#im starting to think it might be difficult for me to write a gendered reader at all bc once again

[ohtobearandomftblog]

Howdy! Could you write rogue x male s/o headcanons of how he would confess his love to you (or how you would confess to him)

And if you were willing to you could just include random fluffy headcanons you have in your head. Thank you!

his self esteem is so shot he would never confess first

you probably would after months of little dates and deep conversations that probably never started off all that deep

you two already kinda acted like you were dating anyway

youd hold hands in crowded and isolated places. whether it be bc of people or shadows didnt matter

youd go to cafés a lot. rogue liked sweet coffee and even if you didnt like coffee at all hed make sure there was teas or lemonades or somethin for you to have

youd talk about your early lives, some funny stories, what wouldve happened if you two had different magic, what the ramifications of the etherion blast would have on the environment, etc.

whenever one of you was overwhelmed the other would drag them away. sometimes there would be an excuse. most of the time there wouldnt be

it was probably after a late night walk through the town that you confessed

hedve been confused at first. then hed think youre playing a joke on him. then hed think youre angry at him about something and thought this was the way to get his attention

youd have to peck his lips to get his little mumbling to cease

and then hed be gone. not mentally or emotionally. physically. bc he melted into the shadows and is probably either in his apartment or the guild, wherever sting was. and sting was probably laughing his ass off at the clearly very flustered shadow dragon slayer who was probably panicking about abandoning you

the thought would make you laugh. rogue would ooze out of the shadows a bit away from you and youd barely see through squinted eyes

hed apologize, of course. both for his accusations and for his reaction. youd say that it was fine. expected, even. hilarious and cute, as usual.

youd have to drag him out of the shadows again before he abandoned you again for that comment

after that, hed be shy. embarrassed, even, whenever you kissed him or held his hand or embraced him. alone or in public

itd take him months to get used to it all

and itd be when hestheyre holding you in bed, rubbing your back or your arm or something to help you go back to sleep. itd be when your breathing levels out and your heartbeat calms. and thats when hed confess. aloud. for the first time.

youd done that enough times that you figured he was just going to mumble praises about you again. but those words tipped you just enough into a more comfortable state that you didnt hear anything else and fell asleep

[angelic-brutality]

hii ! idk if your requests are open atm but if they are then pls ignore this message jfjskkj

i was wondering if i could request for hanma with gender neutral! reader who gets panic attacks from the sound of someone hitting objects? they tend to get moody due to that but this time their hands were all shaky and they began crying

im sorry if this made you uncomfortable pls ignore this if you want to and ty in advance btw

look who's finally writing something again

and hey, anon! dw, ofc i can write that ;) and sorry for the delay :< i was on a trip and had some ""creative problems""

a/n.: i'm brazilian, there are probably some grammar mistakes here. and this is more like a "hanma helping reader with a panic attack" cause tbh i never experienced what you're saying, and i don't wanna mess everything up. still hope you like it!

if you both were in public, he would get you by your arm and head to a place without many people. if you both were at some place with rooms, he would lock you guys inside one so you wouldn’t be disturbed.

at first, hanma would be quite scared. he never dealt with anything close to that, so watching you have a panic attack made him quite hesitant and undecided;

he only experienced panic attacks when he was the person panicking, and he thought “not everything i do to calm down would calm down another person”

if you were wearing a sweater, he would ask you to take it off. one thing he leant is that cold can help in those type of situations

hanma slightly touched your face and lifted it, starting to make eye contact with you

“listen, i might not be the best person to help you right now, but i can try. here, breath with me”

even though you had a runny nose - because of the crying - you began to breathe with him. on the beginning it was quite difficult cause you kept sobbing, but he kept the same pace

eventually he would ask if he could touch you. if you say yes, he’d grab both your hands or even hug you (if you’re the type that likes hugs). if you say no, he would murmur an “ok” and just get his hands off of your face

he would also ask if you want to talk about it. if the answer is yes, he would probably ask why you felt so nervous and started to panic, just so he understand more and try a more effective way to help

if the answer is no, he’d start to talk about something that doesn't relate in any way to that

however, if he thinks you’re getting uncomfortable, he would stop and ask how he can help at that moment

once you’re fully calm down, he would make some stupid jokes, just to try to make you smile - or even laugh

honestly if nothing helps he would offer you a cigarette

tagging; @shujivenus @drakensprincess @wittykittywoes @drakensrealgirlfriend @rome-alone

[s-che]

more people should read GENDER TROUBLE

(yo, howdy, hello, im trying to write a little about each of the books i read this year if i liked them or had anything to say about them. this might be the only post like this i ever do or this might be a regular thing. go hogwild you perverts)

So, first on my list of "books I've read and am talking about in 2023" is: Judith Butler's Gender Trouble. I started reading it just a little before New Year's, and finished it last week, but I haven't gotten a chance to sit down and hammer something out about it until now.

As I finished what is, admittedly, a pretty difficult book in both its ideas and in the way Butler writes, I couldn't help but be struck by something — I think more people need to read Gender Trouble. There are a couple of reasons for that — I'm pro the public engaging with academic / theoretical texts generally — but, specifically, I think you, you, dear reader, should read Gender Trouble not just because it's a formative text in the development of queer and gender studies, not just because I get a kick out of talking about theoretical construction and want more people in my ecosystem to have read the book, and not just because you probably already think you know what's in Gender Trouble, and are wrong, because this book might be the most frequently mis-quoted (or when the quotes are done right, mis-applied) books of theory I can name. Please read this book for those reasons, too — there is so much more in this book than people think, and it is so much more radical in its thinking, and all that is lost when we only encounter big ideas two or three steps down the regurgitative grapevine.

I want you to read Gender Trouble because I think, difficult as the book might be, that this book is a fantastic jumping-off place to engage both with ongoing critical traditions in feminist and queer studies and the nightmare monster that is the partial application of those traditions that, brokenly, filters down to us as all-consuming "queer discourse." Dr. Butler is responding to a lot of things in this book, but at the core of it they are reacting to the feminist tendency to essentialize femininity — to essentialize it towards what are believed to be liberatory ends, but nonetheless to imagine femininity as a natural, immutable truth, and, in doing so, to sow the seeds of liberation's failure. This book was radical thirty years ago, and it remains radical now — radical, and only more applicable to the day-to-day lives and discourses of queer people. And, again, you just don’t get that aspect of it filtered through online misapplication of performance theory.

Anyway, there's more — of course there's more, it's a two-hundred page book, and I promised myself I was only going to write 250 words (currently: 493... 494... 495...). If y'all want more thoughts I'm reachable here or on twitter (come scream @ me baby) but for now, log off, go to the library, & read GENDER TROUBLE

[in-my-feels-probably]

Hello! Congrats on 900 <3!! Can i ask for a Marauder's era ship please? I am bisexual (she/her), about 5'5, dark hair and brown eyes. I am super into fantasy novels and tend to write poems/songs about some characters that i like. I have a 5yo GSD pup, he's the cutest thing lol. I am an INTJ so people think i am mean when they first meet me because i tend to not have any input towards a conversation they are having. It is difficult to shut me up when i start talking about something i find interesting and people find it annoying so i avoid doing that with relatively new people :<. I always say that in the future i would rather adopt dogs than have kids, because kids are annoying (you are welcome to have a different opinion, i just have bad experieance with toddlers) ty! and congrats again!!

hi!

thank you for participating :)

so for these, i normally ship you with one character. but since you have no gender preference, i’ll tell you out of the boys and the girls who i ship you with. but i’ll do the full blurb and stuff for the character i think you’re a better fit with.

i ship you with sirius and mary! im gonna go with sirius for this tho, hope that alright :)

i think there’s something about fantasy that sirius would really like. a world outside of his own, where there was any possibilities for a person, no matter where you came from. he’s got a bit of a hero complex, and envisions himself riding off into battle in a blaze of glory. probably an idea james put into his head when he was young. he’d definitely understand why muggles write fantasy novels about magic. he’d read them too, if he couldn’t already do magic. but i don’t envision him as much of a reader. i do think he’d appreciate poetry and the art of words. it’s the same as lyrics, and he definitely appreciates music. but getting him to read? he won’t do it. his mother probably crammed it down his throat when he was younger, and he no longer finds pleasure in it. but when he finds out you enjoy reading, and he sees you get all excited over something you just read, he’d want to hear about it. he wouldn’t care if it personally interested him or not, he’d just want to hear you talk about it. he’d ask you to read to him when you had time to yourselves, grinning at all the adventures you’d tell him about.

i think sirius would pick up on how quiet you’d be. even once you first became friends, you’d just let the group talk, only chiming in every once in a while. the rest of them can carry on a conversation quite well, so they wouldn’t really notice, but sirius would. he’d want to know what you were thinking, how you were feeling. as you got closer, he’d make an effort to get you to talk to him. you’d have little side conversations to yourself, and the rest of the group would eventually pick up on it. they’d smile watching sirius get all flustered, going above and beyond to get you to smile. he’d find all your interests so facisnating, and he’d love how passionate you are about things. he could listen to you talk about them all day.

i don’t think sirius would be up for kids either, at least not for a long time. he’d much rather keep to himself. kids were for people like james, not him. you and him could just be an aunt and an uncle, happy enough to spoil your friends children, but still having the option of going home to a kid free life. he’d be too afraid to even think about the possibility of having children after school, and you’d be content to figure the rest out later. you’d put your foot down about having a pet, though. you would have a dog in the house, and that was final. i do think sirius really likes dogs. he’s literally one himself. but he might get jealous of all the attention you’d give your dog, whining when you’d take up the couch together without him.

“come on,” he’d whine, coming into the living room of your apartment. “that dog never leaves me any room.”

you’d laugh, pulling your dog closer so he could sit on the other side of him. “you love him and you know it. besides, it’s not his fault he’s a better cuddler than you.”

“i have fur, too, you know. i’m quite the cuddler, you know. you could just ask.”

you’d playfully roll your eyes at his pouting, motioning for your dog to sit on the other side of you. sirius would grin, flopping down on the couch and curling into you.

“are you happy now, pads? you big baby.”

“very, darling,” he’d say, reaching a hand over to scratch your dog behind the ears.

—

hi again! i hope you enjoyed this, thank you again for participating :)

(also, i have a german shepherd too. she’s a handful, but she’s cute so it makes up for it. i definitely prefer my cats to kids too lol)

[lovisyandereblog]

i see your requests are open and i just have to request something-- your writing is absolutely amazing 🤌

how about a yandere roommate? i rarely see that dynamic, and im utterly in love with it 😮‍💨

tbh i dont have any specifics, just have fun with it 🫶

Possession

Yandere Male Roomate X FEM Reader

Part 1 I might do another part but idkkkk

A/N: AHHH TYSM UR SO SWEET! This idea is soOo skksjskendksj…and a subby chara is that ok pooks 🥺🥺 u didnt specify gender so im gonna do male cause subby men >>>

"I don't want you to hang out with them Y/N, why can't you understand that??" Y/N sighed as those words left her roommates mouth. She stared at him with a bored expression on her face; the complete opposite of the angry look on his.

"You can't tell me what to do Aidan, don't be fucking annoying..." She rolls her eyes and he clenches his fists tighter than before.

“Stop being so d-difficult Y/N!” He whined, his knuckles turning pale from how hard he was clenching them. He always acted this weird, “They’re bad for you! Why wont you believe me—”

“Cause I can think for myself Aidan! What’s wrong with you?! Im not a fucking child!” Y/N yelled back. A shocked look appeared on his face, she had never yelled at him before. Hearing the tone of her voice made him tear up and run towards his room, locking it behind him; his loud cries could be heard from where she were sitting.

Y/N sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. He was always like this. She couldn’t understand why he became so upset whenever she spent time with someone who wasn’t him.

Y/N and Aidan had become very close friends in the time they had been roommates: which was just over a year.

At the start, they both weren’t really frank with each other—cordial would be a better adjective to describe Y/N’s relationship with him.

But over time, the tall brunette grew closer and closer to her. It came to the point where he couldn’t spend one day without her. At first, she was very oblivious to his actions—but over time, even she couldn’t ignore how he was acting day by day.

Aidan couldn’t go a second without touching her; be it holding her arm while they watched tv, holding hands when they went for a walk, or resting his head on her lap when they hung out with friends.

He always had to be in contact with her.

But then it went further than that.

It went to pure obsession and possession.

He would always ask where Y/N was, who she was with and when she’d come back. She’d get multiple missed calls and text messages from him to the point she’d have to turn her phone off. And then when she’d finally come home, she’d find Aidan sobbing and shouting at her: saying that she had ‘abandoned’ him and was a horrible person. The only way she’d get close to calming him down was if she’d let him lay on her chest and sleep—he’d be especially clingy after this so it became hard for her to do literally anything without him leeched onto her for the next few days.

Y/N also recently found out that Aidan had been threatening her friends for simply talking to her and when she confronted him about it, he would start to cry and manipulate her. And she couldn’t possibly be mad at Aidan when he was clinging onto her leg and begging her to forgive him so cutely.

And now he was in his room crying his heart out because she spent a single day with her other friends instead of him. With a sigh she got up, and walked towards his room; she couldn’t just let him cry himself to sleep like that—she genuinely did care about him.

“Aidan…” Y/N knocked on the door softly, she could still hear his sobs, “Aidan please open the door…”

“Go away! LEAVE ME ALONE!!” He cried and refused to open it. His heart was breaking and wrenching out of his chest. To him, it felt like he was dying; the most pain he’d ever felt in his life. ‘Why don’t you love me?! WHY??! WHY?!’ He thought to him self—he was going insane.

“Aidan please! Why are you acting like this? Let me come in…” She said softly, she was feeling extremely guilty for making him feel that way.

“STOP ACTING LIKE YOU CARE!! I HATE YOU!” Aidan yelled and sobbed, choking through his words—sounding like someone was quite literally gutting him. Y/N’s heart hurt from hearing his voice, it truly was desperate and pathetic.

