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msjarvis · 1 year ago

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He can’t remember the last time someone had managed to slide around his walls—bypass his common sense and begin weaving themselves into him. Javi also can't remember the last time he wanted something more than a win. Then came you.

Just... 🥹

The way they cannot function well without the other, Javi's frustration (poor shed 😆), Chucho being supportive, the yearning, that red string that connects the both of them, the pink shirt, her giving him crossword clues and everything in between...

Just... 🥹

I'm still watering the goldfish (😭) but it's ok.... 😂

Thank you, Jo... You wonderful, amazing, talented, awesome, incredible you.. ✨💖✨

x. oh, just to be with you

javier peña x f!reader | chapter ten of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: we're back to texts and phone calls. sorrowful!javi, two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. pls don't be mad at me ✨ wordcount: 3k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

He's aware of everything.

How the porch creaks when he steps on it, the way the back door doesn’t quite meet the frame unless it’s locked. How the wind is knocking something else, far across the tall grass and fence posts.

Right now, his focus is on how his curtains don’t quite close. That they're letting the thinnest crack of moonlight cascade through his room. How the smallest luminescent slither keeps dancing in the breeze, yet it still lands perfectly on the propped-up photo strip on his dresser, highlighting the two of you, as though he hadn't committed them to memory.

Then came you.

Not that he complains that you're the exception. He'll never complain when it comes to you.

Having people close has never been his issue. It’s letting himself fall that he’s forever found hard. He can be a lover who makes a night all about the other; he can be a protector, shielding and doing what is needed.

It’s the parts after when he feels he clams up. A portion of him constantly weighing up risks, calculating the damage he could cause—either by a choice he could make or others—long before the city that housed Escobar.

Javi knew his reluctance had stemmed from before he left Laredo, but it was now carved somewhere deeper in him. Something you managed to find with relative ease and cut out of him as if it was nothing.

All smiles. All radiance and fucking beauty, with a laugh that could make his lips curl even if his bones are aching and his muscles are tired.

If he closes his eyes, he can almost convince himself that he’s back there, in the hotel room. Because even if you’d never been here, your room is full of him.

His bag of spilt-out clothes from your time together, slowly letting the scent of your perfume seep out across the room. Your jacket, hung on the closet handle, and the photos and sign you made on his dresser, all perfectly in sight.

you have nice handwriting I did try my best, sometimes I get lazy and letters blur together more. I like how you wrote baby Does this mean I’ve got the whole set now? Cause you like how I say it, how I write it, how I mouth it.

Even when he had known you’d needed to get some sleep, Javi had desperately wanted to beg you to stay up. Sending back a text here or there, already missing you so much more than he was sure he could handle.

He felt lovesick. Like the singer in all those songs that make people either stare at a loved one or bite back tears because they lost theirs. Suddenly relating to a sea of them he’s heard on the radio in the kitchen or hummed in the back of his pop’s throat.

Javi had been happy to see his pops, somewhat surprised he even came out of the house to greet him. But, as soon as his eyes landed on him, he became suddenly more aware of his old man’s age. Noticing the lines on his face, the ones that tell a thousand stories—not all of them he’s sure he’s heard. Curling into the hug he’d barely reciprocated before, unsure how to form the words to thank him for convincing him to go.

Naturally, he asks about you.

It’s more of an interrogation if he’s honest. He shows the photos, the ones now on his dresser, watching his pop smile as he continues to answer the array of questions, until he yawns for the tenth time in the space of five minutes.

“You should get some sleep, Pop.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Javi. Tell me more about your lady.”

Your lady.

Those two words stand out as if they’ve been illuminated in bulbs, twinkling and shimmering.

now youre back in reality you sure about us Never been more sure about anything, baby. just wanted to check You’re beginning to sound like me, worrying. left a mark on me Think that’s fair, you’ve left a lot on me too. Especially my chest.

“Tomorrow. Promise. The drive took it out of me.”

But Javi isn’t tired.

Somehow, he had suspected he wouldn’t be the moment he watched you leave.

For longer than he cares to number, he's struggled with it. Had developed an unhealthy live-able balance of it when he was working, something he managed to keep as a prize in his return.

Now, it’s different.

There’s an edge to it. As though he's now having to pay back the stolen sleep he enjoyed when he had been lay with you. When he slept with ease and not struggle. Leaving him feeling now like he’s in a lull, a dream. All aware, not in a daze anymore, noticing things he had never given much attention to before his trip out of town.

You had been so warm, so soft. His fingers gliding up and down your side, soothing you as much as it was him. But, you slept with ease. Falling almost instantly once you'd stopped talking, a little jolt and a soft sigh punctuating it.

Fuck, he misses you.

Thumb and index pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched shut. Unsure how he's supposed to manage, and cope, until the next chance he gets to see you.

Till he gets to hold you in his arms, stare at your smile as it grows across your face or feels the light tap of your hand when he’s teasing you...

