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real-jane · 2 years

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nftn: scruff

(bucky barnes x female!reader, shield)

summary: bucky has been working through weeks of depression, and you are the comfort he needs as he finds his way out.

warnings: discussion of depression and mental health, smut as comfort, bucky is almost entirely non-verbal, light discussion of kink

word count: 5,927

a/n: part twelve of ‘nostalgia for the new’! (can be read alone, all you need to know is that they're married <3) this update is dedicated to @peterhollandkait who requested that I write reader with a beard kink ages ago, and then I sent her a fic which made us both cry and had to make it up to her with *spice.* enjoy! :)

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Belonging was a foreign feeling.

On the days he felt most at ease, Bucky was content to not possess all the answers to his little universe; How did I get so lucky? was a mantra of bafflement, not a question.

But belonging when you had innumerable demons came at a price: sometimes pain set in, with no warning, and nowhere to go. An ache which sat in his joints like age should. Hurt, with no source. He spent days on end flinching away from touch, from the woman who he called home, every moment worrying his inability to stay composed would drive her away.

Drive you away. The brutal sensation life might crumble was a lie, and the hangover usually dissipated under observation. Still.

The first bad freeze (-4 degrees fahrenheit, so cold that the Stark Tech furnaces struggled to heat the concrete compound) brought a wave of gloom which made him clueless how to give you the love you deserved. The episode hung on for days, and days became weeks... he couldn’t shake it.

Who knew he could still have nightmares like he was strapped to a chair, perceiving nothing behind his eyelids but the pleading eyes of whoever he had eliminated? When Soldat woke him, you always waited for him to share what he had seen, so you could soothe it away, with tender eyes watching over him and a merciful hand kneading his shoulder. No doubt you heard words in languages you couldn't comprehend from his lips, but you never indicated either way. The most recent time a nightmare shocked him awake, you had clutched him against your stomach while he cried.

You and the Asset were ships passing in the night. His triggers could not be tripped, because they didn't exist. You wouldn't meet the Winter Soldier. The infinitesimal fear you would die by his hand clung to Bucky's bones anyway.

The depression was familiar; in so many ways, like returning to himself. He didn't want to be that man, but the grief might always be there. How could he mourn for a life which was stolen from him by HYDRA when he had you, now? It made no logical sense, and viciously undercut the progress he had made.

Maybe Bucky didn't know how to properly dream, sleeping or not. All he learned before he was captured was how to game a system where coming home was dishonorable compared to death in battle. Dreaming, the kind which enabled a person to envision how they'd like their future to pan out, had no application in a fox hole other than stripping the grit from boys who hoped they might hug their mothers again, all the while knowing their country didn't much care if they died. The cruel irony of never seeing his own mother again, while being married to a woman she would have adored... it relented in the sunlight. Still... he had no imagination. He was fortunate to wake up with someone he loved beside him. He should be grateful for that much.

You had turned down a mission a week ago without consulting him, but when you explained yourself, he had to admit you took 'for better or for worse' as solemnly as he did.

"When we commit to a job, we agree we are our best selves and up to the task. If my partner is not his usual grumpy self, I'm not ready to say 'yes' to tasks which require us to be prepared for anything. I love my partner. He is strong and capable, even when he doesn't believe it," you had said, as if said partner wasn't buried under your comforter on your bed at one in the afternoon with your cat pillowed on his chest, "and I value his well-being above all else. When we want to take on another assignment, we make that decision together. In the meantime, what do you need?"

The last two weeks, he followed you to food, to bathe. He closed his eyes when you flicked off the light, regardless of whether sleep came. He relied on you. And why wouldn't he? Especially once he was able to tell you just how much he hated being cold. Your mission became staving it off. You handed him fresh clothes to wear with layers of flannel and waffle-weave every morning, threw his socks and briefs in the dryer. You bought an electric blanket, which you turned on a few minutes before the two of you retired for the night. You cooked him soups with names like Grandma Kath's Famous Potato Stew. His hands often held something ceramic which you had given him, the contents of which were warded in demonstrable fondness and root vegetables, to protect him.

***

That morning, he had no voice. It sometimes happened, when he was struggling; his brain and his tongue were in a disconnect. He stood in the kitchen on floor six, hiding in a vat of hot cocoa which had long gone tepid... watching you talk to your sister on the phone out on the balcony. You laughed, and your cheeks turned pink from cold.

You had winced as your cell rang, and apologized for taking the call when the purpose of your visit to the kitchen was finding him some relief. He had pressed the green button for you, wincing as Jenny's chipper voice reverberated (without being on speaker).

Bucky couldn't tear his eyes away from your glee, and he thought... what do I give her? The moment the accusation flashed through his gray space, your gaze flicked up to his. Your smile softened. He set his mug down. Well, your mug–Vermont's mug. Sipping chocolate, even if the cocoa wasn't warm enough to be of real solace, just didn't sound appetizing anymore.

Someone would've told him if he wasn't allowed to keep you, right?

He wanted to be the man who took away your worries again. To be grumpy in jest alone. He would rather be the caretaker of the lighthouse, like you had called him once, than the storm which threatened. His deep wounds manifested like liminal paralysis, a hare's breath from a dangerous headspace. There was no denying how cyclical the suffering was, turning on itself in shame. To see you so happy was his joy, and to not be joyful with you was agony.

One of these mornings, you would send him off to Ayo to get right with himself. You'd be relieved for eight hours of uninterrupted rest, and somebody else would hold him accountable for relapsing. There was definitely no way he would be normal by the time you left for your honeymoon. He could foretell what the 'vacation' would be: you babysitting him in the hotel when he couldn't muster enthusiasm. Room service would be abysmal. Resentments would grow.

Bucky turned his back as the balcony door opened.

The chill swept in. He burrowed further into his sweatshirt–the one bearing the surname he shared with an icy sylph (whose fingers cupped his face) down the sleeve. Some kind of cosmic woman, you were. You hovered before him.

"Sorry about that, babe."

He shook his head. He couldn't look at you or you'd disappear. Those spectral fingers pulled his hood to engulf his head. Bucky shivered. You rubbed your hands together, and clasped them between your body and his.

The thing about belonging to you, by oath, and bearing a ring which matched yours... it was like a pilot light. Before you, there was no home fire. Just gray.

When you snuggled against his chest, a blue flame sparked at the base of his spine. Your nose nestled beneath his chin, into the unkempt whiskers he had let spring up to chase off the threat of frost. You hummed. His sternum vibrated with your contented purr. Bucky caught the back of your head-to stop you from sharing comfort, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away. He would have to forgive himself for being selfish, but you were his way out of the depths.

Bucky wheezed when your fingers curled into his cheek and made little circles in the scruff.

"Jen says 'hi.' I'm supposed to tell you the girls miss their Buckle," you murmured. "McKynleigh told a kid at daycare that her uncle is stronger than Jesus or Santa, so congratulations." You giggled, shaking the both of you. "Jenny's thinking about moving closer to us but can't decide if that means Maryland or Virginia, so she's gonna tour around while the girls are with Brad's parents next month. S'why she called. She asked if we'd meet her on the bike. I said yes, I hope that's okay. Supposing we're not on assignment, obviously. But a little trip would be fun, once snow isn't a thing anymore. Right? Mmmm." You breathed in deeply. "Why do you smell so delicious? I won the husband lottery. Smells like a goddamn god. Doing this beard thing, which—I have a kink about that. In case it wasn't obvious, considering I can't keep my hands or my face off your face. Is this embarrassing for you?"

Mortifying. Healing.

Bucky lifted you behind each knee, gripping you so tight to him that your thighs would bruise. But god--you knew. You knew he was a sad dope, and you were filling up every crack with the joy of your joined life, and it didn't matter if he couldn't form words. He sighed. You cradled his head, even as you locked your ankles behind his waist. Bucky set you on the counter, but he didn't let go.

"Which reminds me–" you continued, stroking up and down his back like he was a wolf only you had managed to tame– "Shuri and I have been texting. I don't want to alarm you but she and I are besties now. She's made some arrangement for the honeymoon she won't tell me anything about, but it involves goats? She said you'd know what she meant by that. It's 'not sexual' if that helps. Anyway, she wants us to stay for two months! That's excessive. We'll miss home too much. I mean--you're my home, but I like our bed. Mostly I just want to celebrate being your wife some more, preferably naked. I'm greedy that way."

You, greedy? Never. You should have whatever you want. He would give you that. Now, if that’s what you wanted.

You pulled back. Bucky tightened his fingers in the waistband of your Team Barnes sweatshirt. Don't go, little flame—but you pecked his brow. His forehead found your shoulder. Lilac infiltrated his sinuses. If he smelled god-like, you were ambrosia.

Bucky wrapped one hand in your careless hair—part braid, part escaping pony, no sense of practicality given you had dedicated the entire day to dragging Bucky all over the compound on domestic errands (despite him having the capacity for none). He tugged until you gasped. Then, he looked at you.

Those eyes, the ones which changed colors with your mood--he understood, then, what darkening eyes designated. It was such a subtle shift, but involved the dilation of desire the way a little prickle of pain inspired, for you both. Not sudden. Intentional. A choice. You studied him like he was a work of art, but having him captive between your knees made your stare turn more fiery. God. Leave it to you to want him when he has nothing to give. He hadn't had anything to offer you lately. He tried apologizing, and you had waved him off. And yet... you brushed your thumb against his lips so softly it felt electric for his tenuous grip on reality. Your mouth curved up at one side.

"Oh, Sarge," you whispered. "You're my favorite thing."

He had spent fourteen days with his toes hanging over the edge of grief. With that one phrase–you're my favorite thing–you yanked him back from that precipice. Bucky grasped your wrists and pulled them to his mouth. How could someone so strong possess such soft hands? When he kissed your palm, you let your hand linger there. You gave him permission to be silent.

"I know everything is too much right now, and it's torturing you," you murmured. "But you don't have anywhere to be but here, Buck. You're safe. You're alive. And that's all you need to be for me, okay? I love you."

Bucky nodded once. You kissed him, as if to say: Can't speak? Then neither will I.

Intimacy, at the cost of his shadowed mood, was an urge he recognized in himself, with the nip at your bottom lip. It was a raw thing. When he got this way, it was okay to be un-soft with you. Not rough... at least not when he was non-verbal (that kind of act required him to ask and answer questions like 'how's that feel, honey?' or 'yes, that is incredible, do it again'), but you weren't asking him for gentleness, either. He huffed. You never let him devour you unless that was all he was capable of; most of the time he was in enough control to focus his lips on providing only the most languorous satisfaction, because you got turned on faster by sliding your lips in tandem with his than almost anything else. But when kissing you wasn’t for you, Bucky’s tongue and yours found a needy dance.

And by god if it didn’t feel like mercy. After weeks of not knowing how to be intimate when he didn’t feel at home in his body, he just wanted time to melt away so he could make it up to you. He would show you how gentle he could be, how... good. Giving it his all. Enthusiastically, and with no question how much he wanted to give you pleasure. Because a man could grieve and still worship his wife.

You always tasted like chamomile, or maybe you were honey itself.

Was this how he found his way back? Making you moan where anybody could walk in, being reckless with his body in ways that put no lives at risk…

“People eat here.”

The super-soldier chipped the countertop in surprise. You sat back from Bucky lazily, with a sheen on your lips. “Greetings,” you answered the Falcon, but your gaze belonged to your husband. You loosed what was left of your ponytail after his hands had made a mess of it, and tied it up again. Bucky made a personal note to rend that hair tie later. He was vibrating.

The hunger in Bucky had claws, emerging as it had from the abyss. He kissed your forehead, but only so he didn’t persist in trying to prove to himself that he was enough for you with Sam Wilson standing four feet away. Bucky quieted his frantic breath by watching the subtle shifts in your lips as you spoke with the other man.

Sam snorted. “If y’all are experimenting with exhibitionism, can you leave me out of it?”

