#find me incomprehensible series | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

javierpena-inatacvest · 7 months ago

Text

Fever

Summary: You're ovulating- It's that time of month where you find yourself turning into an unspeakably horny monster with just one problem that Javi knows exactly how to help you fix.

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.7K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also, who am I to say?) oral (m and f receiving), vaginal fingering, paise kink, an unspeakably explicit breeding kink (I ain't sorry about it), creampie, cum play, talks of starting a family, calling Javi "Daddy" and meaning it (help), the sweetest softest sex, yet somehow the filthiest, nastiest sex at the same time??? god these two love each other so much it makes me SICK

A/N: ... If you know me, no you don't. I'm so sorry y'all, I am ovulating and absolutely FERAL, I am truly thinking that someone may need to come put me down at this point because.... yeah... raise your hand if you're surprised Madeline has yet another story with Javier Peña and a big, fat, nasty breeding kink?! Oh look!! It's no one!!! ANYWHO, don't mind me while I foam at the mouth for the next 24-48 hours, BYEEEEEEEEEE

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

If there was one thing that you knew about Javi, it was that he was one of the most handsome, attractive men you had ever met.

His dark, curly hair.

His mustache.

His sweet brown puppy dog eyes.

His absolutely incomprehensible shoulder to waist ratio.

Your husband had it all. That, you knew for a fact.

Truth be told, there wasn’t really much that you ever thought Javi could do to be hotter than he already was.

That was until a few months ago, when you had recently stopped taking your birth control and you could quite literally feel yourself morph into the insatiably feral, horny mess that you became when you were ovulating.

And when that was the case, not only was he the hottest man you had ever laid eyes on in your entire life, you were quite literally ready to rip his clothes right off of him at every single opportunity possible.

You could practically feel the change in your body when you woke up this morning- the soft sunlight of Saturday morning spilling through your curtains as you rolled over to see Javi, mouth slightly agape as he snored, face buried in his pillow and messy brown curls flopping over his head.

God, does he always look this hot when he sleeps? You thought to yourself, slowly stirring awake, stretching your arms over your head before creeping out of bed to make yourself some coffee to bring back upstairs with you while you waited for Javi to wake up.

As the bittersweet aroma and quiet, rhythmic drip of the coffee hitting the bottom of the pot began to gently rouse you from your sleepy state, you couldn’t help but shake the warm, stirring sensation in your stomach from the image of Javi sleeping next to you in bed.

Elbows propped up against the counter, chin resting in your palms, you closed your eyes, picturing him- His sweet soft smile as you kissed his plush lips, the way his big hands roamed across your hips and back as he pulled you closer to his chest, the bulge of his cock pressed against your thigh before he-

“What are you doing up, cariño?” Javi’s soft and sleepy voice cooed as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his chest to your back as he planted a gentle kiss on your shoulder, his presence enough to snap you out of your daydream, but not enough to shake the dull ache that had been growing between your legs from the moment you woke up.

“I was just gonna make some coffee and bring it back up to bed. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up, baby.” You sighed, a smirk growing between your cheeks as you turned around to face him, Javi now caging you between his body and the counter as his hands splayed planted on either side of you. He looked down at you with his half-awake gaze and sleepy smile, still in nothing but his boxers, his tanned skin and barely there freckles glowing in the morning sunlight creeping through your kitchen window.

“Don’t apologize, mi amor. Just wanted to know where my wife was. Glad I found her.” He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, only pulling away to quietly whisper, “Good morning, hermosa.”

And while it was nothing but a simple good morning kiss, the way Javi’s lips met yours sent a spark off inside you, quickly leaning back to pull him closer to you as you draped his arms around his neck, a soft moan escaping from your parted mouth, feeling a grin growing across Javi’s face in response.

“Mhmmm, well, a very good morning to you then. My bedhead and morning breath really doin’ it for you, huh?” Javi smirked, lowering his hands to rest on your hips, gently toying with the waistband of your sleep shorts.

“Sorry, I uh- you just, God, you look really good this morning. Can we, um, ya know, maybe go back upstairs?” You stammered, so enamored with Javi’s presence that you could barely get a coherent thought out as you stared up at your husband, already feeling a damp patch beginning to grow in your underwear, stomach churning with arousal.

“Yeah? Mi esposa muy dulce (my sweet wife), you want me to-”

Ring, ring, ringggggg. Ring, ring, ringggggg. Ring, ring, ringggggg

“Who the fuck is calling me this early…”

Javi’s face scrunched in frustration at the sound of his cell phone ringing on the kitchen counter, reaching over you to see the expression in his face shift to concern as he read the caller ID, quickly opening up his phone to answer.

“Hey, Pops. What’s goin’ on? Everything okay? Again? Fuck… Yeah, just um- shit, yeah, I’ll be over in 30. Okay. Yup. Yeah, bye Pops.” Javi let out a deep sigh, running his hands over his face and through the sleep curled ends of his dark hair, his grumpy pout telling you that your morning was not going to go the way you thought it was 30 seconds ago. “The gate that Pops had installed last week fell down overnight and now all the cows are loose in the pasture… I gotta go over there and help him put it back up before it gets even worse. I’m so sorry, Hermosa.”

“It’s okay.” You shrugged, trying your best to mask your horny disappointment.

“It hopefully shouldn’t take that long. I should be back before lunchtime, okay? And when I get back, if you still want,” he paused, letting his palm slide along your jaw, cradling your cheek before pressing another soft kiss onto your lips, “We can pick up where we left off.”

“Promise?” You smirked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yo prometo (I promise).”

Wanting to give Javi any chance of leaving the house without trapping him in your bedroom, you tried your best to keep yourself busy while he quickly got ready and grabbed his things to head to the Peña Ranch, giving him a quick kiss goodbye before watching him back out of your driveway in his truck, the image of him with one hand behind the passenger seat at the other with his palm to the steering wheel making you just about drop to your knees for reasons you thought you couldn’t explain.

You hoped that with Javi gone, you could at least be a little productive in getting some things done around the house before he returned, but it seemed like with everything that you did and anywhere you went in your house, you couldn’t help but find more reasons to add to the insatiable desire building in your core.

While you were trying to make breakfast, you couldn’t help but stare at Javi’s favorite coffee mug, the Empire Strikes Back cup he had claimed as his at your apartment when you had first started dating. You couldn’t keep yourself from imagining the width of his huge hands wrapping around it, dwarfing the mug in his grasp, thinking about how good those same hands would feel all over you.

After that, came trying to do the laundry, where you caught yourself sniffing Javi’s shirts, the overpowering and familiar scent of his cologne and sweat seeping through the fabric, driving you absolutely crazy, wishing you could find a way to drown in his scent.

Finally, in your very valiant effort to try and make your bed, you found yourself laying face down in Javi’s pillow, somehow leaving the sheets and comforters tangled and tossed about worse than you had found them.

“What the fuck is wrong with me today…” You whispered to yourself, now sitting on the couch, mindlessly flipping through the channels on your TV, somehow still even hornier than you were when you woke up this morning. You let your gaze wander away from the TV, examining the walls of your family room until you landed on your wedding photos hung across your wall, smiling to yourself as you looked at the portraits, reliving the moments of the happiest day of your life.

It wasn’t until you glanced at one of the photos of you and Javi surrounded by your family in a candid moment where Javi had hoisted your niece on his hip to dance with her during your reception, the image making your stomach flip with an overwhelming need. After doing the quick math in your head, it hit you like a thousand pound ton of bricks why you had been so worked up all goddamn day.

You were ovulating, and you needed Javi to put a baby into you right now.

As if the universe had magically heard your prayers, you turned your head to hear your garage door opening and the familiar stomp of Javi’s boot covered footsteps trudging down the hallway. Like a moth to a flame, your heart began to race as you watched Javi’s broad body approach you, your jaw practically dropping at his appearance.

Javi was now glistening with a light sheen of sweat, his curls sticking to his damp forehead, and the sleeves of his button down shirt now rolled up past his elbows, the buttons once done up to near his neck before he left now trailing open to the middle of his chest, exposing the warm glow of his tanned skin underneath.

“Hey hermosa, I’m home! Ended up being a way easier fix than Pops thought and- Oh!”

Before Javi could even get out the rest of his sentence, you were trapping his words in your own mouth, feverishly bringing your lips to his as you grabbed fistfulls of his shirt, kissing him like every bone in your body depended on it.

Javi stood there for a moment, almost dumbfounded and frozen, wondering what had warranted such a greeting before leaning in to reciprocate, snaking his hands to your sides and grabbing your waist, pulling away only to try and understand the reason for his passionate welcome.

“H-hi baby. Everything okay?”

“Mhmmmmmm.”

“Not that I’m mad about it, but I feel like you’re greeting me like I’m coming home from war.” Javi laughed to himself quietly, looking down at you with a smirking suspicion.

“I missed you. I need you so bad, Javi.” You moaned, pressing up to lock your lips to his again, this time Javi matching your intensity as your mouths crashed into each other.

“Is this all from this morning?” Javi managed to ask between parted kisses, his grip tightening around you as he pulled you closer to his chest.

“This morning,” you paused, beginning to kiss him between each thought, “right now,” your hands began to roam up his chest, sneaking under the fabric of his shirt, “all the time,” fingers now working at frantically undoing the buttons, “fuck, everything about you. You’re so fucking sexy, Javi. Do you know that? God, I’m so lucky.” At this point, it felt like the words were flowing out of you in a horny and unstoppable stream of consciousness, babbling between desperate kisses pressed against Javi’s lips. “I need you so bad. I want you fuck me, Javi. Fuck, I- I want you to put a baby in me.”

Your last sentence had Javi frozen in place once again, pulling away just to make sure he had heard you correctly, even though the boyish grin growing ear to ear across his face seemed to be enough confirmation. The two of you had been trying ever since you had gotten back from your honeymoon, but now that you were to the point that your birth control was out of your system and your cycle was back to normal, it felt just a little more real to the both of you.

“You want me to put a baby in you, mi amor? That what you want?” Javi groaned, his voice rumbling low in his chest as a hungry glaze painted itself across his chocolate brown eyes, making your pussy throb at hearing him say it back to you.

“Mhmmmmm.” You nodded frantically, too caught up in your own desire to find any words to string together into a coherent sentence. “I think I’m ovulating, so it could really happen this time. Please, baby, I-”

This time, it was Javi’s turn to cut you off, his arms scooping below your legs to hoist you up around him, legs locking around his hips as he carried you down the hallway towards your bedroom, your bodies banging and bumping against the walls and door frames in a frantic race to your bed without any regard for spatial awareness.

As soon as you were close enough, Javi was tossing you on the bed, frantically stripping himself of his shirt and working his way down to his jeans before he realized you were sitting up, already toying with his button and zipper. You pushed his pants down his legs, followed by his boxers, revealing his cock, fully erect and weeping with precum at the tip. It wasn’t long until you were scrambling off the bed and dropping to your knees in front of him, licking the salty tang of spend off his tip before he could protest that he needed to take care of you first.

“Hermosa, I- Oh fuckkkk-” He groaned, feeling your jaw go slack as you took his length into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks until you could feel him in the back of your throat, pulling back to look up at him with batted lashes as you kissed him up and down his shaft.

“I wanna suck your dick, Javi. Wanna show you how much I love it. Wanna feel you down my throat before you fuck me.” You moaned, rubbing your legs together to try and ease the ache between your legs, your pussy so wet and puffy that slick and arousal were dripping from your cunt and coating the inside of your thighs.

“Fuck me…” Javi muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut to regain his composure before looking back down at you, slowly sucking at his tip, your tongue swirling around the sensitive ridges of his cock. “Okay, baby. Show me how bad you need me before I put my dick in your tight little pussy, huh?”

Inch by inch, you took him back down your throat until you were brushing up against the curls at his base, the sweet and musky scent of him filling your nostrils as you inhaled. “Oh fuck, Osita. Holy shit.” His voice rasped, hitching in the back of his throat watching your mouth fill with his cock. His fingers ran through your hair, tugging a little tighter as your pace began to quicken, his grunts and moans becoming louder with each push and pull. “Fuck, such a good girl taking me so well. So fucking pretty when you suck my cock baby, holy fuck.”

For as much as Javi wanted you to keep going until he was spilling down your throat, he needed to save every last drop for when he came inside you, fucking you full of him until he knew it took. Feeling his balls begin to draw up into his stomach, he forced himself to pull you off him, panting to catch his breath before he spoke. “I don’t wanna cum yet, baby, and if you keep going like that I’m gonna bust. Fuck, you’re so good to me. Lay down on the bed, Hermosa. Let me take care of you. Need to taste you.”

Instantly, Javi was pulling you up and sitting you on the bed, letting your back hit the mattress as he settled between your legs, tugging your bottoms off until they were in a crumpled pile on the floor. his hands slide down the inside of your thighs, pushing them apart to reveal the wet, slick, and puffy mess your pussy had already become without even being touched. Javi chuckled to himself, awestruck by the sight in front of him, kissing and nipping at the meat of your legs, teasing you with how dangerously close he was to your cunt and finally giving you what you needed.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, cariño.” Letting his hands shift down, his fingers ghosted across your core as his thumbs slid through the lips of your pussy, spreading it open even further, making you whimper in anticipation. “Goddamn, she’s so pretty. Prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen. Who’s pussy is this, baby girl?” He smirked, barely kissing your clit, driving you absolutely wild as you squirmed beneath his touch, desperate for him to do something, anything, to ease your ache.

“Y-yours, Javi. It’s all yours, baby. Only yours.” You whined, gazing down at him with a rampant need in your eyes, fisting at your bedsheets to find somewhere to try and release your tension.

“Fucking right it is.”

His head then dipped between your legs, arms draped across your stomach holding you in place as he began to eat you out like a man being served his last meal on this earth. Broad, flat strokes of his tongue slid between your folds, pressing against your clit with the perfect amount of pressure he knew would have you crumbling beneath him.

