunity. As Alya continued to freak out however, she shared glances between Adrien and Nino in front of her and had to stifle their laughter.

Maybe if Alya did meet Lois Lane and Superman, and Gotham vigilantes, she could share her excitement with Marinette when the class returned to Paris.

The rest of the day had been pretty normal, with the addition of excitement in the air as her class discussed the trip to Gotham. Students from other classes seemed to be split between being jealous of the class for the opportunity, or relieved at the foreseeable absence of what they dubbed as “the akuma class.” Students from her own class huddled together in their small groups, already planning on what they wanted to do, what they thought Gotham would be like, and how they were excited to meet any cute Americans. Marinette couldn’t help but let their excitement affect her as well. Not only was going abroad always a cause for excitement but surely it was a relief to be able to leave Paris in the foreseeable future. It was exhausting being targeted by stupid demonic butterflies and sucking up your feelings like they didn’t exist (Unless you were Lila, then you cried and let everyone worry about your emotional state and any akumas that could come from it, that is). However, Marinette had a feeling that this trip to Gotham would stir a lot of drama within their class, when everyone had the chance to reveal any negative emotions without the consequence of an akuma around.

Well, that was that, she supposed as she went home for the lunch break, the permission forms tucked under her arm. She had been half tempted to chuck them in a bin somewhere, but knew her parents would be pissed if she didn’t tell them. Thus, she entered the bakery and once there was a lull in the orders, asked both of her parents if they could talk.

She led them upstairs in the living room and placed the bundle of papers on the dining room table. Marinette briefly explained the program and let them read through the package carefully. By the time they finished, Marinette only had an hour left of her two hour lunch break.

“So?” She prompted, trying to gauge their reactions.

Her maman and dad exchanged a glance and nodded, before turning back to her.

“You’re definitely going.” Her maman said, putting the package back on the table.

Marinette’s jaw dropped. “Wait, Maman, don’t you need some more time to think about this?” She couldn’t believe it. She should’ve chucked the package in a bin.

Her dad frowned. “Marinette, we don’t like it either, and it’s not...ideal, but we believe it’s for the best if you stay away from Paris for now.”

Marinette’s eyes widened, glancing back and forth between her maman and dad. “What do you mean?”

Her maman sighed. “Ever since we almost got akumatized on the day you were expelled, me and your father have been talking, and well, Paris isn’t safe for you anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

Her dad nodded in agreement. Marinette felt befuddled. She felt like she definitely lost a few brain cells.

“Gotham City isn’t safe either, Maman, Papa. Didn’t you see the risks listed?” Marinette asked, grabbing the package and desperately scouring through the package. This was so not happening; she couldn’t afford to leave Paris.

She heard a sigh coming from her maman, before her hands settled on Marinette’s own. Marinette glanced up to stare at her maman’s cloudy grey gaze. “It’s definitely not ideal, and we wish you were somewhere safer, but I trust that M. Wayne and the school administration would never have allowed this to happen if it was too risky.”

“But-”

“And, “ her dad interjected before Marinette could continue. “If this hadn’t come up, we would’ve sent you away with your grandmère and you would’ve had to pause your schooling and travel around Europe with her until it was safe to come back home.”

“Or,” her maman added, giving Tom a small glare. “We would’ve sent you to Shanghai with your uncle Wang. At least this way, you can continue with your schooling and still be with your friends under the maximum amount of protection.”

Her breathing turned heavy at her words. Her heart was beating faster, was it just her imagination or did it feel like the room was stuffier than before. She didn’t understand. Why now? They had been planning to send her away. She pressed a hand against her chest to try to control her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It had been a calming trick Master Fu had shown her when she had been at the edge of getting an anxiety attack.

Not for the first time, Marinette wished she could just tell her parents she was Ladybug. Then again, maybe that would’ve motivated them further to get her out of Paris.

No, her maman and papa loved her. They just wanted her to be safe. They weren’t aware she’d been taking care of Paris all this time.

She felt her maman’s warm presence beside her as her papa engulfed them both. She barely registered the apologies her maman whispered as she stroked her hair. She was too busy pushing down all her anxieties.

She couldn’t risk getting akumatized.

Her lunch break had been long over by the time she had calmed down. By then, both her maman and papa had returned to the bakery with promises that they would talk about this tomorrow and that they would call the school to report her absence for the afternoon.

Marinette barely registered them as she trudged up to her bedroom. Then her bathroom. Shower. Dry hair. Change of clothes. Bed.

She didn’t know what to feel. She didn’t notice the kwamis flying towards her and snuggling with her, in her hair and the crook of her neck.

“What do I do?” She asked listlessly.

Tikki floated to her field of vision. “Marinette. It’ll be okay.”

“How?”

Tikki didn’t give an answer. She sighed and sat up. She was going to write in her diary until she read her last entry. Right. Marianne. She sighed. She’d call her and then go on an early patrol of the city.

She didn’t want the helplessness that came with being Marinette.

Taking a long, deep breath, she grabbed her tablet and called Marianne through video chat. Surprisingly, despite her age, Marianne adapted to technology pretty well. She and Master Fu were living somewhere in London, enjoying their retirement together. Marinette liked to keep up with them regularly, since she missed Master Fu, and their present now gave her hope for her own future.

She waited for the screen to load, and smiled widely when Marianne’s face entered the screen. She looked like she had just gotten home; the makeup she was wearing was starting to fade, and her hair was tied in a slightly wet updo bun.

“Marinette! Bonjour! How have you been, darling?” Marinette noticed that she had adopted a slight British accent when she talked. It hadn’t been that long since they last talked, so maybe her and Master Fu had been going out more.

“Bonjour Marianne.” She softly waved her hand. “Everything’s fine actually. How are you and Master Fu?”

Marianne smiled, re-focusing her own screen so Marinette could see her more clearly. “Everything’s been great. Wang has taken to liking massage parlors again. We just visited one yesterday.”

Marinette smiled fondly. She could feel Wayzz’s presence on her shoulder as he listened intently. If anyone had been more devastated than Marinette about Master Fu’s amnesia and departure, it would have been Wayzz. It had taken a long time for him to open up to Marinette and the other kwamis, often leaving the Oolong tea she brewed for him to run cold. Fortunately, he was getting better and opening up more. Their love for Master Fu had been what helped he and Marinette bond together as a new Guardian and kwami.

“I’m glad. It seems like you two are really happy.”

Marianne squinted her eyes; she could feel her gaze through the screen. “Why did you call, Marinette?”

“I, ah, had a question about the Miraculous actually. I was wondering if your time with Master Fu before had given you any insight to them.”

Marianne frowned slightly, rubbing her chin. “I’ve picked up on a few things, but Wang was really secretive. I’ll give it my best shot for you, dear.”

“Thank you! I was wondering if you had any clue as to why the Miracle Box turned into an egg when Master Fu renounced his Guardianship to me?”

Marianne sighed. “I wish I could tell you, but I’m as lost as you are.”

She deflated. Her hands gripped the tablet tighter. She knew there was only a miniscule chance that Marianne would’ve known anything, but a tiny part of her had hoped that luck would be on her side. Exhaling, Marinette thanked her.

On the other side of the screen, Marianne’s frown deepened. As happy as she was with Wang Fu, it was cruel for destiny to hand such a young child the enormous and numerous responsibilities that the Guardian had to bear. She glanced at Wang, who was sleeping on the couch contentedly. She was happy they could now spend the rest of their lives together in peace when most of it had been previously spent in war.

Speaking of war…

“Marinette, darling! I think I might know of someone who can help you!”

Marinette perked up. She had been about to change the subject or close the call, but maybe she had a bit of luck on her side after all.

“Who?”

“During the war, when Wang and I escaped to Paris, we were aided by someone who would become one of our closest friends. When he was recruited to battle in the war, he was very young, so Wang had lent him the Snake Miraculous for its powers of Intuition, at least until the war was over.”

Marinette felt Wayzz stiffen on her shoulder.

“She doesn’t mean…”

“Unfortunately,” Marianne continued. “When he returned home, he had an argument with Wang and almost didn’t return the Miraculous. It was only a month later that he left it on our doorstep. We haven’t heard from him since, but maybe he might know something. He was always a genius and intuitive beyond his years.”

Marinette frowned. “Do you know where he might be now?”

“His name is Alfred Pennyworth. He mentioned once that his family had a tradition of serving a family called the Waynes.”

Marinette’s frown deepened. There was the name Wayne again. Which meant Gotham. It felt like the universe really wanted her to go there. She sighed. At least she’d have an objective while she was there- if she did go in the first place. She smiled again, once she saw Marianne’s worried stare.

“Thank you so much, Marianne. I need to go now and plan what to do. I hope you and Master Fu stay well.”

Marianne smiled. “You too, Marinette. Don’t hesitate to call me for anything, dear.”

She merely nodded, and they both logged off. She set aside her tablet and turned to face Sass, who was already in front of her.

“Tell me everything you know about this Alfred Pennyworth and your time with him, Sass. I need to know if he can help before considering everything.”

The snake kwami merely nodded. “Of course, my Guardian.”

