#whether y’all call it a night or start fucking again like rabbits is up to you <3

[subby-kpop]

Hyunjin waking you up with oral (afab!reader)

⚠️nsfw, 18+, pussy eating, established relationship, unedited fanfic, dw imma edit this in the morning, edited version <3

It’s Friday night. After relaxing together in each other’s arms, you had fallen asleep to the sound of the tv show you guys were binging. It had been a particularly stressful week and by the time midnight rolled around you had long given up trying to keep your eyes open. The feeling of Hyunjin tracing hearts in your skin wasn’t much help either. Actually, Hyunjin was still wide awake. First, he had thought your sleeping face was funny and spared no moments taking a few pics for blackmail, but when you continued to sleep peacefully he couldn't help but notice how adorable you looked curled up against him. By the episode on the tv came to an end, he had come to realize just how much he loved your sleepy face… and well, you.

As soft as his heart may have been feeling at that moment, his dick was having an altogether different realization. And by that I mean it was semi-hard and starting to strain against his pants. A little embarrassed that he got this hard so easily, Hyunjin racked his brain on how to fix his "little" dilemma without just straight-up hentai-perv jacking off to your sleeping figure.

Suffice to say, your relationship with Hyunjin was pretty open. Both of you guys were the type to talk about your fantasies openly and rarely had any qualms about making your desires known to each other. Fortunately for him, one of yours happened to be waking up to oral.

And that’s exactly what you did. Hyunjin had already been eating you out for some time when you had woken up, surprised at the impossible wetness you were feeling below. Hyunjin’s eyes were blown out, already fucked out, from the taste of of your pussy. Seeing you wake up and that curve of 'o' your mouth made when you find him below nearly sends him over the edge. Doubly so when you give him that 'o' so quickly melts into a lazy smirk, a half-lidded, half-asleep look of unabashed pleasure. Only when he nearly cums does he realize he had been grinding against the couch for a while now.

From there on it's almost a chain reaction. You reached down to grab hold of his hair, making him groan straight into your clit. The vibrations of his voice plus the unwonted lewdness of his voice sent you over the edge, only to make him fall along with you. Pleasure courses through you as you feel Hyunjin shiver at the power of his orgasm after being on edge for so long.

After coming down from his orgasm, Hyunjin goes right back to eating you out again. Turns out the taste of your pussy after his orgasm just might be one of his favorite things. With that signature look equal parts needy and mischievous, he goes back to eating you out and licking up your hole before your overstimulation becomes just a little too much, and you grab his chin to pull him up for a kiss instead. It’s messy and its wanton, but both of you relish each other’s tastes as you lick your juices off his lips. You stay like that for a while, mouths open, kissing disgustingly wet. Even though it's become that timeless, dizzying part of the night, you keep warm in each others arms.

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

Agricultural Ask:

Rewind to October.

Basic fall bitch vibes.

Cute little fall festival with your boyfriend Clyde.

Monster corn maze. Like acres and acres of corn maze.

You get lost in the maze and you’re alone and the next thing you know.

Corncobbled in a corn maze.

Why am I like this?

A/N: @butyoudidthis4what I AM ASHAMED.... BUT IM NOT REALLY AT ALL. I HOPE YOU LOVE THE ABSOLUTE CRACK FROM ALL OF THIS. I LOVED IT SO MUCH AND I LOVE CORN COBBING CLYDE WITH ALL MY HEART!🌽

Warnings: Cum eating/tasting, corncobbing (dick slapping look it up on UD), face fucking, choking, daddy kink (because Clyde is DADDY), slight fluff sprinkled throughout, we’re a bad girl, smut smut, and more fucking crackhead smut. 

“This way darlin’,” Clyde is pointing on a map given to you by the teen manning the corn maze at the Boone County fall festival. 

“Are ya sure babe?” looking at the same map, questioning whether or not he could decipher it as well as he thought, “I think we need to take this turn right here,” running your pretty finger along the path drawn out. 

“I’m sure darlin’,” he gripped your hand in his, “I’m perty good at directions I promise,” grinning as he pulled you further into the maze. 

Rolling your eyes, you let him drag you down the rabbit hole, giggling as he picked up his steps looking around for signs of trouble. 

“Babe, there ain’t nothin’ bad in here,” you chuckled as he put you behind him, gripping your waist as if you’d slip away at any time, “it’s you, me, and a buncha teenagers!” 

“Ya can’t be too careful darlin’,” he looked behind you, winking, “I got precious cargo and I ain’t ‘bout ta lose ya to a damn maze,” causing you to break out in a chuckling fit. 

“Whatever ya say big bear,” rubbing his tensed forearm, feeling the muscles bulging from under his long shirt, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere with nobody.” 

“I know that baby girl,” turning to grab your face, “I know ya wouldn’t do no such thing,” bringing your soft lips to his. 

Your tongues danced around for a few moments, only to be interrupted by a group of boys loudly passing through the trail. 

“Get a fuckin’ room why dontcha!” the tallest and most ‘handsome’ of the bunch spoke up, causing Clyde to look up immediately. He turned his hulking body to shield yours, standing to his full height as he sized up the kid in front of him. Of course, Clyde’s stature was no match to this wimp of a man, if you could even call him that. The group barely looked as if they were eighteen, ranging in heights, weights, and choices of clothing. Some of them had girls at their hips, fawning like school children over the toughest ones standing up to your big bear of a man. 

“Ya wanna run that by me again boy?” crossing his arms, puffing his chest out like a peacock, “I know ya don’t want me ta hurt ya in front a yer buddies and lil’ girlfriends, now, do ya?” quirking an eyebrow as the kid stood his ground for a few more seconds, the fear set in his eyes as he gathered what Clyde was about to throw down. 

“N-no s-sir,” he looked to notice his metal arm, gulping when he realized there was no point to his tough-guy exterior, “h-have a good night y’all,” stammering as his crew ran with tails between their legs, the girls chuckling at him as they retreating further into the maze. 

Clyde nodded them off, turning to see your legs crossed and biting your lip at his front he’d put up to protect you from whatever danger had come your direction. 

“Ya alright baby girl?” rubbing up and down your shoulders as you gazed up into his whiskey pooled eyes. 

“I’m more than fine babe,” whispering as you took his hand and delicately trudged into the heart of the maze once more. 

After a few more yards, and glancing back and forth, you stopped to turn back to your mountain man, bringing your hands to rub on his chest as he enveloped your asscheeks in his hands. 

“What are ya up to baby girl?” he whispered, kissing the tip of your nose, as he dipped down to rub your earlobe in his soft lips. 

“I-I need ya Clyde,” moaning as he brushed the sensitive tips of them, moving his goatee down your neck, causing a shiver to radiate through your body. 

“What do ya need me ta do darlin’,” whispering on your pulse in your neck, “use ya words like the good girl ya are. Tell daddy what he needs ta do ta make ya feel good,” moving his paws up your waist, gripping your plush tits, causing an animalistic moan to release from you and him. 

“I-I need ya to fuck me,” you beg, pleading with your large eyes welling with tears, as he rubs his thumbs over your stiffening nipples, “F-fill me full a you daddy,” arching your body into his touch as he lowered his lumbering body to smell in between your gorgeous tits. 

“Mmmmm,” he inhaled, “daddy’s gon’ fill ya nice n’ full baby girl,” gripping the loops on your jeans, pulling them down as soon as you released the zipper. 

You pawed at the back of his shirt, coaxing him down to your dripping heat, “I’m so wet for ya daddy,” rubbing his hair as he pulled your panties down to your ankles, bearing the glistening slick dripping down the sides of your thighs. 

He ogled at the spend, stuffing a thick finger in your cunt to gather it and stuff in his open mouth, “Goddamn baby girl,” he mused, “ya taste so damn sweet fer me,” getting up to his full height again, staring at your lust blown body as he removed his cock from his jeans. 

“Now darlin’.” he warned, “I don’t wantcha ta scream too much er you’ll get us kicked outta this here maze. Ya understand me?” gripping your face in his flesh and blood hand, bringing you to his lips in a searing kiss as he led your other to play with his hardening cock. 

“Y-yes daddy,” batting your eyelashes as you jerked his dick until it was pulsing and dripping for your sweet pussy to eat up. 

“That’s ma good lil’ girl,” rolling his eyes back in his head as he gyrated into your motions on his length, “n-now get down on ya knees. Daddy’s gon’ fuck yer face until ya cryin’ on ma cock,” pushing your shoulder down as you fell to the ground. Gathering yourself to land pretty on your knees, looking up at your handsome man, opening your mouth and showing your tongue like the good little whore you were. 

“Goddamn I could look at that all day darlin’,” lining up his cock to end at your nose, “such a good lil’ girl fer daddy,” suddenly slapping his hardened dick across your face. 

“D-daddy!” screaming in pain and pleasure, your clit aching for attention at the sensation. 

“Now baby girl,” he tsked, “what did daddy say about ya screamin’ in this here maze?” lining his cock on the other cheek, tapping the side ever so slightly as you looked up at him. 

“Y-ya said no screamin’,” tears starting to well up from to smack. 

“Exactly darlin’,” he pandered, “an’ what did ya do instead?” 

“I-I screamed,” shying away at him, “I-I’m a bad girl daddy,” your arousal pooling at this point, begging him to hit you and stuff you full of him. 

“Yes ya are baby girl,” he agreed, suddenly slapping his dick across your face again, leaving an equal red mark as the other side. 

“F-fuck!” blurting out as you moved to grip your face, knowing that wasn’t a part of the rules of this little game you guys played. 

“Oh baby girl,” he smirked, slapping your hands away, “ya know better than that,” shaking his head, “I guess ya just gonna have ta choke on me to learn yer lesson. Open yer perty mouth darlin’.” 

You gathered yourself for a second, opening back up only to have Clyde stuff you head to hilt with his thick cock. Your eyes bugged out of your head as you began to choke and moan around his pulsing length. 

“Open up fer me baby girl,” he gripped the sides of your head, feeling your jaw slack and your lips close around his dick, “such a good girl like this,” pumping himself to hit your uvula with every stroke. 

His pace picked up as he gyrated your head and his hips in tune with your throat. The spit welling up in your mouth, dripping out in waves as you began to cry on his girthy cock. 