You couldn’t help but rithe under his touch, instinctively bucking your hips at his face, overwhelmed by the way Javi was relentlessly drinking you up, his fingers gripping tighter to the meat of your thighs to hold you in place as you could feel the tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine, your back arching in desperate anticipation.

Almost as if he could read your mind, Javi easily slipped two fingers inside you, curving in just the right way to bump against your g-spot, fucking in and out of you to fill the emptiness in your pussy he knew you craved.

“J-Javi, oh fuck- don’t stop baby, please, don’t stop.” You whimpered, your eyes nearly rolling in the back of your head as you felt your orgasm begin to build, cunt clenching tighter around Javi’s fingers and beginning to flutter while he sucked on your clit. You could feel his smug smirk pressed against your heat as your hand shot down between your legs, grabbing and tugging on fistfulls of his thick locks, your tell tale sign that it was only a few more moments before you were about to come undone.

“That’s it, hermosa. Say my name, baby girl. Let me hear you.”

And there you were, chanting his name like a prayer, over and over again until you reached your breaking point.

“Javi, Javi, Javi, J-Javi, J-aaaahhhhhh, oh fuck-”

In an instant, you could feel a wave of pleasure crashing through you in toe curling delight, your orgasming ripping through every inch of your body with undeniable intensity, your slick soaking Javi as he drank up every last drop of you, savoring the sweet taste of you on his tongue.

You sat there for a moment, back against the mattress as your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, blissed out of your mind as you sat propped up on your elbows, staring at Javi, proudly wiping the slick covering his face with the back of his hand.

“Javi, holy fuck, baby.” You gasped, swallowing hard as you watched Javi begin to hover over you, making his way up your body one slow, wet kiss at a time, nipping at the soft skin of your stomach before cupping your breasts, taking one in his mouth, sucking and flicking at your pebbled nipples with his tongue while he rolled the other between his fingers. The whimpers escaping from your lips were damn near pathetic, but considering how worked up you were, you could have probably cum again just from this alone.

“You still want me to fuck a baby into you, Hermosa?” Javi asked all too knowingly, tongue darting between the smirk of his parted lips, trailing languid kisses along your collarbone and up your neck.

“Y-yes. Fuck, yes.” You moaned, breath hitching at the back of your throat as Javi sucked at your pulse point.

“Tell me how badly you want it, pretty girl.” Javi whispered, his voice rumbling low in his throat as he nipped at your ear. “Tell me how much you want me to give you a baby.”

“F-fuck, so badly Javi. Please, baby. I want you to so bad. I want you to more than anything. I wanna make you a daddy, Javi.”

If Javi had any ounce of self composure left, that alone was enough to make him crumble, letting out an audible groan, his dick even harder than he already thought it could be.

“Fuck me…” Javi groaned, sucking you in for another electric kiss. “Turn around, baby.”

Scooching yourself further up the mattress, you laid with your stomach to the bed as Javi climbed behind you, swiping his cock through your folds before sinking into your heat, bottoming out against your cervix and whimpering at the sweet sting of his stretch, sucking him in with your warm, velvety walls.

Slowly, Javi began to thrust in and out of you, taking his time with each stroke as he laid his chest against your back, interlocking his fingers with yours outstretched above your head on the bedspread, head buried in the crook of your neck.

Each push and pull of his hips elicited more lewd sounds than the last- you were practically dripping at this point from how worked up you were, and could hear the wetness pooling in your pussy, filling the room with obscenely filthy sounds.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. You hear that, Momma? You hear how wet you are for me? Hear how badly your tight little pussy wants me to fill her up? Pump her full of me?” Javi moaned, his thrusts becoming faster and deeper, his grip around your hands even tighter than before, biting down on your shoulder trying his best to keep from falling apart at just how good you felt around him, coating every inch of his length in your arousal.

“I want you to cum so deep inside me, Javi. P-please, baby.” You begged, craning your neck behind you just enough to see the wrecked expression painted across Javi’s face that mirrored yours.

Suddenly, you could feel Javi grabbing your hips, flipping you over as your back bounced against the mattress, now staring up at him. He ran his hands up the back of your thighs until your knees were against your stomach, spread open as wide as you could be for him.

As he sunk back in your heat, he caged himself over you, devouring you in a desperate and hungry kiss of mangled tongue and teeth, catching your moans in his mouth as he bottomed out inside you.

“Need to see that beautiful face when you cum for me, cariño. Wanna see you when you soak my cock, w-watch, oh fuck- you when I fuck you so full of me, I’ll knock you up tonight.” Javi moaned between kisses.

The new angle had Javi pounding into you in the way that had your jaw going slack and your cunt beginning to clench tighter and tighter around his length, once again feeling the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten with arousal.

“P-please, Javi. F-fuck- You feel so good, don’t stop, baby.” You whimpered, your eyes locking with his, your heart racing as you stared into the deep chocolate brown of his gaze.

“I won’t stop, hermosa. Won’t stop until I fill this perfect pussy up. Fuck you so full of me, I’ll be dripping out of you for days. Won’t stop until I fuck a baby into you, get you pregnant, watch you give us a family- Jesus, fuck- Fuck, I love you so much.”

Snaking his hand between your bodies, he reached between your legs to rub at your clit, rhythmically circling your sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a pathetic whimper from you, knowing at this rate, you weren’t going to last much longer, and that meant neither was he.

“I love you too, Javi. More than anything.”

Each thrust of his hips sending you closer to the brink of collapse than the last, the noises of your wanton moans, skin slapping against each other and the wetness of Javi’s cock sloppily pumping in and out of your cunt had the room sounding borderline pornographic. You could feel your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head as the coil in your belly was about to reach a breaking point until the firm grasp of Javi’s palm around your jaw forced your gaze up at him once again.

“Eyes on me, baby. Eyes on me when you cum. Need to see you when I fuck a baby into you, Momma.”

That was all you needed to finally send you over the edge, your body exploding with pleasure as your orgasm overtook you, your thighs shaking and voice trembling with wrecked pleas of Javi’s over and over.

“J-Javi, Javi, Javiiiii, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, oh God, fuck, baby, fuck!”

As you gushed around his cock, your pussy gripped him like a vice as you came. Javi’s hips began to stutter, his pace now becoming frantic and sloppy knowing how close he was to following suit, losing all inhibitions as you sobbed out in ecstasy.

“That’s it, baby. Mierda- Fuck, I’m close. Gonna fill this pussy up- oh shit- so full it’ll f-fucking take. I know it will. I p-promise, I- oh fuck!”

With one final stammer of his hips, Javi’s orgasm consumed him, his spend coating every inch of your walls as he spilled into you, milking himself of every last drop as he came. His body slumped into yours, chests rising and falling in sync as both of you laid in post-orgasmic bliss, completely lost in the sensation of each other.

After a moment, Javi finally pulled out his softening cock, making you whine at the loss. Sitting back on his haunches, he couldn't help but admire the absolute mess between your legs- your pussy so puffy and swollen, covered in your shiny slick, and dripping with his cum. A satisfied smirk spread across his face as he watched his spend begin to leak out of you, knowing that you were overflowing with him.

His fingers traced down your thighs, dragging his cum back to your cunt, making sure a single drop didn't go to waste. You couldn't help but sob as his curved fingers push back inside your pussy, making sure you stay stuffed full of him so he knew it took, because God, did want it more than anything to take.

Gently pulling back out, Javi couldn’t help but lean down to kiss you again, grabbing your face as he peppers you with kisses, making you squeal in a ticklish delight.

“I love you so much, mi amor.” Javi cooed, his forehead resting against yours as he softly stroked your face, your heart swelling with joy and excitement at the man you hoped from 9 months from now, would be the father to your child.

“I love you too, Jav. You’re gonna be such a good Daddy.” You smirked, teasing him just enough to make him let out a sigh, biting down on his lip.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me with that one. You know that?”

“Well it’s true!” You laughed, giving him a playful nudge, running your hand through the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck. “You think this one will be the one?”

“I hope so. If not, guess we’re just gonna have to keep trying every day till it is, huh?”

“If you keep fucking me like that, we’re gonna have 12 kids before you know it.”

“I mean… wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” Javi grinned, rasing his eyebrows at you with a boyish glow.

“Javi! We are not having 12 kids!” You protested, rolling your eyes at your husband.

“Osita, if you keep coming on to me like you did today, we may not have a fucking choice.”

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

5K notes · View notes

bisquid · 1 year ago

Note

Wait wait you can't just drop that off and not elaborate. What do you mean is there a mafia presence in Wales?? Please spill, what things did you notice??

Okay so bearing in mind that I have ADHD and Chronic Terrible Observational Skills:

I am in Cardiff

For a concert I am attending solo

Doors open at 5

4:15 ish I go 'hmm I should eat something'

Cardiff is - unsurprisingly, being tiny and yet home to FOUR concert venues - Very Busy

Find McDonald's

McDonald's is very full. I recall my last concert related McDick's experience, and promptly bounce

Directly across the street

Is an Italian restaurant

It looks closed but fuckit maybe I can beg for like. Bread or some shit

Go over

Am immediately pounced upon by the hitherto unnoticed chain-smoking woman hanging out by the door mostly hidden by a potted ficus(?)

"I was wondering if you were open and if-" "yes yes we are open what would you like?" (strongish Italian accent)

Inside restaurant is Deserted

Explain that I'm sort of in a rush, am assured it's fine

Order chicken milanese which is generally a pasta dish with a breaded chicken component

Am led to seat nearish the front and promptly provided with a pint of coke in a glass tankard

Am then provided with a front row seat to an absolutely incomprehensible series of people entering and exiting (and in one case walking directly into) the door to what I can only presume is the kitchen

Starting with the guy who had been sitting at a table chain-smoking over a pile of papers

I counted at least three people exiting at least twice without actually entering in between

Am finally brought food

It is a breaded, butterflied chicken breast approximately the size of my face and a small pile of pasta approximately the size of my fist

It is all delicious

Chain-smoking papers man reappears, now wearing a chef's apron labcoat thing

Go up to pay, chain-smoking ficus lady is now having a very loud argument in a language I did not recognise but was not Italian Welsh English French russian Gaelic or Spanish

She sees me, says, and I quote 'ah little girl lost, one moment' and promptly hangs up

I am 27 and only nominally female

I am not remotely lost

She charges me for the pint of coke but not the food

I try to point out that she hasn't charged me for the food

'do you want to pay for the food?'

'.... Not if I don't have to?'

'good'

I leave. The door is now full of half a dozen very tall very Italian men and one absolutely adorable cocker spaniel

I ask if I can pet the dog (I have my priorities straight okay)

I am allowed to pet the dog. The dog and I are now best friends

The dog lead holder asks me in extremely accented but impeccably correct English if I had enjoyed the food

'yeah it was great!'

Everyone laughs a bit

I smile and pet the dog and realise I'm now late for the concert and hurry off

I see a post on Tumblr about mob fronts and several connections are made in my brain all at once

#i have impeccable observational skills #but only in hindsight #or if it's wildlife

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seumyo · 13 days ago

Text

todoroki and his awkwardness with babies.

Todoroki considered himself not good with kids. Yet somehow your nephew always seemed to favor him whenever he wasn’t busy with hero work and volunteered to babysit alongside you.

“Oh my goodness, look at this little cutie!” you coo, your voice brimming with excitement. Todoroki follows your gaze.

There he was. Baby Eitarou was happily gnawing on his teething ring as he sat on his play mat. His wide, curious eyes locked onto Todoroki’s mismatched ones. He tilted his head, letting out a series of excited babbles before reaching his tiny arms out toward him.

You gasped softly, clasping your hands together. “Shou, I think he wants you to hold him!”

Todoroki blinked, clearly unprepared for this turn of events. No matter how often he accompanies you, he still finds himself unprepared for every subtle change. “Me? Why?”

“I— don’t we always carry him whenever he does the grabby hands?”

“I do not, but you do. Because he always wants you to carry him.”

“Well, it looks like he wants you to carry him today,” you reply, your voice quivering with barely contained delight.

With a resigned sigh, he kneeled down. “I… suppose I can.”

He held the child stiffly, his arms awkwardly outstretched as if the baby were made of glass.

“Like this, hun,” you told him, adjusting his arms so he supported the baby properly.

Eitarou immediately snuggled into Todoroki’s chest, then gurgled happily, reaching up to grab at Todoroki’s face. His tiny fingers clumsily found Shouto’s cheeks, squishing them lightly as he let out a delighted giggle.

“Uwah!”

“Aww, you two are so cute! The cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Todoroki remained still, his hands supporting the baby securely while the tiny fingers continued exploring his face. “Is he supposed to do this?” he asked, his voice even. He eyed baby Eitarou and evaded his face whenever the little one tried to put his baby fingers in his mouth.

“He’s just curious!” you answered. “Let him—oh, now he’s going for your hair!”

Eitarou’s small hand found Todoroki’s dual-colored bangs, grabbing a tuft of white hair and tugging lightly. Todoroki froze, unsure how to react.

“Do I… stop him?” he asked slowly, unsure.

You waved your hands frantically. “No, no! Let him be! It’s harmless—unless he tries to put your hair in his mouth.”

He freezes, blinking owlishly at you. He’s never heard you speak of such things, let alone worry if Eitarou would nibble at your hair whenever you held this angel.

“He could do that? Should I put him down?”

“No! It’s just a little heads up. Babies who are teething tend to put most things in their mouth.”

“Oh.” Todoroki was somewhat relieved.

The baby let out another giggle, switching to the red side of Todoroki’s hair, his small face lighting up as he babbled incomprehensibly. “Umn!”

Your husband pouted a little. “Does this mean I need a haircut?”

He’s already thinking of going to the barber’s shop, the one that Kaminari had recommended in passing. Todoroki’s never tried that barber before, but if his friend had recommended it, then it could be worth trying.

You burst into laughter. “What? No! Why would you need a haircut? You just went to get a trim last week.”

“Oh. I did.”