Something ugly curls inside of him. At first, soaked in sadness, before it shakes itself and burns bright with annoyance. Irritation. Anger at how unfair it all is.

How is it, after all, he’s given up—he’s fallen for the one person not even in his state? A person he had to say goodbye to hours ago, for reasons out of his or their control.

He almost snorts, unsure if it’s due to the tiredness or the reality that after all he’s faced, life would continue to be cruel and deal him such a hand. Tempted to get up, kick off the sheets and pull out the crossword from before he left town.

Javi doesn't. Instead, he closes his eyes, shaking his head—to no one but himself. Because he can't do them without you now. A promise, one given with ease.

He hears the whisper of the wind, the rustle of the trees. Something needling at him that if he wasn't so broken, this would be the perfect amount of quiet to fall asleep to.

Now, it's not the loud of a Colombian city he misses now. It's how your leg slides over his, how your breaths feel on his chest—how you twitch, ever so slightly, as you first fall asleep.

But, it’s the quiet as to why he hears his phone vibrate, practically darting out of bed, knowing it can only be you.

why aren’t you asleep?

Because I can't sleep without you. Apparently.

I miss you too.

I really hate this. I even miss you digging your knee into my hip.

told you that you’d miss it once it was gone

I feel like telling you that you’re right will mean your head will inflate.

youre right

One day, right?

if I could make that tomorrow I would

You really missing me that much?

not enough words in the world to describe how much, baby

Gonna make me cry.

dont cry I can’t wipe them from here

So not wise for me to tell you I cried the entire flight home.

did the person you sit next to seem to mind

They didn’t say anything until we landed. Then promptly told me that I deserved better.

so they thought you were broken up with

I think I may have led her to believe that from the amount I was crying.

fuck you like me a lot

I like you a regular, normal amount.

I don’t think I like you a normal regular amount

That’s the tiredness talking.

you know it isnt

I feel the same. I really miss you.

I miss you too but you should try to sleep you have work tomorrow

Okay, but so do you!

ill be fixing a shed or a pen baby you have to deal with people

go to sleep and then tomorrow we can call as planned

You’d told him that you suspected the first day would be the hardest.

Not the goodbye (and that had been fucking painful) but the following day when they were apart.

Javi hates that you’re right.

It twists inside of him how much he loathes it—grateful that he gets to push some of his anger into repairing the side of the shed. Hammer meeting nail, again and again. Each time with more fury than is needed, only worrying after whether he’s done more damage to the shed post than pre.

"Mijo."

He doesn't find a judgemental look, but one filled with sympathy.

His pop not quizzing him, just handing him a beer. A cold one, droplets descending down the can, sliding across his palm and down his wrist—attempting to soothe the boiling blood in his veins.

“It’ll get easier.” His pop tugs his hat down, shielding his eyes, before staring off into the distance. “When me and your mama first began, we couldn’t see each other all the time either.”

Letting out a sigh, Javi grinds his teeth. A sea of biting comments lathered on his tongue, all set to pounce, to poison.

Instead, he kicks the ground, swallowing most of them back. “She wasn’t hundreds of miles away, though.”

“No,” his Pop says, clapping his hand on his back—both for comfort and likely stability. “But we didn’t have landlines, or tha' other thing you do on y’phone. The tapping."

The tapping.

He doesn't snort, even if it sits at the back of his throat. Burying it in the liquid that slides down his throat with ease.

"Come on, ‘need to head into town, and my truck is acting up.”

Javi doesn’t question it, why he’s the one sliding into the passenger seat of his own truck.

If he’d thought about it, he’d have asked why the truck was acting up or why Pop was driving instead of him. But he doesn’t—didn’t. Just let it happen, staring off as the shades of grass pass him by, fingers playing with the cap on the can, twisting and twisting it.

To fill the silence, he rolls the edges of the can around in his hands. Crunching the sides every now and again, making him wince from the noise.

Then, he finds himself staring at the fingerprints left in the dust from you touching his dash—eyes catching sight of a hair grip on the floor near his boot.

He’s rolling it in his fingers when they’re back on the road, silence smothering them until he watches his pop turn on the radio. As soon as it springs to life, it becomes desperate to try and cut through it. The broadcaster mumbles about heavy rain and increased traffic, but he’s lost in a sorrow of sadness all cast by the spell of a good week to care. The fog around him making it hard to see the wood through the trees, never mind the hope through the misery.

“Dios mio. More trucks passing through now since the bridge opened. Y’noticed, mijo? So many.”

“Hmm.”

Eyes fixed on the grip, the one more worn on one side than the other—imagining your face, the night when he’d watched you take them out, face fresh, one of his tees on your frame.

Then, because the world isn’t cruel enough, the song changes. The radio playing a game with him now, as well as everything else, as he lifts his head, trying to focus on the road. Hearing the soft thud of his pop’s fingers on the steering wheel, his jaw tightened as the lyrics washed over him. Faintly hearing you humming along with the chorus.

Because he heard the song in the diner with you.