Y/N wasn’t letting his words affect her, she knew he didn’t mean them so she continued, “Listen to me…open the door yeah? We can talk about this…please…” Her tone of voice was the complete opposite of his: calm and collected.

In the room, Aidan was sobbing but he slowly sat up and rubbed his red puffy eyes. He couldn’t help but listen to Y/N when she was talking so sweetly. Deep down, he knew he was being extremely dramatic but he couldn’t help himself; he just hated it when Y/N merely breathed next to other people.

Aidan got himself up and sniffed as he shuffled towards the door, Y/N smiled to herself when she heard shuffling coming from behind the door.

A few seconds later, he opened the door and you looked up to see his tear stained face looking down at you, his bottom lip wobbling as if he was painfully holding his tears back. His throat tightened as he stared at Y/N’s beautiful face: his Y/N’s beautiful face.

“Aidan..come here…” She opened her arms for him and he immediately buried himself into her embrace and sobbed into her shoulder. She cooed at him and caressed his back as he felt himself melting from her gentleness.

Despite him yelling at her, she was still being so sweet to him. Aidan knew he didn’t deserve her, but he just loved her so much. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of her, she belonged to him and he belonged to her.

“D-don’t be mad a-at me….Im so sorry….” He cries and clutches you so tightly as if you’d disappear, “P-please…please…”

“Shhh…be quiet, I’m not mad at you I promise…come, lets sit inside yeah?” Y/N said calmly and he sniffed adorably, nodding as he held her hand tightly and brought her inside his room.

“Sit down for me…” She told him and smiled as he immediately listened to her; his obedience never failing to surprise her.

Aidan looked up at her with big brown eyes—almost puppy like—and was seemingly trying to make her forgive him with that look he was giving her. Y/N sat down next to him and quickly went to grab her hand again, bringing it to his lap.

“Aidan..we have to talk about your behaviour, this can’t keep going on…you’ve disappointed me sweetheart…” Y/N spoke in a gentle voice and he felt his heart melt from the nickname she used for him. But then he felt his heart break afterwards when she said she was disappointed. He felt like crying again, he was so upset!

‘Please don’t hate me, please don’t hate me, please don’t hate me, please…’ His thoughts were growing irrational as his grip on her hands tightened aswell.

“P-please…please..I..Im so sorry..I j-just..” He couldn’t help but burst into tears yet again, the disappoint was too much for him to bear. Aidan just wanted to be her good boy, please please please!

“Hey..hey..” Y/N cupped his cheek and he leaned into her touch, giving her puppy eyes, “No tears….I just want to talk to you…talk to me…tell me what’s wrong~?”

Aidan had to calm himself down, looking at her with tears streaming down his face.

“I j-just��hate it…w-when you…” He takes a deep breath and stares deeply into her eyes with his pretty brown ones, “…w-when you’re around o-other people…”

Y/N rubbed her thumb on his cheek and he whimpers, leaning into her touch, “What do you mean angel~?” Her voice was just so alluring, it mesmerised him.

“I…I don’t want y-you around other p-people…j-just me…I g-get so mad…I w-want you all t-to myself…” He manages to muster through sobs, he just wants her to take care of him so bad.

Y/N raises an eyebrow, internally smiling. She would be stupid to not admit how beautiful Aidan was. He had soft curly brown hair, the most gorgeous dark skin and pretty brown eyes; he was perfection.

She moves her hand from his cheek to his chin, her grip hardening slightly, “Is that so~?” Aidan widened his eyes at her shift to a more seductive tone…he felt his whole body turn to jelly. She had such an effect on him.

“W-what…huh? A-are you not m-mad at…at me..?” Aidan was so confused, weren’t you supposed to hate him and be disgusted? He literally just expressed how he didn’t want you around anyone else but him.

“Hmm…what would you say if I wanted to take my anger out on you~?” Y/N smirked and he felt himself melting already—and she hadn’t even done anything!

Aidan was no doubt a masochist, he knew he’d come undone on the spot if Y/N even so much as raised her voice at him. His puppy eyes pleading with hers, practically begging her to use him and play with him till he was a moaning and shaking mess. He fell to his knees and held her legs tightly, “P-please! Do anything to me! A-anything!!”

“Be careful darling, do you really mean that? You know I won’t go easy on you….” Y/N smiles at him condescendingly as he swallows nervously. Aidan doesn’t care, he just wants to be hers. Y/N could hurt him, beat him or even spit on him and he’d say thank you~

“Yes!!” He replied a little too eagerly, clutching onto her knees, “Im begging you…please do with me whatever you want…I can take it…I can take anything you give me~”

Y/N smirks as she looks down at the puppy like boy at her feet.

This is going to be fun~

“AHHNNGGH~!!” Aidan whined out against the gag as Y/N hit him on the ass with the paddle once more. His behind was on fire from how many time she had abused the soft skin.

“What’s wrong~? Can’t take a little punishment? I thought you were my good boy~?” Y/N cooed at him, her words making him sob even louder since he hated her being mad at him.

“Mm sh-sowwyy~!” Aidan cried out, his ass wiggling subconsciously to get away from the pain but then moving closer to her at the same time.

Y/N smirked as she looked at the squirming boy in front of her, god his pathetic demeanour was really turning her on. She circled around the bed like a hawk; her eyes never left his trembling figure.

She leaned forward slightly, placing a hand on the small of his back which made him let out a soft moan as he tried to move closer to her but the restraints were making it difficult.

“You’re so pretty baby….such a cute boy~” Y/N cooed at him as he kept sobbing, he wanted her to take care of him and make him feel good. He began begging against his gag, making her raise an eyebrow.

Aidan kept trying to say he had been good, that he would prove himself to her. Blue, crystal tears falling from his pretty brown eyes, Y/N cupped his face and cooed, “Awe baby, what are you saying~?” She smirked, her sadistic tendencies being fed by his pitiful state.

Y/N turned him around so he was now laying on his back instead of his chest. Her eyes ran up and down his shaking body, his chest was heaving up and down while he gave her the most puppy like stare.

Aidan just wanted her to use him and make him feel better~

The poor boy kept blubbering against the gag, the saliva running all down his chin. He hated how the spit felt but he also got turned on from her seeing him like this; his dick was painfully hard at this point.

Y/N cupped his cheek again, tilting her head as if she was the most innocent person ever, “Are you saying you’re a good boy~?”

Aidan nods frantically, his hair stuck to his forehead with how much he was sweating. He really needed her to believe he was! Yes he was a bit emotional and got upset easily, but that was only because Aidan loved Y/N so much!

Y/N just laughed, making more tears spill from his adorable eyes. She undid his gag since she could tell it was hurting his jaw; she then held his face roughly, forcing him to look into her eyes, “But did I fucking ask you? Does it look like I fucking care?” Y/N’s demeanour changed instantly to a more strict one and Aidan could practically feel the pre-cum dripping from his leaky dick.

“Please please please please please….” He sobbed, trying to buck his hips up to get some sort of friction as she admired how he looked.

Y/N went back to mockingly sympathising with him, “Poor baby~ You need my touch don’t you?” He moaned in response, repeating the word “please” over and over again.

She decided to take some pity on him and suddenly gripped his dick roughly, making him let out a loud moan as his back arched so prettily, “Y/N~~!! Ahhhnnggh~! M-more…more! P-pleaseee!” Aidan begged, trying to get her to move her hand.

Y/N smirked and looked at him condescendingly, “You want me to move my hand?” She asked in a sweet voice to which he nodded and whined. She chuckled lightly, before squeezing his dick tighter: making him let out a high pitched moan, “Then beg for it you little slut. Go on. Show me how much you want me~”

Y/N stared at his features to see his reaction to her derogatory word; to see if he minded what she said. But the lust that filled his eyes were more than enough for her to realise that he was perfectly fine with her words.

“Please please please! Im b-begging you…im begging you Y/N!! I n-need your t-touch…y-you can do anything to me…p-please mistress—” Aidan widened his eyes and his mouth opened, agape—scared that she would be mad at him for what he called her. But Y/N raised an eyebrow and smirked as he stared at her with wide brown eyes. Aidan let out a whine when she released his crotch from her clutch.

He immediately started spilling out apologies and begging her not to be mad, “Im sorry Im so s-sorry…I’m…p-please!!” Y/N stopped his blabbering by putting a finger on his lips as he stared at her with hearts in his eyes.

Y/N looked down at him with her domineering gaze, he immediately melted underneath her, “What did you call me honey~?” Aidan was so flustered, staring up at her. He tried to say something but all that came out of his mouth were slurred words.

She tightened her grip on his chin when he didn’t reply, “Don’t make me repeat myself pretty boy,” Aidan whimpered and tears filled his eyes, he genuinely wanted to answer her but in front of her he got so flustered.

“Mmm…I-i..said..s-said m-mi…mistress…” He let out a meek reply, his voice hoarse from how much he had been crying and begging. Y/N stared at his pathetic face, his cheeks were red and wet from tears, “I-i wont say it again! I promise..Im sorry! I-it just slipped out of my m-mouth…”

Y/N tilted her head and brought her hand to cup his cheek and he leaned into her touch, his little pout was so adorable~~

“When did I say I didn’t like it~?” Her smirk made his entire body shake and his beautiful eyes widened as if what Y/N said was so out of this world. Did he hear her right? Did she just say what he thought she said??

“W-wh…w-what..? P-please don’t p-play with me like that…” He whimpered, thinking she was just teasing him. His reply made Y/N chuckle, she leaned forward and left a very wet kiss on the sensitive spot on his neck; just below his ear. Aidan let out a shaky moan, his whole body shaking from pleasure before she whispered in his ear, “I want you to call me that, understand?”

Aidan looks at her with hearts in his eyes and nods eagerly, “Y-yes…yes mistress! Y-you’re my m-mistress…my mistress…” Y/N smirks and strokes his cheek, kissing it tenderly. His heart melted and he whimpered from how sweet she was being. Sometimes she was as mean as can be, sometimes she was as sweet as candy…but he wasn’t complaining. He loved it~

Y/N chuckled to hersell, “Good boy~ Such a good boy for me yeah~?” She says, and he keeps saying, ‘Yes Mistress’ over and over again, trying to lean towards but his restraints keep pulling him down.

“You want Mistress to fuck you don’t you~? My baby needs to be pleased properly yeah~?” Y/N used her sweet condescending voice again and he melted again, whining and nodding.

“P-please! Need you…n-need you so so bad…p-please…please…I’ll d-do anything Mistress~” He begged her but she gripped his cheeks roughly, squishing them together.

“You’re so fucking pathetic…like a dumb puppy in heat aren’t you~?” Y/N said and he nodded, not even thinking anymore. He just needed her to fuck him. Please please please please please!

Y/N smirked at him and stood up, taking off her lingerie in such a slow sensual manner that Adrian felt his dick leak even more presumed, “P-please hurry…please m-mistress…I c-can’t handle it…” He whimpered, wanting her to just rail and degrade him.

“Be patient puppy…” She replied, his mouth watered seeing her beautiful and perfect body. She was a goddess and he’d make sure to worship her like she deserves.

Y/N climbed over him and sat on his legs, making him whine. He needed her! She was teasing him!! “Mistressss~” He whined and tried to buck his hips towards her but she held his hips down.

“Bad boy…stay down.” Her commands were making him even more turned on, she was treating him like a real dog. But he got upset when she said bad boy, he hated it when she said that, “N-noo! Mmm….y-your good boy…p-please! I n-need you to say it..~” He looked at her with such pretty eyes, Y/N just couldn’t be mean to him for too long~

“Aweee, my poor angel…you’re my good boy~ You’re my good boy baby…so good for me~” Y/N leaned forward to kiss his cheek, consoling him as he whimpered. “Let me make it up to you yeah~?”

Y/N leaned forward, bringing her lips to his chest and kissed it tenderly. The sensations which trailed down his chest and lower body made his back arch so beautifully, the most pretty sounds leaving his mouth.

Her mouth was dangerously close to his crotch, she kissed on his v-line—her breath fanning on his tip making him moan out loud, coming on the spot. Aidan burned with embarrassment, he couldn’t believe that he had come so quickly! Oh god he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“Oh Aidan~~ You came just from a little kiss~?” Y/N teased him as he tried to hide his face in the pillow he was on but she held his chin and forced him to look at her, “Did I say you could look away~?”

Aidan shook his head quickly, and begged for her forgiveness, “Im s-sorry…im so sorry…sorry…I didn’t m-mean to…” He was so embarrassed at how quickly he orgasmed, she was just so ethereal; how could he hold himself back??

“You’re sorry~? There’s no need to be sorry baby….but I can’t promise I’ll go easy on you baby…Im still going to make sure this dick can’t come anymore~” Y/N threatened in such a sweet and innocent voice, it made him even more scared (and excited)

“Can you take it baby?” Y/N finished, batting her eyelashes so prettily at him, “Y-yes…yes Im your good boy…s-so I can’t take it…” He replied so cutely, his voice breaking slightly from how anxious he was.

Y/N cooed at him and brought her hands to his waist, “You ready baby? Once I start, I won���t stop till you say your safe word: red. Understand?” She asks, making sure he was comfortable and 100% giving consent. He nodded eagerly and lifted his hips, “P-please i understand…please! I c-can’t take it…it hurts so much…i need you~”

“Don’t worry baby…I’ll make you feel so good I promise~” Y/N consoled him, and he pouted as he watched her lean down slightly. Her eyes locked on his dick, it was quite long but his girth was crazy; very thick and was well trimmed aswell.

Y/N wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, making him whine out; he was still so sensitive from his previous orgasm not so long ago, she watched his face contort in pleasure…he was so pretty…god…his lower body was covered in sweat making his gorgeous brown skin look even better than usual.

“Keep your eyes on me angel…I want to see you~” Y/N muttered, her eyes hazy and he looked at her with such love in his eyes. Aidan wanted to be hers so fucking bad.