He looked down at the baby, who was now attempting to bury his face into Todoroki’s shoulder while babbling happily, and he wiped the little drool on the corner of Eitarou’s mouth with the soft cloth you handed him. “I just thought that if my hair’s this interesting to a baby, maybe it’s too long.”

“Are you serious?” you asked, barely able to keep a straight face. “Hun, your hair is perfect. Eitarou just thinks you’re the coolest person ever.”

Todoroki blinked, clearly processing the statement, but he said nothing. His hold on the baby shifted slightly as he cradled the child more comfortably, the corners of his lips almost forming a smile.

“You think I’m the coolest?” he asks Eitarou, who could only giggle at him. “I think you’re the coolest as well, ‘Tarou.”

“You were great with him,” you said softly. Eitarou is napping by now, courtesy of Todoroki rocking him back and forth (even if you suggested he used the rocking chair instead so he doesn’t tire himself out) while humming a soft lullaby.

Todoroki glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “I just held him, love.”

“Yeah, but you made him so happy—and got him to take his after-lunch nap. That counts for a lot.”

There was a brief pause before Todoroki replied, “I suppose.”

You sighed softly, watching as the tiniest hint of a smile flickered on your husband’s face. “‘Tarou’s grown to love you. You’d make a good dad someday, hun.”

His expression was unreadable as he took this in, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Maybe. Someday. When we’re both ready.”

He’d admit that the thought was... something he’ll look forward to more often now that you brought it up.

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beamorgan · 14 days ago

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Favourite Reads of the Year

I will not be ranking these, because that would hurt my heart. Buckle up folks, there are a lot of amazing books out there

The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells

I know, I KNOW, I'm late to the party but omg this whole series is just as good as people say!!! I know I said I wouldn't be ranking, but if I was these would be fighting for the top spot. I have already relistened to all the audiobooks. I anticipate rereading them literally every year from now on. I would die for Murderbot, which it would think is a stupid thing for a human to do when there is a SecUnit right there. [adult, scifi]

Emily Wilde's Map of the Otherlands by Heather Fawcett

Sequel to last year's fav Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries, this follows a bullheaded academic trying find the magical door that will let her faerie boyfriend back into his faerie kingdom. Chaos ensues in the Alps. It's fabulous, and the author's approach to using folklore is very similar to my own writing, which I love and also get imposter syndrome about. 10/10 recommend [adult, historical fantasy]

Model Home by Solomon Rivers

Would you like to be repeatedly punched in the gut? Look no further than this story of racism and child abuse in a Texas McMansion, with gorgeous prose and a genderqueer protagonist and the laundry list of content warnings you can expect with the genre. It hurt so good. [adult, contemporary gothic horror]

You Should Be So Lucky by Cat Sebastian

This love affair between a baseball play and a sports reporter was recced to me by the lovely @colubrina and boy was it worth the two-day binge it inspired! Romance can be very hit-or-miss for me, but this knocked it out of the park (please enjoy my pun). I didn't even have to know anything about baseball to love it! [adult, historical (1960s) romance]

The Locked Tomb Series by Tamsyn Muir

Another tumblr fav, FOR A REASON. Gideon is hilarious. Harrow is an absolute mess. Nona is BABY, my beloved. (Camilla and Palamedes have my whole entire heart). Also, the audiobook narrator is fantastic. In the words of the author, the buns are also fried chicken. [adult, sci fantasy]

Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian

This one is @elodieunderglass's fault. Historical buffoonery on boats. The main characters are ridiculous. The sailing jargon is incomprehensible. It's great. [adult, historical fiction]

All You Can Ever Know by Nicole Chung

This is a gorgeous memoir of an interracial adoptee trying to make contact with her birth family while pregnant with her own child. It grapples thoughtfully with reconnecting to a lost culture, the complexities of family history, and the social and legal barriers adoptees face to learning about themselves. [adult, memoir]

Death in the Spires by KJ Charles

I devour everything Charles writes, so I was EXCITED for this mystery. She made it very clear on social media "It's not a kissing book!!" (it's kinda still a kissing book). She wrote a stonking book, as usual, with an underdog protagonist revisiting the murder that happened during his toxic time at Oxford university. [adult, historical mystery]

Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar

My favourite literary fiction read of the year, this meditation on Iranian diaspora identity is written by a poet and you can tell. I would suck the prose up through a straw if I could. The protagonist is an addict and also quite suicidal. It was fun :) [adult, literary fiction]

She Who Became the Sun by Shelly Parker-Chan

and the sequel, He Who Drowned the World. I don't even know how to sell this, all I want to do is flail incoherently about how amazing it is. IT'S AMAZING. JUST READ IT. (wait I know: this satisfied the part of me that was obsessed with Mulan as a kid) [adult, historical fantasy]

A Little Trickery by Roseanna Pike

The voicey-est book I've ever read. I screenshot like every other page. It follows an orphaned girl trying to survive in Tudor England through various means, such as faking a miracle in the church where her gay best friend is priest. [adult, historical fiction]

At the End of the River Styx by Michelle Kulwiki

My friend wrote a book! It made me cry!!! They were delighted with this!!! Please give this to any teenager in your life who needs to see thoughtful representation of grief and depression and boys in love. [YA, contemporary fantasy]

#there's a little bit of everything in here #sorry to the thriller fans #I am too stressed to read many of those at the moment #bea reads #book recommendations

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shurisneakers · 27 days ago

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unsolved (vi)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal.

A/N: i need to start editing beforehand this series honestly takes to long to edit omg this was supposed to come out 2 hours ago. also thanks so much to @ginevranights for the one tweet in here, and @thebisexual-disaster for calling bucky babygirl because it was incredibly funny to me

Previous part || Series masterlist

Everyone is besotted with the cat.

It makes sense– everyone hates Bucky and will dance with glee upon his downfall. This is all his opinion, of course. The truth is that it is a cat and exists and everyone is thrilled.

Sensing his awful vibes towards her and the constant suspicion he thinks of her with, she decides she likes sitting outside his room at the early hours of the morning and screaming for him to open up.

Once he does, she strolls in leisurely, takes a look around and then strolls back out. Everyday. On the clock. An alarm clock that will cough up a hairball in front of his door should he not open it to her.

Also turns out she doesn’t have brown spots, the cat was just dirty. She’s pure white and you’ve taken to calling her something to do with snow or blizzards or something.

She is his mortal enemy. Bucky doesn’t stop to think that his biggest problem being a feud with a cat is possibly an indication that his life has gotten significantly better.

As with every week, you bang on his door on Friday morning.

Bucky, who's just fallen asleep after the stupid cat ceremoniously woke him up that morning, does not find this ritual as entertaining as you do, but his opinion has rarely held weightage in matters such as his sanity or his sleep schedule.

He does considr for a whole day that you and the cat are in cahoots to ensure he is as miserable as possible. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility– Sam talked to birds or and Clint talked to lizards or whatever.

You yell something incomprehensible to him. Bucky yells something back. The world keeps spinning, nothing changes.

Other than the sinking feeling on his chest, that was a bit more pronounced than usual, to the point where it’s a bit hard to breathe.

He pries open one eye, ready to name five things he sees, four things he hears, three things he touches.

The stupid cat smacks him in the face.

He shoves her off his torso, and along with her, the sinking feeling also reduces.

After a very useful day of staying in bed no less than three attempts to get back to sleep, Bucky sneaks out of the tower when dusk begins to fall to hopefully get some rest on the park’s grass.

It’s a nice evening out, the sky was painted a burnt orange, and the air wasn’t too chilly. He could even stop for a burger on the way back to top off a lovely nap.

But even a gorgeous sunset is not enough to distract him from his heightene awareness going off.

From the corner of his eye, he sees a black van trailing slowly behind him.

He picks up the pace, jogging past a street food vendor and a newspaper stand, and the van only speeds up to keep up.

Soon enough, Bucky breaks into a sprint, ducking into an alleyway and waiting until the van drives past him before stalking back out, eyes vigilant.

Whatever. Stalker be damned, he was going to go to the fucking park. And get a burger.

But the second he makes a turn on the street corner, the same black van pulls right up to him, not leavning even two feet of space between it and him.

Bucky, annoyed and with 80 years worth of boredom with this schtick, scowls as he yanks open the damn door, ready to just punch and move on with his day.

“Get in loser, we’re going out,” you call from the driver’s seat.

He growls, letting the handle go. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? I literally told you in the afternoon that I’m picking you up and you starting running from me, you baboon,” you exclaim. “Is that what you’re wearing in this video? Did you not do your laundry?”

Alright, so maybe it was on him to figure out what you actually yelled at him through the door earlier in the day. That doesn’t stop him.

Nostrils flaring, he continues to ignore you. “Who the fuck does this? Why do you have a van?”

“Style,” you insist. “We’re gonna be late, now come on. We’re leaving.”

Sensing that this conversation had reached a standstill, Bucky employs his next best technique.

“Where?” he demands.

“You’ll find out when we get there. Now get in,” you pat the spot next to you before pulling up your phone. “We’ll get there in about an hour–”

“No.”

Your neck cranes slowly to look at him incredulously. “The fuck you mean ‘no’?”

“You could be kidnapping me.” He stands with his arms crossed, tone defiant.

“Right,” you snort. “You seen yourself? Food laws say I need a cooling truck to transport that much beef around.”

Bucky feels his mouth opening and shutting almost immediately, a strange feeling creeping into the tips of his ears.

He clears his throat. “I’m not getting in the car unless you tell me where we’re going.”

“I’m not fuckin’ kidnapping you Bucky,” you say, loudly. “And even if I wanted to do it– which I don’t, because you can be so annoying sometimes– you’d never see it coming.”

“How would I know?” He’s offended that you only think he’s annoying sometimes when he’s been working very hard to make sure it’s a constant feature of his. “Who’s to say there’s not some guy in there with a gun–”

“A gun wouldn’t do shit when you’re so thick in the head–”

“And then SHIELD’s gonna have to shell out the ransom–”

“SHIELD would pay them to keep you.”

“Oh, so you are kidn–”

“Get in the car,” you say loudly before sitting upright, and turning your attention to the windshield again. “Or don’t. I don’t give a shit.”

He narrows his eyes at you grabbing the steering wheel, while your telekinesis moves to close the door on him.

Bucky sticks his metal hand between the door and the car, and pries it back open before climbing in.

“Now what,” he mumbles, arms still crossed over his chest like he’s throwing a tantrum. He even refuses to put the seatbelt. Rebellion.

You don’t answer, and the car doesn’t move.

When he looks over at you, you have a triumphant, smug smile on your face.

“What,” he bites.

You tsk. “Reverse psychology. Always works with children.”

Bucky immediately grabs at the handle, but the locks immediately click into place and you step on the pedal and send the van flying down the road before he has a chance to throw himself out.

The car pulls up to a mansion.

All the windows are closed and covered in newspaper, giving him no indication as to what was inside. The lawn was mostly brown, with weeds taking up more space than grass and dead flowers lining the fence.

“There’s gotta be like 5 bedrooms in that thing,” you note, as you both make your way towards it. “How many ghosts do you think are in there?”

“Zero,” Bucky states plainly.

You continue to talk like he doesn’t exist. “A house that big, there’s gotta be a ghost butler in there. Maybe a ghost maid.”

“None.”

“Five ghost maids, one for every room, and maybe a cook–”

Bucky starts speed walking, leaving you behind to admire the structure looming over the both of you, only illuminated by the streetlights outside.

Bucky knocks hard on the door, annoyed that it was getting colder and that he was stuck in his stupid running shorts in a house that definitely had no heating for the evening.

Eventually, you end up beside him, talking as he keeps his sight fixed right ahead.

Checking your phone to confirm the address, you mumble absentmindedly to him, “This kid tweeted us like fifteen times in the last week, this is gonna be a sick surprise. I love meeting my fa–”

“A surprise?” Bucky jerks his head towards you. “You didn’t tell him we’re coming?”

“Well no,” you lower your phone, “because that would give the ghosts some warning and we–”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head. “We can’t just go into some random kid’s house and film–”

“He’s hardly random, he’s been bombarding our inbox–”

Your defence is cut off when the door creaks open painfully, slowly, like it was letting out its last dying breath.

“Woah,” you whisper, eyes wide. “Ghost door.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky mumbles.

“Hello?” you call out.

When no one replies immediately, Bucky shoves his hands into his pockets, ready to leave.

Instead, you shove him to the side, taking his pace in front of the house. He offers no resistance, only a growl in annoyance.

You clear your throat, before calling loudly, “Hewwo–”

A dark hooded figure springs out at breakneck speed from behind the door, arms raised high, legs wide.

You don’t look fazed at all, staying entirely still, only with one eyebrow raised.

“Right,” you say. “You must be Jason.”

“Yuh,” he answers.

“Where are your parents?” Bucky demands immediately, choosing to ignore the full body cringe his own words give him.

“Indianna or something, man. I dunno?” The door trembles open a bit more, giving you a clearer look at the guy. “Do you guys wanna come in? It’s cold.”

You take a step inside the huge foyer, almost steretoypically complete with a cascading staircase and big paintings of people on horses and stuff.

Jason eventually peels the hoodie away from his face, shoving his arms inside the sleeves and spinning it around so he was wearing it the right way.

“This is Bucky, by the way,” you introduce before beckoning to the man who had refused to move all this while. “Come on, babygirl.”

Bucky does not look wowed with the theatrics as he stands there, arms folded tight across his magnificent chest.

Jason looks at you. “Is babygirl coming?”

Bucky inhales sharply while you stifle a laugh. “Do not call me that.”

“Oh, he loves it when people call him that, he’s just super pissy because he didn’t get enough attention today,” you coo. “Get in here Bucky.”

He glares at you with enough intensity to set the house on fire.

The kid looks like he’s in his early twenties, with shaggy brown hair that hides sleepy eyes, bad posture and a clean shaven face.. His hoodie is paired with grey sweatpants and yellow flip flops that were about one size too small for him.

