#fic: love spell

[iiping]

kaveh snapping at alhaitham for buying another ugly wood carving… except he forgot it was his birthday 👀

read my short fic on twitter here or see more below! 🫶

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“This looks absolutely nothing like me!” Kaveh snaps at the rough-out Aranara carving that suddenly shows up one morning, looking so blonde and angry.

Alhaitham comes out of his room at this moment and walks over to their common shelf where the architect stands.

Kaveh has a meeting with a particularly frustrating client today and he’s feeling so anxious that he cannot help but snaps at Alhaitham too, “How many times do I have to tell you not to bring ugly wood carvings into our home!?”

Alhaitham looks at Kaveh, his lips tightens. Something unfathomable flashes across his eyes and disappears just as suddenly.

“Do whatever you want with it then,” Alhaitham says finally after an awkward silence. Then he grabs his key from the shelf and turns his back to walk towards the front door without saying another word.

Kaveh looks at him leaving the house in puzzlement. It is not a rare occasion to see the Scribe not bothering to argue with him but Alhaitham never walks away after saying only one sentence before. He looks as if he’s angry or even…pouting? Kaveh is not sure if that word can describe Alhaitham.

Maybe Kaveh did something wrong? He gasps at the thought.

Is it because the smell of the cream soup he made yesterday was too strong? Or maybe it was the fact that the house is now so messy because he’s in the middle of tidying up things? Or maybe he moved or touched some books he wasn’t supposed to?

Kaveh ends up thinking for the whole day. He even spaces out during the client’s meeting and almost drops the model when he tries to present his plan.

He thinks and thinks but nothing comes to his mind. They have been on unusually pretty good terms lately, so he cannot think of something recent that might have made Alhaitham upset.

Kaveh is so deep in thought he almost bumps into Collei on the way home.

“Ah! Sorry!” Kaveh exclaims then realizes who it is, “Collei! I didn’t know you were in town today!”

Somehow, the trainee Forest Ranger looks shocked to see him. She quickly picks up something that fell to the ground when they bumped into each other earlier. Kaveh catches a glimpse of a small green box with yellow ribbon before Collei swiftly hides it behind her back.

“It’s so good to see you! Wanna grab something to eat?” Kaveh asks, ignoring her suspicious behavior. He’s not ready to go home just yet, not when he still hasn’t figured out what he did wrong.

“Uh, sorry I have somewhere to be today,” Collei replies nervously, avoiding to meeting his eyes, “If you will excuse me, I really need to get going.”

Then she takes off before he can say another word.

Kaveh ruffles his hair in confusion. What is going on today?

After wandering around aimlessly for a while, he decides that he has no other place to go except the good old Lambad’s Tavern.

He sits down at a table and orders a drink even though it’s merely 5PM.

“Hey, Kaveh!” Lambad shouts his name from behind the counter, “That one’s on the house! Happy Birthday!”

Oh. Shit.

A realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

“How could I forget!” he cries, standing up abruptly, “It is my birthday!”

He tells Lambad that he’ll take a raincheck on that glass of wine before leaving the tavern. Kaveh rushes home as fast as he can and finds Alhaitham standing in front of the shelf with the Aranara carving on one hand and a bag on another.

Alhaitham raises his eyebrows when he sees Kaveh practically flying from the front door.

“No, wait—-“ Kaveh tries to catch his breath, “D-don’t throw that away!”

“Oh?” Alhaitham puts down the Aranara and turns to face the architect. “Seems like you finally remember something.”

“Sorry for what I said this morning,” Kaveh blurts out, “I know it sounds like an excuse but that client’s project kept me frustrated all night and I shouldn’t have taken it on you.”

Alhaitham looks at him silently.

“Alright, alright,” Kaveh puts two hands in the air, “I apologize for calling it ugly.”

The Scribe lets out a chuckle right this second. It is clear that he does not intend put up any fights with Kaveh on his birthday.

Alhaitham hands him the Aranara in question and asks, “Will you also stop calling my other wood carvings ugly?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Kaveh replies with a beaming smile. His eyes light up as he takes the wooden figure in his hands.

Alhaitham gives him birthday presents every year but they are usually books or drafting tools. This is the first time Kaveh has received something custom-made. Well, from anyone, really.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me this morning,” he mumbles, feeling the rough wood under his fingers. “Sure, it looks a bit cruder than that one in your bedroom which I kind of like, but the more you look at it, the mor—- Hey!”

“I changed my mind,” Alhaitham announces with a straight face, the Aranara is now back to his hand. “I’m taking it back.”

Kaveh blinks.

“What did you just say!?” he raises his voice.

“I don’t see any reasons why it should be in the possession of someone who doesn’t appreciate it,” he replies simply while putting the wooden figure in the bag, then starts to walk to the entrance hall.

“How do you know I don’t appreciate it!?” Kaveh follows him, trying so hard not to yell at his back, “This is ridiculous! You just gave it to me literally a second ago!”

That does not make Alhaitham slow down one bit. In the heat of the moment, Kaveh charges at him without thinking.

Next thing he knows, they are both on the floor with Alhaitham being beneath him. He quickly snatches the bag from the Scribe’s hand and sits up.

“Ha!” Kaveh exclaims, raising it in the air in victory. “You cannot walk away from me this time! Don’t you know that it’s rude to take back what you have given!?”

When there isn’t any response, Kaveh glances down, only to see that Alhaitham is covering his face laughing.

Kaveh looks at this scene in disbelief.

“Were you just teasing me!?” he asks with a high-pitched voice, “Oh my god, who are you? What have you done to my Alhaitham?”

“I couldn’t help,” he is still laughing, “You should’ve seen your face.”

It’s extremely rare for Kaveh to see a silly side of Alhaitham, let alone seeing him laughing like this. Kaveh stares dazedly at him, completely forgetting why he was mad in the first place.

“You can have the Aranara,” Alhaitham says with a smile, “Will you get off me now? Although I don’t really mind—-”

Kaveh interrupts this sentence with a cough, just realizing what a dangerous position they are in. He shifts to move out of the way, but at this moment, a small piece of paper falls of the bag and lands on Alhaitham’s chest.

The Scribe’s eyes widen as he moves to reach for it, but Kaveh is quicker.

Seeing what’s on there, he is speechless.

Alhaitham covers his face again, but his ears are turning visibly red. The worse thing is, Kaveh can also feel his face burning too.

“You carved this,” he asks softly, “for me?”

After a while, Alhaitham admits with a sigh, “Yes.”

Kaveh is dumbfounded. He assumed that it was merely a commission. Never has he ever thought Alhaitham would go that far to do something like this for him.

“That’s why you’ve been coming home late for the past week!” Kaveh just remembers how unusual it was when he said that he needed to work overtime.

“You knowing this wasn’t part of the plan, I was too careless.” he says flatly and decides to pull himself up, unintentionally getting closer to Kaveh. “Now it’s good time for you to forget you have seen that workshop receipt.”

“Nuh-uh,” Kaveh pokes his chest, “This Aranara is now worth a million mora to me.”

“You have just burdened yourself with a new enormous debt then” Alhaitham teases.

“Hey!”

“I think wood craving has grown on me.” Alhaitham smiles, “So I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with these ugly figurines for now.”

“Come on, they are not that ugly,” Kaveh chuckles, “But we do need to set up a proper corner for them so they don’t disrupt the current aesthetic.”

The Scribe can’t help but roll his eyes at this comment.

“Seriously though, thank you” Kaveh softly touches his shoulder and looks directly into his eyes, “It’s the first time someone did something so special for me. I will always treasure it.”

The Scribe stares back at him and without a warning, Alhaitham pulls him into his arms and whispers to his hair, “Happy Birthday, Kaveh.”

After that, Collei, along with Cyno and Tighnari, burst open their front door right when they are still hugging in the hallway. Kaveh’s face turns as red as a tomato as Alhaitham helps him up on his feet.

The night cannot be more perfect. The house is filled with the smell of good food, laughers and joy. His most favorite dishes are laid out on the table and the gifts are waiting for him to open. Wine never tastes better and even Cyno’s jokes are funnier than usual.

Kaveh watches as everyone starts to eat and cheerfully discuss about what games they are going to play tonight. His heart aches a bit thinking of how much he does not want to ever lose this; his friends, his happiness, his home.

And when his eyes accidentally meet with Alhaitham’s, he cannot help but wonder, would things turn out differently if he hadn’t met the Scribe at the tavern that night where he had taken Kaveh in?

He tries harder now to stay happy, to actually listen to some of Alhaitham’s advice, the sensible ones at least.

“Don’t burden yourself with something unnecessary from the past and from the future”, he would say.

So instead of dwelling on the past regrets and unknown future, Kaveh thinks he is ready now to find comfort in the present happiness.

(END)

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part four

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 4.3k

It didn’t stop after the first and it sure didn’t stop after the third, either. 

Depending on her schedule, you saw Alexia once or twice at most a week; most of the time it was on the night after a Barcelona match and by the next morning, she’d be gone before you even woke up. But you’d noticed her visits had been increasing in frequency lately, not to mention that sometimes she’d still be in bed when you awakened. The first time you found her still asleep beside you, you were dumbfounded, thinking it was a dream image of her in front of you. And what amazed you even further was that it kept happening.

