The Feminine Urge To Post Everything I Have In My Drafts Rn And See What Happens

the feminine urge to post everything i have in my drafts rn and see what happens

PROOF (2022)

can you feel it?

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

🍩🍩🍩🍩🍩🍩 !

he is hot

loving it so far! y/n just can’t catch a break, even from the supernatural sense. can’t wait for more

GHOST BUSTERS

FratBoys! BTS x Comatose! Reader

Main mlist. Previous chapter.

Synopsis

You get into a freak accident and wake up to your body surrounded by seven crying men. Or your unrequited love doesn’t seem so unrequited after all.

Chapter warnings

Angst, Cussing, Hospitals, Supernatural

Chapter Rating: T (For Teen Audiences and Up)

Chapter 2: The Girl in the Rafters

A/N. Italics for flashbacks and whispers.

At merely four years old, death came knocking at your doorstep.

You can still vaguely recall the white mesh, a sort of heavy sensation fluttering over you as soon as you closed your eyes, like a weighted blanket but instead of comforting your anxiety, pulling you in deeper through an unfamiliar ensconce of mist and river.

The healer said your soul was floating in between the wakeful consciousness of reality and the spirit world.

Anyone would have scoffed and relegated the wise old woman's mutterings to that of a lunatic, but not you.

You who were there.

You who were saved by seven men in white.

You who nearly drowned by invisible hands clawing at your shoulders, your back, your neck, all to take you to the depths of wherever.

You never wanted to relive that moment. For all it's mysticism, it rendered you bedridden, immobile and not living for a whole month at the least.

Your parents were nearly devastated.

They were frightened.

You were frightened.

So after you woke, the healer had advised you to leave that old, wretched place.

That house built upon slippery river stones and dried up bodies of soldiers long forgotten from the war.

A river of blood. Of suffering. Of ghosts.

Being religious people, your parents heeded the warning, packed what little things you had, and left.

To this day, you have never set foot in that house ever again and you don't dare to.

However, that was only the beginning of a traumatic experience in your young life.

Once your family was settled in a small one bedroom apartment (it was only much later when you were able to have a glimpse, a taste of the finer things that money could buy) in the uppermost story of your uncle's house by the dirtiest river you've ever seen, the hauntings continued for awhile.

There was a depression in your soul, something you could not pinpoint. Not even the doctors could determine what was going on with you.

Perhaps it was the river spirits out to get you once more.

Or maybe not.

And then one drunken evening, your older cousin (the son of your uncle) smashes your mother's face with his fucking fist after a brief argument, and in a furious move, you up and leave that fucking hellhole into a much quieter, much nicer suburban area just outside of town.

It may have been for the good of things, as the hauntings vanished. Your declining health stopped waning like the moon high in the sky on eerie nights, and you were happier.

Or happier as an only child with no friends could ever be.

That's when things changed.

You wouldn't know if it was for the better or worse, but perhaps a fated meeting was set in stone somewhere faraway, somewhere you didn't know where to look, that seven boys would barge into your peaceful mornings, all boisterous and loud.

You didn't get along with them at first.

They were Mr. Bang's local troublemakers.

Seven children who weren't related by blood but were bound by an invisible, unbreakable, impenetrable bond.

And that was the thing.

They didn't just let anybody who was nobody in.

Until you tripped on a rock on the side of the road in front of their stupidly grandiose gates, skinning your knees in your open sundress and righting yourself only to trip once more, this time hitting your forehead with a hard thump.

You didn't know whether to laugh at yourself or cry in disbelief when three boys around your age came rushing to help you up, two more dusting you off, while another two grabbed your hand and gently led you into the loveliest house you ever laid eyes on.

And when you could only offer a shy gap toothed smile, that cemented you in their lives and themselves in yours.

Floating in this void abyss, you wonder where they are now. Were they even missing you?

You groan as your head aches, the pain too much to bear, your thoughts becoming a jumbled haze.

Who were you thinking about again?

Without much difficulty, as if gravity didn't exist in this time and space continuum, you tumble seamlessly and land on your feet over a soft patch of what seemed to be your shadow.

Wake up, child.

Startled, your eyes flit to...somewhere because everything was black and empty.

They're waiting for you.

Who?

The question bubbles from the tip of your tongue.

