#why did *I* have to be the one who came up with work arounds and ways to avoid doing this to other people when no one else does it for me?

[jungshookz]

taehyung’s gotten really beefy and y/n feels like a hormonal teenager 

➺ pairing; roommate!taehyung x roommate!y/n 

➺ genre; roomie!taehyungiverse!! honk honk humour!! a little sprinkle of smut because it would be illegal to write about beefy taehyung and not talk about his bulging biceps WOOF WOOF y/n is a lucky girl i need himbo gymrat taehyung so bad 

➺ wordcount; 2.5k

➺ summary; over the last few weeks, taehyung’s noticed that you’ve been particularly jittery and nervous around him and he can’t figure out why… after one of his usual morning workouts, he decides to finally confront you about it and your answer is more than satisfying to him. 

➺ what to expect; “wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?”

➺ currently playing on cee.fm; hey daddy (daddy’s home) — usher 

»»————- 🏋🏻‍♂️ ————-««

you’re not sure when taehyung decided to go on a new health journey, but it feels like you’ve blinked and watched your boyfriend go from just some handsome guy that you’re in love with to this muscular, gym-crazy man who loves protein shakes and asking for extra chicken at chipotle (who you’re still very much in love with, let’s be clear that nothing’s changed about that) and suddenly has the ability to do like 100 pull-ups without getting tired 

“ugh, fuck-“ taehyung grunts as he does his last push up (this is his fourth set, so technically he just did 300 pushups with no problem), getting up from the ground and twisting his upper body from side to side before putting his phone in between his lips, peeling his damp wife-beater tank off and tossing it on the ground 

lately he’s been working out in the morning before starting his day and it’s honestly been such a great change — he feels super pumped for the day ahead and completely reinvigorated 

and getting his workout done in the morning means he doesn’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day! 

he went for a run around the neighbourhood early this morning, and then came home to finish off with some calisthenics 

and now he’s gonna do a little cool-down stretch and hit the shower

he hums to himself as he adjusts his wired earbuds, usher’s hey daddy (daddy’s home) making him bop his head — maybe it’s a little douchey of him to be listening to this song while he’s working out but he can’t help that it’s a good ass song 

he slips his phone into the back pocket of his grey sweatpants before reaching for the bottle of water, twisting the cap off and lifting the bottle to chug half of it down 

“…good lord.” you mutter to yourself, staring at your boyfriend shamelessly from the kitchen as your jaw goes slack 

oh yeah — you’re here, too, by the way 

you’ve been here the whole time

you watched him do all 300 pushups and you counted 

and now your coffee is cold because you can’t multitask and you couldn’t focus on gawking at your boyfriend and drinking your coffee at the same time 

taehyung didn’t notice when you slipped past him earlier to head to the kitchen (and honestly, you didn’t want to bother him mid-workout because you know that you hate it when people interrupt your flow) and you’re pretty sure he still hasn’t noticed you, but you’re fine with that because you’d rather he be unaware of your presence than know that you’ve been creeping on him for the last twenty minutes or so 

you don’t mean to stare, you really don’t, but… how can you not stare at him in his shirtless, sweaty glory like that?

your mouth goes dry and you swallow thickly when he turns around, his back muscles flexing slightly 

and since when did he have such bulging veins in his biceps?! 

your eyes trail down the wide expanse of his glistening back and you immediately get flashbacks from the other night when you had your nails digging into his shoulder blades, your hands sliding down to his lower back as he pushed himself into- 

“good morning, sexy-“ you’re snapped out of your thoughts when tae delivers a slap to your bare ass as he passes by and you immediately grip onto your mug harder, letting out a nervous chuckle, “you’re finally up!”

“yeah, i-“ your voice cracks and you clear your throat before shrugging, reaching down to pull your shirt down a little to cover your ass, “it’s whatever, i’m cool.” your brows immediately furrow in confusion at your own words 

…what?

what are you even saying? 

see, something else you’ve noticed that’s happened since taehyung decided that he wanted to go on a run every morning at 5am and come home completely JACKED is that you’ve started feeling nervous around him and you have no idea why 

the both of you have been together for five years (and seven months) and somehow you’ve reverted to some lovestruck teenager who giggles at everything

in fact, you feel like how you felt when you first met taehyung when he came to see you about your open roommate application — very intimidated by how handsome he was and hoping that he thought you were cool enough to hang out with 

“did you want some of my smoothie, baby? i can already tell this batch might have a little more than usual…” taehyung hums, his tongue poking out from in between his lips as he measures out his double chocolate protein powder, dumping two full scoops into the blender, “could you get the blueberries from the freezer for me?” 

“smoothie?” you clear your throat, nodding and setting your mug down, “uh, yeah! blueberries.” you turn around, pulling the freezer drawer open and pulling out the large ziploc of frozen blueberries before shaking your head to yourself to snap out of your funk 

smoothie? uh, yeah, blueberries! you mock yourself internally — you are literally incapable of forming full sentences, it feels like you’ve got a bunch of marbles rolling around in your mouth 

and he needs to put a shirt on or something because he’s starting to get those toned v-lines that taper down nicely when he wears his sweatpants low on his hips 

you didn’t even know those muscles existed 

“so did you want some? it’s okay if you don’t, i guess i could drink it all, the extra protein will be good-“

“uh, yeah! i’ll have some.” you nod, setting your mug down and turning to get a cup for yourself 

taehyung turns the blender on and the kitchen is immediately filled with the obnoxious, grating sound of ZZzhzhhZHHZHHHHHhHhZHzh but you’re actually glad the space between you is being filled up with that 

otherwise you’d have to make conversation with him 

and in your current state, you are completely helpless 

you watch as he reaches up to slick his damp hair back, leaning back a little to check and make sure all the ingredients are being blended up nice and smooth  

it just feels like he’s moving in slow-motion and you… you… 

see you just lost your train of thought 

THAT’S how bad it’s been 

taehyung glances up at you briefly from where he’s standing at the opposite end of the kitchen island, noticing that you’ve seemed to space out again 

he has no idea what your deal has been for the last couple of weeks — he doesn’t think anything is necessarily wrong between the two of you, and if there’s a problem he knows you’re more than capable of bringing it up with him and talking it out 

but at the same time, something is wrong because you’ve been unusually quiet and every time he tries to make conversation it feels like you don’t know how to speak like a normal human being 

like earlier when he said good morning and that you were finally up and you responded with “it’s whatever, i’m cool”

it’s whatever, i’m cool

what the hell was that?! 

or the other night when he asked you if you wanted to join him in the shower and you let out the most nervous, high-pitched laugh before practically sprinting away to the kitchen and saying something about needing to wash the dishes 

…is it him? are you not physically attracted to him anymore? 

that can’t be it, either… you guys had sex the other night and you were very vocal (you guys actually got a noise complaint from a neighbour but he never told you because he knew you’d be embarrassed and never want to have sex ever again, and to be honest, he’s just planning on putting his hand over your mouth the next time you fuck — easy fix!) 

“okay, what’s wrong with you?” taehyung asks as soon as he turns the blender off, and you look up from the counter with wide eyes, “you’ve been so jittery with me for the last few weeks and i cannot figure out why, for the life of me. if you’re up to something shady, you might as well tell me now and-“

“what?” your eyelashes flutter in surprise and you let out a snort, his crazy accusation immediately sobering you up, “i promise you i am not up to anything shady, in fact, i’m kind of offended you even had that thought-“

“oh, thank god. you’re speaking like a normal human being, i finally fixed you-“ taehyung sighs, blowing a puff of air out as he pops the blender lid off, dipping his finger into the smoothie before bringing it up to his lips for a taste

“you have got to be kidding me.” you murmur to yourself, watching as some of the smoothie drips from his finger onto his toned abdomen

he swipes it off before sucking it off his finger with a satisfied hum

“you’re a freak!”  you blurt out, “oh my god, you are such a freak and it’s like you do these things that i feel like are on purpose but-“

“what are you talking about??” 

“i’m talking about- i just-“ you stumble over your words, letting out a groan when you find yourself being unable to form a sentence again

you pause for a second, shaking your head before composing yourself and painting a nice, pleasant smile on your face, “you… you… are you… are you aware of how ripped you’ve become?” 

“what?” taehyung laughs in disbelief, his eyes flickering off to the side, “i mean… i know i’ve definitely bulked up a little, i wouldn’t say i’m ripped-“

“you have no idea how hard it is to not throw myself at you every single second of every single day — i mean, i love you and i’m attracted to you no matter what you look like but there’s just something so satisfying about biting into your firm, firm bicep,” you make your way over to taehyung before jabbing a finger into his arm, “like, are you telling me this is all muscle?!”

“i mean-“ taehyung looks down before flexing his arm, making his bicep pop out, “yeah, i guess so. wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?” 

“you have been walking around all shirtless and sweaty with grey goddamn sweatpants so low on your hips that you’re basically naked, this is not on me!” you gawk, eyes widening when taehyung suddenly rounds the corner to get closer to you, “what are you- what are you doing?”

“nothing! we’re having a conversation, aren’t we?” the corner of his mouth twitches in a smirk as he continues walking you back until you’ve found yourself bumped up against the counter, your hands immediately fumbling to grip onto the edges to keep balanced, “oh, what’s wrong, baby? do i make you nervous?” he coos, using his pointer finger to raise your chin and forcing you to look at him before setting both his hands down on the counter and effectively trapping you in 

“you-“ your voice cracks and you feel your face getting hotter (again, not sure why because you’ve been dating this man for five years, but maybe it’s a good sign that after all this time you still get super hot and bothered being around him — the spark is still very much alive!), “you don’t make me nervous, that’s ridiculous.” 

“oh, don’t i?” taehyung tilts his head, sliding a finger up the side of your bare thigh and smiling to himself when he feels goosebumps starting to prickle at your skin, “you know, it’s funny that you’re scolding me for walking around shirtless in my own home when you’re the one constantly walking around in skimpy little g-strings. how do you think i feel, having to keep myself from bending you over every single surface in this apartment and just pushing your panties to the side?” he asks, voice light as he uses his pinky to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes  

“i imagine you probably feel… not… good…” you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest and keeping your chin raised in an attempt to appear as calm and collected as possible

“you don’t have to be nervous around me, honey,” taehyung leans down, and you’re as still as can be when he brushes his lips over yours before starting to plant light kisses along your jaw, “you know i love you and for the record, i think you’re incredibly sexy all the time…” he takes your hand and places it on his firm abdomen before sliding it down, and your thighs squeeze together upon feeling the ridges of his abs 

and maybe now isn’t a good time to be thinking this but you can’t help but feel good about the fact that taehyung still thinks you’re sexy — it’s giving you the little ego boost you’ve been needing and- I NEED TO SUCK HIS DICK

okay JESUS 

your eyes shoot open at the sudden uncharacteristically graphic intrusive thought and you immediately push taehyung away from you, keeping him at arm’s length 

“wh- what’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “did i say someth-“

“i need to suck your dick.” you interrupt, staring at him with a neutral expression on your face

“what?” he lets out a laugh, “i mean, yes, obviously i want that but-“

“you need to be quiet now.” 

taehyung swallows thickly when he watches you drop to the ground in front of him, staring at him in a way he’s never seen before 

oh, jesus.

»»————- 🏋🏻‍♂️ ————-««

“tae-“ you whimper, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he presses himself into you, a shaky breath slipping past his lips when he feels you clench up around him, “a-agh…” 

“jesus, your pussy always feels so good…” he mutters under his breath, looking down to watch himself pull out slightly before pushing back in all the way, smiling to himself when you whimper and ask him to please, please fuck me-

(needless to say, you guys ended up with another noise complaint. whoops.) 

🎙️ ask taehyung for the recipe to his 70g protein smoothie (talk to my characters!) 

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!) 

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series like this!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!) 

[imsofreakingtired]

Hi! First of all, I love your work so much, you have me crying and kicking my feet at the same time.

I'd like to put in a request for a plus-sized reader? If that's something you can do. Something about yearning from afar? She's so sweet and Sev's so not. She's worried she'd taint the pure soul she watches from across the bar only to find out the lamb wants the wolf just as bad.

(I low-key just want some plus-sized rep :/)

SUCH A CUTE REQ AAA also, “the lamb wants the wolf just as bad” WHAT A LINE HELLO??? i hope i did it justice 🙏

i wish i found love

content warning(s): none! just fluff, mutual pining, useless lesbians, mild suggestive content, happy ending

"sometimes i wonder if you'll ever let me in i wonder if i'm ever gonna find somebody i cry and i cry and i cry and i cry out to the heavens why won't you just send me somebody?"

Sevika is sure she is going insane. 

She’d be lying if she said you didn’t catch her eye the moment you walked into the Last Drop that one night. There was something about the way you moved, the ringing song of your laughter that found its way across the room to her ears—a sound she desperately tried to ignore as she scowled down at her card game, puffing away at her third cigarette. She had lost two rounds in a row because she was straining for scraps of the conversation you were in. Trying every possible subtle tactic to find out who you were, where you came from. Cursing the noises of a late night bar that drowned out what you were saying. 

Tonight is like most—there you are, sitting with a new companion on the other side of the bar, perfectly manicured nails tapping idly on the side of your glass as you give the other person a winning smile. When you stand up to order a second drink, Sevika watches your movements and swallows hard. You’re wearing a blouse and pants that hug your figure, showing off every curve in the shifting neon lights of the Last Drop. Making the very air around you look expensive. 

And your eyes. Fathomless yet bright. The innocent curl of your lips when you give the lucky bastard across the table one of those smiles. The secrets sitting in the corners of your mouth. 

Who is she?

“Hey chief,” says Grems, one of her gambling mates. “You’re showin’ all your cards.” 

She glances at him. “Round’s over.” 

“Huh?” 

“You heard me. Clear out.” 

The men exchange glances with one another, but they obey, grabbing up their winnings. Sevika sits back in her chair and lights another cigarette. 

✨—✨

At the bar, you lean closer and beckon to Chuck. He comes over, glancing nervously in Sevika’s direction. Everyone can already see that Sevika has claimed you as hers—they can see the way she watches you, the way she raises her head to attention when she sees you come into the bar. But when he looks over at Sevika, she turns her head away. 

“Chuck,” you say. “Don’t look so scared. She’s staring at me again, isn’t she?” 

“Uh…” 

You give him the irresistible smile you throw at strangers from whom you need information. He falls for it. 

“C’mon, tell me. Who is she?” 

“She…she’s Silco’s right hand,” he stammers. “You know. The Brute.” 

You sigh impatiently. “Gotta give me better than that. What’s her name.” 

“Sevika.” 

“Sevika,” you muse. “Thanks, Chuck.” You pat him on the shoulder and take your drink. You make sure to walk the long way round back to your table, and you can feel Sevika’s grey eyes burn in front of you. Just as you pass her, you tilt your head and let your eyes make contact with hers. Time seems to slow down. She looks at you cooly through the cigarette smoke, but her surprise shows in the way her brows lift slightly. 

Then the moment passes, you sit back down at your table. 

Your companion continues the conversation, but you barely hear a third of what they’re saying. Your thoughts keep wandering over to Sevika, who has left her tab on her table and now disappeared up the stairs. You know for sure she’s interested—she’s been watching you since you first began to frequent the Last Drop—why hasn’t she made a move? 

✨—✨

The truth is that Sevika is scared to approach you. 

That’s right, she thinks to herself, a wry smile on her face as she leans back into the couch in her empty apartment, slightly sweaty after touching herself to you, heart racing in her chest. Sevika of the fucking fissures, scared to talk to a woman as if she's some adolescent. 

She has borne the title Brute of the Underground like an afterthought, something she took for granted, a kind of placard to frame over the blood on her hands. But now it feels like a curse or a jinx, because she can’t think of your soft skin without thinking of the roughness of her own. She wants to feel your body against hers, she wants to kneel and drown in your sweet scent. But then she thinks of your laugh. The way you smile, nose wrinkling. 