It wasn’t an unpleasant development. In fact, it was something you gratefully welcomed. And it wasn’t just that, either. Sometimes when Alexia came over, you didn’t even have sex you just… talked: about her training and her health, her teammates’ shenanigans–and hers, of course–her family and bits of her personal life. Meanwhile you told her about places you explored and showed her photos of where you’d been. Then she’d tell you about places you could check out, food to try, and even went ahead and promised to take you to some of the places herself when she had the opportunity.

These times were rare, sure, but you found yourself enjoying her company more and more to the point you noticed yourself craving for it–found yourself missing her presence despite your constant back-and-forth messages. And still you didn’t ask where this was going for fear of ruining whatever the two of you had; you were content and you just simply wanted to watch this unfold as it was. And anyway, it wasn’t like you weren’t used to fleeting relationships, situationships–whatever you’d like to call it–because who was to say this wouldn’t end up like your previous dalliances–ending before it could ever truly begin? Despite you hoping otherwise, a large part of you already convinced yourself that this wouldn’t be anything different: just another highlight to your getaway vacation that you’d look fondly back on a few years down the line.

You had a month left in Barcelona, maybe an additional few weeks depending on the client. What could possibly go wrong?

———

A knock took your attention from your work to the door. You looked at the time–it was early evening on a Saturday and you weren’t expecting anyone. Perhaps you just imagined it? But then it came again not a minute later. You were reluctant to open it seeing as it was already dark but a ping from your phone that signalled a message from Alexia asking if you were home had you flying to the door. 

Upon opening it, you found Alexia there with Nala resting in the crook of her arm, phone in hand, and a paper bag in the other. 

“Took you long enough.” Alexia said playfully, all cool and confident but then her brows quirked upwards almost sheepishly as she said in a more tamed tone, “is this a bad time? I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You smiled at her consideration before you ushered her in. “No, no! It’s fine, really! Come on in. Sorry, I just wasn’t comfortable opening the door when it’s dark without knowing who it was.”

“Ah, it’s my bad. I should’ve let you know before dropping by.” She bent down and let Nala loose before she untied her shoes and left them by the door. Nala bounded to the living charged with curiosity, nose to the ground, tail wagging as she carefully examined the new space. 

Alexia regarded her dog with an amused expression before she looked back at you. “I meant to bring this over after the game tomorrow but I saw the lights as I drove past so… here I am, I guess.”

You reassured her again as you locked the door behind her and you watched as she made her way to the kitchen. As you passed through the archway to the kitchen room, Alexia already situated herself by the counter taking out glass canisters from the paper bag she brought. When she took the lids off, a delicious aroma instantly filled the air, enticing your senses.

“What do you have there?” You asked as you leaned on the opposite side of the counter.

Alexia smiled at the eagerness in your tone and pride shone in her eyes as she spoke, “only the best fideuà and esqueixada in the world. Made special by my mother, of course.”

You peered into the containers and the sight made your mouth water instantly. As if it remembered that you hadn’t had any food yet, your stomach grumbled obnoxiously. Alexia definitely heard it because she fixed you with an amused smile and at that, your cheeks warmed so you tried to divert her attention. “You know what would put this all together?” 

“What?”

“Wine or champagne. Wait–are you allowed to drink?”

“I’m allowed since I’m still not qualified to play yet.” Her visage became somber for a moment–it fleeted so quickly you almost didn’t catch it–before the light in them returned again. “If you have it, white wine is the best complement for this.”

You hummed and tapped your chin, turning to make your way to the cellar. “I’ll have a look. I’m sure Derek has some wine stored in here somewhere.”

You’d mumbled the last part but it seemed Alexia’d caught it because she asked, “who’s Derek?”

Something odd in her tone stopped you and made you look back at her. Her face was unreadable, almost too neutral. She didn’t think Derek was your boyfriend, did she?

“Oh, Derek’s my brother. He hasn’t been here for a while but he owns this house.”

“Ah, I see,” Alexia cleared her throat, looking away and you could just see a hint of redness in her cheeks. “Well, I’ll lay out the plates. I suppose they’re just in...?”

“The bottom drawer to your right and the utensils are in the upper one.” You instructed as you continued towards the cellar.

“Oh, yeah, I see,” came Alexia’s muffled response. 

When you returned with the bottle of white wine, you found that Alexia managed to locate the glasswares by herself and were drying them with a tea towel. There was only one set of plate and utensils laid out though so you fixed her with a confused look.

“You’re not going to eat?”

Alexia shook her head. “I already had my fill with my family earlier. I’ll take the drink, though.”

“That’s nice that you visited your family today. How are they?” You sat at one of the high chairs by the counter, popped the wine open and poured each of you a glass. You noticed that Alexia’d heated up the fideuà for you from the steam that rose from its container which strengthened its aroma and made it all the more enticing. Alexia remained opposite you but she was close enough with her leaning forward on her elbows, her glass of wine in hand.

She sipped her wine and told you they were well, described little snippets of what’s been happening in her family life. She even told you about a prank she recently played on her sister, one that nearly made you choke on your wine. 

You listened as she talked, liking the way her brows quirked and her shoulders move as she spoke, how each gesture became more pronounced the more passionate or interested she was on a subject. You asked questions and engaged with the conversation every now and again as you savoured the rich taste of the pasta and the freshness of the salad. You’d never had anything like it and you told her as much. In response, she said she’d give the compliment to her mother when she saw her next which made your cheeks warm up again. Once you finished, you tidied up and though you insisted she didn’t have to, Alexia helped you wash up anyway. 

Afterwards, the both of you ended up in the living room with your glasses of wine. She gestured at your laptop on the couch with her glass.

“Work?”

“Yeah. Just double checking if I missed anything important and preparing for the match tomorrow.” You sat on the couch and put the laptop on your lap. Alexia opted to sit on the carpet, legs stretched and crossed, back leaned back against the couch, her head just beside your legs as Nala settled by her side.

She turned her head, looking up at you. “Can I see?”

You turned your laptop so she could see better. You flicked through the photos you were sorting through, explaining to her every now and then the thought process behind each shot. On some photos, Alexia asked you to pause so she could soak them in.

“These are great. You have a great eye.” Alexia complimented with an appraising nod as you got to the end. You thanked her as you pulled back. Then a question came to mind.

“Do you ever get used to it? The cameras, I mean.”

A pause.

“I’m not and I don’t think I ever will. I’m more comfortable with it now but if it’s possible to avoid, I’d do it. I know it’s a part of football and god knows how much more exposure women’s football needs,” Alexia released a heavy sigh, “but sometimes it just gets too much, you know? I mean, I really should be grateful, right? To have gotten to this point? But the media side of it is… not without its own set of miseries.” 

There was an inflection in her tone upon her admittance–guilt. You gently carded your fingers through her hair, Alexia leaned into your touch in response, and you replied just as softly, “it must’ve been difficult. It still is and for you, especially. And I don’t know if anyone’s told you lately but you have to know: you’ve given so much of yourself already. It’s not a sin to want a little peace, Alexia, and it doesn’t make you ungrateful for wanting it, it just makes you human.” 

Alexia took a deep breathe before she rested her temple against your knee. Then you heard her whisper, “thank you.”

A silence fell upon the both of you after that but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. She remained that way for the majority of the night, head against your knee as she watched a game of football on the TV. 

By the time you finished up your work, it was already late evening and Alexia’d dozed off beside you. You felt bad as you gently woke her up and groggy hazel eyes found yours when you did. The sight made your heart ache from how much Alexia looked younger and more at peace this way, and you told her to wash up so she could stay the night.

And she did.

Now, your cheek felt warm against her chest despite the slight dampness of her borrowed shirt from her hair. Her skin smelt faintly of the soap you were using and with her arm around your waist, you fell asleep content, lulled to a deep slumber by the steady rhythm of her heart.

———

“Hey, please don’t wear that, it’s dirty,” came Alexia’s reprimand from behind you.

You glanced at her reflection in the mirror: Alexia was propped up on the pillows against the headboard, an arm behind her head, nude except for the bundle of sheets that covered one of her thighs, the marks you’d left on her neck and chest last night and this morning generously displayed for you to behold. 

She was nothing short of glorious, you thought, looking relaxed and content like this. 

You turned your attention back to your own reflection: Alexia’s Barcelona jersey draped over your smaller frame and fell just partway down your bare thighs. It felt comfortable against your skin and the fact that it smelt just like Alexia made it feel all the more special.

When you looked at her reflection again, you found her with an affectionate smile, eyes lidded and brows inflected slightly upwards, and suddenly the attention warmed your cheeks.

“But you only wore it for a shoot, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but you know what I mean.”

You hummed, “do you need it?”

“No, I have spares,” she replied before she raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“That means I have time to wash it before I give it back since you insists that it’s dirty.” You said drily as you turned away from the mirror and padded your way to the bed, crawling on the sheets on your knees once you got there.

As soon as you got close enough, Alexia’s hands were immediately on you, guiding you to straddle her lap before she embraced you fully, resting her chin between the valley of your breasts as she looked up at you. You carded your fingers through her hair to see those fair, hazel eyes that never failed to make you shiver.

“I didn’t say you have to hurry. Plus… I kinda like seeing my number on you.” And then she was kissing your neck and you felt one of her hand creeping its way down to cup your ass. You gasped when you felt the heat of her fingers brushing against your core and you buried your own in her hair as she traced a path from your throat to your ear with her tongue, nipping at your lobe when she got there.

