#hi welcome this is Bones’s stream of thoughts hour

[stealingyourbones]

I think a lot of folks forget that one of Superman’s main weaknesses utilized in comics is magic. He’s invulnerable and all towards regular people but a magic imbued punch to the face is going to clock him hard in the jaw and leave a bruise afterwards.

Now with that, do we consider Danny a magical entity? If so, how much damage could he realistically do to Superman.

This also means that Danny can give Supes a proper hug because his sense of touch must be absolutely bonkers considering his skin has the tensile strength of a planet.

Imagine, Clark accidentally runs into Danny while heading to the Daily Planet, causing his work bag to open and a handful of papers to fly everywhere. He initially doesn’t notice in his scramble to pick everything up before it blows away. When Danny hands some papers to Clark (apologizing profusely the entire time), Clark realizes that he can feel Danny’s hand. Like feel feel. Either this guy is a super powerful metahuman, an extra dimensional entity, a magic user/magical being, or an alien.

Clark X-Ray visions’ Danny’s wallet to see his work ID and drivers license and commits the information to memory. Just in case it’ll be important information for later. He accepts Danny’s many apologies, laughs it off, denies the kids offer of buying him coffee as a repayment, and speeds off to work.

The Danny is probably just a guy trying to live his life. There’s thousands of metas who want nothing to do with superheroism and use their abilities in their job, just want to continue on with their day to day, or never use their powers. Clark does his best to not assume. Still, the memory of Danny’s workplace rattles around in his mind. He might try to “accidentally” bump into the guy again and try to learn more about him.

[imshymorph]

So, new story! Death!Ghost x Life!reader. It’s a longer one, there’s much more to their story if everyone likes it an wants to see more. Update: Here's Part 2 and Part 3

You’re sitting by the edge of the water, fingers lightly dipping in the creek and moving around. The ripples that form from your movement making tadpoles, small fish and spurts of water plants come to be.

It felt natural, with the longer hours of sunlight and the rising of temperature, to start using your abilities once again. To take your side of the mantle once Death had taken the grunt of the work in the colder months. Spring was only nearing closer, and that meant you’d have to start adding spirits back to the Earth, it was your time to keep balance.

- - - - -

You looked up from the stream, from the trail of tiny creatures that gladly followed the movement of their creator’s hand, when you felt the breeze cool a little. It could only mean one thing.

Your lips pull up into a soft smile, your lively eyes crinkling lightly at the edges as you see him stand on the other side of the creek. His own eyes shift under the skull mask, and you know he’s smiling back even if his eyes are covered by the shadow of the bone. It doesn’t surprise you that within barely a few seconds he’s instead sitting beside you, the wavy reflection of the water in front of you confirming his presence.

It always felt like that, peaceful and comfortable in each other's presence. You had gotten used to Death long ago, or Ghost, a name that had come from a joke once made aeons ago. You couldn’t help yourself, lightly teasing him when you had seen how pale his skin really was the one time he had taken a glove off. And somehow, it just stuck.

The both of you stay in silence for a bit, admiring the landscape around you, how slowly your power took over the terrain to give him some rest. You worked in harmony, the switching in seasons never feeling like a competition or betrayal, but like an acknowledgment of the other’s importance and significance.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?” He’s the first one to talk, giving you a short look before his attention was pulled to the birds that filled the sky. Most of them nesting, feeling in some way that your power would welcome them soon before giving them tiny ones to look after.

“Good, busy with the new blooms that come with spring.” you reply with a small smile, your hands running through the grass below, making new blades appear, greener and more luscious. “You must’ve been busy.” You tack on, your eyes following the trail of growing plants until your eyes find him.

“Hmm, you have some work ahead of you.” he concedes, tilting his head back, feeling what sunrays managed to filter through the holes in his mask. He let out a soft sigh before giving a light nod, “Been taking care of my duties, but it’s been good.”

“You’ll be able to rest a bit more. Now that the warm months are coming in.” You say, that smile still on your face. It definitely was what fascinated him most about you. He knew the amount of power you beheld, all the things you could make appear out of thin air. Yet there was something about that smile, that soft and kind smile that you always seemed to gift him with.

Or at least that’s how he wanted to see it, like your sweet smile was specially directed at him, for him. If there was one thing that he pictured on his mind whenever he thought about you, it was the upturn of your lips. Not even your mightier creations could ever compare to the one of your smile.

“I suppose I did, yes.” He says with a light nod, his tone low and gravely but really calm as well, like deep calm water. His head then turned, your view of his mask turning from the profile to a full fronted one. His cold and cloudy almost-grey eyes finding yours. “Are you enjoying your creations?”

The corner of your eyes crinkled a bit more as they landed on his, your smile brightening, reminding him of the golden hues the sun gets when it starts to set behind the horizon. Your hand moves, fingers trailing through the dirt beneath you. Tips passing just enough power to the small buds that were starting to grow to make them fully bloom. “Always do.” Your tone sounding sweet and golden like honey.

A smile took over his lips and he mentally thanked the skull covering them, although the amused glint your eyes got told him that you had definitely noticed. “I’m glad to hear it.” He says, tone as cordial and gravely as ever, hiding the small embarrassment of the knowing tilt your smile gets.

The both of you seeped into comfortable silence once again, you looking at the vast forest around you, the light hints of it filling with your creations again after a cold winter. Meanwhile he busied himself as he looked over his scythe, his gloved finger lightly trailing the sharp edge.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” He murmurs, almost making you wonder if he had actually spoken as his eyes stay trained on his tool.

“You know I never do.” You reassure, your eyes only staying on him for a moment before going back to the light ripples on the water source in front of you.

“I was wondering…” he starts before cutting himself off. You don’t say anything, don’t pressure him as he leaves the scythe back on the floor beside him. Nor as he tilts his head back to look up at the sky once more. And he doesn’t think he could ever find the words to express how thankful he is about it.

He clears his throat, daring to give it another chance. His head tilts a bit to the side, only enough to see you from the corner of his eye. “I was just wondering, we’ve worked together for so long…” he fully turns his head now, his eyes meeting yours. “And yet… you’ve never asked to see me? See what’s under my mask.”

For someone who was the personification of Death, Ghost couldn’t understand how his heart could beat so fast. How it felt like it could leap out of his chest at any moment, how fast his blood pumped through him.

And it feels like it instantly stops when he sees you lightly shaking your head, “It’s not my place to ask, I'm sure it’s there for a reason.” your soft voice explains. And he lets out a shaky breath that he didn’t know he was holding, his heartbeat slowing a bit but the tension still in his body as he gives a light nod back.

The both of you go back to the silence, but this time your eyes stay on each other's. His hand slowly reaches up, his fingers feeling the edge of the worn out bone. His voice is barely perceptible when he talks next, “What if I wanted to show you?”

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

Just two ships passing in the night; that's what they felt like.

Beckett had been picking up extra shifts where she could, doing her part to help out as the usual rounds of winter-related illnesses made their sweep through the precinct.

Castle had been keeping busy promoting his latest novel. Book stores, talk shows, radio interviews: he seemed to be everywhere, just not with her.

She would get home late; most night's he would already be in bed. She would eat the meal he'd have prepared for her, shower and then slip into bed and huddle up to him for warmth.

In the early hours of the morning - long before he'd like - he would jolt awake, hit the off button of his alarm clock before it had the chance to disrupt Kate's sleep, too. He'd allow himself a minute to wake properly before pressing a kiss to the top of her head and forcing himself from bed and shuffling sluggishly toward the bathroom.

Just two ships passing in the night.

His shower was long, longer than what was probably necessary but heat of the water worked wonders on the muscles of his back, helped drain the fatigue from his body. When he stepped out, steam and cold air swirled around him: biting, revitalizing.

He turned to grab his towel from the rack, that was when he saw it in the corner of his eye: her message.

The steam had fogged up the mirror and revealed words that had been invisible before.

I love you.

Written in her perfect penmanship, framed by a perfect heart.

He smiled to himself, thanked the universe - or God... Cupid... whoever or whatever was responsible - for sending Kate Beckett his way.

-------

She had set an alarm to wake her in time to catch his appearance on yet another mid-morning talk show. The interviews were all the same; same questions, same answers, same charming smile. But it seemed these interviews were the only time she got to see that charming smile lately. And so, she watched them all.

Every. Single. One.

It didn’t matter how late she worked or how early the segment would be aired: she watched.

It didn’t matter if she was at home or at the precinct: she watched.

And she smiled.

And she missed him.

She forced herself out of bed, walked to the kitchen to make herself an extra strong cup of coffee before curling up into the corner of the couch and turning on the television.

Her partner walked out onto the stage, smiling and waving to the enthusiastic audience as they cheered him on.

It was something she loved to see - people adoring him - and sometimes it felt surreal to think about how not that long ago she was one of those people: adoring him from afar. And now she was a welcomed guest in his home, in his life. She spent her days in his company, her nights in his bed and she knew that even if she wasn’t in his arms, she was in his heart.

She had never felt more grateful.

As he spoke, she closed her eyes and sipped from her coffee; she pretended he was right there with her.

The segment was short, only five minutes. With a sigh, she reluctantly began to get ready for yet another day of work: starting with a deservedly long, steaming shower.

The water worked to rid her of the winter morning’s chill. Warmth soaked through her skin and sunk deep into her bones until standing under the stream of water became nearly unbearable.

She stepped out into the cool air, allowed the sudden contrast to shock and wake her senses as she reached for her towel and slowly wrapped it around her body. She grabbed her toothbrush, squeezed a small amount of toothpaste onto it and ran it under the faucet. As she looked up into the mirror she saw her hidden message to Castle - revealed by the fresh, dewy layer of condensation that covered the mirror’s surface - and smiled. Her smile only brightened when she noticed his sweet, simple reply.

I miss you, my love.

Written in his perfect penmanship, framed by a perfect heart.

And she thought to herself how lucky she was to be loved by Richard Castle.

[whispersofalostsoul]

RUNAWAY

Summary: Image if Lando Norris has follen in love for the first time….with a woman that he never thought he could fall for… and when his whole world turns upside down, he finds himself alone…once more...

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(Please leave comments to help me improve my story ! Would also love to hear your opinions ! thank you !)

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Chapter 1 - Encunter --- https://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/756913230598815744/runaway?source=share

Chapter2 - Belgium ---https://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/757021516150030336/runaway?source=share

Chapter 3 - Dinner --- https://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/757096323375824896/runaway?source=share

Chapter 4 - The fight --- https://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/757270709880930304/runaway?source=share

Chapter 5 - Sleeping inhttps://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/757554318977204224/runaway?source=share

Chapter 6 - Confrontation

Confrontationhttps://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/758005643926011904/runaway?source=share

Chapter 7- Greece https://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/758100377092620289/runaway?source=share

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Chapter 8 - Dinner 2

A week had gone by, and Dalia was  unaware of time moving along. Each morning, she woke up feeling on top of the world, eager to dive into another day filled with possibilities. The sun would stream through her window, casting a warm glow that mirrored the excitement bubbling within her. She and Lando were practically glued together, their connection palpable to everyone around them. Their friends couldn't help but notice the undeniable spark that ignited whenever they were near each other, especially when they started stealing kisses in front of everyone, making it all official. Those stolen moments, brief yet electric, sent ripples of joy through their circle, and laughter often erupted as they playfully teased the couple. Every day felt like a fairytale; they went on countless dates, each one more enchanting than the last. They explored quaint little cafes tucked away in the corners of the city, shared ice cream cones on sun-drenched beach benches, and wandered through streets, losing themselves in the beauty of the pieces and each other's company.

Lando found himself sharing secrets with her that he had never told anyone else, feeling completely at ease in her presence. It was as if the walls he had built around his heart were crumbling, brick by brick, and he welcomed the vulnerability.He craved her presence, her touch, her scent every moment. The way her laughter danced in the air, brightening even the dullest of days, was intoxicating. He would often catch himself daydreaming about her, replaying their moments together in his mind like a cherished movie. And when they had to part ways at night, he felt an instant pang of missing her, a hollow ache that settled in his chest. The world felt a little dimmer without her , and he would find himself counting the hours until they could be together again.Each moment spent together was a treasure, and with every passing day, their bond deepened, solidifying a connection that felt destined. Lando felt it in his bones that what he was experiencing for the first time was something incredibly intense and passionate.He was ready to do whatever it took to safeguard this newfound connection. The stakes felt higher than ever, and he understood that the path ahead was fraught with challenges. Yet, the thought of losing this feeling, this spark, was far more daunting than the prospect of jeopardizing his own career. He envisioned the sacrifices he might have to make— multiple travels, late-night calls, difficult conversations, and the potential fallout from those who might not understand his choices. But in that moment, none of it mattered. The intensity of his emotions overshadowed any fears or doubts that crept into his mind.

Dalia called out from the living room, "Who wants ice cream?" and everyone nodded in agreement. The sun had been blazing all afternoon, and after their invigorating swim in the sea, it felt like the perfect way to cool down. While Dalia and Lily decided to go to the nearest shop,  the guys were lounging on the terrace, sprawled out on sunbeds, soaking up the sun and listening to music. The playlist was a mix of upbeat summer hits and nostalgic tunes that made them reminisce about past adventures.

Out of the blue, Oscar, who had been scrolling through his phone, looked up and asked, "So, how's it going with Dalia?" The question hung in the air, and the atmosphere shifted slightly as the guys turned their attention to Lando. He paused for a moment, the weight of the question sinking in. After a brief silence, he finally admitted, "I'm considering introducing her to my parents." The guys were taken aback, their expressions a mix of surprise and intrigue. Lando had always been the more reserved one when it came to relationships, often keeping his romantic life under wraps. The thought of him taking such a significant step with Dalia, who had quickly become a central figure in their summer escapade, was unexpected.  "Wow, that's a big step," Alex said, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're ready for that?" Lando shrugged, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice. "I mean, I really like her. Plus, my parents are always asking about my love life. I think it might be time to show them I'm serious about someone.""I'm happy for you Lano" Carlos smiled. "Dalia seems great. Just make sure you prepare her for your mom's cooking. It's... an experience." The group erupted in laughter, the tension easing as they teased Lando about the potential family dinner.

The girls stumbled upon a little shop that had souvenirs and ice cream.Lily, ever the curious one, decided to check out the inside to see if anything caught her eye. Meanwhile, Dalia approached the fridge,  scanning the array of flavors displayed behind the glass. Chocolate chip cookie dough, mint chocolate chip, and the ever-popular strawberry swirled before her eyes. Just as she was about to make her choice, a familiar voice broke through the hum of the summer afternoon. "Looks like you're living it up," the voice said, smooth and casual. Dalia felt a jolt of recognition, and just as she was about to turn around, a wave of familiarity hit her, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of cigarettes. "Hey, Dalia," Noah grinned from beneath his cap, his eyes glinting mischievously in the sunlight. Dalia froze, her heart pounding in her chest, feeling a mix of surprise and unease. She hadn't expected to see him here, not in this little corner of the world. It was as if he could read her thoughts when he added, "You're probably wondering how I knew you were here," taking a puff from his cigarette before crushing it underfoot with a practiced ease. "Well, I have this incredible talent for tracking people down," he said with a sly grin, leaning casually against the fridge as if he owned the place. His presence unsettling. 