#and of course by universe i mean me #miraclesingotham #mlb x dc #maribat au #maribat #yall im really gonna add trauma to this already traumatized butler huh #i am so sorry #this arc was not supposed to be three chapters long #even i want them to go to gotham already but the set up ugh #ml x dc

59 notes · View notes

alleycat97 · 4 years ago

Text

Star Dust (1)

Warned y’all about the spam! This is an Au version of With Every Heartbeat! It’ll have a few parts!

f!Dakota x Mc (Sage)

Tag list: @samanthadalton @fundamentalromantic @kwaj05 @penda-bear @gay-dinosaur-banana-milk-carton @shows-simp-card @obsessedwithtragedy @stardustmountain @iamsimpforpoppy hmu for the tag or if you wanna be removed.

College graduation had arrived. That previous 4 years simultaneously flew by and drug on for Sage. She stayed local and went to Massachusetts, a decision she was grateful for. It hadn’t been the easiest journey since Dakota’s passing, but she was making it.

She had made new friends at school and kept her mind occupied on extra curricular’s. Sage still lingered around the topic of dating and Mateo and Lennox still called once in awhile, but life started to take over for all of them. However, there was still one time a year when Sage completely shut down and locked herself away from the world.

Dakota’s Anniversary. It happened to fall a day after her graduation and it really dampened her entire mood.

“Sage? You going to the big grad party tomorrow night?” Remi asked a very ill looking Sage.

“Remi!” Carson quietly hissed pulling the girl aside. “You know what tomorrow is.”

“Yeah? The big party?”

Carson sighed and made sure Sage wasn’t listening, “No! It’s the 4 year anniversary of her girlfriends passing. Every year she locks herself away and doesn’t talk to anyone. I guess she’s starting early.”

“Oh for goodness sakes, Sage!” Marley said stomping over from the kitchen. “You aren’t doing this again! This is our last big party before we all go our separate ways!”

“Marley!” Carson yelled at the bold statement.

“Stay out of it Carson. Stop playing peacemaker for her. We are all suite mates and I’m not going to let this negative vibe thing you got going on Sage keep ruining you.”

Sage kept still on the couch, not really listening, but just thinking back to her last day with Dakota. She saw Marley’s mouth moving but nothing was coming out.

“It was 4 years ago! Let it go! I know it still hurts but you’re just killing yourself. You grieved! It’s time to move on! She would want you to!”

“Ok Marley I think you said enough.” Remi stepped in with Carson.

Sage caught the last of Marley’s rant and it killed her to admit that she was right, so she simply met the eyes of her best friends and nodded that she would go.

The next night Carson kept close to Sage, trying to convince the girl it was ok to grieve and to stay home if she wanted. Sage pushed it aside and mainly sat at the bar all evening. Listening to her classmates hoop and holler, music thudding through her core.

She opted for the sparkling cider and mocktails because they were Dakota’s favorite. Alcohol wasn’t Sage’s friend and even it’s wicked power of mind erasing, Sage wasn’t into it. She just sipped her drinks and looked through her albums of her and Dakota, counting down to the exact time she had passed.

“Hey darlin? Wanna dance?” A preppy male voice called standing over Sage.

“Not interested.” She replied coldly.

“Come on sweet cheeks, let’s party!” He tried again.

“I said no.” Sage never looked his way. She wouldn’t give this guy the satisfaction of entertaining the idea.

“Hey doll!” The boy said snatching Sage’s phone, finally getting her attention.

“Give it back!” Sage hissed.

“Give me a kiss.” He laughed leaning down towards Sage.

“You’re drunk.” Sage backed away at the putrid odor.

“Awwww look guys! Is that you and your girlfriend?” He said looking at Sage’s Lock Screen. “You guys look like a couple of bald freaks!”

Sage snapped and smacked this goon so hard his head should have spun around. He shook off the hit and slammed the phone to the floor, shattering it into pieces.

“My phone!” Sage winced out before looking back to the goon who decided to throw a punch towards Sage that connected below her eye. It was a weak throw, mainly due to his inebriated state, but it still hurt and Sage, trying not to tumble and cry, found her foot resting firmly between the goons legs, sending him to the floor.

“Sage!” The girls come rushing over after the commotion, “Are you alright?”

“My phone....” She whimpered trying to collect the pieces.

Carson and the girls helped pick up the pieces and they apologized to Sage over and over while leaving.

“Hey! Wait up ladies!” A man called out catching them outside.

“Listen, tell your friend we will sue if he tries anything else, my dad is a lawyer. Hell, he will be hearing from him anyway for hitting Sage.” Marley barked out getting in the guys face.

“Easy easy. I’m just here to give her this.” The man extended Marley a roll of cash.

“This is $2500?” Marley spoke.

“Yeah. Some to get a new phone and the rest is just to say sorry. Don’t worry we took it from his wallet. It’s the least we could do.”

“Well. Thanks, now scram.” Marley hissed waving her hand in annoyance.

The suite mates made it home and Sage locked herself in her room. She looked at her luggage in the corner all ready to go and then to her smashed phone. This was Dakota’s night and she couldn’t even relive her memories through her phone. Stupid jerk she thought. $2500 wasn’t near enough to fix the emotional strain he caused.

Sage figured there was nothing left at school now, she graduated and it was best if she left as soon as possible. She had to get back to Boston to see Dakota.

She checked her watch, it was late but she didn’t care. She wrote up three farewell notes to each suite mate, thanking them for their awesome four years and wished them good luck. She heard the suite go quiet and taped the notes to their doors and took her luggage with her. It took a trip or two to load her car but she got it without waking anyone.

The road late at night was calm and peaceful. It was just her and her thoughts. She could finally mourn Dakota without interruption. But her eye continued to swell and bother her so she took some minor pain meds as she fought the pain and sleeping urge.

It was a longer drive than she recalled, most likely the dark and her sleep deprived body made it seem that way, but the sign for the cemetery perked her up even more as drew closer to the city. The closer she got to Dakota the more at peace she felt, she found herself closing her eyes behind the wheel soaking up the feeling of her lover.

She was in her own world now, a world she learned to tap into just for herself and Dakota. It was just them and no one else. She was so in tune to it, she never knew a drunk driver swerved over the line and hit her head on.

The transition was seamless, she was with Dakota in her own happiness.

“I’m afraid I have to go now.” Dakota spoke slowly disappearing.

“Dakota wait! I’m not ready to go yet!” Sage cried watching her girlfriend leave once again.

“It’s ok Sage, just wake up.”

Sage opened her eyes and found herself standing outside of the graveyard. It was daytime now, and she kept hearing her name.

“Sage!!!!” It sounded like Mateo. So she followed the voice.

“Sagggggge!!!” Now that was Lennox.

Sage smiled at the realization, “Ok guys, very funny.” Sage looked around but still couldn’t find the two voices.

Instead, a dark figured man appeared behind her, scaring the daylights out of her.

“Ok, this isn’t funny anymore. Who are you?” She said cowering away.

“I’m death Ms. Woods.”

“Death? But I’m not dead!?”

The man came closer and took her by the arm, opening up a portal with two paths, “Pick one.”

Sage pointed to the one on the right first, drawing her into a funeral in session.

The entire city looked to be there. As well as her mother and The Winchester’s. A funeral that seemed like Deja vu.

“Why did you bring me back to Dakota’s funeral?” Sage questioned.

“Look closer.” Death spoke.

Sage heard Mateo and Lennox calling her name like before and watched them this time. They weren’t trying to scare her, they were mourning her. As she focused on the tombstone, the name was her own, Sage Woods.

“That’s impossible! I can’t be dead!? How can I be dead?”

Death opened the portal and took her to the image on the left, “You were suppose to select this one first, like a book? Left to right.”

“Excuse me for not being very literate right now.” Sage yelled as she was brought to her car crash.

“Watch.” Death spoke pointing to her car.

Sage watched in awe as she saw her soul leave the car and rise to the clouds. “So if that’s my soul? Why am I here with you?”

“Why do you kids always ask so many questions? Look you’re dead and I’m showing you it’s true. Now I’m here to bring you to the afterlife.”

At the snap of his fingers, Sage found herself on a cloud outside of a great city in the distance. There was a gate and a man and a woman. One dressed in black and the other in white. Angel and a demon perhaps?

“Welcome home Ms. Woods. I’m Archangel Pariah and this is Demon Mezaya.” Then man spoke, “Here are your clothes.”

“Wait? Why are they gray?” Sage asked.

“You child, are an unclaimed. Unclaimed are typically mortals who end up here and have to earn their right to be a demon or angel.” Mezaya spoke.

“Up the path, the road splits into two paths, stay to the left. It is for the unclaimed. The other road leads you to the citadel.” Pariah said opening the gate.

“And what’s in the citadel?” Sage asked.

“When you are chosen to be an angel or demon, the citadel is an oasis for your own personal heaven. You can create your own and intermingle between others and their heavens.” Pariah added.

Sage kept on the correct path and ended up in a smallish town like place. It was cute and quaint, definitely old, but beautiful. There was hardly anyone about, but something was calling her to a building in the center of the town.

It was a feeling she couldn’t describe, it just felt right, it felt like...Dakota.

Sage entered the building revealing it to be a restaurant jam packed with unclaimed and a few angels and demons. And just like the new cowboy in town, as soon as she entered, the music stopped and all eyes where drawn to her.