“Why’d you tweet at us?” Bucky questions, wondering what he had to do with anything.

Jason juts his chin up contemplatively. “What do you guys do again?”

You stare at him to avoid how Bucky was staring at you.

“We hunt ghosts and help old ladies cross the street.” You flash him a smile.

“Cool.” Jason nods appreciatively. “I don’t have an old lady here.”

Your eyebrow twitches. Bucky would have taken great joy in your awkwardness had he not felt entirely exasperated by the whole exchange.

“Well, Jason, you DM’d us about the ghost in the house,” you communicate even slower. “The one that was being rude?”

“Oh, right,” he drags out. “You’re the people from YouTube. Avengers. I didn't think y’all were real, lol.”

“What the fuck.” Bucky mumbles to himself, because there was no way this guy said ‘LOL’ out loud. “Did you just invite us inside your house without knowing who we are–”

“Yes, we’re those people,” you interrupt, pulling out a card from your fucking sleeve. “The Graveyard Shift crew, ready and at your service.”

“Since when do we have business cards?” Bucky presses.

“Ignore him, he’s an intern.” You drop the card onto Jason’s hand. “Anyway, we’re the best rated ghost hunters within a twenty yard radius. Maybe even thirty, but I don't wanna get too ahead of myself.”

“Radical.” He flips the card back and forth without actually reading anything. Bucky wonders if he was looking for pictures. “Aren’t you supposed to have like, tech and people and stuff?”

“Some of us have performance anxiety–” you give Bucky a side eye and he rightfully looks absolutely incensed. “So, I’ve got a camera following us at all times and I’ve got all the tech we need.”

Bucky suddenly feels very aware of something hovering behind him, and it takes an incredible amount of self-restraint to not instinctually slap it out of existence.

He whips around to find a camera floating mid air, aimed directly at him almost like it is waiting for a reaction. While weird, it was still better than the stupid GoPro on his head that elongated his forehead to a sixhead.

“And I’ve got a REM Pod, a spirit box to pick up sounds when they talk to us, a water gun full of assorted waters from different beliefs for one gigantic spirit burning milkshake–” you list rapidly and Bucky cannot even tell where the fuck you’re pulling these things out from. “So, we should be good to go.”

Jason doesn’t look bothered at all, as he drags out, “Cool, lol.”

Bucky almost feels offended on your behalf by the little twerp.

“Hold this,” you instruct, pressing the spirit box into Bucky's chest without giving him a choice. “Ready whenever you are, but before we start I just wanted to ask– why’d you come to us for help? I’m sure you have plenty of options.”

“Oh,” the guy says, wiping his hands down the side of his sweatpants. “You guys are Avengers and stuff…”

He doesn’t add anything else, watching you both like it was obvious.

When neither of you offer an answer, he continues “I mean, no one else seemed to like, know kickboxing and shi–”

“I’m sorry– kickboxing?”

“Or like, karate.” He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Whatever you guys are into, I don’t really care what style of combat it is.”

When it finally clicks, Bucky snorts. “You want us to fuckin’ fight your ghost?”

“Yeah, like a punch or something, I guess.” Jason looks too serious. “He’s being a real bitch dick.”

You exhale steadily. “First of all, how do you know it’s a ‘he’?”

Jason shakes his head, and his hair falls directly into his one eye, leaving you to only look at the other. “I’m pretty sure it’s my uncle.”

“Your uncle?”

“Well yeah,” the guy responds, “this is his house. He built it and decorated it and shit.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “You didn’t mention that in the brief.”

Bucky looks at you. “You got a brief?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s my uncle’s house, I guess,” Jason continues when you wave Bucky off. “He, like, kicked the bucket a few years ago. Like, totally died off.”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together.

“We weren’t, like, close or anything but I guess he didn’t have any other relatives which figures, because he’s a pain in the ass, but I’m the next male heir or whatever, so I got it.”

“Male heir,” Bucky repeats slowly, wondering which fucking TV show he’s walked into.

“A 6BHK in this economy is a fuckin’ castle,” you shush him, turning to Jason again. “Didn’t you bother renovating or anything?”

“Clearly not,” Bucky mumbles, because he may have only known Jason for a grand total of a few minutes, but he really doubts that it was he who picked out redwood furniture and gold trimmings.

“Nah, I don’t care. I usually spend all day doing gigs at my friend’s house but he told me I can’t keep throwing ragers there every night so I wanna do that here but he’s just being a big baby about it,” he explains all in one breath.

“What gigs?” Bucky asks curiously.

“I’m a DJ who specialises in acoustic EDM,” he says, chest puffing in pride.

“Of course.” Bucky nods in return.

Jason turns to you. “Didn’t think you guys were coming, not gonna lie.”

“You just do that whole door opening show to everyone?” you ask, amused.

“Uh, no, I just heard you guys arguing outside and thought it’d be funny,” he says. “I got you guys good, lol.”

“Well, not me,” you counter, “but Bucky, for sure, pissed his pants a litt–”

“Anyway, here’s the keys. I’m out,” Jason cuts in. “It’s my last three performances at Rick’s house.”

He tosses the key at babygirl’s Bucky’s chest, who instinctively catches it with ease.

“You’re just giving us the house for the night?” Bucky stares at him incredulously.

“Yuh. There’s, like, beer in the fridge if you want. No one delivers here ‘cause someone snitched that this place is haunted, which was kinda fucked. So there’s ramen in the fridge too if you’re hungry.”

“Why is there ramen in–”

“See y’all later, lol,” he takes off without another word.

Bucky’s left staring after the guy who just strolls down the garden and out the gate without a second look.

“I think I want to adopt him.” Your gaze trails after him, before you crack your knuckles. “Alright. Let’s get this guy’s bitch dick uncle.”

The longer Bucky spends in the house, he can tell with absolute certainty that someone loved this place deeply. It is styled and decorated with the flair of a passion project, even though it currently looked like it dreamed of being a landfill when it grew up. There were cobwebs everywhere and several dust bunnies in every corner, and also many crushed cans of beer all around the floor.

The previous owner had taste for sure. Bucky’s not sure if he’d appreciate Jason turning it into the newest hotspot for his ragers. Whatever that meant.

“How long are we going to be here?” he asks, swiping a finger across the table.

“Why, you got something to do?” you pause before adding, “Or someone to do?”

He sends you a jaded glance. “None of your business.”

“You literally called me the love of your life.” You scoff from your corner of the room.

“You called yourself that,” Bucky reminds monotonously.

“And you have never denied it.”

“I’m denying it right no-”

“Bzzt, too late. Anyway,” you announce. “Your hot date will have to be postponed, I fear. We are not leaving until we get some sort of proof.”

“Two hours.” Bucky holds up two dust coated fingers.

“I’ll buy you a pretzel.”

“Three hours.” His middle finger goes up in solidarity.

You grin. “More than enough. We’re gonna make you a believer, babygirl.”

True, and surprisingly enough, an hour later, his whole life changes.

“Holy shit,” Bucky can’t quite believe his eyes either, stomach turning.

“What?” You’re somewhere behind, stupid machine held up as you spin around like a ballerina waiting for something to do something and make a noise or some shit. He doesn’t know.

Bucky has tucked the spirit box behind his ear like a pencil, arms gripping the doors.

“What the hell,” he trails off slowly, eyes glued to the sight in front of him, hypnotising.

“Did you find something?” you whisper-yell, and the camera whizzes past you into his line of sight.

Bucky swallows the bile in his throat.

“When he said ramen’s in the fridge, I didn’t think he meant he boiled a fuckin’ bucket full of noodles and just left it in there. What the fuck.” He grabs the aforementioned bucket and lifts it into the air. “Who does this? What the fuck?”

You let out a huff, lightly stomping yor foot. “Be so serious right now.”

“Are you crazy? Look at this.” Bucky spins it around to look at it from every angle. “It’s got ‘Jason’s ramen’ written on it. Who the fuck else’s would this be?”

“You’re supposed to be looking for ghosts,” you insist. “That is demonic behaviour. It’s not the same.”

“I’m lookin’ for snacks,” Bucky puts the damn bucket back and ignores it to look through the rest of the fridge. “There’s nothing here. What does that kid eat?”

“If you’re looking for snacks, you gotta look in the mirror,” you hum hopefully.

“Hilarious.” Bucky’s voice comes back muddled from the several bottles of beer in the fridge.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s not useful.” you correct, “You said you’re looking for snacks, not a whole meal.”

He stops briefly. Bucky’s not sure what to do with all this strange attention you give him. It makes him feel all sorts of ways and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Whatever,” he mutters, continuing to scavenge.

“Woah, calm down there, Prince Charming.” You snicker. “Give a person a warning before pulling out all your best lines on me like that.”

“You’re supposed to be working, not flirting,” Bucky responds, feeling the same burn at the tip of his ears from that evening.

“When I was in the events business, multitasking was considered a valuable and necessary skill.”

Bucky stands up so fast he nearly hits his head on the fridge.

“What’s with all these random jobs you keep saying you’ve done?” he questions. “They told me you went on the run a long time ago and that’s where you met Nat.”

Your face changes, features becoming more solemn. He doesn’t know what’s going on, because he’s never seen you this serious before, not even when you guys were hanging out in the library.

“Bucky,” your voice drops a few octaves, straight and steady. “Answer me this honestly.”

He feels a bit defensive because it almost feels like he’s fucked up somehow.

“What?” he questions.

You watch him for another second before taking a step toward him, observing him closely.

“Did you really ask people about me?”

He straightens up ever so slightly. “Why?”

You look at him gravely. “I got one more question.”

You take another step, reducing the space btween you to almost a ciminally low amount. Bucky’s sure he can hear your heartbeat.

You watch his eyes look into yours intently, a flciker or doubt there.

You open your mouth, voice low and strong, “When will you admit to yourself you’re obsessed with me?”

It takes a second for it to register, and almost instantly he shoves you away, only to have you break into a laugh.

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

“You have a crush on me,” you sing, “why else are you going around asking your friends about me? Do you want them to put in a good word? You gonna ask them to deliver your handwritten note to me?”

“Fuck right off, and then fuck off some more,” he barks, grabbing a beer from the front of the line.

“Don’t worry, Buck, I think you’re the cutest guy in our whole grade, no competition,” you drawl, grinning at the pissed expression on his face.

Bucky swerves around you to beeline to the kitchen island to drink his stupid beer in peace. He thinks that his retirement age is actually nearing.

A house like this, with a room for Steve and another guest room for whoever wanted to visit. Possibly a dog. There wasn’t musch left in life to do, so he may as well spend the rest of it out in the suburbs in quiet.

A few seconds later, you break the silence with, “But to answer your question: I did go on the run. I just did all those jobs while I was running.”

He turns to you, noting that while your face was light, it seemed like there was sincerity and truth in what you were saying.

“Why?” he asks, voice gruff.

You shrug, half a smile on your face. “Why not? I met Nat when she broke down the door of my accountancy office on one of her missions. I threw some staplers and hit a guy with a printer, and from then on, whenever I needed help or she needed my freaky little powers, we’d reach out. Years later, she asked if I wanted to come join, I was bored and now here we are. I’m a nepo baby, if you kinda think about it.”

Bucky looks at you, but says nothing.

“Anyway, brief history aside, I’m going upstairs. There’s nothing here other than your bitchy aura and bucket ramen.” The camera spins around to follow you.

Bucky simply ignores you as he swipes all the garbage off the counter and onto the ground so he can lean against it, alone with his beer and new information to process.

However, a loud creek, unmistakable and intense, comes from the floor above.

You look at Bucky. He doesn’t look the least bit bothered, instead using his metal hand to pop open a beer he fished out of the damn fridge.

“Can you shut up,” you hiss when he drinks a little too loud for your liking.

“What,” he asks through a mouthful of beer as he drops the bottle cap onto the counter.

Another creek reverberates loudly through the house.

You make a face at him, somewhere in a mix between excitement and anticipation.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” he inquires.

“Two creeks in the last minute,” you insist, like he’s stupid.

He scoffs. “So? It’s an old house, if you breathe too hard the floor’s gonna fall off.”

“It is literally not that old. And second, it’s too much of a coincidence.” You make way towards the stairs, beckoning for him to follow. “And take the spirit box out of your hair, we need to catch if it’s saying something.”

“You're not gonna catch anything because it’s not going to speak because ghosts are not real.” He takes a large swig.

You ignore him, leaving in search of the sound.

Bucky takes a second before following you anyway, bored out of his mind and with nothing really to do.

“You comin’ in?” he asks from inside the spacious room, beer in hand.

“I didn’t even buy you dinner yet and you’re already inviting me into your bedroom.”

“Jesus Christ. Stay outside then.”

The room has a strange, musty smell. Bucky, sick and tired of the ebay this kid has been living, drags open the window to let some fresh air in, going so far as to tear a large hole through the newspaper to let the moonlight into the room.

“Someone keeps moving the furniture back and forth, there’s scratches all over the floor,” you observe, pointing to the ground near the table and the bed.

“Uh huh,” he says, tossing the spirit box onto the table before taking another swig, ducking out of the way of the camera.

You scan every corner with the machine in your hand. Bucky wanders around aimlessly for a second before usefully sitting on the bed, leaning against the pillows.

“You gonna take your shirt off next?” you question.

Bucky rolls his eyes, taking another sip from his bottle. “Pay attention. Your demons are trying to talk t-.”

The bed immediately lurches from underneath him, scraping loudly against the wood.

“What the fuck–” he exclaims, getting right back up, heart in his throat for a damn second.

You stifle a laugh.

“I’ve had enough of you today.” He puts the damn bottle down on the nightstand. “I’m leaving.”

“We didn’t even light the candles yet, you can’t–”

The bed scrapes back into place again, but this time Bucky is prepared and done.

“Stop doing that,” he snaps, “you’re ruining the flo–”

“I didn’t do that,” you tell him, eyebrows and hands raised, “That definitely wasn’t me.”