"Or maybe you just have a talent for popping up where you're not exactly welcome," Dalia shot back. "Oh, look at you! Have you developed a bit of a backbone since hanging out with him?" he said, leaning in closer, invading her space. "I'm intrigued," his tone shifted to a low, dark whisper. "Are they taking turns with you, or is it a group thing?" Dalia, filled with rage and disgust, raised her hand to slap him, but he effortlessly blocked her move. "Not today," he grinned. Noah leaned closer, his voice low and conspiratorial, "I think I have something you'll want to see." Dalia shot back, her tone sharp and defensive, "Not interested," as she struggled to pull her hand away from him. The warmth of his grip felt like a brand against her skin, and she was desperate to reclaim her personal space."Oh, I bet you will be," he replied, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he finally stood up straight and released her, "Look out for a message from me tonight," before turning to leave.  As he walked away, Dalia felt a knot of unease tighten in her stomach. This whole situation left her feeling off-kilter, as if the ground beneath her was shifting. She couldn't shake the feeling that Noah was up to something, and the thought sent a shiver down her spine.Just then, Lily came over, her brow furrowed with concern as she noticed Dalia's pale face. "Hey, are you alright?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine worry. Dalia forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil brewing inside her. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, waving it off dismissively, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

When the girls returned to the villa, the atmosphere was buzzing with excitement from their day out. Lily, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, hurried to the terrace, eager to show Alex the colorful souvenir she had picked up from a local market. Meanwhile, Dalia, feeling a bit overwhelmed, made a beeline for her room, her mind racing with thoughts of the strange encounter she had earlier. As soon as he spot her entering the villa, Lando trailed behind her, wanting to have a quick chat. Carlos's voice broke through the chatter. "Where's the ice cream?" he asked, his tone playful yet expectant. It suddenly hit Lily that Dalia hadn't picked any up during their outing. "She seemed a little off," Lily admitted, her brow furrowing with concern."What do you mean?" Oscar asked, sitting up in his chair, his interest piqued.  "There was this strange guy talking to her, and I think he made her uncomfortable," she explained, her voice lowering slightly as if the memory was still fresh. The guys exchanged glances, shrugging it off with a casual air. They were all too familiar with the island's locals, who often had a reputation for being overly friendly, especially towards tourists. "It's probably nothing," Alex said dismissively, but Oscar couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

Lando grinned as he tapped on the door, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet hallway. Dalia was doing her best to mask her shaken state, her heart racing as she smoothed down her shirt and took a deep breath. "Hey," she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady.Lando stepped into her room, his expression a mix of excitement and apprehension. He looked pretty anxious himself, nervously rubbing his neck as he glanced around the space." Uh," he began, his voice trailing off as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Dalia felt a flutter of unease in her stomach; she could sense that whatever he was about to say was important. "I wanted to ask you something," he finally managed, still avoiding her gaze, his eyes darting to the floor as if it held the answers to his unspoken questions. Dalia's curiosity piqued, and she leaned in slightly, encouraging him to continue. "My folks were in Athena, they're sailing towards Santorini and wanted to make a stop here. I thought it would be nice if you joined us for dinner tonight. I'd love to introduce you properly."

Dalia felt a jolt of excitement when she got the invite. The idea of hanging out with Lando and his family made her pulse race. But with that excitement came a twinge of nerves. She couldn't shake off the thought of Noah being there, watching her, which made her stomach churn. What was that message he said he'd send her going to be about? As she prepared for the gathering, Dalia found herself caught in a whirlwind of emotions. She rummaged through her closet, trying to find the perfect outfit that would make her feel confident yet comfortable. She wanted to impress Lando's family. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was going to have fun, regardless of Noah's presence. After all, this was about Lando. But as she glanced at her phone, half-hoping for a message from Noah, she couldn't help but wonder if the evening would bring clarity or chaos.

Lando's folks were just amazing; they invited them over for dinner on the boat, and it turned out to be such a beautiful experience. The gentle sway of the boat on the water, combined with the warm glow of the setting sun, created an atmosphere that felt almost magical. Dalia could easily tell that Lando was a cherished kid, with parents who adored him but also understood the importance of giving him space to grow and explore. Their laughter filled the air, and the way they interacted with Lando showed a deep bond, one built on love and mutual respect.Throughout the evening, Lando held her hand, his grip firm yet tender, almost as if he wanted to keep her close every moment. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about how he felt about her. He couldn't stop chatting about her, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he shared stories of their time together. Dalia could see how proud he was to introduce her to his parents, and she felt a warmth in her heart knowing that he wanted them to see the person who made him so happy. 

While Lando was busy helping his dad get dessert ready, leaving the two women to chat. His mom leaned in towards Dalia and said with a smile, "I must admit this is the first time Lando has introduced us to a girl he's dating". Dalia felt her cheeks heat up as she smiled back, a mix of surprise and delight washing over her."I know my son very well," his mom continued with a grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "And I can see he's really into you." Dalia's heart raced at the compliment, and she felt a warmth spread through her. It was one thing to feel a connection with Lando, but to hear his mother acknowledge it made it all the more real. "Ta-da! The pièce de résistance!" he announced, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I hope you're ready for this, Dalia. My dad's secret recipe is legendary."Dalia laughed, her earlier embarrassment fading as the atmosphere lightened. "It looks amazing! I can't wait to try it," she said, her enthusiasm genuine.

As the night wrapped up, Dalia and Lando chose to head back to the villa, even though his parents wanted them to stay on the boat for the night. Lando's dad stepped forward as they prepared to disembark. He pulled Dalia in for a cozy hug, enveloping her in the familiar scent of saltwater and aftershave. His embrace was warm and fatherly, a gesture that made Dalia feel both welcomed and cherished. Leaning in closer, he whispered softly, "Make sure to look after our boy and don't break his heart," all while grinning widely, his eyes twinkling with a mix of humor and sincerity. Dalia chuckled, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. She appreciated the lighthearted warning, knowing it came from a place of love and protectiveness. 

As Lando and Dalia stopped in front of her room, they exchanged a few playful words, their laughter echoing softly in the quiet hallway. But as the moment lingered, Lando found himself reluctant to leave. The doorframe seemed to form an invisible barrier, one that he was hesitant to cross.He stood there, his heart racing slightly, hoping for a sign, a gesture that would invite him in. He could feel the magnetic pull between them, a tension that crackled like static electricity. It was as if the air itself was charged with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. He wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap between them, but he held back, unsure of how she truly felt. As he gazed at her, he noticed the way her hair fell softly over her shoulders, the way her lips curved into a smile that seemed to invite him closer. The moment stretched, and he could sense the hesitation in her eyes too, as if she were weighing the same thoughts.

Suddenly, the phone buzzed, breaking the spell of silence that enveloped them and pulling both of them back to reality. As Dalia reached for it, her eyes widened, and a nervous smile spread across her face. "Goodnight, Lando," she said quickly, her voice a mix of warmth and urgency, before slipping into her room with a soft click of the door. Lando was caught off guard by how fast everything changed. One moment, they were suspended in a moment filled with unspoken words and shared glances, and the next, he was left standing alone in the hallway, the echo of her voice lingering in the air. He felt a rush of emotions—disappointment, confusion, and a flicker of hope. He leaned against the wall, staring at the closed door, wondering if he had missed his chance.

 Dalia hurried to the edge of her bed, her heart pounding before she even had a chance to check the message. With trembling fingers, she unlocked her phone and tapped on Noah's notification. Her eyes went wide in disbelief, and in a panic, she quickly dialed his number to get some answers.

Lando was tossing and turning, unable to get Dalia out of his head. The night was thick with silence, but his mind was a cacophony of thoughts and emotions. Every time he pictured her face—her warm smile, the way her eyes sparkled with warmth, the gentle curve of her lips—a smile crept onto his own. He rolled over, trying to find a comfortable position, but the sheets felt constricting, as if they were wrapping around him, holding him back from the truth he was desperately trying to avoid. As his thoughts raced, a sudden realization hit him like a ton of bricks, making him sit up straight in bed. The weight of it was overwhelming, and he could hardly breathe. He was in love.

"Did I wake you?" Dalia whispered, her voice soft and melodic, catching him completely off guard. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, as he turned to face her. The moonlight spilled into the room, casting a silvery glow that illuminated her features, making her look ethereal."What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to steady his nerves, his heart racing in his chest. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, and he hoped the darkness would hide his embarrassment. Without a word, she moved closer, her presence filling the space between them with an electric tension. She reached for his face, her fingers brushing against his skin with a tenderness that sent shivers down his spine.And then, she kissed him deeply. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a kiss that conveyed everything he had been too afraid to say. Her lips were soft and inviting, and as he melted into her embrace, all his doubts and fears began to dissipate. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The longing that had consumed him transformed into a sense of belonging, a feeling that he had finally found what he had been searching for all along.

[swampstew]

KillerCook Chapter 13

Welcome to Raven’s Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Join us in the family room as we sit around and celerate Straw Hat Luffy's birthday. Rated Mature for language. Minors DNI

Going Live in 3…2…1…

GO

“Good evening everyone, thanks for tuning in. I’m Killer and this is my neighbor, Sanji.”

The two blond men sat at a slim table as they faced they audience, both waving their hands in greetings and casual small talk as viewers started joining the stream.

“Have you ever been on a live stream? Wait, are you even on social media?” Killer asked.

“Killer, we follow each other on Instagram,” the curly browed man scoffed.

“Oh the one I hardly use?” Killer asked in surprise, quick to pull out a cell phone. After scrolling for a few seconds, “Oh yeah, here you are: Sanji {censored}. Wait, THAT’s your last name? Are-are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m adopted. What about it?”

“Why would you use your full government name on the Internet, you [redacted] idiot?” Kid griped as he came into the camera’s focus, taking the third seat at the table.

“It was never a concern until you blabbed it out loud in front of 3,000 and growing listeners,” Sanji snapped at them, whipping out his cell phone from his suit. “Great, now I gotta go on private…huh…hmm…maybe, maybe I’ll just change my user name,” he quieted down suddenly.

“Ooooo-kay. Moving on - we’re switching things up a bit. Today is a friend of a friend’s birthday and, surprisingly, a few people came to us seeking advice on making cake. Did no one ever teach them to bake? So Sanji and I thought we would make it a challenge. For ours and your entertainment.”

The camera was shifted offside to the second half of the kitchen, on the massive kitchen island that was set and stationed with ingredients, counter-top ovens, and three contenders.

Franky, Usopp, and Bubblegum.

They waved at the camera before the spotlight was once again on Killer.

“Now I’m no stranger to making cake but I’m brave enough to acknowledge that when it comes to plating and food decorating, Sanji is the true expert. Heat, please bring out the birthday cakes.”

Heat walked to the camera and showed off the treat before depositing the three-tier cake, with classic yet tastefully festive decorations, on the table for the hosts. Clean calligraphy on the top declared it to be Sanji’s roommate’s name, the birthday boy. Straw Hat Luffy. Repeating the process, Heat dropped off another cake, this time the cake was designed and shaped to look like a hunk of meat. A small straw hat sat atop of the bone leg.

“Thank you, Heat. Our challenge is to have our contenders make cakes that rival Chef Sanji’s. The rules are: it has to taste well, look good, the cake must be made using the ingredients on the table - no getting creative…looking at you, Bubblegum…” Killer warned.

“Both stacked cakes are layered with buttercream frosting, and decorated with more frosting, modeling chocolate, and fondant for the details. On average it takes about 90 minutes to bake and decorate a cake with enough time for cooling and correcting for any errors. But Killer is a bit sadistic.”

“That I am. And because it’s my show, I’m only giving these guys one hour.”

Kid slammed his hands on the table, standing up to shout, “SO GET BAKING!”

A separate camera was stationed and angled to record the contenders, catching Usopp as he jumped and knocked his bowl of eggs on the ground. Shattering.

“Ooooh and we’ve suffered our first casualty already. Of course Kid caused it and OF COURSE Usopp reacted,” Killer commented.

“Yeah this is going to set him back a little but not by much, Killer. The rule of thumb is to have your eggs and butter be at room temperature so they incorporate with the ingredients better. Having to use colder eggs means his batter could come out denser than he intends,” Sanji lit a cigarette. “Oh I meant to ask, can I smoke in here?”

“It’s fine, we smoke in the house all the time,” Kid left the table and the suspicious sound of bubbling water could be heard, followed by a billow of smoke.

While Usopp rushed around Bubblegum to retrieve new eggs, Franky was fast at work setting his ingredients in order to start baking. Bubblegum was lightly dancing on his feet as he read over the written recipe they had been provided.

“We gave them base cake mix recipes so they have to decide a flavor combination on their own, which can really make or break a cake’s standing with the crowd,” Sanji piped up after taking a few drags.

“If I was given a bad cake, I’d take it personally,” Kid said menacingly, drumming his metal prosthetic fingers on the table.

“Yeah yeah the threatening and torturing, we’ve all heard it,” Killer waved him off. “Sanji, how did you make your cakes? Explain so our viewers can learn the proper way.”

While Sanji explained the intricacies of the art of baking, Bubblegum, Usopp, and Franky were hurriedly working on their creations.

Franky was whistling as he quickly mixed his ingredients, pouring the thin batter into the pans and popping them into the oven. He looked confident, with the box of butter left unopened and parchment paper forgotten. Things one would normally use to grease a baking pan and protect batter from sticking.

Bubblegum was pouring his cake batter in the pans before he froze, a worried look on his face. Looking between the oven and his station, he quickly opened a can of dulce de leche and drizzled it directly into the batter, using a fork to mix it evenly.

Usopp, in an effort to save time, was throwing all his ingredients into the bowl and mixing them together. The batter was looking a little liquidly as he stepped in place to channel his nervousness.

“While the cake is baking, you should work on your buttercream frosting, a key point in the process to keep the cake moist while you decorate. It also serves as a binding agent for folding fondant over it. We gave the contenders pre-made fondant and modeling chocolate because I have some compassion. Drape the fondant over the cake, smooth it out, and trim at the edges. For a regular cake you can mainly use buttercream, but I would recommend it for shapes like the meat cake because it can help it maintain some structure, if it’s balanced just right. Too much weight can cause it to fall off or make a dent in your cake.”

“Modeling chocolate is great for decorations and requires a less refined hand compared to buttercream calligraphy. I would knead and mold the chocolate to be a straw hat, the bone leg coming from the meat of the cake, or maybe something cute like little balloons and party hats as cake toppers,” Sanji chuckled.

“I’m going to make some predictions,” Killer folded his hands, “Franky’s cake will get stuck to the pan, Bubblegum’s cake might come out crumbled based on how hard he was forking his pan, and I’m a leeeettle concerned about salmonella from Usopp’s cake.”

“If it looks and smells fine, I’ll eat it,” Kid chipped in.

With two minutes left on the timer, Killer reminded the bakers to put their cakes under the frosted cake covers when the timer hit zero seconds.

The three judges rose to their feet as they counted down the last 10 seconds.

“3…2…1…present your cakes!”

The three contenders lifted their respective covers for both camera’s that were now hovering between all 6 men as they stood at the kitchen island.

It was…hard…to stifle the giggles and laughter coming from Killer and Sanji, while Kid looked more or less baffled with the results.

Franky’s cake was well structured like the tier cake Sanji had made, if only a little flatter and less attractive. Franky was good at making things, but not so much with decorating - at least not when it comes to cakes. His cake was layered with fondant that slightly ruffled at the edges, and his buttercream handwriting wasn’t the best. His chocolate balloons were perfectly spherical but missing their strings, so they were actually more like colorful balls.

Usopp’s cake was much, much smaller than all five cakes. His station was a mess of puddles and crumbled cake, suggesting his cakes had cooked too thin and fell apart easily. To compensate for the small stature, Usopp made an effort to recreate the meat shaped cake. It certainly looked like a meat. The cake was the same color as Sanji’s, the straw hat looked fairly decent, unfortunately it - along with the molded chocolate bone - weighed too much and fell off the side.

Bubblegum’s cake was a combination of both. He had made the tier cake, and added the straw hat and a mini-meat sized cake as the toppers for his cake. Instead of buttercream lettering, a single candle stood between the toppers.

“I don’t actually know how old he is,” the tattooed man said sheepishly.

Kid was about to say something when Killer stopped him, “Its taste testing time. Cut off a slice from each cake and we’ll let you know if it’s acceptable to give to the birthday boy…man… Is he still a teenager or in his twenties?” he whipped his head to Sanji.

Sanji lit another cigarette, “He’s a kid at heart.”

“Good enough! Let’s take a bite.”

Starting with Franky’s cake, Kid and Sanji’s faces immediately crinkled as Killer went off camera to eat his piece.

“The…the flavor,” the redhead choked out.

“It’s…certainly a unique choice but I’m not sure I can place it,” Sanji looked at Franky.

“It’s cola flavored,” the mechanic gave the camera a thumbs up.

“It certainly is,” Killer responded as he grabbed bottled water for himself, Kid and Sanji. “Your cake had us in the first half. It looked like it could be trusted, and while the cola in itself isn’t a baaaad flavor, just…when it’s in my mouth, I feel like my taste buds are screaming, ‘that shouldn’t be cake!!’”

The judges nodded in agreement before moving on to Usopp’s cake. Only this time, Killer didn’t step away to taste it.

“Usopp, your cake is somehow cooked in some layers but not in others and I’m struggling to understand how that’s possible,” Killer nudged the cake around the plate.

Sanji agreed, “You know my policy on not wasting food but I don’t think I can defend this one. Your creative skills shine wherever you take them, the cake definitely looked edible.”

Kid was the only one who ate his portion, “Can barely taste the flavor,” he shrugged, biting into the chocolate straw hat.