How could she ever deserve to receive a smile like that? 

She imagines you recoiling from her, disgust clouding your pretty features. She imagines herself, massive and clumsy—nothing but muscle and scars and callused skin. She compares herself to you in a fantasized mirror and she can’t see a possibility of you ever wanting her the way she wants you. 

One night she is at her usual table, alone for once, making adjustments to her mechanical arm. A glass of whiskey sits among the tools and ashtray. She looks up listlessly as she takes a sip, returns to her work. When she looks up again you’re standing in front of her. 

Sevika nearly chokes. You’ve caught her off-guard, and you can see it. You can’t help but smile at her obvious embarrassment. 

“Mind me sitting here?” 

Without waiting for a reply, you sit down across from her.  

“I work nearby,” you say matter-of-factly. “I was thinking since you come here often as well, maybe we could have a drink together every now and then.” 

“Uh,” says Sevika. 

“Name’s Sevika, right? I’ve gotta run now, but can I claim you tomorrow night?” 

“Um.” 

You take that as a yes. As you walk by her, she can smell the sweet scent of your hair. She doesn’t see the triumphant smile on your face as you leave the bar. She also realizes too late that she never got your name. 

✨—✨

-> thank you @practicalgauntlet for the request! -> dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[ditzydoe444]

hi love, it’s me again!

i saw your post about older!jason and omg that is soooo up my alley. imagine older jason absolutely loving the power play between you guys! how he is so much more experienced and big and mature, and you’re just so little and dumb and innocent. he’d have the biggest corruption kink! knowing that he is the one doing all those things to you, teaching you how to be dirty for him and him only!

loving how he turned this innocent sweet girl, who he might have seen growing up if were feeling extra dirty, into his dirty little slut. the sweetheart to the public eye that he turns into a whore on his bed. but can you blame him? when a sweet young thing like her looked at an older and rugged man like him he didn’t even had a choice but to make her his.

- 🎸(sorry i got a bit carried away, my mind took her own turns lmao)

MDNI 18+

older! jason todd x reader

—ㅤ꒰ྀིㅤ jason todd x reader ಿৎ

▐ age gap (reader is early 20’s and jason is late 30’s) vaginal sex, oral (both m and f receiving), a little manipulation

a/n: i loved everything you wrote!! it’s so spot on because he would def have a corruption kink

older! jason todd who couldn’t keep his eyes off from a pretty girl like you, in your early twenties who just graduated from college. you would prance around in the shortest dresses, allowing him to catch a glimpse of your panties occasionally. you were always so sweet to an older man like him, bringing him cookies whilst he worked in the garage fixing cars, your girly self juxtaposing against the roughness of the oil stained place.

older! jason todd who wanted to corrupt you, you were extremely sheltered hence why you were known as the neighbourhood sweetheart, so kind and innocent always expecting the best from people. so when you came to him about your broken aircon and how it was bothering you because your dad was away for the summer, jason did not hesitate to help. there was something about being alone with you in your own house, in the summer heat where you only wore a thin tank, no bra because he could see your nipples and the shortest baby shorts where he could see your panties and the outline of your pussy if you bent down.

older! jason todd who made you turn into his own whore, he just felt so good who started craving him constantly!! you would go to his garage, where he bent you cover the table and fucked your cunt until you went limp, occasionally, if he wasn’t working on the cars and instead on boring paper work, he would have you under his desk and sucking his cock. sometimes if he felt nice, cock warming would happen which then turns into pure fucking.

older! jason todd who loved the way your small cunt took his cock, how your body was so eager please him despite how big he was. your body was so determined to please him, how you were bouncing on his lap, completely naked begging him to fuck you. “please jay? it hurts,” you pleaded as you pathetically humped his leg, and how could he say no to a pretty thing like you?

older! jason todd who taught you how to suck his cock, watching your lips stretch out to accomodate his thick length as you gagged half way down. it was adorable how eager you were to take him, “slow down yeah? can’t have you choking when you are barely halfway.” jason was filthy, he loved making you give him the sloppiest head, your eyes rolling back as saliva dribbled down your chin and out the corners of your mouth.

older! jason todd is the biggest munch, he would grip your thighs apart as he devoured your cunt, watching your puffy folds drip with your own cum, his chin glistening as he refused to waste a single drop. whenever you told him that you were overstimulated he would guilt trip you. “i just came home from working and now a starved man can’t get a taste of his own girl? come on sweetheart, i thought i taught you better.”

[stylesispunk]

"Blind Faith" | part i

Priest!Joel Miller x nightclub dancer!reader

masterlist | next chapter

summary: Running away from your home, you found a small town to stay. Once there, you met people and the priest, Joel.

wc: 5,2 k

warnings: age gap (Joel is in his late 40s, reader in his last 20s), religious conflict, a crisis of faith, temptation, forbidden attraction, forbidden romance, eventual smut, social expectations, nightlife themes, the contrast between joel's and your world, protests, mentions of exile, mention of politics. For clarification, reader is Latina on this one.

a/n: Hello. I wanted this story to be something beyond a forbidden romance between two people, after reading books and watching things I wanted to recall that reader's background comes from her being an activist. I want to approach all the topics with all due respect and I hope you do too, nevertheless, those are not going to be the main center of the story.

Happy reading and please tell me what are your thoughts about this one.

You had built a life most people only dreamed of. A life filled with passion, purpose, and the kind of joy that comes from doing what you love. You were surrounded by friends who understood you, a family you cherished with every fiber of your being, and a career that made waking up every morning feel like stepping into a dream.

You had studied dance at university, dedicating years to perfecting your craft until movement became your language, your art, your very identity. But you didn’t see yourself just as an artist, you were educated. You had spent your life asking questions, seeking answers, and standing for what was right. Politics fascinated you, not as a distant game played by men in suits, but as something alive, something that shaped the world around you. You were drawn to justice, to fairness, to the fight for those whose voices were drowned out by oppression.

Protests became as much a part of your life as well as performances. You had stood in the streets, chanting until your voice was hoarse, raising signs, raising awareness, raising hell when it was necessary. You believed in change, in the power of people united. But belief alone was never enough to stop what came next.

The illusion of safety shattered the moment power fell into the wrong hands. The men who took control of your country did not tolerate opposition. They did not welcome free thought or voices that questioned their authority. People like you, the educated, the artists, the teachers, all who had seek justice, were dangerous but because you couldn’t be controlled. Because you saw through their lies.

You remember the night your world collapsed. The hurried whispers in the dark. The fear in your mother’s eyes. The way your brother’s hands shook as he cut your hair, disguising you in a desperate attempt to buy you time.  

He drove you to the airport as your heart pounded, then, you boarded that plane, leaving behind everything you had ever known. Your home. Your family. The life you had built.

And that is why you ended up here, in a bus driving to a foreign city located in California. The bus rattled as it rolled into town, the low hum of the engine filling the silence of the nearly empty cabin. You sat near the window, watching the Californian sun stretch across the dry fields, golden and endless, nothing like the dense, humid air of home.

 Home.

The word sat heavy in your chest, a place you could no longer name without feeling the weight of exile pressing against your ribs.

This town was small, quieter than you expected, but that was good. You needed a quiet, a place to disappear, to become no one, to not be recognized. You stepped off the bus with only a battered leather suitcase and a name written on a slip of paper.

The paradise, a nightclub where a friend of a friend had said you might find work.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, though the air was warm. You must have learned to move carefully, to keep your eyes down, to not be recognized. But you couldn't help glancing up at the church as you stepped off the bus.  

That’s when you saw him.

He was standing on the steps, speaking to a woman holding a little baby in her arms. There was, a priest, dressed in black, with tired eyes and a kindness in the way he bent his head to listen. He looked up, meeting your gaze for the first, just for a fleeting second. Then, his gaze left your eyes, leaving you with a weird feeling, warmth rising up to your cheeks.

You pulled the slip of paper from your pocket, staring at the name scrawled in fading ink staring at the name scrawled in fading ink. The paradise.  

When you lifted your gaze again, the priest wasn't there anymore.

You sighed and adjusted the trap of your suitcase over your shoulder, feeling anxious creeping upon your skin as you try to picture your life in a foreign place.

You looked towards the church in the front of the street, where the priest had stood minutes before, perhaps trying to look and answer to your questions. You weren't a religious person, but you did believe in calls, and you felt the pulling thread forcing you to walk towards the church, as if something were calling you, perhaps someone.

Your feet found their way to the old church at the edge of town, its stone walls worn and cracked from years of standing against the wind. It loomed tall and hollow, the kind of place that had seen more sorrow than joy. You hesitated at the entrance, your heart beating faster than you liked.

Why am I even here? you thought. But the pull wouldn’t let you turn away.

You stepped inside.

The stained glass cast soft, fractured colors onto the worn wooden pews, painting the empty space in hues of crimson, gold, and deep blue. The scent of burning wax and old books filled your senses, grounding you in a place that felt both foreign and strangely familiar.

Your footsteps echoed as you moved deeper inside, the vast silence of the church swallowing every sound. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, an answer, a sign, something to tell you that coming here wasn’t a mistake.

The priest where nowhere to be found, so you took seat in one of the wooden benches, perhaps waiting, perhaps resting.

You got yourself comfortable, the sleep catching upon you. Your body felt heavy, exhaustion creeping into your bones the moment you allowed yourself to rest. The weight of the suitcase by your side, the long journey that had brought you here, it all pressed down on you at once. The church, with its quiet stillness, felt like the safest place you’d been in weeks.

That was where Joel Miller found you.

On a quiet evening when the chapel was empty, save for the flickering candlelight and the faint scent of incense clinging to the air. You were curled up on one of the wooden pews, arms folded beneath your head, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

He cleared his throat, but you didn’t stir. He hesitated before reaching out, tapping your shoulder. “Miss?” His voice came softer than he expected. “You can’t sleep here.”

"Father, do you always wake up strangers like this?"

Your voice was thick with sleep, eyes blinking against the dim glow of the chapel’s candlelight. The air smelled of old wood, wax, and something faintly metallic, like rain on stone. You looked young like this, your face soft, but Joel knew better. You shouldn't be older than thirty.

"You can’t sleep here," he repeated.

You smirked, rubbing your eyes. "Didn’t know God kicked people out."

Joel exhaled sharply. The world outside was changing, rock ‘n’ roll, free love, protests, women in miniskirts. But in this town, in this chapel, things were supposed to stay the same.

This town hadn’t met those changes.

Joel stood over you, stiff-backed, his fingers still hovering near your shoulder from where he’d tapped you awake. He shouldn’t have noticed the way your legs stretched across the pew, the way your blouse, too low-cut for a place like this, shifted as you moved, leaving no place to imagination.

Joel exhaled sharply. Lord, give me patience.

"This isn’t a shelter," he said. "If you need a place—"

"I'm not homeless" Your tone was firm and final, as if you were done, but there was something else in your voice too, something he couldn’t quite place, but it hinted sadness. "I just got into town," you admitted after a beat, glancing toward the stained-glass windows, dark now with the night. "Didn’t know where else to go. At least not tonight."

Joel studied you, his chest tightening."Are you in trouble?"

A small, humorless laugh left you. "Depends on what you call trouble."

Silence filled the chapel, thick and unmoving. The rain had stopped, leaving only the distant hum of the highway beyond the hills.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said finally. But his voice had lost its authority, had softened just enough that he felt the weight of it settle in his own bones.

“Why?” You asked

Joel exhaled slowly, shifting on his feet. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way his jaw tensed, something he was holding back.

"You can’t stay here," he said again, voice firm but not unkind.

You sat up properly this time, stretching your legs out in front of you, your boots scraping against the floor. His eyes flicked to them, brief, barely noticeable, you caught it, but you chose not to say anything.

"Didn’t mean to cause a problem," you said, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"You’re not a problem," he said, then hesitated. "But this isn’t a place for…"

You arched a brow. “For what? For a woman like me?”

For someone wearing boots and a blouse that clung a little too tight, a skirt that rode too high when you stretched out.

He didn’t utter that the sentence. Instead, he sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

"Where you planning on staying tonight?" he asked.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Haven’t figured that part out yet."

Joel frowned. "You got family here?"

"No father, I don’t."

"Friends?"

"No."

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it. So, you’re alone.

You weren’t sure if that unsettled him or if it was something else.

He shifted again, exhaling through his nose like he was about to say something he’d regret.

"There’s a place near the church," he finally said. "A small guesthouse. Church used to use it for traveling pastors, but it’s empty now. You can stay there tonight."

You studied him. "Why?"

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean, why?"

"I mean, why help me? You don’t know me."

Joel was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. "That doesn’t mean I should turn you away."

You held his gaze, searching for something in it—hesitation, reluctance. But there was only conviction.

And yet you could feel something else there, buried beneath all that righteousness behind his clothes.

Something you hadn’t named yet.

"Alright, Father," you said finally, standing up. "Lead the way."

He hesitated, just for a second. Then, he turned, stepping toward the chapel doors, and you followed.

Back at his house behind the church, Joel lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The wooden beams above cast long shadows in the dim glow of the lamp beside his bed. He should’ve been sleeping, his body was tired enough for I, but his mind refused to settle. It was noisier than ever.

His thoughts kept drifting back to something else, to you. To the way you’d looked at him when you stood up from that pew, like you already knew he wasn’t as correct as he pretended to be.

To your voice, husky with sleep, the way you stretched without a care in the world. To your legs.

Joel shut his eyes. Lord, give me strength.

It had been a passing glance, barely a flicker of a thought, but now it gnawed at him.

He had seen a lot of things in his years as a priest. A lot of people in need, a lot of wandering souls. But he wasn’t blind. He could recognize beauty when it was right in front of him. And tonight, for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just his faith speaking.

It was something else. It felt dangerous.

He turned onto his side, sighing through his nose. This was just another test. He’d seen men struggle with temptation, had guided them through it. This was no different.

You were just a woman in need. That’s all. That’s all.

And yet, sleep never came easy that night.

The early sun cast long golden beams through the chapel windows as Joel made his way to the guesthouse. He carried a small plate of toast and eggs, as a gesture of hospitality. He thought about last night, on how he hadn’t offered food or a cup of tea.

He wanted to show kindness, but the second he stepped inside, he knew.

The bed was made, the blanket neatly folded. No sign of anyone.

And on the small wooden table by the window, a note.

Joel set the plate down and picked it up, his fingers tightening around the paper.

"Thank you for your help, Father."

That was it. No name, no explanation. Just a quiet departure, as if you’d never been there at all.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring at the empty room.

Something settled deep in his chest, something that felt too much like disappointment.

He was afraid of the fleeting feelings coming to him. Because last night, he’d told himself you were just passing through. But now, standing here, he wasn’t sure he believed it.

You were strong and brave enough this day. When you found yourself in the front of the paradise, the neon light flickered weakly in the daylight, music pulsed behind the doors, muffled but steady, a heartbeat beneath the night.

You inhale deeply, pushing the door behind.

The club smelled of sweat, perfume, and cigarette smoke. It wasn’t alive as you expected to be during the day, but there were men in tight pants, women in flowing skirts, people who existed somewhere in between, all shining under the low, colored lights of the place.

This wasn’t the kind of stage you were used to. But it was something.

Behind the bar, a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard was pouring whiskey into a glass, his gold rings catching the light. He spotted you instantly, eyes narrowing slightly before softening.

“You must be the new girl,” he said, voice thick with an accent she couldn’t place.

You hesitated for a moment, but then you nodded.

The man wiped his hands on a towel, then leaned over the counter, studying you.

“You dance?” He asked.

You lifted your chin. “Yes.”

He smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

A warm hand touched your back.

Your turned to find a woman at your side, tall, dark-skinned, with a shimmering dress that clung to her curves. Her lipstick was deep red, her eyes lined in black.