Heard it on the radio one afternoon, then again in the bowling alley—how it wrapped its tune around the two of you.

“Heard our song today,” he says, fingers massaging his temple.

He's thankful his pop said he had plans, the quietness settling over the rest of the ranch.

Before he met you, he dreaded the nights he was left alone. His thoughts gearing up, ready to pounce. The minor differences he could have made if he took a step back and stared at the facts, how he should have noticed how deep the corruption was—how much Colombia was taking from him, bit by bit.

Now, he tries not to grin when his pop says he’s going out.

When he’s left alone, allowed full reign to talk as loud as he wants to you—rather than being huddled near the phone, whispering like a teenager.

“Our song?”

“Yeah.”

Javi can practically hear you smirk. “And how does that go, charmer?”

He’s not a singer. Not by a long shot, but he does his best. Humming the tune at first, softly singing the words from the chorus until he trails off.

You snort, before you try to muffle it in a cough.

“You tricked me.”

“Maybe. But, just because I wanted to hear you sing.”

Smirking, he pulls the phone from his ear—shaking his head—before replacing it back to hear you add:

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Fuck you, baby.”

Your laugh rips from you, hurtling down the phone right to his soul—making fireworks explode in his chest and warmth kiss his nerves.

Because now he can imagine what you look like. Likely head thrown back, eyes closed—nose scrunched a little as your hands grip onto something for leverage.

And it was beautiful. You’re beautiful—your laugh and your smile. Something he feels he should have said long before now. He’s about to rectify that, when he hears it merge into a sniffle—veering into tears and half-suppressed swallows before a noticeable little sob breaks through—as his throat dries instantly, closing.

Turning, he places his palm on the fall as he tries to keep his chest from tightening. The knot in his chest, the one he suspects is tied to you in some way, constricts, pulling taught around his lungs.

“I—I miss….”

You sniffle again, louder. “I've been looking forward to this all day,” you whisper, voice catching, words struggling to fall as sweetly as they usually do. “But, is it bad for me to say that phone calls aren’t the same now I’ve had the chance to be with you in person?”

Leaning his forehead against the kitchen wall, Javi wipes his chin. “Took the words outta my mouth, baby.”

He hears you chuckle, almost both heavily and heavenly, before you ask about his day.

He rambles because it’s easy too. You listen, lapping up every single thing. Hearing about his trip to town, his pop making jokes—trying, desperately, to crack through the mist that had descended.

“How was yours?”

Then you sigh, all tight. You tell him about Aish and her interview, before your voice softens as you begin whispering about the prep you’re doing for your interview. He’s about to comfort you, when you continue about the asshole you work alongside has been taken out for lunch by your boss and that you snagged your favourite pair of tights on a desk.

“But, enough about that—guess what I’m wearing?”

Smiling, he bites down on his knuckle, Javi lifting his head, groaning as he tries to think. “All of your clothes at once? Anything else might short-circuit my brain.”

“Won’t tell you then.”

“No. Please. Tell me, baby.”

He hears you move, and is almost sure he can hear you swallow. “You realise that you’re missing something, Javier?”

Fuck, the way you say his name. How it drips from your tongue. Laced in lust and swirling down the phone line to his brain.

He quickly tries to think of his washing, the piles he made—the attempted sorting. And it hits him. His eyes widened, head half-lifting, feeling his eye twitch.

“Fuck—“

“Yes. I’m sat in that. And underwear, of course.”

“Hermosa…”

His throat is dry, painfully so. Mind arranging an image of you from the days he spent with you. And fuck.

“Wasn’t sure this shade of pink was my colour, but I was wrong.”

Jutting his jaw, he closes his eyes—picturing the sight of you. The underwear he’d had the chance to peel off of you, the way it set against your skin—now, accompanied by his shirt on your arms. The buttons are likely undone, showing off more skin than he can currently process thinking about.

“It’s nice on my skin,” you whisper, all honeyed. “Be better on my floor.”

Clenching his fist, he bites his lip. “Baby…”

“Maybe I’ll show you one day.”

Snorting, he traces his teeth with his tongue. “You better. Now, tell me about the underwear.”

“Only if you can answer six across. Clue: now.”

Mouth parting, his jaw rolls to the side, eyes picking a spot on the wall. Thinking. And thinking.

“Want an extra clue?”

“An extra? You're spoiling me.”

He hears you giggle, low and in your throat. “It’s an Italian word. And, ‘I want to see you… blank—“

His eyes flick up, a smile spreading. “Pronto.”

“Correct,” you reply. “Seven words, silenced. You did this to me when you had your mouth on my—“

“Shushed,” he says quickly, fist clenching, trying to stare at the mark on the wall again, and not let the image of you populate in his head.

“You okay, baby?”

Gritting his teeth, he sighs. “You’re devious, you know that?”

“I think it’s your shirt. It’s making me… flirty.”

Grinning, he turns on the spot, back against the wall—head tilting up, eyes closing. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too….” your tone softer, frayed at the edges. “I’m kinda glad I stole your shirt.”