A cup falling and shattering made Sage look at the source and came face to face with...

“Dakota.”

#playchoices #pixelberry #with every heartbeat #weh mc #WEH #Sage Woods #F!dakota #dakota winchester #dakota x mc #f!dakota x Mc

24 notes · View notes

mypassionfortrash · 5 years ago

Text

Biology Lessons (part three)

Your date with Roger leads to 72 hours of agonising over whether you want to see him again. Will you give in and call him?

Warnings: This one gets really rude; you have been warned. This series is strictly 18+. Notes: Thank you for the incredible responses to parts one and two – I really appreciate it!

🧪✨Read from the beginning✨🧪

Tags: @jennyggggrrr @wineandwanderings @scorpiogemini @cherries-n-rocknroll @crayforqueen @perriwiinkle @queenmylovely @trymymachines @80s-roger

‘Had a lovely evening last night. Let me know what you decide ;)’

There was no disguising the sigh that came with reading that text.

“Why does Rufus’ dad want to know if you’ll see him again?”

Jumping out of your skin, you looked up at the now silent gathering. And then you turned to Ashley, a fellow teacher. “What?” you asked in a daze.

“Rufus’ dad,” she pressed, nodding at your phone.

You tried to hide the way your mouth contorted when you felt embarrassed or the way you sank in on yourself, hoping that question would just go away. “Rufus is struggling with biology, and I’m giving his Mr. Taylor some of the course materials and a bit of tuition to help him out,” you explained.

“Not buying it,” Ashley said.

“Well, that’s what it is.”

“Wait, who’s Rufus’ dad? And why aren’t you buying it?” Katie, the rather gregarious friend in the group, asked. “Do you think they…”

“He is rather attractive,” Ashley said, sitting back in her chair and looking at you. “But you’ve got the good sense not to go shagging a parent, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!”

“She’s lying,” Katie said. “Look she’s doing that thing with her lip again. She can’t even look at you.”

Ashley’s face sank. “Really?”

“Can we move on from this now, please?” you huffed. Squeezing the bridge of your nose, you became defensive. “Nothing happened when I saw him.”

Katie didn’t waste a second. “When did you see him?”

“Last night.”

“You left work bang on last night,” Ashley interjected.

“Did you see him after that?” Katie asked.

“Extra tuition,” Ashley scoffed. “Good job you’re a biology teacher. I think Mr. Taylor’s very interested in that.”

“I take it he’s a bit of a flirt, then?” Katie asked.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it,” Ashley said, leaning in. Her eyes were wild, frantic with the information she was about to impart. “Every single teacher at parents night.”

“Even the men?”

“If they had tits, Mr. Taylor was all over them like a rash.”

“Sounds like a bit of a perv to me.” Katie narrowed her eyes and glanced over at you. “Are you sure you’re not involved with him?”

“And the best thing,” Ashley added, “is that he’s really bloody nice. So you can’t even be mad at him for it!”

“Sounds like he’s got a lot going for him.”

The scene in front of you was a bit like a ping-pong match, and you were only there to watch. Your head batted back and forth across the table with whiplash-inducing velocity. You needed to nip this in the bud. “Alright. Alright. Will you two shut up,” you snapped, praying for the ground to split and gobble you up. “I’ll tell you what happened if you promise not to judge or fly off the handle. Just don’t say anything.”

Katie was in the process of draining her large wine glass when her eyes doubled in size. “So there is something going on?”

Ashley just buried her head in her hands.

“He didn’t show up to his appointment at parents’ evening on time. We rearranged. And he asked if I wanted to go to dinner with him. There. Happy?”

“And did you?” Ashley asked.

You sighed and nodded, resigned to the judgmental onslaught she was about to unleash.

“You do know that if people found out about this… well…” Ashley shrugged. “It’s not going to look good for you.”

“Chill out; I know that,” you said. “I’m not even sure if I want to see Roger again.”

“Did you at least have a good time?” Katie asked.

Your heart did cartwheels just thinking about the night before. “Yeah,” you admitted. “I did. He’s a proper gent. Brought me flowers and everything.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “Oh god.”

“Do you think you’ll see him again?” Katie said, trying to see things from your perspective.

You shrugged and chewed at your lip. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to see him again, but you couldn’t admit that to Ashley and Katie. Ashley, more so, didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing she was right.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, looking down at your phone. “I really don’t know.”

The situation weighed you down all weekend. The dread kept you awake. And on Monday morning, you wandered into work feeling like you had been on a 72-hour bender.

The morning passed you by as you trundled on through the exhaustion. Sneaking sips of coffee between classes and occasionally giving yourself a quick smack to the face when you visited that fateful cupboard for supplies helped.

And then, lunch came around.

There was something about the women at the school that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Something that just didn’t sit right with you. Something that made you grind your teeth every time you heard them speak.

Maybe it was that giddy air of solidarity when someone decided to air details of their private lives in the staff room. Or the frenzied diet talk – paleo, keto, atkins and whatever else helped some poor woman lose a pound a day by only eating grapefruit or something like that. The topic of today, however, was Miss Collins from Maths’ impending wedding.

Every woman in the staff room sat huddled around her as she swiped through photos of her dress, the bridesmaid’s dresses, the cake… colour swatches for the flowers and decorations.

You couldn’t tell the difference between periwinkle and cornflower blue if you tried. And your brain wasn’t even going to attempt to cooperate with you. So you kept your gaze trained forward, out the window, as the kettle boiled for another cup of coffee; listening in to the mindless chit chat about weddings and partners, trying for babies and the key to a happy marriage. Tracing the outline of your phone in your pocket, you found yourself searching for a temporary cure for your own loneliness.

The kettle clicked and you poured the water into your coffee cup, rattled the spoon around inside it and turned towards the door.

“Come and sit with us!” Miss Collins squawked.

The shrill sound of her voice made you wince hard enough that drops of coffee splattered on the floor. Your gaze shot between her and your colleagues; they had a delirious look in their eyes, like a group of rabid seagulls fighting for a shard of ‘Spring Bride’ magazine. “I’ve just remembered,” you began, gesturing towards the door, “I’ve got a pile of homework to mark before this afternoon.”

“Oh, come on! Come and have a look at my dress!”

Desperate to maintain some semblance of calm, you gave her a sweet smile and spoke softly. “Some other time.”

By the time you arrived back at your classroom, your coffee cup was half empty. Your cheeks felt hot and you had almost broken a sweat. You practically ran all the way there. Out of breath and cocooned inside the empty room, you dumped your lunch and mug on your desk and whipped out your phone. Your chest heaved with every tap at the screen until your thumb lingered just over his number.

Panic simmered in your chest with every ring. Pacing across the room, you couldn’t help sinking your teeth into your knuckle while you waited for him to pick up.

After what felt like an eternity, Roger finally answered. ��You took your time,” he quipped.

“Sorry,” you sighed. “I just… needed to think things through.”

“That’s totally understandable. So, when am I getting another biology lesson?”

You bit back a giddy laugh. “When would you like one?”

“You free tonight?”

“Ooh, I don’t know. Not on a school night.”

“I could be quick.” Suddenly, Roger lowered his tone. “After all, it’s been a while.”

You gnawed at your knuckle again, deliberating whether to give in to him.

“Still there?”

“Still here.”

“Tell you what,” Roger said. “I’m picking Rufus up from his music lesson at five. I could perhaps swing by that little cupboard of yours a bit earlier.”

Your eyes snapped to the door at the back of the classroom and you couldn’t fight off a sly grin. Roger could hear it down the line.

“I’ll take that as a yes then?”

“Yes!” It came out with more enthusiasm than you had meant to. “I mean… sure.”

“Can I ask for something really cheeky?”

“Maybe. Since it’s you.”

He sounded sheepish with a naughty undertone. “Can you wear your lab coat?”

“I’ll see how generous I’m feeling come the end of the day.”

“I’ll take that also as a yes. I’ll be there at ten to four.”

“Good luck sneaking past Angela.”

Long after the halls cleared of moody teenagers, you found yourself alone in your classroom again. It was only ten minutes, but it felt like forever. And when you glanced at your lab coat hanging beside the door, something caught your eye in the corridor beyond. Angela’s red hair and cat-eye glasses were just visible through the window. And then Roger came into view wearing that bright, mischievous smile of his. You knew if he spent any longer with Angela, he’d have charmed the pants off of her, and you couldn’t have that. So you leapt to your feet and strode towards the door before she had time to knock.

“There she is!” Roger grinned.

“Mr. Taylor’s here for Rufus’ homework,” Angela explained. “I can wait here and show you back out if you like.”

Roger furrowed his brow. “Actually, Angela, we need to talk through the homework. He’s been struggling with biology. It might take a while. Besides, I still need to pop down to Music. I don’t want to keep you.”

Angela’s eyes widened at that long-winded explanation. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry, I can show him out when he’s got everything he needs,” you reassured, choosing to ignore Roger shooting a wink at you.

When Angela was out of earshot, you reached out and pulled Roger into the room by his shirt collar. “You need to be careful,” you warned, snatching your lab coat off the hook.

“You know, in my day,” Roger began, struggling to keep up with you, “our teachers used to belt us if we misbehaved.”

“Don’t test me, just get in the cupboard.”