He could barely talk, only nodding and mumbling incoherent words but it was so hard to look at her. He was melting under her seductive gaze.

“Good boy~ Let’s make you feel good now…and don’t keep your voice in…I want to hear all your pretty noises~” Y/N spoke before kissing the tip of his dick, he moaned so loudly…oh god she was so hot~

She moved her head further down, her hand rubbing the shaft of his dick. He was just so big, she couldn’t git all of him in her mouth.

Aidan moaned out loud and his body was convulsing so much, he couldn’t keep his body still. She was so good with her mouth, Y/N’s head moved up and down his dick and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He just couldn’t keep his eyes on her since the pleasure was too much.

Y/N looked at him, and chuckled slightly, deciding to take him all in his mouth. Aidan widened his eyes and brought his hands and tangled it in her hair, “Y/N!! Y/N I—IM C-COMING…NNGHHAHHMM~” He couldn’t hold it back anymore, and he came all in her mouth, his orgasm lasting for a long twenty seconds.

“Ahhnggh…ahhmm..oh g-god..please…please…oh my god…that f-feels…” Aidan could barely speak, Y/N made sure to milk him through his orgasm, “Perfect boy…so so good…” He whimpered even more at her praise, Y/N saw him pulling on the handcuffs, wanting to touch her so bad~

“Please..please Y/N, I need to touch you…Im begging you~” Y/N leaned forward towards his mouth, but didn’t kiss him even as he was trying to reach her lips.

“You can’t touch me yet baby…let me fuck you first hmm…think you can come again for me~?” Y/N put her hands on his hips, lifting herself up a bit so her pussy was right above his dick. He could already feel his dick harden for the 20th time.

“You want to be inside me baby~?” Y/N asks sweetly, and he begged so hard, so so fucking hard.

“P-please…please Mistress! Please Mistress…Im b-begging you Mistress…please…h-have mercy on me…please please plea—AHHMMH OH Y/NNNN~” He was interrupted by Y/N lowering herself down on his dick, his leaky hard dick.

Aidan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, she felt so tight and so so warm. He wanted to be inside her forever, “Ohhh gooooddd~ Mistresss…I need you…I love you so so much~”

Y/N winced slightly at his size, it stretched her out a good bit, “F-fuck…you’re so big baby..you’re going to make your mistress feel so good yeah~?”

Aidan nods eagerly, “I-ill m-make mistress feel s-so good…promise! I p-promise!”

Y/N managed to sit down full on his dick and they both let out a moan; the tip of his dick brushed against her g-spot so perfectly, the feeling was so overwhelmingly good~

Aidan tried bucking his hips up but she holds him down, “Bad puppy…you want me to move yeah? Move up and down your pathetic dick?” There she was, there was her more sadistic and mean side.

Y/N lifted herself up and dropped down onto his dick, their skin making a sinful slapping sound just like the one coming out of Aidan’s mouth.

She kept her pace going, riding his poor dick as his hands struggled against the restraints. He wanted to hold her so fucking bad, “P-please Mistress! L-let me…ammmh…t-touch you…ahhh~”

Y/N chuckled, a bit breathless as she began riding him harder which in turn made him whine harder, “PLEASE! P-PLEASE MISS…O-OH F-FUCK…I D-DON’T W-WANT TO COME YET…S-SLOW DOWN~” Aidan cried out loud, not wanting to come so quickly from Y/N’s fast movements.

She leaned forward, her chest pressed against his, making his eyes roll to the back of his head from the feeling of his skin against hers. Y/N whispered in his ear so sensually, “My good boy…you going to come for me~?” Aidan shook his head and tried to control himself from coming. He needed to hold himself back, but her pretty voice and how good her pussy felt were too much for him.

“M-Mistressss~!” Aidan whined, wanting this to last longer but she was just too good at this. Her ass moved twice as fast over his poor dick as his moans became more and more high pitched, “N-no! I d-don’t..please! Ohhh gooodd im coming…IM COMINGGG! M-MISTRESS…OH FUCK…FUCK ME…”

“Come for me angel…come for me pretty boy….” Y/N whispers in his ear, biting his ear lobe and that was the last straw for him…he came undone on the spot~ “OHHH GOOOODD Y/NNN~~!!”

She kept going as she felt his cum fill her up; her juices squirting over his dick aswell, “Ohh fuck…good boy…my good boy~” Y/N moaned aswell, kissing his lips to silence his moans since he was being so loud.

They kept making out as they both rode their high, their tongues rubbing with each other; Aidan moaned into her mouth, slobber running down his chin. Y/N looked him in his eyes and sucked on his tongue, making his moans ten times louder.

She pulled away, both of them breathless as they just stared at each other, a wide grin on her face as she watches his fucked out face. Y/N wanted to break him even more, but he clearly wouldn’t be able to take it. She raised herself up from his dick as he whimpered from the loss of heat, he wanted to stay inside her forever, “M-mistress…” He whispered weakly as she cooed at him, “Shhh baby…lets get you cleaned up yeah~?”

Y/N kissed his forehead, undid his handcuffs and went to go get a wet warm cloth.

It took half an hour to get him cleaned up and wearing clean new clothes, he was practically passed out on the bed as Y/N smirked at how fucked out he looked.

She laid next to him and kissed his cheek, wrapping him in warm blankets. He moaned in his sleep and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly.

“Goodnight pretty boy…you did so good today~” Y/N whispered in his ear and kissed his cheek, cuddling him aswell as she closed her eyes to go to sleep.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad~

FINALLY DONE WITH THIS BROOOO I GENUINELY COULD’NT FIGURE OUT TO END THIS AS YOU CAN TELL.

Tysm for being so patient thoughh~~~ Love you guys~~

—> my masterlist <3

divider used by @ohmarigold

[starglow-xx]

hello! may i request headcanons for chuuya having a crush on someone who's dense? like he could ask them out in the most straightforward way possible and it would still go over their head?

yes, yes of course you may!

sorry this took so long! my computer was out of commission for abt a week (or two..??)

but this is also my birthday writing piece for chuuya!! (4/29/21) i even added a small drabble thingy in addition to the hcs for the occasion hehe

from where i am, it is about fifteen minutes past midnight so it’s officially chuuya day here!!

happy birthday chuuya i love you! you deserve the whole world and everyone is willing to fight tooth and nail to ensure your happiness! we love you! 💗💗

anyways, i hope you all enjoy this! i kinda had some writer’s block but it was still a lot of fun to write! there might be some mistakes, but i’ll scan over it again later. reader is gender neutral! have fun!

chuuya having a crush on a dense! reader

nakahara chuuya x gn! reader

im cackling somebody help him

he’s frustrated bc you can’t take a hint or a thousand but he can’t even be mad bc he’s whipped

“look at you all dressed up today, wanna go out later? my treat?”

“oh really? thanks chuuya-san! you’re such a nice friend. i’ll go invite the others right now, i’ll see you later!”

“...”

fast forward to later in the evening and he finds himself at a little restaurant with the black lizard + higuchi and akutagawa

sigh

in unison all of them go, “thank you for the meal chuuya-san!” (except aku and hirotsu are quieter & and gin just a nods hehe)

“no problem” (ꐦ ´͈ ᗨ `͈ )

gin only pats him on the back in sympathy

he spends a lot of time trying to think of ways to make it absolutely and undeniably clear that he has feelings for you

he always fails

“(y/n) i like you”

“i like you too chuuya-san”

“really?”

“mhm”

“t-then will you—”

“you’re a really great friend! and superior too”

“...nevermind”

“oh were you saying something?”

“nah, just forget about it”

tachihara is laughing in the corner of the corridor

dont worry, chuuya made sure to get back at him

chuuya’s been pinning after you for years and frankly, his failed attempts to woo you has lead everyone to the breaking point

and i mean everyone

yes, even aku

hell even dazai

but dazai also thinks it’s funny, so he doesn’t mind all that much

okay bye bye dazai-san this headcanon set isn’t abt you rn

PLEASE EVERYONE FEELS SO BAD FOR HIM

they knew even if he kissed you, you still might not get it

so they decided to help him

super secret mission get chuuya and (y/n) together is a go!

they’re still working on a proper mission name, don’t mind them

they had a super secret strategy meeting!

you can bet your ass that they nearly got nothing done

akutagawa & kaiji weren’t much help, neither was higuchi, mori, or elise

tachihara nearly got killed for a thoughtless comment

“just tell them chuuya-san!”

“i already fucking did you ass!”

gin, hirotsu, and kouyou were the most helpful !!

hirotsu and kouyou both agreed on the idea that chuuya should try courting with bouquets of flowers instead of flat out asking you bc they knew you found them pretty

(even if you don’t identify as a female, flowers are for everyone no matter gender or sexuality! so let’s normalize giving flowers to everyone <33 )

gin didn’t speak but she used cards to communicate

everyone knew that you weren’t stupid (you wouldn’t have survived in the mafia if you were) but they did know that you were only stupid when it came to all this lovey dovey stuff

i mean, if chuuya gave you flowers every so often, there’s no way that you wouldn’t piece it together at some point

right...??

but kouyou assured him that even though you wouldn’t get it right away, you’d appreciate the gestures and that he’ll stand out more

she even said that if someone gave her flowers, she would appreciate it, whether or not she reciprocated their feelings

it takes guts to be so up front with your feelings after all

gin and hirotsu only nodded with her explanation

once again, this only provoked a reaction out of tachihara

“what do you know gin? i get the old man and kouyou-san, they’re grown, but you? what do you know abt courting? or flowers? what are you a girl?”

akutagawa choked on his cough, higuchi on air, and on the other side of yokohoma at the ada, dazai is cackling

yes, dazai somehow placed a listening device onto chuuya’s hat and was listening in

don’t ask how, it’s dazai

“DAZAI GET YOUR BANDAGED ASS OFF THE COUCH AND STOP LAUGHING”

anyways

the next day, chuuya did what was barely discussed and for once, things actually started to look up

until they started look to down again

at first, it actually looked like you understood his intentions after he gave you a bouquet of flowers

literally everyone was leaning against the opposite hallway you two were in and then they got excited !!

especially chuuya !

but then your expression sort of changed...??

and then in their heads they simultaneously went, “oh no”

they knew that expression

it was very familiar when you tended to friend zone chuuya

but boy let me tell you what you said next made them facepalm and or make their jaws drop

“ah, so you really are friend zoning me huh chuuya-san; what a shame, i really did like you”

LEMME TELL YOU WHEN I SAY THAT CHUUYA WAS DISTRESSED I MEAN HE WAS DISTRESSED

you liked him??

him of all people??

he wasn’t complaining, no of course not, but he still couldn’t believe it

but that wasn’t what he was really focusing on right now

what in any form or language did it say he was friend zoning you?!

flower language apparently

chuuya chose to buy the bouquet of yellow roses, pink carnations, and yellow carnations bc he thought you would appreciate the brighter colors, and so that you’d remember them better (because remembering them, meant remembering him)

but ooh boy

altogether, they meant the exact opposite message he wanted to send

someone help him pls

“you see chuuya-san, yellow roses mean friendship, pink carnations mean gratitude, and yellow carnations mean rejection; sooo in a nutshell, these pretty much say ‘thank you for being my friend, but im rejecting you”

no one can tell if tachihara is crying or wheezing

and dazai is having the time of his life

yes, he started listening in on him again

and chuuya is just stunned

like speechless and unmoving stunned

is he just bad at this whole courting/dating thing?? it’s only been one day and of it and somehow he was the one doing the rejecting??

“thank you for the flowers chuuya-san, i’ll be going now; i’ll make sure to let this affect our friendship. i’ll see you tomorrow!”

you passed by the not so subtle group of people

“tachihara-kun..?? are you alright?”

just for context, he was leaning his forehead against the wall using his forearm

again, it was hard to tell whether he was crying or wheezing

“i-im okay (y/n)-san...i think c-chuuya-san has it worse than me”

“...okay..?”

BACK TO CHUUYA

he’s still frozen poor baby

but it’s okay bc after like 5 more seconds he’s chasing you down the hallway you were walking in

kouyou, with a knowing smile on her face, ushers everyone away towards the opposite direction

she received some whines (ahem, tachihara and mori) but silenced them by summoning golden demon

but it’s okay

if they run fast enough, they can see what happens through the security cameras

chuuya caught up with you and tried to explain everything but he was exhausted

emotionally, physically (bc since when did you walk that fast??), and generally just tired with the whole situation

he just wanted to call you his; was that too much to ask??

as explosive as he can be, he can be calm and collected too

and he really did try to be that way as he talked with you but it was very difficult at the moment

the dumbfounded and confused look on your face his face twitch with annoyance and his heart started beating faster bc god you were cute

BUT THATS BESIDES THE POINT RIGHT NOW

thank goodness after what seemed like years, you finally somewhat understood what happened

you didn’t understand completely but it was something

The two of you stood in the middle of the unusually empty hallway facing each other, you with the bouquet still in hand. It was quiet as you and Chuuya assessed the situation.

You looked at him skeptically and he stared right back you with his gorgeous blue eyes.

“...So you do like me Chuuya-san??”

“Yes”

“And you were trying to court me just now, not friend zone me??”

“Yes”

You got most of your questions out of the way, but there was something that you’ve been wondering about for quite a while.

“...So you’re not gay for Dazai-san??”

“Yes, im not wait—GAY FOR DAZAI?? THAT MACKEREL??”

Chuuya did a double take. What in heavens name made it seem like he liked that suicidal maniac?? Why would he choose him if he had you?

Like he would choose him anyways; or ever consider him as a possible romantic partner.

“Oh, so you are?”

“NO! I SAID I LIKED YOU DIDN’T I?”

“Well yeah, but I thought you liked Dazai-san too. As annoying as he is, he can be quite charming—”

He was out of patience at this point (nope definitely not because you were talking about Dazai who told you that?) and just decided to kiss you.

You immediately melted into the kiss and kissed him back with the same amount of love and feeling.