No further answers are given as you are enveloped in a blinding light and thrust into the rafters of an all too familiar room, clean white walls, equally clean white ceilings, and the sounds of a heart monitor mixed with sniffles enter your ears like a harmonious cacophony of whimpers and sadness.

Suddenly, knuckles pop and you shrink in response to a vase toppling over and breaking, flowers all over the floor as water pools beneath someone's feet.

They don't bother cleaning it up, only dodging the mess.

Someone will come in to fix it later anyway.

There is a shuffle of movement and you realize with a heavy thump of your ghostly veins that you knew-- memorized the planes of that broad back, or the pale skin on that man, or those dimpled lips, or that forlorn glance hidden beneath curled waves.

Footsteps crash through the somber atmosphere and with a start, you recognize the three men practically panting to catch their breaths before one of them collapses onto his knees, snarling as his fearful gaze darts to the person on the bed.

Oh, that was you.

That was you wrapped in a lump of antiseptic, bandages and a white blanket.

And they were...

The broad shouldered man turns, eyes lidded and coarse and with soft touches leads the broken man on the floor next to you, the other two following almost robotically.

"Hyung what--" The tearful one croaks, and your heart squeezes for him for some reason. He looked like a hurt rabbit.

The palest man frowns, eyes never straying from your prone form, as if analyzing beats on a MIDI but couldn't quite get the desired placement. "She's just sleeping."

A hand pats his shoulder, a head shakes, before the tallest of them bleats, voice a deep dulcet tone and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring his soothing bass with a hum. "She..." A swallow. "YN's...she's not going to wake up anytime soon."

You echo their frowns.

Wake up? Why would you wake up? You were dead...right?

Eyes stray to the fallen daffodils on the cold tiles of the hospital room, each pair glistening over with what you could only determine as grief.

Why were they crying over you?

Why does your heart hurt seeing them like this?

You try to float over to them, to console their aching souls, and when you reach the first one, you skim your finger tips over his cat like features, as if to say "don't be sad".

"I'm here. Always." You whisper tentatively wondering if they can hear you at this point.

There isn't much of a reaction so you sigh.

Not thinking too much of it, you peck this one's cheek, pouring everything you have into that single touch.

"YN?!"

You jolt out of the man's way when he tries to reach for you, pupils wild in abject shock and anguish.

He can see you?

The others around him hold him in fear of what he might do to himself, thinking that he had gone beyond the bend with his torment.

"Yoongi-hyung!"

"Yoongi!"

You take a step back, memories flooding your subconscious or what's left of it anyway. "Y-Yoongi?" You whisper, tearing up. "What am I-- How can you---" You shake your head, just as the older man grabs your wrist and you involuntarily clench your eyes with a small whimper.

Yoongi doesn't let go, doesn't mind the others very concerned warnings, and pulls you to his chest as if you were a living bag of flesh and bones. "Baby, please come back."

You sniffle into his toned chest as he cries, struggling against several arms holding him back form something they couldn't fucking see. "I'm here. But I don't know how, Yoongi." You stare up at him. "I want to come home to you all. "

Yoongi sobs, kissing your forehead, your hair, your nose, "It's okay, princess. We'll figure this out. Just please, stay with me, okay?"

"Hyung..." Someone jostles him but Yoongi in his slightly distraught state lowly growls and the footsteps back away an inch.

"She's here. You can't see her, but she's here. In my arms right now. "

Hesitant, as if any sudden movements left would startle the older man like one would a feral cat, the tallest one(Namjoon, you think), slowly licks his dry lips (dehydrated from all the crying he did earlier), and croaks. "Okay, hyung. Okay, we will believe you. " He directs his stare to the space between his hyung's arms (because if it weren't a drastic situation, the pose would have been one for a comedic meme).

The rest shuffle warily, staring right at you but also unseeing and you scrunch your red nose.

Yoongi can't help but kiss it again and you bury your face in his armpit, earning a sultry laugh from the man.

God you missed him. His laugh. His smell. Everything.

Although bits and pieces were still coming to you, you know that these seven men were your entire fucking universe.

You've missed all of them.

How long has it been anyway?

You open your lips to ask the question when the sliding doors slam open, and an imposing figure clad in six inch boots and dark red lips looms over you. "Hello, gentlemen."

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