“Come on, cariño,” the woman purred. “Let’s get you ready.”

You swallowed, but you followed her backstage.

Backstage was a blur of colors, perfume, and laughter. The other dancers moved around you effortlessly, adjusting their costumes, fixing their makeup, teasing each other in rapid-fire whispers. You stood still, taking it all in. People here were wild, free and beautiful, and you smiled at that.

The woman who had led you back, Carmen, handed you a black slip dress. It was simple, barely more than a tiny thing of fabric, with thin straps that draped off your shoulders.

“You need shoes?” Carmen asked, watching as you slipped it over your head.

You shook your head “I’ll dance barefoot.”

Carmen raised a perfectly sculpted brow but didn’t argue. “Suit yourself.”

The music outside shifted, growing louder. Your stomach tightened.

You had danced for crowds a thousand times before, but never like this. This wasn’t a stage with velvet curtains, with polished floors and orchestrated movements. This was something raw and new for you, something meant to be felt rather than admired.

You exhaled slowly.

You’ve already lost everything. What’s left to be afraid of?

A hand touched your shoulder. She turned to find Carmen smiling. “You’re up next, estrella.”

The lights were dim when you stepped onto the small, elevated platform.

The club wasn’t packed, but there were enough people to make the air thick with murmurs and expectation. A few heads turned, eyes gliding over you as you took your place.

You closed your eyes.

The music started, a slow, sultry rhythm, deep bass vibrating through your bones.

And then you moved. At first, it was instinct. The slow bend of your knees, the gentle sway of your hips. You let the music guide you, feeling it the way you once had in the studio, back when you were still the dancer, before you became the fugitive.

Your arms lifted, fluid and controlled, your body following in careful, deliberate motions.

And then you forgot to be careful. You turned, arching into a spin, the hem of your dress fluttering around your thighs. You let your feet move the way they had been trained to—pointed toes, precise steps, every motion a whisper of the ballerina you once were.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

Someone murmured, “Mierda… she can dance.”

You barely heard them. For the first time in months, you felt like yourself again. Not a girl running, not a girl hiding, but a girl who had been born to dance.

You let yourself go. By the time the music ended, a hush had fallen over the club.

And then—applause. You stood there, breathing hard, your skin glowing under the soft red lights.

When you stepped down from the platform, Carmen was waiting, grinning.

“Dios mío,” she said, shaking her head. “Where the hell did you come from?”

You just smiled. You didn’t have an answer for that. But for the first time since you had arrived, you felt like you had found a piece of home to stay in.

The night air was warmer as you made your way back to the church, the scent of warm pastries wrapped in cloth filling your hands. The applause from the club still echoed in your ears, the feeling of movement still lingering in your limbs. You felt light. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt less lonely.

You paused at the entrance, looking up at the towering stone structure, its stained glass barely illuminated by the sunlight. The contrast was almost laughable.

The dancer and the priest. A contradiction in itself.

With a breath, you stepped inside.

He was there, seated at one of the pews, his back turned to you. His posture was stiff, as if he’d been deep in thought, or perhaps in prayer.

“Father.”

He turned sharply at your voice, his dark eyes immediately landing on you. For a moment, he said nothing, just studying you as if trying to figure out why you had come back.

You held up the bundle in your hands. “I brought you something.”

His gaze flickered to the wrapped pastries before settling back on your face. Slowly, he stood, walking toward you with careful, deliberate steps. When he got close, the faint scent of smoke and candle wax clung to him.

“You didn’t have to,” he muttered, but he still took them from you. His fingers brushed yours briefly, warm, rough, calloused. The hands of a man who had worked long before he had ever been a priest.

You shrugged. “It’s a thank-you. For helping me yesterday.”

He watched you for a beat before nodding. “Did you find a place to stay?”

“I did.”

He didn’t ask where. He just looked at you, waiting. Maybe he wanted to know. Maybe he already had an idea.

You weren’t going to tell him either.  Instead, you smiled. “Don’t eat them all at once, Father.”

Joel’s eyes flickered down, lingering for a second longer than they should have. You noticed.

It was brief, so brief you might have convinced yourself you imagined it. But you didn’t. His gaze had traced over the curve of your waist, the way the fabric of your blouse rested against your skin, the gentle swell of your collarbones. The flicker of something unreadable in his expression disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Do you—” He hesitated. “Would you like to talk?”

You raised a brow. “Talk?”

He nodded, tilting his head toward one of the wooden pews. “If you want.”

A small part of you wanted to tease him, ask if priests usually invited strange women to talk in dimly lit churches. But you swallowed the thought.

Instead, you sighed, walking past him and settling onto the worn wooden bench. You crossed one leg over the other, tapping your fingers idly on the surface. Joel sat beside you, close, but not too close.

The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.

“Is this the part where I have to confess my sins?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Joel exhaled through his nose, almost like a quiet laugh. “Only if you want to.”

You studied him for a moment. The way his hands rested on his lap; fingers curled slightly as if he wasn’t quite at ease. The tension in his shoulders, the quiet restraint in his posture.

You tilted your head. “What about you, Father?”

His gaze lifted to meet yours.

“What do you believe in?” you asked.

Joel didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, something shifting in his expression. He looked away, staring at the rows of empty pews, at the altar beyond. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his fingers drumming idly against his knee. Then, without looking at you, he asked, “Why’d you come here?”

You blinked at him. “Here? To the church?”

He nodded. “Last night”

You considered lying. It would be easier. But something about the way he was looking at the altar, like it held answers he wasn’t sure he wanted, made you tell the truth.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just… felt like I had to. Like, something just called me, you know?”

His gaze flicked to you then, studying, searching. “You’re not religious.” It wasn’t a question.

You smirked. “Is it that obvious?”

Joel didn’t return the smile. He just kept watching you, unreadable. “Then what are you looking for?”

That was a harder question. Peace? A sense of belonging? A place to rest? You weren’t sure.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “Something different. A fresh start.”

Joel hummed, thoughtful. He leaned back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him. “And you think you’ll find that here?”

You sighed, tilting your head toward him. “What’s with the interrogation, Father? Trying to save my soul?”

This time, he did smile. Barely. Just a flicker of amusement in his expression. “I think your soul is doing just fine on its own.”

That shouldn’t have made your heart stutter the way it did.

Joel shifted, bracing his elbows on his knees. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “You got people looking for you?”

Your breath caught. There it was. The question you’d been dreading.

You glanced away, suddenly very interested in the cracks in the wooden pew beneath you. “No,” you said eventually. “No one’s looking.”

Joel didn’t press. He just nodded slowly, like he had believed you.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The church was silent except for the occasional creak of wood settling, the distant sound of footsteps from somewhere outside.

Then Joel inhaled, shifting beside you. “You should be careful.”

You turned to him, frowning. “Why?”

His jaw tightened. He hesitated, then sighed. “This town—it’s small. People notice things.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “And what have they noticed about me?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to your hands resting in your lap, then back up to your face.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “Yet.”

The word lingered between you, heavier than the silence that followed.

“What about?” you asked, “What do you notice about me?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just looked at you, eyes unreadable, something working behind them, something you couldn’t quite place.

You held his gaze, waiting, heartbeat steady but slow.

Then, he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “I noticed you don’t like talking about yourself.”

Your lips quirked. “Maybe I just don’t like talking to priests.”

That got the barest huff of amusement from him. “Could be.” His fingers tapped lightly against his knee before he added, “But I think it’s more than that.”

You arched a brow. “Oh?”

Joel nodded, his voice quieter when he spoke again. “I think you’ve been running from something”

That made your stomach tighten.

Your first instinct was to deny it, to smirk, roll your eyes, brush it off like he was just another man who thought he had you figured out. But Joel wasn’t just another man. And the way he was looking at you, like he could see past whatever mask you were wearing, made it harder to lie.

Your fingers curled slightly against your lap. “And what makes you think that?”

Joel leaned back slightly, stretching one arm along the pew. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “The way you don’t settle,” he said simply. “Not even when you’re sitting still.”

The words sent something sharp through your chest.

You swallowed, looking away, suddenly feeling too seen, too exposed. “Maybe I just don’t like these wooden benches.”

Joel hummed, like he wasn’t convinced. But he didn’t push, instead he smiled at you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting long shadows across the empty church.

Then, finally, Joel shifted beside you. “Did you eat?”

The abrupt change caught you off guard. You blinked, glancing at him. “What?”

His expression was unreadable again, but his voice was casual when he repeated, “Did you eat?”

You frowned. “Why?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Because if you haven’t, I got food in the back.”

You tilted your head, a small smirk playing at your lips. “Are you asking me if I want to eat these pastries with you, Father?”

Joel huffed, shaking his head as he glanced down at the bag of pastries still resting between you. “You brought them” he said gruffly. “Seems only fair.”

You pretended to consider it, tapping a finger against your knee. “Well, I supposed I must take you for a man who shares.”

He shot you a look, one that might’ve been stern if not for the flicker of something else in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name.

“Don’t make me take it back,” he muttered.

You bit back a grin, shrugging as you reached for the bag. “Well, if you insist.”

Joel stood, nodding his head toward the back of the church. “Come on. I’m not going sit out here and eat in the dark like some kind of—” he gestured vaguely before shaking his head. “Just come on.”

You followed, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the stone floors. The air was warmer in the back rooms, less hollow than the empty church.

Joel pulled out a chair for you at a small wooden table, and you sat, watching as he grabbed a couple of plates and a knife.

“Tea?” he asked.

You arched a brow. “Didn’t take you for a tea drinker.”

Joel shot you another look. “Or coffee. Pick one.”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Tea.”

He nodded, setting a teapot on the stove before sitting across from you. The candlelight flickered between you, soft and warm.

You broke off a piece of pastry, popping it into your mouth. “Not bad,” you admitted.

Joel took a bite himself, chewing slowly. Then, he glanced at you,

You weren’t looking at him, too focused on the pastry in your hands, the way the flaky crust crumbled against your fingers. But he was looking at you.

He hadn’t meant to, not like this, not for this long. But there was something about the way you sat there, elbows on the table, the candlelight casting soft golden hues over your skin. Something about the curve of your lips as you chewed thoughtfully, the way your lashes lowered when you focused.

You were different. A fresh breath in a town that had long gone stale, where faces blurred together, where days passed without change. But you—

You weren’t part of this place. Not yet. And maybe that was what drew him in.

His gaze flickered lower, just for a second. The delicate slope of your collarbones, the soft neckline of your blouse that dipped just enough to hint at what lay beneath. He swallowed, jaw tensing, and forced himself to look away, to focus on something else, the flickering candle, the steam rising from the kettle.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, your voice pulling him back.

Joel cleared his throat. “Just thinking.”

You tilted your head, studying him now, those sharp eyes of yours peeling away layers he hadn’t realized were there. “About what?”

He could’ve lied. Could’ve told you something simple, something easy.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Nothing important.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t push, just took another bite of pastry.

And Joel? Joel tried not to look at your lips when you did.

The teapot whistled, breaking the silence. Joel pushed back his chair, a little too fast, the legs scraping against the wooden floor. He muttered something under his breath, maybe a curse, maybe just an exhale—as he stood and turned toward the stove.

You watched him, chin resting in your hand, fingers tapping absently against your cheek.

He moved with quiet fast, pouring the hot water into two mismatched mugs, the steam curling up between you like an unspoken thought.

“Sugar?” he asked.

You hummed, pretending to think. “Do you have honey?”

Joel shot you a dry look but opened a small cupboard, rummaging until he found a half-used jar. He set it down in front of you, his fingers brushing the edge of your mug as he did.

You wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, taking a slow sip.

Joel sat back down, quieter this time, his elbows resting on the worn wooden table.

You tilted your head. “So, do priests always offer tea and pastries to strangers passing by?”

A corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “No.”

You raised a brow. “Just me, then?”

Joel held your gaze, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his brown eyes. Then he looked away, took a slow sip of his own tea.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just you.”

You set your cup down gently, the porcelain clinking softly against the table. "Thanks for being so kind to me." you said, your voice low, more than just for the tea and pastries. It was for the quiet, for the refuge, for something you couldn't quite explain.

Joel didn’t respond right away, but you saw the faintest shift in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders easing just a little. His eyes flickered back to yours, and there was something different about the way he looked at you now, less guarded, almost as if he’d let a small part of himself slip into the space between you.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, then reached for the teapot, his fingers brushing the warm ceramic. "You don't have to thank me," he said quietly. "It's... it’s nothing."

But you both knew it wasn’t nothing. It never was.

Behind his intentions there was always kindness, but now something new flickered.

A temptation threatening his faith, like the world had set on fire the moment you glances met for the first time and he wanted the flames to catch him to be saved by you.

tags: if you want to be removed, you're free to tell me.

@jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @myownwholewildworld @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

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@iamtoriasworld @priincehoseok @luunarr0

[twstfanblog]

Heyyyyy so uhhhhh…

What if the mc back in their world was a slave? Not servant like jamil, just, straight up slave where their opinion didn’t matter :( n they r female, afab, pronounce she/they? Hopefully nothing bad happened but people who get slaves r bad people so :((( overblot boys pls 🙏🥺

I feel like they would all threaten crowley to absolutely NOT look for a way to send mc home n to stop making her do his things cause that reminds her of back home in a very bad way :(

N then they comfort n hold the mc cause they r safe n wont have to be treated like shit anymore :(

They will punch anyone who treats em like shit

Which practically everyone in school did when they arrived at NRC, and they just thought ‘this is normal’. :(

Overblot Boys React to Slave Reader

Overblot Boys x Reader

Riddle

Lowkey saw you as an ideal student. Polite, respectful, and mindful of the rules. So he wouldn't notice anything past a few odd ticks that he himself wouldn't fully question since his own upbringing was shitty.

It takes him and Ace having an argument, Riddle brings up that Ace can learn a thing or two from you on being a respectful student. And Ace fires back on you being a SLAVE. Of course, his overbearing ass would love that. And Riddle has to really think about what kinda person that makes him that he didn't even notice.

He talks to you, wanting personal confirmation on what Ace had blurted out. Once he gets the confirmation, his attitude gets much softer. You don't get as harsh treatment for rule-breaking, but he's still stern about them.

End game, he makes up a secondary set of rules for you only. Rules like 'We say something if we are uncomfortable' or 'We are allowed to say No'. He just gets much softer but remains true on rules being important. He just also stresses that you should have your own personal rules now.

Leona

Clocked immediately you came from a background of servitude, though he wasn't aware how severe it was.

He didn't plan on getting invovled but his little bleeding heart took Ruggie under his wing for a reason. It was one part pity and mostly annoyance seeing you getting bullied by his dorm everyday.

You basically get 'Leona's Servant' boot camp with Ruggie suddenly. He teaches you how Leona likes his laundry tended to and what snack flavors he prefers. It's a smooth transition from slave to servant until Ruggie tells you it's free game to steal from Leona.

Leona never brings it up, but he knows your old home was not a good environment. He also knows he can't just fling you into a healthier dynamic with those around you, so he'll do it slowly and sneakily. Ruggie is the perfect one to bridge the gap for him to start spoiling you.

Azul

Knew something was off but had no real frame of reference. He would make little theories and try to figure out why you act the way you do. He only started thinking you had come from a background of servitude when you follow orders so quickly.

Honestly doesn't know how to feel because he did do slavery in tricking the contracted students into working at the lounge against their will. He's not entirely sure how to save face with you after he's come across as a cruel and unfair slaver. Lowkey uses his overblot aftermath as an excuse for a fresh start with you.

He starts treating you kinder, making sure to address you properly and showing that he respects you. People from his dorm follow his lead, at least. The Tweels are part-time bodyguards, making your old bullies more hesitant to start anything because an eel might slip out of a crack or something.

Azul is a sneaky one too, slowly helping you raise your standard of how you should be treated by others. If you get him blabbing long enough, he'll slip into just stating how precious you are to him.