Moving on to the final cake, the judges tasted the generous slice presented to them.

Sanji started, “Bubblegum, I don’t know you that well but I can tell, you can make a cake on the fly. I liked your last ditch effort to flavor this cake with the caramel drizzle and it gives your cake a nice texture, especially where the cake is a little dry. Your decorations are pleasant to look at, you even went the extra mile by combining both my examples into one!”

Killer came back to the kitchen island, “He’s an overachiever, that’s our Bubbs. I even like how he made the straw hat out of rice krispie treat covered with thin layers of buttercream.

“Suck up,” Kid rolled his eyes as he finished the plate, “But its a good cake BG. You make me proud. I don’t really love fondant so I appreciate you topping the cake with frosting and leaving the fake crap to the meat topper.”

“The meat is also made of rice krispie treat,” Bubblegum chirped.

“Work smarter not harder, that’s m’boy.”

“It time to declare which cakes are acceptable to bring over for Luffy’s party,” Killer announced. The three judges took a few minutes to themselves to discuss the cakes.

Lining up in front of their contenders, Killer addressed them and the live audience at the same time, “We saw some struggles, we saw some personal challenges, and most importantly, we saw growth. Whether or not that helps you make better cake in the future is not really my problem but I hope you at least take away something meaningful from this.”

Usopp nervously giggled.

“The cakes that are acceptable—“

Killer didn’t finish his sentence, cut off as someone shouting throughout the house could be heard.

“SAAAAAANJJIIIIII? WHERE AAARRE YOOOUUUUU?” the person with a tune in his voice was coming closer to the kitchen, “C’mooonn!!! We can’t start the party without you!! Are you hiding my cake here? I promise I won’t take a bite out if it and cover it up like last time.”

The kitchen occupants were silently moving towards the backyard sliding glass door, hoping to make a clean escape. Their hopes quickly blown away as the kitchen door handle turned.

Monkey D. Luffy walked through the door, multiple cone hats sat over his trademark straw hat.

The last words the audience heard: “HOLY CRAP FIVE CAKES?!?!?!”

Before the live stream suddenly cut to black, a rabid Luffy sprinted towards the judges and contenders as they screamed in fear.

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

[silvercap]

Soft launching the knight au. Can you soft launch a fic? Idk. Here, have this drabble:

-~-

The dungeon is cold as Lord Simmons descends the rough-hewn stone steps, gathering his fur cloak around him to ward off the icy chill that threatens to sink into his very bones. It's nearly freezing, his breath fogging the air as the staircase spirals downwards into the bowels of the Northern Palace, the ancient basement built long before the permafrost had settled over the Southern slopes of the Di'Eso mountain range and limited building to the aboveground for centuries upon centuries. His footsteps echo through the slim corridor, the distant sound of a strangled cry bringing a thin smirk to his lips. They keep very few criminals in the palace's dungeon itself—that's what the prison on the North end of the region is for—but it does have its uses every now and then. Especially with…

The man cries out a second time as Simmons rounds the final corner, weak and high-pitched from hours of screaming. Simmons sighs as the chilled cobblestone walkway opens up into a lovely array of dark iron cells along one cold wall—and at the very end, the unlocked wooden door that leads to his particular favorite area of the ancient space. The guard outside of it gives him a stiff nod as he passes, the single torch on the wall casting his face in harsh firelight. The torture chamber by comparison is lit with the heat of several braziers, a single window set high in the wall admitting a harsh gust of chill winter air that makes them gutter in unison.

Close to the far wall, a lithe body shudders where its wrists have been strung up above its head in a single length of iron chains, blood streaming down muscled arms from where they've begun to cut into the flesh. The man's head is bowed, golden blonde hair turned dull in the shadowed room where it hangs in a curtain over his face. He's drenched in sweat, bare torso gleaming in the firelight like the ice crystals that have formed around the window, the quivering, ragged fabric of his trousers betraying the tremors that wrack his form.

"Sir Kennedy," Simmons purrs, stalking across the room to stand in front of his prey. "Have you thought about what we talked about?"

With a moan, Leon's head tilts to the side, revealing the bruised, fair skin of his face. His eyelids flutter weakly, slivers of hazy blue just barely visible in narrow flashes. Beautiful. Simmons bathes in the utter helplessness for a moment, the symphony of Leon's ragged breaths a welcome change from the bickering and groaning of court nobles in the palace above. His knight's skin is a map of practiced cuts and blooming bruises, several deep burns visible above the cut of his waist, likely the cause of the feverish flush Simmons can see on Leon's cheeks. Hmm. He hadn't wanted his Right Hand to be quite this out-of-commission, but he supposes a hard lesson is better than none learned at all.

"M'Lord," Leon slurs, voice raspy. He winces, swallowing hard, bloodied lips parting to admit a harsh wheeze. "M'not sure what—what—"

"You know perfectly well what I mean." Simmons steps forward, gloved hand reaching out to put the barest amount of pressure on Leon's bruised shoulder, eliciting a harsh sob that echoes around the chamber. The strain of his arms must be absolute agony, for a reaction like that.

"Please," Leon begs, voice breaking. "I—I can't—"

"Tell me again why you disobeyed my orders."

"I—" Leon's chest heaves, face contorting as he attempts to lift his head with little success. Simmons fists a hand in his hair to guide it the rest of the way. "I—she was with child. She was scared."

"She was a bandit. You know how we deal with thieves in the North—I shouldn't have to tell you twice." Simmons tilts his head, watching Leon flinch at the sound of his voice. "I expect my orders to be carried out as I issue them."

"She—she was young. Pregnant. I killed the rest?" Leon repeats uncertainly. His voice is thick, half-delirious. He probably doesn't even realize what he's confessing to.

"I admit, I'm not particularly convinced that I care." Simmons releases Leon's hair as he speaks, enjoying the faint noise that hisses out of him when his chin collides with his chest. "You see, Sir Kennedy, when I order you to carry out an execution, I'm not interested in the details. I don't care if they're old, or young, or a three-headed dragon sent by the gods themself. When I tell you to do something, you do it."

Simmons crosses the room again, eyeing the metal tools warming in one of the braziers. The handle is a comfortable temperature when he lifts it, the long metal rod glowing red-hot in the chill air. Simmons has always been partial to branding—There's something permanent about it; satisfying. He turns back to Leon's slumped figure with a sigh, raising the rod a hair's breadth away from the vulnerable curve of his throat.

"Tell me, Sir Kennedy, what happens when I give you an order."

Leon groans, low and painful. "I—I'll—"

"Speak."

"I'll obey—without question," Leon manages, flinching as Simmons pulls the rod away from his throat. He raises his face towards Simmons, a remarkable feat considering the condition he's in. Perhaps a break was all he needed to recover. "I'll—I promise, I'll listen."

"That's right, mutt. You are my Right Hand, therefore you are mine to use as I see fit. Is that clear?"

Leon nods, blinking blearily. Simmons grins.

"Scream," he commands.

"What?"

Leon does, as Simmons presses the overheated metal to the side of his ribcage; a short, sharp thing that cuts off abruptly when Leon's body goes suddenly limp, eyelids fluttering as he succumbs to unconsciousness. Metal clatters on stone as Simmons drops the iron with a huff, readjusting his gloves and cloak. Very well, then.

"Loyal as a dog, and just as easily broken." He turns on his heel, gesturing to the man he'd assigned to oversee Leon's punishment. "Clean him up, and have the healer tend to him in his chambers. I'll be needing him before the week is up, and I can't have him keeling over in the middle of negotiations. Alert me the moment his fever breaks."

The torturer nods, Leon's manacles clinking as the man rushes to lower his unconscious body to the floor. Simmons doesn't spare either of them another glance, turning on his heel. He readjusts a glove, huffing. Enough nonsense. He doesn't have time to waste.

[sicknessbysalem]

Do you still write for simplysickness characters? Could you please write something for Lex and Soren? Really miss them… 💜

Something with a lot of comfort

i don't know if you're still around since this has been in my ask box for a long time. let me explain: i have been avoiding this ask literally because i got spooked about people coming at me for 'stealing' characters even though @simplysickness themself gave me these character to continue them once they moved on with their current job. so long story short I got too stressed to write this but i think i'm good now.

not sure if sparrow had ever posted fics centric to it, but in the canon lore of lex and soren, lex quit music and was able to work as an emt which he thoroughly enjoys. (also the canon lex and soren lore has been worked by me and sparrow for a long time)

since you asked for comfort, let's do it! if you have anymore requests, comments, questions, etc., send them my way!

tw emeto, migraines, nausea, overwork

Lex stumbled through the door of their shared apartment, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. His uniform was wrinkled, stained with the remnants of a long shift that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The familiar scent of home—faint traces of Soren's cologne mixed with the lingering aroma of morning coffee—welcomed him, but the usual comfort it provided felt distant, unreachable.

The dull throb that had started behind his eyes hours ago had escalated into a full-blown migraine, each heartbeat pounding against his skull like a relentless drum. He could feel the exhaustion in his bones, a fatigue that went beyond just needing sleep. Something deeper was wrong, but the last thing he wanted was to concern Soren with it. Not now, not when Soren had his own day ahead of him.

“Hey, babe,” Soren’s voice floated in from the kitchen, light and warm. Lex could hear the sound of dishes being put away, the soft clinking of plates against one another. “Just got done with breakfast. Do you want anything?”

"Not yet, no," Lex said, undoing the braid that was already half falling out the rest of the way, "I need to take a shower and get out of this uniform."

"Tell you what," Soren said, "You do that, and I'll make you some lavender tea and something to eat."

Lex winced, the thought of eating, or drinking for that matter, anything making his already queasy stomach twist in protest. He pushed a weary smile onto his face as he dropped his keys on the entry table and forced himself to respond. “Sure, fine."

Soren smiled, "I'd kiss you but I don't want anything you have on you from work."

"I would probably push you off if you tried," Lex said, "I'll be back in like fifteen."

For as tired as he was, Lex was quick to grab something to change into and start the water, letting it heat up as he stripped off his uniform. He'd take care of washing it later, for now he stepped into the bathroom, the cool tile under his feet grounding him slightly as he leaned heavily against the sink. The mirror reflected his tired eyes, the dark circles underneath them more pronounced than ever. He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. Every movement felt like it required twice the effort it should and he hated it.

As the water cascaded down, hot enough to almost sting, he hoped it would wash away some of the tension knotting his muscles, the ache in his head, and the bone-deep fatigue that clung to him like a second skin.

But as he stood under the stream, head bowed, the migraine only seemed to intensify, the heat doing nothing to ease the relentless pounding. He clenched his teeth, trying to will away the pain, but it was like trying to hold back the tide. The water wasn’t helping; it was only making him feel worse, the heat adding to his nausea. He quickly shut off the shower, his hands trembling slightly as he stepped out. He dried off as quick as he could, pulling on a t-shirt and some joggers.

For as much as he wanted to just go back to bed, that would make Soren worried. Soren was stressed, meaning he had somewhere to go. Lex wasn't going to stress Soren out, not more than necessary.

Lex tried to brush through his wet hair, grimacing as another sharp wave of pain lanced through his skull. He needed to pull it together, at least until Soren left. He finished brushing, by now the pain making his hands shake. He put his hair in a loose braid as he walked back to the kitchen.

The smell of lavender greeted him, and he saw Soren placing a steaming mug on the table, along with a small plate of toast. The simple gesture was filled with care, and Lex’s heart ached with guilt for not being able to appreciate it more fully.

Soren looked up as Lex entered, his eyes immediately narrowing in concern. “You okay, Lex? You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Lex forced a small smile, waving off the concern. “Just tired, you know how it is. Long shift. But I’ll be fine after some sleep.”

Soren wasn’t convinced; Lex could tell by the way his boyfriend’s gaze lingered on him, the way his brow furrowed ever so slightly. But Soren had learned to pick his battles, especially when it came to Lex’s stubbornness.

Instead of pushing, Soren simply nodded and gestured to the tea. “Well, drink up. It’ll help you relax.”

Lex gingerly took the mug, cradling it between his hands, letting the warmth seep into his palms. He took a tentative sip, the fragrant tea soothing his throat but doing little for the churning in his stomach. He set it down after just one sip, hoping Soren wouldn’t notice.

“So, you heading out soon?” Lex asked, trying to sound casual as he leaned against the counter, the cool surface a small relief against his heated skin.

“Yeah,” Soren replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Ksenia and I have that recording session, but I should be back by late afternoon. Are you sure you don’t need anything before I go? I can call and reschedule if you’re—”

“No,” Lex cut in, a bit too quickly. “I’ll be fine, Soren. You’ve got your own stuff to handle. Don’t worry about me.”

Soren’s eyes softened, a mix of love and worry shining in them as he stepped closer, resting a hand on Lex’s arm. “I always worry about you, you know that, right?”

Lex’s resolve wavered for a moment, the urge to just let Soren take care of him, to admit how much he was struggling, almost breaking through. But he couldn’t. Not when Soren had so much on his plate already. Lex mustered another smile, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Soren’s cheek.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I love you for it. But seriously, I just need some rest. I’ll be good as new by the time you’re back. Literally as soon as you walk out that door I will absolutely be sleeping."

Soren hesitated, his hand lingering on Lex’s arm before he finally nodded, though the worry didn’t leave his eyes. “Okay. But if you need anything, call me. Promise?”

“Promise,” Lex replied, hoping the smile he offered was convincing enough.

Soren sighed, clearly not fully satisfied, but he knew better than to push Lex when he was like this. He walked over and kissed Lex's cheek, “Alright, I’ll see you later then.”

Lex watched as Soren grabbed his things and headed for the door, the sound of it closing behind him echoing in the now silent apartment. The moment he was alone, Lex’s facade crumbled. He slumped into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands as the migraine pounded mercilessly against his skull, and a wave of dizziness made the room spin.

Lex sat in the chair, trying to steady his breathing as the relentless pounding in his head sent sharp jolts of pain through his temples. The room felt like it was spinning ever so slightly, a disorienting, subtle tilt that made him grip the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, trying to suppress the growing nausea that gnawed at his stomach.

His migraine had progressed quickly, the dull throb from earlier now a vicious, stabbing pain that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. Every sound, even the quiet hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, grated against his senses, amplifying the pain. The dim light filtering through the curtains felt too bright, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the world and focus on anything other than the turmoil inside his body.

But the vertigo wasn’t something he could ignore. It was as if the ground beneath him was shifting, tilting, and spinning all at once, making every movement feel like an uphill battle against gravity. Lex had dealt with migraines like this before—too many times, really—but that didn’t make it any easier. The nausea that accompanied the dizziness was creeping up on him, a sickening wave that rose higher with each passing minute. He needed to get to bed, to lie down somewhere more comfortable, but the thought of standing up and moving was daunting.

Lex took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and slowly pushed up from the chair. The moment he was upright, the room tilted violently, and his stomach lurched in protest. He paused, gripping the edge of the table, closing his eyes against the spinning sensation that threatened to knock him off balance. Nausea twisted his gut, and he fought the urge to retch, knowing that any sudden movement would only make it worse.

Theoretically he could lay on the couch, but his bedroom was darker, specifically for this reason. And the couch wasn't the most comfortable. If it was this bad, Lex wanted to do what he could to be even slightly more comfortable.

Gritting his teeth, Lex forced one foot in front of the other, his movements slow and deliberate as he made his way down the short hallway to his bedroom. The walls seemed to close in on him, the world narrowing to the few feet in front of him as he concentrated on just getting to his bed. But as he reached the doorway, another wave of vertigo hit him hard, sending him stumbling forward.

He barely made it into the room before his body was ready to give in. Lex could feel he either had the choice to lay down now or probably end up vomiting all over his sheets. The floor seemed like the better option.

He collapsed to the floor, the cool wood against his cheek a small mercy. He lay there, breathing heavily, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to regain some semblance of control. The dizziness was worse now, making his stomach roil, and he knew if he moved again, he wouldn’t be able to stop the inevitable.

The choice was simple, but neither option was appealing: he could stay on the floor and hope the nausea passed, or he could risk getting to the bathroom and throwing up. But even the thought of moving made the bile rise in his throat, so he stayed where he was, too exhausted to do anything else. The pain in his head had reached a crescendo, a throbbing, searing agony that made him feel like his skull was going to split open.

Time blurred as he lay there, the minutes stretching into an eternity as he battled the pain and nausea. His body felt heavy, every muscle aching from the tension he couldn’t release. He didn’t know how long he had been lying on the floor, but it felt like hours. Maybe he dozed off, maybe he didn't.