“Me too. Means I get to see you to steal it back from you.”

“Off me.”

It comes out quickly—purposefully chosen, spilt.

Frowning, he opens his eyes. “What?”

“Off me. You’ll have to steal it from my body.”

Grasping the phone, breathing through his nose, letting out a murmured, “Fuck, baby,” under his breath.

AN: for all those wondering if they'll be together in person again, they will. i am a happily-ever-after kind of writer unless otherwise stated. but it was so important to me that they had a magical week, and then returned to their lives.

#mvtthewmurdvck #javier peña x reader #late night texts series #fanfic writer appreciation post #if I keep watering the goldfish I will need to buy a elfin' aquarium #but it will be worth it #damn the talent of this girl amazes me

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whatispersonalspacejyp · 1 month ago

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Elfin

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Word count: 666

Summary: Chan enjoying his time with his short partner

Warnings: lots of fluff, protective Chan

Request: yes

Original Date: 11 October 2020

You wanted to make breakfast for your boyfriend and his group mates. You woke up pretty early and got out of your boyfriend's arms, who was still snoring.

You giggled at the sight and sneaked out of the room. Once in the kitchen, you realized that you couldn't reach the upper shelves where they put most of their ingredients.

You grab one of the chairs and pulled it into the kitchen, trying to make as little sound as possible.

You climbed on the chair and onto the counter so you can see everything clearly.

Chan had woken up, feeling slightly cold as you weren’t in his arms anymore. He got out of bed and went on a search for you. He found you on the counter and he quickly walked to you and hold your waist so you wouldn’t fall.

You got scared when suddenly two hands hold you, look behind you, and saw Chan, you smiled at him.

“Goodmorning! I wanted to make breakfast for you and the others.” Chan smiled and he helps you down as you got what you needed.

“I’ll help,” Chan said cheerily as he grabbed the last few ingredients and practically watched you cook. More and more boys woke up and smiled when they walked into the kitchen area as it smiled amazing.

Once you look at the table you smiled, everybody was already sitting there, including Chan. You walked with the food to the table and made sure everyone got something. Chan pulls you onto his lap with a smile. He put his chin on your head as you cuddled into him, Chan feeds you once in the while and all the boys seemed to smile.

You looked at Chan, already on your tiptoes and head up, ready to give him a kiss but Chan just laughed.

“Aren’t you the cutest! Can’t even reach me for a kiss, you can ask you know!” Chan giggles, leaning down slightly so you could give him a kiss, but you refused.

“Just because I’m short doesn’t mean I’m cute!” You said while pouting.

“Sure baby, whatever makes you sleep at night,” Chan said still giggling at you for it. Hyunjin was standing next to you and used you as his thing to lean on, making you growl at him.

“I’m not a pole or anything you can lean on Hwang Hyunjin!” You screamed, scaring Hyunjin in the process. They were having a break at the moment from filming their music video for back door.

You were their make-up artist, but being Chan’s partner was a full job already. Always making sure the boy was eating and sleeping when he needed too, and also making sure he wouldn’t stay at the company for too long.

That was even the reason why you moved in the boys.

Chan was staring at you as you wore his shirt, it was like a dress on you. You two were on a date in the dorms, as it was raining outside. You had most of the space claimed on the bed and it made him smile.

That such a small person could take such a big space still amazes him, but he felt lucky to have you as his small spoon in his arms and kisses your head.

“Baby? I love you. I love you for who you are and I love your height. I know me and the boys joke about it or send you memes, but we mean no harm with it.” Chan had told you this many times and it always made you smile, you knew he or the boys never want to hurt to like that.

“I know, I guess my height does have amazing up to it! It leads me to have an amazing shining knight who protects me and holds me. But please next time to not walk that fast. I have short legs, I can’t keep up.” This made you both laugh and cuddle as you watched the movie further.

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fictionadventurer · 1 year ago

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When Emma stepped through the shining door in her palace's library, there was a blaze of light, a roar of wind, and then she landed on her hands and knees on the wooden floor of a suburban bedroom. She recognized the horse pictures on the wall, the stuffed animals on the bed, the yellow curtains fluttering in the window. She was smaller, thinner, lighter, and felt as though a world's weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

A woman's face appeared in the open doorway; every curl of her short hairstyle was familiar. "There you are, Emma!" she said cheerfully. "I've got your dressed washed for church tomorrow. Now come on downstairs. It's almost time for supper."

Behind Emma, the doorway had become an ordinary closet, cluttered with clothes and toys. The clock read twenty minutes past five. She'd been away only ten minutes.

A moment ago, she'd been the powerful queen of a vast realm whose rule had brought a golden age of prosperity and peace. Now she was twelve years old again, in her familiar old bedroom, safe with a mother that she hadn't seen in thirty years.

Emma wept for joy.