Jamil

I'm sorry, even with the English sanitation, Jamil’s situation can only come across as slavery to me. He's a very well cared for slave because Kalim adores him, but a slave none the less.

It's a little jarring to him to see someone who really could understand. But he's so used to keeping himself guarded he never reached out in a friendly sense. Treating you more like a new coworker; helpful but distant. It wasn't until you accidently broke something in Scarabia and nearly had a panic attack when Kalim looked at you does he realize how severe punishment was back in your world.

Gets much softer to you. It's sad because he does love and care about you, but he would not allow you to be with him long term. You've managed to come to a new world where your old masters can't reach you, you're free. Don't waste it following him back into a life of servitude.

Jamil would understand you the best so he'd be the one to really push and guide you to trying new experiences with your freedom. Wants you to be selfish and use your friends' kindness to make your life better. If he never gets his dream of being able to travel the world he wants you to be able to.

(Should the miracle happen and he and Kalim have the conversation finally, Jamil would go globe trotting with you. He legit has thoughts of just not going back and disappearing with you.)

Vil

I don't think he'd mean anything malicious by it. But he would end up treating you like a purse dog for a while.

Vil has a strong and cemented personality and sense of worth. Dealing with someone as passive as an abused slave, he would easily bulldoze over them and not really notice. Because he'd basically have you on the 'Betterment Plan' he has Epel.

He saw the potential and just kept going because you never said stop. Lots of beauty routines, he picks outfits for you for outings, basically has you as his shadow before either Rook or Epel bring up how he's running you ragged.

Vil never dealt with someone who's come from the situation you did. The very idea that 'No' wasn't a boundary you were ever allowed horrified him for a bit. But like the queen he is, he doesn't try to defend his misstep and goes right into correcting his behavior. The introduction of choices was the best start, but you slowly start saying no to events and choices and Vil couldn't be more delighted.

Idia

Lowkey, I'm not sure if he'd notice in any capacity until you told him point-blank. Idia is the one of the boys who sticks mostly to himself and he'd avoid you if he saw you constantly being hounded by other students.

But, if you managed to get close enough to him, he'd question why you always freeze up when your bullies call you? Why running isn't an option you take? And then you'd tell him about where you came from and how running never ended well for you or the other slaves...

He's not one I think would actively try to curb your behaviors but it would effect his own. Now when he sees you being bullied there's a high chance he'll use what power he has a housewarden to get them to leave. When he's sneaking around, he'll catch your eye and give the mental offer to come hide out in his room with him. He becomes a legit safe space for you to just breath since no one but Ortho really enters his room.

He's had to stop you multiple times from cleaning his room. Yes, it's a mess. No, you don't have to thank him by cleaning. Yes, he's aware you can also keep his stuff organized for him while you clean. You don't have to clean, you aren't his maid. (He is terrified he will ruin your friendship the second you find anything embarrassing under his piles of junk. Like a body pillow, or a 18+ comic, or a stray love note he wrote you-)

Malleus

Adorable you think the bonds of slavery from an unknown world matter to him. Malleus is...a prince, a crown prince at that. I don't think he has 'slaves' but with servants of royalty, I'm never really sure. But anyhow, this boy hasn't been told no enough in his life and it shows.

So when you try to back away from the friendship a bit under the fact of you being a slave and not...worthy of his princely company. He just decides you aren't a slave anymore. Just wills and speaks it into existence. There, it's fixed. You can continue being his beloved child of man, now come. He has a new gargoyle he wants to show you.

Fae to me have favorites, and they love to keep an eye on them. So god help some poor schmuck who tries to bully you into doing their work after Malleus has decided you don't do that anymore... You start saying No and leaving the situation with much more effectiveness because the other choice is Malleus making some poor student drop out for fear of their life.

Malleus canonically ignores the autonomy of others for his own gain. So it would be a really weird balance of him simply stating that you are your own being capable of choice and that your old-world status as a slave doesn't matter here. But with that new free status, you are also his best friend, who will come on night walks with him, talk with him, and make friendship bracelets.

[softidiotsposts]

Anyone Can Cook

as the wise tale of ratatouille states "anyone can cook... but only the fearless can be great"

{Hello! Second fic, this time pure fluff for recovery! Warnings: kitchens being messy, mentions of bland food, cooking, mentions of the french and reader is french, picky eaters, incorrect cooking terms (probs) // word count: 2.2k}

masterlist

Leah always mentioned Ratatouille around you, like a little disease that you could never shake. The little blue rat named, Remy, had become a staple in your household- even earning you a nickname based on the rat. She thought herself funny, with you being French and all- even a native Parisian, which apparently made it even more of a gag. One that you didn't enjoy very much.

You didn't get it- the film, while good in a general sense and clearly a children's film- had no idea of what a professional kitchen actually looks like and you liked to point out the serious misconceptions to Leah every time she forced you to watch it.

"Seriously, Lee- I have had enough of this film!"

You grumble when Leah once again picks Ratatouille to watch on your weekly movie night- this makes it twice in a row that she's picked this. Making you absolutely devastated that watching Notting Hill was being put on hold, once again.

You wonder whether revoking her TV rights on film night would fix the problem but then remember that Leah could do absolutely anything and you'd probably let her do it anyway. Even if it's a chef rat based torture.

Still, it's actually getting to the point that you remember practically every single line of the film and the plot never surprises you. Not when Leah insists on watching it all the time.

You don't even think she actually enjoys the film enough to watch it all the time either so it must only be to see your reaction.

"But it's so good- really lets me get the idea of what you do at work," Leah giggles and presses start and the obnoxious "French" sounding music starts to play.

You groan, "This is not what I do."

"Yeah, yeah, Remy- You do some cooking with fancy things, I know."

"Actually, I-"

You're about to correct Leah with the most attitude you ever have when she presses her lips against yours and you melt like butter in a pan. She knows that you can never resist her when she has her soft lips against yours and it works without fail each time- even when you're terribly angry.

Leah smirks and wraps an arm around your shoulders. In turn you sigh, knowing that there is no winning when Leah has her mind set on something or whenever she uses her ultimate weapon.

It's around half way through the film, when the famous line is said that you come upon the genius idea. Taking Leah through cooking something that cannot be made via a machine- a cooking lesson with the most inept chef you've met.

The words anyone can cook are true... to a certain extent- It comes down to personal opinion mostly, what does one truly classify as cooking? In theory, if making toast with butter was considered cooking then Leah was the expert but when it came to the taste department- that is where your girlfriend falters.

Before Leah, when you still lived in France, you swore up and down you could never date anyone with the taste buds of a five year old- saying that it was the ultimate deal breaker. Now here you are, dating a famous Arsenal footballer that has the diet of a primary schooler.

At first, it had come as a shock- you went to a restaurant on your first date (not your ideal place for a date but Leah insisted) and she ordered the plainest thing on the menu. You were in such shock that you double checked the menu to see if you weren't misreading because who orders chicken nuggets at a Michelin star restaurant? And why did they even serve such a dish?

It also happened to be the moment that you fell head over heels for Leah, so you learned to get over the food very quickly.

Yet, this was a moment to teach Leah a lesson in taking you seriously... or maybe at least putting a stop to rewatching Ratatouille every single week.

So you take a week to prepare everything perfectly, you plan out what you're going to teach Leah to cook, even survey your kitchen staff before opening with a little questionnaire.

Then you make sure that all knives are sharpened, pots and pans are present- even though you're the only one who uses them- and that all other additional equipment is on hand if needed.

After all the prep work, you go out to the market early on Friday morning to buy a whole chicken since Leah is most likely to actually eat it after it's cooked- you're against wasting food in any circumstance. Then circle around to the other side for fresh vegetables. Once you have acquired all that is needed, you return home perfectly on time.

It leaves you enough time to get your chef coat that you wear when working and find the spare one you had borrowed for Leah, then set out all the ingredients on the marble countertops. It looks absolutely perfect and tickles that ocd part of you brilliantly.

In hindsight, you should have given Leah a slight pre-warning as to what the two of you were doing today but the expression on her face when she walks in is priceless- so priceless, you wish you had recorded it, so you can show it to all her teammates and your co-workers.

“What’s all this?” Leah says, clearly confused as she drops her training bag by the discarded sneakers. 

You fan your hands out, presenting all the different things across the countertops with a large grin- just as large as Leah’s everytime she picks Ratatouille over any other mildly interesting film. 

“This, my love, is your cooking crash course with the best chef in London.” 

It’s true, the London’s society of restaurateurs had voted you best chef for the third year in a row and you couldn’t be happier to flex it in Leah’s face. It’s your personal victory and you like to compare it to her Euro win with England- just to watch her turn a little red as she fiercely defends it to be harder. 

You'd normally agree but maybe she won’t be so quick to correct you next time though because as soon as she’s in the white coat with you (and after you had taken a photo of her that will be posted on instagram later.) the two of you are off, cooking what you think is going to be the driest chicken ever. 

“No- not like that!” 

You’re quick to correct her, it’s automatic and you feel as though it’s a little harsh but this is payback for making you suffer through a cartoon rat cooking. 

You place a hand on top of hers and you swear she blushes just a bit but you ignore it, instead guiding her hand to correctly dismantle the chicken into its individual parts. After helping her with one side, you watch as she tries to complete the other- and to her credit, it is not a total disaster. The cuts are a little jagged and some of the chicken looks more like it’s been massacred rather than taken apart but albeit still looks edible. 

Then she looks up at you with proud eyes and you forget about everything for a moment- all the mental gymnastics- and focus on her sweet smile that warms your heart. You come a little closer and give her a kiss on the cheek, careful not to touch her since you've just been cutting chicken.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart."

Maybe it's an exaggeration but the blush appears on Leah's cheeks after it is completely worth a white lie.

"Thanks, Remy, I have the best teacher," Leah wiggles her brows at you suggestively and you roll your eyes in return.

"Well, I do have three Michelin stars to my name," You grin and Leah smiles back at you.

Then you add, "It's like having three of those golden ball thingys that you all pine after."

Leah's face drops a bit, "You mean a ballon d'or?"

Your face lights up and you nod rapidly, "Yes, exactly!"

Leah pulls a face and furrows her brows, "Okay, baby... maybe we should focus on the cooking?"

You nod and turn your attention towards the dismantled chicken in front of the two of you- You resist the urge to cringe and put all the different parts into a bowl that you then place into the fridge.

"Let's wash hands before the next part."

The two of you take turns washing your hands, Leah flicking water at you playfully when it's her turn and you frowning when she does so.

"Take this seriously, Lee- In my kitchen-"

"Our kitchen-" She corrects you.

You raise your brows in question, "Who uses it the most?"

Leah suddenly fiddles with her coat and looks anywhere but you, you scoff but a smile finds it way to your face anyway- then you wrap an arm around her waist.

"Whatever, just focus- as if it were a match!"

Leah chuckles but steps up to the cutting board where various different vegetables are laid out with one of your personal knives that you bring to work besides it.

"So what now?" Leah asks, evident confusion in her voice.

"I want you to cut the peppers julienne and the carrots paysanne."

Leah looks at you with the most confused expression you've seen to date when the French leaves your mouth and all you can do is sigh.

"Peppers thin like matchsticks and the carrots into circles, please."

"Now that, I can understand," She laughs and begins to chop the peppers, first gutting them and throwing the seeds in the bin beside her then slicing them into strips.

You're leaning your head on her shoulder and your arms are wrapped loosely around her waist as you watch what she is doing- Leah's fingers are wrapped around the wooden handle and she guides the blade down each pepper part with some kind of precision.

You smile and encourage her by giving a light squeeze that you feel she leans into-

"Focus, that knife can cut your finger off."

You hear Leah scoff, "Maybe you shouldn't distract me then?"

You don't say anything nor do you move your arms away from her waist instead focus on the way she's slicing the various peppers- somehow, Leah begins to stray from the very thin slices into thick chucks without even acknowledging it.

You smile, "Stop for a second, Lee."

Leah pauses instantly and turns her head to look at you from where you stand behind her, she raises a brow in question and you grin in return. Then pick up a slice of pepper, holding it up for the two of you to inspect.

"Too thick, darling."

You press yourself closer to her back, forcing her to face the board again- this time you place your hands on top of hers, they are slightly warmer than yours and the heat immediately spreads, then begin to slice as you had instructed.

The rest of the vegetables go smoothly and you let them rest to the side before taking the chicken out of the fridge again-

"We are going to bake the legs, use the bones to make a sauce with the peppers and boil the carrots."

You explain, pointing to all the different elements as you do so and all Leah does is nod before stepping closer to you so she can wrap her arms around your neck.

"Yes, chef Remy," Leah chuckles when you scoff.

She gives you a quick kiss that you so desperately want to deepen but she pulls away before you can. Instead, she turns to the board and looks at you with the same focus you see on the pitch.

"Alright, let's start."

The rest of the evening goes... as well as you'd imagine- the kitchen is thankfully still standing, but in a state of utter disarray. The sauce that Leah made under your guidance had boiled over after she turned the temperature up, so that it would "cook faster". You didn't even get the chance to explain that it doesn't work like that, when a blob of sauce landed on the floor.

So there was a large spillage of sauce all over the stove and countertop but that was the least of your worries since the fire alarm had rang... once... twice... and a third time when the chicken was in the oven. Turns out that Leah cannot preheat an oven to the correct temperature either- so that chicken wasn't even dry, as you'd predicted, it was just simply not even there anymore.

All the meat had burned into crispy back sludge and the bones smelt disgusting- so disgusting that Leah had to stand on the balcony as you threw it out. Stating that she would throw up if she had to do it. 

It turns out that nothing was safe from Leah's horrid cooking skill since the carrots suffered a death by over boiling- turning into mush rather than keeping their shape after the plunge in the steaming hot water of the pot.

In the end, Leah and you end up on the plush sofa with white styrofoam take out boxes in front of you and the normally tidy kitchen left in a rather untidy state, much to your dismay- but none of you had the energy to clean on an empty stomach.

You're shoveling food into your mouth when Leah picks up the remote and you dread what's coming. You see disney being opened and the pit in your stomach turns into sickness-

"So... Ratatouille?" Leah giggles and presses play, you music ringing out of the speakers. 

"Darling- No, please!"

[grandline-fics]

Love Potion

DESCRIPTION: Love Potion- You were both only pretending to date. The feelings aren't real...right?

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Smoker

WORDS: 1,663

A/N: Thank you @missrandomdreamer for requesting this one for the Valentine's Event. Hope you like what I came up with for this one, Smoker deserves the love so hopefully I did him justice on this. As always thank you everyone for your support. Enjoy ♥️

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

———————

“Is this really necessary?” Smoker grumbled around the cigars in his mouth as he shut the door to your room closed firmly. “I’m in perfect shape.”

“Every active member on this base has to undergo routine physicals, Vice-Admiral.” You spoke up from your desk as you grabbed his file and a pen. Even when he was wounded he protested the need to be tended to and while you were already expecting him to clear all your checks with no issues, you still had your job to do. Apologetically you looked at him as you rose. “No exceptions.”

Smoker made a disgruntled noise and glared at the examination bed he’d yet to approach. He swiftly turned his glare your way when you snatched the cigars from his mouth with ease and stubbed them out on the ashtray you always made sure to have in the room in the event Smoker would be coming by. You accepted his ire with an effortless smile, used to his perpetual grumpy and serious expression at this point. Lightly you nudged him along towards the bed. With all his strength and training he could have remained rooted in the spot had he wished but at your touch he relented and moved, eager to just get this over with.

As he sat down and zoned out, letting you do whatever checks and assessments necessary he began to think about how being here was actually a nice break. You weren’t going to pester him about changing the training schedule or beg to swap missions with another member of the base, you weren’t going to chase him about reports he forgot-or just didn’t care about- handing in for the higher ups at Marine’s main Headquarters. Best of all, any conversation you shared with him was appropriate and never prying beyond clear boundaries, unlike those under his command who thought any facet and avenue in his life was theirs to know and analyse obsessively over. Suddenly you made a surprised hum and he pulled himself out of his thoughts to see you studying his face carefully. “What were you thinking about?”