Roger paused at the threshold, rosy-cheeked and absolutely beaming. “Don’t mind if I do, m’lady.”

You slung your lab coat on and followed Roger inside. Squeezed against him, the pair of you were forced together in a feverish, series of kisses.

But Roger broke away and shoved you back towards the door. “I thought I asked for nothing but the lab coat,” he mumbled against your neck as his hands clawed your skirt up around your waist.

“Let’s see how this goes first.” Unbuckling his belt, you allowed your hands to stray over the outline of his cock. You giggled with delight, realising he was already hard. “For an older gent, you don’t have much trouble.”

“Been thinking about this all day,” he said. He didn’t waste any time, pawing at your underwear. Leaning in close to your neck, he sighed. “You filthy girl.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” you instructed, yanking down Roger’s zipper.

He allowed you a split second of stroking his cock. Leaning his head back with his lips slightly parted, you could hear him sigh, starting to enjoy himself. And then his gaze returned to you. With the full force of his body, he pressed himself up against you, sending you colliding into a cabinet full of beakers. You swore you heard some smash as he hauled you on top of it. “You want my cock?” he teased, dragging his hand down your neck. You nodded as keenly as you could manage, looking him dead in the eye. “Hm? Tell me how much you want it,” he goaded.

You shot Roger your best doe eyes as you unbuttoned his shirt. “I’ll ask you nicely then. Please fuck me.”

Roger curled his finger underneath the gusset of your underwear and snapped it back against your clothed slit. “You’re gonna need to lose these first.” He practically tore them from your thighs and threw them to the ground. And then he paused.

“What’s the matter?” you purred rubbing at the heat between your legs.

“I need to see those tits, too,” he said, drawing his teeth along your neck. His fingers nimbly undid the buttons on your blouse and clawed your bra straps and lab coat from your shoulders. His mouth travelled from your neck lower and lower down your chest. He nipped and nibbled, lapping at your nipples and pinched them between his lips, forcing quiet moans from you. “Fucking beautiful,” he groaned.

You couldn’t contain the utter desperation just to have him. The only thing you could do was wrap your hand around his cock and stroke it for just a split second longer than Roger would allow.

He was already so strung out that he needed a distraction. Your thighs would suffice. He squeezed at the nylon-clad flesh with a satisfied purr, peppering kisses higher and higher on one thigh and stopping right where you wanted his mouth most. He never once broke eye contact with you batting his eyelashes beneath his gold-rimmed glasses. That cheeky glint amplified your need even more. So, just as those wet, lazy kisses reached the top of your other thigh, you grabbed a tuft of soft, greying hair. Pulling him inches away from the dripping heat between your legs.

Roger knew when to be good. Following your lead, he grinned as you guided him all the way. He gingerly licked a flat, slow strip over your core. Eyes closed and relishing every drop of arousal on his tongue. But that restraint was short-lived. With his nails clawing at your hips, he buried his face squarely between your thighs and picked up the pace. Exploring every inch, sucking at every fold. You were sure this was the only time he was able to keep quiet. And even at that, he made sure to let you know just how good you tasted with soft purrs of approval that sent delicious tremors coursing through your body. He kept a toe-curling rhythm. Purposeful, forceful. But he made sure to steer clear of your clit.

Roger was good at this. So good that he managed to have you dangling on the edge of release in minutes. He somehow coaxed out every roll of your hips with ease. And the way he gazed up at you, eyes narrowed by the smile on his lips, savouring every second of pleasure he could bring you. Being quiet about this was out of the question for you.

Especially when his fingers, slick with arousal, lingered right at your entrance. Dancing around, trying to pinpoint the opportune moment to force another lightning bolt of bliss through your body. Every second he held off drew your muscles tighter in anticipation.

At the same moment, his fingers slipped inside you, his tongue feathered over your clit and the euphoric explosion that resulted made you arch your back against him. Eager for more. You could feel it building again—faster this time. You gripped Roger’s hair and gritted your teeth as his fingers fucked you and his tongue kept time flicking over that sensitive little nub. Being quiet became impossible. You knew that if anyone walked past the lab, they’d hear all of the sighs and curses that escaped your mouth. In a moment of shame and horror, you brought your free hand up to your mouth and bit down hard on your knuckle. You knew you were close.

Roger did too. Your muscles trembled under the iron grip his free hand had on you and the dark, knowing streak in his eyes was too much. Rather than chew your own hand off, or rip out chunks of poor Roger’s hair, you resorted to clawing tracks along the surface of the wooden cabinet. Blissful waves forced strangled whines out of you as Roger’s efforts shook you to your core.

But it wasn’t over.

Your legs still felt like jelly when Roger pulled you off the cabinet and into his arms. You could still taste yourself when he kissed you. Pressing himself against you with one hand raking through your hair. His other arm held you firmly in place tight against his body. You could feel every feverish breath pulsing through his chest. And every moan that rattled from his body to yours. And his cock, still hard and begging for attention.

You broke away, lingering shy of Roger’s lips. “I think you should put that cock of yours to good use.”

Roger grinned and grazed his nose against yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t need telling twice. He turned you around to face the wall, leaning over the cabinet.

You could feel the back of your lab coat being hiked up and cool wisps of air caressing your skin. That was quickly replaced by the warmth of Roger’s body. The tip of his cock teased you; gliding up and down your slit. Excitement and anticipation got the better of you, though, as you tried to move back into him.

“Steady on, darling, I want to enjoy this,” Roger taunted, giving your arse a swift swat that made you jump.

You hadn’t registered what had happened until Roger sank his length inside you. Filling you so deliciously that your brain fogged over with need again that a delighted sigh slipped out.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, hunching over you with an arm around your waist. “And you’re absolutely dripping for me. Fuck.”

You weren’t going anywhere, even as Roger’s thrusts gained ferocity he made sure of that. The slick, sticky slap of flesh on flesh pierced the room and the worry of being caught in the act crept into your consciousness again, but you were enjoying this far too much to give a damn. The sheer girth of him and the way he stretched you had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. And you could have got lost in the feeling of his breath on your neck as he clawed off your lab coat and your blouse so that he could sink his teeth into your skin as he fucked you like an animal. You couldn’t help but tighten around him.

“I’m not going to last much longer if you do that,” he warned.

Another worry struck you.

“God, I’m so close. Where do you want it, darling?”

At least he was considerate. “Fuck, let me taste you.”

Roger’s hand found its way into your hair again, pulling you upright. “On your knees,” he instructed, backing himself up against the other wall of the cramped cupboard. “Come here.”

You did exactly as Roger told you and kneeled on the cold concrete floor in front of him.

One hand tugged at your hair, while the other directed his thick, veined cock towards your mouth. But you didn’t need any more encouragement.

Wrapping your hand around the base, Roger watched in bliss as you tongued the tip and eventually sank as much of it in your mouth as you could. Not only was his girth impressive, but it didn’t take much effort for his cock to prod the back of your throat in just the right way to send tears streaking down your cheeks. You knew your jaw would ache in a matter of minutes. You prayed he was as close as he said he was, and set about a mind-melting effort with your lips and your tongue and your hand. Which Roger clearly enjoyed as his hands fell to his sides as he admired you. Wet and slick and eager, you didn’t care about mess. Threads of saliva dripped down your chin and on to your chest.

“Fuck,” Roger cursed. “Such a messy girl, aren’t you?”

All you could manage was a strangled ‘mmmrf,’ and a stupid nod in response. At least it earned a wicked laugh from Roger.

“Show me how messy you can get for me,” he cooed almost soothingly. And then his slender fingers were back, tugging your hair as his hips thrust towards your mouth. All you could do was brace yourself on his thighs and keep your mouth open. Tongue out, drooling over his throbbing member. “Fuck. I always knew that mouth of yours would feel incredible,” he sighed, pulling you off him, leaving a thick rope of spit suspended between him and your mouth. Roger wiped it up, spreading it over your chin while his other hand pumped away at his shaft. His voice wavered when he spoke. “Be a good girl and open up.”

You were disgusted with yourself. On your knees in a science lab cupboard. Being spoken to like this. Watching in awe as Roger worked himself to orgasm and unloaded rope after rope of thick, sticky cum over your face, your glasses and in your hair.

Roger hadn’t even given you the chance to clean yourself up before his watch caught his eye. “Shit!” he hissed. “It’s ten past five! God knows what Rufus is up to! Sorry, I need to go.” He made quick work of zipping up his jeans and buttoning his shirt. He had his hand on the door handle before he turned to you, trying to thumb globs on cum into your mouth. Roger smirked, “I’ll be seeing you again, then?”

You hadn’t thought about seeing Roger again during your romp in the cupboard. You managed to croak out an uneasy, “yeah,” just before he left.

There was only so much cleanup you could do in a cupboard. So, with your hair up in a ponytail, and the last remnants of makeup still desperately clinging to your face, you darted out to your car. Head down. Feet moving fast. Ignoring every distraction. Until a familiar voice hijacked your attention.

“I’ll maybe see you at Easter school?”

It was Roger. You looked up, searching around the car park. You saw him waving at you six or seven cars over. Rufus was already belted up in the passenger seat, engrossed in his phone screen.