Emma's bookshelf contained one new volume--an exquisitely-bound brown leather book, with a tooled and embossed cover, containing a beautifully illustrated account of all the tales of Emma's reign. Her cousin Tessa--as good as a sister--was enchanted by it, and believed Emma without question when she told her that the stories were true.

"Don't you miss it?" Tessa asked, one night a few months after her return.

"Sometimes," Emma said. "But I'm glad to be home."

"You like it here?"

"Why not? We have chocolate here. And giraffes. And shooting stars. Our world is just as amazing as Athelor."

"In Athelor, you were a queen."

"Here, I'm not," Emma said. "Do you know how nice it is to wake up in the morning and do things that don't affect the fate of an entire nation?"

"But isn't it disappointing? In Athelor, you knew you were important."

"Who says I'm not important now?"

Emma told her mom about Athelor often. Mom thought Emma was just making up wonderful stories.

That was all right. Because the stories were wonderful.

After school, sometimes Mom would take Emma out for pizza. Emma would climb into a carriage that moved with a heart of fire, to a room bathed in enough light to make the night as bright as day, where she ate the cuisine of a far-off realm, and then rode home singing along with minstrels whose voices had been captured long ago and far away.

Emma always marveled that she lived in a world with such magic.

Emma grew. And matured. It came with different milestones here, and happened slower, but it had its share of struggles.

On nights when she felt small, helpless and afraid, she remembered that she'd once led a host of warriors--human, animal, and elfin--into battle with a horde of monsters and come out victorious.

She might not be in Athelor, but she was still a queen.

She could fill out a college application.

Emma was leaving the campus library with an armload of books when a sparrow spoke to her from a branch above her head. Emma looked up and saw at once it was an Athelorian sparrow.

"Iprit!" Emma cried. The sparrow had been the most devoted of the queen's messengers. "How glad I am to see you!"

"My queen," Iprit said, bowing her head. "I have found you at last."

"Is Athelor in danger?" Emma asked, suddenly fearful.

"She is well and at peace. Berna rules well in your stead."

"As I knew she would," Emma said with a smile. Emma had spent years choosing her successor. Her elfin advisor, though young, was bright and brave and loved Athelor with all her heart.

"But she rules as regent only. She would not take the crown until she knew what had become of you."

"Now you see that I am well," Emma said. "Alive and well and happy."

"Will you not come home to us, my queen?" Iprit asked. "The door stands open to you. Take up the crown and rule your people once more."

For a moment, Emma's heart yearned for it. Athelor called to her, a bright, beautiful dream, a wondrous adventure.

A gust of wind swirled in the branches over her head, sending a crimson shower of leaves down upon her. She gazed out across the campus, at a world she loved. She thought of her mother, Tessa, her classmates, her studies, her friendships, and the future she was building here.

Where was her duty? Here or Athelor?

Another wind came, gentle yet brisk, and Emma knew it for the wind that had taken her to Athelor and brought her home. It lifted her spirits and cleared her mind so she could hear the voice that had never led her wrong in her years as queen.

Emma met Iprit's gaze. "Berna may take up the crown with my blessing. I have done what I must for Athelor. Another world needs me now."

Iprit bowed in a bird-like way, spreading out one wing. "As you wish, my queen. But what shall I tell the scribes? How ends the reign of Queen Emma the Wise?"

"As all good stories should," Emma said. She shifted her voice into the melodic cadence of the best of the palace storytellers. "After many years of good and faithful service, the queen found her way home, where she lived happily all the rest of her days."

#adventures in writing #anyway i'm still annoyed that all portal fantasy takes seem to assume the kids hate coming back to our world #and/or have families that assume they're insane #i just wanted one kid who could see the good sides of both worlds #so this happened #i considered making it a bullet point list but realized i could turn it into a flash-fictiony thing with only a little more work

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garmrheim · 22 days ago

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🎄Santaphale Au collection🎄

Hello! ive had this in my draft forever now and its DUE TIME to make this and post it since ive gotten questions about the au and while i make art theres amazing other creators that has helped built it up in the sandbox and while i make art theres (as of now) three fics from the same universe posted on Ao3 that follows Aziraphale and Crowley in different points in their life. ------

For those that are wondering- the short introduction to it is that the Santaphale universe began over on discord with a handfull of friends that banded together to spin up an elaborate and extensive story featuring Crowley (she/they) around her late 30s in the beginning of the story and down the line she stops aging around her late 40s/early 50s and becomes immortal along with Aziraphale (he/him) , who (looks to be) around 50. He is of half human/elfin nature that makes him a cryptid of his own right with the power he weilds as The Spirit of Hope Through Darkness, Guardian of Childhood Wishes, the God of Winter Gifts, king of the northern elves, also called Sinterklaas or Santa Clause (Thank you salt for that perfect row of titles ) They met on a Christmas night when Aziraphale visits Crowley’s home while delivering presents and after a passionate night, departs after giving her a silver bell with summoning magic to ring if she wants to see him again. Crowley goes to bed, then wakes up thinking it was all a dream til she meets a familiar face a few months later and cue a lovely romance! They later come to live in the North Pole for the second half of every year, and eventually they end up having a small bunch kids that they love and adore and the art and fic follows this entire journey and so much more.