Letting the bouquet fall to the ground, you wrapped you arms around his neck and his put his on your lower back and brought you closer to him. After a few more moments, the two of you broke apart for air.

The two of you, slightly out of breath, leaned your foreheads against each other and just basked in each others presence.

Chuuya looked into your (e/c) eyes and asked you just a little bit above a whisper, “Now do you get my intentions and feeling?”

You blinked at him before breaking out into a grin, “Hmm I’m not sure; do you wanna do that again Chuuya?”

The red head only blinked back at you before rolling his eyes, a smile present on his handsome features, his heart fluttering at you using his name with the honorific.

“Dumbass”

Smiling cheekily at him, you pressed a kiss on his cheek and started dragging him towards the lobby to take a walk around the building perimeter, knowing that the two of you can’t be too far from work.

The way down to the lobby was mostly in comfortable silence until you said something that made Chuuya want to bash his head against the wall.

“You know, you could’ve just told me you liked me Chuuya. It’s not like I would’ve said no.”

Once again, as the rest of the more power mafia members watch from security cameras, it is hard to tell whether Tachihara is crying or wheezing of laughter.

omake !!

The two of you just started making your way around the building when suddenly a very familiar voice came from Chuuya’s prized hat.

“Chuuyaaaa!! It was about time you stopped being a chicken, Chibi!”

Removing his hat from his head, he started yelling at it not knowing exactly where the listening device was planted.

“TEME! HOW DID YOU—”

“And (y/n)! I would congratulate you, but I think I would rather offer you my condolences. Why him?! He’s just a slimy slug. OOH OOH how would you like to join me in a double suicide?! A shame it won’t be a lover’s suicide but it’ll annoy Chuuya so I think it’ll be worth it! ”

“YOU—”

“And please don’t kiss while I’m listening in. You made me lose my appetite! And it was such a shame! I was eating crab using Kunikida-kun’s money! Do you know what you’ve cost me?!”

“DAZAI YOU PIECE OF—”

“Ah! Kunikida-kun is here! I have to go!”

You can hear something is the background that vaguely sounds like, “DAZAI YOU WASTE OF BANDAGES STOP USING MY MONEY”

“DAZAI DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE IM NOT DONE WITH—”

*Click!*

The click sound from the hat revealed that Dazai disconnected.

Chuuya twitched and glared furiously at his signature hat hating that the voice he hated the most came out of it.

“Aww, I didn’t get to talk to Dazai-san”

Chuuya whipped his head towards you, a look of mock (or real) betrayal showing on his features.

You laughed at him before taking the hat out of his hands and placing it on his head.

He shyly looked away before muttering a thanks making you smile wider. Just as the two of you were about to start walking, a small explosion erupted from his hat; it was likely that Dazai made the listening device self destruct.

“DAZAI YOU BASTARDD”

At the Armed Detective Agency, a certain suicidal maniac hid from the wrath of his current partner as he thought about the wrath his old one.

“Hmmm I wonder if Chuuya would finally stop wearing his ugly hats if I blow all of them up...”

as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason

[benevolentbirdgal]

“Thirteen” Tips on Writing Jewish Characters / Some  Jewish Identity Stuff Explained

So you want to write a Jewish character, but don’t want to write a caricature? Or are worried they won’t register as Jewish to readers, or something will be off or wrong? Well I, friendly (virtual) neighborhood Jewish professional, am here to help! 

Note: The Jewish community is made up of roughly 14 million people worldwide with all sorts of backgrounds, practices, life circumstances, and beliefs. I’m just one American Jew, but I’ve had exposure to Jewishness in many forms after living in 3.5 states (at several different population densities/layouts), attending Jewish day school and youth groups, doing Jewish college stuff, and landing a job at a Jewish non-profit. I’m speaking specifically in an American or Americanish context, though some of this will apply elsewhere as well. 

Let’s start with the word “Jew.” It’s not inherently a slur, but can absolutely be used as one. I am a Jew. You can call me a Jew, just not a Jew. Like most minority groups, there are slurs against us, but Jew is the proper demonym. It can be used disrespectfully as a noun, but isn’t inherently disrespectful. Think “Chava is a Jew” versus “You’re being such a Jew.” 1a. Any use of Jew as a verb by gentiles (non-Jews) is not okay. Your Jewish characters should be horrified by someone telling them they “Jewed down the price.” 1b. Any use of Jewess by gentiles is not okay and your Jewish character should not be cool with it.  1c. Many Jews would actively prefer to be called such because that’s what we are and “Jewish person” is stepping away from our Jewishness. But I get that not everybody is going to be comfortable calling us Jews. That’s okay, and “Jewish person/people” or “X is Jewish” is TOTALLY ACCEPTABLE.  1d. With that said, Jewish people refers to ourselves as Jews. If Sarah is Jewish but is squicked about referring to herself as a Jew, your Jewish readers will immediately know she’s written by a gentile.  1e. Actual slurs against Jews is a post for another time (did you know K*ke literally means circle?). 

Your Jewish-American character likely does not speak Hebrew, Yiddish, Ladino, or any other Judeo-Language (languages that are a mix of Hebrew and at least one other language, typically written in the Hebrew abjad). Three notes on this, however: 2a. If your character is an immigrant or the child of an immigrant, they might speak the Judeo-language of the old country. The most common will be Israeli-Americans speaking Hebrew, but families still speaking Yiddish, Ladino, Judeo-Arabic, and other families do still exist. The children of Jewish immigrants might also speak another language that isn’t a Jewish one, like Russian or Spanish.  2b. If they are in a VERY religious Ashkenazi community, they might speak Yiddish at home and in the community.  2c. Odds are decent, however, that your American Jew can read but not understand Hebrew. If your character went to Jewish Day School or Yeshiva, they definitely read Hebrew, and will have some understanding of it (but likely not fluency). 

Despite what I just said above, your Jewish-American character likely drops a lot of Yiddish words and phrases into their day-to-day speech. Which words/phrases in probably a list for another time, but the most common will be foods, family names (i.e. “Zayde” instead of Grandpa), and sassy expressions. They may incorporate some Hebrew to a lesser extent. 

There’s not just one version of kosher. There’s kosher, kosher-style, Halav Yisrael, glatt kosher, etc. Depending on your character’s level of kosher, they’ve need a hecksher (kosher mark) on any given item or only eat at kosher restaurants, although not all Jews keep kosher and many keep “kosher-style” (i.e. only eat theoretically kosher things).

Your Jewish character should be a whole character, both in general and in relation to their Jewishness. This means, among other things, that they aren’t obsessed with Israel and I/P discourse one way or the other and that while writing you remember that not all Israelis are Jews and not all Jews are Israelis. Your Jewish character is not constantly agonizing over the I/P situation, has a life outside of their Jewishness, and shouldn’t be a cardboard stand-in for your desire to discuss the middle east. 

The Jewish experience varies dramatically with geography. Jews living in Omaha, Richmond, Philly, Kansas City, Boca Raton, and New York City are all American Jews. They will have drastically different Jewish experiences. I strongly recommend doing research on the Jews in the specific place your story takes places, but generally:  6a. The closer you are to the northeast coast and NYC (except south Florida) the better and more varied your Jewish resources.  6b. NYC has the highest Jewish population of any city on the planet. Big cities like Boston, Chicago, and L.A., as well as just outside of NYC in NJ and NYS, and suburban/exburb south Florida will have lots of Jewish resources: day schools (Jewish + secular education mix), maybe Yeshivas (Jewish focus), multiple synagogues, a Jewish Community Center, Jewish dating services, social stuff, Jewish charities, and youth activities. Your character will have other Jewish friends and their gentile friends will likely know other Jews. Antisemitism is still a problem and usually takes the form of excluding Jews from activism, thinly-veiled stereotyping or excusing antisemitism from people from other oppressed groups, but it’s usually not as overt as elsewhere. Almost always safe to disclose Jewishness.  6c. Small and mid-size cities Denver, Virginia Beach, Charleston, and Harrisburg will have a JCC or Jewish federation, multiple synagogues, and maybe a Jewish day school. Your character is not the only Jew their gentile peers have met, but the bagels are meh. They will have other Jews to bond and commiserate with. Antisemitism here is mostly like that in big cities with occasional burst of overt incidents and attacks. It is generally physically safe for them to disclose Jewishness.  6d. Big towns and small cities in the south or mid-west will have maybe one synagogue - probably reform or Chabad. Your character will have to seek out Jewish spaces, but they will be easy to find. They will not be everybody’s First Jew, but it will be unusual. Antisemitism here is mostly overt - most of the antisemites your character deals with will be very obvious and many will be violent. Jews in such situations will not hide their Jewishness per se, but will be more selective in choosing to disclose it.  6e. Rural areas and small-small towns will not have a synagogue. Your character and their family may be the only Jews or there might be a small group that meets on occasion or carpools to the nearest synagogue. They will have to actively seek out the others Jews and they will be difficult to find. Disclosing their Jewishness is a serious consideration and not always safe. Odds are they are many people’s First Jew, which gets really weird real fast. Beyond the harmless ignorant-but-trying-to-learn-from-their-first-Jew types your character will interact with, there’s also violent and overt antisemitism here.  6f. If your character is in college, they will likely have a Chabad and/or a Hillel on campus if they are at a large school or a school with a significant Jewish population. 

Related: when Jews meet each other for the first time, a game of “Jewish geography” ensues as they try and trace people they know in the other person’s state/city/community. 

Jews come in all shapes, colors, sizes, genders, sexualities, politics, and religious beliefs. There are all sorts of Jewish people with tons of different intersecting identities. Don’t box yourself in to writing one kind of Jew. Just research a ton on the particular subsection of the Jewish community your character is a part of - a Mizrachi-Jewish Persian-American bisexual woman is going to have a different experience than a straight Ethiopian-American Jewish man who is going to have different experience from a queer Ashkenazi-Jewish-American girl with non-Jewish family.  8a. Jews with Ashkenazi (eastern/northern European) ancestry and customs are the biggest group in the U.S., but by no means the only group or representative of every Jew. Sephardi (Spanish/southern European/north Africa), and Mizrachi (north Africa and the middle east) are the next biggest groups. It would not be unusual for your character to have Polish-Jewish, Iraqi-Jewish, Moroccan-Jewish, or Russian Jewish ancestry or a mix.  8b. Each of these groups have their own customs, Judeo-languages, local holidays, and local historic tragedies. Generally, historic Sephardi communities were linked between themselves, historic Ashkenazi communities were linked between themselves, and historic Mizarchi communities were linked between themselves. The three had some, but limited contact. Additionally, all three major groups have subdivisions within them.  8c. There are also smaller groups that don’t fall within the three traditional categories, like the Ethiopian Jews, the Cochin Jews (India), Chinese Jews, Gruzim (Georgian), and more. Most of these smaller groups were not in contact with the wider Jewish world.  8d. All Jewish groups start from the same base texts (the written Torah), and the majority include the oral Torah as well. Local interpretations and traditions develop, these are referred to as minhag(im) (customs). For example, the biblical commandment is to not boil a baby goat in its mother’s milk. Some communities extend this to mean no chicken and milk, others reason that chickens don’t produce milk so the mixture is acceptable. Both are equally valid interpretations rooted in tradition, but they are different.  8e. Marrying between Jewish subgroups in the U.S. is super common and outside of extreme or really intense groups is not frowned upon. Traditionally, the father’s minhagim are followed, i.e. a Syrian-Jewish father and a Spanish-Jewish mother would follow the Syrian-Jewish minhagim with their children. Many modern couples choose the mother’s traditions or mix them up, but that’s the traditional route. 

Unless they are VERY religious, your character’s family is unlikely to be particularly wound up about them being LGBTQ the way a comparably Christian family might, at least not because they’re Jewish. Samuel’s Jewish mother is likely unconcerned he likes boys and is much more empathetic than he must marry a Jewish boy and raise any kids Jewish. 

There are so many Jewish holidays, and they are not all celebrated the same or with the same intensity. Probably enough material for its own post, but the ones most likely celebrated by your character: 10a. Shabbat and/or Havdalah. Shabbat starts Friday nights with candles, wine/grape juice and challah bread, Havdalah ends Shabbat with a braided candle, wine, and aromatic spices. Shabbat dinner is usually a meat meal and it is common to invite guests or eat with friends and family (in normal times).  10b. The “High Holidays” - Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. Jewish students often skip school for these. Yom Kippur is a 25 hour fast with services all day, Rosh HaShanah has services in the evening and morning.  10c. Passover - arguably the most important holiday. Celebrated with two sometimes agonizingly long Seders (ritual meals), family gatherings, and abstaining from leavened bread for 7/8 days.  10d. Hanukkah - Not actually that spiritually important, but culturally important for American Jews. Typically celebrated with candle lighting, presents, visits to family members, and greasy food. 

There’s a lot of wine involved in Jewish ritual, so it’s unlikely your character’s Jewish family are teetotalers. 

Jewish families tend to be very intense, loud, opinioned, caring, and involved, compared to many other assimilated American families. Shabbat dinner is not quiet. Dissent is a Jewish value - differing opinions are allowed (and expected in many circles), as is the ability to argue/defend competently. 

Jewishness can mean ethnic identity, cultural identity, and/or religion. There are several major denominations religiously, although that needs to be its own post in detail. The noteworthy movements at this point are Orthodox (further subdivided into Ultraorthodox and Modern Orthodox), Conservative (middle of the road, no relation to conservative politics), Reform, and Reconstructionist (both very “choose your own/your community’s adventure).

Probably will write more parts in the future, but this is heinously long already! Hope this is helpful!

[hanaseispeach]

Fathers of twins headcannons

Before you read: eeee I can’t believe this is my first hc that i’m writing after not writing anything for like 5 years!!! I hope I do okay in this piece. 