“Why?” Smoker couldn’t help but become defensive, ready to argue that whatever you spotted or noticed in your tests was false. 

“It caused a spike in your otherwise steady blood pressure.” You explained, lips curving in slight amusement. Lightly you tapped your medical notes. “Can’t clear you if there’s a possibility of an underlying condition affecting your blood pressure or an area of stress that could hinder your work.”

“It’s nothing.” Smoker explained firmly. “Nothing for you to worry over. I’m not going to complain over something insignificant and stupid.”

“Wouldn’t call this spike insignificant. Come on tell me and I can help. It’s what doctors are for right?”

“I was getting annoyed about the subordinates prying into my personal life. They’re like gossiping teenagers sometimes.”

“Is that all?” You asked with a laugh, stepping away from him and unhooking the blood pressure monitor. “What do you expect? They’re bored in between missions and you’re the best source of entertainment on the base.

“I shouldn’t be entertainment, I’m their boss to be respected.” At that you snorted with an undignified burst of laughter causing him to frown. “What?”

“Oh come on! I’ve heard you swear out the higher ups countless times when they annoy you. You call that respect?” You teased, laughing again when he looked away from you and muttered about how even you were disrespectful to him. “So what did the bad subordinates pry into most recently.”

“Recently and consistently they bring up my love life or in their words ‘a tragic lack of’ one.” He scoffed. “Every mission it’s putting up with their incessant questions and on the way back it’s stupid schemes to set me up with someone.”

“It’s sweet that they care.” You reasoned only to hear him being to mutter again. With a soft sigh you grabbed his notes to update them. He was the picture of health as you both knew would be the end result. “But if it bothers you that much, take the mystery away from them and they’ll move on. Tell them you’re seeing someone.”

“Magic someone out of thin air?” Smoker shook his head. He shouldn’t have even entertained the notion. His life was his own, he didn’t need to lie or divulge information if he didn’t wish to. “They might act like fools but creating a pretend lover is something even they’d notice a mile off.”

“Sooo don’t make up someone. Use someone they know?” You advised, moving to your desk to officially give Smoker’s physical the stamp of approval needed. Seeing you move, Smoker fixed his jacket and pulled out two fresh cigars to light but for once he didn’t make his way to the door with a gruff ‘thanks Doc’ like he normally did, he was too caught up in your words as you continued. “Then after a couple weeks, stage a break up and they’ll leave you and your personal life alone while you deal with it in your own way.” 

“Who am I going to rope into this scheme that I know won’t blab what’s really going on?” Smoker asked while stepping closer to the desk. His interest was piqued and it seemed like a solid enough plan but he knew that gossip spread fast in the G5 base. The last thing he needed was to risk extra insult to his pride if his subordinates knew he was lying. Smoker was surprised when you lifted your head and smiled at him expectantly. “Wait. You’d go along with this?”

“Why not? Helps you out from getting your blood pressure dangerously high again.” You shrugged simply. “Besides, doctor-patient confidentiality means I can’t tell anyone. What do you say?”

A few minutes later one of the G5 Marines rounded the corner, preparing for his routine physical only to slide to a complete stop in shock. The sight of Vice-Admiral Smoker, his leader straightening from what was most certainly a kiss with the base’s top doctor. The Marine froze when Smoker turned sharply to glare at him while you bit your lower lip shyly and looked away from the wide-eyed gaze of the Marine who interrupted such a sweet and tender moment. Smoker dropped his hand from your lower back and walked towards the Marine. “Whatever you think you saw. You didn’t.” 

Smoker continued on his way, the Marine unable to see his smirk as everything was already set in motion. By the end of the afternoon it was all through the base, some iterations of the events witnessed exaggerated or completely different but it all got Smoker what he wanted; for his subordinates to have something to distract them from him. Technically they were still fixated on him, but now that they believed he was seeing you, they were now talking amongst themselves about the matter and leaving him alone. 

Throughout the day he’d overheard the conversations both mixed and speculative. Some tried to work out when the romance had started and even that split theories and opinions. It had to have been recent because there was no way you both had hidden it for so long. It had to have been going on for a long time because it would explain why Smoker never looked at anyone else both off and on base. Some even declared they’d always known something was going on between Smoker and you and either way it was about damn time. 

For the next few weeks you and Smoker continued your subtle theatrics of being a couple and as you’d predicted the base that now there was no mystery to work out with Smoker’s love life, the base asked less questions. However when you appeared, even if it was passing by in the corridor the Marines looked your way in curiosity. Sometimes you did steal him away to say something useless or unimportant, just so you both appeared to be sharing a quick moment together when really it was just to keep your audience’s interest sated. One evening you found yourself in Smoker’s office, a new development that had occurred from your joint deception. While he finished reports at his desk, you reviewed your own medical reports from the comfort of the sofa he rarely seemed to use. While you both worked you engaged in idle but content conversation. 

“A friend of mine from one of the G7 base was in touch today.” You spoke up with an amused smile, not taking your eyes from your notes as you worked. “We’re one of the topics of conversation there too.” Smoker chuckled slightly at your report of how far the gossip had spread. 

“The interest in our relationship hasn’t died down at all.” He said with a small shake of his head.

“They’re so invested. They’ll be heartbroken when we end things.” You mused, too busy reading to notice Smoker's hand still in the writing of his own reports. He only now realised that that was the next stage in the plan; breaking up to gain full privacy again. Smoker hesitated to even admit it but he truly did enjoy your company. You were easy to be around, brought him a certain calm that he enjoyed. He tensed slightly when you asked him. “Have you considered when it’ll happen?”

“Uh…no. Not yet.” He admitted, that much he could confess. “They gossip but they're behaving for the most part, might just wait until they start to get bored. If that’s okay?”

“Of course, just let me know whenever you’re ready.” Smoker glanced at you in time to see you finally glance his way and offer him a relaxed but warm smile. The same smile he found himself looking for a little more each day. Whenever he was ready? Something gnawed at him in the uncomfortable realisation that perhaps the only thing he wanted to end with you was the pretending. 

——————————————-

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[asumofwords]

Watercress - Chapter 3

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Slow burn, mentions of injury, threats, sickness. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x Healer

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Notes: Hello angels! I hope you enjoyed chapter 2 and now enjoy this. I've been writing these on my commutes to work which has been super fun. I'm going to try and get a chapter out every week if i can! Enjoy <3

For days, Aemond floated in and out of consciousness. Each time his eye flickered open, only to roll shut again, the healer took it as a sign that he would survive. She had seen men fade into death before. How their bodies went still, how their breathing grew shallow and thin until it simply stopped.

But Aemond was not one of those men. He lingered, clung to life like a beast caught in a trap, refusing to die despite the ruin of his body.

At first, he barely stirred. She forced water between his cracked lips, tipping it carefully so he would not choke. She fed him broth, the rich scent of marrow and herbs filling the cottage as she coaxed him to swallow. At one point, she had feared he would slip into a sleep he would never wake from, lost to his wounds and the fever that burned at his skin. But as the days passed, his fingers twitched. His lashes fluttered.

And then finally his eye opened.

Outside, the air had turned sharp and biting, winter creeping closer with every shortened day. The fire in her hearth struggled against the chill that bled up from the earth, and the furs wrapped around her shoulders did little to keep it out.

Soon, the snow would come.

And snow meant death for those who could not prepare for it.

Food was already scarce. Crops had withered in the wake of war, and what little remained was taken by the desperate or the cruel. She had coin, but even coin could not conjure wheat from barren fields or meat from hollowed-out forests. She often thought of selling the long sword she had taken from him, knowing it would fetch more than enough to keep her through the winter. For many winters to come. But carrying a sword like that, his sword, was as dangerous as wielding a traitor’s banner.

Lords and commoners alike who had supported the Green cause had been rounded up and slaughtered. If she was caught with the weapon of a kinslayer, she would be met with the same fate.

And yet… she had kept him alive.

She did not know why. She only knew that she had to.

Would he repay her kindness with a blade to her throat once he could stand again?

Would he lead men to her door, reveal that a woman in the woods had nursed the enemy back to health?

Would he seek vengeance?

She did not want to think about it.

Unease seemed to follow her however, ever since she found the young Prince. It was if the air itself had shifted when Rhaenyra had been slain.

When the war had ended.

It could be, she reasoned with herself, the unsettling feeling after a war. The sudden silence and stillness that clung to people after such uproar. It could also be that the dragons that once flew in great numbers above had greatly dwindled after the war, their shadows and roars missing from the sky. The thought left something heavy in her chest.

It did not bode well when the symbols of gods died.

A low groan pulled her from her thoughts.

She did not rush to his side. She had learned in the first few days that his body remembered the war even if his mind did not. He twitched in his sleep, breath hitching, murmuring half-formed words to ghosts that did not answer. But she knew this sound, this was different.

He was waking.

She dampened a cloth and pressed it to his forehead, watching as his eye fluttered open, violet, sharp despite the dazed, fevered haze clinging to him.

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

Then, suddenly, he tried to sit up.

A harsh cry of pain tore from his lips, and he collapsed back against the bed, his breath ragged, chest jerking in uneven gasps. His fingers twisted into the furs, knuckles white with strain, but his body refused to obey him. He clenched his jaw, breathing heavily through his nose, and tried again. This time, his injured leg jerked upward, and the pain hit him like a tidal wave.

A snarl ripped from his throat, his fingers curling into claws against the mattress, all those fine furs she had bought having their hairs town from their pelts. His eye was squeezed shut, his body taut with the unbearable humiliation of weakness and pain.

She looked down upon him, cloth still held aloft and hoped that this wouldn’t inspire a desperate instinct to attack her. She was certain he would likely not react well, waking up to the unfamiliar scent of her hut, his body aching, and his mind clouded.

A Prince waking in a cottage in the woods and not the chambers of the palace was certain to turn someone of his standings head. Especially since his last memory would have been the war at its peak.

If she woke up one day in a room in the Red Keep, injured and alone, she was sure she would be just as alarmed, if not more so. 

Aemond's lips were chapped, face having grown pale, and breathed a ragged breath, his violet eye flicking around the room as rapidly as his weakness would permit, searching for immediate signs of danger.

When he finally stilled, his breathing shallow but controlled, she let her gaze drift lower. His movement had shifted the furs on the bed so she now had a clear view of the wrappings on his chest. She looked over them searching for any sign of split stitches and found them.

Blood had begun to seep from beneath the rags she had replaced from the fish skin, and without even looking up she turned around to gather her supplies.

Behind her, his voice was hoarse, raw with pain and something darker.

"Where am I?"

She did not answer immediately. She was already assessing the damage, her fingers steady as they lifted the bloodied wrappings from his skin.

"Riverlands." She said flatly.

The silence stretched.

"Where?" His tone sharpened, demanding now.

She did not look at him. "Near Harrenhal."

The shift was immediate.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitched, but the worst of it was in his eye. The moment the word left her lips, his expression twisted into something dangerous. Hatred, rage, loathing, all bleeding into one as his nostrils flared, as the muscle in his jaw clenched tight enough to shatter his own teeth.

She braced herself, already anticipating the bite of his fury.

"Are you a Maester?" The question was sharp, calculated. Even now, flat on his back, broken, helpless, he was still testing her.

She did not fear the question, nor the weight of his stare. Instead, she did something unexpected, she laughed. A quiet, breathy sound that barely reached the space between them.

It was not amusement, not quite. But there was something in it; a warning, perhaps.

He hated it.

"As a follower of the Seven, you should know women cannot swear such an oath."

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

The hatred was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it was joined by something else. Something assessing.

He was measuring her.

Calculating.

She could almost see the thoughts turning behind his eye, the realisation sinking in. He was in a stranger’s home, far from his kin, with wounds he could not fight past, and a body that refused to obey him.

And worst of all; he was at her mercy.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows across his face, making the bruises look darker, the scar across his cheekbone deeper, and him gaunter. He looked like something feral, something barely restrained by the thin thread of his own will.

She wondered, briefly, if she had saved a dying man or a dying beast.

The answer did not matter.

She would soon find out.

“Who tends to me?” His voice was distrustful, thick with uncertainty. Sharp.

Commanding.

She gave him her name and only her name.

“Who is your sworn lord?” Voice thick with impatience.

She smirked as she lifted the bandages from his chest, watching his fingers twitch, wary as if he might lurch forward and grab her.

She hummed, unfazed. “Sworn lord? I’ve sworn no oaths.”

His eye burned into her, “Who holds Harrenhal?”

She had to hold back a laugh.

Men often made demands when they were injured. Often promised vengeance for the shame of their own vulnerability. When she had first taken her mother’s place, it had made her cautious, fearful. But time had taught her something else. Empty words and empty threats were more deserving of mirth than worry.

But this man… this man was different. His reputation alone would have been enough to put her on edge. And yet, more than that, it was the feel of him. The way the air thickened around him, charged with something unspoken.

A warning.

Even still, she answered as she would any other.

“The ghosts that haunt its walls.”

Her fingers pinched his torn skin together, assessing what to do next.

He did not whimper this time.

Aemond gave her a scathing look, the scar over his eye crinkling. “The war...Has it been won?”

She hummed in amusement.

His face dissolved into fury.

He was a prince, and had clearly never spoken to in such a way, least of all by someone lowborn like herseld. But within these four walls, titles held no power.

All men bled.

All men died.

Birth and rank meant naught to the gods.

“There is no winning in a war.”

"Who?" His voice, a blade’s edge, barely restrained.

She held his gaze, unflinching, and it irked him. “The son of the dead Queen. Her blood will rule. The Gods do not favour kinslayers and usurpers.”

Violence flared in his eye, “It is treason to speak her name with victory.”

Aemond tried once again to sit up too quickly, succeeding and she sighed as she watched two new stitches burst, blood pooling to the surface. The Prince tried valiantly to ignore the pain, teeth gritted as his body betrayed him, but she could see that it made his consciousness swim.

He swayed and fell back onto on elbow, wheezing at the agonised angle, one arm coming to clutch his broken ribs. But even in the immense pain he seemed to be suffering, his stubbornness won out, and even she had to admit that he had faired better than men who had suffered less.

"You lie."

If he weren’t so pathetic in that moment, she might have humoured him like a petulant child. She didn’t dignify it with a response. Just inhaled deeply, eyes sweeping the rest of his injuries. She lingered on his leg.

Horror flickered in his violet eye.

He knew.

The loss of an eye had been something to overcome. A wound to be turned into a weapon. A show of his strength. Something to reveal to strike fear amongst his enemies.

But this…

A leg was different. A leg made a warrior. And without it, without the strength to stand, to fight, what was he?

"Answer me." His voice wavered this time.

She wished he would pass out so she could work in silence.

"The false king was slain by his own men," She said coolly, "All your kin are dead."

Silence.

His eye searched hers, desperate for deception, for any trace of a lie.

There was none.

Something in his face shifted. Darkened.

Gone.

All of them.

His mother. His brothers. His grandfather Otto.

Perhaps Criston Cole, too. The man who had been a father in all but name and blood.

But most of all;

Helaena.

Had she been slain with the rest?

His sister.

His gentle sister.

A harsh, bitter breath left him. His lips curled into something between a sneer and a grimace. Aemond was not a man who wept. His grief hardened into fury.

And she had been prepared for it.

"Then I should have died."

She lifted a brow, lazy, “Aye. If the Gods had willed it.”

The sneer returned, but his strength waned, and he collapsed back onto the bed, glaring at her.

"You willed it."

"I do as the Gods command me."

She reached for him and he recoiled.

"I am not some wounded beast for you to keep." Aemond snarled, pink blooming across his cheeks where they had once been colourless.