You kept quiet and looked around to check if anyone was watching. And then your eyes snapped back to Roger. “I’ll look forward to it, Mr. Taylor.”

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

THANKS FOR READING! 💖 Please please please, if you enjoyed this, leave some feedback and reblog. It’s very helpful and tremendously encouraging!

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #queen #queen imagine #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor smut #roger taylor fic

160 notes · View notes

carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

Photo

Just like with the last part I just posted, I’ll go through the notes quickly to get to the rest of this crazy climax! We’re reaching the home stretch! AHHHH!!

Full tag is here! And MCs referenced in this section are Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier, Finn McGarry/Davy Jones @theguythatdraws, and, most recently added to the roster and pictured above in violet, Sarahi Silvers @dat-silvers-girl!

x~x~x~x

It was very fortunate for Orion and Carewyn that there was a bale of green sea turtles swimming among the Navy’s ships, led by a melodic, otherworldly voice.

The mermaid called Sarahi had always been unusual among her kind in the way that she used her hypnotic voice to befriend the creatures of the deep, rather than to hunt humans. She’d ended up beside Shipwreck Cove by chance, having followed the many, many pirate ships that decided to dock there so she could get a better look at their human occupants. Although she couldn’t get close enough to properly “read” all of the humans’ intent or properly figure out the scope of everything going on, she soon sussed out that Calypso was on board one of the pirate ships and, more importantly, that this island full of humans was soon going to be under attack. And so Sarahi made the rather noble decision to watch the battle and help where she could, including saving those pirates who ended up falling overboard and delivering them safely within reach of other ships in their fleet. One of those such people was Barnaby Lee, who she’d had to give a kiss of life and carry underwater herself to avoid the flaming fragments of the sunken Phoenix, until one of her leopard shark friends and a whole cluster of white horseshoe crabs came up to give her a hand.

When Orion came to, he found a large green sea turtle under each of his arms, holding him up over the water. Once he’d blinked several times and took in the bizarre sight, he immediately looked around for Carewyn, to find her unconscious frame being carried on the back of a mermaid with very long, dark hair, a shimmering gold tail, and a cherubic face. The mermaid was a little startled to see Orion conscious, since she’d rarely looked a human so closely in the eye before.

“Oh!” Sarahi smiled self-consciously. “Uh...hi! Good to see you’re awake! Um...”

Orion blinked at her. He was never particularly extroverted with expressing emotions like surprise, which made him resemble a dog staring down their owner in confusion after being given a command they didn’t recognize. He looked from Carewyn draped over Sarahi’s back to up at the mermaid’s face, his black eyes discerning despite his calm expression.

“...Did Carewyn request something from you?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh -- no,” said Sarahi awkwardly, but she was still smiling, “I just wanted to help!”

Sensing Orion’s faint wariness, she added, “Don’t worry, I don’t want to eat you, I promise! I like humans! I mean -- I’ve never really talked to any for very long...but I like to follow your ships, and collect the stuff you guys lose in the water, and watch you guys playing at the beach...” she grimaced and added under her breath to herself, “...oh yeah, that doesn’t make you sound creepy, you dingus...”

Orion’s face softened slightly. “I see.”

It seemed that this mermaid, as unusual as her approach at charming her prey was, didn’t want to ask anything of them. As long as he and Carewyn didn’t actively accept any terms from her, she couldn’t lure them in, and thus there wouldn’t be as much danger in accepting her help. And Orion was more than sharp enough to know that he and Carewyn owed this mermaid their lives.

His gaze turned back to his ginger-haired love, tilting his head to try to look at her pale face better. Sarahi noticed his gaze and her dark eyes lit up almost excitedly.

“You two are in love, aren’t you?” she asked.

Orion glanced at Sarahi out the side of his eye. Then, after a moment, his expression broke into a very small smile and he nodded.

The mermaid’s eyes sparkled happily. “Ohh, I hoped so! When you two were under the water, I saw her trying to pull you up to the surface after you hit your head on that beam, but she wasn’t strong enough...yet she still kept pulling anyway, like she refused to let you go.” She looked from Carewyn to Orion and beamed. “You really suit each other...”

There was a large crash of ocean water.

Sarahi and Orion looked up, to see a massive Man O’War heading straight for them. Before they could move to escape, however, a ghostly white ship infinitely smaller than the Man O’War swept out from around the larger Navy ship, up over the closest wave through the pouring rain.

“The Artemis!” said Orion, his heart leaping.

Sarahi grinned. “Oh, you know that one! Great! I’ll leave you in the water over there, so they can pick you up!”

Aboard the Artemis, McNully put down his telescope, his face alight with relief and determination.

“It’s Orion and the Admiral!” he cried. “Throw forth the lines!”

Skye immediately ran across the deck, shouting at the rest of the crew over the raging wind and rain. “MAN OVERBOARD! THROW FORTH THE LINES, NOW!”

With some help from Ben, Skye hauled the soaked Orion and Carewyn on-board the Artemis, taking extra care with Carewyn since she was still unconscious. She fortunately came to not long after arriving on-board, at which point McNully filled her in on the pirates’ plan of attack and what they witnessed of Beckett’s death. Unfortunately, as the First Mate explained, it appeared the original plan was now obsolete, now that Jones and Beckett were both dead. Even if the Revolution somehow managed to escape its battle with the Flying Dutchman, there was now no hostage they could capture that would stop the fighting. Orion, however, didn’t seem worried -- on the contrary, his black eyes were shining in triumph.

“We only needed Beckett because he was the King on your chessboard, McNully,” said the pirate captain placidly. “But now...” He turned to look at Carewyn with muted, but incredibly warm pride in his face. “...our opposing team has a new King -- one, ironically enough, appointed to the role partly through Beckett’s own efforts, in an attempt to keep her under his thumb.” Carewyn’s almond-shaped eyes widened. Orion was right -- as Admiral, she was now solidly in charge of the fleet, meaning she alone would wield the authority needed to command the Navy’s ships. And yet she found herself swallowing nervously. “Orion, I disobeyed Beckett’s direct orders. I openly insulted and argued with him in front of my entire crew. I pointed a pistol in his face.” Everyone else’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. Then Skye and McNully burst into roars of laughter. “You did what?” said Ben, sounding impressed. “Bloody hell! I’ve never been more jealous in my life!” ”It’s smashing, that’s what it is!” Skye laughed. Orion looked like he’d fallen in love with Carewyn all over again. Carewyn, however, was not amused. “Don’t laugh, this is serious! If just one of my men speaks out, I’ll be charged with treason and sentenced to death -- my position isn’t secure at all -- ” “Then we’ll just have to re-secure it,” said McNully in satisfaction, “just like we did when we first captured you.” He rolled his chair up into the center of the group so as to properly look around at everybody, his eyes blazing with determination. “Thanks to Ben, we now have ourselves our very own Man O’ War. I thought it’d be great to use its firepower to take out some of our ‘competition’ still fighting our other ships...but now we also have an opportunity to reestablish you, Admiral, as the ‘heroic commanding officer.’ Once we’ve taken out enough ships, we’ll stage a battle on board the HMS Royal between the Artemis’s crew, led by the infamous Pirate Lord Captain Orion Amari...and a crew of honorable British Navy soldiers, led by the honorable Admiral Carey Weasley.” He nodded to Ben and the other ex-Navy pirates still disguised as soldiers. “We’ll make sure enough of the Navy soldiers abandoning the other ships see enough of the battle and even get on board to help before we quickly retreat and hightail it away. Then that leaves you, Admiral, to command the ship to fall back and signal to the remaining ships to retreat. And as an added bonus, all of the pirates going back with you will be able to escape Shipwreck Cove and slip back into normal society under new identities without raising any suspicion.” Ben looked almost stunned by this addition -- that silver lining was clearly a pleasant surprise he hadn’t thought of. Carewyn still couldn’t help but frown deeply. “But what about the Dutchman? You said Bill, Jules, Jacob, and Ashe are still over there, on the Revolution -- and if that’s the Clearwater, that means Percy’s out there too...I can’t abandon them -- ” “You won’t,” said Ben seriously. “Once the fighting’s stopped and we’ve retreated with the Navy, the Pirate Lords can focus all of their efforts on helping the Revolution.” “Yeah -- whoever the Dutchman’s captain is now, I doubt they’ll stick around to face off against an entire fleet, even if the ship is crewed by the damned,” agreed Skye. Seeing the lingering concern on his lover’s face, Orion brought up a hand to brush some of her loose, wet hair out of her face, trailing his fingers along her cheek to try to comfort her. Carewyn gave him the bravest smile she could, before she took a deep breath, turning to Ben and nodding firmly. “Captain Copper, lead the rest of the men down below and out of sight. We’ll leave Orion in charge of the assault on the Man O’ Wars, until the time is right to put on our show.” Ben’s mouth spread into a broad, white smirk. “Aye, aye, Admiral.”

Orion, along with Skye and several other members of his crew, led the HMS Royal in an assault against the Man O’ Wars facing off against the Treasure, Blackbird, and Naga. Once all of those Man O’ Wars had been taken down and their Navy occupants abandoned ship, McNully’s plan went into action and Carewyn “led” Ben and the ex-Navy pirates in a “counter-attack” to “take the ship back” from Orion’s men. Swords clashed all over the deck drenched with rain and frothing seawater: a perfect climatic showdown, to most anyone’s eye. Orion and Carewyn themselves fought all across the ship, sliding down banisters and balancing on top of cannons as they blocked and parried each other’s swords.