Request: Overhaul and Shigaraki as fathers of twins, and because of where the manga is currently, i am going to make this a quirkless AU 

* just a side note before I get into the headcannons, this will be a fem!reader only because I have not wrote for gender neutral so please understand that i am trying my best, hopefully in the next couple things I write will be GN or stated otherwise :) * 

TW: MENTIONS OF ABORTION & MENTIONS OF ABUSE (only in shigarakis though), AND SPOILER WARNINGS FOR SHIGARKI’S NAME AND IDENTIFICATION

-Overhaul (Chisaki Kai):

- first of all let’s take a look at him and Eri, this man HATED her. so you know what since this is an AU im just going to assume that he would be slightly more okay with having kids since there are no quirks for him to worry about

- I personally see kai as either a doctor or a health teacher, but no matter what you think his occupation is I know on thing for certain, this man loves you and his kids

- you and kai both agreed that you would have children you were all married and settled down with stable incomes but I also feel like if you were to get pregnant before getting settled down then yall would still love them both just as much

  - both of your children are named after traits that they portrayed when they were born. Akihito (meaning bright and compassionate) and Kenji (strong and healthy), with Akihito being born just 3 minuets before Kenji

- since they are twins they look the same and they take most of their looks from you, but as they get older kenji has more of kai’s personality and akihito has more of your personality

- since Kai has severe germaphobia, before he even thinks to change those kids’ diapers he put on the full mask and gloves, not the hazard suit because they are HIS kids

“Kai, sweetie can you change ‘hito’s diaper while I change kenji?”

and in comes kai fully decked out while you’re just deadpan

-when kenji and akihito get older, they both branch off into their own little worlds, so it get’s kind of difficult trying to play with one while the other wants to do something entirely different

-akihito is a total mommy’s boy and always want to play ‘princess and hero’ where he saves you from the bad guys (which he makes kai be, and he’ll do it only because he loves seeing his son so happy)

-Kenji wants to be just like his dad, saving peoples lives and caring for his family. kenji always wants to play doctor and he always looks to kai whenever he wants to play

“papa, can you teach me how to be a doctor. I want to be just like you”

- later that night after you guys tucked in the little ones, he cried while laying down in bed,

“kai, babe what’s wrong?” you ask, worried that he might be thinking about one of his patients again,

“kenji wants to be just like me, i’ve never been told that before.” he says, while trying to stop himself from producing even more tears.

- he somehow knows the difference between the twins from the get go, and not because of their personality traits, but very miniscule features of theirs.

- kenji has a little birthmark right on his wrist while akihito doesn’t

-whenever you’re at work and kai is home alone with the boys, he likes to color or play a combination of the two of their favorite games and when you come, you can either find them asleep on the floor or doing something and all of them are smiling and having a good time

-Tomura Shigaraki (Shimura Tenko):

- now this crusty mo musty gremlin

- he very much wanted as many kids as he wanted because he wants to give them the life that he couldn’t have

- since he was abused by his father, he fears that he may turn out like him so when you told him you were pregnant he was anxious

- when you told him that since the both of you were still kind of young, abortion was always an option but he quickly refused and told you how much he wants kids he’s just scared

- you reassured him that he was nothing like his father and his mood lightened 

- after going to the doctors and finding out you were pregnant with twins he became even more anxious, but you were still there for him

- when your kids kenzo & ami were born, tenko instantly fell in love.

-Kenzo, meaning humble and Ami, meaning second and beautiful, was just that. Kenzo was born first while Ami was born mere seconds after her brother.

- I personally see tenko as youtuber or a video game creator if he didn’t have a quirk, so he usually works from home so that means he spends a lot of time with his kids 

- he is definitely the type of dad to feed his kids candy or junk food for dinner when you’re not home OR he forgets to feed them all together until you remind him or they remind him

“Hey, did you feed the kids today while i was gon-”

you were not expecting to find him and your children eating a pie straight from the tin and this would be his defense,

“but it’s apple, you’re always telling us to eat more fruits”

yeah that day he got sent to the couch...

- since it’s cannon that tenko is very childish and acts like a child, he will get along with his babies so well but you swear you’re taking care of 3 kids instead of 2

- and since he has his child like tendencies, for example, your kids are very big on cuddling and you’re so comfy and warm that they just lay and cuddle into you and when tenko see’s this, he is jealous 

- he just looks over to you and just starts glaring at his kids and you

- sometimes if he’s really jealous, he’ll move his kids to lay on you

- going back to when you aren’t home, he is such a laid back dad,

“hey dad can i sit on your lap while you play your games?”

“sure, don’t move around though, you’ll distract me”

- ami is totally a daddy’s girl, she wants to play video games just like him

“Ami it’s time to do your homework’

“but daddy doesn’t do homework and i want to be just like him”

- now you make him do a addition sheet right next to her so she can do her work

- kenzo prefers to just silently play his own video games, he also wants to be like his daddy but he really means he likes video games

- both take your looks mostly and his personality and since they aren’t the same gender that means they’re fraternal twins

- taking care of 3 kids basically can be difficult, but since tenko himself is child like, he helps when it comes to entertaining and keeping them happy, and you couldn’t be happier

@vangooh-works

[marvels-agents100]

in the hands of tyche

“for those who believe, no proof is necessary. for those who don’t believe, no proof is possible.” stuart chase

pairing: aaron hotchner x gender neutral ! reader

warnings: slight swearing

word count: 4,603

author’s note: thank you for your patience with this request! it is such a cool concept and it was so, so fun to write. also, im putting together a lil ~thing~ in celebration of hitting 100 followers, so stay tuned :)

“Some psychic this guy is,” Rossi muttered, “this place is as far from a rocky shoreline as you can get.”

Hotch pulled back the blue plastic tarp that was draped in front of the window, revealing a view of lighthouse perched upon a rocky shoreline. Of course, it was a mural painted onto the brick wall of the neighboring building, but it was still a rocky shoreline, nonetheless.

“Dave,” Hotch said, the amusement not lost in his voice. The ghost of a smile danced on his lips as he turned back to his friend, more entertained by the legendary David Rossi being wrong than a psychic being right.

Meanwhile, at the local police department, you were placing Aaron’s files into his briefcase, hoping to have the station cleaned up for him and Dave before they returned. You set the files before you, biting onto your cheek as you tried to picture how Hotch would order them himself. Pensive thoughts brought about your fidgeting with the silver band that wound around your third finger. It was something you did whenever you got lost in your mind, playing with the engraved ring Jack had insisted Aaron purchase for you when they visited Disneyland the autumn before. Small sparkles and fireworks were etched into the metal, a small reminder of happiness when the days seemed dark.

You remember the day you received it, waiting at the airport terminal for the Hotchner boys. The moment you locked eyes with Jack, his smile had lit up the room and he began to sprint towards you, arms open and insistent. You knelt to catch him, his small body colliding with yours, your laugh filling the air.

It was short lived, the hug he gave you, because he quickly ripped himself away and ran back towards his dad. Jack’s tiny hand grabbed into his father’s first two fingers (his small palms were unable to fully grasp Aaron’s hand), desperately pulling the two of them towards you.

“Dad! We have to give them the present!” His little feet were skidding on the tile in excitement, sneakers jumping erratically against the linoleum. A giggle accompanied Aaron’s wide smile, his own feet moving at a purposefully slow pace, just to savor the unbridled excitement his son displayed.

“Present?” You questioned as the boys finally reached you, your eyebrow raising in Aaron’s direction.

“I picked it out all by myself!” Jack exclaimed, pointing a finger at his chest. The small lisp on his tongue only made his pride more endearing.

“He did,” Aaron agreed, his usually serious tone abandoned, “he refused to let me have any involvement in the choosing of presents.”

When you did finally receive the ring- back at Aaron’s apartment, where he could comfortably dig through his luggage- Jack also had to show you the other presents he had chosen for the rest of the team. The line-up included a Stitch bobble head for Auntie Penny and a Genie stuffie for Uncle Dave, to name a few.

Ever since that day, that ring was permanently placed on your finger- the sweet, innocent smile of Jack Hotchner calming your mind whenever you saw it. It had become a grounding mechanism during particularly difficult cases.

You decided to order the files by date, starting with the earliest murders. However, before you could even begin, your instincts froze your movements. The hairs along the base of your neck straightened, a slight shiver circling around your spine. Your eyes scanned the room subtly, meeting the gaze of none other than Stanley Usher, a resident psychic that was involved on the case, who was standing beside an officer across the room.

Abandoning your organizational pursuits, you walked the length of the room towards him.

“I have a feeling you haven’t heard this,” you began, “but thank you for helping on this case.” You decided to start politely, rather than confronting him for his obvious staring problem.

You held your hand in front of you, offering him a handshake.

“You believe I helped?” He questioned, smile never faltering as his palm shook yours briefly.

“I think it doesn’t matter what I believe,” you shrugged, “you gave someone hope when all was lost, and contributed to helping find a missing woman. I thank you for you intentions, whether your predictions came true or not.”

His eyes narrowed at you slightly, but that might have just been from his widening smile.

“I appreciate that,” his voice had a gentleness to it- you could see how he was so successful in his line of work. Anyone with a comforting timbre to their words would be easy to believe.

You nodded curtly, spinning on your heel to return to your work.

“And, Agent?”

You looked over your shoulder, pausing your stride momentarily.

“Chase him,” his lifted his hand, his thumb pointing to the base of his middle finger. Your eyes flickered to the silver ring on your own.

“When the summer rain falls, you’ll know he’s chasing you, too.”

You stared back at him for a moment longer, eyebrow raised in question. Then, wordlessly, you turned forward and moved to the aforementioned table, shaking away the completely ridiculous thoughts Stanley Usher had placed into your mind.

‘Chase him’? 

Yes, it was vague, and your skeptical mind told you that there was absolutely no logic behind it, but the certain Supervisory Special Agent that immediately popped into your thoughts was far from vague. Aaron Hotchner had occupied your conscious (and subconscious) mind rent-free, and his tenancy was a fact you did your best to ignore. But, despite your best effort, his deep, honey eyes and velvet voice never left you alone, even when you tried so hard to escape them.

There wasn’t a single soul who knew of your infatuation with your Unit Chief, and there was no way in hell Stanley Usher would know.

***

The jet was quiet on the trip home. You were sat beside Hotch- as per usual- while he read a book, his chin resting in his palm, elbow perched on the armrest of his seat. Mind somewhere between conscious and asleep, you lulled your head towards him.

“Hey, Hotch,” you spoke lowly, in order to not disturb everyone else on the plane, “guess what?”

A chuckle slipped past his lips, your obviously sleepy demeanor amusing him, “What?”

“Usher, the psychic guy, gave me a prediction.” You bit back a smile on your bottom lip, your slightly delirious state missing the way Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips momentarily.

“Really?” A small grin- a shit-eating grin- settled on his features, (he always smiled so damn much when it came to you),  “Alright, I’ll bite. What did he say?”

“He basically told me that we’re gonna fall in love- something about summer rain?” you chuckled, lifting your hand, “And he got all of that from this ring.”

The falter in Hotch’s smile lasted only a millisecond, but the way his pulse raced was something he was sure would last for a few hours.

“I think that just confirms my theory,” Hotch relaxed further into his chair, eyes moving back to the novel in his lap, “that guy is a complete fraud.”

The back of your hand met his shoulder in a playful smack, “You’re an ass,” you settled into your own seat as well, closing your eyes as you began your first attempt at sleeping, “It would be a privilege to love me.”

And you were far into your own dreamland before he could even think about replying, but even if you were awake and alert, his honest reply would’ve died on his tongue before he even spoke the words.

Yes, he thought, it would.

***

There were no more discussions of a potential love, or Stanley Usher, following that late-night jet conversation. Life was nothing short of normal and wonderful, with the days spent in the BAU full of cases and paperwork, and the days off spent with Jack and Aaron, (since Hailey let Aaron take Jack on his days off), or in the comfort of your own home. That’s not to say your feelings had disappeared, but rather you had never broken your routine of completely burying them.

Little did you know, the words you shared with Aaron that night had yet to leave his mind. It was a terrible and abrupt realization, how much he truly cared for you. It was a subject he had never fully confronted within himself- whether it was out of fear or avoidance, he didn’t know. But, since your sleep-induced thoughts spilled from your lips, they had wormed their way into the forefront of his memory and had given little respite to the anxious worry they brought with them. It was entirely stressful, trying to figure out his own emotions.

There was only one thing he was certain of: he had wondered how your lips would taste on far too many occasions to call it normal daydreaming.

He found himself struggling with his self control when you were around Jack. There was something about the way his son smiled at you, that made him want to hold you for an eternity. The swell in his chest brought a warm fullness that he hadn’t known he was missing, but the feeling of it’s presence became addicting. He found himself yearning for you, missing your company, wishing to hear your voice.

“Watch out!” You had yelled to him, running from the giggling Jack Hotchner, “It’s the baby monster!”

Jack squealed in delight, hands held in front of him like an adorable, undead zombie, feet pattering on the hardwood flooring as he chased you.

Ah, there it is.

Like a breath of fresh air, the feeling returned. The weightlessness it brought made Aaron float.

***

The sun shone brightly as you entered the BAU, and while the bright weather is something you usually praised, the lingering pain of the previous night’s bad decisions was keeping you from basking in the light. Damn Emily and her affinity for whiskey.

The travel mug of coffee in your hand made a satisfying clink against the wood of your desk, your half lidded eyes reaching a file that hadn’t been there when you left yesterday. In fact, it was a file you had turned in a few days prior. On top of the manilla was an orange sticky note, the unmistakably messy writing of none other than Aaron Hotchner scrawled on it.

MISSING ME’S TOXICOLOGY SCREEN- SECOND VICTIM

AH.

You sighed as you settled into your seat, picking up the landline to call in for the report.

He subtly watched you from his office, almost chuckling at the slump in your shoulders. You were never able to say no to Emily, regardless of how many shots she brought to you. A smile tilted at his lips, but was quickly gone as a knock sounded from the door.