“You’re no fun,” you said. You brushed Bucky’s hair off his forehead, long as it had grown—long enough for you to tug, but he hadn’t admitted that was why he put off cutting it out loud. One stubborn piece of hair fell forward. You wrinkled your nose at it.

“I’m hungry.”

“Cook on your own floor, Samuel.”

“This is mine. Unless you��ve forgotten the blond who seems to tolerate my presence.”

“Clint can watch, too.” You winked at Bucky, who only succeeded in making deeper dents in the marble beneath your right butt cheek.

“He’d like that too much. I, on the other hand, want a BLT. And that isn’t an acronym for my man, here, and what I know he’s probably thinking about doing to you.”

“You’re so boring,” you laugh. “Hear that, honey? Bucky Loving Tits is off the menu. So sorry. At least while Sam is around.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. Thank god Sam took no note of it, choosing instead to focus on exchanging friendly banter.

“Ma’am, there are cameras ALL OVER this compound!”

“Oliver in security owes me a favor. I can easily dispose of any evidence which might appear.”

“I know better than to doubt you.” Sam laughed, then. He did that, now, without it being at anyone else’s expense… a lot. There had been a short period where he had taken over Bucky’s responsibility as the grumpy friend. Clint made him loosen up against his will. Turns out nesting with a blond who pushed his boundaries was healing for Sam in ways that proved themselves daily. Bucky looked over at his primary best friend, who was actually smiling at them, arms folded. Like he was happy to see them both… like Bucky hadn’t isolated himself so much that he was forgotten. Relief released in Bucky’s shoulders.

Sam nodded. “Missed you, buddy.”

“He never left.”

“I know.” Sam patted Bucky’s shoulder. “Call me needy.”

Bucky shook his proffered hand, and Sam made it a hug. He squeezed the other man tight. “I see you trying,” he said quietly. “Really proud of you. I’m here if you need something. Coffee. Tomorrow?”

See–people still reach for you, even when you don’t feel like you deserve it. The voice in his head sounded an awful lot like yours, and Bucky wondered if that wasn’t the perk of marriage nobody told him about.

Bucky leaned into the embrace. He had hardly seen Sam. No wonder he wasn’t well. He was depriving himself of Sam Wilson. That was a crime. He should be sanctioned. It had to be against international conventions. How could Bucky retain any objectivity without Sam roasting him daily?

“He’ll be there.” You spoke with absolute certainty. Sam clapped in delight, and busied himself with finding sandwich ingredients in the fridge.

You scrubbed at Bucky’s cheek, making his whiskers prickle against your fingers. One time in the throes of sex, you had told him that you couldn’t get close enough. Somehow that extended even to clothed moments, when you tried to burrow deeper into his head and heart–two rooms of the mansion of your shared life that you had furnished with your particular delights, like you meant to store your knowledge and love there forever. Playing with the way his hair grew from his jaw was your way of memorizing another part of him. Thank god he let you do so, even when his brain didn’t think your touch was meant for him. The thought of ever losing that privilege… even if you fought, he hoped it was with your hands on him.

How long could this depression persist, with a healer for a wife?

Bucky scooped you from the counter. Enough was enough. Enough sadness, and conversations which were laced in innuendo. He needed a locked door between you and the rest of humanity. You giving him permission to be no other than what he was had released him from a bond made of self-sabotage.

“We’ll get out of your hair,” you giggled, waving farewell to Sam over Bucky’s shoulder. “I have two perfectly good legs.” Bucky’s glare was enough to make you cackle. “Sorry. I forgot that part of our vows where you have free reign to schlep me anywhere. Proceed.”

He had to release you when you reached the door labeled BARNES, but only because Alpine was trying a new stunt called what the hell is in the hallway?? And it required you both to be prepared to catch the cat, or run after him, as was sometimes needed. Sure enough, the white fluff darted forward the moment you swung the door open. Bucky snatched Alpine by the scruff, and patted your butt so you’d pick up the pace. He curled his hand in the waistband of your sweatpants so you’d go no further. The door was kicked shut in tandem with Alpine’s banishment to the washroom. Bucky had one very particular thought as you shuddered when his lips met the curve of your neck:

This beard thing, which—I have a kink about that. Put a fixation with facial hair on the list of things which made the twenty-first a superior century.

“Mmm. Still prickly.” It didn’t sound like a complaint, since you sagged against him. Your arterial pulse point made a quick-release of oaths from your throat when he graced his mustache over it.

His cheeks hollowed. You keened.

The zip of your sweatshirt fell tooth by tooth. He trapped your arms at your sides by sliding the cotton down to your elbows. The skin behind your ear was impossibly soft for his lips. Your hair tie was no trouble to pull free, and then promptly break.

“Fuck, baby. Are you–Bucky, stop. I’ll do anything you wanna do, but… let’s check in. Real quick.”

He turned the points of his teeth into your trapezius, just a little nibble of annoyance. But he stopped, like you asked. He wrapped his arms around your waist and waited for the questions you used whenever either of you approached sex with cloudy heads.

Do you want to have sex with me, right now? That question usually made him laugh. Instead, he tapped your hand twice. Two for ‘yes’--what qualified, for you, as enthusiastic, non-verbal consent.

Are you in the right headspace to stop if I ask? Tap tap.

Can you ask me for what you need? Well… he didn’t tap, so you turned in his arms and draped your own behind his neck. You smiled so sweetly.

“Amendment, then: can you show me what you need?”

Bucky nodded, and continued to do so as he leaned in to kiss you. Your fingers stayed the kiss momentarily.

“Mmm. One more.” He would’ve growled, but you worried his bottom lip with your index finger like an apology. “Are you okay?” The question must’ve been waiting on the tip of your tongue for ages. You winced to even ask him. “It’s fine if the answer is still ‘no.’ I’m no less attracted to you, wolfman. And it doesn’t change that my own answers to all of the above are yes.”

He braced his hands on either side of your jaw. Was he okay? Well. No, short answer. But being poorly could exist in the same timeline as being wildly in love with his wife, a woman who never tittered over what a man ought to be. He could be sad, and hurting, and have the ability to vocalize those things die in his throat, and he was still the man she wanted. So as far as he ‘was’--grateful, lucky–‘okay’ could be sufficient, for now. Bucky pressed two kisses to your forehead.

You smiled with just a little wobble in your lip. “Okay,” you murmured. “Then, I would like for you to continue.”

Bucky reached around you to turn on the lamp beside your bed, while you handled the overhead light switch. A dim amber glow was preferred so you could see each other, always, without the harshness of the fluorescent bars which burdened the ceiling. Then, he sat on your bed. He beckoned you forward with two fingers. You stood between his knees.

He glanced up at you, and then nosed the fastening which clasped between your breasts. The plastic was flimsy. It snapped between his teeth. You lashed your fingers in his hair, and he huffed. You were making it very difficult for this to be a gentle operation. Bucky loosened your grip, unfurling your fingers one-by-one… and easing your hands to your sides. He pressed your palms to your thighs. Stay. You nodded when he made a cursory glance for understanding.

“Remember the first time you saw me like this?” The breath he stole from you by brushing his cheek against the swell of your breast made the question come out low. His own skin tingled. “I had this image of you completely clothed, and me…” Bucky nosed one half of your lacy bra cup out of the way. “Totally bare. Maybe I’m clairvoyant.”

Far be it from Bucky to prevent your visions from coming true. He grasped the knees of your sweats and yanked, tearing a little hole in one leg. You groaned. The number of clothing items he had replaced of yours from sexually-related impatience… small price to pay. You kicked off the useless pants, and your sweet panties followed. The remnants of your bra (no longer usable, given the shattered clasp) puddled at your heel. Bucky smiled around the bud of your nipple when you squirmed.

“God.”

He sucked, then relented. Tip of his tongue flickering. You flinched when he pressed the sensitive point against the edge of his teeth. Not biting, like you preferred. Your fingers tapped your bare hip like it was all you could do not to reach for him again.

“Go ahead, I–maybe I like it when I can feel your beard, too.”

He did what you asked, tugging the edges of the nipple with his teeth just enough to change the curvature of your breast. He hummed and released it. Your chest rose, and your breath held. Waiting for him to do it again, keeping those sensitive, rosy peaks well within his reach. It seemed the scruff made all the difference, how you felt about teeth, so. So. He pulled you closer, slotting his thigh between yours, and nosing the other, neglected nipple. Your knees lost the battle with gravity, so he held you up, not letting you sit on his leg where you would inevitably be able to relieve some tension. He nipped you just over your heart. The skin purpled. Bucky grazed his upper lip along the mark and you shook.

“Mmph. Jesus Christ. Yep. Yep.” He laved the mark, now red, to be certain that was what you meant. You whined. “I think you’re checking off several kinks today, baby. Such an overachiever.”

Triumph flared. He smirked. You rolled your eyes at his smug face, even as you arched into him. Bucky stood, taking you up, too. Your feet didn’t touch the ground. Your eyebrows nearly disappeared into your hairline, but he turned and laid you on the comforter. You pointed to the remote control, which laid on his side of the bed, against the wall. Bucky reached over you to retrieve it, but he froze when he looked back at you because your cheeks were fuschia.

“I’m in heaven,” you said, by way of explanation. One of you always said it, because being intimate together, however it happened, always was. But his heart swelled. He set the blanket controls to three (a pleasing coziness) at your request, which would warm the comforter from beneath. Then, he knelt.

He had never been a religious man, but the ritual veneration of his wife felt like prayer. And the cry he pulled from you, just from seeing how you like the rub of his cheek inside your knee, patched up the worry that he had nothing to give you. You were a miracle. You didn’t touch him like you usually would, staying your hands like he had requested, but your eyes crinkled.

“You’re too lovely,” you purred. “But I’m still chilly, can you–fucking hell.”

Four icy fingers into the crook of your knee ought to–there. Goosebumps rose across your skin. He wouldn’t take advantage of your heightened state with nerves at attention like that, oh no. He lifted your knee until your right foot was planted on the bed, and then trapped it there under his palm. You squirmed to be so open to him.

He had never given you a purple mark before where clothing would worry it, but the imprint of the inseam in your skin traveling from ankle and up seemed like a lovely place for such a token. He was repaying you, after all, for weeks of caring for him. The draw of that skin. It was his favorite part of your entire body. But then–there was something better, still, given how much you were struggling not to squirm, when his tongue allayed the bruise which you would undoubtedly be reminded of the next time you were clothed. He found a rhythm between sensations to give you, between lips and whiskers: Kiss, and then drag.

“Buck, honey–oh.” You were perched on your elbows watching him through heavy eyelids. He made eye contact. You whimpered. He pulled his mouth away from your skin, and settled himself, hands propping your knees on either shoulder. Bucky nuzzled each perfect thigh. He raised an eyebrow.

Is this what you were imagining? Is this good?

***

“More than good,” you confirmed, like you heard him ask it out loud. “It’s so good. Please.”

He was torturing you, and god–he probably knew it, but this obviously wasn’t just for you. He had been so sad, apologizing that he hadn’t had the mental fortitude to have sex recently… Bucky was lost if he wasn’t able to center his world on your happiness in any form. It made sense why he had been struggling; his brain no longer had need for certain traumas now that he wasn’t alone to deal with them. Trimming those things away was draining, more so for someone who had survived rigorous brainwashing. It meant his work to be better was successful. But it came with lows.

You knew he’d come back to you, and you were there to help him find his feet again.

And if this kind of intense indulgence helped him get there, you really could make that sacrifice. For your husband’s sake.

He flattened his tongue against your folds, and your hips bucked… They tried. His grip was so tight that you could do nothing but grab the comforter by the handfuls. Forget staying on earth. He loved this, always, but your man was having his first meal coming out of another realm and his devotion felt profound. Bucky’s cheeks brushed your inner thighs with every inclination of his head. It was too much. His practiced lips and tongue avoided the bundle of nerves which throbbed to be touched, but every hummed vibration in the back of his throat sent a shock straight to your clit.