“I had hoped we’d have the chance to do this again,” said Orion, his black eyes sparkling, as he held Carewyn’s blade away from him with his own.

Carewyn raised an amused eyebrow. “You enjoy getting trounced so much?”

“I enjoy being so thoroughly challenged.”

With a swing of his leg, he knocked Carewyn right off her feet and down onto the deck. Carewyn had to roll to avoid his blade again, and she quickly steadied herself against the stairs, their swords clanging together as she lifted herself back up onto her feet.

“Well,” said Carewyn with a wry smile, “I daresay you’ll have more of a chance of it, in the future...from what I understand, married couples often get into disagreements!”

In a couple of quick jumps, she’d leapt up onto the railing. Once she’d claimed the high ground over Orion, she hacked at him with her blade, forcing him to go on defense.

Orion’s face lost some of its amusement, becoming more serious.

“Carewyn,” he said awkwardly, “now that Jones is dead, he can no longer collect on your brother’s debt. You’re free now, to live as you please...”

“I know that,” said Carewyn.

She slammed her blade against Orion’s and pushed back so that she could get closer to him and speak more softly.

“I didn’t accept your proposal because I wanted you to save me from Jones, Orion, or because I was afraid of being alone. I accepted because I want to be with you...because I love you. Because I want you to be able to stay, if you so choose, and to always have a home you can come back to...even if that home is just me.”

Her eyelashes were trimmed with glinting raindrops as her lips spread into the gentlest smile Orion had ever seen on her face.

“You asked me, and now I’ll ask you -- Orion Amari, will you marry me?”

Orion was overcome with emotion. His black eyes were rippling like inky black water as he stared at Carewyn over their interlocked swords -- were those tears? It was hard to tell considering how much rain was running down his face -- but if they were, they were clearly tears of joy, given how much his eyes squinted and how broad of a grin his lips spread into as his head shot up to look up at the helm.

“Captain Copper!” he bellowed. “Marry us!”

Both Carewyn and Ben (hotly engaged in battle with two of Orion’s crewmates) did a double-take.

“Now?!” both of them cried in unison.

“I’ve heard it said that there’s no time like the present!” said Orion, his huge, over-bright grin still consuming his face.

Ben slashed at one of his opponents, his blond-bearded face contorted into an almost exasperated expression. “We’re kind of in the middle of something, Amari, in case you haven’t noticed!”

Orion looked Carewyn in the eye, his galaxy-like eyes full of a kind of conviction and happiness she’d never seen before. It made her walls crumble and her doubts melt away, and she slowly beamed too, her blue eyes softening with love in return.

“Just a quick ceremony, Ben! We don’t know when we’ll get another chance!”

Ben gave a very loud, tired sigh. “Oh, all right!”

Shoving one of the other pirates backward with his arm, the tall blond-haired man hoisted himself up onto the railing over the helm, his hand over-dramatically clapped over his heart.

“Dearly beloved, we gather here today -- to put on a SHOW for those Navy stooges, don’t stop attacking me just because I’m performing a marriage, you lily-livered ingrates -- to join these two people together in not-exactly-holy matrimony -- ”

The ceremony was certainly abridged, since the remnants of the Navy’s other ships’ crews were quickly rowing up to the HMS Royal’s aid in their rowboats, but somehow, Orion and Carewyn were able to recite their vows in the midst of hacking at each other with their swords.

“Carewyn Cromwell...do you take me as your husband -- the moon goddess to my hunter, my partner in all things -- my Bedlam maid and one love -- for ere we both shall live?”

“I do! Orion Amari...do you take me as your wife -- swear to love me and let me love you, in sickness and in health -- in war and peace -- for as long as we both shall live?”

“I do -- with all of my heart, I do -- ”

“Orion!” cried Skye.

The Navy’s jollyboats were nearly on top of them. Ben backhanded one of his opponents and tripped him in order to push him back enough that he could properly look back over the railing at Carewyn and Orion below.

“I now pronounce you wed!” said the captain quickly. “Kiss now or forever hold your peace!”

Throwing caution to the wind, Carewyn slammed Orion back-first against the door of the captain’s cabin, just under the stairs leading up to the helm. Her hand holding her sword hemming him in, she pushed herself forward and onto her tiptoes to kiss him fully on the mouth. Orion immediately brought his own hand holding his cutlass around so he could hold her close to him, as they each cradled each other’s faces and heads tenderly.

In that moment, the freezing cold rain and violent rocking of the HMS Royal had no effect on the couple. They were safe and happy in the warmth of each other’s arms, if only for that short time.

“Orion!” Skye’s voice said again, a bit more urgently.

Carewyn and Orion at last reluctantly broke apart, Orion bringing up a foot right up against Carewyn’s stomach to sharply push her back.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s all right -- ”

Carewyn winced, but gave him a reassuring look even as she brought her sword against his in three more fierce CLANGS. Orion led her back toward the main deck, beating her back with his blade right past the Navy soldiers coming up over the railing to join Carewyn’s “counterattack.” After all, there was little point in staging this battle if it didn’t give Carewyn the opportunity to play the dashing hero in front of an audience.

Meanwhile, on the Flying Dutchman, Rakepick had lost her patience. Considering the role of ferryman she’d acquired by replacing Jones, she could sense that Beckett had died, which meant she had one less thing to attend to -- but she still was determined to deal with Bill Weasley, and it was hard enough to try to kill him without also having to deal with the seemingly eternal thorn-in-her-side, the Pirate Lord called “Black Jack Roberts.” Jacob himself was determined to kill Rakepick not just out of his own sense of vengeance, but because he knew her having all of Jones’s powers at her disposal would be a disaster for everyone.

Rakepick’s frustration seemed to crackle through her hair with unnatural energy -- and when Jacob managed to get a good hit on Rakepick by stabbing her in the back from behind and using the leverage to shove her back away from Bill, her strawberry-blond hair seemed to come alive, lashing onto Jacob like a dozen, skinny tentacles that abruptly crackled with dangerous, poisonous electricity.

“AUUUUGH!”

Jacob’s entire body was consumed with pain, as if he had been ensnared by a giant jellyfish. His entire body went numb, shuddering violently -- Rakepick whirled on Jacob trapped in her stinging strands of hair, hatred blazing in her dark blue eyes as she raised her own sword --

“Jacob!” cried Bill as he lunged forward.

But it was too late. Rakepick’s blade plunged right through Jacob’s chest.

Ashe began to scream like a madman.

“JACK! JACK -- JACK!”

Jacob choked in pain, his pupils narrowing to slits, as Rakepick haphazardly tossed his limp form down onto the deck.

“You never could stay out of my way, could you?” she said very lowly. “And in the defense of a wretch like this...” her eyes flickered over Bill, “...what a waste.”

Bill’s brown eyes, wide with horror and grief at the sight of his best friend’s brother lying mortally wounded on the deck, turned on Rakepick with a kind of rage no one had ever seen before.

“RAKEPICK!” he roared.

He lunged at her, hacking away at her with ruthless, relentless strikes. His fury even seemed to startle Rakepick a bit, though she met him blow for blow, her own dark blue eyes narrowed to slits.

Ashe had run over to Jacob, cradling him in his arms and holding his face in both hands, even as the curly-haired pirate captain gasped for breath and the light in his blue eyes dimmed.

“Jack! Jack, breathe -- stay with me!”

The merman’s voice, normally so cool and handsome, was stretched thin with anxiety, making it sound much more like an animalistic shriek than anything human or charming.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Jack! You promised -- you promised your sister, you promised Carewyn -- look at me! Look at me, stay with me -- ”

Jules looked from Percy and the Dead Man’s Chest in their laps to up at Bill fighting Rakepick. She felt the overwhelming urge to help Bill, but she struggled to stay calm.

Jacob was dying. If she didn’t do something fast, Carewyn would never see her brother alive again --

Bill managed to get the upper hand over Rakepick, using his wider stance and height advantage to beat her back toward the front of the ship.

“I don’t know what you think you’ll be able to accomplish, boy,” spat Rakepick. “I am now ferryman of the damned, unable to be killed or defeated -- ”

Bill was forced to dodge her hair as she swept it at him, trying to sting him like she had Jacob.

“Given your own history with Jones, I would think you’d already know how pointless it is, to try to escape your fate!”

Bill slashed at her hair with his sword, successfully cutting some of it and making Rakepick clench her teeth and hiss lowly. Clearly like with Jones’s tentacle beard, her hair -- being more like a jellyfish’s stingers -- were more sensitive to pain.

“What do you mean ‘my own history?’“ retorted Bill.

“Don’t play dumb, William Weasley.”

Rakepick slashed at Bill, her sword colliding with his with deadly CLANGS.

“I know all about the terms of the deal you struck with Jones -- sacrificing a member of your family, for your own benefit -- ”

Bill was startled. “What?”

Rakepick pressed on, undeterred.