“Fuck… Alexia…” You moaned, “you’re insatiable.”

She kissed your shoulder and then she whispered, “only for you.”

———

Something flashed from the corner of your eye followed immediately by a string of whispered curses and a familiar whirring sound. You put your thumb over the line you were just reading so you wouldn’t lose your place before you looked over your bare shoulder to the corner of the room you knew Alexia was who you found, as expected, holding one of your Polaroid cameras. 

She was only wearing a pair of grey sweats which left her torso bare and–like all the time you saw her nude–you couldn’t help but appreciate the soft curves of her breasts and the carved muscles of her stomach. When she met your gaze, she smiled almost sheepishly at you not dissimilar to a child being caught stealing cookies from the jar.

You raised a playful eyebrow at her but instead of answering, she placed her eye over the viewfinder, aimed the camera at you, then pressed the shutter again.

The film came out with a whir and Alexia immediately tucked it into the pocket of her sweats. She then began to make her way towards you and at every other step, she’d stop to take a photo of you, carefully manoeuvring the camera to get the right angle as she did so. It was an endearing sight, really, and it was one that filled your chest full of warmth. 

Eventually, she ended up on you, turning you over on your back as she straddled your waist, leaving you at the mercy of Alexia and her camera. From this position, you couldn’t help but feel extremely vulnerable and exposed not because of your bareness, but because you knew with the way your chest surged with warmth from how Alexia gazed down at you with a satisfied grin, the dimple on her cheek showing as her tongue peeked out between her teeth at the corner of her mouth, seemingly focused on getting the right shot, that this was a woman who had the power to completely and utterly unravel you. 

As a photographer, you were well acquainted with how cameras had the capacity to capture the essence of a moment–to display in raw details the emotions of its subject and freeze them in time, readying them for the dissection and scrutiny of the viewer. You wondered then what Alexia would see written in the shadow, the light, and the colours in the photos she just took of you once she looked at them, and the thought both elated and frightened you. 

Alexia brushed away hair from your temple but as she was about to pull away, you put yours atop of hers and turned your cheek into her palm, looking directly at her behind the camera. You heard her breath catch and then she stuttered out a breath, and the flash barely registered in your mind because you were too focused on the strength and the warmth of Alexia’s hand as you pressed butterfly kisses on the inside of her palm. 

The next thing you knew, the camera was abandoned completely and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out from your throat when you finally felt Alexia’s lips on yours.

———

Alexia sat on one of the high chairs in the kitchen room, hair damp, a game of football on the mounted TV that was left forgotten in place of… something that you couldn’t quite see from this distance. Alexia’s shoulders were hunched over in concentration and you didn’t have the heart to interrupt whatever she was doing so you leaned on the archway, content with just observing her do her work.

“Are you just gonna stand there or would you care to join me?” You rolled your eyes and you didn’t fight the smile that graced your lips. So much for being sneaky–the fact that Alexia was an accomplished footballer who had crazy spatial awareness occasionally slipped your mind.

“Okay, Gwen Stacy, calm down.” Alexia looked over her shoulder then and stuck her tongue out at you, grinning. “How did you even know I was here?”

“Your reflection on the microwave.” She gestured to it with her chin and sure enough from this angle you were instantly visible especially with the white shirt you had on. The dark glossy surface almost made you look like a ghost.

Standing on your toes, you draped yourself over her broad back, arms wrapping loosely around her neck as you peered down. “So, what are we working on?”

“This.” 

A bracelet made of a dark-blue and red string that looped into itself with a singular, small gold diamond-shaped charm right in the middle, a vertical bar at the two corner points of the long edge of the diamond, dangled between Alexia’s fingers. She took your right hand and placed it in your palm so you could look at it: the bracelet was simple but it’s delicate nature made it all the more beautiful and elegant.

“Oh, wow, this is so pretty.” 

“It’s for you.” At that you looked at her, half-afraid that she’d feel the way your heart raced at her words against her back. 

You were so busy trying to find the right thing to say that you didn’t realise that she took the bracelet back until you felt the warmth of her fingers on your palm as she turned your hand over. You watched her as she wrapped it around your wrist, securing the tie. You turned your right wrist over and looked at the delicate bracelet, and something in your heart soared at the small gift. The fact that Alexia made it herself made it all the more special to you.

“Thank you, Alexia. I love it.”

“You’re welcome.”

That night while you were sufficiently warm nestled by Alexia’s side, naked except for the sheets, your head on her chest, a realisation hit you.

“It represents FC Barcelona, isn’t it?”

Alexia hummed in answer, the rumble from the sound a pleasant sensation on your cheek. Then she held your wrist in the space between her thumb and index finger, the width of her palm supporting your hand as she turned your hand just so so the gold of the diamond could catch the light.

“And what else?”

At that, you looked at the bracelet intently. The two bars: one and one–Alexia’s number. So she really was serious when she said she liked seeing her number on you.

You let out a small laugh, then you nuzzled her jaw as you spoke, “you little sneak.”

———

Minding her bad knee, you flipped the both of you over with a strength that even surprised yourself and with how Alexia’s brows raised high, you supposed it took her off guard, too. You settled your weight on her stomach and you bit your lip when you felt her abs tense against your core, and the desire in you blazed into a raging inferno that threatened to burn you inside out.

She grabbed your ass in both hands with a firm grip, making you gasp when her hold made you grind against her stomach, her eyes smouldering as she looked up at you. 

That look was your last straw; you couldn’t stop fighting your desire anymore so you let it swallow you whole. You fell forward, bracing your weight against your elbows as you craned your neck to kiss Alexia, rough and desperate, her lower lip between your teeth. The action rewarded you with a low moan, a delicious sound that shot heat straight down to your core.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Alexia gasped out between your relentless kisses.

“I like being on top,” was your simple answer whispered hotly against her ear, nipping gently at the soft skin there–teasing. 

Then it was your turn to gasp. 

Her fingers dug delightfully into your flesh, kneading your ass roughly before easing them apart with equal force. The harsh treatment caught you by surprise and the effect of it even more unexpected as you immediately melted against her, moaning her name helplessly against the crook of her neck. 

She knew just how to make a mess of you.

“Hmm, do you?” She asked coyly and then proceeded in a deliciously low voice that oozed seduction, smugness, and sex. “Too bad I’m still in control.”

“Fuck.” Your body answered for you in a full-body shiver. Her words turned you on to the brink of falling and you found no purchase as you slipped from the ledge.

It should be embarrassing how you could come without Alexia even fucking you, and it should scare you that she had this much power over your body but in this moment, when her hands were everywhere but your pussy and her filthy words were whispered hotly in your ear, you could care less. So you fell apart, shaking and weak, as you sank on top of Alexia’s firm and soft body, her name barely coherent from the sobs that came out of your lips. Euphoria lit every nerve in your body as you came, the fabric of your underwear latched deliciously on your pussy like a second skin and you were sure that you’d made a mess on Alexia’s bare stomach.

You only realised Alexia had stopped her teasing ministrations until you heard her thick voice through the haze of the afterglow which you barely caught.

“You came.”

It wasn’t a question, really, but you let out a small affirmative moan because what else could you do? You were mush–the intensity of your orgasm caught you off guard and left you floundering that no thoughts formed in your mind, just pure bliss and ecstacy. But as the veil of euphoria began to lift, embarrassment bled into the edges of your consciousness and with it the instinct to apologise. The words were poised at the tip of your tongue when Alexia moaned.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” she breathed out and when you found the strength to lift your head to look at her, her eyes were lidded, pupils blown so wide they were almost all black.

And then she was pulling you in for a kiss, and then the wet heat of her tongue traced the edge of your ear, and she was nipping at your jaw while she dragged her palms from your ass to the side of your ribs. Your skin burnt at her touch and you could do nothing but surrender, to moan and whimper as your heat blazed anew despite having just been swept away.

“But this time, you’re going to come with my fingers in you.”

She didn’t even let the words sink in. Instead she wasted no time to slip her hand between your bodies and to push aside the fabric of your ruined underwear. Usually, Alexia liked to tease you and ease her fingers in you slowly as she sought as much reaction from you as she could, but the slick she found there must had been enough to satisfy her because she pushed two fingers in as soon as she found you. The thickness of her fingers slid in easily and you nearly screamed her name from the pleasure. 

She was relentless in her endeavour to make her words true with the way she gripped your hip steady with her free hand so you didn’t stray too far from her touch when you moved to meet her thrusts, the pace at which she worked her fingers in you left you lightheaded the same way her teeth on your neck worked to drive you insane.

“Alexia, Alexia, Alexia–” You chanted her name like a holy litany, burying your face into her hair that was now slightly damp with sweat and breathed her in: her scent of sun and freshly cut grass, of faint wintergreen, and an essence that was uniquely hers. The moment left you full with something heavy and warm, something that spoke of and hoped for forever, and clarity washed over you: this wasn’t like one of your previous dalliances anymore because you wanted more with her.

The realisation hit you hard, the gravity of it left your mind in a momentary stasis that when you came back to yourself, the shock of your orgasm knocked the breath from your lungs and you felt yourself being pulled by the tide. So strong was it that you could do nothing but pray the flood wouldn’t take you–that Alexia wouldn’t let you drown.