“Come in,” he called. JJ’s head poked in, a sizable stack of files in her arm.

“Good morning,” she greeted, “I just wanted to let you know, they’re postponing maintenance repairs on the jet until tomorrow.”

He shuffled papers around, eyes following his work’s movement, “Are there any cases you’re considering? Should we start looking at commercial?”

“Thankfully, no,” there was hint of a laugh in her words, “which is good. I’ve never liked flying in the rain.”

His actions stopped momentarily, gaze snapping up to the woman in his doorway. Desperately, he tried to keep his features from displaying how his heart had dropped from his chest.

“That is good,” he agreed, his voice surprisingly strong, “keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled, the door clicking shut as she retreated back to her office.

He let out a long, drawn out breath as soon as she left, suddenly feeling dizzy and very, very warm. The intensity of his pulse was something that echoed in his ears, which became red at the very ends to match his cheeks. He had put his best efforts into keeping the words of Stanley Usher from his mind, but it was a lost cause as soon as JJ had mentioned the rain.

Eyes moving back to you, he felt the nerves begin to eat away at his gut. You were obviously miserable, but somehow, someway, the slight frown on your features and the (mildly) disheveled state of your hair was enough to lift the very corner of his lips into a minuscule smile. Even on one of your worst days- which is beyond understandable, from your choice of a drinking partner- you were, in Hotch’s eyes, the most beautiful being he had ever seen.

***

It took a little over an hour to get the toxicology screening faxed to the unit, machine sputtering as it printed. You slipped the paper into the file, the soles of your shoes clicking against the floor as you made your way to Aaron’s office. Knuckles tapping lightly on the wooden door, you poked your head in.

“I have that file completed,” you smiled, holding up said file in the doorway.

“Come in,” he didn’t look up from the papers below his pen.

You didn’t think much of his focus, moving into the office and putting your revised work on top of the tower of manila that sat on his desk.

“Anything you need?” You offered, fingers twisting the ring on your finger, “Coffee? Food? A break?”

He finally looked up at you, eyes flickering to your fidgeting hands.

“No,” his voice was soft, “but thank you.”

You nodded shortly, a polite smile on your lips before you turned and left, suppressing a shiver that ran down your spine. There was something that was bothering him, you knew. His whole demeanor was slightly shifted, slightly wrong. Even if you didn’t know the reason, you sure as hell didn’t want to deal with an oddly behaved Hotch for the remainder of your day.

You popped two Advil into your mouth at your desk, willing your headache to leave you as you began plotting.

***

Your final decision was that of the edible route. If there was anything in the world that could create a smile on Aaron Hotchner’s face, it was a blueberry scone from the hole-in-the-wall cafe three blocks north of the BAU. Your lunch break was spent walking to, and dining at said cafe, enjoying a scone and coffee yourself, the second round of caffeine helping to ease the remnants of your hangover.

Emily hadn’t stopped teasing you since the moment you had clocked in that morning. She was as chipper as ever, acting as if she had gotten a full eight hours of sleep and didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol the night before. The way she seemed invincible to the source of your destruction only further proved your point that God is a woman, and her name is Emily Prentiss.

But, despite the jokes and jabs from your close friend, the BAU had been oddly quiet. Any day spent without a case was something to be marveled at in and of itself, but the tense atmosphere extended further than that. Specifically, into the Unit Chief’s office. Derek had talked to you about it briefly, the way Hotch was acting. 

“I know that office is his home, but the closed door is a bit concerning.”

You agreed, but neither of you knew how to go about a solution. Eventually, you had retreated back to your desk and subsequent mountain of paperwork. It was while you were finishing a file on the cop-killer in Phoenix, Arizona, that the famous blueberry scone made an appearance in your mind.

It was quickly followed with a mental image of Aaron Hotchner’s smile, but you elected to ignore that. (You also ignored the way your heart was beating because of it).

You were one block away from the Quantico Headquarters when the sunny sky split,  unleashing a rain that was just heavy enough to soak you thoroughly.

Water dripping off your clothes, you stepped into a nearby clothing shop, heading straight to the clerk.

“Do you sell umbrellas?” You asked, arms crossed and fist still gripping onto the scone-filled plastic bag. 

“Back corner over there,” he said politely as he pointed, obvious sympathy in his eyes.

Nodding, you turned and followed his direction, tugging a new shirt and slacks from their hangers as you walked. A bucket of umbrellas sat exactly where he said they would be, all patterned differently.

Naturally, you took the plain, black one, moving towards the front of the store once again.

“Is it okay if I change into these clothes after?” You questioned, placing your items on the counter.

“Of course,” he replied with a smile, “dressing rooms are just around that corner.”

Paying him quickly, you grinned, “thank you.” 

You sent the polite retail worker one last smile as you exited the store, wet clothes in the plastic bag the scone was previously in, the treat protected only by the paper pastry bag the baker had placed it in. Everything was better- since you were armed with an umbrella and fresh clothes- until you glanced down to your watch. You were, without a doubt, late.

The sprint you took off into was that of complete panic, knowing the team was sure to be questioning your absence. You were always so punctual- any deviation longer than five minutes (which was tripled, at the time), was noticed immediately. 

Shoes splashing in the pavement’s puddles, the FBI building finally came into view. You huffed as you walked up to the secured, employee-entrance door, reaching for the ID card that always sat at the hem of your shirt.

The dread that filled you when you grasped air was nothing short of terrible.

Your eyes moved to your hip, and there was empty space where that card, adorned with that terrible ID photo, should have been. Frantically, your hand patted at your pockets, only to find them empty. Your other hand was occupied with the umbrella, bag of clothes, and blueberry scone.

As your self-pat down turned up fruitless, your frustration took over, causing you to close and abandon the umbrella for the sake of using both of your hands. The rain soaked you quickly, which only added to the tension. And, as if you hadn’t suffered enough, the stress had begun your alcohol induced headache once again.

It wasn’t until your smiling face, next to the title ‘Supervisory Special Agent’, shone through the plastic bag that your erratic search stopped. 

Of course, you thought, a wave of relief rushing over you, of course it’s still on my other shirt.

In reality, opening that plastic bag should’ve been an easy enough task, but the shakiness of your post-drunken fingers and the slickness that came with the rain proved it to be the complete opposite.

To say you could cry from the pure frustration with the entirety of your situation was an understatement.

“Damn it!” You exclaimed, letting the bag drop to the concrete. It landed next to the now soaked scone- the entire reason you had left the building in the first place.

You had half the mind to call Emily and beg her to let you in quietly before the entrance’s door swung open.

“Good God,” you groaned, “this day just keeps getting better.”

Hotch stood in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed as the took in your outfit change, your dripping hair, and the umbrella, plastic bag, and paper bag at your feet. Honestly, it was a lot to process.

“Should I ask?” He questioned, one eyebrow lifting. It took everything in him to fight off his smile.

“I mean it with complete sincerity when I say: I will kill you if you do,” you threatened.

“Noted,” he chuckled, stepping into the rain and picking up the previously discarded umbrella. He opened it swiftly, holding over his and your head. “Are you okay?”

And his voice was so soft and so damn tender, you almost lost it then. It didn’t help that he was entirely too close to you.

“I went to get you a scone,” your eyes peeled from his and landed on the pastry bag, sure to be containing the soggy remnants of said scone at that point, “It started raining, and it all went downhill from there.”

He followed the trail of your eyes, looking at the sad, saturated brown bag, “Why did you do that, sweetheart?”

Ignoring the feeling the pet name gave you, you met his gaze once again, “You’ve been in a funk today. Thought I’d try to cheer you up.”

He sighed, eyes jumping between yours, “I appreciate it, even if it didn’t survive the trip here.”

“Yeah,” you cracked a smile, “what a short, sad life.”

“Very sad,” he agreed, his own smile widening with yours. 

You stared at him for a moment, before realizing your stupor and quickly saying, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“You’re alright,” he shook his head with his words, denying your need for an apology.

“I figured someone would notice I was gone,” you chuckled, “I left my ID on my first pair of clothes, then had a disagreement with the bag.”

“I definitely saw all of it,” he smirked.

“Dick,” you nudged him, still trying to calm your pulse.

“I know,” only a couple steps closer and you would be pressed against him, “but yes, I noticed you were gone.”

What he didn’t say was how hesitant he had been to retrieve you. It was summer, rain was falling from the sky, and the predictions of some small-town psychic were weighting heavily on his mind. Despite his skeptic nature, the mere thought of standing with you in the rain was enough to bundle his stomach into a nervous knot. There were very little things he couldn’t control about himself, and his ability to restrain his feelings while standing beside you in a soft rain was something he was absolutely sure he couldn’t control.

And you know, sometimes he was so annoyed with how right he was.

Because, as he stood before you- small water droplet stains on his charcoal grey shoulders and little drips falling from the ends of his hair- he could feel every ounce of self control slip from his grasp. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure if he was holding on very tightly to begin with.

It was completely your fault, he had decided. It was your fault because you had walked in the rain, almost got into an altercation with a plastic bag, were still fighting off a whiskey hangover- and yet, you managed to be just as radiant and beautiful as you had always been. It was your fault because you made him feel warm as he stood in a chilled rain. It was your fault because he was standing so close to you and wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold you.

If you weren’t so damn perfect, he wouldn’t be at war with himself.

“Hotch?” You asked, your eyebrows creased together, “You okay?”

He broke from his thoughts, blinking at you. There was a moment before he spoke, words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them.

“Stanley Usher.”

“Stanley Usher?” You repeated.

“What did he say?” He questioned, “About the summer rain?”

“You can’t be serious-“

“Please.”

“Why?” You interrogated, “What does he have to do with- oh.”

You met his eyes with your own, allowing yourself to read him- which was usually off limits. He looked desperate, almost yearning, for an answer. It was almost laughable, the thought of him believing the words of Stanley Usher. You hadn’t forgotten them, but you were far more spiritual than Aaron. He was the one who was supposed to be completely level headed and realistic.

“Aaron, be honest with me,” you began, “are you asking me because you want to justify your feelings?”

Maybe it was too bold, but you needed the answer, and were far too frustrated with the day to dance around the subject.

The way he immediately looked to the ground was answer enough. You sighed, saddened by the fact that he felt ashamed. It was expected, his embarrassment with himself. Anyone who had feelings for a subordinate would act the same.

You sighed before speaking.

“It reminds me of you, the rain,” you said softly. His eyes flickered up to you, looking through his lashes.

“It’s a little cold, but it’s soft and refreshing,” you continued, reaching up and tracing your fingertips on his temple, “I would dance in it all day, if I could.”

He knew what you were saying, and it took his breath away.

Your hand dropped to your side, your head tilting slightly to get a better look at him, “Would you?”

And all at once, he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. The umbrella clattered onto the pavement, his large hands holding your face instead, pulling you to him and connecting your lips to his. You let out a surprised squeak, but quickly relaxed into his touch, winding your arms around his neck.

He kissed you desperately, like the rain would wash you away as soon as he let go. You let yourself get lost in him, throwing every reservation and hesitation to the wolves. He seemed to do the same, hands finding your waist and pulling you closer. He wanted no empty space between you. Happily obliging, you tightened your grip around him.

You wanted desperately to learn every detail of him, to feel his breath with yours, to match the beating of his heart. You wanted to know every flaw, every weakness- every portion of him, no matter how small. He had become your everything, and you were content with that first kiss being your last first kiss.

Even as the rain relentlessly fell upon the two of you, no complaints were heard. The raindrops were simply an audience to the resolution of an unspoken love.

You were the first to break away, unable to ignore your empty lungs. Neither of you moved to untangle from each other.

“Aaron,” you breathed, your words brushing against his lips, “we’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do,” your eyes flickered to the cameras lining the federal building before you.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling, “Forgive me if I don’t care.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” you pressed a chaste peck to his lips.

“Mm,” he hummed as you pulled away, “I have been waiting to do that for a while.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for a while.”

Your teasing tone was not lost on him as he bumped your nose with his, “We are both going to get sick from this rain.”

“Worth it,” you sighed, connecting his lips with your own once again.

And he couldn’t agree more. Even when you both caught a nasty cold, even when Strauss confronted you about your ‘romantic endeavors’, even when the team teased the living hell out of both of you- it was all worth it.

You were worth it.

***

Stanley Usher sat in his living room, flipping through channels before landing on the news, the local weather man flashing on the screen.

“-and, as the weekends come, we expect precipitation on the west coast-“

And he felt it, the phantom metal around his middle finger, the overwhelming warmth in his chest. He looked to the ceiling, almost able to hear the soft patter of rain on pavement. His thumb brushed the coolness away from his finger, and he settled into his couch cushions, a smile never leaving his face.

taglist:

@quillvine​ @winterscaptain​ @agenthotchner​ @davidrossi-ismydad​ @misskirkstark​ @good-heavens-chris-evans​ @vintagecaptainspidey​

[plush-rabbit]

What headcanons you have in request box actually? I'm really curious lol. Have nice day btw, I love your work!!!!!

Okay, so usually I put some in a doc and then like figure it out from there so if you've sent one in and haven't seen it, don't worry, it'll be done and added once I make a dent lmao. These are also a mix of hc and fics. Some I'm like part way through so ye

There also might be some that I might not do because its vague, like I'm given just the prompt and I don't know what to do with it or there's just no ideas that come to mind so I really am sorry.