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This will be updated if and when new stuff is added just because i like having it all in one place and id like if you that are introduced to the au with my art has a way to get more! as of right now (december 2024) theres 3 fics published that belongs to this au and i will post their links and information below! i can highly recommend it as they are made by two of the most talented people i know and dear friends that im so happy to share this Santaphale sandbox with along with all the pals in our server hello! i adore you too! Any art that relates to Santaphale that ive done can be found on Bluesky now since i moved completely from twitter. its over on my Family oriented acc called VanadisHeim (that IS 18+ because theres also adult content there) the occasional Santaphale can also be found on my main account called GarmrHeim and any additional art made by my fellow cocreators that is published will also be added here! ✨ Have fun and enjoy! 🎄✨

''Silver bells'' @vaguely-demonic (Vaguelydemonic on Ao3) silver bells (5938 words) by vaguelydemonic Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magic, First Meetings, Crush at First Sight, She/Her and They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) as Santa Claus, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Santa Kink, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation, Coming Untouched, Coming In Pants, Mildly Dubious Consent, (previous tag clarified in author's note!), Crowley is vision impaired, Oral Sex, Christmas Smut Summary: It was Christmastime in the city and Mx. Antonia J. Crowley had resigned herself to yet another Christmas spent alone. Like everyone else, all she wanted was to live in a fairy tale world where she could just have her deepest desire purely because she wanted it: a nice big house somewhere quiet and far from the city, a partner to live out her days with, a happy family that loved her as much as she loved them. She'd come to the conclusion many, many failed relationships ago that what she wanted simply wasn't in the cards for her. Instead, her Christmas plans would once again be her, her ragged tabletop tree with a single ornament, and a bottle of wine to help her find sleep… Until there arose such a clatter and Crowley stirred from the sofa to see what was the matter. With a welcome so calm, collected, and pleasant, Crowley finds someone there in her living room, seeking to deliver a present. ------------------------------------------------- '' A Gift to us both '' @definitionsfading (Blackeyedblonde on ao3)

a gift to us both (7376 words) by blackeyedblonde Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magic, Christmas, Aziraphale (Good Omens) as Santa Claus, Christmas Smut, Established Relationship, Developing Relationship, Domestic, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Age Difference, Romance, Kissing, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Breeding, Impregnation, Knotting, Crying, Confessions, Come Inflation, Mating Press, Pet Names, Tenderness, Aziraphale Has a Large Penis (Good Omens), Size Difference, Bearded Aziraphale (Good Omens), Babymaking, Soulmates, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Femme Crowley (Good Omens), Lingerie, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Spouses, Cervix Penetration, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Sex Magic

Summary: “When you say Christmas ‘wish,’ does that mean a five thousand pound gift voucher to the Liberty store in London, or something more in the abstract?” Crowley asks, lightly tweaking the curl of Aziraphale’s mustache. “I need to know the technical parameters of what you’re offering, here.” Aziraphale hums around a little laugh but goes quiet for a few moments to consider the seriousness of what he’s proposing. “You are a passionate person with a good heart and boundless optimism despite the struggles you’ve faced in your life,” he says, stating it matter-of-factly because he considers it to be true. “I’m an unusual figure in the position to grant wishes where I’m able, whether they be material or miraculous. But I suppose what I wanted to hear, if you’d indulge me, was something closer to your heart’s most ardent desire.” Crowley opens her mouth and then closes it again. Azirapahle watches the line of her slender throat as she swallows. “You’re yanking my chain,” she says, laughing as she shakes her head. “Taking the full piss.” “I can assure you I’m not,” Aziraphale says. ______________________________________________________

''Merry&Bright'' @vaguely-demonic (Vaguelydemonic on Ao3)

merry & bright (6814 words) by vaguelydemonic Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Original Child(ren) of Aziraphale and Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magic, Aziraphale (Good Omens) as Santa Claus, Established Relationship, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Spouses, Childbirth, Mild Blood, Bodily Fluids, it's childbirth okay there's gonna be some amniotic fluid, Pregnancy, Chestfeeding, Breastfeeding, Premature Birth, Less than ideal birthing conditions, Christmas, Christmas Party, Family Fluff, ineffable parents, Pregnant Crowley (Good Omens) Summary: When Aziraphale returned to the North Pole at the end of another successful run of delivering toys to the children of the world, the comfort of home was calling his name. A fire crackling away in the hearth. The promise of his beautiful family coming together for their grand holiday celebration later that evening. Crowley waiting sleepily for his late night return so he could slip into bed beside her and rest his palm over her belly, where their newest baby was nearly ready to join them. Truly, there was nothing more he could ever ask to come home to. Crowley and the baby had other ideas. Aziraphale had spent all night delivering gifts to others. It was Crowley's turn to deliver their own Christmas gift, away in a manger.