[chrollohearttags]

y’all won’t be satisfied until you run every black writer off this app and I’m so serious. Yes, I’m being rude to anybody that takes time out of their day to post some dumb ass remarks (a recycled one at that) and uses it to disrespect black writers of any capacity. Sitting up screaming about wanting more representation and the black reader fics being nonexistent but y’all get mad about everything. Yes, I’m cussing y’all out everytime I see it and I’m blocking idc. Free, FREE content that people took time to create, y’all are being nasty about it. We don’t owe y’all grace or kindness. Especially when we can see the hypocrisy. Go to hell with gas undies on and leave us alone. And please write whatever y’all want and fuck these people. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk

[p4nishers]

no really ALL im saying is if aziraphale was infront of ME and me only and even gave me a smallest amount of attention i would've already confessed right there. wouldn't have taken me 5 minutes let alone 6000 YEARS. nuh uh. especially if he slutted me out while dressed like THAT in 1793 or rizzed me up in 1941. i may be oblivious but im not dumb as fuck and i would've taken THE FUCKING HINT. unlike SOMEONE. ugh if only i was in crowley's place this shitshow wouldn't have taken more than aziraphale's eyelashes to flutter once and i'm done for the wedding is already in full swing oh lookie here a priest appeared completely out of nowhere how odd how mysterious!! anyway we must not waste this opportunity let's just get over w it for completely normal regular reasons YEP!! nothing to see here just a perfectly regular every day wedding !! like come on man atp u gotta blame urself for wasting opportunities like that

[soaqrudyz]

soap and ghost are partners, this much was never secret.

rumors used to only be about ghost, the massive man that eluded social politeness with piercing glares and cold shoulders. they called him a beast, a monster, some reckoned he shouldn’t be allowed within fifty feet of a weapon, lest he have a bad day and obliterate everyone on base. the most soap got was a guy saying he’d survived a night in his bed, as if that was a difficult feat.

that changed, slowly at first, and then all at once. suddenly, the rumors were about the huge guard dog and his feral counterpart, how they wiped out entire facilities without help, no overwatch and no air support, how ghost would take you out painfully but soap would do it slowly with a kind smile and gentle hands.

where one goes the other follows, where one is you’ll find both. and everyone knows it.

gaz will pat ghost’s shoulder in passing, telling him his girlfriend was looking for him with a snicker. price would wave soap’s annoyed rambling away with an order to end their lover’s quarrel. once, a fellow sergeant made a comment about how they were “close. like brothers!” and had an entire two tables in the mess wheezing over their slop.

each time they’re sent away they come back caked in dirt and drenched in blood with sparking eyes looking straight into the other’s. each day they eat and train and bicker like they’re two halves of the same whole. each little moment seen by some lone soldier or otherwise was just a testament to how well they worked together.

some things, though, were for them and them alone.

like the peaceful quiet of bathing after they’d been deployed for however long, the tender way simon would tilt johnny’s head back to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, featherlight brushes of fingers and palms while johnny slides simon’s shirt over his head.

like ringing laughter mixed with world shattering pleasure. like settling into bed, simon’s head pillowed on johnny’s chest, making hushed, sleep deprived conversation until one of them passes out. like whispered i love yous and kisses to whichever body part was the closest.

like matching gold and silver rings that shine beautifully under pale moonlight, only darkened by the shadows of their clasped hands.

they were made for each other, they know it and everyone else does, too. they’re partners. down to the very root of the word.

[cerealboxlore]

you know those posts where cap’s seen as a dad figure? what if one of the reasons why the other superheroes think that way is because when league members bring up there kids or need cap to cover for them when their kids need them cap is just super understanding, empathetic and gets oddly proud of them for being with there for their kids

the actual reason why he’s like that is because billy just really values those things as an orphan and is proud to work with such great people

Whenever someone mentions or even breathes the implication of Cap being mistaken as a dad or seen as a father figure, I lose my marbles, because, oh cheese and crackers, I just can't express enough how much I adore this headcanon! I'm doin' a little happy dance :D

Billy Batson is someone who has always yearned and wished to be a part of a family again since his experience was cut short due to tragedy and made sour thanks to his uncle Ebeneezer being crusty dusty, so it's easy to see him respecting those who appreciate the family they have. He had to grow up and mature far faster than any kid his age, and compared to most adults, Billy is actually more mature and responsible than they are, unfortunately. It's reasonable to see that this would be reflected in Captain Marvel; someone who's immature at times, but ultimately a good-natured person with a golden heart and good intentions, who others can depend on anytime and anywhere (much to the sacrifice of his personal life).

Billy has been in enough foster homes at a young age to know the difference between a good parent and a rotten one, so seeing members of the league prioritize their family members and kids would make him really happy. He's the type to take on any shift or mission in the place of another member if they had something important to do with their family. What you said about him being very proud and empathetic towards parents in the league made me realize that Billy would have loved to have parents like them had his own not perished. In a way, he's not just proud of them, but a little bit envious.

This also brings up another headcanon of mine, where Captain Marvel is the unofficial designated babysitter of the league when emergencies come up. Because despite not knowing who he is/his secret identity, people trust him enough to let him know theirs. Like, it all starts with the Captain in the watchtower break room drinking apple juice, and is suddenly bombarded with a group of children or sidekicks being thrown at him by the other heroes, saying that the Captain was in charge while they were away before teleporting away.

All these kids and teenagers that he suddenly has to help look after, and while Captain Marvel is calm on the outside, Billy Batson is freaking out on the inside. Some of those kids are older than he is, and there's some hilarity to it. Shenanigans ensue in the Captain Marvel: Adventures in Babysitting day, but it all turns out okay in the end. As a kid, Billy would know how to talk to them and keep them busy with fun/educational stuff. Might even teach them a thing or two about good morals, manners, archeology, or ancient magic stuff.

I imagine some of those kids would want to be babysat by him again, and Billy would welcome it (with warning ahead of time). Captain Marvel is just someone people like being around with his good dad vibes. Some of them even ask if he has kids of his own, but are met with an empty room immediately as the man zooms off whenever people ask him questions about family.

Gosh I went rambling again, but I loved this ask!

[buff-muffin]

List of Doflamgingo and Corazon headcanons cause doomed siblings

1. Both brothers have extremely expressive eyes, they got them from their father. You can always tell what their thinking by looking at their eyes. Dofi was aware of this from a young age realising he could never tell what his brother was thinking because his hair covered his eyes. So he started wearing sunglasses. This kept him from being readable and stuck with him all the way to adulthood. This however also impacted Rosi as the entire time he works under Dofi he wears glasses to not let his intentions be read and thoughts understood, but the second hes with Law alone after finding out hes a D he took them off and let himself be readable for Law if it made the boy feel safe.

2. Doflamingo was always rather strong for a child and that came from helping his younger brother out. There were countless times where Rosi wanted to hold his hand yet when he tripped he would drag Dofi down with him. So he got strong enough to be able to pull his brother back up and not be taken down with him

3. Rosi was super clingy when he was small. Before and after they suffered on the streets, physical touch was such a love language for him, Dofi while never fully comfortable with it, was always sure to hold him… Now Corazon hardly even leans on him. It makes an old wound of Dofi’s ache

4. When Corazon first reunited with Dofi and he had time to process the fact his brother had gone MUTE after what happened years ago. Dofi wasnt sure what to think. While he felt no guilt for what he did and put his brother through a part of him feels almost pity, thinking his crybaby of a brother managed to scavenge around on the streets and survive without uttering a word. He felt pity, maybe remorse yet pride. That his bumbling younger brother had grown strong

5. One thing Dofi found odd about Cora was why he didnt use sign language despite being mute. When asked Cora explained that he never found a reason to bother learning. After all its not like people are going to go out of their way to learn sign for a random hungry kid on the streets. Dofi made sure all the family knew basic and needed signs so his brother could communicate needs quicker. Things like ‘help’ ‘thank you’ and names.

6. The sign Dofi used to symbolise corazon wa s a fist over the heart that he would clench twice to mimic a heart beat. It always gave a twicted idea of squeezing a heart. Law on the other hand would knock on his chest slightly to the left as if to knock on his own heart, this was because on minion island it was getting hard for him to clench his fists and found that sign far easier. Cora loved it.

7. As much as Cora’s muteness made things more complicated. There was a power aspect of it that Doflamingo enjoyed. There was something about the fact he knew that that no matter how bad shit would get Cora wouldnt speak and he would not tell anyone of their life before hand made him feel powerful, in control. Cora could be kept on a close tight leash and that, in the end was the biggest reason he doubted Corazon to be the traitor. He truly though if his brother could not speak there was no way he could help the marines. Though the longer he was there and the realisation of his capability and strength slowly made him doubt that logic. Until he left and the marines stopped.

8. When they were children, Dofi was still a rather stuck up and serious kid, always waiting for the day he was an adult and could take charge. Rosi however was the only one who could make him laugh. It was this dark spell his brother always had in his back pocket. The faces he pulled, the little shows he put on all of it made Dofi laugh. Rosi pulled out all those same tricks to make Law laugh

9. It took Rosi a really long time to stop flinching at the sound of gun shots. While Sengoku was a reasonable parent and did not put Rosi though any kind of intense training until he was ready for it. Gunshots was one of the hardest things to help the boy overcome.