“Such a good girl fer daddy,” he mused, watching himself move in and out around your pretty lips, the tears streaming down your face as waves of moans emitted around his cock and balls. 

“I-I’m so close baby girl,” he stammered, picking up his pace, causing your orgasm to build between your wet lips, “ya wanna touch yerself so daddy can cum with his darlin’?” watching as you brought an eager hand to rub on your clit, causing your eyes to roll back and your nostrils to flare in his line of sight. 

“Fuckin’ dammit,” he pushed completely in passed your uvula, stilling himself for a few seconds, “I-I’m c-cummin’ darlin’,” he managed out as you exhaled and practically screamed at the hot load coursing through your esophagus, spreading into your stomach, initiating your orgasm to crash over you as he suddenly pulled his cock from your lips. 

“G-god!” spit ridden, and euphoric as you rode your heatwave out in front of him. 

“Ya feelin’ good baby girl?” he chuckled, watching as you came slowly out of your coma, “do ya like it when daddy fucks ya throat?” zipping his softening cock in his jeans as he helped get you up from the dirty ground. 

“Holy shit,” wiping the spit and cum from your lips as Clyde pulled your panties back up, licking a stripe on your cunt before sealing them in the lace fabric. 

“That good huh?” getting back up to bring you into a kiss. 

“Very much so babe,” smiling as he rubbed the sides of your eyes in the most delicate fashion he could. 

“What is it big bear?” noticing his demeanor change as he glared at your face, “ya okay?” gripping his sweet cheeks, and rubbing them in your fingers. 

“I just,” tears welling up in his eyes, “I love ya Y/N,” he stated clear as day. 

You stood there, dumbfounded for a moment, taking in those very special and important words that hadn’t been spoken between the two of you before, banking in the moment. 

“Darlin’?” snapping you back into reality, “are ya okay?” the tears now seemingly sad instead of happy as they were seconds prior. 

“I love you too Clyde,” blurting out, almost in shock at saying them yourself. He took the words in just as you had, smiling as bright as a star in the sky, and bringing you back into a kiss. 

He broke away again after a few moments, “let’s get ya outta here darlin’,” grabbing your hand once again.

“I’m not done with ya quite yet tonight,” practically dragging you to the exit of the maze so the rest of the night could occur just the way he wanted, which would only end with you crying on his cock… Again. 

____________

WELL, I HOPE YOU’RE SATISFIED WITH YOURSELF BECAUSE IM... WET💦

I LOVE YOU, BABE! 

🖤, 

ray-nal-beads 

[skarsgard-daydreams]

My Doorbell

Description: You love to push Axel's buttons just as much as he pushes yours.

Warnings: jealousy, rough sex, spanking, oral (male receiving), smut, 18+

Note: This story features a reader with tattoos. So, this was supposed to be a simple drabble about Axel getting a Hitachi Magic Wand, but these characters have minds of their own. This is part one of a two part story. Axel’s girl in this one is not the same as the soft girl in my previous story. We’ll call this one his grunge girl. I want to point out that these characters have had explicit conversations about consent and know and respect each other’s limits and safe words. Consent is sexy, y’all. The title is a reference to the song by The White Stripes.

Edit: As of May 2nd, 2021, I do not currently have plans to write the second part of this story unless inspiration suddenly strikes.

Axel had been waiting for a package for weeks. Your birthday had come and gone and it never arrived, sending him into a constant state of low-grade impatience that manifested itself in little eruptions from time to time. One minute his fingers were idly brushing the koi fish tattoo inked onto the surface of your thigh and the next he was hurling his phone across the room after checking the shipment's tracking information for the seventeenth time in a row.

"What the fuck, Axel?" you finally asked.

"It won't be delivered until Friday," he grumbled as he raked a hand through his hair, trying to calm his agitation.

"Are you ever gonna tell me what 'it' is?"

You picked at the chipping nail polish on your fingertips as you spoke, trying to seem casual about the question. You were curious, but if you let him see you get curious, it would inflate his ego. It was always more fun to be playfully aloof and force Axel into coming up with novel ways to try and impress you. His well of imagination never seemed to run dry.

"Only if you ask me real nicely," he said with a smirk, sliding his hand further up your naked thigh to grab at the waistband of your boy shorts, pulling them back and letting the elastic snap sharply against your hip.

It was your turn to smirk. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" You turned around and straddled his lap, staring at him with your best bedroom eyes and stroking his package over his jeans as you kissed the corner of his mouth. "Good night," you said in an airy voice, rising to your feet and leaving him there hard as a rock. He looked at you as though he didn't know whether to worship you or pull you back by the hair and tell you that you weren't going to bed without finishing what you started. Really, you were down for either option.

Axel grabbed your thigh before you could move away, a low growl escaping his lips. His hand dug into your flesh, holding you still as he yanked your shorts down and leaned in close, teasing your pussy with his tongue and sucking on your clit for a long, delicious moment with the expertise of a lover who knows your body even better than you do. You gasped and thought your knees might give out if he hadn't been holding your leg so firmly.

"Axel," you breathed.

He pulled away abruptly, leaving you standing there with your shorts around your knees and your head spinning. He gave your ass a quick smack.

"Get some sleep," he said. "You’re going to need it."

You found it impossible to sleep that night, laying against Axel's back with his arm wrapped around your hips, his hand pressed flat against your boy shorts just above the wet spot that was gathering in the fabric from your unabated arousal. You had heard him jerk off in the shower while you got dressed for bed and thought you'd get yourself off with a little help from your favorite vibrator, but you found the drawer empty when you went searching for it. Your silver bullet and the big pink monstrosity with the rabbit ears were both gone. When you confronted Axel, he had just grinned and slipped his fingers between your legs, clearly enjoying how wet you still were.

"You'll get them back," he said, his teasing strokes reminding you that he could turn you into putty with just one of his wicked fingers. "Tomorrow."

Normally you slept easier in his arms, knowing Axel was there to hold you and investigate any bumps in the night. Now you were just horny and agitated and his arm around your waist was like a harness keeping you from slipping out of bed to search for the place he'd hidden your stash of toys. You knew you could have set him straight earlier. It wouldn't have taken any effort—just a sharp lift of your brow as you told him to quit fucking with you. But you were curious to see what kind of filthy ride he'd take you on. That was your favorite thing about being with Axel. He never failed to surprise you.

Eventually you fell into some semblance of sleep. Neither of you had work in the morning, so Axel left you in bed to sleep in as late as you wanted. You were in a dead slumber when you heard him start shouting after the mail was delivered.

"You're fucking kidding me!" Axel bellowed from the kitchen. You furrowed your brows tightly and rolled over with a groan. What was he going on about now? You managed to haul yourself out of bed and padded down the hallway, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"Axel, what the fuck?" you asked.

He was standing by the kitchen table in his boxer shorts, holding a strange white appliance in his hands. It looked like an immersion blender with a rounded tip instead of the blender attachment. Axel held up the plug at the end of the cord and shook it wildly.

"The listing said it was compatible with an American outlet," he ranted. "Look at this."

You examined the plug. Sure enough, it had two cylindrical prongs like a European appliance. You glanced back at the device as he flipped it upside down to see if it listed its voltage on the side. From the new angle, it reminded you of a microphone.

"What the hell is this?" you asked, rifling through the box for an instruction manual and finding nothing. "You planning a karaoke night, Axeman?"

"Oh, this thing will make you sing, kitten," Axel chuckled. He threw it down on the table and walked back into the bedroom to pull on his jeans. The tone of his voice as he threatened you made your body suddenly remember its unfinished business from last night, and you felt everything inside you tighten with anticipation. Axel was always ordering new toys to enhance your sex life from one questionable website or another. The surprise on your face whenever he introduced something new in the bedroom delighted him so much that you were content to let him do the shopping. You picked up the device and turned it over in your hands, studying its shape. It didn't look like something that would go inside you, that was for sure. You suspected it was a vibrator, but you weren't sure why anyone would make a vibrator shaped like a miniature baseball bat. It seemed like overkill.

Axel came back into the kitchen, pulling on a leather jacket over an old band tee. He had showered earlier and he smelled like warm musk and agarwood. "I have to go pick up an adapter," he said, fishing his keys from his pocket. He pulled you into his arms and kissed you hard and deep, like he wanted to keep the taste of your lips in his mouth when he left. He squeezed your ass with both hands and you could feel his erection through his pants. You sucked on his lower lip as he pulled away, knowing it would make him think of you sucking his cock.

“Don’t take too long,” you said with a slight lilt in your voice. “I have a long line of ex-boyfriends who would do anything for one more chance with this pussy.”

You weren’t entirely sure how he’d react to that one, but you loved to toe that line, pushing him just as much as he pushed you. The words had barely left your mouth before you found yourself facedown on the kitchen table, the cardboard package flying to the floor as Axel pinned you and yanked your shorts down. He drew his hand back and slapped your ass as hard as he could. You dug your fingernails into the wood tabletop and yelped in surprise. It hurt, but the force rocked your core, making your toes curl with another pang of desire. Axel massaged the place where he’d struck you, still holding you down. Your heart was pounding and your vision was obscured by your own hair as you moaned, pressing your forehead against the table.

“Fuck me,” you cried as he smacked your ass again. Axel grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your head back. You both loved it when he was rough, but in his voice you heard the pent-up frustration of the past few weeks rising to a boiling point.

“Why should I?” he growled in your ear. “Why don’t you call one of your ex-boyfriends and ask them to do it?”

You knew you had fucked up then. Axel wasn’t the kind of guy who got jealous easily. He knew you found far more camaraderie with your male friends than you did with your female friends, and whenever you would go off to the local dive bar to hang with a nearly all-male crew and call him for a ride at three in the morning, he always trusted you. You hadn’t pushed one of his buttons this time—you’d practically shoved a fork into an electrical socket that was already primed for a surge.

“I don’t want to,” you said breathlessly. “I want you. I want you, only you.”

Axel wrapped his hand around your hair, pulling you off the table and pushing you onto your knees in front of him. “Oh yeah?” he gritted out. “Prove it.”