The sound of the front door opening barely registered in his foggy mind. It wasn’t until he heard Soren’s footsteps approaching that he realized Soren had come home. The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Soren’s concerned voice cut through the haze.

“Lex?”

Lex didn’t have the energy to respond, but he heard the soft sigh of understanding from Soren as he stepped into the room, his presence a comforting, familiar anchor in the chaos of Lex’s mind.

“There you are,” Soren said, “Why are you on the floor?"

"Well, the floor needed a hug," Lex said sarcastically, "Plus it was between puking my guts out and laying down immediately, so it was a win-win honestly."

Soren sat on the floor next to him, "Bad one, huh? How many hours have you worked this week?”

Lex managed a weak nod, not trusting himself to speak without setting off his already churning stomach.

"Five shifts," Lex forced to answer the question.

Soren placed a cool hand on his forehead. The touch was soothing, grounding him just enough to focus on something other than the pain.

“Alright,” Soren said softly, “just stay where you are. I’ll get you some water and a cold pack.”

Lex barely registered Soren leaving the room, his mind too fogged by the migraine to process much of anything. The nausea was getting worse, and even lying still wasn’t helping anymore. He swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to vomit, knowing it was a losing battle. But before he could spiral further, Soren was back, his calm presence and soft voice cutting through the noise in Lex’s head.

“Here,” Soren said, helping him shift just enough to place the cold pack against the back of his neck. “This should help with the nausea. Just breathe, okay?”

Lex focused on Soren’s voice, the coolness of the pack, and the steady rhythm of his own breathing. It was all he could do to hold on as the migraine continued to wreak havoc on his senses. He didn’t have to say anything for Soren to know how much he was struggling; Soren knew him too well for that.

“Take it easy, Lex,” Soren murmured, sitting down beside him, his hand still resting gently on Lex’s back. “I’m here now. Just rest.”

Lex let out a shaky breath, the tension in his body easing just slightly at Soren’s reassurance. He didn’t have to fight this alone, not with Soren by his side. And as the nausea continued to churn in his gut and the migraine pounded in his skull, he held on to that one small comfort—the knowledge that Soren was there, and he didn’t have to face this pain alone.

“Here,” Soren said, “Let’s get you to bed?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lex nodded slowly.

Soren carefully helped Lex shift from the floor to the bed, moving slowly and with as much gentleness as he could muster. He knew that any sudden motion would only make things worse for Lex, whose body was already betraying him with a migraine that had escalated to a point of pure agony.

The bed was a relief, at least more comfortable than the hard floor, but Lex’s relief was fleeting. As he lay there, Soren’s presence a steady comfort beside him, the nausea refused to subside, growing stronger with each passing minute.

Soren sat next to Lex, brushing a stray lock of damp hair from his forehead before rubbing his hand along his upper back and shoulder. “You’re alright, Lex. Just try to rest. I’m right here.”

Lex nodded weakly, though resting was easier said than done. The room continued to spin, a nauseating whirl that made his stomach churn violently. He tried to focus on Soren’s voice, on the coolness of the pillow beneath his head, Soren moved the cool pack to rest better on his head, but his body wasn’t listening. The nausea was rising, a relentless wave that he could no longer suppress.

A low groan escaped Lex’s lips as he clutched his stomach, the pain in his head intensifying with every attempt to stay still. He knew what was coming, and he hated it—hated the helplessness that came with being so sick, the feeling of losing control over his own body.

His breath hitched as his stomach twisted, and he instinctively rolled onto his side, his hands trembling as he tried to prepare himself for the inevitable.

Soren was immediately alert, noticing the shift in Lex’s body language. “Lex, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Lex barely heard him, too focused on trying to hold back the wave of nausea that was threatening to overtake him. But it was too much; his body was too overwhelmed, too worn down by the migraine that had pushed him past his limits. He gagged, his body convulsing as the nausea hit its peak, and before he could stop himself, he was retching, the force of it making his entire body seize up.

Soren was right there, his hands gentle but firm as he reached for Lex’s hair, carefully pulling the loose braid away from his face, holding it back so it wouldn’t get in the way. Lex realized at some point Soren must’ve grabbed the trash can by his desk.

“Easy, Lex,” he murmured, his voice calm and soothing even as his heart ached for what Lex was going through. “Just let it out. I’m here.”

Lex could only cling to the bed as his body gave in, vomiting violently, the migraine amplifying every sensation—the taste, the sound, the pain that shot through his head with each heave. It felt like an eternity before the wave of sickness passed, leaving him breathless and trembling, his body weak and spent.

Soren’s hand was still on his back and Lex was thankful for it and aggravated by it at the same time. Everything was too much. The waves of vomiting—another one coming up, he was sure out of spite the second he thought about it—, the taste, the sound, the feelings of everything all at once.

Soren offered him a small sip of water to rinse out the taste when it was all said and done.

“Just a little,” Soren coaxed, holding the glass steady as Lex managed a tiny sip, his hands still shaking.

Lex leaned back against the pillows, too exhausted to do anything but close his eyes and try to breathe.

The nausea had eased somewhat, but the migraine was still there, a brutal, unrelenting force that kept him trapped in misery. But now, there was something else—a warmth that had been creeping up on him, something he hadn’t noticed until Soren’s cool hand brushed against his forehead, surely trying to push more hair out of Lex’s face.

Soren’s brow furrowed as he felt the heat radiating from Lex’s skin. He had initially thought the warmth was from the strain of being sick, but now, he realized it was more than that.

Lex felt Soren’s hand which felt cool touch both his cheeks and his neck. It was a relieving touch, easing everything for a moment.

“How long have you had that fever?” Soren asked, “Since you got home?”

“Fever..? No, I couldn’t have. They check us when we come in…” Lex said, “I’m just exhausted into a migraine, I don’t—“

“Lex, you’re burning up,” Soren said softly, concern lacing his voice as he placed the back of his hand against Lex’s cheek, confirming what he already knew.

Lex opened his eyes, bleary and unfocused, and managed a small, weak shrug. “Just… a little overheated. It’s nothing.”

But Soren wasn’t convinced. He could see the flush in Lex’s cheeks, the way his skin was damp with sweat, and the fevered glaze in his eyes. “Lex, this isn’t just overheating. You’re sick, more than just the migraine. I think you might have a fever.”

Lex groaned, not in pain but in frustration. The last thing he wanted was to be more of a burden, especially when he knew how much Soren already worried about him. But even as he tried to brush it off, he couldn’t ignore the heaviness in his limbs, the way his body ached in a way that went beyond just fatigue. “Maybe… maybe a little,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Soren sighed, his concern deepening. “Okay, we need to get you comfortable. Let’s see if we can bring that fever down.”

He moved with quiet efficiency, heading to the bathroom to grab a cool, damp washcloth. He returned and gently pressed it to Lex’s forehead, the coolness providing a small bit of relief.

“Just relax,” Soren murmured, sitting beside Lex and stroking his hair with one hand while keeping the washcloth in place with the other. “You’re going to be okay.”

Lex didn’t have the strength to argue or to hide how awful he felt. He let his eyes close again, focusing on the cool touch of the cloth and the comforting presence of Soren beside him. The pain in his head was still unbearable, the nausea lingering just below the surface, but there was some solace in knowing that Soren was there, that he wasn’t alone in this.

Time seemed to stretch and blur as Lex drifted in and out of a restless half-sleep, the migraine and fever battling for dominance in his already worn-out body.

“You know, for an emergency medical technician, you’re a real idiot,” Soren said, offering an affectionate smile.

“Yeah, well,” Lex said, “I’m your idiot.”

[stesierra]

It's 7am and I've had one hour of sleep because my baby complains every time his binkie falls out. And that means it's time to post another first chapter of a different book. As usual, tell me if you want to be added or removed from my writing tag list.

This is NA fantasy about found family and finding your own path. It's sort of a love letter to birds. Ace representation, of course.

Court Phoenix

Chapter One

In the thin twilight before dawn, the poles of my net sprang from the lake shore like dead saplings. The shadows turned my standing net invisible, hiding its intricate weaving and strong threads. If I couldn’t see it, neither could the birds. That was what I was counting on.

My shoulders slumped as I crouched in the brush, and exhaustion tried to drag my eyelids down. The wind grazed my cheeks and nipped at my exposed ears, and for a second the net appeared, rippling like a wave on the lake. I prayed for stillness, and the breeze withered. It was what I’d wanted, but the dead air stifled me as I waited for my prey to wake and wing across the water. The most boring part of fishing for birds was waiting.

A wavering shriek split the night and pierced my ears. It wasn’t human, but I couldn’t deny the anguish in that wail. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and my heart quickened. I craned my head, trying to see the source among the trees.

If not for the broken twigs biting into my knees and the muddy smell of the shore, I would have thought I dreamed. Fire danced in the sky, the sun escaping its path. It darted over the trees and swept over the lake, trailing sparks, and with another tormented scream, it dashed itself against the shore.

I jumped up, crunching fallen branches underfoot. The flames licked the ground, like an ordinary cookfire, but something lay in their midst. A bird, her wings spread and neck twisted, but not the sort of bird I had for dinner. If she had struck my net, she would have ripped it apart even without the flames. It had happened once with a golden eagle of the same size, and I still bore the scar from trying to free it.

The fire blazed brighter, but I crept towards it. At first, I thought the bird was an eagle. Her bone-white beak slashed downward, and her ivory talons clenched into human-sized fists. But her streaming tail better fit a pheasant, and no raptor bore such a curving neck. A band of gold encircled one ankle, like a bracelet.

Her blunt wings beat once as I knelt by the border of the fire. Except for the blue that painted her tail and face, her feathers glowed gold and red, echoing the flames. Her ruby eyes stared up at me. Her beak parted, and another shivering cry cut into my heart. I had never heard anything so sad.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, although I didn’t expect a reply. “How can I help you?”

She keened at me, lying limp and hopeless.

Some mad instinct drove me to lean forward into the flames. I wasn’t worried about the fire — I was fireborn — but that beak could take off my fingers, those claws gouge out my heart. But I gathered the bird onto my lap, ignoring the fact that my trousers and quilted jacket had caught fire.

She opened and closed her beak, turned her head to lie against my leg, and died.

I sighed and stroked her silky back. I was a fisher, and we caught and ate birds to survive, but I had always loved birds of prey. Whenever they hit my nets, I set them free. I supposed this bird was free now, but her loss seemed a tragedy. She was so beautiful.

In my arms, the creature’s feathers blackened and curled. The scent of roasting meat wafted up. And then, before I could decide if it would honor the bird more to eat or bury her, a pillar of flame erupted around me.

It roared like a bull, climbing into the sky and burning my clothes to ash. Smoke choked my nostrils and filled my lungs. The bird crumbled to cinders, leaving me naked and empty-handed. I scrambled to my feet. Around me, the fire was electric, calling to me, welcoming and joyful. The golden band melted in the heat, puddling on the ground.

Mother would be furious about my clothes, but it was too late for them, so I stayed bathed in flame.

It died down too soon, as though giant fingers had pinched out the fire. The wind replaced it, stinging my ashy skin. The only warmth left in the world was the embers beneath my feet.

I stared down at them. I couldn’t see what was left of the golden band anymore, but the coals cradled a golden egg the size of my two fists. I leaned down and brushed its shell with my fingertip. It was hot and smooth, almost oily. I picked it up and cupped it to my modest breasts. And, my skin sooty and bared, I walked home.

#

The sun peeked above the horizon by the time I padded across the boundaries of the village. Behind me, the little forest that curled around our lake shifted and sighed in the wind. The birds had begun to sing.

It was early, and the only people awake were out fishing, like me, so no one watched as I tiptoed through gardens that burst with flowering onions and herbs and sidestepped half-patched boats turned over in the middle of town. I snuck past square houses with thatched roofs and paper windows and walls of lacquered wood. Fish dried from the eaves, and the town cats sat like loafs beneath, hoping for one to surrender to gravity.

My small home was near the smithy at the center of town, the doorstep scattered with feathers of every color. A brace of geese hung over my neighbor’s door — either bragging or an offer to bargain. Probably both. A net wound round poles was propped up outside, wrapped in tight cloth marked with a family signature. I had left mine standing by the lake, and Mother would be furious if she found out. I wouldn’t let her find out.

I shoved my door open with a shoulder and squeezed inside, egg cuddled against my bare stomach. The twilight wasn’t strong enough to light up my paper windows, so I propped the door open. It revealed hand-me-down furniture, pressed on me by relatives when I moved out of Mother’s house. A pallet stuffed with reeds took up the far wall. In the center stood the fire pit, nothing but dead ashes, and before it my scratched little dining table and wobbly stool. If I’d had a husband or wife, like any other young woman, they’d be waiting for me with the cookfire blazing and a savory breakfast scenting the air. But I didn’t have one. My house was cold and smelled of nothing but vinegar.

I hurried inside and laid the egg down on my pillow, in the indent left by my head. Then I cleaned up as best I could with a pitcher of water and some rags. The water turned black by the time I was done, but I no longer looked like my clothes had burned off me. Just in case, I pulled on the gray trousers and tunic I used at the forge. No one would notice a few more soot stains among those already there.

I sniffed myself and then the air. The fire was dead and I was mostly clean, so why did I smell smoke?

My pillow was smoldering. The egg lay among rising curls of gray, looking harmless. I snatched it up and flipped the pillow over to smother the black patch the egg had left.

“You’re trouble,” I told it. “I should put you back in the woods.”

It shone innocently in my hand. Innocent? It had tried to light my house on fire!

I cradled it in my palms, and it radiated heat that made my fingers tingle. I asked myself, “What am I doing? I can’t raise a bird. No one would understand.”

But I had no answers for myself. I burrowed the egg into the ashes of my firepit, mounding them up around it. If it caught alight here, it wouldn’t burn the village down. And then I ran back to the forest to check on my net and whether I had caught anything.

#

I couldn’t deal with birds all day. After I had plucked and gutted my catch — two ducks and three shorebirds — I left it outside Mother’s door and followed the stink of smoke to the smithy.

The old smith was already there, prodding the fire with a long poker. “You’re late,” he told me. “Do you think you’re my apprentice to waste my time?”

I was his apprentice because he’d paid off my mother when I was still a toddler who crawled into the family cookfire. No one had ever asked me if I wanted the job. But I bit back my temper and took a hold of the bellows. I’d learned a long time ago that protesting was a waste of time. Even though I was now twenty, a woman grown, by the rules of my village, this man was my master.

By sundown, soot and sweat soiled my forehead, my black hair and clothes stank of smoke, and my arms ached. My hands hurt from holding a hammer without gloves. My master was of the opinion that since fire couldn’t burn me, I would have greater control with my bare hands. All it did was make my palms smart with each blow.

I trudged back to my house in the twilight, already planning a long nap. But the door stood open, and my mother’s voice issued out, shrill and too loud. My heart dropped down to my toes.

“What is this mess? And where are her spare clothes and shoes? And what is that?”

“I don’t know, Mother,” Eldest Brother said, his voice patient and demure as a man’s should be. “It looks like an egg.”

They’d noticed the addition to my fireplace. Of course they had. I had no privacy at all, even now that I’d moved out. I hurried inside, expecting to see the egg smashed on the floor. But it still sat snug in its ash nest, shining gold like the headwoman’s best jewelry.

My mother spun towards me, hands set on her hips. Her long quilted coat fell to mid-thigh, covering her trousers, and she’d yanked her graying black hair back into a high pony-tail. My oldest brother stood between her and the door, dressed in a similar outfit, and he frowned at my grimy face. They both looked like me: mouths too thin and wide, noses too small and upturned. None of us were beauties, myself especially.

My mother demanded, “Where were you? What is this?”

I waved a hand to my smoky clothes. “Working at the forge. Where I am every day.”

She sniffed, folding her arms. “You should have been home an hour ago, to prepare dinner.”

“Tell that to the smith,” I snapped, shoving past them both to cast my jacket down on my bed.

“Tell him yourself,” Mother said. “You’re a grown woman. Supposedly.”

I gritted my teeth and kicked off my shoes, which sailed across room. “Please leave so I can eat and go to bed.”

Eldest Brother sighed and shook his head. “We’re your guests, Kerra. Did Father teach you to show such poor hospitality?”

Father had the courtesy not to invade my house. But I said, “No. Please, make yourselves at home. I’m happy to stay up another three hours instead of getting the sleep I desperately need.”