10. Rosi was always a quite kid. He was never particularly chatty or asked a lot of questions. Usually just making squeaks when he fell. But after what happened he was mute for a while with Sengoku. Afraid to speak up as his brother had found him weak for making noises crying. It took him a while and Sengoku was willing to work with him when he didnt speak, but Rosi found his voice and started speaking though still never often, When he ate the calm-calm fruit not much had changed in the talking regard

11. Rosi has used the calm bubble to scream and cry once in the privacy in his own room. Yes he knew what he signed up for as Doflamingo’s corazon. But that didnt mean his heart didn’t ache whenever he had to take lives or threatening innocence

12. Every time he had call check ins with Sengoku, Rosi’s voice would crack just a little, the lack of use taking its effect on his voice. Even Law heard it once or twice in the start of them travelling together.

13. Corazon originally had an identical feathered coat as Dofi, but between the fact it no longer made doflamingo look like the one on top, and Cora kept accidently burning the feathers. They switched him to black. Now no one can see the burn marks unless you really look

[pepperpixel]

+ Butch 4 Butch +

(Except neither one of them is rlly that butch but holy fUCKING SHIT THAT SONG IS LITERALLY THEM… the version of them I made up in my mind palace… it’s them.)

Anywayyyy. Yeah! Have a tagr art dump..! aka, those vibes when you, out of a series of moments of temporary insanity, end up finding, taking in, nursing back to health and eventually falling into a tangled messy yearning situationship w the asshole tsundere alien who tried to destroy your entire planet… rlly extremely relatable vibes!!

[emeraldvssilver]

Been meaning to write this Sterek fic forever -

Stiles and Derek are in an established relationship in BH. But it's Stiles' first year in College and no one has met Derek yet because of various Supernatural reasons stopping him from visiting.

Stiles goes as Little Red to a Halloween party on campus, and he lives with someone on a Theater degree who wants to practice special effects make-up. So he gets a massive "wolf" bite on his neck that looks ridiculously real. He posts a selfie of his costume (normal clothes, red hoodie, fluffy wolf ears, and bite mark) on the Beacon Hills group chat and his friends love it.

4 hours later he's in the club and gets pulled to one side. Derek's made the trip down to his College and he's fighting red eyes the whole time because even though he knows the bite mark is fake, his Wolf side is absolutely livid that Stiles is marked. So they basically end up making out against the wall.

Stiles' dorm mates are utterly confused by this because Stiles is in a committed relationship and yet he's making out with some guy in the corner.

Queue next morning hijinks when his dorm mates realise Stiles brought back a "stranger" back to his room and they all try to remind him that he's supposed to be in an exclusive committed relationship. And Derek's just listening in completely bemused.

[karmavongrim]

Love Spell fanfic idea

DP x DC fanfiction idea named "Love Spell" that I have been mulling over the past couple of weeks.

Klarion x Danny shipping (Chaotic Spirits) story, because why not and it would be fun to write about the chaos these two could cause.

Took some inspiration from this, this, bit of this and this.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny really didn’t know whatever he should laugh, cry or flip the nearest table he could get his hands on. He never really thought highly of the Justice League to begin with, hell, you would be hard-pressed to find anybody in Amity Park who did nowadays.

But this… this could just as well take the metaphorical cake of bullshit that has been piling up over the past three years.

He took a deep, measured breath before focusing back on his boyfriend. His sweet, lovable, very-much-chaotic-immortal-man-child of a boyfriend.

“...They think I’m what now?”

On the other side of this conversation sat Klarion, the witch boy extraordinaire, who was combing his slender fingers delicately through his precious familiar’s fur as he watches his beloved having a hard time grasping at the situation. And since he thought of himself to be a rather fantastic boyfriend, he repeated what he said.

“The League of Simpletons have somehow gotten in their heads that I must have enthralled you in one way or another in order to get my hands on some ultimate power, as part of my apparently evil master plan.”

Danny took another breath, this was just getting ridiculous. But then again what else was new, these people really knew how to make a mountains out of a molehills. Even Wes didn’t have this severe of an apophenia, he at least ended up being right more often than not.

“So they think you’ve put me under a love spell or something?”

Klarion merely shrugged in mock-helplessness. “Apparently you wouldn’t be dating me otherwise.” In all honesty he probably shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he currently is, but he couldn’t help himself.

His ever present smirk widened when his beloved Starlight’s face twitched in irritation. “For Ancient’s sake… seriously?” A simple nod was enough for Danny to want to throw the next Justice Idiot who was stupid enough to come close to Amity Park’s boarders through the nearest window!

Calm down Danny, calm down. Just remember Jazz’s breathing exercise. One… two… three…

…

Wait a minute… would that mean- no way in hell way they’ve been…

“Wait a minute- Is that the fucking reason why they’ve constantly been ruining our dates these past few months!?”

Another nod.

Yeah, fuck being calm and shit, ya boy is absolutely livid! All this time they were doing it on fucking purpose!! He so is going to burn all of their ugly ass capes and dye all their ugly ass costumes pink! Better yet, he’ll paint their entire HQ with the most obnoxious and clashing colours possible.

Klarion let the halfa rage about for a good moment before interjecting. It wouldn’t do to have the lounge destroyed, especially when that energy could be used on something else he has in mind.

“We could have fun with this you know, at their expense.”

Danny stopped in his track and turned his inquiry gaze towards Klarion. He knows that smile and it could only mean trouble, trouble which he was more than willing to partake in. A smirk of his own began to grace his lips. “What do you have in mind exactly?”

Once again Klarion was reminded why he’s dating this gorgeous creature in the first place. Trust him to be able to match his chaotic nature despite his hero persona.

“Oh you are going to love it, my dear.”

[elvensorceress]

Sunday snippet 💕

since it’s Sunday and the lovely and amazing @fleurdebeton @dickley-buddie @gaydisasterdiaz @lostinabuddiehaze @spotsandsocks @fatedbuck @rogerzsteven @ajunerose @eddiediazisascorpio @monsterrae1 @prettyboybuckley @megslovesbooks @shortsighted-owl @ashavahishta @kananjarus @swiftiebuckleys @sibylsleaves @hetrez @masterminddiaz all tagged me in some things (omgosh I love you all) but I was finishing up Eddie vs Feelings and didn’t post anything, I figured we make up for it today? 

How would we feel about some Love Spell? 💕😘

Eddie opens his jar of crystals and looks through them. When he moves a few to one side, he touches a rose quartz and it mocks him by shutting off and turning dark. No love for you, cursed one. He can’t even touch it any longer. 

He should give away all of those. He’ll never be able to use them again. He has maybe five or six in varying shapes and sizes. He could give them to his parents and sisters, Abuela and Tía Pepa, too. If they wanted to keep them. The last of Eddie’s love should belong to them. 

One by one he picks out the rose quartz and sets them on the bad end table by the broken couch. A couple raw pieces, one smooth and tumbled, a little tower. It all turns dark when he touches it, but clears and becomes light and pink and glowy again when he lets go. But the last one, he holds onto, even as it turns black. It fits neatly in his palm — it’s carved into a smooth, round heart. 

Tía Pepa had given it him. To remind him of softness, sweetness, gentleness, of love that is unconditional and comes in all kinds, sizes, and mysterious ways. 

If he thinks of her, can he still feel it? If he tries hard enough, can he remember having love? 

The crystal is still smooth and carries something soothing. It’s just out of reach. But it’s there. 

It’s there, love exists. It’s just. Not his. 

The steps down to the basement creak with the weight of someone bigger than a six year old. Eddie closes the stone in his hand as if Tía Pepa herself might shield him from whatever is coming. Either it’s his mother coming to shine happiness in his face because he’s getting rid of all magic. Or it’s his father coming to talk because his mother is upset. 

At this point, Eddie doesn’t know which would be worse. He only looks up when his father stops a few feet away from him. 

Eddie goes back to tucking the rest of his crystals safely into his hide box. He slips the heart quartz into his pants pocket. 

“I’ve had a talk with your mother,” is how his father starts, and nausea creeps into Eddie’s stomach. 

So, they’ve reached the lecture part of the program where Eddie is a horrible, inconsiderate son who made his mother cry because of his life choices, in which he always chooses the wrong thing or fails in some way because he’s never good enough. 

His empty chest already has stabs of pain through it, but he breathes slowly and doesn’t look up. He'd argued because it’s stupid and won’t work. Magic is in everything. But if she wants him to pretend like he can't feel it. If she would feel better thinking that magic is the only thing that might break Eddie, then so be it. But he’d been angry. And so had she. 

He gathers a large bundle of dried herbs kept in zip top plastic bags and tucks them into his box to hide away. “What about?”

His father rests a hand on Eddie’s box, his items to hide and keep box, and Eddie freezes. 

He should have done this first. He should have been quicker. Those are all of his favorite crystals, his personal spell jars, his tools, amulets he made, a wand Abuela crafted for him with dried lavender and indigo blue ribbon, pressed leaves that hold dreams, his never-ending candle carved with wishes, his own tarot deck. It’s not one he uses as much as his father has used his own, but it’s his. It’s special. Hell, his first communion rosary is in there because his mother gave it to him and he never could give it away even when he couldn’t use it for its intended purpose anymore. But he kept it with his most precious possessions. 