Upcoming ones:

Met with Dia and he said “how else will you please me?” And I think it awoke something in me?? Can I request Diavolo with a bashful innocent MC and him just laying back and letting her have his way with him? But of course he’s a total dom so he’s gonna take control but just has a little fun letting her take the reins to start with? Hi. I just found your stuff and you write so well for Obey Me. Could I request a fic with Barbatos and a female MC? Maybe she's staying at the palace for whatever reason and when he goes to his room he hears her moaning his name so he checks on her but she's sleeping. The next day he hints that she must've had a good dream much to her dismay. That night he goes to her room and she's awake and they end up sleeping together. With some praise and maybe even some tail action. Thank you! Can I please get a uuuhhh possessive/borderline yandere Leon please :3c maybe it’s after a big match for her and everyone’s fawning over her and he steals her away and reminds her that she’s his? 💕✨ I saw those headcanons where Jin and Shigaraki became parental or sibling figures to the reader sooooooo how about headcanons of a fem!reader being a mother figure to the league? Just an ordinary citizen in her late twenties until she met the LOV unexpectedly, during the time where the league had to hide and the reader's place is conveniently open (then again I'm sure they'd bust in if it wasn't) and she didn't rat them out. This happened quite a lot of times to the point where the reader is used to it by now and just lets them in, even if they weren't hiding from anyone and just wants to stay for the night. When she got closer to the league, she starts to show care and love for them in a way a mother would the reader isn't a member of the league, but they already consider her as family :'D I just really want them to get care and love since they've been through so much Last week I literally sat down and read your writing for like an hour and a half LOL It’s just really good and I love your characterization! I was wondering if I could request Twice and Shigaraki with an s/o who tries to be cute and surprise them by wearing their clothes when they return from a mission but maybe the clothes are a bit too snug cuz they’re a little pudgy :( could also be nsfw if you’re ok with that!! Thank you so much 💜💜 I like the Lucky!Cat!reader hc. Could you do some for the LOV, with a Male Cat s/o? Thank you! You're the best!! I've been obsessing about flowers and their meanings or what they symbolize soooooo. How would the LOV react to their s/o giving them a certain flower and then finding out what the flower means/symbolizes? Hope this passes! It's a request for OM. Can I have headcanons of the brothers + Diavolo (if you don't mind) of their s/o dancing "Paradise Lost" by GAIN? Provided you a link to the video for reference 😁: https://youtu.be/4i32ANEa5mk Headcanons where the LOV has an s/o whose like a literal ball of sunshine. Always happy and bubbly, smiling and laughing, they just seem to epitome of joy. Until one day, they just break down, being so emotionally drained from different factors that they can keep up the act of being happy anymore Last week I literally sat down and read your writing for like an hour and a half LOL It’s just really good and I love your characterization! I was wondering if I could request Twice and Shigaraki with an s/o who tries to be cute and surprise them by wearing their clothes when they return from a mission but maybe the clothes are a bit too snug cuz they’re a little pudgy :( could also be nsfw if you’re ok with that!! Thank you so much 💜💜 hey!! hru? i have a question do you think shigaraki would like a threesome? what if his s/o didn’t want one bc she’s like possessive of him (in a non toxic way) hey plush, can you do a reader x Shiggy and Dabi whos crying to them/grabbing their shirts and burring themselves into shiggy and dabi/ about their verbally abusive ex, how theyre so different from them, so much nicer and softer, how they(the reader) never thought they could be loved or deserved kindness? its been one of those days, i just need some comfort. thank you♡ heyy!! ^^ can i request some headcanons for hawks reacting to his female s/o belly dancing for him? :3 Heyo this is beetle juice anon idk if u remember me I’m the person who said shiggy sounds like beetle juice, I swear I couldn’t get that thought out of my head so can I request shiggy and reader getting hit by a quirk that forces them to do a musically ( idk I just want shiggy to sing honestly lmaoooo) idk maybe both of them being shocked that both of them can sing hey, i absolutely adore your writing! i love going through all your work, they’re my comfort fics! 💞 i was wondering if you would mind writing something for tomura with an s/o who is insecure about her body and how skinny she is? she feels too flat, like she doesn’t have enough curves or that she’s grown into her body enough and it makes her feel less of a woman, that tomura could do better. and it makes her anxious when it comes to initimacy and being exposed to him because in her eyes he’s so perfectly handsome and she just feels inadequate... it’s something i’ve had to deal with pretty much my entire life, getting called names like stick insect and coat hanger, but lately it’s been eating away at me more and more. you can totally ignore this if you feel uncomfortable writing about this stuff, though! 💕 So, like. Hear me out. What if, with Bakugou and Dabi (separate) : MC is super innocent and cute, blushes at the slightest flirt, and “doesn’t get” dirty jokes, but as soon as they’re alone with their s/o? They are the kinkiest most vulgar bottom they’ve ever seen. Nipples pierced, collar under the turtleneck, chain strung between the piercings and the collar, all out kinda slut. The duality of man. (Gender neutral) Hello so may i request shigaraki with a s.o whos warm loving and protective and very innocent basically a s.o whos like mitsuri kanroji both personality and look wise Female pronouns,maybe they are out on a date getting ice cream and the s.o is so happy shiggy came, they hold hands and people start giving him odd looks only for her to stand up to the bullies who are saying things about shigaraki, it ends with her kissing him infront of everyone to prove a point,and when the get home she tells him she doesnt care what people think and makes love to him topping hin while telling him all the reasons she fell inlove with him,(omg im so sorrry its so long if you have tpo many requests or dont like the idea please tell me) hey, i absolutely adore your writing! i love going through all your work, they’re my comfort fics! 💞 i was wondering if you would mind writing something for tomura with an s/o who is insecure about her body and how skinny she is? she feels too flat, like she doesn’t have enough curves or that she’s grown into her body enough and it makes her feel less of a woman, that tomura could do better. and it makes her anxious when it comes to initimacy and being exposed to him because in her eyes he’s so perfectly handsome and she just feels inadequate... it’s something i’ve had to deal with pretty much my entire life, getting called names like stick insect and coat hanger, but lately it’s been eating away at me more and more. you can totally ignore this if you feel uncomfortable writing about this stuff, though! 💕 could we get a fem reader cock warming Dabi throughout the night and get morning sex >//< // ik youre a busy bee so dont feel obligated to rush or anything, take ur time plushie!♡ can we please get a shiggy x reader and the reader asks him to teach her how to game and she ends up being better than him and whatnot (inspired by that “a simple wager”) fic (if you ever decide to make a sequel to that i will ve DECEASED Can I request a sub shigaraki with a mommy kink getting pegged by the reader ( I just want to make him beg and cry honestly) reader is a female Omh give us noncon/somno w scary eraserhead plsss / aizawa and aphrodisiac smut pwease ( ；∀；) Overhaul and Chrono punishing quirkless reader for being an undercover reporter/agent but like orgasm denial... (Idk if you write this stuff but anyways do it if you want have a nice night) Can I request something like “Peaches and Cream” but with Piers instead? I know you’re busy with other requests, so don’t worry if you don’t have time for this one! I love love your writing!!! Hello beautiful can I just say how amazing ur writing is loll, can I request shigaraki having a crush on the reader and she knows about it, like one day shiggy just goes to her room when there on a mission and just steals her stuff and humps her pillows, but she has cameras in her room so she saw everything, long story short she shows him the videos and humiliates him (shiggy of course a mess and is close to crying from how embarrassing that is, lowkey turned on ) the reader takes care of him ( sorry I’m really bad at endings 🙏🏻😅) the reader pegs him until he’s a crying mess. By the way the reader is a female and shigaraki is a sub has a mommy kink and the reader is dom of that’s ok of course I love your writing!! May I ask for Diavolo x F!Reader with borderline disorder? 👉👈.. Lately it has been very difficult for me to deal with this alone and Diavolo is mine comfort character.. (NSFW Talk, If your a minor..then why are you even reading this?? Get off this 18+ page?? Anyways-). I am a huge sucker for overstimulation, biting and crying, (many of my past partners have called me a sadist-) and I just 𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑒 the idea of Tamaki’s cute face streaming with tears and drool as Male Reader vigorously overstims the fuck out of him. And he would look so 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 with his mouth gaping open in a silent scream of overwhelming pleasure because M!Reader gave his sensitive dick a handjob while he roughly railed Tamaki’s pretty little ass. (While abusing the fuck out of his G Spot, of course). I can just imagine him squirming and begging for mercy while M!Reader lovingly wrecks his body, taking him hard & fast in multiple different positions with each one making Tamaki wail with pleasure. He’s just so adorable, I just wanna see him get 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝~ Lusty ❤︎ -Anon. Bonus Points if you could have M!Reader be super fuckin tall, muscular, strong and also be absolutely PACKING. (This man has a godly dick, and it’s honestly a surprise Tamaki can take it so well without literally breaking in half) ahhhh hewwo could you maybe write something with dbd ghostface going full apotheosis for his crush? as in,, he starts to elevate her to a status of divinity and even when she's just cowering in fear in front of him or conversely stabbing him and causing him lots of pain he just keeps viewing her as some sort of deity and  can't stop obsessing over her and wanting more from her

Again. I deeply apologize for not doing some. I wish I could, but (and this is not to guilt trip any of yall or anything, I understand that it'll sound like that it but it ain't it) sometimes the work I put into something and the feedback I get is sometimes not it. Like I'll work hard and get nothing and listen, I get it, its fanfic, there's a bit more stigma to it rather than art but yeah. Its a ramble, and basically, I don't wanna put work into something that I'll only get a few likes on. So yeah. Agains this isn't guilt tripping, I get it. I'm a consumer of it and I get the gist of it but yeah. More thoughts later, when I can properly sit and write as I am currently in a home depot 

[ddaenggtan]

forever rain | knj | m

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

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

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

word count | 18.8k | cross posted to ao3

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

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

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

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

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

And then the couple moved in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, yeah, because it is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just want to feel the rain again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Face book, Park Jihyo, best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Am nice. I think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's the little things.

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

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

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

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

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

That's where you leave to?

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

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

Fun is what you spell on your sheet.

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

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

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

A while. Years. I think .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It rattles a little and you look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not this time.

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

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

It's invigorating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Clearly I can feel it, Casper."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You aren't sure you want to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't know if you want him to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Warm me up?” 

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

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

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

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

“Casper, are you ever scared?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever seen a light?” 

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

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

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

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

Once, you tell him. Just once.

“Why didn’t you go to it?” 

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

Because I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?!” You demand. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, so you regret it all then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But that was-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rainywritingsx]

Request: Can I get a bnha matchup please? ;u; I'm a transman, 165 cm, 20 and bi/pan with no gender preference. I'm usually quiet/reserved, monotone/boring when spoken to, but once a subject of interest is brought up, or when im with someone I'm comfy with, my personality does a 180 - I'm loud, sarcastic, and annoying. My sense of humor is all over the place lol Ive been told that I'm "old in spirit" bc I'm really mature when I need to be, even if most of the time I act like I'm 5 lmaoo

I'm pretty chill for the most part, idc what u do as long as it's not hurting anybodyhdjdh im also rlly stubborn but a huge pushover, dunno how that works. I'm both carefree and a worrywart (to both others and myself) and I typically hold my emotions in cause I don't wanna bother others. I try to help others 24/7, even if it affects me negatively. Uhh physically speaking im a lot stronger then look, and I own literally no nice clothes lol its all graphic Ts, cargo pants and hoodies for me

I'm a huge ass nerd when it comes to anything science related, especially paleontology + herpetology. I love all animals (no phobias) and I have 3 snakes whom I adore. I also like to draw and write occasionally. I have severe MDD and SAD, so even with meds I can have really bad depressive episodes and/or panic attacks. This is getting super long so I'll stop now fjfkh thank you !! Sorry if I repeated info I got a shit memory

Before I start, I personally have no experience with MDD or SAD, but I did look up both disorders and I hope that what I wrote about them is okay. If you’d like to correct me, please feel free to do so ^^ 

I’m sorry that this is so long lol, but I wanted to discuss as many things you noted as possible ^^ Hope you enjoy it!! ^^

Reminder that as of right now, requests are closed!

I ship you wiiiith

Hawks!

Your personality reminds me of a rainbow in a way? So, I feel like Hawks would never ever find a day boring with you! Since he has this whole thing of people calling him fast etc, I lowkey get the idea that that also applies to his personal relationships, so having someone with so many fun personality traits is perfect for him.

I think Hawks is mature in a way, just like you are. I mean, he started his own agency at 18 and a few years later he is the number 3 Hero, that definitely does something to you. So I think it’s nice to him that you are the same, while also remaining carefree most of the time. It makes his busy and serious life a bit more fun.

Your chill attitude is yet another thing Hawks loves, since he wants to be that way as well. Also, with his job, he most likely can’t always tell you everything about it for safety reasons. As for whether it’s hurting people… He can’t always promise you he won’t do that, but he will let you know it’s always with good intentions. Villains can’t always be defeated with just talking to them.

It kind of warms his heart when you are worried about him. I don’t think Hawks is really the type to fall in love easily, so if he had any relationships before meeting you they may not always have been genuine. While part of him likes it, he also doesn’t want you to worry. He always promises to come back, and it does make him a bit more careful when patrolling, because the last thing he wants to do is upset his wonderful boyfriend.

Now, when it comes to you keeping in your emotions, this is where it gets a bit difficult. I don’t know exactly how much time you two will be able to spend together, so he may not always be able to be there for you when you’re having a hard time. However, while Hawks appears to be chill, he’s also smart and analytic and notices when you are feeling down. He won’t force you to tell him what is wrong as he knows it’s hard for you, but he does reassure you that you’d never ever bother him and he will always listen to whatever you have to say. However, if it seems to go on for a long time, he might push you a bit more, simply because he knows keeping it in won’t do any good. But also here he can tell when it really gets too much, so if you still won’t tell him, he will be a little hurt, but definitely stop.

He thinks you’re the sweetest person ever, but he also worries about your well-being at times. If he sees you absolutely exhausted but still telling him everything is fine, he will just scoop you up and go somewhere so you can relax for a bit. Sorry not sorry :p

He thinks it’s kinda hot that you’re stronger than you may seem heh, like if you work out or just do something that requires strength and he sees it, he might make a flirty remark about it and appear chill but on the inside he lowkey panics because uhm what how is his boyfriend so attractive???? explain?