“You get plenty of sleep, you lazy girl,” Mother chided.

I clenched my fists, and my sore fingers protested. “Not when I get up before dawn to fish for birds! Birds for you! Which you never thanked me for!”

Eldest Brother glowered at me. “Calm down, Kerra. This is unbecoming.”

I jabbed a finger at the door. “Then leave.”

“I’m not going,” Mother declared, “Until you explain the egg in your fireplace.”

I stepped around them and swiped my hand through the ashes, hiding the egg beneath. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to your mother,” my mother and brother said at the same time. I wanted to scream.

“Fine,” I said. “The spirit of fire sent it to me. So I’m going to hatch it.”

They both stared at me. Eldest Brother said, “Hatch it? When it would make an omelet enough to feed your entire family?”

Mother sniffed. “What do you mean, the spirit of fire? The spirit of fire has had nothing to do with you since it possessed your father.”

I was born to the fire, as my people said it. It was Father's fault for being a daydreamer, Mother always said. Sometimes, if a man spent too long out on the water or the cold windy plains, or in front of a fireplace, or turning over the garden, and his mind wandered, a spirit might possess him. If he went to his wife, so possessed — well, he might sire a child with some unusual abilities.

Women didn't get possessed. I guessed we were more sensible.

“Give us the egg,” my brother said. “The family’s stomach matters more than your fancies.”

“Go on,” I said unkindly. “Touch it. If it’ll let you pick it up, you can have it.”

He frowned and sank his hand into the pile of ash. And then he yelped and jerked it back out. “It burned me!”

Mother grabbed his arm and glared at me, demanding explanations.

“The spirit of fire sent it,” I repeated. “If you try to make an omelet with it, it’ll probably burn down the village.”

My mother paled, staring down at the fireplace, and her fingers tightened on my brother’s sleeve. “Then you should carry it out and throw it into the lake! Really, Kerra—”

“Goodbye,” I said, herding them outside with sweeps of my hands. “Tell Father I said goodnight.” And as soon as they were beyond the threshold, I slammed the door shut.

Barely enough light illuminated the windows for me to dig out my tinder box and start the fire. I thought about pulling the egg out first, but I had nowhere fire-safe to put it. In the end, I piled dry kindling around it, and let the flames envelop it. It shone from the heart of the fire, neither blackening nor cracking, and I had the strange sense that it was happy.

“Are you going to hatch?” I whispered to it. “And when?” But the little life curled within that shell was sleeping, and I got no answer.

#

The next morning found me out by the lake again. No firebird tumbled from the air this time, but I caught a brace of ducks. This time I kept them for myself. My mother wouldn’t appreciate them anyway.

When I returned home, ducks hung from my belt, pole and wrapped net resting against my shoulder, I paused on the footpath and stared. My paper windows glowed as if I’d left a lantern lit inside, but when I’d left, the room had been black as pitch. What on earth?

I propped my poles and net against the front wall and peeked inside. Light radiated from my fireplace, too golden to be a fire. The egg shone where it curved above the ash, and cracks crazed it, each so bright it burned white. Something within rapped, like the crackle of damp charcoal raked into the forge. And as I gaped at it, the egg rocked impatiently against its ash nest.

I slipped inside and slammed the door behind me. If I was lucky, the villagers would think I’d just left the fire lit. I didn’t want any witnesses for this unusual birth.

As I reached the hearth, the tip of a white beak punctured the shell, and light poured out of the opening. And barely a second passed before a thunderous crack split my ears. I went half-blind as the egg exploded outwards, blasting glowing shell in every direction. The shards powdered like snow before they hit my face, but I still got one in my mouth. It tasted of chalk and ash.

I'd never seen an egg hatch, but I was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to go like that. But when I saw the firebird, sprawled in my fireplace with two enormous feet sticking out from under her, I forgot all my objections.

Ash-white fluff buried her, like she'd ripped out of a down pillow instead of an egg, and fire danced about her and blushed her baby-feathers red and gold. Her half-naked head wobbled on a skinny little neck, blue as the adult's tail. I crouched in front of her and stretched a hand out. Her face was the length of my littlest finger, and her eyes were closed like a newborn kitten's.

“What on earth am I going to name you?” I asked the chick.

The baby bird bumped me gently with her beak and overbalanced. When I righted her, she felt like embers against my palms.

I said, "I think I'll call you Hes."

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

[ohifonlyx33]

excuse me???

“Mal,” I said. “Do you think … do you think it’s the amplifiers?” He frowned, checking the sight on a rifle. “What do you mean?” “Is that what’s between us? My power and yours? Is that why we became friends, why…” I trailed off. He picked up another gun, sighted down the barrel. “Maybe that brought us together, but it didn’t make us who we are. It didn’t make you the girl who could get me to laugh when I had nothing. It sure as hell didn’t make me the idiot who took that for granted. Whatever there is between us, we forged it. It belongs to us.” Then he set down the rifle and wiped his hands on a rag. “Come with me,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me behind him.

I looked down, brushing petals off of the desk. “Did you ever notice me at Keramzin?” He was silent for a long moment, and when I glanced at him, he was looking up at the glass ceiling. He’d gone red as a beet. “Mal?” He cleared his throat, and crossed his arms. “As a matter of fact, I did. I had some very … distracting thoughts about you.” “You did?” I sputtered. “And I felt guilty for every one of them. You were supposed to be my best friend, not…” He shrugged and turned even redder. “Idiot.” “That fact is well established and adds nothing to the plot.” “Well,” I said, taking another swipe at the petals, “it wouldn’t matter if you noticed me, because I would have noticed you.” “A lowly otkazat’sya?” “That’s right,” I said quietly. I didn’t feel like teasing him anymore. “And what would you have seen?” “A soldier—cocky, scarred, extraordinary. And that would have been our beginning.” He rose and closed the distance between us. “And this still would have been our end.” He was right. Even in dreams, we had no future. If we somehow both survived tomorrow, I would have to seek an alliance and a crown. Mal would have to find a way to keep his heritage a secret. Gently, he took my face in his hands. “I would have been different too, without you. Weaker, reckless.” He smiled slightly. “Afraid of the dark.” He brushed the tears from my cheeks. I wasn’t sure when they’d started. “But no matter who or what I was, I would have been yours.”

Malyen Oretsev knows why he loves Alina, and it's not just because he was the amplifier looking for his sun summoner. He may feel lost without his tracking ability, but he knows Alina is home. And you don't just lose a lifetime of growing up together.

And like... ok i see what they are doing with this whole go-our-separate ways thing, and I respect Mal's crisis of identity... I do. But at this point, it feels kinda forced that Mal would leave AFTER everything they've been through... the whole separation/find my purpose thing was what they were supposed to go through BEFORE he died for her.

By this point Alina was supposed to lose her power and be coming OUT of her tempted-by-darkness era, not heading into it. What are we doing here? Why are we doing it backwards?

I don't think I like those changes. My head is just spinning trying to figure it out. I'm so confused. WHY.

Anyway. Reminder. Malina ends like this:

The boy and the girl had both known loss, and their grief did not leave them. Sometimes he would find her standing by a window, fingers playing in the beams of sunlight that streamed through the glass, or sitting on the front steps of the orphanage, staring at the stump of the oak next to the drive. Then he would go to her, draw her close, and lead her to the shores of Trivka’s pond, where the insects buzzed and the grass grew high and sweet, where old wounds might be forgotten. She saw sadness in the boy too. Though the woods still welcomed him, he was separate from them now, the bond born into his bones burned away in the same moment that he’d given up his life for her. But then the hour would pass, and the teachers would catch them giggling in a dim hallway or kissing by the stairs. Besides, most days were too full for mourning. There were classes to teach, meals to prepare, letters to write. When evening fell, the boy would bring the girl a glass of tea, a slice of lemon cake, an apple blossom floating in a blue cup. He would kiss her neck and whisper new names in her ear: beauty, beloved, cherished, my heart. They had an ordinary life, full of ordinary things—if love can ever be called that.

[fyeahiwatarikei]

Rose pink + Kosuke :>

Flower Language Writing Prompts

Pink rose ◦ I finally stopped holding my breath.

You can also read this on AO3!

“Don’t be surprised!”

Kosuke’s questioning sound choked in his throat when he saw Kei’s pyjama top fly across the corridor, but that didn’t stop the latter from removing the pants too, tossing it towards the couch as he entered the living room. After long hours of reflection, he had finally decided to give it a try, the sooner the better.

“May I ask what you’re doing?” Kosuke politely asked, poking his head around the corner to try and see why he was sitting in the middle of the room wearing nothing but his underwear.

Kei crossed his legs, placed hands on knees and… took a deep breath. He hadn’t attempted that in a few centuries, who knew how his body would react after the damage it had suffered from recently. He needed to be serene, in control, attuned to every sign he’d perceive from both flesh and wood, in case any problem arose.

“I’ll retreat within and verify the state my heart is in. I’m asking you to not disturb me, regardless of what happens.”

“And what exactly should happen?”

“Nothing dangerous,” Kei smiled. Supposedly nothing dangerous. “But this exercise requires focus and time, as it will be thorough.”

“Won’t you get cold…?”

Kosuke kneeled in front of him from a respectful distance, understanding the seriousness of the situation. If he knew from experience that Kei would make himself vulnerable both physically and spiritually, he couldn’t guess the reason why wearing clothes wasn’t recommended. Elm Root was not entirely similar to the Black Wings, for better or for worse.

“No matter how long it takes, no matter what happens, you have to trust me fully, Kosuke. However, just in case: if I don’t wake up in 3 days, try keeping me hydrated.”

A nod, where worry clearly showed served as response. It wasn’t supposed to take this long, but this man looked lovely when kept on his toes. It wouldn’t make a bad last vision, in case the examination went horribly wrong.

Eyes shut, another long breath went in, then out, and he let his neck naturally bend forward. The centre of his being dwelled in the chest, as it was common for most artworks with a human appearance, turning it into the area they’d always protect. Elm Root was not as easy to reach: tearing his chest open would not have revealed an ancient item nor turned him to stone, instead, he had to look beyond flesh, blood, bones, deep within the magic that allowed him to function, to perceive his own core.

Consciousness withdrew from the outside world, where skin was uncomfortably hardening into wood, roots growing without the control of intention. Slowly, he’d lose his senses, human abilities swallowed by the cane, turned into a messy statue of sorts. For a second, he thought about the first person who had seen him like this, more than 400 years prior; for another, he thought about the man he loved, who would witness this most secret state.

No shame arose, for the same reason he was attempting this little experiment: Kosuke welcomed him fully and had said he loved him back. With this, however, came the haunting question: Elm Root hadn’t been destroyed, why not?

The key to finding out rested within; under the careful eye of his consciousness, the cane took shape, revealing its edges, its texture, its light. Much to his surprise, as the image of sorts got clearer, the devastated state he had sensed revealed itself to be beyond his worst prognosis. The wood had cracked, separating the piece into numerous fragments that only magic held together. The flow of power itself seemed different, in the slow, careful stream that missed the strength that usually agitated it. Weakened magic was healing, caressing the artwork to bring it back together, solidifying the fractures as it could, with quiet, attentive care.

It soon became clear that more than the structure had been affected: despite this disaster, a crucial element was clearly missing. Focus hardened, embracing the artwork in its entirety, revealing every single familiar detail, pursuing the specific sensation of constraint… in vain.

Shock brought him to his senses faster than he’d have wanted, and the perception of his numb, callous skin joined the emotions that swirled within. When Kosuke had affirmed his love… he hadn’t lied. Or, at least, Kei had lost the evidence that he had lied.

“The curse…” he said in a whisper, stiff flesh still struggling to respond. “It’s gone.”

A concerned Kosuke, who had waited all this time in front of him, rushed to place a hand on his shoulder, and Kei let himself collapse against him despite the roots taking their time to disappear. They painlessly bent; Kosuke didn’t flinch. He didn’t know what he felt. He didn’t know what to think. It was impossible. He had never lived without…

“I thought…” Kosuke started, arms closing around him “I thought that the Black Wings’ energy had passed through you when it became whole again…”

“Can this cure…?” He paused, at loss of words.

“I don’t know, but both Satoshi and Daisuke’s curses were brought to an end this day.”

It was absolutely impossible and made as much sense as the reason why Elm Root had received such a punishment in the first place.

“The cane is shattered,” Kei felt obligated to add, trying to concentrate on the steady support Kosuke’s shoulder provided instead of the confusion that clouded his thoughts.

“Can it be fixed…?”

Silence. Could it? Kei had never allowed damage on his inner structure, thus had never required maintenance before. If anyone, a Hikari could have fixed him… But…

“Perhaps Satoshi…”

“What are you saying?” Contact broke between them, Kei’s gaze now looking for his clothes. He wasn’t used to not wearing glasses for this long… “Requiring Satoshi’s assistance for this would be more than inopportune.”

“He would do it, if you asked…”

Would he? Their paths still hadn’t met since that unfinished discussion in front of the Black Wings and Kosuke was honestly suggesting asking for such a crucial favour? How blind could a man be? Satoshi knew enough to want to destroy him at the first occasion and not enough to keep him alive to satiate his curiosity: even if Kei’s purpose had already been accomplished, he wasn’t as determined to let this Hikari end his life anymore.

The pyjama and his glasses found their places, bringing some warmth and comfort back to a skin still sore from before. He needed tea…

 “You haven’t talked to him…?”

Kei’s sigh disappeared under the sound of the activated kettle. As endearing as Kosuke could be, his incorrigible naivety could become unsettling. In what world could someone like Kei let his centuries-old guard down in front of someone actively resenting him? He would never allow any Hikari near the source of his life again. In the worst-case scenario, Satoshi could even decide to modify him… He didn’t even want to think about it.

“I’ve had an idea. You and me, going somewhere on a trip…”

“I’ve never left Azumano, you know?”

“It could be in Japan, if you prefer.” Prudence permeated Kosuke’s voice. He wasn’t going to suggest that, was he? “Kyoto, or Hokkaido, for a change of scenery. Besides…”

Boiling water drowned the leaves in a cloudy mess, once, then twice. When Kei handed him a cup in a peremptory gesture, the other directed his brown eyes down, obviously invocating inspiration from the swirls of scented steam. The light coming from the window, behind him, already indicated noon…

“Daisuke and Satoshi could appreciate the experience as well.”

“I can guarantee you that Satoshi will refuse. I’m obviously not going to remind you of his introverted side.”

“We can try.”

They stood by the kitchen’s door, cup in hand, unease visible. Was the disappearance of a lifelong burden a worthy reason to abandon everything that grounded his life? Kosuke’s feelings were already so outlandish he had needed to check his own structure to conceptualise them as a reality, could he imagine an alternative to the truth? Was he even allowed to?

“He will refuse.”

“Well, even if that happens… Daisuke could appreciate the idea, right?”

Ugh. Was this even preferable? Why couldn’t they stay here, just the two of them, eating at their favourite places or finding new ones to try out? Kei could probably return to his position as police commissioner and thoroughly eradicate whoever was trying to steal his job at this moment! They wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

On one hand, climbing merciless ladders while avoiding dangerous connections with humans. On the other, leaving town for foreign lands and having a heart-to-heart with his own son. The first one shouldn’t have been the most appealing…

“If you don’t mind,” Kosuke resumed, “Let’s go have lunch for now.”

“Will Satoshi be there, somehow?”

The man let out a brief laugh and retrieved both half-full cup of tea to place them in the sink under Kei’s careful watch. The latter observed the way he moved, slow and steady, the quiet peace of his traits, his eternally messy hair, the long, alluring fingers on porcelain.

“Do you want him to be?”

“Why would I want my son to be present during a romantic date? Are you planning on making him witness all the sweet nothings you’ll whisper in my ear as you’re passing the sauce?”

The very unclear yet irrefutably confused response reached him as he was walking away to get dressed up. He didn’t need Niwa Kosuke to be on his side as existence threw hardships, discord, destruction, death at him – to be completely honest, he had done perfectly fine without him. He didn’t need this uncertain individual, with his broken moral compass, his complete inability to put on a suit properly, this desperate desire to do the right thing, even uncalled for, even ill-advised. Kei had especially never wanted to leave Azumano and find himself trapped into telling the entirety of a family saga to a Satoshi who’d stare at him while sharpening a chisel.

And he would choose Kosuke at every step of the way. Perhaps a new curse had come under the new, pleasant shape of a single man and his boundless hope.