When he did touch it, it was first with air alone. A portent of what was to come. And if that wasn’t enough, he changed positions quickly; your ankles crossed, just behind his head–vibranium bracketing bone so your heels promised to stay there. You would do whatever he wanted, let him manipulate your body any such way as long as he didn’t stop. Two of those cool fingers spread your folds. Then, he sucked. Little pulses, to remind you how much that sensation point deserved reverence. Zings of pleasure spread over every inch of you.

“You’re perfect,” you moaned. For that, his tongue delved. Teased. “Fuck, you’re so good at that. You should give lessons. Save the world.” That innate desire to be good reared its head in him. Two warm fingers pushed inside, and he sat back to watch your expression when he found your g-spot. He lived there for a while, worrying the pads of his fingers against the warm sponginess with short thrusts. It was overwhelming. Your fingers itched to hold onto him. You were bound to float off if you didn’t.

Your fingers grasped for him–his hair, his cheek. Anything. “Please can I touch you? Please, I–” Bucky leaned his cheek into your palm. He preened when your fingers delved into the hair long enough to tug. He returned to his task with his clear blue eyes locked with yours. There had never been anything sexier than this man, as he grazed his tongue over your clit once more. All you could do was grip his hair and feel.

It built from every corner of desire, your release. Your nerves were on fire. You were overstimulated and your husband knew it, and he still pushed you further. One more finger for a stretch. Relentless flickering with tongue to your clit–and then nothing, pulling every curse word out of you and even some never heard before. And then back to it like he’d do it forever.

When your climax hit, his palm kept your hips pressed into the mattress. Your vision went blue–then cosmic. He stroked you until the points of your nails retracted from his skull. You covered your face in amazement. You sighed. Laughed.

“Shit, baby.”

The bed dipped beside you. One eyelid was all you could muster opening. He stroked your cheek. “Hey,” you whispered. “There he is. I–give me like five minutes, an hour maybe, I am absolutely returning the favor.” He shook his head, but his grin made your heart thrum. “You don’t want me to?”

Bucky kissed your forehead. “Come on,” he murmured, inclining his head towards the washroom.

You sat up, wrapping your arms around his neck. God… don’t cry, you urged yourself. He was here, present… when he was on the other side of it, you’d probably make a little joke about your pussy having healing properties, but for now, you just kissed his cheek. Bucky lifted you behind the knees.

***

One long bath later (shared, because he couldn’t stand to look at you pout any longer than absolutely necessary), you snuggled up beneath the pleasingly cozy blanket, scrolling through your phone with no intention of doing anything but be in hibernation with your husband. He had put on a record–Natalie Cole–on low, and he had Alpine in the crook of his arm. The cat was pleased to be freed from the confines of the washroom, especially with his favorite person available for maximum snuggles. He liked you, but Alpine lived for Bucky. Bucky rested his cheek on your hair.

“Scruff, huh?” His voice was raspy, but that ornery tone still came through. You blushed from toe to top.

“I’m not being funny, Bucky–it’s so hot. Like. Let that thing grow. I’m sold.”

“Not this length?” He gave your forehead a nuzzle to test the feel of said whisker length.

“Mmm. Longer. So it gets soft.”

“How soft?”

“Like… a tennis ball.” You peeked at him, and he was giving you the most skeptical and yet entertained look. “What? This is just a little too prickly.”

He shrugged. “Take a few weeks.”

“What’s a few weeks? No time at all.”

Hadn’t that been the mantra of your whole relationship?

What’s a few weeks apart/depressed/healing… growing a beard because your wife has a very strong fetish about it, now? Bucky smiled. He was content to just sit there with one arm around his little family for a while. When he spoke again, it was in conjunction with a kiss to your temple.

“Yesterday, I dug that scrapbook out from under the bed,” he said quietly. “With your notes in it.”

“Yeah?” Your eyes were glassy at the idea of him returning to those sentiments for comfort.

“Mmm. You’ve always been the answer. For me.”

“To?”

“Everything.” Bucky laced your fingers, left-palm-to-left-palm. “And… I deserve that. You.”

“You do,” you whispered. “Even when it’s hard. Okay?”

“Love you, doll.”

Things would be easier. And assuredly hard at times, but you would always be there to guide him through it. The burdens which the centurion bore on his back... they lightened. If he–the Asset–shaped James Barnes' century, you gave it wings. If there was anything you were allowed to be most proud about, that was it. Laying in your bed beside the man who deserved you, you felt that same peace you had found even before either of you knew why it existed. So did Bucky, if the light snoring in time with Alpine’s was any indication.

Part 11

Part 13

***

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#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fics #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #nostalgia for the new #nostalgia for the new by realjane

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katrandomwrites · 4 years

Text

AO3 Link \ Part Two [soon]

Short vignettes from each of the crew and their relationship with Jonny's heart.

(Is it out of character? Yeah probably but I like the sibling-esque dynamic of ‘I killed them 83 times this month but if you even touch them I will salt the earth with your desiccated remains’.)

---

Part One: Dr. Carmilla (morally grey), Jonny, The Aurora, Nastya, Ashes, and Ivy TW// mention of medical abuse | canon-typical violence | sensory overload

Doctor Carmilla, Lonely Vampire

She was proud looking down at the freshly cleaned and repaired body on her table. His chest rose and fell after a week of stillness. Carmilla almost couldn't believe that she’d finally done it. Finally restored a body to life permanently.

Her cowboy groaned as he came closer to consciousness. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the tick and flow of his new heart. It was a good heart. He was a good kid.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

Everything could be good now.

Jonny Vangelis, Dead Cowboy

Jonny woke up. He shouldn't- How was he-

Something was ticking. Where?

His chest felt heavy and his breast bone burned.

Something cold was in his hand- no, something cold was holding his hand.

His eyes shot open and he scrambled away from the cold thing only to find himself falling to the floor. He screamed when the impact lit a blazing fire of pain in his ribs.

The cold (hands?) things were back holding his face and shushing him but the pain began to pulse.

Tic. Burn. Tic. Burn.

Jonny pulled down the collar of his shirt to see a mess of thick scars and metal seams to the left of his sternum. His breathing quickened but the ticking held it’s tempo.

“What did you do?” he screamed. Carmilla’s face was inches from his as she tried to pull him closer.

“WHAT DID YOU DO, CARMA?”

The doctor’s face broke, as if she was only now realizing what was happening; what she’d done, “I-I couldn’t lose you… not like that. Not when you were still so you-”

“You promised! You promised you’d let me go!” Jonny cried.

“I’m sorry,”

Tears were falling now as Carmilla pulled him against her. Jonny tried to push her off but the pain was too much and the coolness of her cheek against his was soothing.

“It hurts,” he sobbed, “It hurts so much. Why?”

I’m sorry.

The Aurora, Cyberian Battle-cruiser

The winner of the roulette game and her new 'owner' sauntered onto the bridge and looked around. She contemplated just electrocuting him to death once he touched anything.

"I must say you are a simply gorgeous craft," he said, running a hand over the embossed leather of the captain’s seat, "Somebody put a lot of love into your creation."

The Aurora preened a bit despite herself. At least he had good taste.

“I’m gonna have to go by some polish tho, love. You are absolutely filthy! Where they finger painting with space cheetos on the flight screen,” he looked disgusted at the greasy smears decorating the console, “Maybe a steamer? Some of this shit is worked in, darling.”

>> Thank you. I would appreciate that greatly.

The intruder looked bewildered at the flight screen and fell back into the captain's seat when she rumbled in amusement. He whipped his head around as if to find a source or rogue crewman.

>> Did you really just win a ship without knowing what it was?

>> Poor planning on your part.

The intruder took a moment to process what was happening before he crossed his arms and huffed, "I just do what the Doc tells me so she doesn't decide that I'm in need of having my chest ripped open again."

>> Judging by the way you won me: I would say that isn't detrimental to your life.

"It still fucking hurts!"

The Aurora rumbled again, finding that she quite enjoyed her guest. He may be fussing in the captain's seat, pretending to be offended, but he was still watching the screen for anything else she had to say.

It had been years since anyone had treated her as anything other than just a means of transportation with the downside of sentience. She found herself analysing him closer and realized there was a mechanically ticking coming from him.

Was he also…?

>> Well, I suppose I must register you as Captain so we may take off. I am unable to lift off without any registered crew.

Her guest shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Not that I don't appreciate that but, uh, I think that's more her place."

The Aurora was starting to get the idea that whoever his travel companion was, they would not be getting along.

>> No

He startled and Aurora realized just how young he looked. Her previous crews were all older Cyberians weathered and jaded by constant battle. This new…. boy, looked more like the young men barely old enough to grow beards that manned her mess hall during the war.

She still remembered the sad stories they told of home.

>> No. You earned me. I am choosing you as the Captain.

"But-"

She buzzed at him before pulling up a login screen.

>> Primary Captain : Please Enter Your Information As Prompted_

Her guest hesitated before beginning to type. It was endearing how gently he placed his hand over the print reader and she could feel the strange rhythm of his heartbeat flitting across his palm.

>> Welcome Captain Jonathon E. Vangelis .

Jonathon beamed at the Aurora's screen before a look of horror dawned on him, "She's going to skin me alive," he whispered.

The Aurora hummed as anger charged her systems and pulled up another screen.

>> I have an idea

>> Loading…

>> Primary Captain profile locked and hidden.

>> Passcode Set to: Handprint and Vocal Verification

>> Loading...

>> First Mate : Please Enter Your Information As Prompted_

“But she’ll know if the Captain’s position is filled” Jonathan protested.

>> I was built to house up to three captains. Your doctor doesn’t have to know that one of the positions has been filled.

Jonathon stared at the screen with a small smile and sniffled before typing again. His accent that had rounded and drawn his words was muted under an average Basic dialect as he spoke now.

>> Welcome, First Mate Jonny d'Ville .

>> Now about those cleaning supplies...

Nastya Rasputina, Former Princess

She ran, following the instructions the Aurora had given her deeper into the ship. She turned to make sure the doctor wasn't following her and ran directly into something warm and squishy. They landed with a grunt.

Nastya scrambled up to look at the… kid? He looked at her in surprise before turning to anger and suspicion..

"How the fuck did you get down here?"

Nastya opened her mouth and realized she didn’t have a response to that. Her eyes began to burn.

“Oh shit. Fuck. I’m sorry I didn’t- Shit shit shit.”

None of this registered as Nastya began to sob. A hand brushed her arm and she threw herself into the boy’s lap. It was undignified but it felt good to be touched by a warm body instead of the doctor’s cold hands.

“Okay, shit,” he shifted her around so her face was buried in his chest.

“I-I’m sorry-, Nastya choked out, “she-she just kept poking and I couldn’t- it hurt so much.”

The arms around her shoulders tightened, causing her to turn her head and look up at him. He looked sad, not in a pitying way but a guilty way.

“I’ll talk to her okay? Sometimes… sometimes she forgets we can feel like that,” he sighed, “I’m Jonny by the way.”

Nastya vaguely remembered the Doctor mentioning there was another like her on board.

“Nastya.”

Jonny gave her a smile and leaned back against the wall with her still pressed against his chest. Nastya rested her head on his sternum and heard an odd ticking sound.

Huh , she thought distantly, that’s why he’s like me. The ticking heart to my metal blood.

Nastya fell asleep safe.

Ashes O’Reilly, Pyromaniac Gangster

Ashes took another shakey drag of their cigarette as the adrenaline from burning Malone faded. They were tired and a rotting sense of uneasy was beginning to fester in their chest.

Of course now was the time Camilla's wannabe cowboy decided to make an appearance for only the second time since Ashes had been taken in. He gave them a strange look before Ashes blew a hole in his gut.

He hit the floor with a dull thud, “Fucking rude.”