He didn’t have to say it twice. You quickly released the clasp of his belt and unzipped his jeans, shoving his boxers down over his hips. Axel slapped your cheek lightly, his grip on your hair keeping your head still and his cock just out of reach. You looked up at him, your lips parted and your face flushed pink.

“Tell me what you want, kitten,” Axel said. He looked less angry now, and a devious grin was growing on his lips.

“I want your cock in my mouth,” you insisted, tugging against his grip on your hair and trying to move your head closer. You wanted him to know that even though you teased him, he was the only man you wanted, the only one who could make you feel this desperate.

Axel chuckled. “You’re such a fucking slut,” he said, but he wrapped his hand around his shaft and eased his cock into your mouth. He held your head tightly by the hair, making it clear that he would be setting the pace, not you. You swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock and took him into your mouth, looking back up to make sure he saw how much you were enjoying yourself. You hummed around him, running your tongue along the underside of his shaft.

“Take it,” he grunted as he thrusted deeply, and you did. You relaxed your gag reflex, taking every inch and letting him fuck you just the way he liked. You reached around and grabbed his ass, pulling him in deeper with each thrust, as if to say harder. You almost couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t matter, because you knew you could tap out against his leg if it got too intense. He loved the little sounds you made as you tried not to gag, the feeling of your hands trailing over his hips and squeezing his balls. That pushed him to the edge, and soon he was groaning and finishing down your throat. You swallowed every drop and licked the tip of his cock clean like it was a lollipop, gazing at him in adoration.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Axel breathed, pushing your hair out of your face. You nuzzled your cheek into his hand.

“No,” you purred, savoring the taste of him on your lips. “Just me.”

@loomiz​ @scxrsgxrd​ @skrsgardspam​ @grandpa-sweaters​

[celestiababie]

Yunho NSFW Alphabet A-Z

A= Aftercare (What they do/act like after sex)

 Yunho is literally the human embodiment of a teddy bear. After you two have finished, he’ll probably just lay on you, and kiss your neck. He just wants to cling onto you...before you two go for another round.

B= Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

 Yunho loves his smile the most and he knows you love it too. Whenever he flashes his bright smile at you, you get butterflies all over again, and he just adores that he has that effect on you. He loves your legs when you straddle him or just wrap them around him. Yunho loves the lazy days where you put your legs on his lap and just watch tv. He’s also quite the fan of putting them over his shoulders as he thrusts inside you.

C= Cum (Anything to do with cum… I’m a disgusting person)

 He gets carried away when he’s fucking you, so he often cums inside of you. When the two of you first had sex, both of you were so in the moment that you hadn’t realized that he came inside until a few minutes after. He panicked for a few seconds and apologized, but luckily you were able to calm him down by telling him that it was fine and that you were on the pill/clean. Ever since that day, he’s been hooked on cumming in you.

D= Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

 He really wants to fuck you against a mirror...preferably in the practice room. He’s had a few wet dreams about it, but he doesn’t want to bring it up, in case that you’ll be weirded out, and then he’ll end up embarrassed.

E= Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

 Yunho has some experience, but not to the point where he could call himself a pro. He’s probably gotten/given head before and that’s about as much experience he’s had before you. He knows how to get you worked up and he knows how to use his body very well. DANCERS ARE THE BEST AT SEX IDC.

F= Favorite position (This goes without saying)

 Probably missionary, but with your legs over his shoulders. He loves holding your legs up and rolling his hips into you, making sure that you feel him against the most sensitive within you.

G= Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Or are they more humorous?)

 This man-child is a clown! Do you really think that he’s gonna be completely serious? He will probably try and crack a joke here and there when he has sex with you. Whether you like that or not, he can’t hide his bright and goofy personality, even if it’s an intimate moment. 

H= Hair (How well-groomed are they?)

 Yunho trims regularly, but he’s not bare. He thinks that trimming makes everything look better and it’s just easier to maintain. Man-scaping shows character, folks.

I= Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

 He’s a giant teddy bear, and even though he’s very goofy, he’d be surprisingly intimate. He loves you and wants to express it both inside and outside the bedroom. Yunho is top quality boyfriend material, and he’d want to give you all the pleasure that you could handle. 

J= Jack off (Masturbation)

 He doesn’t jerk off that often, he can usually keep himself under control until he sees you. Sometimes if he just needed to release some of his energy, he’d rut against his pillow and send you the audio of him moaning. It would mainly be to try and convince you to come over or let him come over.

K= Kinks (One or more of their kinks)

 His tall ass has a size kink, y’all knew this was gonna be said. He didn’t care if you were even an inch shorter than him or a foot shorter than him, he’d still tease you for being smaller than him. Yunho adores how your body looks underneath him, there’s something about him being bigger than you that makes him feel like he can protect you. Yunho also has a slight exhibition kink, he likes the way his heart pounds from nerves, not knowing if someone was going to see both of you.

L= Location (Favorite places to do the do)

 As stated before, he has an exhibition kink, he believes that sex doesn’t have to stay in the bedroom at all times. Dressing rooms? On a balcony? Against a big window? He’s down for it all, but don’t worry, he’ll make sure no one actually sees... unless you’re into that.

M= Motivation (What turns them on?)

 Due to his size kink, sitting in his lap could get him a bit excited down there, it emphasizes how small you are compared to him, and he can easily tease you for it. Another thing that can get him doing would be teaching you how to dance/ dancing with you, he’s definitely tried to get you to do a sensual dance with him once or twice. If he sees your hips move a certain way or grind upon him, you can bet your ass that he’s gonna whisper in your ear about how much he wants to fuck you.

N= NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

 I personally believe that Yunho is a soft dom, so he wouldn’t want you to call you anything bad or degrading, he’d much rather praise you. You’re his baby, why would he want to be mean to his baby? 

O= Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

 He’s a sucker for getting head, he loves when you look up at him as you press kisses to tip. It’s not like he hates giving you head or is bad at it, he’s just average at the activity, he makes up for it with using his sexy ass hands though.

P= Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

 This one is tough... I guess that it would all depend on his mood, some days he’ll be rough and desperate for a good fuck, and other days, he’ll be slow and sensual. He has no preference, it really depends on how much tension there is and how needy you both are.

Q= Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex and how often?)

He's a fan of them. You two often have to rush due to fucking in slightly risky places, but he doesn't mind that at all. Sometimes, he treats it as it's a game, which one of you is gonna cum first or, how fast can he make you cum?

R= Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

 He has no problem taking risks and experimenting. He's curious about a lot of things and wants to try many things with you if you'll allow him to.

S= Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

 This boy has a lot of stamina, it’s scary. As a dancer, he’s able to have a lot of energy and on top of that, he’s a ball of energy in everyday life, so Yunho would be able to go multiple rounds. He’d want to keep going until you were too tired to keep your eyes open. Dis boi a freak lowkey.

T= Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them?)

 Poor baby would be confused by toys at first, but would slowly start getting more curious about them. He’d do mild research to find ones that would give you the most pleasure and then gift them to you. He’d be hesitant to use any toys on himself, but he’d give it a try if you really wanted to use them on him. 

U= Unfair  (How much do they like to tease?)

 He mainly teases you about your height, but other than that, he’s fair. He likes to give you what you want and even if he finds your begging adorable, he’d feel bad if he kept pleasure away from you...but if you make him jealous/ piss him off? Good luck.

V= Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

 L O U D. He’s not annoyingly loud, but he’s not afraid to moan and groan if something feels good. He has to be careful depending on the location you two are having sex, but even then, he’s moaning for you. 

W= Wild Card (Random headcanon)

 Yunho had invited you over, all the boys were over, but he figured that you were comfortable enough to hang out with all of them. The 9 of you were sitting in the living room, your legs were on the taller male’s lap and he was softly caressing your leg as the rest of the boys were being loud.

  Jongho had noticed the older male’s hand on your leg and he narrowed his eyes at the both of you, throwing a pillow at Yunho. 

“Hyung, touch your girlfriend somewhere else!”

 The other boys had suddenly shut up and looked over at the two of you. Some were confused, some were flustered at the thought and a particular someone was smirking (Wooyoung). You hid your face behind your hands and took your legs off of your boyfriend’s lap. He pouted and made a bold move, pulling your entire body into his lap and kissing your neck. 

  “I’ll touch her where ever I want.” He muttered against your neck. The boys cleared their throats and contemplated whether or not they should just leave the room...

They didn’t, they kept talking, but couldn’t help but glance at the couple who were almost ready to rip each other’s clothes off.

X= X-Ray (Lt’s see what’s going on in those pants)

 He’s a big boi and has sexy hands, so I think he’s above average. He has a decent amount of girth to him and a plus would be that he knows how to use his hips. Big dick+dancer hips= fucking amazing sex. I don’t make the rules.

Y= Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

 He wants sex a lot more than he’d like to admit, he has so much energy that he wants to let out, and sex is a great way to release all that energy. He’s clingy and that clinginess will often lead to him needing you sexually. I’d say he’d want sex about 5 days out of the week.

Z= ZZZ (How quickly do they fall asleep afterward?)

It depends on how many rounds you two did. Usually, he wouldn’t feel that sleepy if it was a standard night of sex, but if it was a night where you two were at it like rabbits...maybe he’d get a little tired, but he rarely does.

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

oh, but you’re good to me

the wench and the witcher

"oh, but you’re good to me”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Black!OFC - Zahra Auberel. Platonic!Jaskier x Zahra.

Summary:  Midaëte brings the height of summer, and a reconciliation. 

Warnings: Rated Mature due to brief mention of sex. Please don’t interact if you are under the age of 18.

A/N: Well, what started as a simple reader insert character grew into a fully-formed OC through the course of this series. And now we have reached the end! Well, mostly. I have some random outtakes and drabbles that I’m sure will crop up, but my (eventual) multi-chapter will feature Geralt and Zahra as they navigate some... interesting magical developments. 

But, for now, I call this the end of The Wench and The Witcher. Thank you guys so much for your kind words, reblogs, likes - this is honestly the most I’ve written in years and knowing that y’all have enjoyed it warms the cockles of my heart. Title and lyrics under the cut from Hozier’s “Would That I” which I think might be my favorite Hozier song full-stop, hands down. 