“Hardy har har. You didn’t push the bed, you didn’t climb the tree in the cemetery, you didn’t conjure up hallucinations of my–” He stops himself abruptly.

It’s too late, though. You very much caught it.

The look you give him is peculiar. “Hallucinations of your what?”

“Nothing,” he utters. “Got my wires crossed. Nothing to do with you.”

“Okay,” you drag out, giving him one more uncanny look before turning your attention to the bedpost. “Anyway, I promise you the second one was definitely not me. There’s something else going on here.”

Bucky is starkly sent back to fifteen minutes ago and his thoughts of retirement as he watches you crouch by the floor.

He was too old for this. He was not right for this. The three second glance at his dead sister and his entire life had gone lopsided. Honestly, he could probably handle like two or three more episodes of this nonsense before tapping out completely.

“I can sense something,” you announce.

“I can sense something too,” he murmurs absentmindedly to himself. “It’s called bullshi–”

“Be quiet, I want to see if we can talk to the guy in the room.” You hold your hand up. “Hey Jason’s uncle. You here?”

He watches, unamused, as nothing changes. No machine beeps, nothing creeks.

“Bucky, you scared him away.” You turn to him, hands on your hips. “You used your big bitch face and you scared away th–”

He launches a pillow at you. It lowers to the ground without ever touching you.

“Go eat some bucket ramen and maybe you’ll be less bitchy.” Your face lights up, and he can tell you’ve gotten another stupid idea. “Jason’s uncle, are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? Human blood? Metal arm?”

Silence.

“No pretzels for you,” you tsk, but let go of the idea anyway.

“Maybe your ghost boyfriend likes them, why don’t you ask him?” He pulls out his phone to book himself an Uber. “And since he literally doesn’t talk and you don’t shut up, it’d be a great ma–”

The same pillow he launched at you gets thrown back at him. He simply ducks out of the way, and it hits the nightstand, toppling the bottle over.

“Now look at what you did,” you accuse, pointing at the bottle with the camera following suit.

“The fuck? I didn't do shit–” Bucky stops speaking when something nudges his leg.

The bottle that initially had clattered to the ground quite a feet away from him was now by his foot.

“Interesting,” you muse.

“What?” he questions immediately. “That a bottle rolled? It’s a bottle. They do that.”

“Uh huh. Come stand here then.” You jut your thumb out to a few paces away.

He rolls his eyes but takes a large stride towards you.

Annoyingly, the bottle rolls right along with him and lands up at his feet.

“Ghost,” you nod along certainly.

“Why isn't it doing that then?” he argues on instinct, and then his mind catches up, forcing him to take a step back and wonder why the fuck he was still in the house.

Once again, he genuinely believes that this should be enough. Ghost hunted for a few episodes, read a few stories. He thinks his numbers should be up and that would be convincing enough for Maya to let him get away from the series, especially if he played his 80-years-of-imprisonment card right.

“You're right.” You peer at him before turning your head up to the ceiling. “Please, ghost man. Please, I’m begging you, hit this man. Plea–”

Bucky feels something smack lightly against the back of his head before falling to the ground.

A second later you erupt into cheers and he turns around to look at the culprit.

A crumpled up piece of paper. He bends down to pick it up, finding nothing special about it other than some random scribbles. Probably some more of Jason's junk.

“Ghosts are real and they hate Bucky Barnes, baby!,” you cheer. “Ohh, I’m gonna make so much money. Babygirl, you are a poltergeist magnet. ”

“It’s a piece of paper and the window is open,” he groans, tossing it back onto the ground, where it dances around, proving his point. “The wind carried it over and it touched my head.”

“Right. The wind.” You roll your eyes. “You’re like, fifteen feet tall, only God can see the top of your head.”

“That doesn’t mean any–”

“Hush, I’m thinking. Quiet, human Burj Khalifa.” You hold your hand up. “Let’s see. The ghost knocks on furniture when we were downstairs. It shoves the bed and rolls a bottle around on the ground when we’re arguing and right when you’re leaving, it throws a piece of paper at you. What could it all mean?”

“I got it.” BUccky straightens up. “Holy shit, I think I know what it means.”

“What?” you ask, wonder and mystery. “What does it mean?”

“It means that my Uber’s here,” Bucky replies in the same tone and mystery. “You’re insane. I’m leaving. Bye.”

“Ugh, you’re such a loser. If I turn up dead, you’ll have been the last person to see me alive.”

“I’ll see you at home.” He shoves his hands into the pocket of his shorts before turning on his heel.

“I do not have a home.” you say, reaching to grab the piece of paper he discarded and shoving it into your bag;

“Okay, see you on the news, then.” He kicks the damn bottle out of the way before heading out the door. “I’ll make sure they use a real nice picture of you.”

“Bitch–” you begin, when something catches your attention

The bed creeks loudly, reflexes instantly sending him into fight or flight.

Bucky turns to you to cuss you out again for the nth time that evening, but you’ve also got a look of confusion painted all over you.

“Hold on,” you say strangely, voice thick with theorising, “I think I actually figured it out.”

When Jason finally makes his way back to the house two hours later, his hair is littered with stray bits of confetti and his eyes are smudged with eyeliner. He’s got a smoothie cup full of glittery red liquid and a straw, and what looks like little bits of fruit floating around in there.

“Looks like the gig was a rager,” you comment.

“Nah this wasn’t from the gig. I got lost,” he dismisses, and then refuses to expand further. “Anyway, you kicked his ass, right?”

You look at Bucky, who is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, bitch face on full blast as he looks pissed in the corner.

“Your uncle– he decorated this house himself, right?” you prompt.

“Yeah.” Jason says, taking a sip from his unidentified liquid. “He got a bunch of shit custom made.”

“Right.” You nod. “And when you came in here, did you shift the furniture around?”

“Yeah, lol, it was mad ugly,” Jason divulges, taking one large last sip before dropping his cup onto the ground. “Mine’s way better.”

“Have you considered that maybe… your uncle doesn’t like that?” you try gently, eyes following the cup as it clatters gracefully onto the ground.

Bucky talks to himself under his breath, the same as when you told him that the only time spooky shit had happened was when he dropped bottle caps, shifted beds out of their original places, left behind bottles and other paper. But he doesn’t contradict you.

“I see,” Jason says. “What’s wrong with moving furniture again?”

Bucky wonders how the guy made it to this age. “Maybe he just doesn’t like you moving his shit around. Not that there’s a ghost at all.”

“Hmm,” he says, following along. “So I stop moving the bed and other stuff, and he’ll stop being such a bitch?”

“And maybe he doesn’t like you leaving trash around the place?” you eye the cup, completely understanding where the uncle was coming from.

“Okay,” Jason says again.

“So you’ll stop?” you proposition slowly.

He shrugs. “Nah, I like it better this way.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky exhales.

You hold back an audible groan.

“You could, like, punch him to get him off my back. Like, all the way off my back,” the guy suggests instead. “Like, sucks for him that he’s dead, I guess, but it’s like, my house now.”

You stay quiet and wait.

Sure enough, the cup from earlier bumps into his leg in silent fury.

He stares down at it, giving it a kick. It rolls away before rolling right back with malice. Bucky narrows his eyes at it, too tired at this point to even complain.

“This house is weird, man,” Jason declares after fifteen rounds of kicking it and watching it roll back.

“Look–” you sigh. “You could just stop littering, and he’ll stop messing with your layout.”

“And take out the trash more than once a month,” Bucky adds from under his breath.

“Life’s all about compromises. You get his house for free and he gets a clean house to spend his afterlife in.”

“No such thing,” Bucky adds.

You send a glare his way.

“I see,” Jason contemplates, as if it’s the toughest decision on earth to pick up his crushed soda cans. “Yeah, okay.”

A second later, the cup finally stops trying to assault his now pink flip flops. and comes to a standstill.

The both of you peer at him.

“What?” he asks.

Your gaze drifts down.

It takes a very long second for it to click.

“Oh ‘Kay,” he says, bending over to pick it up and place it back on his table, looking at you for confirmation, to which you nod.

It stays in its place.

“Radical,” he says.

No one says anything further. The bed doesn’t make a noise either. The air is almost dropping with awkwardness.

You clear your throat. “Well, that concludes it then. Pleasure meeting ya.”

“You too.” Jason gives you a thumbs up, following it with a peace sign.

“Bye,” Bucky says curtly, turning to walk out the room.

“Oh! Here’s our business card, in case you or anyone else you–”

Bucky spins you around by your shoulders and drags you out of the room with him.

On the way back, you sort through all the footage from the evening while Bucky drives the van back.

Thankfully, it has been relatively quiet the entire time, except for the soft sounds of the radio and the buzz of the heater. Bucky tunes out for most of the ride, one hand on the wheel and the other propping up his head.

“Huh,” you comment out of the blue. “That’s fun.”

“What?” he asks inattentively .

“I guess his uncle really was hungry,” you consider.

Bucky simply keeps quiet and waits for you to go on if you choose to.

“Piece of paper that he threw at you–”

“Piece of paper that the wind picked up,” even his entertaining of you has a limit, but he isn’t paying much attention.

“It’s got letters on it,” you shove the sheet in front of his eyes, forcing him to swerve on the road in an instant.

“I’m driving,” he hisses, shoving it aside swiftly. “Do you want us to die?”

“Yeah, yeah, but look at it,” you insist, only to hold it close to his face again. “Does this mean anything to you? It did hit you across the head.”

He refuses to believe you at first, but the second he glances at it, it’s unmistakable.

‘PB&J’ written messily across the page, small letters, lines jagged like someone was struggling to write with their non-dominant hand.

“That’s nothing,” he dismisses quietly, “He’s a college kid. They live on that shit.”

“Or maybe someone in the afterworld really misses their PB&J,” you hum.

Bucky doesn't answer, because the alternative is worse. The alternative means something is going very, very wrong.

But you don't seem to pay him any heed, going right back to sorting through footage.

It’s probably why you don’t notice that his one handed grip on the steering wheel gets tighter, and his face quietly drains of colour.

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draconic-desire · 7 months ago

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your yan!neuvi series got me on a chokehold !! I feel so bad for darling but it got me thinking, would neuvillette ever allow them to i dont know, go visit mondt to look at their parents’ grave (?).

Neuvillette meets his (dead) in-laws edition 😂

Ok this idea is simultaneously kinda funny but also makes me cry a bit because I totally think Neuvillette would have ensured your family’s wellbeing in your absence. Despite his flaws, he still maintains his overwhelming sense of duty and justice.

Yandere Neuvillette x Reader

(A Dance with the Dragon Interlude)

Talking about your life four centuries ago has become a bit of a taboo in the household you share with Neuvillette.

Mostly, it only serves to incite an argument, one you are always predestined to lose. The other times, it only reminds you of painful memories. So, you’ve learned to bite your tongue, to keep your past held tightly to your heart. Neuvillette doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, you believe he might prefer if your history were to be wiped from your mind completely, leaving a blank slate for him to carve his essence into.

Which is why you’re so shocked when, on a particularly storming evening, the Chief Justice himself requests, “Tell me about what your parents were like.”

Jolting, you nearly drop the book in your hands. He’s not looking at you—usually, having his gaze on you translates to irritation, concern, or lust. When he’s looking away from you, as he is now, irises trained on the waves battering the cliffs below your home, you know that means he is instead thinking, pondering.

But thinking about what? Your eyes narrow, and your heart accelerates. What is he getting at?

A hand clenches around your heart when you try to picture your mother and father in your head—and fail. Four hundred years without a visit or simple image…of course their features have faded over time. But you’ll never forget the warmth, the knowledge that they loved you until the end and supported your lifelong wish of pursuing marine biology, even when it took you away from them.

You only shake your head. “I don’t want to talk about that, Neuvillette.”

He turns to you, now, eyes filled with calculation. A judge presiding over his court. “I had no parents. I simply…came to exist. Born of the water, the waves, the sea foam, and bestowed with this primordial power.” He glances down at his gloved hand, palm squeezing into a fist. “So the idea of parents is…foreign to me. Though I have a sense of the kind of ceaseless, unconditional love that defines a family.” You know he’s talking about his feelings for you, and your tattoo burns. “Experiencing a loss of that magnitude would be incomprehensible.”

For the life of you, you cannot figure out his endgame here. Why acknowledge your loss? Why equate his adoration and obsession with you for parental love? Your eyes burn, your breath quickens, you feel the tattoo pulse with energy as you—

“Do you ever wonder about how they lived the rest of their lives?”

Yes. No. Everyday. Somehow, you find your voice, a quiet thing filled with warning. Your skin feels so hot, like your veins are laced with lightning. “And how would you know anything about that?”

Neuvillette’s sharp eyes cut to your frame. “I…made sure that they were fully provided for. They lived happy lives, believing you to be living out your dreams in Fontaine. They are now buried together, in the cathedral cemetery overlooking the Brightcrown Mountains.”

Your breath hitches, and that power in your blood begins to settle. Their favorite place. The Brightcrown Mountains, where your father proposed to your mother. The Favonius Cathedral, where they were married. And the cemetery behind the church, where your grandparents had been entombed, too.

Something falls onto your lap. It’s only when you touch your hands to your face that you realize you’re crying. Neuvillette watches you with concern, one hand raised and poised to reach out to you, but he keeps his distance as he lets you process.

You release a shaky sigh. Was it true? Did they pass with no fear for your safety, in ignorant bliss of your extended life? The thought, although morbid in some ways, actually brings you a sense of peace. Your parents never had to endure the loss of you in the same way you had for them.

You swallow thickly, your voice hoarse with emotion. “Can we…visit them?”

That sets Neuvillette’s back ramrod straight as he blinks. You’ve only been out of the house a handful of times, and he was the one to bring this topic to light, but to venture out of Fontaine entirely? His protective and possessive instincts flare immediately, screaming at him to shut this idea down, to grab you and sink his teeth into your neck, dominant, claiming. But as his silver eyes flick across your face, taking in your tears, the tremble in your hands, the pit of mixed despair and relief in your eyes, he relents.