Part 1 ◦ Part 2 ◦ Part 3 ◦ Part 4

[enneamage]

if this is too off topic for your blog feel free to delete - but it’s been on my mind lately contemplating why more dsmp fans don’t watch ludwig. hear me out. i feel like he’s such a great transitional link to get these people who got initially joined twitch/interested in watching streamers because of dsmp to explore outside of the minecraft bubble. he has been for me, at least. i feel like he’s such a natural entertainer with innovative content (chess boxing, subathon, mogul mail, live mogul money, etc.) but most of all it feels very digestible. the only dsmp i still consistently watch now is wilbur and jack if that puts any of this into perspective lol. not sure if you even watch him but thought i’d throw this out there anyways because i love your takes/analysis!

This is kind of a big topic because it deals with the ways that viewers do and don’t transfer over from watching streamers. I winged an answer, but as usual the Twitch/Youtube sphere is still mostly out of my depth :p. While I fully believe that Ludwig is good at what he does, I think he caters to and relates to his audience in a different way (cismen) than what would appeal to what the majority of DSMP fans want out of a stream.

Back when the balls incident hit Ludwig expressed confusion that anyone from the MCYT twitter sphere was talking about him because he himself knows that the gap between the audiences is pretty big. My thinking at the time was that the DSMP sphere kind of sees the Ludwig-and-co group of streamers as distant family, we don’t hear too much firsthand but if he gets publicly naked or arrested it will trickle down the pipeline. From outside looking in it seems that uncle Ludwig doesn’t want to see us outside of holidays and funerals and most of his following feels the same, and I think that’s where I’ll start, because the DSMP fanbase is sensitive to recognising when they’re unwanted. 

In the new wave of boundary culture, most fans want to feel like it’s possible to be in the good graces of their CC. Most of the DSMP culture is rooted in transformative fandom or at least what gets called ‘stan culture’ nowadays (that term has been watered all the way down to mean next to nothing) so it’s understood that they’re just not welcome to do as they’re inclined. I’m sure people go ahead and set up camp anyway, but you have to position yourself as counter to the creators wishes and the subculture itself if you want to enjoy that content in a way, and I think this round of MCYT blew up so big because the way that this style of fandom likes to move and interact was accepted instead of shunned. What’s left is people who are resistant to shame, which can be a lot of fun if you’re with the right people, but it’s more niche.

Not being able to commit to a streamer when watching livestreams is also an issue. There’s only so many hours in a day and it’s hard to half-ass an attachment to someone who takes that much time and attention to keep up with, so if someone or something else suits a viewer better, it makes sense for them to go to that person instead. I asked a friend and apparently some Dream Team people have crossover with his sphere which makes sense with the through-line of gamer-boyishness, so there us some audience overlap to keep people in the loop, but he’s far from one-size-fits-all for the whole fandom. 

The question left to ask is do people really want to ‘explore what Twitch has to offer.’ I ventured out of my bubble once while following a lead and I quickly found myself among demons, because some of Twitch is the whale bones of deep internet boysclub gamer-ish culture. There is a profound sketchiness in some of these spaces that DSMP fans generally don’t tolerate, and in that sense they’ve been a force for good on Twitch, but it makes them allergic to certain people who also don’t like them back.

I don’t have the clearest sense of everything that Twitch (or live Youtube) has to offer, but my sense is that’s true for most people. It looks like streamer careers are made on the back of external referrals from other websites (and by extension peers), so once you get into a social circle there’s not much hopping around. You made an unlikely leap from SBI-ish to hitting the luddy, so it might seem more feasible from your point of view, but the venn diagram overlap of appeal will vary over the general ‘DSMP fandom.'

I don’t think digestibility was ever as much of an issue as baseline appeal. Availability of content is half the battle, but people have to want what you’re selling to really stick to or bond with an audience. Ludwig isn’t hurting for viewership by any stretch so he’s finding the people that gel with him, but when I think of the DSMP fandom I think of primarily personality-driven content (and fandom engagement) that’s taken on a very particular post-2020 flavor, and that doesn’t seem to directly translate into what Ludwig does even if it's in the neighborhood.

[writemystic]

A Heartbreak Story (Taylor’s Version Lyrics)

Honey, when I'm above the trees, I see this for what it is…

Hush, I know they said the end is near but I'm still on my tallest tip-toes, spinning in my highest heels, love, shining just for you.

Clearing the air, I breathed in the smoke.

Handcuffed to the spell I was under, for just one hour of sunshine.

I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy. And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier, fighting in only your army, frontlines. Don't you ignore me, I'm the best thing at this party (you're losing me).

I wait by the door like I'm just a kid, use my best colors for your portrait, lay the table with the fancy shit… And watch you tolerate it.

I greet you with a battle hero's welcome, I take your indiscretions all in good fun.

Another summer taking cover, rolling thunder. He don't understand me…

If it’s all in my head, tell me now. Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow. I know my love should be celebrated but you tolerate it.

Tell me, when did your winning smile begin to look like a smirk? When did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt?

Talking down to me like I'd always be around.

Mister Steal-Your-Girl then make her cry, said I'm the love of your life about a million times.

You said I needed a bravе man then proceeded to play him until I believed it too… And it kills me.

And it was always on your terms. I waited on every careless word hoping they might turn sweet again like it was in the beginning.

Good girls, hopeful they'll be and long they will wait.

My friends tried but I wouldn't hear it, watched me daily disappearing for just one glimpse of his smile.

I said “I don't mind, it takes time”. I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed.

You say “I don't understand” and I say “I know you don't”. We thought a cure would come through in time, now I fear it won't.

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?

You didn't even hear me out. You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs). You didn't even see the signs.

I made you my temple, my mural, my sky. Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life, drawing hearts in the byline. Always taking up too much space or time.

You assume I’m fine, but what would you do if I… Break free and leave us in ruins? Take this dagger in me and remove it? Gain the weight of you then lose it? Believe me, I could do it.

And the air is thick with loss and indecision. I know my pain is such an imposition.

Every breath feels like rarest air when you're not sure if he wants to be there.

I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift, pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away. My spine split from carrying us up the hill, wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill. I stopped trying to make him laugh, stopped trying to drill the safe.

All this time I was wasting hoping you would come around, I've been giving out chances every time and all you do is let me down.

Distance, timing, breakdown, fighting. Silence. The train runs off its tracks. Kiss me, try to fix it. Could you just try to listen? Hang up, give up. And for the life of us we can't get back.

And I'm fading, thinking: Do something, babe, say something. Lose something, babe, risk something. Choose something, babe, I got nothing to believe unless you're choosing me. You're losing me.

This is the last time I'm asking you this, put my name at the top of your list. This is the last time I'm asking you why you break my heart in the blink of an eye.

Second, third, and hundredth chances, balancing on breaking branches. Those eyes add insult to injury.

But I got tired of waiting wondering if you were ever coming around, my faith in you was fading.

As I comb back through my memory, how you said you'd be here. You said you'd be here…

And right before your eyes, I'm aching.

Stop, you're losing me. I can't find a pulse, my heart won't start anymore.

What do you say when tears are streaming down your face in front of everyone you know? And what do you do when the one who means the most to you is the one who didn't show?

It turned into something bigger, somewhere in the haze got a sense I'd been betrayed.

Oh, I hate those voices telling me I’m not in love anymore. But they don’t give me choices and that’s what these tears are for.

But if you look a little closer, I said “Leave” but all I really want is you to stand outside my window throwing pebbles screaming “I'm in love with you!”

So babe, if you know everything, tell me why you couldn't see? That when I left I wanted you to chase after me.

But you held your pride like you should’ve held me.

Could've loved you all my life if you hadn't left me waiting in the cold.

And it took you five whole minutes to pack us up and leave me with it.

I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending.

But people are people and sometimes it doesn't work out. Nothing we say is gonna save us from the fallout.

And I wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser who only wanted you to see her.

I move through the world with a heart broken, my longing state unspoken.

You know I didn't want to have to haunt you, but what a ghostly scene. You wear the same jewels that I gave you as you bury me.

I call my mom, she said that it was for the best. Remind myself the morе I gave, you'd want me less.

I know I'm probably better off on my own than loving a man who didn't know what he had when he had it.

'Til we were dead and gone and buried. Check the pulse and come back swearing it’s the same after three months in the grave. And then you wondered where it went to as I reached for you, but all I felt was shame and you held my lifeless frame.

And I see the permanent damage you did to me. Never again, I just wish I could forget when it was magic.

I was dancing when the music stopped. And in the disbelief, I can't face reinvention. I haven’t met the new me yet.

Dancing phantoms on the terrace, are they second-hand embarrassed? That I can't get out of bed ‘cause something counterfeit's dead.

They say all's well that ends well, but I'm in a new hell every time you double-cross my mind.

Maybe I was naive, got lost in your eyes and never really had a chance. My mistake, I didn't know to be in love you had to fight to have the upper hand.

What a sad, beautiful, tragic love affair.

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost. The room is on fire, invisible smoke and all of my heroes died all alone.

I wish it wasn't four AM, standing in the mirror saying to myself “You know you had to do it”. I know the bravest thing I ever did was run.

Screaming: Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay? (I see right through me, I see right through me).

I was dancing when the music stopped. And in the disbelief, I can't face reinvention. I haven't met the new me yet.

It's been a long time and seeing the shape of your name still spells out pain. It wasn't right, the way it all went down, looks like you know that now.

And you call me up again just to break me like a promise, so casually cruel in the name of being honest.

People like you always want back the love they pushed aside, but people like me are gone forever when you say goodbye.

And now you're asking me to listen 'cause it's worked each time before. And you can tell me that you're sorry, but I don't believe you, baby, like I did before.

Words, how little they mean when you're a little too late.

We might still be in love if you were a better man.

Let me remind you this was what you wanted. You were all I wanted, but not like this.

Your kiss, my cheek. I watched you leave. Your smile, my ghost. I fell to my knees.

So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep and I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe.

I never thought we'd have a last kiss, I never imagined we'd end like this.

I guess it's the price I pay for seven years in Heaven.

But I forgot that you sent me a clear message, taught me some hard lessons.

When your impressionist paintings of heaven turned out to be fakes? Well, you took me to hell too.

Baby love, I think I've been a little too kind. Didn't notice you walking all over my peace of mind in the shoes I gave you as a present.

Putting someone first only works when you’re in their top five.

After giving you the best I had, tell me what to give after that. All you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness… You haven't met the new me yet.

And I don't even want you back, I just want to know if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal. And I don't miss what we had, but could someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived?

The idea you had of me, who was she? A never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you.

In public, showed me off, then sank in stoned oblivion

'Cause once your queen had come you'd treat her likе an also-ran.

I would've died for your sins instead I just died inside.

Six weeks of breathing' clean air, I still miss the smoke.

Were you making fun of me with some esoteric joke? Now I wanna sell my house and set fire to all my clothes.

You shit-talked me under the table, talking rings and talking cradles. I wish I could unrecall how we almost had it all.

And you say I abandoned the ship, but I was going down with it. My white knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment.

So how much sad did you think I had in me? How much tragedy? Just how low did you think I'd go before I'd self implode? Before I'd have to go be free?

Is it a wonder I broke? Let's hear one morе joke then we could all just laugh until I cry.

Was any of it true? Gazing at me starry-eyed in your Jehovah's witness suit. Who the fuck was that guy?

Haunted by the look in my eyes that would've loved you for a lifetime.

I gave you my best and we both know you can't say that.

I'm just getting color back into my face and I'm just mad as hell 'cause I loved this place for so long.

Now that we're done and it's over, I bet you couldn't believe when you realized I'm harder to forget than I was to leave.

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same.

Oh, what a valiant roar, what a bland goodbye. The coward claimed he was a lion. I'm combing through the braids of lies, “I'll never leave”, nevermind.

You didn't measure up in any measurе of a man.

Stole my tortured heart, left all these broken parts, then told me I'm better off.

And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.

I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me.

But it's gonna be alright, I did my time.

I lived and I learned, and found out what it was to turn around and see that we were never really meant to be.

And time is taking its sweet time erasing you.

And by morning, gone was any trace of you. I think I am finally clean.

I'm gonna find someone someday who might actually treat me well. This is a big world, that was a small town there in my rearview mirror disappearing now. And it's too late for you and your white horse to catch me now.

And I've been spending the last eight months thinking all love ever does is break, and burn, and end… But on a Wednesday, in a café, I watched it begin again.

Long story short, I survived.

[yuckmouf]

Forged in Regret

The Blacksmith wiped the sweat from his grimy forehead.  A cloudy streak, the byproduct of a long day’s work, smeared across his hand. The oppressive heat from the furnace wrapped around his throat, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs. Yet, he stilled himself to admire this impressive broadsword. It was the pinnacle of four generations of research and, until this moment, he didn’t think he could rise to this awful task. But, God be damned,  he did.

Wind from the valley below slipped between the cracks of the the lodge’s wooden walls. A stream of air slid across the sword with an eerie whine. Oh God, The Blacksmith thought, can it speak? Even now? He gazed upon the hilt. It was adorned with intricate glyphs etched in mammoth tusk. They spelled out the cursed soul’s name. A splendid name, indeed it was. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the blade and flinched.

At twilight, a heavy knock rapped twice upon the door. The Blacksmith regained some of his composure and welcomed a thin, regal figure that loomed in the doorway. He was right on time. The Wretched Prince of Lust entered the forge with a dismissive wave of his hand.  With those terrible yellow eyes, he scanned the room. 

In his icy, weighted voice, The Prince demanded what he had commissioned. The Blacksmith recited the fable he’d rehearsed in the few hours before The Prince’s arrival: Outlaws from the west descended on this humble little hut in the mountains and stole his most valuable weapons, even those he never intended to sell. He risked adding too much detail, but the thought of giving a weapon like that to someone like him turned his guts inside out.

The Prince responded with tragic news of The Blacksmith’s brother, who had been working in The Capital as a baker. He had, most unfortunately, succumbed to The Blood Plague. A slender grin peeled across his face when he offered his condolences. 

The Blacksmith spat a glob of green spit at The Prince’s porcelain face.  A long string of mucus stretched from his chin to his chest before he wiped it away with the sleeve of his robe. He gave a dramatically annoyed sigh and thrust his index finger into The Blacksmith’s forehead. 

Although there was no skin or broken bone, the finger sunk to its third knuckle. As it plunged further, a lifetime’s worth of painful memories forced their way burst through the The Blacksmith’s consciousness. The Prince’s hellish magic scraped across his mind, looking for his precious sword. 

The Blacksmith never figured out how long The Prince had kept him in this state. He was only certain that he screamed long enough for his voice go hoarse. When The Prince found his answer, he threw The Blacksmith aside, bolted toward a pile of commonplace rags, and unearthed the handsome broadsword. He held the killing tool with a tenderness that reminded The Blacksmith of his deceased brother, who must be rotting away in some cheap shroud by now.

“You’re with me, now. Now, and forever…” whispered The Prince.

Executions were normally a time for amusement in the Capital’s town square. However, rumors of The Blacksmith’s impotent act of resistance tainted today’s crowd with a peculiar sense of melancholy. The executioner’s axe, polished and ornate, sliced through his neck. His head popped off with a sickening squelch. 

It rolled, and rolled, and rolled until it stopped at The Prince’s feet, the cursed broadsword leaning faithfully at his side.  The Blacksmith gazed into it with a weak glimmer of defiance lurking behind his lifeless eyes. The soul of The Prince’s secret lover gazed back at The Blacksmith from its captivity within the blade.

[joel-doggystyle-miller]

Joel kisses your head and takes a deep breath, settling in for a long delivery.

He remains patient and gentle with you the entire time, saying nothing but encouraging words or shitty jokes to try and keep you distracted. It might be in this moment, holding you while you work overtime to bring his little baby into the world, that he realizes whatever he felt for you is more intense than he thought.

That one night stand may have stemmed from deep-rooted feelings he didn’t know were there yet. It would make sense, considering how he always felt the need to linger near you after the two of you had that encounter. Always wanted to protect you.

After hours upon hours of contractions and hand squeezes that Joel sometimes thinks might just break his bones, the first baby comes out wailing.

First, baby. A beautiful little boy with a full set of lungs and ten perfect fingers and toes. The second he has that baby in his arms, Joel finally breaks, tears streaming down his cheeks as he welcomes the boy into the world.

He lets you have full creative liberty with the name- it’s your baby, you did all the work, he’ll love whatever you give him.