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @owillofthewisps​ - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty​ - @wastingmypotential​ - @inber​

With each love I cut loose, I was never the same Watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame I was fixed on your hand of gold Layin' waste to my lovin' long ago

“Contracts from the butcher and the miller,” Lucja rattles off. “And Jaskier returned your message – says he’s very much looking forward to performing for the solstice festival.”

 She gives a hum as she thumbs through the stack of papers on the desk. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you, as well,” she teases.

 Lucja’s pretty round face goes pink, making her employer grin. The older woman pauses when she finds an unfamiliar piece of folded parchment among the stack of invoices. Slim brown fingers unfold the sharply folded letter and suddenly her heart is in her throat. “Lucja… where did this come from?”

 “Oh… it, ah, came with Jaskier’s reply. Do you want me to get rid of it?”

 Though half-tempted to let Lucja burn the letter, she bites her lip and shakes her head. “No,” she murmurs. “Thank you, Lu’ – that will be all.”

 Her young barmaid flashes a sympathetic smile and closes the door behind her. The neatly looped scrawl of the letter makes something around her heart ache. She’d always been surprised by how tidy the Witcher’s handwriting was:

 I don’t

 This isn’t what

 I’m not – fucking shit fuck 

 The first time I saw you, it was like walking into the light of the sun after half a lifetime in the cold. And it was so fucking cold that night.

 You were like summer.

 It’s cold again now, without you. I don’t know what I’m doing

 Two weeks later:

I wanted want wanted to bring you to see Kaer Mohren. I know you said you like the ocean more than the mountains, but I think this place could change your mind. You would get on with Eskel like a house on fire. He’s more of a southerner, like you.

 I told him about the time you tried to teach me to cook and he nearly pissed himself laughing.

 Lambert’s a shit. Vesemir already likes you.

 You’d like it here. The kitchen is nearly as big as the whole front room of the tavern. Library’s bigger.

 Garden’s a fucking nightmare, though.

 We could go to the ocean, too. Anywhere you want.

 The missives don’t come with any real regularity. A few at a time, a week-long gap, but they never stop. She thinks about writing back, at first, but deciphering where the Witcher is would likely be impossible and… gods, she’s still so damned angry. The White Wolf receives no reply.

Regardless, the letters keep coming.

 The thing is, I don’t know what else there is besides The Path - this life of slaying monsters and getting paid in coin. I was told that was all I needed and I believed it for a very long time. There was nothing to challenge that, not until I met you.

 You were are so fucking beautiful. And warm, and bright, and vulgar, and kind, and a pain in my ass and I should have told you how much you meant to me, but I couldn’t parse it out until just now, and I am an idiot. And a coward. I thought that telling myself you were an amusement would be enough, that I would be content with warming your bed, but I can’t do that anymore. I can’t keep lying about how much I need you.

 I need you, Zee. It feels like I’m missing my fucking sword arm.

 The words on the page blur together. She brushes them with her fingertips, almost smiling even as the tears catch in her lashes:

 I miss the way you laugh at Jaskier’s dirty songs.

 I miss the way you used my legs to keep your feet warm at night.

 I miss that fucking rabbit stew.

 I miss the way you’d look at me when I walked in the door.

 I miss the sounds you make when I’m inside of you. The way you taste.

 I miss your eyes. And your smile.

 Your voice. Your terrible fucking singing.

 You are my home. You’re my harbor and my safe haven.

 I love you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.

   ---

Midaëte approaches. With it, a week’s worth of festivities, and food and drink, leading up to the day of the solstice. It means early mornings in the kitchen and late nights in the tavern. The evenings are balmy, windows and doors thrown open to allow the scent of summer air and night-blooming flowers to drift through.

 For a time, she is so busy that she forgets to be heartsore. Geralt’s letters – page after yellowing page – sit tied with a gold ribbon in her desk drawer. Confessions and apologies, promises and rambling stories that she keeps picking up to read again and again. It’s a veritable book, more than he’d ever seen fit to say in person and she’s not sure whether to be infuriated or hopeful, but there’s barely time. Thank the gods.

  Business booms, between trades-folk coming in for the market day, then musicians, then families. She drinks a little, dances when there is time; she lets Lucja weave tiny yellow purple flowers into her hair for Midaëte Eve and dresses in white and yellow to enjoy the evening. Or try to, at least. The main room is full almost to bursting, patrons laughing, carousing, and eventually spilling out into the courtyard to dance in the falling dusk.

 Zahra watches from the doorway. A few try to tempt her into the circle for a reel and they receive a grateful smile with her refusal. Jaskier, however, will not be deterred.

 “You, dear lady,” he croons. “Look too lovely to be hiding in the shadows.”

 “Jas…”

 “One dance. Just one – you might even have fun by mistake.”

 She rolls her eyes, but the bard just grins and lifts her hand for a kiss. He leads her, hand-in-hand out to the courtyard; Jaskier gives a nod to his fellow players and they begin with a sharp beat that eases into a lovely, familiar melody.

 “You know this one, ducky?” Jaskier queries with a smile. She nods and he takes the lead.

 It’s a simple step, to start with. A sweet back and forth to match the sweet, flowing verse of the song. The touch of Jaskier’s hand on her low back offers guidance, keeps her moving in gentle circles around him until the real movement begins. Swinging, agile steps carry Zahra and her partner around in wide loops. The mingle with other dancers, threading hands to spin back together and then apart.

 Jaskier grips her waist across the front, and she follows suit. The dizzying spin turns the world into a wash of summer colors for a moment and she can’t help but laugh. It feels good to be light again.

 The bard turns her under his arm and into the hands of the next man. There’s a moment of hesitation, a moment where she considers bowing out and going back to her corner, but the tabor still thrums in her blood and it’s such a beautiful night.

 Still smiling, she curtsies, and is lead back through the steps again. Her partner leads easily, light of foot and loose of tongue – from her ale, more like than not – but he’s kind, and sweet, and so funny that she’s nearly in tears when she’s suddenly spun away to her next partner. She catches the fabric of her skirts to add a flourish to the spin; the soft yellow cotton dances with her.

 When spins to a stop, she sees black, at first. Matte black buttons, black tunic shirt – worn, but cleaner than it usually is. The silver wolf’s head medallion sparks in the torchlight.

 Zahra looks up into the face of Geralt of Rivia and the music goes dull behind the roar of blood in her ears. It feels a bit like standing on a ledge cliff and looking down to gauge the fall. She feels dizzy, and terrified, and wonderfully breathless. Heart in her mouth, she spies Jaskier out of the corner of her eye.

 The bard grins. Bastard.

 “Zahra…”

 The Witcher’s voice rumbles through her like soft summer thunder. Strong fingers grip hers, and he lifts her knuckles to his lips. His honey-gold eyes are more earnest and honest than she’s ever seen them – he asks the question without moving his lips. Zahra nods.

 Geralt leads her in the dance and everything falls away.

  She hears the music, feels it sing through her, but her focus remains on the white-haired mutant at her side. His hand spans her back, warm through her dress and stays; the lightest pressure of his fingertips, or palm, guides her to turn, or step, or pivot in time with him. It shouldn’t be surprising to her, how well he moves – she’s seen him fight, and his grace with a sword, and how would dancing be any different?  He doesn’t look away from her once and the heat of his gaze flushes over her. The Witcher very nearly smiles.

 Geralt turns her under his arm, guides her through the last few measures of the song. He steps away, takes his warmth with him, and bows. Zahra curtsies in return.

 The crowd, the rest of the world, rushes back over them. The townsfolk whistle, and stomp, for a moment determined to swarm in and start up another country dance, and Geralt grips her hand tight for a moment. She sees him hesitate before he asks, simply, “Can we talk?”

 Most of the party has spilled into the streets, leaving the tavern itself practically empty. Lucja still keeps to her spot behind the bar, green eyes going wide when she spies Zahra and her guest in tow. The girl’s pretty face splits into a knowing smile that makes Zahra’s face go hot.

 It’s mostly dark in her study. The small hearth fire has gone to smoldering embers, and it gives her the opportunity to light a few candles and collect her utterly scattered thoughts. She flicks out the last taper and finally looks up at Geralt. He stands just inside the closed door, just as he used to. It’s familiar – it feels like it’s been years, or decades, or maybe just a few hours. His honey-colored gaze still holds a heat that sings over her skin. She drops her eyes to the desk.

 The last letter sits there, creased and folded from how many times she’s read it. Zahra picks at the parchment. Keeping her focus on Geralt’s neat lettering seems easier than looking at the Witcher himself. “Did Jaskier put you up to this?” she teases half-heartedly.

 Geralt exhales on a chuckle. “Something like. Threatened to garrote me with a lute string.”

 She smiles, in spite of herself. When she lifts her head and meets his eyes, it takes a moment to catch her breath. For a few heartbeats, she simply stares. Gods, he is still so beautiful. She swallows hard and feels her throat go dry.

 “Did you mean what you wrote?” she asks.

 “You know I did, Zee.”

Gold eyes go guarded again. He doesn’t go totally cold, but she can see the way he builds up his walls to prepare for the worst. He steps forward. Second-guesses – stops.

 “What I do – what I am – I can’t change it,” he rumbles. “I’m still a Witcher, Zahra. A mutant. I can’t… I can’t give you normal, sweetheart – ”

 “Gods, Geralt - fuck normal.”

 ---

 “Fuck normal.”

 She says it with such passionate certainty that it startles a laugh out of him. The soft yellow of her skirt floats like woven sunlight around her legs. Like the sun, it almost hurts to look at her, but fuck all, that’s all he wants to do. He watches her face, watches her chew her lip; feels his slow pulse try to speed up when she steps closer. His fingers itch to curl around her waist.

 “I never asked for normal, Geralt,” she whispers. The way her voice cracks pulls tight around his heart. “I don’t want normal. I want you. That’s it. Can… can you give me that, or no?”

 The Witcher’s footfalls carry him to her. He studies her face; re-acquaints himself with the curve of her cheek and the dimple that presses there. She all but melts into his touch when his thumb brushes her cheek. He pulls her into the circle of his arms. She’s still soft, and warm; he closes his eyes, feels his muscles go lax with relief when she holds fast, locking her arms around his back. Geralt presses his face against the smooth curve of her shoulder.