Slowly, he blinks, taking in a deep breath. You’re expecting an excuse, a verbal slap on this wrist disguised as concern for your safety. Which is why, for the second time tonight, you’re stunned when Neuvillette, rising to his feet, extends his hand. “I’ll take you there.”

~*~

The trip is easy, thanks to the Hydro Dragon’s teleportation abilities. The two of you arrive at the large square in front of the cathedral, the statue of Barbados towering above you. Briefly, you wonder what the Archon of Freedom thinks about your situation, or if he even deigns to care.

Not much has changed about Mondstadt in four hundred years. The streets still possess an older feel, cobblestone streets and stone walls surrounding the city. After seeing the drastic change in Fontaine, the fact envelopes you in a sense of comfort, knowing that at least one aspect of the world has aged alongside you, long-lived but unchanged.

It’s long grown dark, and the heavy downpour persists. Neither of you brought an umbrella as you ascend the stairs and wrap around to the cemetery behind the church. The rain, however, seems to dissolve into your skin rather than chilling you or soaking your clothes, no doubt another consequence of Neuvillette’s magic coursing through your veins.

The Hydro Dragon leads you to a small plot towards the back. Two tombstones are erected side by side, and you fall to your knees as you read: (Mother’s name) and (Father’s name) (L/n). Lives entwined to their last breath, they soar high above the clouds.

You hear a rustle of fabric, and soon Neuvillette has joined you, kneeling by your side. He raises his arm, and tendrils of blue light pool from his palm, forming the shape of beautiful flowers. They surround the graves, a sea of blues to celebrate your loved ones.

The two of you sit there for what could have been minutes or hours. All you know is that this is the most at peace you’ve felt in four hundred years.

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requiemforthepoets · 2 months ago

Text

between worlds ⟢ CL16

part one of you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be series

𖤓 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒘𝒐 ☽

PAIRINGS: charles leclerc x celestial!reader

SUMMARY: charles was never meant to see you—no human beings can see you except for those souls you have to guide to the afterlife. but somehow, charles did, and ever since he did, he had been very persistent to catch you, and when he finally had you in his line of sight, you decided to disappear on him once again.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: bible angel names references, some people may find this fic offensive, concept of divine beings and heaven & life and death, no use of y/n, angels and devils, mentions of papa leclerc (beginning is set in 2017) and jules bianchi, fluff, falling (literally & figuratively) in love, named side characters, angst but with a happy ending, purely written fic, a little but of world building (concepts), mentions of death, bad/evil people, cursing, not proofread, and typos.

WORD COUNT: 6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the first part of the series! again, i would like to reiterate, this fic may not be some people’s cup of tea, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. there will be a bunch of fast forward, but don’t worry, i’ll include everything as much as possible so that you will still be able to follow through. i wanted to limit the series to five parts, so each chapter will be lengthy. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this first part!

As a Celestial, the warmth of human life and ache of human loss are always at a distance, intangible. Watching over humans and guiding them in unseen ways, you walk through the lives of people that are filled with laughter, sorrow, and strength. Your purpose is very clear, that is to help them transition from their earthly ties to the beyond. It was an endless cycle, yet you often marveled at the peculiarities of humans.

Beside you on many of these journeys is Gabriel, a fellow Celestial who, much like you, watches over humanity from afar. Though you and Gabriel guide people through their last moments, neither of you truly understand them, they are bound to the sensations you and Gabriel could not understand, things that you could never feel—touch, taste, the warmth of sunlight on their skin, and how humans held onto life fiercely. Their happiness and fears are a foreign concept, ideas that stir something within you and Gabriel, but will always remain incomprehensible without the senses the only humans possess.

2017

On an ordinary night by human standards, you had found yourself once again in Monaco, within the quiet sterility of a hospital room, where the soft hum of machines filled the room, a steady rhythm of life intertwined with impending loss. You knew, as you often do, that someone would soon pass—Hervé Leclerc, a man whose life was filled with passion for his family and his love for racing, lay fragile and silent on a hospital bed.

You stood nearby, unseen, feeling the quiet tension of the room, and watched as his family gathered around him. His wife, Pascale, sat at his side, holding his hand, her touch featherlight, as if she feared pressing too hard might shatter what little life remained in him. His three sons, Lorenzo, Charles, and Arthur, surrounded them, their eyes solemn yet determined, trying to be strong for their father and each other. As you waited, you felt Charles approach his father, bending down so only Hervé could hear him, and took a deep breath.

“Papa, I did it. I signed a contract to race in Formula 1 with Ferrari.” Charles softly murmured.

The statement hung heavy in the air, and you could sense the hope in Charles’ words—a gift, an offering of peace for his father in his final moments. Though you knew that it was not entirely the truth, you understood, in your own way, that it was a kindness, and an act of love. Hervé’s eyes remained closed, yet his breathing steadied, a faint smile curling on his lips. You knew that he had heard Charles.

Hervé’s spirit, though still connected to his mortal body, seemed to hover beside you, taking in the scene. He looked on, his gaze was soft and reverent as he watched his family, as if he was imprinting this final memory of them deep within his being. His presence was calm, accepting, and you felt like it was already time.

“Tell me,” you asked gently, stepping closer to him. “What was your favorite thing in life?”

You always ask this question to them, in their final moments, what their favorite thing in life has been. They would always recall something that is deeply personal, yet beyond your comprehension.

“My family,” Hervé answered as he looked at you, his ethereal form somehow both weary and joyful, his essence luminous even in the face of mortality.

“My sons, my wife. Watching them grow, finding their own passions, their own dreams…that was my greatest joy.” His gaze lingered on Charles, and you sensed an overwhelming pride emanating from him.

“I remember how Charles would always run into the house after a day of racing, his eyes filled with excitement. I could feel his dreams even then.” His voice trailed off as he was reliving those memories.

You just stood there beside him listening, absorbing his words, though the feelings themselves eluded you. Humans and their intricate emotions, it was like a puzzle with no answer. Your existence was outside the realm of these emotions, yet there was a beauty in his words, you glanced back at his family, sensing how they held Hervé’s life within their own, like a thread woven through each of them.

It was then that something had shifted. You felt the air grow thick, as if some unseen barrier dissolved, and turning, you saw Charles looking directly at you. His eyes were wide, face pale but intent, as if he was unsure of what he was seeing but could not look away. Humans were not supposed to see Celestials, they could only feel a faint brush of your presence, perhaps. But Charles’ eyes are fixed on you, gazing at you with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. You froze, unaccustomed to this kind of attention, as though he was staring into something beyond the grasp of reality.

“Charles?” Arthur’s voice had interrupted him, a gentle nudge that pulled Charles back, though his eye still lingered on you. “Why are you staring at the wall?” He asked Charles, glancing at your direction as well, but you knew that Arthur saw nothing there.

Charles hesitated, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He looked at Arthur, then back at the space where you were standing, his lips parted, as though he was about to ask Arthur, too, could see you, but he held back. He was still clearly torn between questioning what he had just seen and dismissing it as a trick of the mind. With a sigh, he chose silence, giving his little brother a faint shake of his head, brushing it off. He turned his attention again back to where you had been standing, but you were already gone, as silent and unnoticed as the night.

But, at that exact moment, a part of you had wondered, could he have truly seen you? Could he have felt the faintest echo of your presence, of your purpose?

You drifted back to Gabriel with the faint impression of Charles’ gaze lingering in your own consciousness—a reminder that even in your unseen world, sometimes the divide between the humans and Celestials could be momentarily bridged.

2024

Seven years. Seven years had passed since that quiet night in the hospital, but that moment with Charles had lingered in your mind like an echo. Since then, you had found yourself drawn to him, but not in a way that disrupted your purpose as a Celestial, but with a curiosity that seemed to grow with each passing year.

You had watched him move from promise to reality, the white lie he had told his father on his deathbed eventually blossoming into truth. Just a few months after that night, Charles had signed his contract with Ferrari, the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, and in some inexplicable way, you felt as if you had been there to bear witness to it all. Each race, every success and setback, despite going through a lot, you found yourself watching over him, a silent guardian he would never know.

Today, you sat with Gabriel atop one of Monaco’s high-rise buildings, the sparkling Mediterranean stretching out before you, and the entire principality sprawled below like a living diorama. The streets buzzed with celebration as the 2024 Monaco Grand Prix had come to a close, and Charles had finally claimed his victory in his home race. It was a win seven years in the making, a win that is not just for himself, but for the memory of his father, his family, and Monaco itself.

From above, you could see him clearly amidst the sea of red Ferrari colors, arms raised in happiness, face radiant with the kind of happiness only humans are capable of. Right in the middle of the chaos, he ran towards his little brother, Arthur, engulfing him in a hug that spoke of shared dreams and sacrifices, of family and bonds invisible, but deeply felt.

You just watched them in silence, the sight stirring something in you that had been dormant for as long as you had existed. Charles’ embrace was firm, his grip grounding, there was nothing restrained or hesitant about it. You felt a pang of longing, a wish as faint as stardust, and without turning your gaze from what was happening below, you murmured to Gabriel.

“Gabriel,” you began. “Do you ever wonder what it feels like…to feel someone’s touch?” Gabriel just looked at you, his brow furrowing slightly, a rare expression of contemplation on his normally serene face.

“Touch?” He echoed, as if the concept was foreign, a thing only humans grasped. “I’ve thought of it, perhaps, but…it is a human sensation. One we’re not meant to experience.”

“But don’t you ever feel…curious?” You pressed, your gaze drifting from the celebration below to Gabriel’s face. “We guide them, witness their lives, but we never feel what they feel. We only see it.” You let out a soft sigh, though it held no breath, a habit you had picked up from your time observing humans.

“To feel someone’s hand, to know the warmth they carry within themselves. It seems as if it would make understanding them so much easier.” You added.

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, his gaze had softened when he turned to look at Charles and Arthur below, watching as they held each other in a tight embrace that was filled with laughter and unspoken love.

“Perhaps,” he said, in a thoughtful tone. “But our purpose is not to feel as they do. If we were to experience what they do, to carry their joys and burdens…wouldn’t that make our task harder? Wouldn’t we lose sight of our main purpose?”

“Maybe…” you trailed off, there was a note of hesitation coloring your words. “But at times like these, it’s hard not to wonder. To see the way they hold each other, as if through touch they share parts of themselves they can’t express in words, it feels like we’re missing something that is essential.”

Gabriel tilted his head, considering your words. “I do understand,” he said quietly, though there was a trace of doubt in his voice. “But we are Celestials. We exist beyond the limitations of human senses, we are meant to guide, not to partake.”

You turned back to the scene below, watching as Charles lifted his gaze to the sky, as if looking for someone, or something, that could share in his win. You imagined, for just a moment, what it would be like if he could see you there, perched above, watching him as you had all these years. What would he think, if he knew that something beyond human comprehension had been by his side, through each win, each loss.

“It’s strange,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Even after all these years, after guiding so many, I still don’t understand why they hold onto each other so tightly. Why do they need these moments of closeness?”

Gabriel gave a gentle nod. “Perhaps that is the beauty of humanity. Their mortality gives weight to every touch, embrace, and word. They cling to these moments because they know that their time is finite,” he replied quietly. “For us, existence is boundless. But to them, it’s fleeting. They reach for each other because they know it won’t last.”

“What do you think it would be like, if he could feel our presence?” You asked. “If he knew we were here, watching over him.”

“He sensed you once,” he reminded you, as he gazed softly at you. “That alone was a gift, rare and precious. Perhaps that moment, as brief as it was, is enough. Enough to remind us that we are a part of their lives, even if they never know it.”

For a long while, you and Gabriel sat in silence, watching as Charles continued to celebrate, his family and team surrounding him, arms draped over each other’s shoulders, and their laughter echoing through the streets. Though you could never fully grasp the intricacies of their lives, in the moment, you felt a rare, almost painful longing, a sense that maybe there was something beautiful in being bound to the world as they were. Something in their fragility made them magnificent.

Meanwhile, for Charles, that night in 2017 would always remain etched in his memory, shadowing his every step like a faint, haunting whisper he could never quite shake. It was something he never really fully understood, something he never spoke of, not to Arthur, not to Lorenzo, and certainly not to her mother, Pascale. Charles had kept it buried in the recesses of his mind, an unexplainable experience he half-believed and half-dismissed, but that, no matter how hard he tried, wouldn’t let him go.

The moment he had seen you inside his father’s hospital room, his first instinct had been confusion. In a place so intimately reserved for family, for whispers of love and tearful goodbyes, you were a stranger, someone so unfamiliar standing quietly at the edge of the room. Your form was as clear as anyone else’s, not blurred or shadowed like a moment of illusion. Yet, what unsettled him the most was that no one else seemed to notice you.

At first, Charles told himself that it must have been the weight of the moment, his grief playing tricks on his mind. After all, in that fragile state, it would be easy to imagine things that were not there. He watched you out of the corner of his eye, cautiously, hoping to see you disappear, to prove that it had been just a figment of his imagination. But you stayed, your gaze resting softly on his father, with an almost reverent patience, and as the minutes stretched on, his conviction that he was truly seeing someone, is real.

The memory of your gaze, so steady and detached, left a strange impression on him. Charles found himself glancing at you repeatedly, his heart pounding as he tried to think about who or what you were. He wanted to ask you why you were there, how you had come un unnoticed, but something about your presence was ethereal, inexplicably untouchable. You didn’t seem bound by the rules of this world, as if you were simply just passing through, a visitor from some place beyond.

Then, Arthur’s voice had snapped him out of his trance, asking him why he was staring at the wall. Arthur’s words were practical, a rope that pulled him back to the room. Yet, the second he had turned back to look at you, you were already gone—just as quietly as you had arrived, leaving no trace behind, it was as though you had never been there at all.