“I’m not the one who can’t knock. Were you born in a fucking barn?”

Jonny gave a sputtering laugh as he scooped a handful of intestines back into his abdomen, “Probably, either that or the chicken coop.”

Ashes snorted, the sound surprised them and Jonny grinned.

"Probably made in there too," Jonny continued, not bothering to get up when his stomach healed.

Ashes let out a full body laugh that edged into hysterical. The image of a guy in cowboy boots pushing intestines back into their gut and cracking jokes was unreal. Even after managing to burn down an entire planet.

“Uh, you okay?”

Jonny was standing in front of them now. A look of concern on his face.

Ashes rubbed a hand across their face and realized hot tears were beginning to streak down their cheeks.

They were so tired.

“I’m just-” their breathing hitched but they refused to cry, “I’m just tired. Arson really takes it out of you, ya’ know?”

Jonny’s mouth twisted into a forced smile before he sat down on the bed with them, “This may be over stepping, so go ahead and throw me out if you want but, uh, if you need to sleep, without the nightmares, I might be able to help.”

“Who said anything about nightmares?” Ashes shifted away from him.

Jonny rolled his eyes, “Do you want help or not?”

“What are you gonna do? Shoot me to sleep?”

“No, but Nastya-” Jonny’s ears turned red, “Nastya says that my ‘heartbeat’ always knocks her out. Something about the rhythm being perfectly consistent? It’s just an offer, if you’re not comf-”

“I’d like that,” Ashes said, looking away, “I’m actually not all that used to having my own room and sleeping alone yet. Never had the opportunity even in the Sevens.”

Jonny gave them a small smile before being manhandled into a pile of carefully arranged pillows. His shirt was unceremoniously ripped off in exchange for one of Ashes’ cleaner shirts. (They would not be getting that shirt back)

Ashes gave their set up a hard once over now that there was a cowboy shoved in with their stuffed Charizard before climbing in and resting their body over his.

He wiggled to get an arm free and began to run it carefully through their hair. It didn’t take long before the both of them were asleep.

Ivy Alexandria, Amnesiac Librarian

Everything was too loud and bad . Ivy stumbled through the halls with her hands over her ears in a futile attempt to block it out when the 'it' is her own brain.

She opens her eyes for a moment and instantly regrets it as everything around her seems to shout directly into her mind.

It hurt. Why did it have to hurt?

At some point she managed to find a dark place to wedge herself into and tears are soaking her collar by the time somebody finds her. She can't focus on anything but the metallic whine of her brain and the presence of something loud that she must get away from when a callused hand is suddenly holding her arm and stops the bad feeling there.

She gasps and grabs for the thing (person?) that makes the bad go away, landing in it’s lap. It rumbles something and positions her so her ear is pressed against it.

Ivy wants to fight it and sit up but then she hears something through the whining in her head.

shht tic shht tic shht tic

Hands wind around her shoulders and tangle in the hair at the base of her neck as she begins to relax and start counting the ticks.

_PersonelID [Jonny d'Ville, First Mate]

_MechID [HeartV.3.4]

__ 70 beats per minute

__Operation Efficiency [87%]

_System Notification: Access Granted to [JEVan_HeartCntrlUnit]

_MasterCommandEntry Opened

_[Assisted_SleepCycle] Enabled

_Countdown Begins

#The Mechanisms #Jonny d'Ville #dr. carmilla #the aurora #Nastya Rasputina #Ashes O'Reilly #Ivy Alexandria #fanfiction #My writing #whispers from the scrapheap

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

Text

forever rain | knj | m

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

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

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

word count | 18.8k | cross posted to ao3

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

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

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

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

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

And then the couple moved in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, yeah, because it is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just want to feel the rain again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Face book, Park Jihyo, best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Am nice. I think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's the little things.

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

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

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

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

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

That's where you leave to?

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

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

Fun is what you spell on your sheet.

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

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

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

A while. Years. I think .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It rattles a little and you look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not this time.

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

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

It's invigorating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Clearly I can feel it, Casper."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You aren't sure you want to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't know if you want him to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Warm me up?”

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

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

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

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

“Casper, are you ever scared?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever seen a light?”

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

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

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

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

Once, you tell him. Just once.

“Why didn’t you go to it?”

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

Because I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?!” You demand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, so you regret it all then?”

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

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

“Why can’t you understand that it’s still death? You’d be dead, Joon, your friends would go to your funeral and disappear from your life, and you’d be stuck staring out that window at that shitty alley for the rest of time. You don’t get it, you don’t how terrible it is to be stuck here and watch life pass you by.”

“Then why the fuck are you still here?” He asks. The door slams behind him before you can answer him, and your scream shakes everything in the room. You just barely catch one of the plants in the kitchen, a brown-potted one with ‘Shooky’ scrawled in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting, before it crashes to the ground. You return it to its place gently and huff another frustrated groan.

You wish you could explain it better, but you know he wouldn’t get it even if you could. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be trapped between four walls and unable to do anything without massive amounts of effort. And he won’t, not unless he experiences it himself.

You’ve already watched him wither away. You’ve watched him become thin and sallow and a shadow of the Namjoon who first moved in, and you don’t know what you would do if he came back. You wouldn’t be alone anymore, of course, and you’d have him here with you, but at what cost? Namjoon was built for cherry blossoms and sunshine and the riverside. He would hate being trapped here even more than you do.

Still, you could have been more understanding of his view. You can admit that even being stuck in a shitty apartment wasn’t so terrible when you had Namjoon there to make you laugh or watch TV or read to you. It may even get better if he turned into a ghost; maybe you could hold his hands in yours, could feel him wrap his arms around you, could press kisses to his skin again.

You move to the window and stand there waiting. It’s not good for him to be out, even if the rain had stopped a few days ago and the forecasters promised it was the end of the downpours. He was still weak, you’d be surprised he even went anywhere to begin with but you know he likes to walk to calm himself down.

You worry for what feels like hours. You can’t focus on anything, not the way the sun starts to set, not the sound of cars passing or the neighbor leaving. You’ve worked yourself into knots by the time you hear his whistle echo up through the streets, nearly lost in the sound of some argument in the alley below you. You catch a brief view of his coat and smile when you see that he’s got some half-dead plant tucked under an arm. There’s the briefest glimpse of what looks like a Ca scrawled onto it, and your heart jumps in your throat.

You make your way to the stove, turning the heat up slightly too high so that it’ll be ready when he comes in. The arguing outside gets louder but you pay it no mind, pulling the honey out and setting it next to his favorite mug. You’re reaching for the tea when you hear something else. It definitely sounds like Namjoon’s voice, but it’s not in the hall or at the door like usual. It’s raised, like he’s yelling at someone, like it was just a while ago when he was fighting with you. A crash startles you and before you can even reach the window to see what’s going on, there’s a deafening bang.

You slam your fist against the window, watch the red mix with dirt, and the kettle isn't that only thing that screams.

“I think that’s the last of it,” Jeongguk says. His voice is scratchy and quiet, but it’s deafening in the silence of the apartment.

“Yeah,” Hoseok replies. His eyes are rimmed with red and his hands shake as he slides the last mug into a box. “Thanks for the help, Guk. I don’t, um.” He sniffles. “I don’t think I could’ve done it myself, y’know?”

“I know,” Jeongguk agrees. They’re quiet again, adjusting the things they’ve boxed and avoiding finishing what they’re doing.

“Oh, can you get that?” You don’t have to look to know what Hoseok is talking about. Jeongguk grunts an affirmation and makes his way over. It’s a strange feeling, having someone pass through you again for the first time since. His hands fly into the air as he tries to lift, clearly not having expected it to weigh anything.

His reflection in the window frowns, and he tries again, tugging on the pot.

“I can’t get it,” He says. “Do you think he glued these things down or something?”

“No,” Hoseok replies as he wanders over as well. “He used to pick them up to re-pot them, remember? And the others came up with no problem.”

“Well it’s stuck or something, you try.”

Hobi takes Jeongguk’s place and pulls hard at the plot, but your grip doesn’t waver. He huffs and disappears. When he returns, he’s got a butter knife in one hand that he does his best to slip under the pot. He tries hard to pry it up, so hard that you almost want to give in. You don’t though.

The knife clatters to the floor with as much force as Hoseok can put behind it, a curse following quickly behind it.

“Fuck it,” Hoseok says. His voice is shaky and you know he’s near tears again. “Just fuck it.”

“But that was-”

“You can try if you want, Guk, but I just-” He chokes back a sob, shaking his head and moving to pick up the boxes he’d set down. “I just can’t, okay?” He disappears out the door in a hurry, and you wish you could follow after him.

Jeongguk looks down at the small plant, with its painted periwinkle pot and soft leaves. He runs a quivering finger over the leaf and sniffles. He doesn’t try to lift it again, just stands and lets his tear soak into the soil.

“I wish you could come back to us,” He whispers. “We thought...we expected more time. It’s not...it’s not really fair, y’know? So if you can hear me, if you can come back to us, please do. Please.”

He turns and leaves, the apartment door slamming behind him like the lid of a casket. Your grip on Mang loosens now that you know no one’s going to try to take it. You’d watched them pack everything else up; you’d let them take the steamer trunk full of records, the shelf full of books and movies, the collection of mugs, the soft blankets, the ratty couch, the rest of the plants he’d cared for so tenderly.

Piece by piece they had packed Namjoon up and walked him out of the apartment, but this was the one piece they couldn’t have. This was his favorite and none of them knew how to care for it like you did, and you had to. You owed it to him. He deserved to come back to at least one familiar thing, never mind that you woke up not even a day later and it’s now been weeks. If there was one thing you wanted him to see when he got back, it was his favorite of his plants.

The sun glares into your eyes from where it shines down on the city. It reflects off something in the window from across the alley, would be blinding if you actually had eyes. You pay it no mind, focused instead on the remains of the broken brown pot down in the alley, the way you’ve pieced them together in your head a thousand times just to trace the word Casper with your eyes. You can almost hear his voice saying it, even now.

You whip around, eyes darting through the empty space of the apartment as your hands tighten around Mang.

All that rests there is empty space, mocking in its loneliness. You remember when he moved in, remember how it felt to test the boundaries of the apartment and wish you were free. The want is still there, to leave and never think of it again, never think of him. You know better, though. You could never escape the memory of him, the way he laughed and smiled and spoke. You could never abandon Mang. Not when he said he’d always come back to you.

You turn back to the window, cursing the sunlight with every other breath. It fades, slowly, into the black of night, before returning again, and again, and again. Days pass, each one feeling like years. Hoseok doesn’t appear to show the apartment, no one comes to collect the small periwinkle pot between your palms, and the ghost of his laugh echoes around you.

The sun blinds you again. You don’t even know how long it’s been, just that you’ve yet to move. Light glints off whatever hangs in the window across the alley. That's when you see it, a vague reflection in the weathered glass of a dimple and a grin, and warmth surrounds you.

“I told you I’d always come back, Casper.”

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nev3rfound · 5 years

Text

leaving the guardians : chapter three - b.b

brief summary: being a guardian of the galaxy and falling in love with bucky.

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight

Opening my eyes I hum softly as light pours through the window, the warmth soft against my skin.

It’s something I haven’t felt since I was a child, that true warmth from the morning sunrise against bare skin. It reminds me of being a kid again, playing with Peter in our garden as I’d laugh hysterically whilst he’d chase me with a water gun. We were so innocent, so sheltered from what was actually happening.

Mom never admitted it until she got too sick to look after us. Our world was taken and replaced by hospital wards and Nurses who knew us by name. It wasn’t easy, and it never got easier no matter how often we went.

Turning I smile to myself as I spread my legs out, craving more of the sunlight and as I glance down I notice another pair of legs. Remaining silent I hold my breath as I cautiously tilt my head to see a sleeping figure beside me.

My mind begins to whir as I think back to last night. I asked Bucky to keep me company. We sat and shared stories of our childhoods, how vastly different they turned out to be despite us being of a similar age, or so I thought.