He should have packed and hidden all his favorite items before he did anything else. Why didn’t he do that? What if he has to give those things away? 

His father looks at him with a heavy, stern gaze. “Are you honestly giving up magic for good?” 

Eddie looks around as if there is something that will tell him the right answer. His father knows magic. His father should understand. At least a little. His mother has never been against magic before. She’s just worried. She’s been upset since Eddie cursed himself. He knows that. 

But Eddie’s empty chest is pounding. He can’t help but look at his box. He has to keep those things. He can’t give up everything. He won’t even use them anymore. He’ll just lock them away and he won’t practice, but they can’t be thrown out and discarded like they’re trash. They’re hopes and dreams and happiness and calmness and gifts and healing and secrets and longing, and everything he has left of his heart. 

His throat is tight and he doesn’t know what to say. So he shrugs. “Mom is worried. She asked me to. I don’t want to hurt her.”

His father frowns and seems displeased, and Eddie just doesn’t want there to be yelling. He can’t take the yelling. He knows he’s a disappointment and a failure and nothing he ever does will be the way his father wants him to do it, but hearing it, feeling the words, the anger, the guilt — it’s too much. Eddie is glass right now. He’ll do something awful and stupid like break or maybe cry. He can’t do that.  

He’s not glass. He’s not. He’s ice, he’s stone, he’s iron, he’s steel, he’s impervious. 

His hands grow cold and start turning, changing, even without him consciously trying to manifest it. His skin, his muscles, the nerves, bones, blood vessels of his fingers, hands, forearms start turning to frozen metal. 

It’s an illusion. It’s temporary. He thinks. He’s pretty sure? But it is also exhausting turning himself cold and inanimate. In a moment, he’ll likely become dizzy, probably more nauseated if the past is any precedent. He might even pass out again. 

He shivers but can’t move. It started at his hands but travels further until it’s engulfing his shoulders and swallowing down his chest, and it’s cold but there’s also nothing. There’s nothing. Nothing. 

He’s nothing. 

He’s weak, and dizzy, and his eyes are so heavy. He could succumb. Plunge into darkness. Finally sleep. Finally rest and never worry about being incomplete or fucked up. 

“Eddie. Eddie. Stop.” His father grips his arms and fire bursts through aching bones and muscles. It makes them normal, it makes them warm. It’s nice being warm. It’s nice being touched, protected, cared about. 

Eddie sways and tries to keep steady but the back and forth is whiplash, and expending his own energy without any magical aids is exhausting. It would be even if he weren’t damaged. “I’m sorry,” he quickly says, and some of the ice stops growing. He can make it recede. It’s not real. He’s in complete control. 

Except he’s in control of nothing and now everything hurts. Is he on fire? Is he frozen? Is he tethered, is he lost? Is he still standing and surviving without pieces of his soul? Or is he shattered and dying? “I wasn’t trying…” he tells his father but doesn’t know what to say. He was trying to be strong and unbothered. He was trying to shove it away, lock it down, move on, get over it. 

The ice metal taking over his body is stronger. It grows even where his father is gripping him. It’s growing blizzard windstorm stinging and changing his skin. It’s stabbing and each one is deeper, chipping away at him, burrowing deeper into his flesh and turning it into something else. 

It’s one more thing Eddie has done wrong, hasn’t been able to do right, and he wants to cry and beg forgiveness. But he can’t. He can’t. He can’t breathe. The air is too thin. His chest and stomach are turning hard, solid in a different way. Iron and ice and stone and steel. 

He conjured impervious. He conjured lifeless. And he doesn’t have any power to stop it. 

He tries to make his fingers move, at least enough to clutch his father before he falls. His throat is thin, his mouth his dry, but he rasps out a plea for forgiveness, even if this is all he’ll ever do. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” His father is curt, angry, there’s still anger like fire pulsing against Eddie’s skin, but not part of him. 

Not any longer. 

Eddie had fire once. He doesn’t anymore. There’s whistling like wind and the smell of metallic frost. It’s filling his lungs with sharp stinging when he tries to breathe. 

He’s the whistling. His breath is nothing but thin, reedy gasps. It’s leaving him. It might leave him for good. 

His father holds tightly and takes them over to the lopsided sofa. He directs Eddie to lie on the lumpy cushions while he kneels beside him and rests a hand on Eddie’s forehead. 

Whatever he does, it makes the freezing whirlwind lessen. The pain in Eddie’s hands and arms recedes. It almost feels… it’s almost soft and warm and being tucked in bed and kissed goodnight. 

It’s the one Christmas morning when his father said he had to work but then showed up to be with them anyway. It’s almost the elusive, out of reach, shining thing simmering in the crystal he tucked away and tried to keep. 

It’s warm and right there in his pocket. It’s his. It’s supposed to be. Eddie’s arms hurt to move. They’re stiff and cold, weak, trapped, but he has to reach. He has to find it. He needs it. 

Eddie pulls the stone from his pocket and clutches it to his chest. It’s almost there. The warmth, the softness, the blanket that falls over loneliness and makes it disappear, the laughter, the loyalty and companionship, the arms around him, the inner peace, the affectionate lovemaking, the belonging, being known inside and out and still accepted. It’s love of every kind. 

It’s kind of his. It’s so close. It just doesn’t fit inside his soul anymore. 

He whimpers like he’s splintering. Everything is blurry and all the daylight is fading.

His father strokes his head and touches Eddie’s hand. “Give me the crystal.”

Eddie’s hand trembles and tears prickle his eyes. Not his Tía Pepa stone. Anything but that. He’ll give up everything else, but not this one. 

But he’s weak. He can’t argue, he can’t even hold on to it. His hand goes limp, numb and tingly. His fingers are rigid, purple, frostbitten. His eyes flutter closed, but he tries to keep them open as long as he can.

His father takes the crystal, wraps it in his own palm, and touches it to Eddie’s chest above his heart, but with the barrier of his own fingers. It can’t change the way rose quartz always does when Eddie touches it. The power it has can’t be blocked. It radiates warmth and protection. 

His father whispers something, words Eddie can’t decipher, but there’s love in them. There’s love. He can feel it. The unreachable, untouchable thing that never can belong to him again. It’s still there. 

His father loves him. 

It’s so much and Eddie can’t bear it. But the pain he brought upon himself fades. It’s melting. No more ice, no more metal and stone. His father’s love is bright and unyielding and it swirls through Eddie’s chest and spirals warmth between all his broken pieces. It’s strong enough to drive away his manifestations of frozen death.

 How is he loved? How is he accepted and cherished and not a failure? He grips his dad’s hand and tears burst out of him. He can’t help it. Not when it feels like this. Not when he was sure he would never earn it. 

His father’s thumb strokes over his forehead and he leans closer until his head touches Eddie’s. There are still whispers, incantations Eddie can’t hear, but it pours back into him until he can breathe. 

For a moment, he has love of his own again. His missing, broken heart can’t kill him if he’s still loved. 

He’s still loved. 

His father loves him. 

[hedgehog-troops]

year - @jegulus-microfic - april 17th

"C'mon Regulus!" James yelled after him, as Regulus –once again– stood up to leave.

James rushed to stand up and follow him, nearly stumbling over his feet in his eagerness. "Just one date, I promise." he said, earnestly, like he actually meant it.

He probably did too.

The problem was not that Regulus didn't want to go on a date with James, or that he didn't like James.

He did.

He really did. But he liked being chased and desired more.

He sped up his pace, purposefully leaving James behind him until he found an empty corridor.

Turning across the corner into the corridor, he waited, and sure enough, there came James.

The moment his eyes landed on Regulus, he saw James' eyes light up and soften at the same time, as the same smile that always found its way on his face when Regulus was near, materialised.

"It's the year of love, Reg, everyone's getting together. Please." James begged, nearly pouting.

Regulus repeated exactly what he's been repeating for the past 8 months.

"No, Potter"

Though this time, Regulus felt something shift, as though somethinh changed.

He watched as the small smile vanished and was replaced by something more melancholy. Still a smile, but tinged with sadness around the edges.

"I won't ask again, Regulus. Just– please, just one" James said, practically whispering, staring into Regulus' eyes with big, round, sad, brown eyes.

Regulus immediately felt panic shoot through him. No.

No no no.

Regulus wanted to go one a date with James, he just.

He's been having a hard time vocalizing his feelings since... well, ever since he came out of the womb, basically.

Taking his prolonged silence for a 'no', James issued a small nod in his direction and turned, shoulders slumped.

Before he could leave, Regulus caught James' wrist in his hand, stopping him.

"I won't ever step foot into Madam Puddifut's" he said, with an air of indifference though inside he could feel his heart thundering.

James turned towards him and– ah. There it was.

A smile so bright, it would blind you of your worries and such light radiating from the eyes.

It's the same light he fell in love with.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

tagged by @diazsdimples @tizniz @daffi-990 @bidisasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck 💖💖

i wasn't gonna post today but I'm currently writing another one of Buck and Taylor's arguments and I'm having so much fun lol (there's gonna be only one more conversation between them after this haha) I keep having new ideas for the in-between of what I had planned, and I hope all of this turns out coherent, I'm probably gonna have to do so much editing lol I'm so determined to post it this month and I'm actually inspired!

prev snippet

___

“I don’t know what to tell you.” he sighs, averting his gaze, as he’s trying to think about anything to say, but his mind is blank. 