Over the years, Charles tried to put that night behind him, brushing off the memory as a momentary lapse in judgment, a strange vision conjured by the heartbreak of losing his father. But even as time passed by, the memory of you still lingered. He felt you in many ways he could not describe, as if you existed in the peripheral spaces of his life, just out of reach, yet somehow undeniably real. Every so often, in the hushed stillness of a race night or in the lonely hours before dawn, he would sense something—an invisible presence, a faint familiarity. It was as though you were watching over him, an unseen guardian who drifted along with him from one country to another, from one track to another.

Sometimes, he thought he caught a glimpse of you, a brief, shadowy figure in the distance, a subtle hint of movement where there should have been none. Once, while preparing for a race in Silverstone, he was warming up in the garage when he thought he saw you standing by the edge of the track. His heart had leapt, his mind suddenly thrown back to that hospital room, but when he looked again, you were gone, leaving only the flicker of your image imprinted on his mind.

Even his teammate, Carlos, noticed too. There were times when Charles would falter mid-sentence, his gaze drifting as if he was seeing something beyond their conversation, beyond the present. Carlos would follow his line of sight, seeing nothing but an empty space, a shadow that Charles seemed inexplicably drawn to. He would often give Charles a curious look.

“Are you alright, mate?” Carlos asked, looking at him weirdly. Charles just shook it off, smiling tightly, and offering a quick nod. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired.”

It became a pattern that he could neither understand nor dismiss. The feeling of your presence was both comforting and unsettling, a reminder that he was somehow never truly alone, even in the depths of solitude. There moment he had questioned his own sanity, wondering if he was simply haunted by the memory of his father’s death clinging to something he could not let go. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake the feeling that you were real, that he had seen you.

At times, he would catch himself searching for you in the crowd, hoping for just one more glimpse. Charles wanted answers, an explanation that would either ground him in reality or confirm that he is not going crazy, that his life had crossed paths with something beyond the ordinary. But as the years went by, he learned to finally accept your presence as a quiet, unspoken truth, something woven into the fabric of his existence that he would never fully understand.

SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX

The Singapore Grand Prix has always been one of the most electrifying events of the season, the country is a home for night racing—a race that is held under the city’s dazzling night lights, set against a backdrop of towering skyscrapers, and a sea of spectators from different parts of the world. The vibrancy, palpable energy, it all felt foreign to you, like watching scenes play out on a distant plane of existence you could never fully enter.

This year, the circuit was alive as ever, buzzing with the energy of fans and flashing cameras, the constant pulse of music and chatter weaving into the humid tropical air. Charles was in his element, navigating the crowds and the chaos with the ease of someone who had grown accustomed to the demands of fame. But in the middle of the swirling mass of people, someone unusual had appeared, unnoticed by most but utterly unmistakable to him.

You hadn’t meant to be seen. For years, you had existed on the fringes of Charles’ life, watching from a distance. But something about Singapore piqued your curiosity. It was the sheer energy of it all—the press, fans, and the kaleidoscope of colors. For someone like Charles, who seemed perpetually surrounded by people and yet remained alone in many ways, you wanted to understand just a little more about the life he lived. So you wandered through the paddock, watching from the shadows, taking in the sights and sounds, studying the excitement in the faces of those who adored him.

Then, as if some force had finally decided that it was time. You had found yourself standing right in the open, in the midst of it all, no longer bound to the periphery. There you stood, calm and composed, while people streamed around you, their movements fast and chaotic, yet never once brushing against you.

Charles arrived shortly after, dressed in his Ferrari team uniform, stepping into the crowd as he made his way through. However, his steps began to slow down as he walked, and his focus shifted the moment he saw you, your figure stark against the colorful, shifting background. You stood perfectly still, framed by the buzzing energy around you, as if the world had momentarily paused just for you. You were dressed entirely in black—turtleneck, tailored trousers, sleek shoes, and a long trench coat that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it—you appeared like a shadow against the vivid scene, an undeniable presence, a figure of quiet, captivating stillness. The Singaporean heat clung to everything and everyone, beads of sweat visible on even the most acclimated locals, but you felt none of it.

For a moment, Charles thought his mind was playing tricks on him again. He blinked numerous times, expecting you to vanish, for your presence to disappear into the crowd as it had so many times before. But this time, you didn’t fade. You just stood there, watching him with a calm, knowing gaze that seemed to pierce through the noise of the crowd. His breath was caught in throat, and he almost faltered in his step. You were no longer a flicker in his peripheral vision, no longer a question lingering at the edge of his mind. You were unmistakably there, standing directly in his line of sight, unyielding and unfazed by the swirl of people passing around you.

Your gaze met his, and in that instant, he felt the weight of something intense, a connection that defied explanation. It felt like it was a bridge that seemed to span years and memories, drawing him back to that hospital room in 2017. Charles remembered your face so vividly, and here you were, the same mysterious figure who had watched over his father in his final moments. He knew instinctively that you were not something ordinary, everything about you, from the calm in your expression to the impossible composure you held, marked you as something beyond human.

Charles could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, a strange mixture of awe and disbelief surging through him. He wanted to reach out to you, speak to you, but the weight of the moment made it very impossible. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention, especially from the media and fans who circled around him, unaware of the encounter unfolding before them. He didn’t want to appear crazy, pausing in the middle of the crowd to address a person that, for all he knew, only he could see. So he kept his expression carefully neutral, his gaze lingering on you as he moved forward with deliberate steps, passing just a few feet away from where you stood.

As he brushed by, he felt a soft, cool gust of wind graze his shoulder—a breeze that did not seem to belong in the humid heat of the Singapore air. It was as if your presence had left a subtle mark on him, an unspoken reminder that this moment was real, that you were real. Charles continued walking, the weight of your gaze lingering on his skin, the connection between you evident as he moved away. His mind whirled with so many questions, with the need for answers that he had long since buried but that now surged back with renewed urgency.

Who are you?

What were you?

Why did you seem to appear only at the most pivotal moments of his life, watching him with a calm that suggested knowledge he could barely fathom?

But as he glanced back over his shoulder to look at you one more time, you remained exactly where you were, standing with your hands casually tucked into the pockets of your coat, observing Charles with the same quiet intensity. He didn’t need words to understand that, somehow, you were there for him, that whatever role you played in his life was not a figment of his imagination but something far more profound. It was as if, by some cosmic design, you had been an integral part of his life, even if he could not understand why.

It was both terrifying and strangely comforting for Charles, knowing that you were there, connected to his life in ways he could not even explain. Though he continued to walk away, blending back into the crowd, he could still feel your presence, like a steady anchor amidst the chaos of his world.

The night had already fallen over Singapore, casting a warm, beautiful golden haze over the circuit as the city lights reflected off every glass surface, every curve in the architecture. The air still held the weight of the humid day, though there was a subtle breeze stirring now, drifting through the emptiness of spaces high above the throngs below. This was where you and Gabriel often met, removed from the world you observed, yet close enough to feel its pulse.

You sat together on a ledge that overlooked the bright labyrinth of the track, each car flickering past like the streaks of light, their paths twisting through the city like a thread woven into the heart of human life. Gabriel sat beside you, posture relaxed, gaze steady on the crowds moving below. He had a serene presence about him, as all Celestial did, though his was tempered by a slight curiosity, a kindred spirit in your shared wonder at the lives below, though he carried the wisdom of countless lifetimes.

“Today…” you began, breaking the silence between the two of you. “I saw him again. Charles.”

“And this time…he really saw me. Not just a passing glance, not a flicker. He truly saw me, Gabriel. It was different.” You added.

The words felt very strange in the open air, as though they held a weight that went beyond their sound. Gabriel’s gaze turned towards you, a subtle light of interest in his eyes, nodding as though encouraging you to continue, so you tried to put it into words that felt almost too elusive to capture.

“When I first saw him years ago, in the hospital room, I thought that maybe he only sensed me. It’s not unusual—though I know that some humans have that…intuition. They feel our presence, but they never truly see us,” you paused, searching for the words.

“But this was different. I was standing right in front of him, in the open, and he looked at me as if…as if he recognized me. As if he has always known I was there, even though we’re not supposed to be seen. It’s as if there’s a connection between us—one I can’t fully explain.” You continued.

Gabriel’s expression softened with understanding, a hint of knowing in his gaze. He looked out over the city, his voice a low murmur that held the weight of something ancient.

“Sometimes,” he began. “There are rare occasions when certain humans have a heightened sensitivity. They can feel what others cannot, see what lies just beyond the veil of human sight. They can perceive glimpses of our world, though they never fully understand it.”

You considered his words, recalling the many faces of humans who had felt your presence, brief shivers down their spine, faint chill in the air. “But this doesn’t feel like that,” you said softly. “This isn’t just intuition. It’s more than that…I—I think he truly sees me. As if I'm as real to him as any other person in his life.”

Gabriel met your gaze, his eyes thoughtful. “There are many possibilities,” he said, his voice holding a trace of reverence. “It could be that Charles was born with a rare gift, a unique soul attuned to the spiritual realm. Sometimes, humans like him are able to see beyond what others can, though they seldom realize it. Perhaps, he was always meant to see you, even if he doesn’t understand why.”

“But why him? Of all people, why would I form this…this kind of connection with him?” You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, feeling a mix of wonder and bewilderment.

“Maybe it isn’t for us to know,” Gabriel replied gently, his gaze soft with empathy. “But there’s another possibility.” His tone grew contemplative, as though he was drawing from knowledge buried deep within him.

“Sometimes, when a Celestial spends enough time around a particular human, they may develop a tether—it is a bond that links their existence to that person’s life in a profound way.” Gabriel replied.

“A tether?” Gabriel nodded at you.

The word felt heavy with significance. You had heard of it, of course, in ancient stories, tales of Celestials who had unknowingly bound themselves to a single soul, a single life, whether through empathy, admiration, or something far more elusive.

“A tether is rare, but it does happen. It is formed not by choice, but by some force beyond even our understanding. When a Celestial is tethered to a human, it is as if they share a part of their essence with them. It could be because you watched over him so closely after his father’s passing, you saw him through one of the most pivotal moments of his life.” Gabriel explained.

The notioned lingered between you, reverberating like an echo. You had indeed been there, unseen, at some of his most significant moments, his quietest doubts, his rare happiness. You had felt compelled to follow Charles’ journey, though you could never quite explain why.

“But if I’m tethered to him, what does that mean for us?” The question was one you had not thought to ask before. It felt really impossible, like trying to decipher the meaning of a shadow that has been casted by an unseen light. “Is it my responsibility to stay close to him…to protect him?”

“Not necessarily.” Gabriel considered this, his expression calm and wise. “A tether isn’t a duty. It’s simply a bond. It doesn’t force you to act or change your purpose, but it can shape how you experience your existence—how you feel, and perhaps, in rare instances, it allows the human on the other end to see us, as Charles did today.”

You let Gabriel’s words sink in, the idea that your connections with Charles might be something outside either of your control. A rare, inexplicable bond that went beyond the boundaries you had come to know.

“Does he know?” You wondered aloud, the thought both terrifying and exhilarating. “Can he sense it as I do?”

“It’s possible,” Gabriel murmured. “Even if he doesn’t consciously understand, he may feel it. An inexplicable comfort, a quiet sense of your presence. Humans don’t often recognize such things, but in their hearts, they understand more than they realize.”

“I thought I understood my purpose,” you said quietly. “To guide, protect from a distance, never to interfere. But this…it feels like something more. I didn’t think I could feel this way.” You closed your eyes, absorbing the realization that your connection to Charles might be as real to him as it was to you.

Gabriel gave you a look of quiet understanding. “Feelings are not foreign to us, though they are seldom as strong as what humans experience. It is only natural to be curious, to want to understand what draws us to them, and what makes them so fascinating to us.”

He paused, then added softly, “but remember, the tether doesn’t mean you must change your purpose. It only means you’ve shared part of yourself with him, and in return, he has shared a part of his essence with you. It’s a gift, though one we may never fully understand.”

You nodded, a deep sense of acceptance settling over you. Charles might never know the truth of who you were, or why he saw you, but perhaps that was the beauty of it. He would carry the sense of your presence, a constant and silent connection, and in a way, it would be enough.

You just sat in silence with Gabriel, looking out over the glittering cityscape, you felt the comfort of his companionship. The two of you were bound to different souls, different journeys, but you shared the same questions, same yearnings.

As the night wore in, and the world around was now silent in the aftermath of the race, and the Singaporean circuit lay quiet, already emptied of the usual buzz of engines and the thrill of spectators. Only a few distant voices and the gentle hum of machineries being packed away punctuated the stillness.

Charles lingered in the Ferrari motorhome, his mind far from the day’s race. Finishing in P5 and scoring point should have filled him with satisfaction, yet something lingered beneath it all, a presence far more pressing. You. The image of you, standing amid the crowd, hauntingly calm and out of place, had filled his thoughts since he had passed by you that afternoon. He had always known you, even though Charles was certain he had never seen you before. The fact that you were gone the moment he had looked away haunted him, and now, despite the silence around him, his mind raced with the need to see you again.

As Charles stepped out of the motorhome, running a hand through his damp hair, he slowed, his eyes searching the dimly lit surroundings as if hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Then, just beyond the edge of the shadows, there you were. You stood there, calm and still, a silhouette framed by the city lights, a vision of dark elegance against the fading glow of the circuit. You were wearing the same all-black ensemble he had seen you in before, a stark contrast against the remnants of bright lights and flashes that had filled the paddock earlier, and the subtle breeze caught your coat, giving you an almost weightless presence as if you were somehow apart from the world around you.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Charles’ gaze lingered on you, studying the way your features seemed almost unreal, too striking to belong to the ordinary world he inhabited. It was as though everything he had ever seen had paled in comparison. He could feel some type of strange warmth radiate from you, a kind of serene beauty that pulled at him and silenced everything else in his mind. If ethereal were to take a human form, it would look like you, he was sure of it. Then you spoke.

“Hello, Charles.” You greeted him.