And then, after a few minutes of cooing over Luca, a second baby surprises you both, her cries softer than her brothers but beautiful all the same.

Second baby. Her cries. Joel… Joel is a dad to two babies and one is a beautiful baby girl. He’s always wanted to be a girl dad.

“I- I have a name idea,” he chokes out as he cleans the little girl off, Luca resting on your chest. “If I could contribute. I’ve loved it since I was a real young man.”

I open my eyes from where they were closed as I press my nose against Luca’s head, “what is it?”

[thecameronchronicles]

More Than Just Watering Plants

*Requested*

TW: Smut. Language. Degrading Language. A Bit of fluff for the romantics ;)

SUMMARY: Asked to house sit for the Cameron’s seemed like a boring way to spend your weekend. Until Rafe decides to use your presence to his advantage…

WORD COUNT: 5400

More Than Just Watering Plants

You knew every detail of Tannyhill as you had been running its halls and trampling its perfectly manicured grass since before you knew your multiplication tables. Which was why when you were asked to ensure the plants were watered, the security remained engaged, and any mail and packages were not left on the doorstep, you figured it was a favor you could do happily for the family of your best friend, Sarah. She always welcomed you with a bright smile you’d come to miss in her absence along with her jokes and warmth. However…you would not miss HIM. But you DID find yourself beyond grateful for the break from his lustful gazes and one-sided banter that made your eyes roll. Instead, you were allowed to make yourself at home…and so you did. 

Flipping through channels and streaming services only to find the same lackluster reruns and sequels, you then optioned for a book. The Cameron's collection of literature was enviable despite the fact you were sure that each and every member of the family had been far too busy to crack even a single spine of any of the books. Taking pity on the pages collecting dust due to this, you reached for the silver embellished cover of a medium sized novel before hearing a section of the house creak with age. Your eyes pulled upwards to the direction of the sound but quickly returned to the pages as you excused this as having been a household’s brittle bones groaning in making itself known. 

Your eyes began to feel heavy after surpassing your planned twain chapter endeavor. Closing the book but leaving it on the table for later, you decided it was time for bed. But before that, you were desperate to wash the day off of you. Not because it was hectic or stressful, but because you knew that the water pressure in the Cameron household was sinful. The excitement to its sweltering seduction had you biting your lip rior to the ease of its touch finding you once you committed yourself beneath its stream. 

Rafe…

The thought of him was always on your mind. Usually from frustration. But still, always present. It was this consistent presence that left you using indifference as a defense mechanism in place for allowing your true desire for him to be made known. After all, you’d known him since before he’d grown into his features, every year giving you more of a need to risk your friendship with Sarah just to know his touch. And it was the thought of this touch that pulled your fingers into a descent to silence the throbbing need between your thighs. It was the same need that came from the way he was relentless in teasing you in a perfect combination of playful yet seductive. 

But then you heard it. 

The front door coming open. For a moment, you’d frozen in place, curious to why the alarm hadn’t sounded as Ward had the very best security system throughout the entire Outer banks. And you were certain everybody from him to Wheezie had left as you saw them off a few hours prior. And yet, the echo was so prominent. Yet as you quickly reached to end the shower, collecting a towel and wrapping it in a messy hold around your figure, you wondered if this was your subconscious berating you for thinking of Rafe as you had. Yet rationally, you blamed your paranoia getting the best of you. After all, it was just an old house…

And yet, as you descended the steps leading to the first floor, knuckles white while wrapped within a makeshift knot of your towel, you found small inconsistencies that left you to wonder if you were alone.

The book you’d read no longer sat on the surface of the glass table, the lights you’d kept off to conserve energy, simply as a courtesy, were now illuminating sections of the house you were sure you hadn’t walked through, and finally, the alarm system blinking in having been recently locked. Everything pulled in a dull ache within your stomach to lock yourself in the nearest closet and call the police. And yet, in the excitement of the sound, you’d left it upstairs. 

Silent in your dismay, you turned to climb the steps before crashing into him. His physique both incomparable yet undisputable as it towered well over your own. 

“Oh my God, Rafe!” You whined, half relieved-but mostly annoyed. Your hand came over your heart to show how he’d startled you, all while his eyes were shameless to drink in the exposure of your skin. Even though he had seen you in bikinis since you had the confidence to bear one, any chance he could see more of your skin was stolen by his gluttonous gaze. 

“You know…When most girls say that, they’re usually looking up at me from being on their backs, even their knees…” He spoke with such pride, as if this confession of being a ‘player’ were some kind of honorary title. To which, you rolled your eyes in annoyance, all to repress the image of you laid available to him having flashed through your mind just before his voice returned you to reality. 

“You COULD just say you’re happy to see me.”

“But then I would be lying…” You teased, leaving him with a cocked jaw before returning to the bathroom where your clothes were still set on the edge of the counter. Slipping beyond the plaid shorts that just covered your ass and a tank that descended just enough to show an appropriate amount of cleavage, you returned reluctantly down the steps before finding Rafe sitting at the kitchen bar. Phone in hand, he seemed rather focused on whatever conversation or social media post before finding you in his peripheral vision. 

“Seriously…why are you back?”

“Didn’t feel like much of a vacation…” He confessed, something strained within his voice as you wondered if something happened with Ward. Even though you were Sarah’s best friend, your consistent presence left you susceptible from witnessing the onfair double standard of what it meant to be her sibling. But in the same way you didn’t blame Sarah for this, you pitied Rafe, even in the times he made it difficult by being an arrogant asshole-which he never failed to execute. 

“But I can see you’re making yourself at home…” He acknowledged, using this comment as an excuse to look at your curves, desperately sensual beneath your chosen fabric. Rolling your eyes, a consistent habit whenever in his presence, you now turned to the cabinet set just off of the stove before turning back to find him suddenly against you. 

“Actually…There was something I wanted…” He lowered, his fingers pulling her damp yet long hair from over your shoulder as you suppressed the lump of an attempted swallow while trying to remain visually unaffected by him. 

“Something I’ve been craving and I just…” He slowly shook his head, dropping his eyes in a purposeful yet dramatic pause, before looking back to you as if trying to look through you. 

“I can’t deny myself what I want anymore…” He bit his bottom lip, your own coming into a part as he moved ever so slightly towards you. 

“I NEED to have you…” He explained as your eyes widened just before his hands came to your hips. 

“Move so I can get to the snacks…” He teased, well aware how he had you willing and bewildered in his presence. Frustrated, you pushed yourself off of him and moved into the direction of the living room, where he would join you after retrieving a bowl of popcorn. Taking a few pieces every so often as he made himself comfortable on the portion of the couch directly beside you, offering you his ‘homemade’ treat, you cast a look of frustration before moving to the individual loveseat as far away from him as possible, all to quiet the want still gnawing at you from him having teased you. 

“Do you really have nothing else to do on a Friday night but bother me?” You asked, eyes lifting from your book once again as he only smirked, keeping his gaze on you as he answered. 

“Now that I know that I do-NOTHING could be more important…It’s my life’s mission-”

“Well consider it complete.” You spoke rather dismissively before returning to your book, feeling his eyes on you and that smirk remain, forcing you to lift the edge of your book until you could no longer see him. 

However, in the same way his close proximity and thinly vulgar words left you in need of what you denied yourself when it had come to him, the way you were so innocent in domestic activities left him shifting uncomfortably in his recently tightened pants. The way your fingers traced the edges of each page, prompting a turn, had been a vision for how those very pads would feel running down his chest. But nothing had affected him more than the way you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth in thought or the lift of your brow once intrigued-those damned lips having always been the subject to his most depraved thoughts. 

You wrapped around him. 

You moaning his name. 

You. 

“I’m gonna go to bed…’ You finally announced, unable to reread this paragraph for the fifteenth time as you’d lost your focus as he’d nearly burned a hole into you. And without a word, you rose-but quickly found him to mirror your steps. 

“What are you doing?”

“What kind of guy would I be if I didn’t make sure you got tucked in all nice and safe?”

“You’d be Rafe.” You teased as he motioned for you to climb the steps before remembering your nightly rituals prior to bed. Diverting at the last second in the hopes of evading him, you slipped across the hall and pulled your toothbrush to your teeth before beginning small circles, all while he watched. 

“I think this is the quietest you’ve been since I’ve known you…” He teased, leaning in the doorway. You repressed the urge to roll your eyes and instead lifted your middle finger as he feigned chest pain just as you had when he had startled you, before returning to your task. Once realizing he was no longer holding your focus, he pulled himself behind you until he kept your eyes in the mirror. A smirk spread across his full lips, he inched even closer, the extent of his physique-tight and muscular, having tensed to each movement. 

“I think this is the first time we’ve ever really been alone…” His voice was deeper now, as if the realization made him more lustfully courageous than what would have been mere teasing prior to now. 

“You could yell at me and nobody could hear you…” He lowered to your ear, keeping his eyes to your reflection to ensure he would memorize your reaction to his next words, “Or you could scream and nobody would come save you-” Your body betrayed your attempts to remain unaffected as you rejected this by turning against him. 

“What the hell Rafe, why would you say that?” But to this, he only kept that shit-eating grin before leaving the bathroom, and you trembling along with it. This reprieve allowing you the chance to breathe without him enticing a reaction, you finished executing oral hygiene before running a brush through your hair to keep it from tangling while you slept, and moved to the guest room. But of course, he was in wait of you. His usual towering frame now half folded as he sat on the edge of your bed. 

“I’ve seen what you wear to bed…but I have to say that these are my favorite little shorts of all the other ones…” He explained as you could feel your pulse accelerate once more. Not that you need his approval to feel good in your skin-but it didn’t hurt…

���Goodnight. Rafe.” You spoke rather harshly as he held his hands up in surrender before moving past you, stalling just before you would be able to close the door.

“Just remember when you dream of me tonight, sweetheart…” He pushed deeper into you, his lips making contact to the concave of your ear to ensure his words would reverberate to your core. 

“I like it rough…” Before you could berate or breathe, he was halfway down the hallway and slipping into his own room. Flustered, you closed the door quickly before sliding beneath the covers, doing everything in your power to think of anything else but him. As you knew if you allowed yourself to act on them, it would only end in heartache as Rafe was many things, but boyfriend material was not among them. 

You’d seen this with the way he had treated other girls, but each red flag or reason against it, he’d always counter with the spark he fanned within you-a spark that was beginning to consume you every second you spent alone with him. 

Especially alone. 

This was why you couldn’t sleep. You’d tried everything you could to no avail. The sound of a rainstorm via ASMR only made you want to pee, the Wattpad fanfictions of your favorite Netflix show only made you wish you lived within that universe, and any attempt at social media brought his damned smug face to view. It was enough to make you expel from your attempts and begin to pace the floor as you considered venturing to his room and giving yourself for the sole purpose of having it done with. 

You’d convinced yourself that if you’d had him this way, just once, you could move on with your life. And yet, the aftermath that would await you was too much. Instead, you optioned for a walk to the kitchen, hoping tea, water-even Vodka would be enough to try and sleep. 

Once cresting the steps to decline, the unmistakable sound of a moan at your back pulled you into a rooted pause. You recognized the cadence behind it, yoru skin chilling as it repeated once more. 

And again. 

And again. Followed by the lightest groan of your name driving you to the threshold of a specific bedroom harboring your best friend’s brother. Your lust, for what you convinced yourself was curiosity, set your soles in the direction of the decadent pleas, as you inched closer to the room to find him on the edge of his bed, cock in hand, looking at something upon his phone. Swallowing hard, you watched as the screen came to view, a specific photo of you present on his screen as his head came back in pleasure. 

“Fuck…” Your name slipped following his curse as your fingers wrapped tightly around the frame of the door, giving away your position as your intrigue left you carless to such a discovery. Perhaps even a part of you had been self sabotaging in the hopes he would find you. And onces his eyes came to you, it was over…

Before you could even think, you were taken within the room, the door slammed with your body taken against it while his hands were on your hips. 

“I guess you know now…” He teased, breathless from the attempts to pleasure himself, that were interrupted by teasingly granted an imminent release at your presence. 

“But the question is…Do YOU want ME?” He leaned closer, fingers teasing the exposed skin of your stomach revealed from the crop of this tee. 

“I know you do…But I want to see for myself…” His words kept you silent as his fingers lowered beyond the tease of your panties and hooked between your folds, running fine lines in analysis. 

“Hmph…” He paused for a second before narrowing his eyes to you in focus, second hand making a slow climb to your throat as his fingers wrapped in a favorable yet cautious hold to the skin left available to him. Your hard swallow having convinced him of the words he needed but you wouldn’t dare utter. 

“It’s a good thing nobody’s here…Because I’m going to make you cum in every fucking room of this house for every time you’ve used that smart little mouth against me…” He chuckled at his second thought, “You’re gonna be so fucking sore when I’m done with you-”

“Rafe..” You whined, half hoping he would realize the detrimental change this would leave between you. And yet just like you, it appeared he didn’t care to act on this responsibility. And just like you, he was drowning in the recklessness. 

“I don’t know and I don’t care who has made you cum before…but I can promise you that you won’t remember them after I do…” To this, you were taken against his lips, his fingers lifting you around him as you were helpless to your desires. 

His smile broke a few of the kisses as your eagerness was favorable to what he believed would have guaranteed would have been protest, confessing without so much as a sigh that this was what you wanted just as much as he had. If not more…

“I’m gonna make you cum until the only thing you’re gonna be able to say is my name…If you can talk after taking my cock in that tight little throat…” He growled against your skin, fingers clawing the soft skin of your legs set around his waist. 

“But first…I’m gonna make sure you can take all of me-” He pulled you throughout the room, forcing your back to collide with the bed as he offered a series of passionate kisses that never seemed long enough, before his fingers began to pull on the fabric of your pajamas. 

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to see you in these pajamas?” His hand was now at your jaw, taking it deeply within his grasp. 

“Feel what you do to me-feel how hard you make me, baby…” Your hand was led to his shaft, the length far exceeding anything prior to him, his words already proven true that nobody prior to him had mattered. 

“It always wants you…In those damn little shorts…that fucking little smirk…God, I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you, sweetheart.” Your body nearly convulsed to his words as he pulled those shorts from your hips to reveal your panties; a single pair of cotton fabric wrapped around your modesty. Immediately, he removed them before lifting them to his back pocket and lowering to your thighs. 

“I told you that nobody could hear you…but I want to…yeah?” You nodded, watching his lips disappear within your pussy. He was thorough yet torturous with his genesis, slow licks taking hold of your entire cunt, teasing your clit and entrance, before amending this with two fingers knuckle deep within you. Your back arched as he held you down with his second arm before using a vacuumed suction to your sensitive bud as your moans became uncontrollable beneath your pants. 

“You sound even better than I imagined-” He commented, offering himself fresh oxygen, before your fingers ran through his long blonde locks, twisting and pulling unapologetically, as he lifted once more. 

“Louder.” You repressed to obey his request, slightly embarrassed at how feral these sounds would come to him. Yet he quickened his fingers, increased the flicks of his tongue, endorsing you to bypass whatever insecurities kept you in such a disobeying mood. 

“LOUDER.” He commanded as you buckled beneath him, the reaction inciting the wickedest of grins against him. 

“That's right…” He finally broke, leaving you heaving and whimpering in having edged you from an orgasm that had approached as quickly as he had retracted. 

“Rafe…”

“Yes baby?” He teased, playing innocent, an expression depicting anything but, as he breathed heavy over you, playing with your breasts now exposed by him as he carried one to his lips. Teasing the hard nipple erect by having aroused you long before you even entered his bedroom, he took turns between both breasts in kneading formations until he pulled that long moan he had been in search of. 

“You want me? Huh?” You nodded. 

“Nope-Need to hear you say it. It’s been a long time coming. I deserve to hear you say it.”

“I want you, Rafe-Please…I-”

“What? You want my mouth again?” You nodded as he kissed your pussy, but didn’t commit to anything but this painful tease.

 “Or my fingers?” He ran a single stripe between your lower lips as your hips were pinned by his arm. 

“My cock?”

“YES!” You chorused as he chuckled. 

“Which one sweetheart?”

“I don’t care! Just-please!” You begged, willing to be subjected to any position or pain as long as his touch remained. 

“No…I’ve waited a LONG time for this…You’re gonna work for it…” He was suddenly off of the bed, pulling you to its edge before removing his shirt to expose him just as you had been; completely bare. 

You were held by both of his hands, one within your hair, for guidance, and the other around your neck, for possession. 