 It feels like stepping into the light of the sun after ages in cold and rain. “I love you, Zahra,” he breathes.

 Her soft, tearful laugh settles warm into his heart. “I love you, Geralt.”

 He gives a pleased murmur, lets the tip of his nose trail lazy circles over her shoulder. When he inhales, the warm, soft smell of her skin eases back into his lungs. From shoulder to neck, the Witcher draws in slow breaths and ghosts his lips over the exposed skin he finds until Zahra shivers. “What are you doing, Witcher?” she whispers, breathless.

 “Hmm… taking your scent back,” he mumbles. “I missed this smell.”

 His lips ease along the shell of her ear. She still gasps when he nips at the crux of her jaw. “I missed you, love,” he growls.

 Geralt takes his time. He savors the smell and the taste of her skin, humming lowly when Zahra’s hands grip at his back. The sweetness of her begins to bloom with heat, with the richness of desire – want – and when he sets his teeth gently against her pulse point, she moans delicately.  Insistent fingers tangle in his hair; she whispers his name and pulls him to her lips. She kisses him like a woman starved and it feels like his heart might thunder its way free of his chest. He lifts her onto the edge of the desk and comes to stand between her parted thighs, gathering the soft yellow cotton of her skirts up. Her fingers yank at the buttons on his trousers.

  It’s a quick, desperate of coupling. Mingled breath and bitten off sighs – greedy kisses with fingers gripped in the front of his shirt. She flutters hotly around his cock with a whimper and a curse. He groans against her mouth when he comes. Zahra drinks down the noise with a grin on her lips.

 Geralt stays put for more than a year. It’s good.

 The Path still calls, and he still follows, but she finds she’s able to let go of the fear. It’s no longer a question of ‘if’ but ‘when’ in terms of Geralt’s return. And if he knows it’s going to be a long journey, or if the mood simply strikes him, he writes -

 I miss you.

 I love you.

 Sometimes no more than a line, sometimes full paragraphs – even pages –  but he always tells her when he plans to return. When he’ll be home.

 It’s nearly spring next time he rides back in, market day in full swing as he passes through the township gate with Roach at his side. Vendors call their wares, families and merchants wander the stalls as he peers out from the shadow of his cloak. He finds the trail of Zahra’s scent past the cloying smell of cut flowers and rounds to corner to find her chatting with the butcher’s daughter.

 The younger woman catches his gaze. Geralt watches the girl grin and give his woman – his woman – a nudge, nodding in his direction. Zahra is already smiling when she turns, and the Witcher has the pleasure of watching her face flash from surprise to joy in the space of a heartbeat. She moves to him, a walk that becomes a jog, and then a final sprint that launches her into his arms. He curls his free arm tight around her waist. Immediately, he has his face pressed to her hair. Zahra’s laughter rings softly in his ears when she draws back, just enough to look up into his face.

 At her throat, the polished wolf’s tooth is bright against her brown skin. “Welcome home, my love,” she murmurs.

 The greeting settles warm over him like the sunlight. Geralt pulls her close again, kissing her in full view of half the town. She shivers sweetly in his arms and pulls her fingers through his hair. He hears a wolf-whistle, and a smattering of applause that makes Zahra giggle against his mouth.

 “People are staring,” she teases softly.

 He smirks. “Let them,” he tells her before kissing her once more. She tastes of clover honey.

 She smells of sunshine.

 She feels like home.

[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.”

[kai-keda]

So something on twitter got me rambling this to someone who I don’t even know whether or not they’re involved in the same communities as me or not and I kinda just realized this is actually a big problem.

Why are fandom spaces having age wars? Or would it be more appropriate to call it generational wars?

Basically what I’m going on about is how now that I’m 25 years old and have joined and become super involved with a relatively much newer community than any other I’ve been in before I’m seeing a lot of hostility.

Hostility thrown at me by complete strangers.

Okay, so, if you’ve known me for long enough you’d know that I’m used to people not liking me because of actions I did or words I said. Specifically I’m referring to that mega dark time in the Dragon Ball fandom when my mental health was unchecked, I was overly emotional and stupid.

When I say “Hostility being thrown at me by complete strangers” in this context I don’t mean it in that same sense. I mean people who only know my age and that I’m in their fandom.

With my previous fandoms they were things that a lot of adults were in as well because they initially joined said fandom as children themselves. This includes Dragon Ball and Naruto. So I never really had a problem with people hearing my age and running for the hills screaming since they were used to seeing adults. There were also communities with source materials that were geared more towards adults like Trigun.

Heck I was still more often than not on the younger side of any particular group discussion. At most I would be more in the middle of the groups age range and never the oldest.

That is until now.

See I’ve recently gotten really excited, obsessed, hyperfixated or whatever you want to call it with the MCYT content creators. I’m talking of course specifically about the Dream SMP stuff but also the creators individually.

I love the Sleepy Bois Inc group and the Dream Team and Fundy and Ranboo and Niki and BBH and Tubbo and just the whole lot of them in the right contexts honestly.

To me this wasn’t really anything new. I mean, once upon a time I enjoyed Yogscast but I was really young and not involved in the internet’s current world of fandom culture. Also, I never obsessed over them and their story. I was into other things at the time.

When I get really invested in something I tend to immediately go searching for a community to share it with and I’ve started following on tumblr and twitter a lot of wonderful fan-artists and analysts and shitposters and man the lot of you are so great. And I’m also subscribed to a LOT of animators on YouTube. I’ve been leaving as many positive comments ranging from pointing out the finer details of a piece of work to fully emotional responses as I can possibly leave.

And it seems like you guys are really awesome and open and friendly! You guys tend to reply to my comments and even if you don’t (which is totally fair! Don’t feel pressured, my comments are to make you feel good not a trap to make you interact with me!) you’ll leave a like or heck a heart on my YouTube comments to y’all’s animations.

Seeing my positive energy getting returned with positive energy gave me the courage to join some discord servers and I started, of course, with the official ones. Wilbur Soot was the content creator of this group of people that I watched first so of course by this point I was subscribed to him on Twitch. I was also subbed to TommyInnit so I joined their servers. I’m in a few other servers including SAD-ist’s server and Techno’s members only server.

I started out joining vc’s and chatting in text channels but it’s been quite a long time since I’ve done either of those two things (not including a stray opinion here or there being thrown into the DreamSMP Boundaries discord).

I’m pretty sure it’s been since early December since I’ve really interacted in ANY of these servers - including the much smaller non-official fan ones!

Why is that?

Honestly, I got tired of the hostility thrown my way at any mention or reminder of my age.

I’m 25 years old and when people in these servers hear that, a good chunk legitimately feel really awkward.

I was asked not once, not twice, but FOUR TIMES in a single night from FOUR DIFFERENT PEOPLE in the SAME VOICE CALL “Why are you in a fan server for a sixteen year old Minecraft streamer (referring to TommyInnit) if you’re 25?” with NO trace of irony and with complete seriousness and out of all those times only ONE PERSON defended me because they were in the call for the third instance only for them to leave, someone else to join and it to happen again.

And each time, the call went quiet and everyone waited silently for my answer. They were all legitimately concerned for the fact that I happen to be a fan of a streamer who happens to be younger than me.

And when I pointed out what I THOUGHT was obvious which was “90% of the other streamers he’s with and openly calls friends are also adults including Wilbur who is only one year younger than me and Philza who is seven years OLDER than me” only a portion of people responded with “yeah that’s true.”

The rest said “That’s not the same.”

I tried again to “explain myself” (we’ll get to how shitty THAT is in a minute) by detailing how I just genuinely think Tommy, and Tubbo as well, are fun to watch. They’re entertaining, they’re funny, they’re energetic, they work well off the other streamers and I also find them adorable the same way I find puppies and kittens adorable. Heck, I love referring to Tommy as a Chihuahua because he’s a tiny little child with a really loud bark. It’s funny and cute and that’s the appeal.

That got a few other people to relax but there were still some people who at this point just said “well, I still think it’s weird but whatever.” and continued on only with an awkward air of nervousness around them.

Alright so it’s really important for me to stress that being a fan of a content creator does not equate wanting anything romantic or sexual with them in any capacity and therefore there is nothing inherently “creepy” or predatory about an adult being a fan of a content creator who happens to be a minor. I get that that seems like a hard concept to grasp but it’s true.

I’m sure there’s plenty of musicians and actors y’all absolutely adore who you don’t want to marry and/or bang. Heck, I’m positive there’s a good chunk of you who love Miyazaki films. You love his work, you’re a fan of what he does, of his content and you’re a fan of him yet you don’t want to marry and/or bang him. I’m sure a lot of you also have really close platonic friendships that you enjoy.

Assuming I’m only a fan of Tommy to get closer to him and his fans who are minors for some gross reasons is really shitty. NEVER assume the worst in someone like that. Be cautious around adults on the internet in general, sure, but this particular attitude I’ve described is disgusting.

Anyways, beyond that though this rabbit hole goes deeper.

It’s not just people being concerned that an adult is a fan of a content creator who is a minor. People have actually openly shamed and mocked me for being 25 years old in these other servers. Including the one you have to pay monthly to get into in the first place!

And now I go on twitter and I see a post pointing out how silly it is for minors to push adults out of fandom spaces that are based on content created BY ADULTS and the replies are people arguing FOR THE EXCLUSION OF ADULTS?!?!

HELLO?!?!

Are you guys okay?!?!

How is me being a fan of Philza and wanting to interact with other fans of his weird and creepy?? THE MAN IS LITERALLY SEVEN YEARS OLDER THAN ME AND MARRIED WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!

I heard that there’s been a lot of drama in the JoJo fandom recently where minors are trying to say the whole fandom needs to be purged of adults??? That it’s meant to be a safe space for children and teenagers?? THE ANIME JOJO’S BIZZARE ADVENTURE?!?! DO Y’ALL KNOW HOW OLD THAT FRANCHISE IS?!?! IT’S OLDER THAN SOME OF YOU!!

Should teenagers have safe spaces in fandom where they don’t have to worry about strange adults if they’re uncomfortable with that? Absolutely.

Should adults be shamed and kicked out of fandom as soon as they become an adult? Should “20” be the age where fandom must stop? Absolutely fucking NOT!