Your voice was soft, almost like a gentle breeze yet clear in the quiet of the evening. There was a soft smile on your lips, one that carried both mystery and warmth. Charles’ eyes widened, his heart seeming to stop for a second.

“I know that you can see me.” You said gently, the faintest trace of amusement in your voice.

For the first time, Charles felt a strange mixture of exhilaration and vulnerability. He had spent so many years convincing himself that you were just a figment of his imagination, yet here you were, standing mere feet from him, speaking as though you had been waiting for this moment just as he had.

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He was torn between asking if you were real and confessing that he had thought about you since that day at the hospital, wondering if he had imagined you. He felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him, everything he knew upended by this encounter, but before he could gather his words, a voice had brought him back.

“Charles!” A friend called out, waving him over from across the clearing, and instinctively, Charles turned his head to. “We’re already heading out, you coming?”

Charles nodded in acknowledgment. But the moment he glanced back to look at you, you had already disappeared. A rush of frustration flared in him, sharper than anything he had felt in recent memory. The moment he finally had you there, standing before him, speaking to him as though you understood this strange, silent connection, you had vanished again, leaving only the soft night breeze in your wake.

He just stood there, his chest tightening with an unnameable sense of loss, staring at the empty space where you had just been. Charles could still feel the subtle warmth of your presence, a lingering trace of your smile that had somehow left an imprint on his mind. His hands clenched and unclenched as if he could somehow reach for you and pull back, his jaw set in determination.

Though you were gone again, the mystery of you wrapped around him tighter than ever, leaving him certain of one thing—he would see you again. He had to.

taglist : @charlesgirl16 @chloes-book-corner

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127tko · 20 days ago

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art dump bc this account has kinda just been sitting here and I don’t think each of them individually deserve their own posts tbhh :}

They’ll be sectioned and labeled for easy viewing and comprehension. All transformers content!!

…and I’m deeply sorry if the formatting ends up being hard to scroll through anyways im not quite versed in anything related to tumblr, this is my third post ever orz

First ever Optimus and Bee human designs I ever did (made after my first time watching TFPrime episodes 1 through like 9 with my friend)

Doodle ft the first ever (and I’m pretty sure only) Megatron concept

A small redesign after I made it farther into the series (around like the middle of season 2)

First ever Breakdown and Knockout!! They make me sick (it’s a mess I know - in my head Breakdown has just a giant braid it is very important to me. Think Osceola Redarm(the goat) from AoEx) (also important, if not for the fact that it would’ve been completely covered and incomprehensible, BDs shirt would’ve said Hello Nurse with a Red Cross on it - it’s KOs shirt)

New KO concepts and the start of a potential Starscream (im smirking)

Are they giving vampire bc I lowk wanted to channel vampire but I can’t tell if I failed or not

And finally… from out of the blue it’s StarBee. Sorry they’re both individually my favorite characters so I just… I put them together because I love them. There’s an entire au in my head and everything, hopefully I’ll find it in me to expand and share. It involves a death loop if anyone was curious :3

Plus a humanized bee that I put through the works because I love him, it’s a crime of passion

(Fun fact this was the first Mech I ever drew and you can tell becaus it’s not very Mech-esque ;*})

…I am still unaware on what constitutes effective tagging so sorry if it’s lackluster. I’m tying my best o7

#starbee #bumblebee #tfp #transformers #starscream #knockout #breakdown #tfp kobd #optimus prime #megatron #kobd #transformers prime

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couldyouimagine-that · 7 months ago

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Take a Moment

Genre; hurt/comfort, fluff

Word count; 1.8k

Warnings; description of reader feeling overwhelmed, reader having a little doubt as to why Gabriel is helping them so much.

Pairing; Gabriel (Supernatural) x Reader

Gabriel who is absolutely smitten with the reader sees they are feeling overwhelmed whilst researching a case and offers to take them somewhere quiet – comfort and cuddling ensues.

I’m back! I really enjoyed writing this one (I'm rewatching Supernatural at the moment and my love of Gabriel has been rekindled) and I’m considering doing something similar with Lucifer – let me know if that’s something you would want to read. Enjoy!

Masterlist

You didn’t even have to say anything for Gabriel to know something was wrong. Castiel was never likely to notice, but the archangel had to forgive him that. His brother wasn’t the most perceptive when it came to emotion. The Winchesters were very perceptive, but they were only human and you were covering your discomfort well. Your breathing was regular and steady, there were no signs of a tapping foot or a repetitive hand movement, or anything that would signal how you felt.

But Gabriel could actually feel how you felt, one of the perks of his true form being an enormous series of celestial wavelengths. It was incomprehensible to you, he was sure, but you understood enough about angels to get the gist. He watched as you sat at the end of the table in the bunker’s library, having put yourself there so that no one would sit down next to you. You had your legs crossed tight at the knee, your arms crossed where you leaned forward on the table. Your posture looked closed off, but there was a mug of coffee by your side and you had been reading lore for hours. The others would assume you had slept poorly or were bored senseless. What that posture really meant was that you were protecting yourself, consciously or not.

Nothing had happened to trigger it, but it was clear to Gabriel that you felt incredibly overwhelmed. He stayed were he had set himself up by one of the bookshelves, one hip cocked against it. He had seen you leave situations like this in the past, when things finally did get too much and you needed some space to yourself. Equally, he had seen you try to tough it out and pretend everything was fine more times than he wanted to count. He truly wishes you knew you didn’t have to, regardless of if that meant you wanted his help or not.

Sam and Dean were sitting far enough down the table that it didn’t seem to be affecting your clear need – or clear to Gabriel, at least – for personal space. Castiel was browsing books along the shelves on the other side of the room, so whilst Gabriel wanted desperately to intervene and help you, he was glad for a moment to think that he wouldn’t need to.

That was until the idiot brothers decided to open their mouths.

“Hey Y/N, did you find anything on that weapon?”

Gabriel would have liked to snap Dean’s mouth shut. You told him that you hadn’t with a small smile, short but not unkind. Gabriel could see the effort it took for you to regain your focus on your reading. Just a few minutes later and Sam was the one to interrupt you, asking for the title of a book you had mentioned to him the previous day. This time it was harder for you to concentrate on your task again. It was when Dean disrupted your work for a third time, asking if you wanted more coffee as he stood and made his way to the kitchen, that you couldn’t take it a second longer.

Your refusal was decisive and your chair legs scraped against the floor as you pushed back from the table. You left the room quickly with a muttered excuse about going to look for a different book. Gabriel took his chance and flew ahead of you, leaving the library without anyone noticing. He was leaning against the wall outside your room when you arrived in a flurry from the speed at which you had been walking. You jumped in surprise when you rounded the corner to see him standing there and promptly tried to push straight past him in an effort to get a moment by yourself.

“Sorry Gabriel, I just need a minute.” Your words were quiet and your breathing had turned heavy. He knew that he would be making things worse for you in the moment, but he also knew he could help in the long run.

“Hey, sugar…” he murmured, voice even softer than it normally was when he spoke to you. “You wanna go somewhere quiet?”

You paused, hand on the door to your little closed in space in the bunker. No windows, not much by way of fresh air, and a whole group of people in the library just waiting to interrupt your alone time. You trusted Gabriel, knew he would never do anything to hurt you. And you desperately needed a break from it all.

He could have jumped for joy when you nodded, but he kept his reaction contained. He offered you a hand, palm up, which you took hold of immediately. The bunker was gone in the time it took you to blink. Instead, you stood in the main room of a sunny villa-like house, all open plan and large windows. Orange sunlight streamed in from a setting sun and to your right, double glass doors led out onto a sprawling patio. Bright blue pool water glimmered from its centre.

Gabriel let your hand slip from his as you took a few steps into the room, looking around with a beautiful if not tired smile.

“Is this yours?” You asked, a hint of wonder in your words that made Gabriel’s chest swell.

“Just a bit of real estate I have over in Cali.” He gave you his classic playful smirk as you looked back at him, amused by his dismissal of such a nice place. “Make yourself at home, sugar. You want a drink?” You seemed to consider something for a moment, rolling the sentence around in your mouth.

“Actually, I – this is probably silly, but can we just sit down for a minute?”

We.

You wanted to sit down with him until you felt better. That was how much you trusted him, how safe you felt with him. Outwardly, he just gave you a smile and sauntered over to one of the couches arranged artfully around the room.

“Course we can! And don’t ever worry about sounding silly with me.”

He held an intense moment of eye contact with you to make sure his message sank in. You took a seat on the other side of the couch and Gabriel couldn’t resist stretching an arm out along the back of it, behind your head. Not touching, but the invitation was there. You smiled to yourself at his less than subtle antics. He grinned like a cheshire cat when you shifted further towards him and rested your head on his shoulder. He slid his arm around your shoulders and pulled you in close, resting his cheek atop your head. You in turn curled into him fully and wound an arm around his neck.

Gabriel didn’t bother to fight the warm feeling in his chest. He felt no need to deny to himself how fond he was of you, instead just enjoying the moment. He felt you relaxing against him physically, but he also felt your mind becoming calmer. His breath shifted your hair as he took in the scent of your shampoo. He had years of experience passing time in the company of humans, but this little display of trust you were putting on meant more to him than a lot of that put together.

His other hand alighted on your hip as you moved closer still, mindlessly seeking comfort. You tucked your legs up onto the couch and the movement allowed you to put more of your weight against the archangel. He wrapped an arm around your waist and you reached your own up over his shoulders. He smiled at you ever so warmly as you tucked your face into his neck, watching your eyes close as you let out a contented sigh. He began to card his fingers through your hair, lightly scraping his nails over the back of your head, and all but basked in the way your head tilted further forwards onto his shoulder.

“You know you can talk to me when you feel like that, right? Or any time. I’m always here if you need me to be.” You tightened your hold on him for a brief moment. “And you can come here whenever you want, just give me the word.”

You leaned back a little at that, catching his eye.

“Gabriel, thank you. Really, thank you, but… why are you doing all this for me?” He rolled his eyes playfully without missing a beat.

“Oh no, the big bad archangel Gabriel looks like he might actually give a crap about some human.” He waved his hands around for dramatic affect before placing them back on you. He then tilted his head forward, narrowing his eyes and raising a brow. “Seriously?” The half shrug you offered had him muttering heatedly to himself in Enochian. “Seriously? Is it really that shocking that I give a damn about you? Why is this coming as such a surprise?” You were planning on not answering that verbally but he refused to let you look away. “Come on, sugar. You must know I care about you by now.” Gabriel’s hand started on a steady path up and down your back, waiting for your answer. You stumbled around your words for a lot longer than you would have liked, still unhappy with what you settled for in the end.

“I – didn’t really realise.”

“You think I bring anyone else here when I can see they need some space to breathe?” He wasn’t mocking, or even upset, he was just being direct.

“I’m surprised you brought me here,” you muttered, very quiet. He didn’t deign to answer that in words, but the look he gave you said come on. You gave a soft sigh of your own. “Gabriel, look. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t realise you cared about me so much, I really didn’t.” He went to hit back, likely with something disparaging, so you tapped his nose to get his attention. The self-righteous expression of how dare you had a grin pulling at your lips. “You can complain about me not realising later, alright? You were a much more calming influence when you weren’t saying anything.” He repeated that back to you, absolutely exasperated by your nerve, but you tucked your face back into his shoulder instead of replying. You felt him shake his head, even as his arms wound back around you.

You knew you wouldn’t have much time left before you needed to return to the bunker, but for the time being, you simply enjoyed your moment of peace.

#gabriel x reader #supernatural gabriel x reader #supernatural gabriel #supernatural x reader #archangel gabriel x reader #supernatural reader insert #spn gabriel x reader #spn gabriel #supernatural

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rexsterss · 2 years ago

Text

Easily You

Summary:

There was a soft clatter of something being set aside. His mealpack, probably. “I saw the list.”

There you go. Cody looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Wolffe didn’t make a move, standing completely still from where he hovered by the desk, the line in shoulders stiff, as if he forced himself to stay in place. “Though I’m not surprised you put me after Rex, but Bacara? Really?”

“There’s no rank in there,” Cody chanced himself in turning around. He watched Wolffe’s gaze drop downwards. “I just thought, ‘Who would fuck me senseless for a whole week?’ and put down some names.”

the clone wars. cody/wolffe. a/b/o dynamics. sex polen. rated E (18+). 5.7k+ words.

Day 1: A/B/O; Aphrodisiacs / Sex Pollen of @subcodyweek!

Based on 50 A Softer World Prompts

There should be a word for a threat that is also a promise. Because that is what I want you to hold me down and do. (I love you)

It was starting to slide into a shit stain of a campaign.

Somewhere after day-4 of their siege, Cody thought that this was where they were meant to fail, and that the heavy rain and sucking mud were there only because they were. Troopers lost their boots to the unforgiving ground, some of them even needed help getting their feet free, or to scramble for balance when they tripped over hidden roots, or that when they slipped, the roaring rain and booming lightning broke the dark skies above their heads.

Too much broken machinery. Too many casualties. Too many fucking deaths.

At least, the 104th carried half the load, their grey almost nonexistent in the dreary storm as they marched along Cody’s orange. Their presence didn’t make him feel as if he was drowning under all that water, under his brothers’ anguished screaming when droid after droid killed them off without mercy, not when they were here together, General Koon and General Kenobi taking point on land while Commander Wolffe flew in his starfighter with a squadron of his own.

Whenever the dark days were lit with firepower, and Cody knew they were one blink away from getting blown up too soon, he’d switch on their private channel. The gravel in Wolffe’s voice was familiar as he instructed his troopers on where to split up, where to attack from different vantage points to cover more ground as they worked as an effective unit. The Wolfpack would go low enough to land a barrage of laser cannons onto the whole sea of droids, wiping them out in large batches as they gave Cody and his platoon a direct path to get to that barricade.

He took solace on the fact that Wolffe was safe, that he sounded just the way Cody remembered, and continued fighting his way through the droids.