“How about the truth? I really just want to know what the hell is going on with you. Because this-” she throws her hands out, vaguely gesturing around. “This isn’t a life together, and I don’t know how many more times we can have this exact same conversation.”

“Taylor…” he starts, hoping more words would come. “I’m sor-”

“Is there someone else?” she blurts out, angry tears welling in her eyes. He feels his own eyes widen in surprise, and his cheeks burn.

“What?”

“I mean, are you seeing someone else?” she doubles down, her tone a little shaky, but still determined. Suddenly, he feels his heart in his throat, and he has to make a conscious effort to breathe. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @buddieswhvre @dangerpronebuddie

[possibilistfanfiction]

for surgeons au.,, perhaps some hurt/comfort :,)

[hbd @gohandinhand. sorry but tbf... u asked for this lol (also so many of you asked for 'what if bea gets hurt' bc we all share one collective grey's anatomy-ass braincell // also on ao3]

//

‘dr. silva is still in the tumor resection?’

it’s only, like, your fifth week being a doctor, so there are so many things you don’t know all the time; you add dr. villaumbrosia asking this question to the list. still, she’s kind of the scariest person you’ve ever met in your life — unflappable and a little mean to everyone but her patients and their families, talented and whip-smart beyond belief, willing to take on the hardest cases — and so you answer anyway with a nod. you only know this because zaire promised he would come find you just after he’d finished with dr. silva — to celebrate at the bar down the street and hopefully more than that too — but you don’t add that; you don’t think dr. villaumbrosia would appreciate it all that much.

‘okay,’ she says, more shaken than you’ve ever seen her.

‘is something… did something go wrong, or?’

‘with ava’s surgery, no, i don’t think so.’ 

ava is new; you’re not embarrassed to admit that you and basically your whole intern class has been keeping track of who’s with whom amongst the attendings, so you know they’re all either dating or friends or some kind of family. still, dr. villaumbrosia never uses first names at work. 

‘there’s a trauma being flown in,’ she continues. ‘there was an avalanche, and dr. choi was skiing in the backcountry today. i don’t — i don’t know more details.’ she worries her hands for a moment. ‘she hasn’t answered her sat phone.’

‘oh,’ is the best you’ve got, disarmed by the obvious fear that lingers around every inch of her.

‘dr. silva can’t know, if she does come in. not until after he’s finished the hardest part of the procedure and can pass it off.’

not that you were going to be the one to randomly decide to go to dr. silva’s OR and say any of this, but you nod. ‘of course.’

‘i need you to go check on tai; she’s in daycare.’

‘uh, i don’t — i’ve never —‘

dr. villaumbrosia waves you off. ‘she’s cute. looks like choi, acts like silva.’ 

when you don’t respond immediately, dr. villaumbrosia just glares. ‘yeah, of course,’ you hurry to say.

‘and then i need you to go to the ER for the trauma. dr. masters already knows you’re coming; you’re going to see what’s going on and tell me and no one else. got it?’

‘yes, dr. villaumbrosia. will do.’

‘great.’

to be honest, you have no idea where the daycare even is, and this certainly isn’t what you went to a bazillion years of school for, but whatever. maybe this will get you on dr. villaumbrosia’s good side. 

‘and dr. al-najjar?’

you nod.

‘i know this seems ridiculous. but dr. choi is — she’s my favorite person. it’s important.’

you understand in your own way: you facetime your little brother every day, no matter how tired you are, no matter how late or early it is for you. ‘i’ll tell you everything as soon as i can.’

‘good.’

/

tai is, apparently, a fourteen month old, very cute toddler, who really does look like dr. choi. when you explain, very briefly, to one of the daycare teacher that dr. villaumbrosia sent you to see how she’s doing, make sure she’s okay, she nods and shows you over to an area of the room with soft mats and some wooden blocks. tai smiles at you, all baby teeth and big cheeks, and says mostly nonsense but a few words — blocks, doctor, mama — and then promptly knocks over her block tower with definite glee. 

you snap a nice, cute picture of tai smiling in her little giraffe hoodie and send it off to dr. villaumbrosia. you’ve never been a baby guy, and you’re certain she isn’t either, because there’s no way you could ever possibly choose her specialty if you were, but she loves the photo anyway — the first and only time she’ll ever respond to a text from you like that, you’re absolutely certain — and it makes you smile, just for a moment. when you wave goodbye to tai she laughs, and you hope, very concretely, that she goes home with both of her parents tonight, or soon, at least, that her family stays as full and happy and warm as it had been this morning.

/

you feel genuinely nervous and way too invested: you’ve met dr. choi in passing a handful of times, and she’d assisted on one of dr. villaumbrosia’s surgeries once that you’d gotten to hold a retractor for, but according to emma — the best gossip and also dr. choi’s favorite intern, allegedly — says that dr. choi is kind and quiet and a wonderful teacher, patient and skilled and efficient. you’d been looking forward to being on her service soon, honestly, and, even in the past few weeks, you’re starting to understand that the people here, that you spend so much time with, are starting to feel like family.

dr. masters nods at you, her braids already tucked away beneath a cap, trauma gown on. you’re on peds, so you don’t know if you’re really here to help with anything — dr. villaumbrosia wasn’t called down for any consults, still set for the routine bowel repair she’d been scheduled for this afternoon, so you’re fairly certain there weren’t any children coming in — but she gestures toward the gown and gloves anyway.

‘just in case we need more hands on deck,’ she says as way of explanation. ‘there’s four people, and we don’t really know the extent of their injuries.’

you nod — what else is there to say — and things are very, very still until dr. masters gets a page and then everything is moving — loudly, organized, seamless — and you’re in awe, for a moment, of dr. masters’ ER. you love trauma surgery and she’s, like, kind of the biggest badass in the country, and it’s pretty fucking cool to watch her very quickly get everyone exactly where they need to be in the amount of time it takes for her to walk to the elevator that leads up to the helipad.

the wind whips from the blades when the doors open, rainy and miserable, and your heart is caught in your throat when the door opens. you see dr. masters’ hands shake, although you’d never, ever mention it, locked behind her back in tight fists, until dr. choi’s face — a bruise along her jaw, a scrape that runs underneath her eye, all the way into her hair, the tip of her nose and the tips of her ears a painful red, probably from frostbite — comes into view.

dr. choi, strapped into a stretcher, covered in a blanket and hooked up to an IV, immediately starts talking, before the stretcher is even fully out of the helicopter. ‘the three coming out,’ she starts, ‘i dug them out as much as i could. i did an emergency thoracostomy on david, you need to push a ton of antibiotics. anna needs to go to the OR immediately for her pelvis, make sure cam —‘

‘—beatrice,’ dr. masters says, rushing to her side and, if you were to bet, wanting to sink to her knees in relief. ‘oh my god.’

‘i’m fine,’ dr. choi says, annoyed at being made to stay on the stretcher. ‘i properly deployed my avalanche airbag. but mary, listen —‘

dr. masters holds dr. choi’s face in her hands and then kisses the top of dr. choi’s head. it’s tender, and you wonder how long they’ve known each other to afford that level of intimacy, that level of care. ‘i got them, bea. i promise. we gotta take care of you too or ava will kill me.’

dr. choi relaxes, just minutely, but you can tell — maybe because you would trust dr. masters with your life or anyone else’s, maybe at the mention of dr. silva, maybe some combination of both — and she nods.

dr. masters rolls her eyes and kisses the top of dr. choi’s head once more. ‘stupid hero. let me go make all your hard work worthwhile.’

dr. choi smiles, definitely reassured now. ‘you better.’

/

you’re not surprised, exactly, that chief superion is waiting to take over dr. choi’s care, but you are a little surprised when dr. superion squeezes her shoulder gently and smiles, a little sad. 

‘ava is still in surgery, so let’s get the worst of it taken care of before she’s done, yes?’

dr. choi nods, growing more exhausted by the minute. which is fair, you think, as she tells dr. superion — and you, because you’re stuck in this room until you have a real report for dr. villaumbrosia beyond the text you’d sent that just said Dr. Choi is talking and moving, no head or neck injuries — about how the avalanche airbag had worked, even if it was frightening; about how her transceiver, according to SAR, had helped them get there faster than they would have otherwise.  

‘ava always teased me about how expensive the gear was, but look who’s laughing now.’

‘well, to be fair,’ dr. superion says, looking at dr. choi’s x-rays, ‘i don’t think either of you are laughing.’ 

‘oh, yikes,’ dr. choi says, looking at the films too. she’s on a fair amount of pain medicine at this point, but she’s right: there’s a few nasty fractures along the bones in her left wrist. but, other than those and a few cracked ribs and some mild frostbite on her nose, ears, and the tips of her fingers, it seems like it’s just cuts and bruises: nothing she won’t heal from, and far better off than the others who came in with her.

‘i, uh — sorry,’ you say, feeling like you’re interrupting, but they both just shake their heads, waving off your apology. ‘dr. villaumbrosia sent me to see if you’re okay, and i’m supposed to go talk to her once i know. which, i guess i know now.’ not your best work, and in front of the chief, but oh well.

dr. choi smiles fondly. ‘thank you for telling me. i’ll never let lilith forget it.’ 

dr. superion doesn’t smile, but it seems like she wants to. ‘go ahead, dr. al-najjar. you can tell her that we’re admitting dr. choi to ortho; dr. alvarez will operate tomorrow, once the swelling has gone down.’