Amused she replied, "No. You snarl and snap like one. But a true beast still has its claws."

He swatted at her as she reached for his side, shifting away. But she was persistent, stronger than he expected, and he sank, reluctant, into compliance.

At a loss.

At a loss of who he was.

He had lost everything. The war. His kin. His title.

His purpose.

And for the first time, he felt it. The emptiness. The hollow absence where Vhagar had been.

The ache of the bond was silent. And he just knew to his bones she was gone.

The one being who understood him.

Gone.

And now, after all he had done, after Lucerys, after Sharp Point, after every drop of blood spilled in his name, his half-sister’s son sat the throne.

And when they found him?

It would be public. Very public. A trial. A spectacle.

A kinslayer’s fate.

"How long have I been here?" His voice was quieter now, loss leaking in at the edges.

She knew what he was thinking.

Could he still fight? Could he still win?

Would there be any left who would fight for him?

Unlikely.

She met his eye. “Several days. You’ve been asleep for most.”

His teeth clenched. “Days…”

Frustration sparked in his voice, and she readied herself for cruelty.

"Why did you save me?" He sneered, and she ignored his question, "I suppose you expect me to be grateful. What do you want, coin? Gold? A jewel to buy your way out of this hovel?"

There it was.

She ignored him again. Dipped a rag into boiling water, wrung it out, and reached for his wound. She met his eye briefly before pressing the cloth to his skin.

His stomach clenched beneath her hands.

"You lie." He hissed again.

"I don’t have time for lies."

"Say it again."

She flicked her eyes up to his, unimpressed, "Have you gone deaf, m’lord?" She mocked his now lack of title.

His voice was low, dangerous, “You will say it again.”

Coolly, she obliged, "You have lost. Your family is dead. The war is over. The Blacks sit the throne. And you… you are alone."

His jaw tightened as he inhaled sharply.

"And I am expected to take the word of some common healer in some nameless hut?" His eye flicked around the cottage in distaste, “Who’s to say my brother hasn’t won and you are a sympathiser to the whore Queen?”

Now she smiled, and despite the hatred he felt for her, he noted that it was a pretty smile.

"My word means nothing, Aemond."

His eye narrowed at the sound of his name on her tongue.

But she continued, for the first time speaking longer than he had expected, "I could tell you many things. Promise you more. But it wouldn’t change my station or yours."

She leaned in, voice calm.

"And if I were the sympathiser you accuse me of being," Her voice dipped almost to a whisper, almost sultrily, "I would have slit your throat where you lay."

Aemond laughed, humourless, "You think I will stay here? That I will rot in this hut?"

Her eyes flicked to his leg, then to the door, "You’re free to leave, kinslayer."

His breath caught.

He went utterly still.

"Say that again."

She raised her brows, "How many times are you going to ask me to repeat myself? I'm not a parrot from High Garden, m'lord. You don’t like the truth I speak?"

With her hands, she pinched his wound together and readied her needle, not asking if he was ready. She could feel his heated glare atop her skull.

The healer could admit that she had stitched the first stitch more roughly than she could have, knowing it would have pained him. She felt his stomach clench beneath her as she worked, the heat from his skin almost scolding her hands like the water in the basin.

Lips curling, seething, he hissed lowly in threat, "Watch your tongue, woman."

A large hand snapped out and wrapped around the wrist holding the needle and squeezed painfully.

We have finally reached the threats, she mused to herself dryly and hummed an amused laugh.

Aemond moved to sit up again and she managed to move a well placed, albeit cruel, hand against one of his broken ribs and pressed, which made the prince gasp in pain and stiffen against the bed stilling.

"If you’re going to undo my work," She said smoothly, "I should’ve left you to die as your men did."

She paused for a moment.

She knew his distrust of her would prove to be an issue with him now being conscious. He would fight her at every turn and spit vitriol her way. She no doubted that he would test her patience and she would consider dosing his food with a sleeping draught. Perhaps even some milk of the poppy.

She would have offered it to him sooner if he had not been so aggressive in his questioning. 

"You knew who I was."

Her lips twitched into a smile.

His eye narrowed, "Why?"

Why did she save him?

Why did she tend to him?

What was her motive?

The mystery surrounding her set his hair on end.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. He was not sure he liked it, the way she looked at him. As though he was a question to be answered, a thing to be fixed. Rather than a man to be feared.

“Would you have preferred to die?"

Aemond did not answer.

He should say no.

Should say he still has vengeance to take, a name to reclaim, a war to fight. A throne to win. But the truth sat thickly in his throat.

There was nothing left.

“You want me to trust your word?” Aemond scoffed, the colour in his cheeks fading again.

With a sigh she worked his wound, stitching it back together methodically, "You may recall I never asked for your trust. I couldn’t care for your thoughts of me." Her tone cool and emotionless, "Feel free to die now if you wish, it would save me the trouble and herbs.” She tied shut the final stitch.

There was a brief moment of silence between them, only the sound of the cracking fire.

He was left to stew in his shattered pride and frustration, the knowledge that he would never be the same, and the added humiliation that he now depended upon a woman such as her. 

His voice was a blade at her throat. "I have killed men for less."

A smirk played at her lips. "And yet here I stand," She straightened, looking down at his broken body to prove her point. He could not stand, not without help.

Not without her.

"And there you lay."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[multiversediaries]

MORE THAN FRIENDS

⤷ FRANK CASTLE X READER

Summary: After overhearing a conversation between Matt and Karen, you find comfort in the arms of the big, bad Punisher.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, small angst, soft, and i mean, VERY soft frank

Part count: 1/?

A/N: i loved, loved, LOVED! writing this!!!!! i hope u guys like it as much as i do ^-^ apologies for any mistakes! english is not my first language!

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” You heard Matt’s voice from outside of their office. You had just came back into the office, after looking more into a few cases you were all working on. You were eager to share the information you acquired to both your boyfriend, Matt, and Foggy.

“You are in a relationship, Matthew. This is insane.” Karen soon spoke up. You raised your ears in curiosity. Were they talking about you? You leaned into the door, trying to listen into their conversation.

You have been in a loving relationship with Matt for about two years now. You met him while working at his law firm, and ultimately fell for him. Who wouldn’t? Matt is a dream come true. It didn’t make you uncomfortable to know that his ex girlfriend, Karen, also worked along side Matt, since you knew he loved you. He reminded you every single day of how much he loved and appreciated you. He never gave you a reason to doubt him.

“Y/N? God, Karen. Can’t you see? She means nothing— not next to you.” Matt said, your heart sinking at his words. No, this isn’t the Matt you knew. The Matt you knew and fell in love with would never speak of you like this. No.. he loved you. He told you every day.

He loved you… right?

“You don’t mean that, Matt.” Karen replied softly. You could sense pity in her voice for you.

“Y/N… she’s lovely. She really is— she’s so good to me, but she’s not you. She will never be you.”

You heard Karen reply, but you weren’t paying attention anymore. You bit your bottom lip, hiding your silent cries, and shuttering breaths. You started to walk away from the office, not daring to even look back. You were grateful it was usually noisy around the office during that time, so Matt wouldn’t have been able to hear you.

You stood in the middle of the sidewalk, finally allowing yourself to hurt. Tears streamed down your face, painful sobs leaving your throat. The stares of people didn’t matter to you. How could he? How could you have been so naive? It was all too good to be true, and you knew this. You knew it was, yet you brushed it off. Just thinking this was the universe finally letting you be happy, for once. How naive.

You walked around the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. not having a place to go. You shared the apartment with Matt. You couldn’t go to Karen, or Foggy. Gosh, where were you going to sleep for tonight? Those were the only people you truly trusted and knew. You didn’t have any family left in Hell’s Kitchen. No one.

As you walked around town, flashbacks kept replaying in your head. Walking past that italian restaurant Matt loved so much, the small bar Matt liked playing pool in, the park Matt loved taking walks with you at, everything reminded you of him. You closed your eyes in defeat, as you felt small rain drops fall on your skin.

Just what you needed.

But even then, it was comforting. You always liked how the city looked during rainy nights. It brought you peace and now, consolation. You walked around the streets you loved so much, an emotionless expression in your face. You felt empty. You felt so pathetic, and like you had wasted two years of your life. Two years of nothing but what you thought was happiness and love. But it was just a fantasy. A delusion. Fiction. It just wasn’t real, nothing was real. You weren’t Karen. You didn’t have as much history with Matt as Karen did. You just weren’t her.

While you continued to walk, your tears now hidden in the rain, giving you the freedom to let go, to cry as much as you pleased, you heard a name you hadn’t heard in a while.

The Punisher.

Frank Castle. The man who once saved your life. The man who seemed to care so deeply about you. A long lost friend. You lost communication with him a few months ago. It was nothing new, Frank traveled a lot, he never truly stayed at one place for too long. You didn’t know he was back, as he hadn’t told you. He’d always find a way to contact you, to let you know he was alive and well. Most of the times, he simply got you flowers. He knew how much you liked them. So he wanted to be associated with something you liked so much.

You soon found yourself at his front door. Terrified he wouldn’t be home. After composing yourself, or at least trying to, you knocked twice on his door. You bit your lip, looking down anxiously.

Please be home, Frank. Please.

After a few minutes of silence, that sense of hope inside of you started to die down. He wasn’t home. Of course he wasn’t home. You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. Again, how fucking naive. You wiped your teary, swollen eyes, and turned around on your heels, starting to walk away from his door. You began thinking of where you could spend the night. If anything, you could wait under they all leave the office, and you could sleep there.

“Y/N?” You heard a deep, raspy voice call out behind you, interrupting your thoughts. You could have sworn your heart stopped. You turned around slowly, finding Frank.

“You’re home…” You managed to whisper, earning a cautious nod from Frank.

“Everything okay, doll? What’s goin’ on?” Frank asked, his eyes scanning you, looking for any injuries on you. His expression softening at the sight of a broken you.

You opened your mouth to speak, yet nothing came out. You faked a smile, wiping your eyes once again. Frank’s heart tightened. He slowly began making his way to you. Your smile soon turned into a frown, small sobs leaving your lips. You couldn’t stop yourself from breaking down in front of him. Loud, and sore wails filling the hall you both were standing on.

Frank didn’t say a word either, he only embraced you into a tight hug. His strong arms stroking your back lovingly, as he held you together, knowing that if he let go, you’d fall apart right in front of him. Once he noticed your cries had calmed down, he finally spoke up.

“Let’s change you out of these wet clothes.” He spoke lightly, guiding you into his apartment. He closed the door behind him, leading you into the bathroom. He brought some of his clothes for you, and a towel.

“Take a warm bath, and then we’ll talk if you want to, alright?” Frank said, before offering you a small, pitiful grin, and closing the door. You took off the damped clothes and jumped into the shower, instantly relaxing as soon as the hot water touched your cold skin.

Frank could hear your whimpers and cries from his living room, where he impatiently waited for you. He had never seen you like this. His heart felt heavy while looking into your blood red, swollen eyes, your quivering lips and broken expression. He sighed harshly, remembering how cold you felt when he held you into his arms, how much you were shaking. He quickly stood up, gathering warm blankets for you. He also prepared warm chocolate for you, your favorite kind, in hopes of lifting your spirits, even if it’s just a little.

He must have gotten too caught up in trying to make you feel comfortable, that he didn’t notice you. You stood by the counter of his kitchen, wearing one of his t-shirts and long pants, which were most definitely a little big on you. He smiled just a bit, once he locked eyes with you. You returned the kind smile, watching him as he poured the hot chocolate into a cup for you.

Soon, your eyes drifted to a flower arrangement, carefully sitting by the end of the counter you were leaning on. You sighed quietly, in relief.

“Those are yours, sweetheart. Was gonna have them delivered to you tomorrow, or somethin’.” Frank said, handing the cup to you. You smiled, genuinely this time. Of course he was going to. How dare you doubt him? He cares about you. Truthfully. You brought the cup to your lips, softly blowing it, before drinking from it.

“See, I just didn’t know where to send ‘em to.” Frank continued, looking at the flowers he got for you. Tulips. “Didn’t know you moved in with Matt.” He said. You sighed at the mention of his name, a frown appearing once again.

“Yeah, well. Definitely don’t send them there.” You replied, so soft it was almost a whisper. Frank nodded, not wanting to push you. He didn’t want to pressure you into telling him anything.

“Are you alright, doll? Talk to me.” Frank said, as softly and tenderly as possible. You sighed shakily, recalling what you heard. Frank bit the insides of his mouth. “Let’s go sit, okay?” He offered, a hand lightly on your waist, leading you to his living room. Frank sat across from you, giving you all the space you needed. You looked down at the cup in your hands, trying to find the right words.

“It’s Matt, he—”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No! Of course not— I mean, yeah? Kind of?” You replied, placing the cup down on the coffee table in front of you, before your hands ran to caress your temples in frustration.

“I’m sorry.” Frank said after taking a deep breath. “Didn’t meant to interrupt ya.” He finished, his eyes never leaving yours. Your heart almost melted. Frank has always been this kind, this attentive.

“It’s fine, Frank. It’s just—” You continued, running a hand through your damped hair, trying to find the best way to explain your situation. “I don’t even know how to explain it, he just— he just doesn’t love me.”

“What?” Frank asked, truly baffled at your words. Because how can anybody not adore you?

“I heard him speaking to Karen. And he told her I was nothing compared to her, and that he only wanted her.” You continued, your voice breaking. “He doesn’t love me, Frank. Simply because I’m not her.” You finished, your head dropped in embarrassment and hurt. You held back your wails, yet there was not point in stopping the tears that now ran down your face. You heard Frank sigh.

After a few minutes of nothing but your silent cries, Frank had now moved to sit next to you, an arm wrapped around you, as you cried into his chest. His fingers traced circles on your skin, attempting to comfort you as much as he possibly could. A few more minutes passed, yet Frank hadn’t said a word.

“Why haven’t you said anything?” You finally spoke up, your voice sore and tired from all the crying. Frank shrugged his shoulders, looking down at you.

“Just can’t understand how anyone would want anybody else but you.” Frank said, his eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion. He was dumbfounded. “You’re it for me, sweetheart.” Frank continued, his face showing utter bewilderment.

“Didn’t know Red could be so goddamn stupid.” Frank said, looking down to stare into your eyes. Your eyes glassy and overflowing with tears. He sighed, his rough fingers wiping away the small teardrops on your cheeks.

“I’m sorry I can’t comfort ‘ya any better, I’m just bamboozled.” Frank confessed, making a small giggle leave your mouth. He offered you a small grin.

“Don’t you dare doubt yourself ‘cause of him. You know your worth and how fucking amazing you are— he’s missing out on you, pretty girl.” Frank continued, his rough hand felt warm and even soft against your skin. You bit your lip, killer butterflies filling your stomach while you heard Frank speak so softly and lovingly to you.

“I just don’t understand— if it were me, I would’ve put a ring on your finger ages ago. Fuck, I would’ve made you a mom by now.” Frank rambled on, your eyes softly widening at his sudden confession. Frank seemed to realized what he said, since he quickly looked into your eyes in panic.

“I mean— I would’ve never exchanged you for anyone or anything. I’m telling ‘ya, you’re it for me.” Frank finished, his hand leaving your cheek. You frowned at the loss of his warmth.

“You should be exhausted, go to sleep, alright? We’ll talk more in the morning.” Frank said softly, before planting a tender kiss to your forehead. You nodded, mostly speechless by what just happened. You made your way to then vacant room Frank had offered you, looking back once in a while, locking eyes with Frank. You smiled timidly, before walking into the room, and closing the door behind you.

“‘I would’ve made you a mom.’ ‘The fuck were you thinking?” Frank cursed under his breath, cleaning up his living room. His eyes going going over to the room you were sleeping at, wondering if you needed anything, and most importantly, if you were okay.