I want so bad to make friendships and be a part of a community of people who enjoy these dorky Minecraft streamers as much as I do. It kills me to open Discord, see all the activity in these servers and shy away at the last minute from joining in because of my age.

I’m rusty on this quote so forgive me if it’s not exact but this has been my life motto since I became an adult and accepted my place in fandom. I think a lot of you guys can learn from it:

“When I became an adult I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.”

- C.S Lewis

[toxicxxmyth]

Dating Christopher Vélez headcanon

Authors Note: Don’t know if I rlly have to mention this but I called Chris a fuckboy in this like 20+ times so don’t be offended m8 and just like Richards, this is all over the place

Richard‘s headcanon

Christopher has mentioned many many MANY times that he is not looking for a relationship

My man is getting that good good PussAy ;))))))

And he ain’t looking for no commitment :(:

We stan a fuck boy ;)

So it probably took him like three encounters to notice you

The first time was at a house party and y’all talked for like five seconds and then went your separate ways

You remember him

He didn’t even remember your hair color lol

The second time was also at a party

You were looking for your car keys but you spotted the cute guy you talked to for like a second

So you asked if he’d seen your keys like a fkn dumbass

And he was like “nah m8 😔”

And you were like “aight 🤘😔”

And he thought you were hot so that’s a start

Then the third time was also another party

And then y’all saw each other again and made a convo this time

He for sure remember you this time cause he wasn’t as tipsy as before

Lol

So that’s how y’all met

But just like Richard

It took this boy a long time to actually get his shit together and be like

“I actually like this girl”

Ya feel?

But you already liked him

But you understood his position

You were actually grateful that he didn’t just agree to go out with you if he wasn’t certain about you

It saved you the heart break

But after many MANY months

He gave in, and he was grateful for your patience

Anywhore

Now to the headcanon of dating the Ecuadorian fuck boy who we love

There is never a day where you’re bored

He’s always got something planned for the day

Lazy days are superior tho

His laugh could cure your acne, sadness’s and anxiety

Thank God he laughs every damn day

HE WILL FOR SURE TEACH YOU HOW TO SKATEBOARD

And if you already know how to skateboard then y’all will ride together like actual goals

He goes all out when it comes to dates

Will take you to the most expensive restaurants in the area

For sure will buy you a fancy ass dress

I highly believe that out of all the members he’s the one who’ll spoil you the most

Like fuck

It’s a lot

When he’s away on tour he’ll have a bIG ASS bouquet of flowers sent to you or chocolate

Will surprise you jewelry, food, clothes aNYTHING

you’ll have to remind him that he doesn’t have to do any of that but he insists on doing them bc he loves spoiling you sm

Yet when you return the favor by buying him something small he’s all like

“:0 thIS IS TOO MUCH, AMOR”

and you’re like “???? Khe ???”

For sure will teach you Spanish if you don’t already

Staring by cuss words ofc :’)

Whenever y’all go to the club he always comes up to you like you’re a stranger or smth

“I'm new in town. Could you give me directions to your apartment?” ;)

“ChRisssss”

He’d try this the whole night making random guys come to your “rescue”

Chris is laughing his ass off while you calmly tell them that it’s just your bf

He doesn’t seem to be the jealous type

He’s v confident that u love him and only him

Which is true

It takes a lot in him to get jealous

But when he does

OOFFF

You better be scared

He never takes it out on you, just the guy who seemed to cross a boundary that Chris drew in his imagination

You’re the one who gets jealous easily for sure

SO MANY PRETTY FEMALES THROWING THEMSELVES ON HIM MAKES YOU SEE RED

But he always shows you that you’re the only one he wants if you know what I mean ;)

Honestly, y’all don’t even cook, just order a shit ton of food while watching movies or the both of you just work on your individual projects

If you ever get stressed over work or a project from uni hes always there

Softly rubbing your shoulder as he presses kisses soft kisses along the shell of your ear sending shiver down your spine as you relaax

It might lead to ;) or it could end in you cuddling until you get your mojo back

The sEX is bOmB bTw ;))))))))

Like, this dude is so into overstimulation and subspace that he’ll have you c*mmimg multiple times a night :):

Ooff

Edging is suCH a big turn on for this boy

Y’all fuck like rabbits no doubt

Public sEx is definitely HIS thing

Expect a quickie after each show in his dressing room when you visit him on tour ;)

Anything you do is such a turn on for him

You literally make him feel like a hormonal teenager again

I’m 92% sure this boy will cry one tour bc he misses you sm

Which leads you to surprising him on the other side of the world

Which he is super grateful for :’)

And then y’all have some bomb sex cause y’all a bunch of sex addicts m8

Whenever he feels down he just rests his head on your boobs and wrap his long arms around your body

You let him rant as much as he wants

And somehow you know whether or not he wants advice or just someone to listen

vice versa

Now imma be 100% honest

Don’t @ me

I feel like it’ll take such a long time for Chris’s mother to actually like you

He’s such a mommas boy that just seeing him with another woman might make her skeptical

Ooff I’m crossing dangerous grounds here

He’s siblings and grandmother automatically loved you, but his mother was distant

Christopher has to have a heartfelt conversation with her about it beCAUSE HE LOVES YOU SM AND HE NEEDS THE WOMAN OF HIS LIFE TO ACCEPT THAT

This lowkey makes you feel like an intruder

You feel as if you’re ruining their relationship

But you’ll also have a heartfelt convo with her and at the end of the day y’all would get along once she sees how much you love and care for her son

It probably took a year for y’all to move in together

But when you do, y’all have even more fun and adventures than before

Y’all goals asf

Most of his ig stories are about you

Videos, promoting your posts etc the whole package deal

Subtle matching tattoos

You say “I love you” first and he’s all blushy and giggle which makes you all bullishly and giggly as well :’)

And y’all just make love as he repeats the words and over and over :’)

He always has his hands around your shoulder

Pulling you closer at the most random times

HUGS EVERYWHERE MAN

Omfg this man smells like christmas heaven

Just like his mom, your family wasn’t certain about him first

And by your family i mean your dad(or male figure if you’re dadless :’)

Making him sad

But you’ll do your best to convince you dad that he is a good guy wHICH HE IS!!!!

After a while, he gave Chris a shot

And that’s all you ask for Tbfh

Will subtly mention you in interviews which would cause the guys to give each other knowing stares

Just Like Richard, you receive hate after hate

BUT YALL FICKING TOO HARD TO NOTICE!!

It sometimes gets to you but Chris is always there to comfort you

Making you go all uwu

He goes full mom mode whenever you get sick

Will google your symptoms

Lowkey has a mental breakdown when google tells him that you only have two weeks to live lol

He later calls his mom and she tells him what he should do

Will try to help you with your work but he just gives you a look and gives tf up

Soft hours late at night

You guys talk about your future and marriage and kids and it just lives you all soft and warm inside

Little did you know that he feels the exact same

You’d be in his arms slightly leaning against the headboard as your dress hands play with each other fingers talking about nothing and everything

Sings to you whenever you have trouble sleeping

THE GUYS LOVE YOU

Did I mention that? Lol

Just like any new friendship

Y’all were awkward at first but after a few minutes of getting to know each other they all loved you

Especially Erick, that boy is your child and you will protect him from any danger in the world lmao

That’s it my ppl :’)

Deuces once again :’)🤙🏼

[fanficobsess3d]

period headcanons

wow I can’t believe I haven’t put out an anime fic yet, damn I really AM behind

this is my first headcanon for ~the boys~ so bear with me, but I just know that these are all fucking canon and yall can @ me 

Also, I’m a little bitch on my period - I’m on it now and lemme just say BOY - so I’m basing this off of my experiences. I have heavy, painful, and emotional periods so….. if you cannot relate just enjoy what could be from the boys of class 1-A

Bakugo

He’s one of the only boys that will know what the fuck is going on with you

His mom is hella loud so it’s obvious that she’d educate her son on it

He may be a prideful asshole, but he was taught to be respectful and educated

He’s also not the type of guy to whine

So be prepared to hear a lot of insults when you whine

“oH mY FuKinh GOODDDDD!!!!” 

“You are so annoying! I don’t sound like that!” 

“Well, I’m so fucking sorry princess, I hate to break it to you, but you do fucking sound like that with your constant bitching!” 

Yeah he highkey roasts you every single time you wanna start whining

But don’t be mistaken, the second you really start to feel the pain he’s genuinely worried

There have been a few times you’ve gotten really bad

You typically start feeling nauseous all day and don’t eat

So you collapse

Curled into a ball on the floor, groaning and moaning

The girls had been with you and hissed with sympathy, but you could already hear Bakugo yelling from the hall

“WhAT THE FUCKKK!”

He instantly scoops you up to hide in a classroom away from everybody 

Setting you on the desk, you can see the worry in his eyes

He knew how you got when you were hit with the monthly hellfire rain waterfall 

So he was prepared for this

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get mad about it

“Jesus fucking CHRIST Y/N!” 

“‘M sorry, Katsuki….” 

You were playing with your thumbs as he lightly knocked against your head with his knuckles with a scoff

“You need to take better care of yourself, dumbass. I feel like my hair’s gonna go gray every damn time you fucking collapse like that.”

“I tried! I felt like I was gonna get sick this morning! And the pain pills don’t work anymore!”

“Then we’ll fucking skip. Next time, don’t wait to tell me that it’s gotten that bad as you fall like a fucking idiot on the goddamn floor. Dumbass.”

You let a small smile slip onto your face

You knew that he had his own way of showing affection, so you couldn’t help it every time he went even the tiniest bit soft on you 

You guys normally skip class after that

You sneak into your dorm to cuddle in your bed with your fuzzy blankets

And yeah you don’t forget the heating pad -- you have Bakugo: the human heater

He keeps a close eye on you the rest of the night, making sure you eat and pumping you full of pain meds to try and keep the pain at bay 

But god FORBID you start crying

He is not the most emotional person so the second you start crying he’s like um

He just curls his hand around the back of your head and pushes your head into his chest

Letting his head fall into the crook of your shoulder as your sobs die down

“God, you’re so fucking dramatic, babe.”

“Shut up! The cat was fucking cute okay?!” 