"Always so fucking smart with that little mouth…always talkin' back to me…You should make it up to me, don't you think?" You paused as he tightened his grip. 

"Rafe…"

"Unless the next words out of those pretty little lips are that you want to suck my cock, I'm not interested…" He pumped himself before you, removing the hand from your neck.

"All for you baby…come on…" You faltered to position yourself effortlessly, but it was a moment otherwise ignored by Rafe as he favored your eagerness in its place. 

"Good girl…" He breathed at the feeling of your unsteady breathing over his cock before you took him behind your swollen lips. 

A deep and grunted 'fuck' left his lips as you would then be pulled to his will by the grip in your hair. But it would take only a few swallow of his intimidating cock before he no longer needed to guide you. Instead, he simply held your hair out if place, gripping it for his own sake than thay if correction. 

"That's it…THAT'S my girl…" The sounds of your interrupted breathing and feeling of tears from an inflamed gag reflex having informed him of your endurance as he granted you a moment to breathe, doing so by your hair once again. 

"You're such a little whore, aren't you? You WANTED my attention and now you've got it…so what are you gonna do about it?" His words were ones of endorsement as you now took your hand to his base, twisting in perfect collision to the rush of pleasure of your tongue and mouth working his head. And yet, you descended lower, your mouth wrapping the heavy balls beneath as he withdrew you immediately. 

"Dirty girl. Not fair…" He directed you back to his cock as his fingers now rounded you, teasing your clit in quick succession as you continued to choke on his dick. 

"Come here…." He explained, lying backwards and taking your hips over him until his mouth aligned with your core. Tongues and spit working in unison for one another, his grip tightened around your hips to pull you further into him. 

"So good-pussy's so fuckinf good-" He muttered beneath the squelch of your arousal as you bobbed viciously upon his cock. 

"That's enough-" He spoke once edging you once more, now taking you into a straddle, teasing your pussy with his cock. 

"I'm expecting a lot out of you, baby…So fuckin' ride me like I know you can…like I know you've wanted to-" You were taken by his cock, silenced by the stretch whose pain was quickly remedied as you found a pace above him. Nails digging into his shoulders, you anchored into him while feeling him rut up into you, meeting a deeper thrust. 

"So tight baby, fuck-so perfect!" He growled growled at your neck, hand taking a tight hold at its back to keep you where he wished. 

"I know you needed my cock, but dammit, you're gonna end me…" You grinned before twisting your hips into circles as he suddenly clenched you to take him in hard thrusts, uprooting and slamming you down with each word; "Don't. Fucking. Move." 

You were projected to endure these motions until his thumb came to your pulsating clit, desperate for his touch and his alone.

"You're gonna cum on my cock and then let me take you from behind…yeah?" You paused, the idea of having been fucked once having already sent you into tremors. 

"Tell me you understand or I'll use your throat instead-" He paused, waiting for your submission as you nodded. 

"Yes…" You validated as he resumed the circles made around your clit. 

"Use my cock baby…use it like the little whore I know you are-"..

"Rafe-".

"Fucking ride me till you cum-" He demanded, this words, his cock, everything having been too much to represss the waves approaching you rapidly. 

"That's it baby, cum for me…cum for my cock…" 

"Rafe! RAFE!" He smirked at your pleas before allowing you the rush of your release. But no sooner had you been allowed this pleasure had he already positioned you as promised. Palms flat on the bed, ass remaining in the air, before he pulled your arms behind your back as reins before bucking into you. 

"I've thought od this every fucking night since I can remember…fucking this tight little pussy-hearing you cry out for me…Shit’s even better than I imagined…" A sudden smack came to your ass as you were forced forward, only to be returned by him. 

"You're not going anywhere." He threatened as one hand came to your hip and the other pulled within your hair. Another slap to your ass and a moan of his name interrupted the sound of him rocking into you with his murderous pace climbing to his own release. 

"Cum. CUM!" He growled. 

"I cant-" His fingers made quick circles of your clit. .

"You CAN and you WILL. RIGHT. FUCKING. NOW!" 

"AHHH! RR-RRRRAA-R-RAFE!"  You bellowed, a second orgasm tearing into his first, a sheen of sweat left as a trophy from stamina of having embraced one another to this extent. Your name spoken in unison against your spine as a breath of exhaustion left his lips. 

"Come here…" He ordered, setting you back onto your back before towering over you, palms shifting the bed beneath you. 

"Rafe-" 

"Shhh shh shh…" He explained, kissing you quiet. His thumbs brushing the droplets of tears confused for sweat from your cheeks. 

"Just relax…" After a moment, he kissed slowly, savoring the breathlessness once you realized he had no interest in the overstimulation again. At least not yet. But when his kiss did descend to your neck and your chest, calling you beautiful with each press of his lips, you were putty. 

"Don't move, okay?" His voice was soft, tired, and breathless-sinful in this collection as you nodded. He abandoned you for only a minute, the sound of running water ending having returned him with a cloth in hand. A soft yet tepid cloth found its way between your legs as he cleaned up his mess. 

"I'm gonna take such good care of you, baby. I swear to God-"

"Do you even believe in God?" You teased, quite certain the only time he was religious was belting out the Lord's name in vain during sex. 

"You make me believe in anything and everything-"

"Rafe…" You warned his corny romance as he now pulled you vertical upon the bed until you rented at the pillows above your head. 

"I know you think this changes everything, and hell, maybe it does. But I'll be damned if I let you talk yourself out of it…Not after this…" He nestled in behind you, body shaped to hold your own in as much closeness as possible without claiming you again.

When your eyes came open following the best night's sleep you'd ever been given in favor of your body, you were absent from Rafe's presence. The idea of waking up on his chest, finding his just-fucked hair a mess and grin as evidence last night wasn't a dream had been denied to you. Instead, you were left feeling cheapened by the exchange as you were reminded this was Rafe Cameron. He wasn't romantic or sweet. He wasn't even considerate. And you berated yourself for thinking so for even a second. 

But then you made it halfway down the steps at the front of the home before a familiar aroma of blueberry pancakes made their way to your senses. Mouth watering at the idea reminding you just how hungry you'd been. And yet THE most delicious detail was the man before the stove, setting the final disc onto a plate. 

"I don't think I've EVER seen you cook…" You teased as he ignored your quip and took your jaw softly in his hands before pressing you into a soft kiss. 

"Still your favorite breakfast…right?" You nodded before taking hold of the end chair on the edge of the bar, where he set a collection of the discs before you and offered accompaniments in the form of fruit and whipped cream. For a moment you blushed once you were handed the can as you thought of the fun you could have with it-an idea shared by Rage as he mirrored your smirk. 

"Next time…" He finally spoke as you cocked a brow and kept yourself from responding before taking a mouthful of pancake. He moved behind you, arms wrapping the curves he had marked the night before, as his lips were soft to your shoulder. 

"I'm just enjoying MY breakfast…" He teased, feasting on the buffet of soft skin fragrant from the events of the night before. 

"Rafe!" You squealed as he now threatened you with hid can of whipped cream. A single line was set to your neck, removed by the heat of his tongue, and shared by the pressure of his kiss. 

"You're so sweet." 

"And you're…unexpected-" You confessed, the sweetness of this morning only reminding you of the reality awaiting you. If not your fear that this was only because you were alone and now the feelings would fade since you'd had each other, than for his family's reaction to learning of your new relationship-if that was even what he wanted. 

"You're making me nervous…I feel like you're buttering me up to confess something horrible-" You offered to break the silence as he grinned at you. 

"Actually…I do have something to tell you…" Sincerity replaced any sense of humor or lust.

"The reason I came back…" You hung on to his words, unsure what exactly you wanted to hear, but intrigued and even terrified of what would leave his lips. 

"Was you." He was uncertain of his words, not because they lacked truth, but because he lacked the certainty of just how you felt about him. 

"I didn't think THAT was going to happen-of course I wanted it to…but I just needed to be around you. To have an excuse to be. Without my family…I-I just…I just had to-" You silenced his ramblings with a soft kiss. 

"So I take it you don't completely hate me?" You scoffed. 

"I never have…" Your fingers ran the lines of his torso, the pace of his heart validating the honesty of his words. He wanted this. He wanted you. 

"BUT I believe that you DID say something quite specific last night about having me in EVERY room of the house…" 

His jaw cocked, eyes enlivened by your willingness. 

"I believe the exact words were to make you cum…” His fingers traced your jaw, falling to your hips as he spoke. 

“But we DO have all weekend…" He tormented you, while pressing you to the edge of the counter at your back. 

"Best get started then…" You walked to the dining room table set at how back before hoisting yourself on top, your legs coming apart beneath the shirt of his you'd stolen for the sake of pointless modesty. 

A single thought having slipped from your mind as he ate the delicious breakfast you offered to him; 

This was so much better and more than just watering plants…

Taglist: @hopebaker

[empyreanwritings]

Feels

Pairing: Tony Stark x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: mentions of sugar daddy dynamics, language, soft angst, age gap (reader is late 20s, early 30s)

Summary: Tony had one rule when you started your arrangement: no falling in love with each other. He's absolutely not in love with you - until he realizes he is. Based off of Feels by Kehlani.

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated (: x

Tony has never been good at sleeping more than a few hours at a time, but when he has you next to him, he can sleep for days. It didn’t happen right away. His body had to become adjusted to having someone next to him at night. And even then, some nights were spent in his lab instead. He’s not one hundred percent sure when he started staying with you, but it feels natural. Feels like he’s meant to be there.

You met Tony three years ago at a charity event for Be The Match. He was the first to bring up the age gap between you and your date, and you had no shame in admitting he was a sugar daddy. You had student loans from law school to pay off and living in the city wasn’t exactly cheap.

He ran into you at two other events after that night. He thought it was fate. You considered it to be a headache. But you’d be lying to yourself if you said his offer to take over sugar daddy duties didn’t intrigue you. The age gap between you was much less than the one you were currently with, and you knew his reputation in the bedroom left nothing to be desired. So the next time you saw him, you finally took him up on his offer and terminated your contract with the Hugh Hefner wannabe.

The terms were simple in the beginning. Tony paid for your housing and took care of your student loans as long as you stayed available to attend events with him. Those events always ended back at his penthouse, but you weren’t naïve. You knew sex was in the agreement when you signed it.

The biggest rule Tony set in place was no falling in love. He didn’t have time to be in love between Avenger work and PR events. You agreed, certain there was no way you could ever be in love with Tony Stark.

He gently caresses the side of your face, watching your pinched brow instantly smooth out from his touch. You aren’t always the most peaceful sleeper either - nightmares and what not - but Tony enjoys the way you seem to calm down when he’s around. Even in a dead sleep.

His fingers brush along your brow bone to the slope of your nose. The way the morning light streams through the window and hits your face is almost ethereal. You’re so beautiful, he has to take a breath and make sure he isn’t dreaming. Seeing you like this, peaceful and cuddled up in nothing but his sheets, is something he wants to see every morning; he wants to wake up and see you there because it feels empty when you’re not.

Tony freezes. Oh, fuck. He retracts his hand quickly. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

You don’t wake when he stumbles out of the bed, almost ripping the sheets off with him. He’s thankful because he needs a few hours to process the thoughts racing through his head.

He never wants to wake up without you. He wants to spend his morning and his nights wrapped up in your arms, even if you two aren’t having sex. That’s the most concerning part in Tony’s eyes. The fact that you could say you never wanted to have sex again - and he’d be okay with it - has him gulping down a black coffee and slapping his face to make sure he’s awake. And when he realizes he is in fact awake, he’s clutching at his chest, wondering why his heart is racing so fast.

Is he…?

No.

N-O.

Tony Stark doesn’t do love. He’s the one who set the rule. He’s the one who knew down the line he wouldn’t be able to give you that part of a relationship. The second cup of coffee he downs burns his chest, but it distracts him from his thoughts for a split second.

Okay, so maybe he is in love right now. For all he knew, you would walk out of his bedroom, and he’d fall out of love instantly. Feelings are fickle. There was no sense in freaking out over something so ridiculous.

By the time he finishes off a third cup, his hands are shaking, and he decides he’s not in love with you. He’s just overthinking.

“Mm, good morning handsome,” you greet as you finish buttoning up one of his shirts and plant a kiss on his cheek.

He lets out a shaky breath. He’s so fucking in love with you.

“You alright?” You perch up on the counter and pull him between your legs. He’s trembling by the time your fingers reach his chin and force him to look you in the eyes. “Did you have another nightmare?”

“No, I’m fine,” he says too quickly. “Just felt a little tired when I woke up, so I may have drank too much coffee.”

“I swear, I’m going to switch you to decaf one of these days.”

“You do that, and you’ll be on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign that says ‘Looking for sugar daddy. One without caffeine addiction.’”

You gasp and gently smack his chest. Your eyes sparkle, and it’s how he knows you’re not offended by his comment. You move in for a kiss, but he turns his face in time to just give you his cheek. If you’re upset by the movement, you don’t say anything. You simply ask if he wants you to order breakfast and hop off the counter.

Not kissing you is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He knows the moment he indulges himself, he’s going to burst. He wants to tell you that he loves you right then and there, but he already knows what you would say: we said no falling in love, Tony. We promised each other this was a business transaction and nothing more. And for fuck’s sake, he knows what you two agreed on. It’s not as if he planned to wake up one morning and realize his feelings were deeper than he imagined.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” You try to wrap your arms around him, but he finds an excuse to move to the other side of the room. This time you don’t hide the fact that it hurts you, and he can’t bring himself to look at the crumpled look on your face.

He snaps his fingers and claps his hands together, a nervous tick he barely recognizes as one. “Nothing is wrong. Do you want to go shopping today? I think it’s a good day to rack up one of the black cards.”

“No, I don’t want-”

“We can stop and get breakfast at Lorraine's if they’re open too.”

“Tony-”

He’s walking into the bedroom, ignoring the way you try to stop him. It’s obvious he’s fumbling this moment, and his subconscious is begging him to stop before he digs himself in too deep. But it’s like the words are leaving his mouth, and his legs are moving, before his brain can process what he’s doing.

You finally come into the room when he’s in the middle of getting dressed. You fidget with your fingers and clear your throat in an attempt to get rid of the tickle there.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you,” you start off slowly. “But if you need a break from us, I’m not gonna hold that against you. I just need you to be honest about that with me because this is not the way to handle it.”

Tony sputters. The nerves he’s tried so hard to push down start to boil over, and they make their way to the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “You think I want a break? Are you insane?”

“Are you?” You shrieked.

Even though you seem surprised that you’ve shouted, you don’t apologize. You’re much more frustrated than you are apologetic.

The rational part of Tony tells him to de-escalate the situation. To soothe the tension and simply explain himself. But Tony’s never been a rational man. Despite being one of the most intelligent men of his generation, his intelligence didn’t translate well with his emotions. He has always been more of a ‘spill everything in the moment then apologize about it later if he has to’ kind of man.

“I’m not sure why you’re upset here.” You let out an incredulous laugh, but he continues anyway. “You think I asked you to wake up looking like an angel every morning? You think I woke up and chose to realize that I don't ever want to spend a morning with you by my side because I’m in love with you? Do you-”

“What?”

He coughs. “What?”

You step forward, and a soft smile lifts the corner of your lips when he doesn’t recoil from your touch. His heart beats so hard in his chest, he can feel it in his throat. There’s no use taking back the words because they’re already out there and he means them. It would be a lie to stand there and tell you he wasn’t really in love with you. And why would he want to put you through that pain?

“Are you in love with me, Mr. Stark?” You whisper as you gently stroke his cheek with your thumbs.

“Well, only if you’re in love with me,” he murmurs. “If not then you clearly misheard me. I didn’t say I was in love with you, I said I was in love with...Choo. Jimmy Choo, to be specific.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just stop talking, you idiot.”

He lets you pull his lips onto yours and sighs in relief into the kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck as he wraps his arms around your waist. If he could melt you against his chest, he would. He just wants to feel every part of you. Merge his souls with yours, or something equally as cheesy that he would never say out loud.

“You know, this isn’t really the same as telling me you’re in love with me,” he mumbles.

You groan. “You’re such an ass. Of course I’m in love with you..”

He seems satisfied with this response because he pulls you back into his embrace for another kiss.

Tony Stark had been through a lot in his life. He always knew he had support in the form of his fellow Avengers, but he never felt at home. Never felt whole. But kissing you now when he finally knew he was in love? It felt a lot like coming home after being in space for too damn long.