Inside, a smile had formed in your lips, remembering the words Frank had said to you. You couldn’t help the obvious attraction and love you felt towards him, from the very first day you met him. Matt hated Frank, probably because of how fondly you spoke of him and how excited you used to get when a bucket of flowers would get delivered to you. You used to reassure Matt to not worry about Frank, that you two were just friends.

But were you?

[miss-lesbian16]

A secret love

Warning: a little bit of groping and injury.

Who would have thought that the daughter of Councilman Kiramman and Sevika, a criminal since she is Silco's right hand, would have an impossible love?

I’m at home, sitting in front of the mirror, dressed in a long silk nightgown while I brush my hair. Today I received a letter saying that Sevika would come to see me. Just then, I heard something tap against my window. I turn and quickly get up to open it; I see Sevika as she steps inside my room.

—"Sevi," —I say excitedly as I move closer to her to hug her—. "I've missed you and worried at the same time. Sevika, I thought something had happened to you; it’s been two weeks since you last came" —I say, lifting my head to meet Sevika's gaze, a deep look, calm yet filled with profound love.

—"I know, babe. It's just that Silco had too much work, and as you know, I'm always the one who handles the dirty work," —she says while her hand gently caresses my head and with her other metallic hand she holds my waist, squeezing it lightly—. "You don’t have to miss me anymore, and worrying about me is unnecessary; nothing is going to happen to me, babe" —she says with a proud smile, as she is the most fearsome and strong woman in Zaun.

—"Yes, I know. My mother never stops talking about you," —I say while laughing. I stop hugging her to guide her to my canopied bed.

Sevika has spent so much time here at night that it’s no longer necessary to insist on sitting down; so Sevika sits comfortably, pulls out a cigar, and starts smoking.

—"It must be good things about me, right?" —she says with more pride and a playful smile. She grabs my hip and pulls me onto her lap with her human hand firmly around my waist.

—"Yes, like how you kill and beat up the enforcers who suspect that their illegal shimmer passes through Piltover," —I say in a tone that’s both serious and playful at the same time.

—But let's stop talking about that and rather tell me, did no one notice when you arrived? —I say curiously, my hands resting on her neck as I look deeply into her eyes.

—Why do you ask? —she says, puzzled, pulling away a little and tightening her grip around my waist—. Does someone already know about us?

—No, no one. Just that some guards informed my mother that someone left through my window in the early morning —I say sarcastically while looking away—. I don't want them to know about us —I say worriedly, my hands moving to her shoulders.

—Are you embarrassed about our relationship? —she says in a serious and natural tone while looking straight into my eyes.

I feel her gaze, even though I’m not looking at her. It’s like... but when she said she was embarrassed about our relationship, I quickly turned to face her.

—No, Sevika, I’m not embarrassed about our relationship. You are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. What I'm afraid of is that they will find out and send me to another nation, separating me from you, and I don’t want that —I say while hugging her. My words came out too fast and a bit desperate—. I love you with all my heart, Sevi —I say with fear but in a loving tone.

—It's okay, I understand. Calm down —she says as she moves her hand from my waist to my head, pulling me back a bit—. Although I know I don’t say it very often, you are also the most beautiful thing I've ever known —she says calmly and then gives me a kiss on the forehead.

I push her so that she lies down on the bed, getting on top of her to then, without warning, start a slow kiss. Sevika lets herself go, placing her metal hand on my back and the other slowly caressing my skin as the kiss becomes more demanding and desperate to the point where Sevika tries to take off my robe.

—Sevika —I say between kisses—. I love you —I say in a moan between kisses.

—I love you too, babe —she says as she lightly bites my lower lip.

My hands start to caress her abdomen under her shirt, but I feel something wet and suddenly pull away from the kiss, sitting on her thighs. I pull out my hand and see blood.

—Sevika! What happened to you? You're hurt! —I say worriedly as I look into her eyes.

Without waiting for her to respond, I lift her shirt and see a bandage already stained with blood.

—It's nothing. I just had a fight and the jerk used a knife and hurt me. But it's nothing to worry about; I just washed the wound and put on a bandage —she says calmly as if it were something natural that happens to her.

—No! Sevika, let me take care of you —I say worriedly—. And how is it not concerning? Sevika! You have a wound on your abdomen! —I say in an angry tone but with more concern.

I get off her while going to the bathroom for alcohol, bandages, cotton balls, towels, and water; everything on a tray. When I come back out, she is sitting in an armchair next to a fireplace but without a shirt on, wearing only her bra.

—Sevi, it wasn't necessary for you to take off your shirt —I say shyly and blushing as I approach her to tend to her wound.

—I see nothing wrong with being like this; besides, I feel more comfortable like this —she says with a calm and mischievous smile.

I sit next to her while Sevika watches all the movements I'm making. I grab the towel and wet it to wring it out and start cleaning the wound; around it, her abdomen moves slightly due to the pain. I leave the towel on the tray; grab the cotton ball and moisten it with alcohol. Gently, I pass the cotton over the wound to disinfect it; Sevika grunts a little.

—Am I hurting you, Sevika? —I ask worriedly but calmly; lifting my gaze.

—No, keep going. Don’t worry —she says with a vulnerable yet serene tone.

—Alright, Sevika; I'll continue —I say worried but somewhat calm.

After a few minutes of treating her wound, once disinfected I take a bandage and gently place it over her injury.

—Done; I'm finished Sevi —I say while grabbing the leftover bandage and leaving it on the tray.

—Babe, it's time for me to go; I have work to do —she says seriously as she stands up and goes to grab her shirt from the bed to put it back on.

—Why so soon? I thought you'd stay to sleep with me —I say surprised; walking towards her stopping her by hugging her from behind before she leaves through the window.

In one swift motion she turns around facing me and starts kissing me passionately and desperately inserting her tongue into my mouth; starting a somewhat messy kiss while her metal hand grabs my butt and the other is on my back. After a few seconds we pull away from the kiss due to lack of air seeing how a string of saliva connected us.

—I’ll be back tomorrow okay? —she says smiling and gasping slightly.

—Alright Sevi; I'll be waiting for you —I say moaning slightly because of the kiss.

Before Sevika pulls away from me she gives me a hard slap on my butt causing me to moan again and unable to say anything she jumps out through the window leaving me alone in my room.

Thanks for reading and I hope you support me. Have a nice morning/day/night

[clockwayswrites]

Annalise&Tim, Magenta, Solstice, wood fire @roanawayspoons

Annalise is an OC from my fic City Pigeons Bleed Green who showed up briefly. This is an AU where she came to Bruce right away and lived. Uh, sorry that Tim is only dubiously present... but this got in my head.

“Hello, Bruce,” Annalise called from the sitting room that she favored. It was a slightly smaller one than the family room that the would gather in, but she always said that she liked how cozy and warm it was. The Manor, as old as it was, did tend to have a chill to it that would linger in the colder months.

Bruce generally dealt with the permanent cold by wearing warm, turtleneck sweaters and Dick simply never seemed to get cold. Helena liked to steal Bruce’s sweaters, for all that they came pooled around her feet. Annalise, though, seemed to struggle with getting warm with her poor circulation. (Bruce also harbored a fear that the complications around Helena’s birth had caused permanent harm to Annalise, such as the constant fatigue that she seemed to suffer.)

The warm, golden light of the fire spilled out of the half open door to the room and it felt like coming home to step into it. He leaned against the door frame with a smile “Hello, Lise.”

“Alright day at work?” she asked as she stuck her needle in the cross-stitch that she she had been working on.

There was a fifty-fifty chance that it contained a cuss that would make Alfred tsk at her.

“Mm, holiday bonuses went out today, so everyone was in a good mood.”

“Oh, I imagine,” she said with a smile.

The kid—more a pile of blankets and flash of black hair than anything else—who was asleep against her leg shifted. She carded her delicately painted nails through their hair.

“Is one of our sick?”

Annalise hummed in confirmation. “Poor thing was chilled to the bone.”

“That—”

“B! You’re home!” Dick called.

Bruce barely had time to swing around and catch him as he flung himself over the edge of the stare rail and at Bruce’s chest. At sixteen Dick was big enough to make Bruce have to brace himself to catch him. One of these days, Bruce knew he was going to get hurt doing this (but that would hardly stop him, not when his oldest still wanted hugs).

“Hey chum,” Bruce said as he swung Dick around and into the room and set him down. Not Dick who was sick then, which would save the manor a lot of whining. “How was your last day of school?”

“Super boring. We didn’t even do anything! I don’t know why we had to go!” Dick said in a rush.

“He also got, and ate, several candy canes,” Annalise added with a little smile.

“Also that,” Dick agreed.

Bruce tried not to laugh. “Well then it wasn’t all bad, was it. Did you save one for your sister?”

“I did, but she got even more than me! Not that she ate all of them, she’s saving them,” Dick said, like it was the most ridiculous thing that he had ever heard.

“Well, if she’s not feeling we—”

“Daddy!”

Bruce swung just in time to catch his daughter, who of course had also taken to flinging herself at him ever since Dick had started training her in gymnastics this year. The catch was a little fumbled as Bruce spun back to the room and whoever it was that was sleeping on the couch.

“Who—”

“Timothy Drake from next door,” his wife explained softly and with a little smile on her face that Bruce knew spelled trouble for him. Her fingers were still carding through the child’s hair. “Did you know that he’s all alone over in that monstrosity of a house? Poor baby walked over here, in the cold, completely drenched because a pipe had burst in the kitchen. It burst because the heat had gone out and his parents wouldn’t answer his calls about needing their approval for a new furnace. In December. He wanted to know if we had a wrench so that he could shut the water main off.”

Purposefully, Bruce relaxed his hold on Helena so that he didn’t squeeze her too hard at hearing all that. “I see.”

“Yes,” Annalise said. “So I brought him inside, made sure he got warm, and then we had some tea and cookies. I don’t intend to send him back to that house.”

“Of course not, it’s freezing.”

“Ever.”

“…I’ll call our lawyers up then.”

[prapaiwife]

The whole point of the letter is that everyone has their worth, and it doesn't and shouldn't have to be measured by whatever job it is that you have. Cause again being successful is great and all, but we already as human beings have value even if we don't have a prestigious title or the most high-ranking in a job. Because at the end of the day, it's the people around you, the ones closest that see you for you. You know you're worth it, and it's just up to whoever in life u meet whether they see it or not.

And it's so good because for Po his ex made him feel exactly that which was worthless, because why po didn't reach the top as fast as he did was he holding him back it doesn't matter cause he shuns him away! and it breaks up with him, leaving him with no-closure as to what and why it happened. But now, when he has a title, he has some significance now as a well-known creative director he now feels gracious enough to give me the credit on the very thing that he helped work on for him?! all those sleepless nights po endured everything he did he earn didn't have to say it his actions showed it that po didn't deserve it then, but he deserves it now all the thanks and praise?. He even says it would help both of them to since he has such a prestigious company and Po is a now well-known director. Back then, when po didn't have that title at the end of the day, he was your boyfriend, and as him and being your partner, he deserved that respect then! just as much as he deserves it now.

So watching Po Stand Up to him and tell him "I won't take things you never gave me" was amazing cause po can see that their failed relationship didn't teach him a thing. He didn't change or grow as a person from how he treated po so poorly, so po doesn't have to accept a thing from someone who can't fully be honest with themselves earn will be earn. But po grew and came into his own from that past relationship cause ep 1 po probably wouldn't have been able to have done this, but since po has now seen what love is in it's truest most rarest form thanks to thame🤧

[echstacy00]

ruin me: obsession taste like blood

dance major ! niki x dance major ! reader

getting accepted into Seoul Elite Arts Academy was the dream—your dream. the kind of dream that people sacrificed everything for, the kind that set fire to anyone who wasn’t strong enough to hold it in their hands.

and you? you had sure as hell earned your place here.

for years, you’d trained, pushed your body past its limits, given up sleep, social life, and anything remotely resembling a normal teenage experience—all for this. and when you finally stepped into the grand auditorium for the opening ceremony, a rush of pride filled your chest.

this was it.

this was where legends were made.

but then you saw him.

Nishimura Riki.

as much as you’d love to pretend you didn’t know of him you couldn’t. you’d seen his name everywhere. social media, dance competitions, whispered conversations in studios across the world. he was the one everyone talked about—the prodigy, the boy who was practically untouchable on the dance floor.

he was exactly what you expected.

cocky. arrogant.

and maybe at his status he had the right.

he was the kind of person who knew he was good so good that he made damn sure everyone else knew it too.

he thinks he owns this place.

and maybe he did. maybe everyone else would bow at his feet, would whisper about his untouchable talent and those criminally perfect looks.

but you?

you knew you were better.

and nothing was going to stop you from proving it.

from the very first class, ni-ki knew you were going to be a problem.

not just because you were good—he’d dealt with good before. he could crush good.

but you were something else.

yor movements were too sharp, too fluid, too fucking precise. You had this way of making every routine look effortless, like your body was built for this. and the worst part? you knew it.

that first day, you had taken center stage in the studio without hesitation, moving like you belonged there. like you were already the best.

and it made his blood fucking boil.

because that was supposed to be him—it always had been up until now.

people whispered about you. talked about how you might be the only one in the entire school who could match him.

at first, he told himself it was bullshit.

then he watched you dance.

and for the first time in years, something twisted inside of him.

because he couldn’t look away.

and he hated that.

now a week deep into the new semester. you had been in the studio for hours. long past when everyone else had left, long past when your body screamed at you to stop. but you weren’t done. not until every single movement was perfect—not until your routine for tomorrow was refined to a T.

and you were close. so damn close.

but close wasn’t enough. it never was.

you pushed through another run, the music pounding in your ears, your body a blur of sharp precision and controlled grace. every turn, every extension—it all had to be seamless. flawless. and if it wasn’t? you’d go again. and again.

you finally came to a stop, chest heaving, sweat dripping down your temples. for a second, you allowed yourself to take in the silence—the kind of silence that only came when you had worked yourself to the edge.

then, from behind you—

“again.”

your entire body buzzed with irritation before you even turned around.

of fucking course.

ni-ki.

how long had he been there ?

you should’ve known. of course he was still here. of course he was watching.

you turned, eyes narrowed, only to find him leaning against the doorway with that same smug, unreadable expression—like he had been standing there for who knows how long, just waiting for the right moment to piss you off.

your jaw clenched. “why the hell are you still here?”

“funny,” ni-ki sneered, stepping closer. “i was about to ask you the same thing.”

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “i don’t have time for your bullshit today, riki.”

something in him twitched. he hated when you called him that. hated that you said his name like you knew him, like you understood him. you didn’t.

he moved closer, his presence towering over you, suffocating. “you think you’re better than me?” his voice was low, but there was something dark underneath it, something dangerous.

you held his gaze, unflinching. “i think i work harder than you.” you shrugged your nonchalant demeanour pissing me off even more.

his jaw clenched. liar.

“you don’t fucking get it, do you?” he took another step. you didn’t move. “i don’t lose. and i sure as hell don’t lose to you.”

your lips curled into a smirk, something sharp, something lethal. “then beat me.”

his breath hitched.

oh, you had no idea what you were playing with.

it didn’t take long for the tension between you two to snap.

it was in partner drills, the second week of classes. the instructor had paired you and ni-ki together for an advanced technique exercise, and from the second you stepped onto the floor, you could feel the weight of his glare.

he didn’t want to dance with you. he wanted to beat you.

that’s fine. you wanted the same thing.

the music started, and it was war.

every step was a battle. every movement was sharper, every turn a silent dare. the air crackled between you two, neither of you willing to submit, neither of you willing to be the one who couldn’t keep up.

the other students watched in stunned silence.

by the time the routine ended, you were both breathless, faces inches apart, bodies still charged with adrenaline.

and then—ni-ki smirked.