‘and tell lilith i love her too.’

‘i — uh—‘

dr. superion laughs. ‘go, dr. al-najjar.’

/

you’ve just finished your report to dr. villaumbrosia — in the middle of a surgery, but it’s clear her shoulders relax immediately, continuing to operate smoothly — when dr. silva flings open the door of the OR.

‘hello ava,’ dr. villaumbrosia says, not even looking up from the stitch she’s putting in. ‘she’s okay.’

dr. silva, breathing so hard her mask is getting sucked into her mouth and nose, doubles over, her hands on her knees. ‘i gotta do more cardio, oh my god,’ he mumbles, then takes a deep breath and stands. ‘you’re sure?’

‘yes,’ dr. villaumbrosia, ‘i had dr. al-najjar make sure personally. he also checked on tai; she’s doing great.’

‘very cute,’ you say and then debate just quitting residency here altogether, but dr. silva smiles at you.

‘thanks man,’ she says. ‘sorry you missed this surgery.’

‘the bowel was perforated,’ dr. villaumbrosia says. ‘it was quite disgusting, to be honest.’

‘well then,’ dr. silva says, ‘hey, you’re welcome! you got to see my adorable kid and my sexy wife. who, as lovely as your company always is, lil, i’m gonna go see now.’

‘she deployed that avalanche airbag, dug three other people out, and did a field chest tube by the time SAR got there.’ 

‘hot.’

‘insane, actually,’ dr. villaumbrosia says. ‘but give her my love.’

/

two days later you’re back on shift — after drinks and truly, genuinely great sex with zaire that still ended up happening despite everything, god bless — and you swing by ortho before you go up to peds. you’re not friends with dr. choi or dr. silva, but you do want to see how things are going anyway. your mom always says it’s better to be kinder than necessary, and you’re starting to believe it.

they’re an adorable family, you think, tai showing dr. choi her lion stuffy and babbling excitedly, sitting on the hospital bed between her legs, turning every now and then toward dr. silva in a chair by her bedside. dr. choi, her arm in a brace and a sling, looks pretty good overall: her eyes seem clear, the bruises along her jaw are already starting to turn green and yellow, a great sign of healing, and the redness on her nose and ears has lessened considerably. 

also, she’s sitting up and talking animatedly, clearly happy with her daughter and her wife there. from her chart — you looked it up in the system before you came, whatever — you’re pretty sure she’s going to get to go home today, which you suspect is what the small duffle bag by dr. silva’s feet is for. 

‘all i’m saying,’ you hear from dr. silva, ’is that your nose could’ve fallen off.’

‘ava,’ dr. choi says, exasperated and laughing.

dr. silva sits back and pouts, exaggerating with crossed arms. 

‘i will be more careful,’ dr. choi concedes, but it doesn’t feel much like a concession the way she smiles at tai and then runs a gentle hand over her wispy hair. emma — who is an incredible gossip but you’re starting to think she also just has a giant crush — had told you and zaire that dr. choi is, like, an experienced outdoors person with certifications in all kinds of different safety courses and activities; you know she and dr. villaumbrosia have done stints with MSF together too. 

‘good,’ dr. silva says. ‘because lord knows i cannot raise tai by myself.’

dr. choi frowns, then offers her good hand to dr. silva, who scoots closer and takes it with a kiss to her scraped knuckles. 

‘plus, while i would deal, obviously, you’d probably be less hot if your nose fell off.’

‘“probably”?’

dr. silva shrugs. ‘i love you.’

‘i love you too.’

‘would you still love me if my nose fell off?’

‘ava.’

/

‘good morning, dr. al-najjar,’ dr. choi says when you knock lightly on the open door of her office. it’s impeccably neat, a few pictures of dr. silva and tai on her desk. she’s wearing the brace on her wrist still but no sling; her bruises and frostbite have faded. in her scrubs and white coat and clogs, a fresh buzzcut and a cup of coffee in her good hand, she looks exactly the surgeon you’ve looked forward to working with. 

‘good morning, dr. choi. welcome back.’

she smiles and closes her office door, starts leading you down the hall. ‘thank you. and, apologizes in advance that you won’t have any surgeries with me for the next two weeks until i’m officially cleared.’ she rolls her eyes. 

‘that’s okay,’ you say. ‘more sleep, honestly.’

‘true. and,’ she says, opening a door to the most incredible, brand new lab you’ve ever seen, ‘i can promise that the research we’ll get to work on will be worth it.’

‘i always thought i would go into trauma,’ you tell her, ‘but i think i just fell in love.’

she grins. ‘the heart wants what it wants.’

you pause a moment but then you can’t help yourself: you laugh.

‘in that case,’ she says, ‘let me show you around, and let’s get to work.’

[aziraphales-library]

Thank for you this amazing blog!!

I’m looking for a fic I read a while ago and it was about a witch putting a spell on Aziraphale so that everyone falls in love with him after he helped her with her love life. Crowley tries to say that it’s not affecting him bcos he’s a demon but I think Hastur (?) shows up and acts all in love, basically blowing Crowley’s cover. They spend most the fic trying to find out how to fix it.

Thank you <3

I think you're looking for...

Put Out The Fire by Aleakim (T)

Aziraphale finds himself in a very awkward position as some sort of spell makes everyone merely glancing in his direction instantly fall deeply and desperately in love with him. Absolutely everyone. Well, apart from Crowley, that is. And while both angel and demon search for a solution to this fairly unique problem, Crowley can’t help wondering whether Aziraphale might finally figure out some things he kept hidden for so very long.

- Mod D

[wannaeatramyeon]

Vin Jin x Reader: Studying

Vin helps you to study. Shocking.

Music Theory.

The bane of your existence. You hate this goddamn module. You hate there's an exam coming up accounting for 30% of your overall grade. You hate it with every fiber of your being.

Ugh.

"What's this bullshit?" Vin leans over your right shoulder, face just inches from yours, bluelight from the laptop screen reflecting off his sunglasses.

"Bull. Shit." you respond, punctuating each syllable with contempt.

You study his profile, the angle of his sharp jawline, the way his lips slightly parts when concentrating. Listening to his soft breaths, the pattern of his easy inhales and exhales; a brief moment of peace from your academic headaches.

After a beat, he turns towards you with a patronising grin. Your eyes flicker again to his lips.

"Dumbass. You don't get tonal harmony? It's easy as shit."

Vin's grin doesn't fade when you glower at him, though he does pull up a chair.

With his arm around you, he fills the rest of your night with his voice. Talking to you about tonal centres and dominant functions until your head swims.

In the early hours of the morning, with Vin still by your side, it sinks in. You didn't think he had the patience.

.

.

You both fall into a rhythm.

Vin seeks you out most evenings, where you're sitting in the library with your head in your hands, hair looking further frazzled as the exam date creeps closer, the bags becoming more pronounced under your eyes.

He mocks you for your stupidity, "It's simple, dipshit." Laughs at your idiocy when he repeats something for the third time, chest puffing with pride at how easily he gets this, how music just comes naturally to him, he doesn't need to study. Competitive streak never giving up even where you are concerned.

And when finally, it clicks, he makes fun of your appearance instead.

"You look like shit," he deadpans. "Duke Pyeon, is that you?"

Vin, as always, is merciless and relentless; taking far too much enjoyment from his barbed snipes.

But he feels the ripples beneath the surface, under his own persona he has carefully curated over the years.

Without fail, he brings you snacks and drinks, moaning about you wasting his time and money. You didn't even ask.

Notices your exasperated movements when he scrolls through notifications and messages, and his attention should be elsewhere. He pockets his phone with a put-upon sigh, as if he wasn't waiting for his next cue.

Ruffles your hair roughly after you correctly answer a question, making it look uncannily like a bird's nest. Yet his pulse staccatos when you peer up at him with an annoyed expression.

Leans closer under the guise of reading what's on the screen, until his body is touching yours and he can feel the quickening of your heartbeat.

The tempo of his matches yours.

.

.

After the exam, you sprint out of the hall, relishing your freedom.

Under a gingko tree, Vin waits for you, though he will deny this to the end.

He brags about how the top marks are his, there's no way he didn't get 100%, maybe even 101%. Because he's just that good.

And you can't help but agree. He really is that good.

He calls you stupid, and would be surprised if you pass.

Vin's words are cutting except his blades are blunt. The insult lands on deaf ears and bounces off, never intending to hurt in the first place.

Then he changes tact, and instead if you do pass then it's all because of him. That you owe him one, he's very in-demand he'll have you know, he's wasted so much time with you, you better show how grateful you are-

You feelings reach a crescendo.

His mouth runs, but your heart sprints and you can't take it any more.

Up on your tiptoes, bodies lightly grazing, you press your lips to his.

Behind his sunglasses, Vin stares at you in shock and his body freezes.

There's a racing pulse but it's impossible to tell whether it belongs to you or him.

Just as you begin to regret your decision and pull away, breaking the connection-

Vin's arms snake around your waist, holding you tightly chest-to-chest and continuing where you left off.

You kiss again and it's a symphony.