“Bucky?” I mumble as I prod his arm and he mutters incoherently, brushing me off. “Bucky, I can’t move,” I state more clearly as his arm remains tightly around me, securing me so I don’t fall off from the small bed.

“I’m comf-” Cutting himself off his arm slips away from my body and I fall to the ground with a thud. “Shit.” He mutters as he crouches down in front of me and I laugh quietly.

“Guess that’s one wake up call.” I joke and he smiles up at me, not saying anything for now. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He mirrors and he rises to his feet, offering his hand for me to accept which I gratefully do. “Did, did you sleep okay?” His voice trails off as he walks towards the kitchen area whilst I brush my hair out of my face.

“Yeah,” I nod to myself, thinking back to the hours spent talking, discussing life and what it means, what we’ve gone through and how lucky we are to still exist. “I, I definitely needed it.”

Bucky glances over, a smile still evident on his face from last night.

Yawning I raise my arms above my head, barely able to keep my eyes open any longer.

“Am I keeping you, doll?” Bucky questions, raising an eyebrow as I sleepily shrug my shoulders.

“Long day, that’s all.” I mumble through a heavy voice and he simply nods, rising to his feet and starts to walk towards the door. “Wait, Bucky?” I call out and he stops once again by the doorway, hesitantly looking back in case he misheard.

“You alright?” He questions so softly. The man I’ve spent the evening talking to is far from the man he presents himself to be out there in front of the others. Here he is vulnerable, allowing his metal casing to be detached for a short while, letting me in.

Shyly I play with the hems on my sleeves, pulling away at the threads as I lift my head up, meeting his concerned eyes. “Could you stay a little longer? I, I’m so used to company at night,” My voice trails off as I sigh, realising how he might take it. “not in a way that I sleep around because I don’t, you never know what you might catch from who in the galaxy I just mean there’s always Rocket talking or Groot playing his game or Drax contemplating things and then Gamora-”

“Y/n,” Bucky cuts me off, laughing softly before walking over and sitting down on the sofa beside me. “it’s fine, I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” His voice is quiet now as he shuffles closer until I lean against him.

Cautiously we both lie down, me in his arms as he questions if he’s holding me too tight. “This is perfect,” I mutter as I close my eyes, allowing my body to finally give in to relaxing against the tall figure resting behind me. “thank you, Bucky.”

“James,” He whispers into my ear, brushing my hair out of my face. “my name is James.”

Smiling I open my eyes, meeting his deep blue eyes as I see the childlike innocence behind them, the boy James was as opposed to the man Bucky is.

“Well, it’s been lovely getting to know you, James.” I whisper and I can feel his heartbeat getting faster against me, but his eyes don’t break mine for a single second.

“Likewise, doll. I, I can’t say you’re what I was anticipating when Tony reported another alien invasion.” He laughs softly and I shrug my shoulders as I turn around to lie against his chest, burying my face into the crook of his neck.

“Sorry to disappoint.” I joke and I can feel his hair rubbing against mine as he shakes his head.

“You’re a very pleasant surprise,” He whispers before shifting to lie down entirely, his arms remaining around me to hold me close, keep me from falling. “good night, Y/n.”

Rising to my feet I open my mouth but a loud knock interrupts me. My eyes widen as do Buckys. “Y/n? You in there?” Tony yells through the door and Bucky quickly scrambles around, picking up his jacket and slipping it back on. “I went to check on Tin Man but he’s nowhere to be found.”

Bucky clenches his jaw as I smile over at him, the nickname not sitting all too well with him. “I’ll be a minute!” I call back as I wipe my eyes, brush my hair out of my face and motion for Bucky to get behind the counter in the kitchen area.

Taking a deep breath I walk over to the door slowly and open it, greeting Tony with a smile as he looks cautiously back at me. “Everything alright?” Tony asks as he steps past me, entering the unit without any sign of hesitation.

“Just dandy,” I respond as I cross my arms and swallow the yawn rising in my throat. “just prepping myself for day two of interrogations.”

Tony turns on his heels, giving me a rather unimpressed glare as he heads back towards the door. “Make sure Bucky escorts you this time. We can’t have you wandering around on your own until we know what you’re capable of.”

Glancing over my shoulder I can see Bucky’s arm rising onto the counter and I suppress my giggle. “When can I see my family?”

“Once we know what you’re capable of, Y/n.” His words are cold and I step back, feeling weak in this place suddenly as he shuts the door behind him.

My feet fall back until I’m on the floor, my hands covering my face as I sigh loudly. “It’s okay,” His voice fills the room with ease as I can feel his hands resting on my shoulders, his body beside mine. “Tony isn’t as intimidating as he wishes.” He tries to joke, but I can feel the tears rising in my eyes, the sobs wracking through my chest.

“I’ve never been away from them like this.” I admit through small whimpers. “Last time was when,” My voice fails me as Bucky brings me closer into him, his soothing shushes calming me down.

“You don’t have to talk about it, it’s okay.” He whispers and I nod, allowing myself to let go in his embrace.

We both revisited dark times last night. I explained in depth what happened, and he shared the stories of being HYDRA’s deadliest weapon.

“So, how did it happen?” Sitting across from me he watches my actions carefully as my fingers delicately swirl around the mug, my breathing becoming heavy as I cast my mind back. “Sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it we don’t have t-”

Shaking my head he stops. “No, it’s okay.” I brush my hair out of my face, letting out a heavy sigh. “I need to remember it happened, and accept what I did. I mean, who knows what they’re going to ask me.” Turning my head I glance at the door, unsure if someone is outside it right now, listening to my every word and taking note.

Closing my eyes I leant back against the small bed in the middle of the space. I could feel his attention on me, but I zoned out, allowed my mind to open the secret door that I tried to keep locked for so long. I’ve ignored the rattling of the lock, the cries for them to be released and remembered, maybe now is the time to give them justice.

“I was captured when I was twenty. They knew who I was and wanted me as leverage for my brother.” I shake my head, thinking back to how naive I was. “I’d lived my life thinking my brother was dead for ten years, and suddenly they’re telling me he’s a vigilante and a damn good one at that.” Bucky chuckles softly and I smile for a split second at the sweet sound.

“You weren’t captured together?” He asks and I shake my head.

“Our Mom died, Peter ran out and we never saw him again.” I can still picture it now, Grampy walking back as they took my Mom away from all of us. Everyone was crying, I was young, but I understood she was gone for good. “I lived with my grandparents, life was normal until I was walking home from a party.”

I can hear the music thumping through my veins, the swirls of alcohol playing in my mind as my vision struggles to remain focused as I walked down the street.

“I knew someone was following me, some guy I met at the party. The last thing I expected was him to transform into some blue alien who was a Kree. He made me unconscious and when I woke up everything I knew and grew up with was gone. I was their new plaything, their leverage for my brother to drag his ass back once and for all.”

Opening my eyes I could see Bucky moving closer, his arm resting around my shoulder in a comforting manner. “So they just took you away from everything you knew?” He questions and I nod in response before seeing his jaw clenching. “No one deserves that, being stripped of your identity.” Later I understood what he meant by that, having experienced worse than I could fathom.

“They put me on a planet, dumped me moreso as bait. Peter would turn up, try and loot whatever he can find and leave. Except this time he’d be faced with the Kree and me, making the decision to save me by surrendering or watch me die.”

“So, he chose to surrender?” Bucky asks and I lower my head, shaking it slowly.

“I had a change of heart.” I admit, not wanting to meet his eyes as I explain my worst moment. “I stole a gun and ran. There was the main power source of the planet nearby so I hid until Peter arrived. I didn’t recognise him, but he saw me. His face dropped and it happened in an instant.”

Me screaming for him to run as I blew up the power supply, being sent flying through the air and hitting my entire body against a ship. I lost all feeling in my body as my ears rang, I could just about see the flames erupting as feet rushed by me.

“Blowing up the power supply caused an explosion bigger than I could’ve anticipated. It spread underneath the planet resulting in it cracking and falling apart. I began to lose all consciousness as a pair of arms dragged me on board a ship.” Sighing I lean back into his arm as it remains still, supporting me. “All I heard were cries for help as Peter took me onto his ship. We just about escaped but I felt the impact of seeing the planet burst into flames moments after we left.”

Tears began to cascade down my cheeks, and rather than wipe them away forcefully I allow them to fall. These are tears of guilt for those innocent lives. “If you hadn’t you would’ve died, Y/n. You stopped something from getting worse for you and your brother.” Bucky tries to reason, but the sobs become overwhelming.

“They didn’t deserve to die, not all of them. The Kree, yes. The people and aliens they worked with, yes. They had the planet under their control, but that didn’t mean some there wanted that life. They didn’t, didn’t get a chance to try.” Covering my mouth my sobs are catching my throat and I fall against Bucky’s chest as his hand rests on the back of my head.

“It’s okay, Y/n. It happened. I, I know there’s nothing you can do to take it back or forget it, but you’re a guardian of the galaxy, working on saving lives, not destroying them.”

Remaining still I close my eyes as his shirt becomes damp with my tears. “I just wish I could’ve saved them.” I whisper, allowing my deepest thought to finally be released.

Bucky shushes me as his hand glides over my hair. “Trust me, if anyone knows how it feels it’s me.” He admits and slowly I rise from his embrace as his eyes darken. “I have a dark past, Y/n. And, and I feel you’re someone I can tell the full story to. If, if you’ll let me?” I can feel his anxiety rising about his past.

Placing my hand on his I smile softly. “What happened, Bucky?”

“Well, it started when I was in the war,”

Walking alongside him we head back down the corridor as more than strangers. Yesterday he was my guard, but now he’s a friend. He listened to my worst moments and I heard about his.

“You ready for this?” Bucky asks as his hand brushes along mine and I feel my breath haltering in my throat.

“I don’t really have a say,” I remark as I glance over, seeing a smile playing on his lips. “but I guess so. I just wish I knew what they’re going to ask me.”

“Probably more about the events leading up to now.” Bucky comments and I nod as I try to remember everything over the course of the last few weeks. “Or how you became a guardian,” His voice softens as he whispers the sentence, knowing it’s still a sore topic. “if they ask, I’ll be right by you.” He reminds me and I lace my fingers with his, squeezing them as I keep my eyes set ahead, not turning to see his reaction.

“Kid, come on. You’ve got to give us more than that.” Tony sighs as he sips at his coffee, but I merely play with the hems of my sleeves once again, picking away at the loose bits of thread.

“Look I’ve told you everything already.” I state bluntly as I meet their irritated expressions.

Fury rises from his chair, turning to Tony briefly before he nods. “There’s something else about you, something you’re hiding.” Fury states and I swallow the lump in my throat, trying not to look to Bucky across the table for support.

“I’m not hiding anything.” Forcing confidence I try to smile, but Fury can see right through it, they all can.

“Bring ‘em in.” Fury waves his arm up as the door opens and Peter walks in with his hands tied up.

“Oh, hey sis.” Peter greets me with a big grin. “Care to explain why I’m here and not fast asleep or I don’t know, back home by now?” He raises an eyebrow as he’s forced into the seat beside Bucky, not giving him any notice.

“We thought you could use some encouragement,” Fury mutters as he moves closer toward me. “you’re hiding some kind of ability, we know you’re not just human, Y/n.”

My eyes flicker over to Peter who gives me the eye and I blankly stare back at Fury, shrugging my shoulders. “Shame that’s a load of bull.”

“Maybe this will encourage you.” In a split second, Peter swears loudly as he holds his forearm, seeing blood trickling down.

“What’re you doing?!” I yell as I rise to my feet, glaring at all of them as I clench my fists.

“Come on, Y/n. You have it in you, we know you’re hiding something!” Fury raises his voice as everyone begins to comment, their voices overlapping.

“Just do it, kid!”

“Y/n, I’m okay. You can control it.”