But he’s still there whenever you need something

Ask him to get stuff from the store for you and yeah he’ll do it

Prepare for the whining and groaning about it though

He’ll literally be on the phone with you the entire time just so he can be petty and grumble about it

But he’ll never admit that seeing you so distressed every month is more scary and stress inducing than literally everything else in his life

Because you’ve become his life 

Not that he’ll tell you that 

As for the sex part, I feel like he’ll only do something if you really ask for it or if you’re pissing him off

He’s a complete control freak, so if you think for a second that he’s gonna let you off after your attitude earlier….

Boyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy you’re IN FOR IT

But he knows how much pain you might be in so he’s only gonna do it if the mood’s right 

Otherwise he’s not gonna put any of him near any part of you because he accidentally read the situation wrong once and you freaked and then cried because you told him no 

Yeah, that was a fun conversation

Bakugo was pissed when he found out the background about that answer

But if you are up to it, yeah y’all are going like seven rounds I SWEAR

That boy has the stamina of a fucking rabbit 

Todoroki

This is also the only other guy who’s gonna know about uterus period stuff because of his sister

Yeah, he doesn’t know the specifics as much as Bakugo

But he’s aware of what’s happening 

Honestly I feel like he’s one of the best ones to be around on your period tbh

Yeah, he’s quiet, but that makes your life much much easier when all you want to do is cry and scream at people all day

The second you get mad at something, he gives you that look 

Everything will be fine, calm down 

And it’s like everything is fine 

You also know that he’ll be a little petty bitch if you decide to get mad at him about something

But then you’ll start crying because you didn’t mean to get mad at him and he’ll just smile at you because he knows that you genuinely do feel bad

As for the cramps, he’s already prepared

The second your period hits he just…. Knows 

He knows you so well that he can instantly feel when your personality starts to change

So not even a period later he’s shoving chocolate and a teddy bear with a cute picture of you two, in your face

He does get really worried when the cramps get really bad though

Pain meds don’t really work on you, so the only thing that he can do is massage you with his left side

He knows that the heat helps so anytime your face contorts and your mouth lets out a grunt of pain he’s instantly massaging your stomach or back 

My fatass cANNOT relate but N E WAYS

He’s not as dramatic as Bakugo but yeah, he does get really worried

He gets quieter than usual, if that’s even possible, and he never leaves your side

But that’s more for him than you since he knows that you get so caught up that you forget to take care of yourself sometimes

And he worries about you all of the time

Be prepared for a look if you start whining, though

He’s not really used to that

so if you start taking the immature route

whether because you feel bad or because you want to piss him off

Get ready for intimidating Todo 

He kind of looks at you like you need to remember who you’re talking to.

But he does understand that there are some days when every little thing gets to you

So he’s always prepared to listen

“Why is it that I’m the only person on this planet who suffers!???? I swear to gooddddd my uterus is about to fuckING EXPLODE!!! AND THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT ITTTT! AAAAAA!” 

“Baby-”

“Oh my god!!! You called me baby!” suddenly you’re bawling again 

He picks you up and sets you in his lap, letting you latch onto his shoulders and neck 

I highkey feel like he’s one of the guys who’d try and help by sex ngl

Like if you’re in his lap for longer than a second

Oop you’re getting it

It’s inevitable 

You really don’t mind tho cause BOY is an orgasm on your period fucking hEAVEN

Shoto’s also a switch so like

Since you’re such a goddamn sub baby on your period, what he says goes

the second you throw a fit, BOOM you’re gettin fucked

he’d prefer if you cry over an orgasm than a shitty dog commercial and that’s the tea on that

Izuku

Little baby over here has no fucking idea what a period is 

he was never really around girls much, so he never really learned

not to mention that schools barely cover it as it is 

He knows it involves blood

He knows it involves your parts????

…. and yeah, that’s pretty much it 

So the second you start complaining about it he gets all blushy and confused

You didn’t have time to explain, so the rest of the day was an adventure for him to try and figure it out

He gets instantly focused

He starts murmuring weird theories and writing down weird stuff as the day goes on

Noticing your weird habits and how you seemed to act like Kacchan

You became impulsive and you cried like four times before the first class ended

Not to mention how many arguments you got into

he was convinced for a wholeass solid period that a demon had literally possessed you

He was very, very, confused

But he wanted to find out why you were like that 

Later on, you sat him down and explained everything 

Granted, he blushed like a little school boy and it was an awkward conversation on his part

But you were irritated because it was so annoying to have to explain it to every boy ever 

but you were just glad that he was respectful about it

He felt bad that you had to sit down and explain something so normal and commonplace to him

then you felt bad because you didn’t mean to be mean to him 

or make him feel bad

Yeah, you started crying again

But now he understands everything and he feels, like, really bad

He doesn’t get why it’s the girls that have to suffer through everything

he also doesn’t understand why nobody pushed for more education about it 

he now understand more of the stigma around women and he feels really bad about that because he genuinely had no idea

And wow you gave him a pat on the back after that came out of his mouth

That got him so lovely bonus points

But he has that glint in his eye that you know very well, and you instantly sweat drop as he begins to mutter ideas to himself 

The next morning you show up to class and he instantly greets you with a hug and chocolate and very cooey gooey words that made Bakugo gag at his desk 

Later on that night, he makes you guys the comfiest blanket fort and sets up a bunch of movies to watch

Every time you cry he borderline cries himself, hugging you to his chest and wrapping you guys with the blankets

Every time you are in serious pain he feels really bad and hovers over you like a mother hen 

One time you collapsed and he instantly picked you up and ran to Recovery Girl in the health center

He genuinely thought you had died or something

But no, the cramps made you nauseous and you didn’t eat so your iron levels dropped really low and you passed out

He instantly freaked and kept shoving food in your mouth for the rest of the week

Now for the sex part 

You were in pain more often than not, so it was a bad idea for anything sexual to happen 

But yeah, you got horny on your period like, half of the time

Somehow the topic of period sex was brought up between you and Izuku and he had no idea that that was a thing 

The look on his face when he realized it was probably the funniest fucking thing ever 

His eyes bulged out of his head like those weird animal pens 

But he actually thought about it and literally a look at you would have you pouncing on him 

It was 50/50 on whether you’d be in the mood, though

Sometimes you just wanted to fuck

Sometimes you wanted to suck his dick until he cried

Other times you just wanted to cuddle his chest 

and, yeah, sometimes you wanted to throw a plate at a wall

honestly i felt that 

After the first time you’d had a successful sexual encounter on your period

You wished him luck on trying to figure out when to do each 

He just looked at you with wide eyes

“Yeah, I’ll just warn you now, because of how wacky my emotions are, if you tried anything like what we just did and I was not in the mood, my uterus would’ve had a royal fit.”

“What do you mean?” he looked at you cautiously

You turned to him, your eyes a dark glint, “I mean, if I’m not in the mood for sex, I’m either going suck you, cry, or punch you. Good luck figuring out when I wanna do each one.” 

He looked at how close you were in proximity and promptly scooted back a few inches, almost falling off of the bed

But you grabbed his arm and yanked him back until he was pushed into your neck 

“Yeah, also you can’t stop cuddling me until I say so, either.”

“... so as long as I do what you ask you won’t kill me, right?”

you had to giggle at that, he was just so naive at times

you hadn’t meant to come off so intimidating, because you were really happen that he was nice enough to take care of you like t

a lot of boyfriends you’d had in the past had been real assholes about it

“H-hey this is serious! How can I take care of you if i’m dead?!?!” 

you turned to look at him 

“That’s your only concern?” there was weird glint in your eye

“... am I supposed to be worried about something else?”

yeah, you jumped him again

[songofadaydream]

my real-time thoughts on rocketman the 4th time I’ve seen it in total and 2nd time this week, let’s go bois *very long post warning*

fair warning I just finished jojo rabbit less than an hour ago and it was way more emotional than I expected, so she’s probably going to be an emotional wreck tonight ladies!! :)) also, I will be pausing the movie throughout! just wanted to let you know

starting the night out right with some lay’s salt and vinegar chips and a lush face mask

not even a part of the movie but when the studio logos come on a version of goodbye yellow brick road and just *french kiss*

it’s starting and I am here for it!!

taron comes looking like an icon and a snack. actually, a whole meal. the heart glasses omggg

“how long’s this gonna take.” “that’s really up to you.”

i never noticed this before but taron stares right into the camera as he introduces himself

“my name is elton hercules john. and I’m an alcoholic. and a cocaine addict. and a sex addict. and a bulimic. i’m also a shopaholic who was problems with weed, prescription drugs, and anger management.”

“well my dealer was out of town I thought this seemed like a good alternative,”

“and I wanted to get better.”

um the transition into the full on musical number of the bitch is back.

this tiny little child actor playing elton saying bitch 10 million times. props to his parents for letting him do that.

um also his riffs??

just the way his mom says, “love to.”

god his dad is a DOUCHE

“when are you going to hug me”🥺🥺

the flashlight conducting scene!! they’re playing rocketman and it’s so beautiful and cute!! whe lil reggie/elton gets on the mini piano oh my god

when he looks at his mom’s fashion magazines...gay fashion icon beginnings...

*looks up* “can we go home,”

he starts playing his teacher’s song and she’s just like 😦😦

idk if this is an unpopular opinion but I don’t really like the I want love scene. I just don’t really like the switching of singer, the arrangement, and tempo. just my opinion though :/ also that’s the only weak scene of this movie I think

elton’s grandmother appreciation post send tweet

that last I want love though.

when his mom is clearly getting it on in a car and her date is like, “I’m..,,..a friend of.,.,,..your mum’s,.,,”

his dad leaves. heartbreaking!

when he wipes the tear away...

“i discovered records. and rock and roll :)”

playing classical music with an elvis presley haircut is an aesthetic no I don’t take criticism

“excuse me. you can’t put that there,” “why not,” “it’ll get knocked off.”

when he transforms into teenage elton and an amazing musical/dance number starts

that face taron makes when the door shuts on the car

“it’s not just your name. you gotta kill the person you were born to be in order to become the person you wanna be.”

that kiss with one of the band members is so hot.

peeing in a bottle in disgusting I’m sorry.

“what’d you say your name was again?” “elton.” “elton. elton what.” “john. elton john.”

ray is cute af. also the transcendental moment when he hands elton the envelope with bernie’s lyrics in it.