I don’t think Hawks cares that much about what you wear really, if you feel comfortable in it that’s all that matters. You could literally wear a potato sack and he will think you’re the most attractive person on the planet. He might even spoil you a little by buying you hoodies and other clothing which he knows you would love. And no, he won’t let you give it back, it’s yours.

I can’t really see Hawks being super interested in paleontology or herpetology, but he won’t mind you rambling about those things to him! While he might not always focus 100% on what you’re actually saying, he will study your face, smiling at how your eyes are lighting up and your lips are curled in a happy smile as you go on and on about it. If you catch him not listening to you, he will just make a remark related to your beauty, partly to see how you react and partly because he genuinely means it.

So you love animals? Bird boi is perfect for you, now he sees why you fell for him ;). He definitely likes birds, i don’t think he particularly adores any animals but I can see him strongly disliking some mammals like cats and dogs (I think these sometimes eat birds sooooo yeah..) He definitely thinks your snakes are pretty cool.

Hawks doesn’t seem like much of a reader, but he would definitely love to see your drawings! He thinks every single one of them is super awesome, and if you ever give one to him, he will definitely make sure it gets a special place in his house, a place where he can look at it easily whenever he misses you or just feels like it.

As for your MDD and SAD, at first Hawks will be clueless on how he can help you out. If you have a depressive episode that causes you to isolate yourself, he will definitely force you to go outside. It could be just walking to his place, or taking you on a nice flight at night over the city. Afterwards, he will bring you to your favourite restaurant or buy you food that he knows you love. You will also definitely be showered in lots of love and affection. If you’re uncomfortable with PDA however, he will only do it when you two are alone. He will also joke around and flirt with you just to see you smile, but if he sees it doesn’t help he will stop.

Same goes with your anxiety attacks, at first he’s completely lost on what to do. Hawks isn’t stupid of course, but he’s aware that every person is different. If he finds out about this before you have an attack, he will ask you what would help you in situations like that. However, if this happens without him knowing about it at all, he can recognise what’s happening and will do his best to get you to calm down first before talking about it with you. Hawks may not always seem like the most serious guy, but when it comes to you he’s dead serious and always careful. 

So, you’d be very lucky to have someone like him by your side :) Once Hawks is in a relationship, he will give his all. And any moment with him is definitely far from boring

[pekorosu]

re: the 20-page interview with fujimoto yukari and yoshida akimi

it covers a wide range of topics including her other works which i’m not familiar with and a bit of her personal life, so I’ll only jot down some bf related parts. note that this isn’t a proper translation… consider it a rough one with lots of paraphrasing, interspersed with my own thoughts.

- we begin with the most pressing question: why did ash die? lol

- yoshida mentioned that she had made up her mind for him to die from the very beginning itself. she did get conflicted about going through with it as the series was approaching its end, but the reason for that was river phoenix’s death. she was worried it would be in poor taste.

- fujimoto: how would the ending where he’s alive be like?

yoshida: well nothing much, he’s just not dead (laugh).

fujimoto: so nothing in particular will happen with eiji and they’ll remain separated…

yoshida: yes, that’s how it would be. but in the end i felt like what i decided at first would hit the mark just right.

- (note: this sounds like the 2nd last chapter to me...)

- yoshida started out with the concept of ash dying young bc she thought it would be sort of cool. an average person would live up to about 70 yrs while ash only lives up to 19. but in reality, dying young is p cruel so she wondered if it might a bit not good. but in the end, ash is still a killer. he spilled the blood of others to survive, so no matter what the reasons were, he would have had to settle that debt with his own life. so eventually that’s how she decided to conclude it. she also felt like he wouldn’t have had a long life anyway.

- fujimoto: did news of river phoenix’s death shock you?

yoshida: it sure did! (laugh). it felt sort of like,“why did you have to die now?”

fujimoto: and the fact that it was because of a drug overdose… it must have felt like too much of a coincidence.

yoshida: that’s true. […]

fujimoto: but there are many ways of dying, did you originally plan for him to die that way too?

yoshida: yeah it was pretty much like that. like in “ashita no joe” (laugh).

fujimoto: feels like “the fight’s finally over”.

yoshida: well it’s not exactly like that, but i did plan to have him die in a way that looked like it was for nothing.

- fujimoto then brought up yoshida’s older work, “california monogatari” where a character dies in a similar fashion. she said that there are many great deaths in shounen works, but the protag or deuteragonist always end up dying pointlessly. she asked yoshida why she thinks the reason for that is? yoshida said that in her case, “midnight cowboy” had been a very impactful movie. it’s the reason why she started drawing manga too. there’s a shocking death scene in there and she wondered if maybe she’s heavily influenced by that “imprinting”?

- fujimoto asked whether the shock came from seeing a character die such a death, and yoshida said that’s not it, it’s more of an overall thing. the idea that you’ll die if your partner isn’t there with you. it’s that sort of connection between two souls that’s on the brink of something. it’s not just a physical death, but a spiritual one, or a death of one’s self, or a “total” death when you’re connected to someone a certain way, which is what the movie is about.

- yoshida mentioned that a friend she went to see the movie with just casually went “what a dark movie” so she doesn’t know why she experienced such a huge shock either.

- (note: i know nothing about that movie so maybe i’m getting some wording wrong here >< but it’s definitely a vital piece of context as to why she writes things the way she does lol)

- fujimoto mentioned that some creators find that it takes a lot of strength to kill off characters even if it’s all fictional. she asked how yoshida personally feels about it. yoshida said that she’s not really bothered by it. esp for ash, if it weren’t for river phoenix’s death she wouldn’t have thought much of it. to her, dying young is not necessarily a sorrowful thing. whether a person was happy or lived a good life isn’t measured by how long they lived.

fujimoto: that’s true. but i think it’s hard to say that ash’s life had been “happy”. but, he died while reading eiji’s letter so maybe to ash, that was enough.

yoshida: that’s why i thought, isn’t it the happiest way for him to die? i mean, it is because he died that he gets to have eiji for eternity. eiji will never be able to forget him. it does feel kind of unfair (laugh).

- fujimoto asked if writing the story became more difficult considering that many world affairs have changed during the course of the series. yoshida said that it was. from the start, it’s been about the cold war between the east and west, so it never had much of a sense of realism to begin with. but after the soviet union dissolved, it got even less realistic and harder to write.

- (note: i think by “realistic” she meant like… it didn’t really feel close to home for jp readers?)

- fujimoto went on to ask how yoshida came up with the setting of “banana fish” as a drug that takes control over a person’s sense of self. yoshida explained that it so happened that she had an interest in drug-related stuff in her school years. read lots of books and stuff on the topic, also stories about the cia wanting to achieve mind control, us-russia competition, etc. she found that stuff fascinating.

- fujimoto: by the way, i heard that in the beginning, it was planned for eiji to be a girl.

yoshida: that’s right. i think it would have been fine if he had been a girl, but for me… i actually dislike the kind of girls who immediately go all kyaa! during action scenes, or to get in the male protagonist’s way and yet end up in a romantic relationship with him (laugh). it’s irritating, and a total nuisance. that’s why i didn’t really want to have female characters. better make it a guy then, i thought.

- (note: DOESN’T EIJI DO ALL OF THOSE THINGS THO??? LMAO IM WHEEZING also this makes eiji a trans guy in spirit i don’t make the rules :x)

- fujimoto: you also explored this sort of relationship between men in “california monogatari” in the form of heath and yves (sp?). yves had sexual feelings, but heath didn’t. it felt like ash and eiji were walking quite a fine line there too (laugh) but was it your intention to portray it that way?

yoshida: well, somewhat. eiji being a girl would’ve been fine by me, but if that were the case, the drama would get really predictable, wouldn’t it? if it becomes romantic, that would be it.

after all, there are just different emotions involved in relationships between guys or between girls. of course, if they were lesbians or homosexuals it would be the same as a romantic relationship between a man and a woman, but how is it like to be connected by feelings that are not like that? to me, that’s an enduring theme to explore, after watching midnight cowboy.

fujimoto: so, you wanted to explore connections that aren’t sexual in nature?

yoshida: well, sexuality is definitely still a part of it. more like, what is a connection between souls like?

fujimoto: in other words, for you, a soul contains sexual elements.

yoshida: that’s right.

fujimoto: so you meant something different from the idea of the soul and the body being separate.

yoshida: that’s different. it’s all lumped together, you see. i’m not adept enough to explore that.

- (note:  honestly this part kinda stumped me. i’m confused bc on one hand it sounded like she chose to make this between 2 guys bc she sees that the feelings involved are different from a typical gay relationship (bc of the implication that romantic relationships are all similar regardless of gender). but at the same time she’s also saying that sexuality is still a part of ~the soul~ and she wants to explore this connection between souls… so…………?????? is she saying that the connection itself isn’t sexual even if the soul has those elements? damn i wish i had a better grasp on the language @_@)

- mention of yoshida being a tomboy as a kid and that she often went into the hills and stuff where there were pit vipers. apparently she had a cousin living with her at that time, a frail little city boy. fujimoto made a comparison that yoshida was like ash and her cousin like eiji. yoshida's like, yeah exactly! she found him extremely irritating bc he kept following her around and getting in the way. but if she didn’t look after him, she’d get scolded by her parents lol

- yoshida: eiji has the tendency to be indecisive and masochistic, but eventually when that reaches a breaking point he’ll tear everything down to shreds. he’s the kind of character who gets surprisingly bold when that happens. 

ash is the type of character who is like a tough, solid tree when facing a storm. he would go head-on against it. but eiji’s more like a willow (laugh), all soft and limp like grass. but in the end the one that can outlast the storm is the willow, while the tree gets knocked away. that’s why between the two of them, i get the feeling that eiji is the stronger one… or at least the one who’s bolder.

[auroraphilealis]

so im beta-ing a fic for the first time and idk how to ‘help’ like i can do grammar and word flow, but like??? motivation? how does that work? i really dont want to fuck up

You’re not going to fuck up! The first thing you need to remember when it comes to being a beta for someone is that not every author and beta pair are perfect for each other! You’re going to clash with your author (even if you do work well with them!) and they’re going to clash with you. Working with an author is always going to be more difficult than it seems, and it all comes down to personality types at the end of the day. 

So don’t feel discouraged if this doesn’t work out perfectly or the way you assumed it would. That’s okay, and fairly normal. It took me a lot of trial and error to find @imnotinclinedtomaturity and now we’re a really great team

Now, on to the actual, beta’ing advice lol. 

Grammar and word flow are a really important place to start, of course. They help an author’s work look neat and put together. I don’t know about you, but most often when I’m writing, my head is faster than my fingers so there are typos and grammar mistakes and missing words galore! So definitely keep an eye out for this from your author, and try not to just assume that they don’t know the difference between there, their, and they’re. Honestly, when you’re on a roll in writing, you just don’t care which one you wrote, so long as one’s down. So yeah, be understanding of your author and that sometimes writing means saying fuck it to writing rules so you can get a thought out. 

On that note, it’s always a great idea to ask your author early on, what problems they feel they have, and ask if there’s anything you can help them with by teaching them a little bit. Sometimes an author doesn’t know what they’re doing wrong, so you have to wait until you run into it to ask them if it’s something they don’t understand, or just a general writing mistake! My big thing is always explaining the pronoun game to people - which is just when to use a Noun and when to use a Proper Noun (he/him, vs Dan). This is especially easy to mess up in a slash fiction story, as there are then too many same gender pronouns floating around).

Now, beta’ing isn’t just about grammar and word flow. It’s also about plot checking, and character checking, and general elements of a story checking. When you’re reading through someones story, do your best to make sure for them that their plot makes sense. In their head, it might be going great! They know exactly what they want to do and where the story is going to go and they think they’ve made it pretty clear! But the fact of the matter is, part of the reason authors need editors is because they’re too much in their own head. It’s super difficult to recognize if the story is coming across clearly to a reader when you already know everything. So often, I have to tell Kat things like “I have a strong feeling this is not the sentiment you meant to get across, but from a reader’s perspective I understand xyz” and then Kat will come screaming back to me in horror that it came across incorrectly. 

Of course Kat and I are super close, so we can be kind of mean to each other and still laugh it off or understand what’s going on. But in a newer beta relationship, just always make sure the author understands you aren’t calling them out or anything - you’re just trying to let them know that the way a plot point is written might be causing some misunderstandings in the reader! 

This goes for character development as well, or just general writing that’s going on. You should see Kat’s fic when I’m done editing for her. The comments seem never ending, because I comment alot. But I’m also in Kat’s head, and I know what she intends for the story, so when I see something that comes across very different than what she probably wanted, I let her know. 

Finally, motivation. The reason you came to me. That one’s the easy part. 

Leave happy and excited comments. Mixed in with your comments about how something might not be working, or your corrections of they’re, their, and there, make sure to highlight scenes you thought were amazing, or sentences that really blew you away. Comment on them like you might a fic. I spend half my time leaving “kill me” and “oh god I’m dead” and “aldkjfaldsjfs” comments to Kat because I’m completely in love with something I just read. I basically live react to her story to show her how much I love it, and how well it’s coming along. 

You can also show motivation and excitement for an author’s story when they talk to you about it. If you’re excited about a plot point they mention, TELL THEM. If they say something super cool about a character and their plans for them, let them know! If they’re worried something isn’t going to work out, help them through it until they’re feeling confident again. 

Particularly if they aren’t your friend, don’t harass them and keep asking when they’re going to keep writing. But DO encourage them if they come and talk to you about writing. Let them know you’re excited for more. When they let you know there’s more to edit, send them excited messages about how much you’re enjoying it so far, and keep letting them know they’re doing great throughout your edit. That really helps an author feel good enough to keep going, because someone is enjoying it. Getting feedback is one of the fastest ways to make an author want to keep writing, because we get so happy that we just want to keep pushing on!

Anyway, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. If you ever want a more (somehow) in depth discussion about how to beta or how I beta, let me know! Maybe I can whip up some tips and tricks for young beta’s out there, and maybe it’ll be helpful for authors too who want to know what to loo for in a beta!