“What’s stopping you?

“You need to see more blood, eh?”

“Y/n, don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Bucky’s voice overrules the rest and I can hear Peter scoff loudly and I catch him looking over at me, confused by Bucky’s sudden care.

“Come on dude, like you know anything.” Peter comments and I shake my head as their voices return to the tsunami of demands.

Covering my ears I yell loudly as my eyes are tightly shut and then I feel it. The power erupting from me as silence falls over the room.

As my eyes open I watch as everyone is stunned, their heads lifted up to see me. “Can’t say I expected that.” Bucky comments, a short laugh escaping his lips.

Surrounding me is a purple glow as I float in the air. “You happy now?” I ask as Fury smiles and I descend back to the ground, closing my hands as I let out a heavy sigh.

“You’re some kind of witch?” Tony asks and I shrug my shoulders.

“Bit more complex than being a witch, but if that works for you then yeah, I’m a Witch.” I laugh lightly and I can see Bucky is smiling to me, but Peter is fuming.

“We could use someone like you, kid.” Fury states and I remain silent, crossing my arms. “You’re powerful, quick and can handle yourself in extreme situations.”

Opening my mouth I hear a chair squeaking along the floor and Peter has risen to his feet. “She’s not doing anything with you guys. Why should we even trust you? I mean, you’ve not exactly made us welcome.”

“You did crash on our planet, dude.” Tony comments and Peter waves him off with both hands still handcuffed and covered in blood.

“But we’ve been cooperative. My sister has answered all your questions, we are trying to stop something you guys couldn’t comprehend.”

“And we had a deal, may I remind you.” I state as I focus on Fury. “I’d answer your questions and then we’d leave without any complications.”

“Deals can be changed easily, Y/n.” Fury remarks and I scoff.

“What kind of deal are you thinking of now?” I ask as I look over at Peter, concern rising in his eyes as he focuses on me.

“We’ll let your friends leave if you stay, become an Avenger.”

My eyes widen as Peter shakes his head. “No, that’s not happening.” Peter speaks on my behalf as I sit back down, processing the proposition.

“She can decide for herself.” Bucky states and I lift my head, seeing Peter giving him the death stare.

“She is my sister, dude.” Peter spits. “If anyone has a say in what’s happening it’s me, and she’s not staying.”

I let out a small sigh. “I’ll do it.” I almost whisper as every pair of eyes in the room falls on mine. “Let them leave, stop questioning me and let me say goodbye and I’m yours.” Closing my eyes I fight back the tears as I listen to Peter protesting.

“Y/n, think about what you’re doing, you’ll never see us again.” Peter calls out and I shake my head.

“I can’t let you stay here Pete,” I begin to cry. “you’ve got to stop them getting all of the stones.” Taking a shaky breath I focus on Fury.

“So, Y/n are you in?” Fury questions and I nod, not wanting to focus on Peter as he’s taken out of the room, calling my name in desperation.

“Yes.” I state through a watery smile. “I’ll be your Avenger.”

taglist (thank you for the endless support)

@iheartsebastianstan @vgirl10123 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything@hour-to-hourglass @caitsymichelle13

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vcsecretgifts · 4 years

Text

Gift for amelthebravennian

From: @cygnaut

To: @amelthebravennian

Mekare was deep in the forest on the night of a quarter moon when he returned to her.

The trees outside her sister’s home were unfamiliar but comforting in their primitive vastness. She felt held inside of them, protected by the straight trunks and the quiet stillness of the space beneath their canopy. It was so peaceful here. Every step was hushed by the carpet of needles coating the ground. The only noise was the soft rustling of ferns and the occasional wild call of an owl.

She sat with her back against the trunk an ancient tree that was thousands of years younger than she was. Mekare had already walked the jungles of the new world for centuries before this tree had fallen as a seed from its mother. It was a child compared to her lifetime and to the great unfolding of their family.

The family. That was still new to her, as these tall trees were new. In the years since she and Maharet had been separated, the branches of their family had grown and spread for over two hundred generations. Mekare had seen the great representation of it, the multitude of twisting black vines and the endless names painted on Maharet’s walls, but she did not truly comprehend what it meant.

It had been cloudy earlier, but now the sky was clear and stars peeked out from openings in the canopy. She might find a clearing later and look at the sky. She wanted to look for the Seven Sisters, but she was unsure when they would rise or if they would even be visible at all here. She had traveled so far that the night sky was out of joint.

She looked down at her hands where they rested on her thighs, white as stone against the dark fabric of her dress, her fingernails stained with earth. Locks of her hair hung over her shoulders, pine needles caught in the waves. Where the dappled moonlight touched it, her hair glowed red in the dark.

In the emptiness he floated, knowing only desire and darkness, blood and death. Sometimes he surfaced to fever visions of the world, snatched images of glowing lights and strange music, people and machines. Most often he saw scenes of violence and death, glimpses of the hunt, of stalking and chasing and killing. These were sweet moments and yet he was overwhelmed by the confusion and excitement, the pounding of hearts and the taste of salt and copper. Always he turned away, turned back to the darkness and the silence of the void.

Now, rising from the darkness, he saw trees, forest, stars. There was something familiar here, although he did not know this place. White hands, red hair, red like… like the women, the pair of them, twins, witches. Yes! The phrase bubbled up inside of him, words he knew he’d spoken before, although he did not remember when.

The silence was as a held breath and into it came a voice, familiar and strange: “You are fools to bear this, witches.”

The words didn’t surprise Mekare. She could tell they hadn’t been spoken out loud. They were only an empty echo in her head without strong feeling or will attached to them. Perhaps it was a wisp of thought overheard from the others. She could sense their minds buzzing in the distance, inside the great house of her sister. She knew that Maharet had told them the whole sordid tale just as Mekare had shared pieces of it in projected images.

“The strong one” Maharet used to call her. Mekare, the strong one, the brave twin. Mekare who spoke truth when it might have been better to be silent. She had learned the dangers of truth when they were taken to the court of Kemet. How terrible the savage punishment dealt by the foreign Queen and her consort. But now the Queen of the Damned was dead and Mekare reigned in her place. Not that she had wanted to rule; she had only wanted revenge.

She had no more truth to share now except for the sad tragedy of her own history.

After they had been separated, Mekare had floated in darkness inside of the coffin for what felt like years. She had been too tired to lift her hands and break out of the stone box. Tired despite the thirst that raged in her. It was the fierce thirst of Amel transformed into flesh. She had taken some comfort in that. It was as if Amel, the braggart spirit. was still with her in some way, even if all of her good, familiar spirits were lost to her.

At the end of uncountable nights, her journey across the waters had ended. There had been a scraping sound as the coffin dragged over something and Mekare had been thrown end-over-end as the box flipped, churning and crashing in the waves. The great stone coffin had been dashed open and water rushed in. Mekare had been thrown flailing into shallow waters and found herself on an unfamiliar shore.

She had walked for a very long time, searching for anything she recognized that might suggest a way home. But she was lost beyond finding.

Every night she walked a bit farther. Her thirst was great as there were no people along these shores and all she had to eat were the animals of the forests. Her hunger drove her onward in search of sustenance each night until the sun drove her back down into the earth.

Amel swam through the images, memories of nights spent as an empty walking husk in search of blood. Had he seen these before? Had he lived this?

Beyond the shoreline there had been jungles full of strange trees and stranger creatures. She came across humans again. Inland, there were settlements all along the rivers that wound through the jungle, some humble and others vast, but the thoughts of the people felt strange to her and their emotions confusing. She had been alone for too long and the blood of Amel had been working in her, transforming her mind into an alien thing as it did her body. She took a victim if any unfortunate person crossed her path, but otherwise she avoided humans and any signs of their habitation.

Gradually, over many, many nights, the ground became hilly and then rocky and then mountainous. As the mountains grew taller and the air thinner, her pace slowed. She spent many nights on the high peaks where she could watch the clouds drifting below and feel safe and separate from the world.

Eventually, Mekare stopped. She made no conscious choice about it; one night instead of walking she simply stayed, and the next night, and the next. Her resting place was a lonely mountain that had deep caves winding through its heart, secret places where she found refuge if not comfort.

By this time, Mekare had learned that she could send out words with her mind and make herself understood in that manner. But the only messages she sent were warnings to drive away anyone who came too close to her lair: waves of foreboding, fear, and awe that kept the local people at a distance. The herders who passed nearby soon learned to avoid her mountain and spread the word among the farmers who cultivated the terraced plots on the fertile hills below.

She hadn’t meant to become a myth. She had wanted to be left alone. Yet the people who lived below spoke of the peak where she dwelled in hushed tones. They thought of it as a sacred site, too holy to be walked upon, and warned their children to avoid the grassy slopes at its feet. They said that the spirit that lived there watched over the nearby people, but its protection came with a harsh toll. The spirit might come down from the hills without warning to take a sacrifice, striking among them like lightning in the dark, sudden and terrible.

The Watchful Mountain they had called her. Mothers warned children to be quiet and respectful when they walked in the sight of the mountain least they provoked its wrath and brought down its merciless retribution.

So the people kept their distance, and Mekare stayed. The nights blended into one another and she did not track the years that passed.

Once, armed men came to the mountain during the day, invaders in shining armor with weapons that sent death from a distance. When Mekare awoke, she felt their presence camping on the hills like a wound in her side. That night, she fell upon them and every whispered warning about the mountain and its dangers had been proven true. The dead had been left to rot where they lay as none of the nearby villagers dared to approach even to loot the bodies.

The Queen of the Damned was what they had called her now. It had been in the heads of the others when she came to wreak her vengeance that was six thousand years in the making. It wasn’t a title that Mekare wanted. She had never sought to be the mother of the orphaned children of Amel. She wasn’t a maternal person or a mentor figure, that was Maharet. Mekare had hidden when any blood drinker strayed too closely to her refuge in the mountain. She had sent out her warnings and always they had fled from her, not wanting to risk provoking the powerful anger that simmered there.

The anger was familiar, yes, this he remembered, the burning strength of it, as sharp and sweet as the thirst for blood.

“Tell the Queen that if she does you any harm I will hurl at her every object she has ever desired, every jewel, wine cup, looking glass, comb, or other such item that she ever so much as asked for, or imagined, or remembered, or wished for!”

The second time she heard him, the words were so clear and distinct that she jumped up in surprise. She turned in a circle, but there was no sign of anyone hiding in the trees. She continued turning, searching for the source of the voice, but in her heart she knew who had spoken. But it was impossible. Amel has the flesh. But Amel is no more.

She searched the forest, but of course there was nothing. If Amel still lived, she would not find him walking as a man or floating as a great spirit spread across the sky. If he lived, he was inside of her now.

She was so disturbed that she went inside and spent the remainder of the evening with her sister and the others who dwelled in her house. Previously, Mekare had found their presence irritating, they were so noisy and their speech so strange, but now it was a comfort to hear them even if she couldn’t understand their words.

Later, as the sun rose, Mekare lay beside Maharet on the stone slab in her underground crypt and it was just as they had lain together in times past, two children sharing a single sleeping pelt, red hair entwined, two bodies with one soul.

He came to the surface more often now, not at random as he had before, but with a purpose, seeking for red hair and green eyes, that familiar face, she who he had loved and defended.

Mekare liked to wander the deep tunnels that sank down into the earth beneath her sister’s house.

There were many winding passageways to explore, corridors lined with comfortable rooms like animal burrows tucked into the earth. The furnishings were simple in these underground rooms, wooden tables low to the ground and thick rugs and cushions piled on the ground. The walls were decorated with murals, sometimes familiar designs like those painted on the tents of their tribe, and other times strange patterns that Mekare had never seen before.

Tonight, she turned a corner and thought for a moment that she saw her sister at the end of a long hall. Mekare took a step toward her and then realized her mistake. It was a tall mirror in a heavy wooden frame, a mirror so highly polished and faultless that it was like looking through a doorway rather than at a reflection.