“one frothy coffee, no froth.”

jamie is so cute what the heckkkk

singing streets of loredo in a cafe is so wholesome and adorable

holy sHIT BORDER SONG IS STARTING

bernie and elton are literally so cute together as friends omg

also completely digging these like early 70s silk scarf things.

“yeah I could just take those songs and leave if you like,”

“what about the fact that you’re a f*g...your little friend here...is a homosexual.”

bernie not caring whether or not elton is is gay is Peak Pure ™

“oH fUcK”

when they stumble home drunk. the cuteness I can’t.

“you are a ssshhHHITT hot piano player, you have an aMAZING voice, and I’m telling you there is something special that happens...when you sing our songs.”

the way the two handle elton’s leaning in for a kiss is SO GOOD and I could write an entire essay on it. “we became inseparable after that. the brother I never had.”

“anyway I took his advice. told arabella. she took it quite well actually,” *cut to her throwing his piano out the window* “sHe KiLlEd mY pIaNo”

your song and everything about that scene is perfection. that’s all I have to say.

“you can’t just sPRING the troubadour on me.”

“put on a great

fucking

show. and just don’t kill yourself with drugs?”

amoreena is so good how didn’t I realize this until now!

doug flirting w/bernie kills me every time.

“ooh dude. what the hell’re you wearing?”

“my stage gear.”

*bernie stumbles in drunk* “reggie! reggie reggie. neil diamond is at the bar he’s talkin to leon russell and half the fuckin beach boys eh??”

“jesus sHIT bernie,”

that little, “well come on then,” after being yelled by bernie & ray

“please welcome all the way from london, england...”

ELTON JOHN

when he starts singing it’s like the smoothest molasses ever and I am HERE for it.

there’s an interview where taron says, and I quote, “those dungarees made my ass look massive” wholeheartedly agree my guy. but in best way possible

when they start floating

elton’s jacket and the magic that is the entirety of tiny dancer <3 <3

there’s a whole ass bed in a tipi?? what the hell

“so you like the songs then?” “not quite as much as the singer,” OH SHIT THE GAY TENSION

“there are moments in a rockstar’s life that defines who he is...and it’s going to be a wild ride,”

it’s a weird scene to like but I really love the take me to the pilot love scene. the song is so good and perfect for that moment, and they seem genuinely attracted to each other (even though john ends up being a huge dick later)

the way he takes the glasses off

the lil race to get their pants off is weird but it works

elton just seems so happy and content at the end and it’s so refreshing.

when he gets the shoes and the glasses <3

he looks so happy and fulfilled my little boy

why is it so cute when he and Kiki record don’t go breaking my heart

elton stops it the SECOND he sees John oh my goddd

kiki’s little “ough” when she sees john

“elton what’s going on are we going again or should we go for a pint,” *sees john walk into the closet* “yeah no yeah you should go for a pint”

HONKY CAT IS ONE OF IF NOT THE BEST SCENES/SONGS IN THE ENTIRE FILM THERE I SAID IT

cocaine induced head butt of a soccer ball is iconic

why did they have to get rid of rayyyy

the, “best of luck to you elton,” is so bitter yet genuinely well-wishing??

“welp...that was *absolutely* horrible,” is such a mood

the scene where he goes to come out to his dad is so incredibly heartbreaking, especially when it cuts to him in rehab.

taron deserves an oscar just for throwing that chair alone.

“what have you got to do the get a fucking drink around here, eh?” and then he takes a swig from a bottle in the car with john

when he calls his mom to come out. that shit hurts.

“i just hope you realize you’re choosing a life of being alone forever...you’ll never be loved properly.” he opens his mouth. it’s so awful guys. and then he fucking gets punched by john what an absolute dick.

“real love’s hard to come by. so you find a way to cope without it.”

the scene that comes right after that when he’s getting ready for his show and snorts cocaine and takes a swig of a drink really shows how far off the deep end he had gone. it’s heartbreaking, really.

“PEOPLE DON’T PAY TO SEE rEgInALd dWiGhT THEY PAY TO SEE ELTON JOHN. DON’T EVER TELL ME HOW TO DO MY FUCKING JOB.” “WRITE THE FUCKING LYRICS, BERNIE. LET ME DEAL WITH THE REST,” “i’m sorry,” “i know.”

that headdress tho

ok but pinball wizard absolutely slaps and so does the montage with all of his changing outfits

oh my god the drag queen in his room though

NONONONO JOHN IS LITERALLY RIGHT THERE FUCKING CHEATING ON HIM IT IS NOT OKAY.

what an inconvenient time for his mom to waltz in

“and what a shy little boy you were! look at you now.”

“mum you’re ON my GOWN,”

i wish i were as cool as bernie getting out of that car and coming inside

“yEaGhHhH...go get a lil drink. yehyeh,”

get ready for one of the most impactful scenes of 2019 if not the 2010s ladies

“FOR MY NEXT TRICK i’m gonna fucking kill myself.”

again, I could write an entire essay on this but the fact that he is literally hitting rock bottom with his childhood self down there is so impactful and powerful and one of the greatest artistic choices they made in this film. also the cinematography is gorgeous.

and oh, by the way, taron actually performed this underwater. no cgi or special effects. where is his oscar.

john is a dick to him on the stretcher but bernie looks so genuinely concerned for his friend and I love that.

it is absolutely gut wrenching when they pump his stomach.

THE CINEMATOGRAPHY AND ANGLES AND SILHOUETTES WHEN IT GETS TO THE BIG CHORUS PART IS SO SO SO INCREDIBLY GOOD AND AMAZING AND I WILL NEVER, EVER GET OVER IT.

the nurses getting him ready for what was probably his biggest/most iconic performance to date is something so incredible, and such a great choice cinematically, story wise, and really emotion wise too. he was at his absolute rock bottom and did one of if not the most iconic performance a little over 24hrs later, and I think this little part really helps to illustrate that.

taron actually hit that baseball and I’m so proud of him for it.

the liftoff is so great. and then it cuts to him in a plane with smoke on his head which just. ugh.

hot take: elton’s addiction wouldn’t have gotten so bad if he had just gone to bernie’s fucking ranch with him

THE QUEEN OUTFIT IS SO ICONIC IM SORRY

also if this movie doesn’t win the goddamn best costume design I swear to god.

YES BENNIE AND THE JETSSSSS

this is also such a great scene as well omg.

when he flashbacks to his childhood and difficult and also great moments in his life during this sequence. that hit hard.

i feel like no one talks about taron’s arms enough? they as thiccc as his thighs why y’all sleeping on them

“You signed a contract with me years ago, so I’ll still be collecting my 20% long after you’ve killed yourself.” that’s cold as hell.

when he throws that glass at the door. and then victim of love starts playing straight afterwards UGH dexter fletcher you need to STOP and CALM DOWN

listen I don’t know elton was thinking and/or feeling in terms of life and his sexuality when he decided to marry renata but can we talk about his wedding outfit?? wtffff it’s so gay and if you don’t see it you’re blind.

the look his mom gives him I’m DEAD

they literally had separate rooms this was not a normal marriage. the breakfast scene is so sad though.

“did being married make you happy?” “not really, I’m gay.” hands down one of the most iconic lines in the entire movie.

why does he have sperm on this firework suit coat.

“you know I am so sick of running away from who I am.”

the way his voice wavers and cracks is not okay. and neither is his mom twisting everything around so that she’s made out to be the victim. and don’t cry in the bathroom elton please buddy. you’ll be okay.

“campaign to kill yourself is going well, eh?”

“when did you give up? if you don’t care about yourself how can you expect anyone else to...it’s not weak to ask for help.”

goodbye yellow brick road is such a beautiful song and scene and why didn’t we get Jamie to sing more I mean come on he does so incredibly well in this scene.

also I didn’t really realize that they flipped a few verses around for the movie. and elton yelling and screaming at bernie as he leaves is so powerful.

elton yelling at himself.

this is also when he has a heart attack?? chest infection?? I don’t really know but he falls down the stairs and Mr. Dick Manager John makes him continue to perform.

and there he is in the first scene’s costume. singing the rest of yellow brick road.

and there he goes. off to rehab. a full circle moment. good for him for finally taking control of his life and addictions.

“yeah but I started acting like a c*nt in 1975. I just forgot to stop.”

“maybe I should’ve tried to be more ordinary.” his grandmother walks in. “he was never ordinary.” my. heart. can. not. take. this.

this next scene where he talks to everyone in his mind is incredibly powerful and I will shout it from the rooftops until the end of time.

“my problem is that I believed you loved me. and you’re incapable of it.” the SHADE

“actually I think I’m okay with strange.”

BERNIE COMES IN MY LOVE

“bernie...I never told you how much I need you.” shit fam here comes the waterworks

“you just need to remember who you are. and be okay with it.”

and then his childhood self comes in. “I haven’t been reggie Dwight for years.” “when are you going to hug me.” he engulfs his young self in a hug. this is one of the best moments of the film and I am now full on crying.

I can’t get over how wholesome bernie’s visit is with Elton. the sweetest thing ever.

“you’re not scared you’re not good without it, you’re scared to feel again...this is the part you gotta do on your own. these...need music”

“thank you bernie.” “you’re my brother.” <3

and then he finally sits down to write again. and it’s pure magic.

I’m still standing is a a feat of what he’s been through the entire movie. finally, he’s sober, he’s accepting of himself/his sexuality, and is getting to a better place. plus, it mirrors the original music video, and is everything I’ve ever needed and more. *the* perfect scene and song to end upon.

he’s so happy at the end. and then the epilogue starts and says he’s been sober for 28 years and counting, set up an aids charity, still writes with bernie, met his husband David 25 years ago and is finally loved properly (rip my heart out of my chest, why don’t you), has two sons and is retiring from touring. and and the I’m gonna love me again plays with him and taron and it’s just such a perfect song to end, and I can’t.

so. those are my thought while watching rocketman for the 4th time in total, 2nd time this week. sorry that’s it’s so long. I just love this film so much. anyways, it’s almost 2am and I’m an emotional wreck. I’m gonna go cry and go to bed now. thanks for making it this far. :) <3