“I must wonder how your brothers would feel, if they knew -- not just of your willingness to sell out your own flesh and blood, but that your sister was noble enough to actually be willing to complete the terms for you without complaint, no matter how much it hurt her -- just to shield her family from what you condemned her to -- ”

Her long hair seemed to crackle with even more electricity as her eyes flared with a kind of fury that seemed different than before -- almost righteous.

“Damning such a good, brave child -- forcing her to sacrifice everything for your sake -- clipping her wings and resigning her to a lifetime of servitude,” she whispered venomously. “I’m sure your brothers will be grateful that I’ve seen fit to wipe you off this Earth -- ”

Bill’s eyes widened in realization. Rakepick...was doing this for Carewyn?

“I never made any deal with Jones!” he shouted.

“Foisting the blame on your brothers, then, are you?” snarled Rakepick.

Her sword cut right through the rigging trying to reach Bill as he leapt back, trying to reassert himself.

“Don’t lie to me! I heard Jones tell your sister of your deal myself, before she left the Dutchman -- unless there’s some other elder brother I’m unaware of?”

“Yes!” Bill shot back fiercely. “Yes, in fact, there is!”

CLANG. SWISH. SLASH.

“I’m grateful that you thought to protect Carey -- I’m even grateful that because of you, she won’t have to serve under Jones...but Carey would never, EVER have wanted you to hurt anyone for her sake...let alone the people who mean the world to her!”

“All the more reason to make sure those people receive what they’re owed,” said Rakepick coldly.

She tried to slash at Bill’s neck, only for him to block her -- she slammed her blade up against Bill’s, flattening him against the railing.

“Your sister and I are very similar, Mr. Weasley,” the older woman said very softly. “She is a guardian first and foremost...putting the safety of others before her own. Sooner or later she will learn, as I have, that the only person she really can trust is herself. Until then, however, I will not have let such an honorable, selfless girl sacrifice for people who clearly don’t deserve her protection.”

“That’s not for you to decide!” said Bill very sharply.

Bill’s brown eyes flared with righteous anger as he forcefully shoved Rakepick back, their swords colliding in deadly SHINGS.

“Ephesians 4:31 -- ‘Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice! Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you!’ Love isn’t about ‘deserving’ -- everyone should be allowed to know it, whatever sins they’re guilty of!

Rakepick once again swept her hair over shoulder and this time managed to sideswipe Bill. The stinging, tentacle-like strands ensnared his sword arm, making him crumple in on himself as pain shot through his veins.

“GARRRGH!”

The new captain of the Dutchman wrenched Bill’s sword out of his numb arm and slammed him down into the deck under her foot.

“I’ve had enough of your preaching, Holy Father,” said Rakepick icily.

Bill choked as her heel dug into his neck against his windpipe.

“Rakepick -- ” he gasped for air. “Don’t do this -- Carewyn wouldn’t want you t -- ”

Something flickered in Rakepick’s eyes at the sound of the name -- it made her stiffen, her foot pushing that bit harder against Bill’s throat subconsciously and making him choke.

“Carewyn...” she repeated very softly. “That’s her name?”

It was an unusual name, for certain -- Welsh in origin, Rakepick would guess. That was why it sparked something in the back of her brain -- the faintest flicker of a memory that she’d pushed off ages ago...that of a young man with long, curly dark hair yelling desperately at her old superior, the pirate captain Howell Davis --

“You have to let me go back to her! She’s waiting for me to come home -- I’m all she has in this world -- please -- I’ll do anything, give you anything -- just let me get back to -- !”

Rakepick didn’t remember the name that boy had used when talking about his little sister anymore, except that it was similarly unusual -- similarly Welsh-sounding. Was it that name? “Carewyn?”

No...it couldn’t be...

Black Jack’s eyes...they were blue too, weren’t they? Not like Bill and Percy Weasley’s brown ones at all. And when he was younger, before they’d gotten so shadowed and hollowed-out, they appeared almond-shaped too...

Rakepick wasn’t even aware of how hard of a time Bill was having breathing, or how much he struggled to try to get loose. Her light-less eyes had gone very distant and wide and her face had lost a lot of its color.

She’d suspected Jacob had made a deal, as Carey Weasley’s brother had -- but she hadn’t thought that in truth, that deal could actually be one and the same...that the brother the Admiral was trying to protect was not Bill Weasley....that the price Black Jack Roberts was so desperate to not pay Jones, enough to make him seek out the Dead Man’s Chest to use as leverage, was --

Out of nowhere, a horrible surge of pain cut through Rakepick’s chest.

She hunched forward, clutching at the wound in her chest as if she’d been stabbed. She stumbled back, her foot coming off of Bill’s throat, as she struggled to turn around, her pupils mere pinpricks inside her wide dark blue eyes.

Jules and Percy had discarded the now-open Dead Man’s Chest and come up on either side of Jacob and Ashe. Percy held onto Ashe’s shoulders as if he’d been holding the merman back away from his lover, while Jules had folded Jacob’s hand around her own sword, which had skewered the heart lying flat on the deck at his side.

Rakepick tried to take a breath, but nothing came. Her eyes lingered on Jacob’s pale, unconscious face as she backed up, before they cast away and out toward the raging sea.

“...Carewyn...” her lips mouthed her long-time enemy’s sister’s name, but no sound came out.

Her disbelief was still etched on her face as she very slowly fell to her knees and at last collapsed onto the deck in a lifeless heap.

Jules immediately dropped Jacob’s hand and ran over to Bill, her eyes streaming with tears of fear and anxiety as she threw her arms around him.

“Bill -- !”

“I’m all right,” wheezed Bill.

Percy likewise got up and ran over to him. The eldest Weasley immediately ensnared his younger brother in a hug too, his eyes drifting sadly from Rakepick to Jacob.

“Ashe...is he...?”

Ashe cradled Jacob in his arms as the Pirate Lord’s chest -- just as Rakepick’s had before -- started glowing with sickly green light. Jacob crumpled up in pain when his heart was likewise ripped out of his chest and inhaled into the Dead Man’s Chest.

Jacob took a huge, gasping breath and opened his eyes. There was no light in his blue eyes, but they were conscious.

“Jack?” said Ashe at once, his voice very strained.

Jacob’s eyes brushed over his lover’s face, softening visibly as he smiled. Then they closed as he took another, steadier breath and spoke to Zephyr the West Wind.

The wind that had once been Finn McGarry, as a gesture of kindness, transported the words of Carewyn’s brother to her ear, all the way back on the HMS Royal, so that she could hear it as clearly as if Jacob was right beside her.

“Go, Wyn. Go before the storm clears.”

Sure enough, through the pouring rain and storm, the maelstrom under the Flying Dutchman, the Revolution, and the HMS Clearwater did seem to be dissipating. The Navy soldiers from the rest of the fleet had also reconvened in force on the deck of the HMS Royal, effectively outnumbering Orion’s crew and “turning the battle” in Carewyn’s favor.

“It seems our time is up,” Orion said under his breath. His voice was calm, but he couldn’t completely obscure the regret and anxiety reflected in the back of his eyes.

Carewyn nodded solemnly.

“We’ll be together soon, Orion,” she murmured, “I promise -- ”

Orion's eyes narrowed in determination as Carewyn chased him up onto the railing. His hand clutched at the rigging so that he could swing back over her, slashing at her long, loose ginger hair.

“I love you,” he said as softly as he could while making sure she could still hear him over the rain. “I realize that I haven’t said it nearly enough -- ”

“You’ll have time, Orion,” Carewyn said, her voice low with urgency but her expression incredibly gentle, “I swear we’ll both have time to say it more soon...now go! This is your chance!”

Carewyn brought her sword through the rigging to his left, cutting some rope loose and leaving a dent in the wood railing beside him. Orion threw his head back to shout at his crewmates over the raging storm.

“Fall back, men! To the Artemis! Fall back!”

Carewyn slammed her sword into the railing just as Orion swung on a rope off the ship, down onto the Artemis and out of sight. Soon after, the remainder of his crew followed suit and abandoned the Royal.

“Admiral!” said Ben sharply, loud enough that everyone could hear him. “Shall we pursue them?”

“No,” Carewyn answered immediately, according to the script they agreed on. “Even with our superior firepower compared to the Artemis, we’re now severely outnumbered by the pirates’ remaining fleet.”

The remaining Navy soldiers rushed to her side for orders, perfectly blending in with the men they had no idea were actually disguised pirates. Carewyn looked over all of them, looking them over silently for injuries, before turning back to Ben.

“Turn this ship about, Captain Cooper,” she said firmly, being careful to use Ben’s fake name. “Regroup with whatever ships we have left and signal them to retreat.”

“Understood,” said Ben, before he whirled on the remainder of the men with a fierce, authoritative gleam on his eye. “Turn her about! Heave to and full sail! Prepare to signal the fleet -- we’re getting out of here!”

In the end, the Royal Navy’s fleet that had been comprised of 37 Man O’ Wars -- through the efforts of both the Pirate Lords and Calypso, had been widdled down to five and had lost control over their ultimate weapon, the Flying Dutchman...and Shipwreck Cove remained untouched.

The Pirate Lords -- and pirates across the world -- had won the day.