Mekare walked towards it, fascinated by her own appearance, how like and yet unlike Maharet she looked. Like her sister, Mekare’s skin had the same unnatural sheen as the inside of an oyster shell and her hair had the same fiery red as the last moments of sunset, but Mekare’s eyes were different.

Her sister wore the stolen eyes of her victims, dull with pain and slowly dying, but Mekare still had the eyes they had been born with, green eyes that shimmered like the iridescent feathers of a bird. As she walked toward the mirror, she saw flecks of gold and veins of amber in the green field of her eyes. Circling the dark hollow of her pupils was a ring of copper.

Had her eyes always been so beautiful? Or had the Blood made them so? She could no longer remember. The only reflection of herself that Mekare had ever known was her own sister until they were abducted to Kemet. Akasha and Enkil had mirrors of polished bronze in their great palace, but none were as perfect or as large as this one.

Green eyes, red hair. Her eyes, her hair. So familiar, so comforting to look into them. Green as–green like—like his own eyes. Red like his own hair. As they had made him, a creature of fear and awe.

“It is I!” the voice crowed, so loud Mekare clapped her hands over her ears, but it was not a physical voice and it could not be silenced. It was the blood inside her crying out as a boastful spirit had once called out in the dark.

“I, Amel the Great! Amel the Powerful! Many have sought my favor but few received it. Only my most beloved, my favorites, my witches.”

Mekare wanted to ask if he remembered her, but she could not. She could only stare at her own wide eyes as a film of red covered them and tears began to run down her cheeks.

“Do not cry, witch!” The voice wavered as if it felt her distress. “Amel the Invincible will avenge you! Amel, the most powerful of all spirits knows what is in your heart and fulfills your desires! Already I have bedeviled the Queen’s servant, the one who desecrated you. I have harassed him with strong winds and thrown objects! Many times has he wept and begged for relief from Amel the Terrible, the one who pierces! Even the King and Queen themselves came to demand my silence, but Amel the Great obeys no living authority. So terrible was my vengeance and so pathetic their whimpering cries. Witch, why do you weep? Are you not grateful for my protection?

“Mekare, beloved among witches, didn’t I obey you as you bid me to? Didn’t I wait for the moment as you asked? You said—you promised, all men will know of my power! When the time is right, when—”

She wept for it was true. He had obeyed her and only done what she had asked in her heart.

“Why do you weep, woman?” His words became scattered and trailed in confusion as his voice grew weaker. It was as if he was already losing coherence and fading back into the blood. “I will help you, Amel the–Amel who–I am the one who… I, Amel… do you see them? The towers…. there, on the horizon? How tall they are, but—why are they burning…?”

With this last cryptic comment, the voice faded entirely and she was left alone. But not truly alone, no, she would never be alone again. She would have her sister beside her and the spirit of Amel within. Always.

#2019 VC Secret Santa #VC #Vampire Chronicles #submission #cygnaut #amelthebravennian

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pinkbutterfly84 · 4 years

Text

Scorpion Season 3

I have read several posts that Toby is really irritating in this season I have never seen it before but will be keeping an eye out. Interested to see how Happy explains herself and how Toby reacts....

3.01 - Toby dealing with it in a typical genius way practically looking for her husband

Poor Toby he looks so hurt when Happy walks through the door

For him to say he doesn't trust her must of really hurt Happy. I still dont get why she cant tell him what's going on he looks in so much pain. The only time I dont like Happys actions.

We heard Happy tell Toby she loves him for the first time, presume it has been said behind closed doors but nice to hear she does love him

Walter knows who Happy is married too! Has he kept it a secret all this time thats gonna really hurt Toby's feelings.

Toby is still on point with his behavioural skills

I know that they are dealing with a lot but Happy really needs to be more understanding of Toby and tolerant of his questions she must know what he is like and how he wont stop until he finds the truth

Toby telling Happy he is hurt and angry and she offers no source of comfort I think she finds it easy to switch from work Happy to home Happy and now she is completely focused on work

She says Toby has her heart and soul which is romantic but I'm sure that is not what Toby is feeling - Happy still has some work to do with herself but she has come so far and Toby really should remember that

Toby says he is resinding his proposal but Happy doesn't want that Toby us lashing out in anger Happy looks so hurt

Happy is retreating into her hard shell - maybe she is expecting Toby to break up with her or she feels guilty either way she is acting slightly like the beginning of season 1

Can I just point out Toby may of hit the bottle understandably but he didnt gamble even in his darkest moment his promise to Happy still means something and he didnt want to hurt or disappoint her

Favourite quote- 1. I am married 2. I didn't delete anything 3 I dont like t you 4. I'm in love with you

Favourite scene- it's not a favourite scene because it's so heart breaking but Happy and Toby talking for the first time

3.02 continuation from last episode

Happy still snapping at Toby it may be the next episode but still the after he found out

Toby maybe upset but he still worries for Happy when she is in the pipe with Paige

Favourite quote- you pretend you dont love Paige and I will pretend Happys not married to some yaho

You think the fish are farting away from the submarine

Favourite scene- the end scene Happy telling Toby they will be a family if two and eating there tea together there is hope

3.03 - not much quintis to evaluate...... Toby is meditating not sure how productive it is

The question is how much are Toby and Happy hanging out, outside of the garage. He may be avoiding hounding her about it but has he forgiven her enough to spend time with her

I like Walter and Toby's relationship they both respect each and what they do

It's quite noticable in this episode how far apart Happy and Tiby are usually they work together, stand together even after the failed date now contact is limited

Favourite quote- some world class behaviourist like me would say this will drive you crazy

Favourite scene- my favourite scene is not because of the story but its Toby in his denim shirt looking beautiful ❤🔥❤

3.05 - oh no Collins a short cameo I hope!

Toby must be desperate to ask Collins for help just shows the extremes he will go to, to find the answers. Surly Happy should have told him by now. It shows just how much Toby loves Happy to stay with her with this huge secret between them

The U Dog need I say more........

Still a lot of distance between quintis and Happy berating Toby for talking to Collins when she is the one keeping the secret

Side note- this is a really important episode showing the true struggles of Autism something which many families deal with and not enough attention is made of it is written and played perfectly by all the writers and cast. Well done 👏👏👏

Happy showing a glimpse into her childhood is heartbreaking and gives an insight to why she can be closed off

I cant imagine how hurt Toby must be when he finds out it is his best friend Walter who Happy is married too. Why did Walter keep it a secret he could of told Toby years ago, whenvtgey guest got together or now, makes you understand why Walter was so against the relationship

Happy drops a bombshells........ I'm pregnant

What I would of loved to see is Toby and Happy conversation straight after the bombshell what did Toby say???

I hope she wasnt to marry Toby because she loves him not just because she is pregnant

Favourite quote- frustraters riddle solvers incorporated, you riddle I fiddle

Favourite scene- Toby finding out Walter is the husband

3.06 - glad got to see the meaningless wedding proves it was just for a green card

Toby is showing signs of jealousy and is obviously keen for them to get a divorce

Happy is being very hostile towards Toby I can however imagine Toby is being very full on with pregnancy and is probably worried about being a mother due to her childhood

Walter is being slightly selfish he should be doing whatever he can to make it up to Toby

Toby is being an arse in this episode I think he still has hostility built up in him and cant air his frustrations with Happy as he is over worried about her so takes it out on everyone else

I switch from being annoyed with Toby to feeling sorry for him in this episode

Happy wearing Toby's clothes gives me all sorts of feels!

Happys face is very Happy when she hears Toby's voice over the comms

Happy and Walter having to live together...... and Toby wanting to be with Happy so stays on the floor. This shows Happys love for Toby as she is willing to do something which makes her so uncomfortable and Toby is there to support her. I like to think that she isnt used to bring vulnerable with anyone else so lezbs towards toby in the night holding his hand or moving to the floor as she isnt used to sharing a bed with anyone but him

Favourite quote- who was your caseworker mr magoo

Perhaps I should wax my chest incase the milk comes

Favourite scene- Paige giving Toby advice first time you get to see a friendship between these two

Happy has always been a strong independent women I think having someone sharing her burdens is taking her some getting used to I hope she can learn to share her burdens with Toby

3.07 - l love this episode mostly because Toby looks fine in the overalls and slightly tanned!

Poor Happy she looks so uncomfortable the things she does for love

Happy looking after Ralph is funny she gets an insight of what its like to raise a child

I always like to see Toby in his medical element its when his character really shines

Toby phoning Happy because he knows she needs his support he does his best anticipating her needs

Toby made a rocking chair for Happy so sweet man of many talents

Favourite quote- maybe you could save that costume for the homeymoon

Favourite scene- Happy and Toby talking on the rocking chair both admitting their fears to each other is good progress

3.07 - this episode is funny at the beginning and ends on one of the most emotional scenes I've ever watched

Poor Ralph trying to get a sensible answer from geniuses

This episode touches on a couple of important issues 1. The importance of voting and the implications of voter fraud 2. Pregnancy loss

Happy and Toby seem more of kilter this episode working and talking together and back to shared looks

Is this the first compliment Happy has given Toby

Toby negotiating with the Chinese is a great scene only Toby could do this!

I watch the Happy Toby scene several times- hearing Happys voice crack is heart breaking she had come to terms with the pregnancy and wanted a family so bad

Toby looks destroyed between Happy's pain and his own he tries to comfort her with words but in the end its the action of still wanting to marry her even without the baby which shows her she can lean on him at this difficult time

I would like to think after this they leave and spend some quality time together comforting each other

I love how Toby finally understands and loves Happy enough to give her space and not force physical contact on her because it's not how she deals with lsin even though it's the one thing he needs and I love how Happy eventually learns into to Toby for comfort and provides him with what he needs even though it doesn't come naturally

Favourite quote- I screamed into that crap pile for 20 minutes

Speaking of the fetus I can't wait to meet us when is your overdue pre natal check up

Favourite scene- the end scene with Happy and Toby so superbly acted by Eddie and Jadyn you can feel the emotion and end with Happy finally agreeing to marrying Toby

3.08 -

As Toby and Happy stayed back at the garage I would like to of seen a bit more conversation over the false pregnancy it seems to have been glossed over when in real life this can effect couples for longer then a day or 2

Love how Happy wants to get married straight away she feels the need to secure her family

Toby wants a big wedding

Happy shows real anxiety thinking Toby is having second thoughts but Toby just wants to show of his 'babe' of a wife

Another way Happy shows her love for Toby by agreeing to a big wedding the one thing that makes her really uncomfortable

Favourite quote- my baby's got a heart of gold

Whats the scoop kitten

You're a softie - be glad I am because that is why your getting a bug wedding - really- if that grumpy can smile at his wedding maybe this grump can too

Favourite scene- each quintis scene they may only be short scenes but they really show there love for each other in their own unique ways

3.09 - the next few episodes lack quintis scenes many rumours why this is I think Toby and Happy are dealing with a lot out of work so use work times a chance to get some space and thinking time

Although they are not in many scenes the ones they are in show they are comfortable in their relationship

Favourite quote- Walter if my Turkey is not cooked in time your goose will be

Sweetheart you have some explaining to do

Grandmas a jail bird

Favourite scene- Toby getting pelted by golf balls is always funny

3.10- not much quintis in this. I have come to the conclusion this means that are settled into a relationship and comfortable with each other they simple exist together

Toby agreeing that he knows what it's like not to be a great guy with no direction before meeting a special women. I think the playboy life was a bit much and Happy obviously disagreed to. I hope she liked hearing Toby admit how she had changed him for the better

Favourite quote- I smell a rat a ripe raw rat

Favourite scene- no favourite scene but a nice episode I like that Ralph teaches veronica a valuable lesson

3.11 love this Christmas episode send favorite next to the one in season 2

Toby's jumper is horrific

I love that Toby is trying to make perfect Quintis memories for Happy trying to erase the memories of the past

Happy must really love toby dressing up in order to get Toby's present plus she knows him well enough to know she couldn't make him something without him knowing

Toby and his costume fetish poor Happy the things she must have to wear to get Toby's motor running

Love Toby and Happy snuggled up together I think Happy is trying to keep Toby Happy

Toby showing his immature side by pointing out Tim was photo shopped out of the picture

Happy is like a sister to Sly I like their relationship

Toby looks so happy that Happy loves her gift if a little hurt by her lack of thanks but her gift more then makes up for it

I would like to think they have there own Quintus Christmas at home after

Favourite quote- ok you heard my lady let's home alone their arses

I'm a pissed off ex navy seal and even I'm scared of her

Favourite scene- Happy and Toby exchanging gifts

3.12 - fantastic episode the team working well together

Toby is amazing in this episode what a doctor!