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TO BE CONTINUED ✨

🎅🤶 👦👧👩🧒🧒👧👧🧒 🎄🦌🦌🦌🦌🦌🦌🦌🦌🦌🎄

#good omens #GO Santaphale AU #Good omens Santaphale au #Santaphale collection #fanfiction #fanart #i can highly reccomend reading the fanfics i listed they are made by such talented people and im HONERED to be collaborating with them #and everyone in our server i love u pals thank you!!#ITS THEIR SEASON!#Merry Christmas

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foursaints · 9 months ago

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okay fine 🙄 I'll be the one to ask..

since we're talking about remus and sirius: how is their sex like? are they weirdos like rosekiller or more on the vanilla side?

sending this on anon bc i feel like a Perv

♡♡ wait but i'm so glad you asked... to be honest the most major thing i see for them is a daddy kink. but in a way that differs wildly from whatever faux-daddy-kink thing rosekiller has going on.

the thing rosekiller has going on is like

(barty voice, extremely loud) YO.. DADDY’S GETTING HIMSELF A CAPRI SUN. YOU WANT ONE?

the most important thing to me is that wolfstar is a kinky couple but they are CORNY about it. they're unabashedly corny (but it's sort of cute, that they are). they're doing role-play with the little outfits, they're calling each other "daddy" & "princess", they probably own shibari ropes, and it's very domestic and stupid and lived-in (it's corny millennial kink-couple vibes, a little 😭). there is way less of the complex psychosexual veneer that i give other pairings

r/s is the heavyweight CHAMPION of daddy dom/babygirl relationships. sirius wears frilly panties & stockings that their daddy picked out, remus manhandles his little princess with his giant hands, and i think they would lean into the dynamics pretty hard in general?

remus brushes sirius's hair and does their pigtails. sirius can pout and swing her legs to get what she wants. i've had my brain chemistry fundamentally changed by fiveht's "disarm you with a smile" & greenvlvetcouch's "birthday boy" series.

(rosekiller is doing daddy stuff but in an insane faux-pederastic psychosexual freudian way where barty is working through his childhood trauma by perving on evan's innocent virginal fragility. come sit on daddy's lap, bunny. let him touch you in that place that makes you feel funny...) (this is why they're my faves)

the size kink is another major element... the fandom debates this every few months, but I'm firmly on the side of beautiful fairy princess sirius w/ her Gigantic Werewolf Husband. it's actually incredible that remus is able to fit inside her.

if you see sirius (5'3) holding remus's hand (6'5), you're briefly amazed at how their pretty head barely comes up to his collarbones.

cockwarming is definitely a huge thing for them. remus keeps her stuffed while he's grading papers, in bed in the morning, idly bounces her on it while they're watching a movie... he likes to see her pretty face when she gets overstimulated & cries

^AND he's doing this because she's always fucking bratty!!!

i just really believe that we should have the freedom to lean into the Wattpad-ification of it all. wolfstar can be really beautiful and complex (the most complex, even!), but r/s doesn't always have to be the most serious & best representation or whatever. i'm a rosekiller blog so i can carry the cross of "dainty elfin sirius in a little pink negligee & bunny-tail butt plug getting absolutely demolished by her wolf boyfriend's werewolf knot while he's in a rut, or whatever"

i think when they do sexy roleplay they make each other do voices, actually. they're dorks about it. they're dorks about everything

#a #nsft #guys I'm sorry I was so talkative today!! I always have more to say than I expect #once again: “why so concise” — the yapper

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bookshelf-in-progress · 1 year ago

Text

The Return of Queen Emma: A Short Story

Behind Emma, the doorway had become an ordinary closet, cluttered with clothes and toys. The clock read twenty minutes past five. She'd been away only ten minutes.

Emma wept for joy.

"Don't you miss it?" Tessa asked, one night a few months after her return.

"Sometimes," Emma said. "But I'm glad to be home."

"You like it here?"

"Why not? We have chocolate here. And giraffes. And shooting stars. Our world is just as amazing as Athelor."

"In Athelor, you were a queen."

"Here, I'm not," Emma said. "Do you know how nice it is to wake up in the morning and do things that don't affect the fate of an entire nation?"

"But isn't it disappointing? In Athelor, you knew you were important."

"Who says I'm not important now?"

Emma told her mom about Athelor often. Mom thought Emma was just making up wonderful stories.

That was all right. Because the stories were wonderful.

Emma always marveled that she lived in a world with such magic.

Emma grew. And matured. It came with different milestones here, and happened slower, but it had its share of struggles.

On nights when she felt small, helpless and afraid, she remembered that she'd once led a host of warriors--human, animal, and elfin--into battle with a horde of monsters and come out victorious.

She might not be in Athelor, but she was still a queen.

She could fill out a college application.

Emma was leaving the campus library with an armload of books when a sparrow spoke to her from a branch above her head. Emma looked up and saw at once it was an Athelorian sparrow.

"Iprit!" Emma cried. The sparrow had been the most devoted of the queen's messengers. "How glad I am to see you!"