20 notes · View notes

baepsaesbae · 4 years ago

Text

Parang Kape Ko. Bittersweet. || Just Like My Coffee. Bittersweet

Pairing— Kim Taehyung x reader

Genre— Fluff/Romance, Enemies to Lovers au, coffee shop au

Warnings— None

Word Count— 1.8k

Summary— You work at a coffee shop with the most annoying person ever. Kim Taehyung.

A/N— Thank you @kitsutaes for requesting! I hope you like it darling. You can still request drabbles up until the end of the August with this post

You couldn’t quite place it. Something about Taehyung made your skin crawl since the very first day you laid eyes on him. To make matters worse, your manager kept pairing you together for nearly every shift (she couldn’t help it, she thought you guys looked cute together).

You despised the way girls would giggle and try to subtly give him their number after ordering their drink. You rolled your eyes every time he’d wink and flirt back with them. Each shift with just the two of you was unbearable.

Taehyung was naturally a player, anyone could see that. Women would swoon from a mere flash of a smile. They’d be putty in his hands with a simple wink. That being said, Taehyung was so taken aback when his charms didn’t work on you. He couldn’t figure out what he did to tick you off, but it seemed like you didn’t like him from the start. That was a concept he couldn’t fathom.

It was like a never ending game of tag that you didn’t want to play, and you couldn’t risk Taehyung finally catching up to you. The more you showed your disdain for Taehyung, the more intrigued he’d be by you, thus spurring him to pester you even more.

“Hey grumpy grump! How was your weekend?” Taehyung greeted you as you clocked in.

“It was fine. Yours?” you replied with indifference.

“It was chill, kinda lowkey. I actually found a cool hole in the wall restaurant that I thought maybe we could--”

“I’m busy,” you interrupted without looking at him.

“But I didn’t even say when--”

“You don’t need to. I’m very busy all the time,” you walked away to prep the machines before Taehyung could even reply.

“C’mon, just give me a chance! It doesn’t even have to be a date. I genuinely want to get to know you. Why do you hate me so much?” Taehyung pouted as he followed you around like a lost puppy.

“Prep the tables and chairs, please,” you commanded without acknowledging his whining.

“Yes ma’am. See? I’m such a good boy, I always listen to you,” he called out from across the cafe as he unstacked chairs.

You ignored him. This was your normal routine every time you worked with Taehyung. He seemed to get a thrill every time he riled you up, so you’ve learned not to give him the satisfaction. Straight up ignoring him was the best way to go.

Taehyung became preoccupied with taking orders once the customers started piling in. You absentmindedly made the drinks, a task that you could now do with your eyes closed. You thought about what Taehyung said. Sure, he’s an annoying prick who knows he’s too handsome for his own good, but does that really justify your hatred for him?

You hated to admit it, but Taehyung is the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. Your heart fluttered every time he teased you, and though you gave off the impression that you wouldn’t care if he disappeared off the face of the Earth, you were secretly pleased with the attention he gave you. On occasion, you’ve caught glimpses of random girls glaring at you while Taehyung was messing around with you.

You shook your head as you powered up the blender to make a double mocha frappe with 2 extra shots of espresso. What the hell were you thinking? This is exactly why you don’t like Taehyung. He lives in your mind rent free.

“I think that frappe is blended enough,” Taehyung observed. He appeared out of nowhere, startling you.

“You good?” he asked with a hint of concern.

“I’m fine,” you answered curtly as you handed him the drink.

“Frappe for Tiffany!” Taehyung called out before returning his attention to you, “I was serious earlier by the way. This little game of ours is fun, but I honestly want to get to know you. Plus, you never actually talk to me so I don’t know what I did to make you hate my guts or whatever. Unless you’re like a massive introvert or something. I’d respect that of course, but like I said I literally wouldn’t know that because you never talk to me so--”

“Okay! Fine! I’ll go with you to that stupid restaurant. Will you finally shut up now?” you snapped.

“Aw, so you do listen when I talk to you. It’s a date! Or not, that’s up to you. You free after this shift?” he lifted his eyebrows with excitement.

“Yeah,” you begrudgingly nodded.

The rest of the shift flew by with the nonstop stream of customers. The morning rush is always tough, but Taehyung handled the flow perfectly every time. His demeanor calms even the most irate caffeine addicted customers.

“I’m starving,” Taehyung announced as he clocked out.

“What kind of food does the restaurant serve?” you asked as your stomach rumbled.

“Hamburgers!” Taehyung beamed.

“Cool. Text me the address and I’ll meet you there,” you say as you head towards your car.

“Wait! It’s actually not too far from here. There’s no need to take two vehicles,” Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck.

“Do you wanna ride in my car?” you asked quizzically.

“Actually I wanted to take you for a ride. On my bike,” he quickly added.

“Sure I guess. You got a little basket for me to ride in or something?” you attempted to be friendly.

“Not quite. I don’t have a spare helmet, but I can assure you that I’m a safe driver,” he says as he leads you to his parking spot.

“You have a moped?” you asked in shock. You couldn’t help but smile at the cute little lavender moped that Taehyung probably zips around on every day.

“Yeah, I love this little sucker. It used to be my sister’s, that’s why it’s purple. But it’s badass on the streets,” Taehyung patted the seat.

“So where am I sitting?” you asked even though you already knew the answer.

“You’d be safest sitting behind me. You can hold onto me if you’d like. For safety reasons, of course,” he smiled.

You climbed onto the moped after him. You didn’t want to hold onto him, but you whimpered and quickly wrapped your arms around him as soon as he took off. The tiny moped was surprisingly fast, and since it was so small, you could practically feel every bump on the road.

Taehyung smirked as you hung onto him tightly. “Cute,” he thought.

Taehyung’s scent enveloped you as you leaned into his back. You’ve grown accustomed to his smell since you were always together at work, but being up close and personal with him was a different story. He had a comforting smell that made you want to snuggle up to him even more. You wondered which cologne he was wearing, just in case you wanted to pick it up for yourself.

You felt how solid his torso was as you clung to him. Your thoughts lingered to his earlier question yet again. Why did you hate him so much? He really didn’t seem like a bad guy. In fact, the opposite is true. Sure he could be a bit flirty, but he was also always kind and gentle. You realized that he never flirted with the customers first, he simply returned their energy.

“We’re here!” Taehyung happily announced.

He led you into a small restaurant that appeared to be family owned. The owners greeted Taehyung by his first name, indicating that he’s probably a regular customer.

“Welcome in! And who’s this lovely lady you brought with you?” the man greeted.

“Taehyung! Is this this coffee shop girl? She’s just as gorgeous as you said she wa--” his wife began to ramble until Taehyung cut her off.

“I’ll have two of the usuals please. Oh, and two sodas. Thanks guys,” Taehyung ordered quickly before bringing you over to a small table in the corner.

“How much do I owe you?” you inquired as you took out your wallet.

“Nothing. This is my treat. I’m surprised you finally agreed to hangout with me,” Taehyung smiled as he shifted his weight in his chair.

“What was that lady saying before you ordered?” you tilted your head.

“She uh, was telling me about the daily special,” Taehyung lied.

“No she wasn’t. I was right next to you, Taehyung. Am I the coffee shop girl?” you teased, delighted that the tables have turned.

“I mean you are a girl and you do work in a coffee shop. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re THE coffee shop girl…” Taehyung was flustered.

“Is this a date or are we just hanging out?” you pressed further.

“Which would you like it to be?” Taehyung retorted.

“I asked first,” you countered.

“I guess I can’t argue with that. I would prefer this to be a date. But since you hate me I’d happily settle for us just hanging out,” he admitted.

“I wouldn’t say that I hate you…” you trailed off.

“Oh really? Then why do you always ignore me and only talk to me to boss me around. I find that hot by the way, but we don’t have to get into that right now,” he smirked.

“I...I don’t know. Your face always bothered me I suppose,” you answered thoughtfully.

“My face?” Taehyung burst out into a fit of laughter, “___, am I so ugly that you just can’t stand being around me?”

“The opposite actually. Oh what the hell, we’re here anyway. You’re so goddamn handsome it’s aggravating. You’re so nice it’s unnerving. And when you talk to me it’s like you’ve known me forever. If I didn’t act so cold towards you I would’ve fallen for you so easily,” you finally got everything off of your chest.

An awkward silence filled the room and you began to regret coming clean. The owner came by with the burgers and you noticed the ketchup was done in the shape of a heart.

“Damn,” was all that Taehyung replied after a while.

You silently nodded as you bit into your burger.

“I’m glad I kept bugging you then. I thought you were a cutie during orientation. I knew you weren’t actually a bitch because I’ve seen the way you interact with people who aren’t me. You’re such a sweetheart. Also please don’t think I’m a creep for watching you at work sometimes,” he chuckled.

“I’m sorry for being so cold towards you. I’m not really good with processing emotions and all that,” you blushed, “But now that everything's out in the open, I’d be willing to let my walls down I guess.”

“Sure. We can take it one date at a time. And maybe you could actually talk to me at work?” Taehyung gave you big puppy eyes.

“Maybe. I’ll see what I can do,” you failed to suppress a smile.

Kim Taehyung might not be too shabby after all.

#bts fluff #taehyung fluff #bts drabble #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #taehyung drabble #paralumanplaylist #bts fanfic #kpop fanfic

61 notes · View notes

ddaenggtan · 5 years ago

Text

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.”

1K notes · View notes