Ahhh Happy loves having Cabe around he is like a surrogate dad

Now Happy is with Toby her jokes and sarcasm are flowing

Toby is always confident to tell Happy how he feels or how hot she looks no matter who is with them

Everyone has faith in Toby no jokes today

Quintis work so well together with Toby there Happy can overcome her fear of blood. Toby needs Happy and he knows how hard it is for her to deal with blood. There he is with his soft voice he uses just with her

I would of liked to have seen Happy tell Toby how amazing he did

Toby looks like he has had a rough day looked like he was going to throw up at one point, it must be very hard and emotional to work on your friend/father figure. I hope he manages to unload and Happy provides support to him when they get home

Favourite quote- winner winner fermented fish dinner

Isn't that the cutie who's hot for your bootie

Sly I'm wearing Cabe on me like a sock puppet sterile went along time ago

You kiss me with that mouth

Hey, I'm really proud of you

So many great funny quotes in a tense episode

Favourite scene- any scene where Toby is being a doc he really is amazing

3.13 - this episode shows the light hearted quintis its nice to see them back to normal

Walter and his conch is a recipe for disaster

The thought of them both up all night discussing wedding venues is too much I love to imagine at home Quintis

Happy is particularly touching in this episode hold Toby's hand and she is the one instigating looking at the winery as a wedding venue

Toby is pissed how funny 🍷🍷

Cute quintis kiss Happy pulling Toby towards her

They work completely in sync with each other

Walter using his 197 IQ to override everyone's opinions

Happy actually chooses a wedding venue then Toby admits he is in debt love he expects Happy to overreact yet..... she is also in debt doesn't blow up at Toby such growth

They are both just desperate to get married dont care where. Happy has really developed emotionally she is not afraid of bring with Toby now and is actively wanting her family

Favourite quote- my opponent is a dork I win

Why dont we roam around the grounds there could be a sweet spot to tie the knot

You drive I'm pickled

Favourite scene- quintis at the winery and quintis talking wedding venues

3.14 - I think ive said this for the last few episodes but I love how easy their relationship is at the moment gentle banter, loving looks and advice they are in a great place

Love that even before they were together they had their own secret projects likd the Waltercon something they had just between the 2 of them

Both Toby and Happy know and are open about Happy bring able to deal with Walter emotionally or not as the case may be

Favourite quote- you will be the first politician taken down by a never had sex tape

I dont have time to babysit that emotional stunted genius

Favourite scene- Happy and Toby showing paige the Waltercon

3 15 - perfect Toby episode funny Toby moments plus heartfelt Quintis moments

Toby fulfilling a childhood fantasy of being a pirate I think he had to he fo grown up as a child with his parents that he never got the chance to play smart being a pirate

Toby getting bored is funny shows how a genius mind needs to be kept active

Toby being the hero is very rarely seen, seeing him jump to rescue Toby is great to see even with a cheese knife in his mouth

Happy has grown and is now more comfortable in airing her concerns and fears with Toby.

She loves him so much that she fears that he will get bored with her Toby needs to reassure her how much she means to him everyone else knows his love for her but her past still makes her worry

Favourite quote- you are the treasure I've been searching for my whole life

Toby hold onto your frilly hat I see something coming into view

Favourite scene- Happy showing her fears that Toby will get bored with her

3.16 - this episode shows just because quintis arnt together doesn't mean they dont have each others backs.

The emotion Happy shows in this episode just goes to show the depth of Jadyns acting ability she really nails these scenes

Toby looks good in any type of hat 🧢

Toby knows Happy needs a bit of space before ge goes too her so her comforts Cabe before going to provide Happy with the comfort and support she needs

Favourite quote- that is not a coat hook it is a coat rook

Love bug we'll check in with you later, Paige it's time to carbo load

Look what I learned from my main squeeze

Favourite scene- Happy watching her dad go to prison such raw emotion

3.17 - so much about this episode I love one of the best quintis episodes so far

Happy is now so comfortable in her relationship that she openly displays affection by resting her feet on Toby may not seem like a big deal for for Happy this is huge

Toby makes a great surrogate uncle always providing Ralph with great advice even when it's hard to hear

Toby is so worried about Happy and feeling helpless as he cant be there with her

Another superb acting job by Jadyn the emotion she puts in is heart wrenching

Happys biggest fear is Toby rejecting her I love that Toby got to realise this and it proves how much she does love him and she admits she is perfect for Toby

God that speech from Toby melts me everytime his soft voice his love for Happy is probably my favourite scene of all seasons so far

Happy sees Toby in front of her he is her security and what age needs

Favourite quote- my biggest regret in life is that we didnt meet when we were 8 cause I would have fallen in love with you from that moment, the truth is you've never been alone my love for you has always been there it just took a while for our paths to cross so I could share it with you and underneath all those neuro toxins in your head you know I'm right. You have nothing to be scared of ever

Favourite scene- Toby talking Happy out of her hallucination

3.18 - now Happy has a family and lover she is branching he friendship circle even if it is online

Toby is very concerned when Hsppy goes off on her own

My question is who does Hsppy call Walter or Toby - I like to think its Toby hes always the one she turns too

Toby knows this is something Happy needs to manage so he supports her without taking control

l love how Happy calls on Toby everytime she is worried about Ava and how Toby calls Happy out for her lack of friends

Favourite quote- do you know how long it's been since I slept, I need my jammies

You must be Walter, Happy said you were a wackadoodle

Favourite scene- opening scene especially when Happy throws the wrench

3.20 - a great quintis episode which is funny yet shows their love for each other

Seeing them in therapy is a great step and the fact Happy initiated it shows how much Toby means to her and in Toby's eyes she can do no wrong

Watching Tobh attract the monkey always makes me giggle how Eddie Kaye Thomas did this without falling apart is beyond me. Always great acting whether funny or serious

Although Happy is perceived as slightly mean in this episode if you think of all the other episodes she is never this mean and he loves it anyway her sarcasm and his immaturity are part of what attracts them to each other

Toby in his denim shirt 🔥🔥

Favourite quote- she's my spicy Asian noodle

Wow nobody looks good in that hat

The hat and I are one

Whats Toby talking about - a pile of crap - doesn't he always

Favourite scene- Happy and Toby in therapy

3.21 - nice to see Happy involved in wedding prep even if its begrudgingly

Happy and Toby working in sync together show that he helps Happy with mechanical projects in the garage and in the field. Happy never would of allowed anyone to help her mechanical so she now must trust Toby

Happy struggles knowing his to deal with a girl friend like Paige she obviously hasn't had any before Paige giving her a valuable lesson in friendship

Poor Toby having to electrocut Happy even with her permission, knowing you are causing pain to the person you love cant be easy

He looks so concerned for Happy when he pulls them off the rope

Hsppy doesn't want to let Toby down I love how she looks at him with pure love

Favourite quote- get ready for Sly heartbreak in 3 2 1

Man they sound like they've been married for years

You cant get rid of me that easily Quinn

Favourite scene- Paige and Happy talking in the ambulance it truly shows Happys trud feelings and worries about the wedding but solidifies her feelings are strong for Toby

3.22 - I don do wonder how much they pay Eddie kaye thomas as he always has to do things that make him look stupid

Happy Quinn is at a spa a sight no one would ever have predicted

Oh Walter where is your romance

Even though Happy tells Toby and Walter to shut it over the Astriod / Meteor debate she continues to call it a meteor showing her alliance with Toby

Favourite quote - Walter weddings are about love and magic and hope.

Well I would love to hope they buck the trend, but the best approach is preparation and magic is nonsense.

Why does Superfun guy have a helicopter when he can fly?

Its for when he gets tired

Favourite scene- Quintis at the Spa - completely out of character yet they seem so at ease

3.23 - quintis on batchelor parties this I would love too see

Happy struggling to adjust to Toby moving in with her. You don't see Quintis disagreeing often to reassuring to see it does happen as with every norms couple

Happy worrying about Toby is always great to see as its usually the other way round

Happy doesn't deny having sexy dreams about Toby!

Happy and Toby are willing to do what they can to make there relationship work counselling, making room for each others things

Favourite quote- she's hotter then a street corner Rolex

I kissed paige on the rocket - you should of kissed her on the mouth

Maybe you had a sexy dream - gross - there's nothing gross about them there perfectly normally Happy has them about me all the time ' gross

Favourite scene- Happy giving Toby the framed picture all these scenes over this half of the season shows how much she loves him in her own unique way

3.24 - this episode ❤❤❤❤❤

When I first watched it I was confused as the episode went on why are they working on their wedding day but as I rewatched it I realised how completely Quintis the episode is a perfect nod to an amazingly unique relationship

Toby couldn't comprehend Happy looking at Ryan Gosling only the suit

Happy getting bolshy at Walter with the fear he will screw up her wedding day for all her hard shell exterior she wants the perfect wedding

Happy not keen on flowery wedding vows Toby knows this and Happy knows Toby is the one for words

They are both devested thecweddingvis seemingly cancelled

Best thing Paige has done in all the episodes impromptu wedding!

Both Toby and Happy stay true to themselves Happy in a simple dress understated hair and make up and black boots! Toby in his American Pie tux and converse trainers

Tobya face when Happy walks down the alse stunned, in love, in awe that one look says it all every girl dreams of finding someone to look at them the way Toby looks at Happy

At crunch time all Toby can say is I love you he is actually speechless

Happys vows are beautiful honest and very Happy they blow Toby away

Does anyone else notice its Happy who is leading the way very quick to say I Do and goes to kiss Toby as soon as they are pronounced husband and wife

I love Eddie kaye thomas dance moves

The only thing I dont like about this episode is the writers chose this episode to put Paige and Walter together

Happy has secrets..........

Favourite quote- happy saw Ryan duckling wearing a tux like that in a movie poster

Its Gosling and she lingered, she likes the threads

You ever think she lingered on Gosling

Favourite scene- wedding vows don't need to say anymore

3.25 / 3 26- highly tense episode love seeing Quintis transition to husband and wife

2nd time we actually hear the words I Love You from Happy

Loving Toby's medical abilities in this episode

Happy has more secrets not as big as being married to Walter but she needs to start opening up to Toby

Poor Toby learning lots of new facts about the love if his life

Working together as a great team as always Toby has obviously been watching Happy work as he is getting better at engineering work. Happy thinking like a doc as well

Its nice to see Toby can be annoyed with Happy its usually the other way round

Love Happy speech she doesnt show her love often but when she does its honest and real. Her marriage to Toby means a lot to her and she realises that her past has lead her to her future

Favourite quote- please remain in your seats until the captain turns off the crap your pants sign

Who's Jake Gylinhall is he related to that Gilligan fellow

Oh so my physic needs some fine tuning, it's not Gylinhall enough for you

Sorry about that we were just looking to grab a couple of coconuts - me too

Favourite scene- Happy telling Toby outfit all the things she's been or will ever be, being his wife is her favourite

Happy and Toby having some private time and Ralph and Cabe catching them

#scorpionedit #cbs scorpion #jadyn wong #happy x toby #toby x happy #happy quinn #eddie kaye thomas #toby curtis

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