"My queen," Iprit said, bowing her head. "I have found you at last."

"Is Athelor in danger?" Emma asked, suddenly fearful.

"She is well and at peace. Berna rules well in your stead."

"As I knew she would," Emma said with a smile. Emma had spent years choosing her successor. Her elfin advisor, though young, was bright and brave and loved Athelor with all her heart.

"But she rules as regent only. She would not take the crown until she knew what had become of you."

"Now you see that I am well," Emma said. "Alive and well and happy."

"Will you not come home to us, my queen?" Iprit asked. "The door stands open to you. Take up the crown and rule your people once more."

For a moment, Emma's heart yearned for it. Athelor called to her, a bright, beautiful dream, a wondrous adventure.

Where was her duty? Here or Athelor?

Emma met Iprit's gaze. "Berna may take up the crown with my blessing. I have done what I must for Athelor. Another world needs me now."

Iprit bowed in a bird-like way, spreading out one wing. "As you wish, my queen. But what shall I tell the scribes? How ends the reign of Queen Emma the Wise?"

#the bookshelf progresses #i've decided this one is worth of preservation #so it gets a title and a place on the writing blog #perhaps an expansion is in order someday #i still mull over some of the pieces in my mind

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lucienne-my-beloved · 10 months ago

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My first prompt! From @ilya-halfelven! Thank you so much!

Rose had never been to this part of the Dreaming before. Usually, she visited Fiddler's Green or just wandered the stacks of the Library, finding more and more things she never had time to read. Today though, she'd just found herself here, facing two houses that looked nice enough, despite the cool fog swirling around them. It sounded like someone was gardening round the back, so she cautiously headed that way, curious about meeting whoever lived here. Or at least, she was until she actually saw what was going on: a middle-aged dark haired man stood in a veritable field of graves marked with crosses, and the digging she'd heard wasn't gardening: he was using a shovel to dig yet another grave, presumably for the crumbled body at his feet. Heart pounding, Rose backed up, retracing her steps as quietly as she could. Dream or not, she didn't want to have anything to do with a murderer. Once out of sight of the houses, Rose turned and ran, heedless of where she was going. Thus, she was taken totally by surprise when she crashed into someone, her momentum sending them both toppling to the ground with cries of pain. She scrambled to her feet first, mortified and offering her hand to her 'victim', babbling apologies. A slender hand with too-long fingers slid into hers and as the person got to her feet, Rose took in glimpses of an elfin face with an adorable button nose and rosebud lips, but most of her attention was caught by a pair of soft brown eyes. Like pools of melted chocolate, she mused. Beautiful...

—

Feeling she should explain why she’d knocked the lovely woman over, Rose opened her mouth. And found that words had fled her, as she babbled incoherently for a moment. The woman laughed softly, not mocking but showing that she wasn’t upset about being crashed into.

“Hello! You are new here. Why were you running so fast?” She peered around. “I don’t see any nightmares chasing you.”

Rose stopped and tried to catch her breath for a moment. She wasn’t sure where to start, and the elfin beauty of her interlocutor wasn’t helping.

“I’m Nuala,” the woman continued. “I take care of the Castle Garden.”

“Oh!” Rose exclaimed, finally on sure footing. “I love the Castle Garden!”

“Yes, I’ve seen you around.” Nuala smiled gently and Rose’s courage grew so she tried again.

“Yes, you have such lovely roses, and the lilacs are amazing, and somehow they are all blooming at the same time! I’ve never seen you digging around,” she said curiously, “unlike…” and she trailed off with a worried glance back where she’d come from.

“Oh! That’s why you were running! You must have seen Cain and Abel after one of their spats.” Nuala held out a hand to comfort Rose now, and Rose was more than willing to take it.

“Do they do that often?” Rose wondered as Nuala began to lead her further into the garden.

“Every day. It’s their story, and they haven’t been able to change it.” That seemed sad, but Rose couldn’t dwell on it for long, as they came up to a delicately carved table with tea set out on it.

“I was just going to look for someone to have tea with on my break,” Nuala explained as they sat down. “I’m happy we ran into each other. It’s always fun to meet someone new.”

Rose giggled. “Literally. Ran into. I’m sorry again for knocking you down.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Nuala reassured her as she poured the tea. “I spend most of my day down in the dirt anyway.” She gestured at the wheelbarrow beside the table, which looked to Rose to be full of bulbs ready for planting, though she couldn’t tell what kind because of the burlap sack protecting them while Nuala took her break.

“I could help you,” Rose blurted. She liked planting bulbs, but if she was honest with herself, she’d even help with weeding if it meant she could spend more time with Nuala.

“I would enjoy that,” Nuala said, offering her the plate of scones (the American kind, Rose noticed). Rose smiled, taking a scone, and wondered where this new adventure would lead her.

(@nualaofthefaerie I thought you might like a tag as well?)

#rose walker #nuala of the faerie #ficlets for lucienne

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