“not bad,” he muttered, voice low.

something in your chest tightened.

because you knew what he really meant.

you impressed him.

but before you could say anything, before you could wipe that cocky look off his face, he was already turning away, his jaw clenched like he regretted acknowledging you at all.

like he hated himself for it.

and from that moment on, it was war.

it became a pattern.

every time you danced, ni-ki was watching. even when you weren’t facing him, you could feel his eyes on you, could hear the way his breathing hitched when you executed something flawlessly.

and he hated it.

he hated that he was starting to memorize the way your body moved.

hated that sometimes, in the middle of a routine, he caught himself admiring you.

so he did what he did best.

he made sure you knew that no matter how good you were, he was better.

snide remarks. smug glances. unnecessary corrections. if you so much as hesitated on a move, he was there with some offhand comment—some little dig to remind you that he wasn’t impressed.

even if he fucking was.

even if, late at night, when he was alone in the studio, he replayed the way you danced in his mind and hated himself for it. he felt like he was loosing it at this point

and so, when he found you alone in the studio that night, still dancing, still perfecting, still refusing to break—

it made something inside him snap.

ni-ki didn’t know when it started. when the hatred turned into something else. when his need to destroy you bled into a need to own you.

he found himself watching you too closely. studying you outside of the studio. noticing the way your hands flexed when you stretched, the way your lips parted when you were exhausted. it wasn’t just about beating you anymore.

it was about breaking you.

making you see him the way he saw you—consuming, inescapable, his.

it was fucking terrifying.

and yet, when he finally had you against the wall, his fingers pressing into your wrist, his breath mixing with yours—he realized something.

you weren’t running.

you were staring right back at him, daring him to do something.

and fuck—he might just do it.

please do not motify my works.

© echstacy 2025 - all rights reserved.

[anywaymuahahahaha]

Manager for a Day

~*Chapter One: Help Wanted!*~

☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄☆⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄☆

A beam of sunlight crept inside through a curtained window. The long silence began to fill with the sound of birds singing their morning song. The cool, calm air gently shook the trees which tapped against the side of the walls. It was the sunlight that caught his attention first. He set down the pen in his hand, turning away from the towering stack of paperwork in front of him. As a beam of light warmed his face, he shut his eyes for a moment, unsure whether to feel relieved or concerned.

“Is that?…” He rubbed his eyes and stretched out his hands, using one of them to shield himself from the bright glare. His sore muscles protested as he pushed himself up from his chair, his body aching from hours of stillness.

He pulled back the curtains and was nearly blinded by the unforgiving sunlight from outside. Sure enough, the sun was most definitely up.

“Oh! Morning already?” He muttered with a slight sense of urgency in his weak voice. In an instant, he spun back around to his desk.

“Boy, time sure does fly…” He muttered to himself as he quickly rummaged through stacks of papers and discarded snack wrappers.

“It was just here… Where did I…” In his efforts to seek what he lost he began to make an even bigger mess than before he “tidied up” last night.

Yes, it was morning. Morning again after yet another long night of work. What time was it even? Heck, what day was it? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was he had a job to do.

I could have sworn I left it right here. Is someone messing with me?

He wasn’t the tidiest, as it was plain to see from the sight of his office. It was often the little things that would slip between the cracks. But he never let it bring him down. In fact, he didn’t let anything bring him down.

As he was nearly tearing his office apart, the front door to his office cracked open slightly.

“S-sir?” A quiet, hesitant voice called from behind the door. He poked his head in a bit further.

“Mr. Manager, sir?” He repeated.

“Oh!” A voice came from under the desk, followed by the sound of papers rustling.

Before the voice could respond-

THUD!

“Ow!”

The loud thud reverberated through the room as the bumbling Manager Magolor clumsily crawled out from under the desk, one hand clutching his head in pain.

“Oh, goodness, sir! Are you alright?!” His guest cried out.

“Who, me?” he chuckled. “Never been better!” He declared confidently as he dusted himself off. Suddenly, his expression shifted to panic. “Say…Waddle Dee, you haven’t seen my hat around, have you?” He spun in circles desperately scanning every inch of the room.

Waddle Dee glanced over to the coat rack that stood by Magolor’s office door, and sure enough, there it was in its usual spot.

“It’s right there by the door sir!” he said, pointing at it.

Magolor turned, spotting the familiar sight of his big blue manager's top hat perched atop his coat rack and sighed with relief.

“Oh, would you look at that!” He smiled. “See, this is why you’re my go-to guy, Waddle Dee!” Magolor grabbed his big, blue top hat and placed it atop his head like a crown.

“Ahh, at long last it’s time.” Magolor announced, clasping his hands. “Time to open the park for another fantastic day of fun at Merry Magoland! Are you ready, Waddle Dee?” Magolor tightened his bright, blue bow tie and smoothed out the wrinkles on his cape, his usual flair for presentation on full display.

“Of course, sir!”

There were many Waddle Dee’s working at Merry Magoland but this one in particular stood out to Magolor. His fierce dedication and loyalty helped earn him the coveted role of Manager Magolor’s personal assistant, a job he took immense pride in. While Magolor preferred to do almost everything himself, Waddle Dee was always there to assist with extra duties at the park and lend a hand to Magolor whenever he needed it. He took his work very seriously, striving to maintain a close bond with his boss, Magolor, whom he had admired ever since he first got hired at Merry Magoland. Aside from Kirby, no one spent more time with Magolor than Waddle Dee.

“Look, sir!” He exclaimed. “There’s already over a hundred guests waiting outside! That’s almost twice as many as yesterday’s opening! Merry Magoland is a huge success and it’s all because of you!” Magolor paused as he looked at himself in the mirror. As Waddle Dee’s words sank in, he began to blush slightly.

“Thank you, Waddle Dee…” Magolor murmured as he rubbed his eyes again.

“Just twenty more minutes until we open, sir! Is there anything you need extra help with today?” Waddle Dee asked.

Magolor didn’t respond.

“Um…sir?” Waddle Dee repeated leaning in slightly. Then, ever so faintly, a small snore escaped from Magolor’s mouth.

“Sir!” Waddle Dee yelped, reaching out to gently shake him awake.

“W-What?” Magolor jolted awake, his ears sticking straight up. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head to clear away the fogginess.

“Sir, did you just...fall asleep just now?"

Magolor scoffed. “Of course not. I was just…thinking about something funny I said the other day!” He adjusted his hat and forced a small but sincere smile to Waddle Dee.

“You never left last night, did you? Don’t tell me you pulled another all-nighter!”

Magolor said nothing but quickly waved his hand in dismissal at his remark. Waddle Dee hurried after him.

“Sir, with all due respect… I think you might be overdoing it just a bit. Don’t you think you should maybe…take a break?”

“A break? Nah, I’m fine. Better than ever, in fact!” Magolor said, waving him off. “I was just thinking about something else, that’s all.”

Waddle Dee wasn’t convinced. He hesitated, looking to the ground as he spoke. “Um…Perhaps I… Could be of assistance?” He said, his voice small and uncertain.

“Assistance? What kind of assistance?”

Taking a deep breath, he looked at Magolor. “Let me open the park for you, sir! You know, I’ve been shadowing you for quite some time now, I”-

“Waddle Dee, it’s not that I don’t believe you could” Magolor gently interrupted. “It's just that being Park Manager is a lot, and I mean a LOT- of work. And it’s all my responsibility. I couldn’t possibly burden you with something like that.” He reached out and gave Waddle Dee a few light pats on the head before continuing forward. Waddle Dee, determined, hustled back to his side.

“But I can handle it! You work so hard! It’s the least I can do!” He pleaded. Magolor stopped in his tracks and let out a deep sigh.

“Waddle Dee… You’re just not ready yet.” He turned to his assistant, his voice firm yet tired. “Someday, you’ll be able to handle all these responsibilities. But…” he paused, stifling a yawn. “Not today.”

Waddle Dee sighed, his shoulders sinking in disappointment. For as long as he’s been here, he’s witnessed firsthand the sacrifices Magolor made to bring this park to life. He watched Merry Magoland grow from one single game booth to the bustling wonderland it is today. Waddle Dee had always felt like an outsider. But then he met Magolor. So ambitious, so kind and so determined to better himself and everyone around him. He welcomed Waddle Dee with open arms who admired him for his resilience, his passion and how he never stopped fighting to make his dream come true despite all the obstacles and challenges that stood in his way.

“But…sir if you could just”-

“Waddle Dee we’ve been through this!” Magolor cut him off, already turning the knob on his office door.

“Perfection doesn’t take breaks!”

With a dramatic swing, Magolor flung open the door. Immediately the sights and smells of Merry Magoland greeted the two of them as they headed outside.

It seemed to perk him up a bit as he took a moment to let it all in. Despite the exhaustion clawing at him from yet another sleepless night, this-this moment-made it all worth it.

Looking around at this place; this place he created himself! Nothing made him happier. Nothing except of course…

“Magolor!”

His ear twitched at the sound of his name. It was a familiar voice. A friendly voice.

“Hey, Magolor!!”

“Could that be?…” Magolor turned and there, bouncing excitedly and waving his hands was none other than his longtime best friend, Kirby of the Stars.

“Well, if it isn’t Kirby!” Magolor said, cupping his hands together. “What a nice surprise!”

“Hi, Magolor! I’m glad I could catch you!”

“Kirby, I don’t mind when you bypass the entrance with that fancy Warpstar of yours but you do know the Park’s not open yet, right?”

“Yeah, I know!” Kirby said.

Magolor raised an eyebrow, almost amused at the remark. “Oh? Well then, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“Well, how are you? It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to hang out and I-“

“Say no more!” Magolor interrupted, his grin widening. “You missed your old buddy, Magolor, didn’t you!” Without warning, he scooped up Kirby into his arms and squeezed him in a tight hug, swinging him around with joy.

“I know I’ve been very, VERY busy these days,” He said as he continued to squeeze Kirby tight. “But remember I’m always just a hop, a skip and a jump away!” Finally releasing him, Magolor let out a chuckle as Kirby stumbled slightly and caught his breath. Magolor was a very strong hugger.

Kirby steadied himself and turned back to Magolor.

“When is your next day off ?”

Magolor let out a quick laugh then paused. His expression shifted slightly as he looked at Kirby with perplexity.

“Oh…you’re serious…” He rubbed the back of his head suddenly looking a bit nervous.

“Well, you know how it is. Merry Magoland is open all the time. Morning, noon, night… doesn’t matter! And as manager, it’s my job to be here whenever the park is running.”

“So… You run this whole entire place all by yourself, all day everyday with no help?!” Kirby gawked.

“That’s right!” Magolor replied proudly.

Kirby hesitated. “So, the thing is, it sort of feels like forever since we’ve gotten to do something fun together or even had a moment to talk!”

Magolor’s ears perked up. “Kirby, you and your friends have a free lifetime pass to the park! You could visit me every single day if you wanted to!”

“Yeah, about that…” Kirby rubbed the back of his head. “You don’t remember the last time I was here, do you?”

“Hmm?” Magolor’s left ear twitched slightly.

“Magolor, I was here yesterday. And the day before that… And the day before that one too! In fact, I’ve been here every single day for the past 10 days!”

Magolor’s eyes widened. “10 days!? Are you sure? Why haven't I seen you around then?”

“You have! But… Every time I found you; you were just too busy to notice I was there...”

Magolor blinked. “I…I was?” The realization hit hard. He had been so buried in his managerial duties that he missed his own friend. Kirby had been coming by every day trying to see him and he had no idea…

“Oh…oh dear…”

Magolor suddenly began to feel lightheaded. Whether it was crushing guilt or a lack of sleep, something was catching up to him. He pressed a hand against his forehead, took one wobbly step then collapsed to the ground.

“Magolor!” Kirby shouted, running to his side.

After a few seconds Magolor sat back up, his face burning with embarrassment. He straightened his hat, dusted himself off and cleared his throat like nothing even happened.

“Kirby, I… I’m sorry… I..” His voice wavered for a moment before he shook his head. “I need to open the park now.. Excuse me.” Without another word, he brushed right past Kirby, keeping his eyes to the ground.

Kirby let out a frustrated groan, then stomped forward to catch up.

“Magolor, please will you just listen to me!! I think you’re pushing yourself just a little too hard! It’s okay to take a break every once in a while!”

Magolor glanced at him for a quick second, then immediately looked back down, refusing to engage.

“I just don’t want to see you burned out is all! I’d hate to see something bad happen to the park or worse, you!”

Magolor stopped. He slowly turned to face Kirby; his gaze fixed on him.

“Kirby, you’re mistaken.” he said firmly.

“I know what I’m doing, and I’m well aware of my limits. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? How come I saw you nodding off during the Stamp Rally yesterday?”

Magolor scoffed. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken once again.” And right on cue, he loud out a big yawn. With an annoyed groan, he rubbed his eyes, pressing his palms against them before exhaling a long, loud sigh.

“…Kirby, I wish you wouldn’t worry about me so much. I have everything…” Another yawn cut him off mid-sentence.

“… Under my control!”

Kirby slightly winced at the sound of that word. He knew “control” was a touchy subject for Magolor. His past obsession with power, the influence of the Master Crown and his possession left scars. While he no longer sought “limitless power” he still strived to remain “in control” of every aspect of his life. The very thought of losing it seemed to send him into panic. Kirby didn’t want to overstep his boundaries, but he knew he had to do something.

“Have you seen yourself lately?” Kirby vaguely gestured at Magolor’s exceptionally worn-down appearance. Sure, his outfit was flawless as usual but the guy wearing it? Not so much. The bags under his eyes could be seen from another dimension. He slouched with every step, one ear refusing to stand up properly, almost as if it had given up completely. Magolor forced a small reassuring smile and folded his hands together.

“While I do appreciate your concern Kirby, my appearance is the least of my worries right now.” Magolor began to trail off once again. “With all these responsibilities there’s just no time to be handsome.”

“…Handsome?…” Kirby titled his head to the side, utterly baffled at his remark.

“Kirby, I’m flattered, REALLY. But can we discuss my good looks another time?” Magolor kept moving forward avoiding eye contact with his increasingly worried friend.

“Manager Magolor!”- a familiar voice called out.

“Waddle Dee! What perfect timing!” Magolor perked up instantly, his tired expression briefly replaced by delight. His trusty assistant had returned once again.

“Sir, I just wanted to let you know I’ve already gone ahead and gathered the staff for our morning huddle!”

Magolor’s ears twitched with surprise.

“Well, look at you! You’re one step ahead of me this time!”

Turning back to Kirby he added with a smug grin, “See? I do have help around here!”

Kirby followed Magolor to the main area of the Entrance Plaza where his loyal Waddle Dee staff eagerly awaited their esteemed manager.

“Every morning before the gates open, I give my staff a quick pep talk to help keep spirits high as well as update them on any changes to our rules and procedures.”

Kirby wasn’t even the one giving the speech, but he already felt so nervous after seeing how many eyes were focused on him. Some of them seemed excited about being here, seeing as he was a local celebrity around here.

“It looks like you get to join us for our Morning Huddle today! How lucky for you!” Magolor adjusted his tie and dusted himself off.

“This will only take a minute!”

With a wink, Magolor floated up to a blue and yellow pedestal near the big manager's desk. He stood before his entire Merry Magoland staff which filled the entrance plaza. He had their undivided attention. He adjusted a small microphone in front of him and cleared his throat.

“Good Morning Waddle Dees!” He called out enthusiastically.

A wave of cheers and chatter echoed throughout the crowd.

“It’s time yet again for another fantastic day at our favorite place!”

More cheers erupted from the energetic crowd.

“I know things have been a bit…hectic lately, but I can’t thank you all enough for all you do here. Without you, there is no Merry Magoland!”

As Kirby listened, he found himself completely amazed by the sheer amount of admiration the Waddle Dees had for Magolor and this park.

“You’ve all been doing such a great job! Bravo, bravo!” He clapped. “Today's pep talk will be short and sweet! We have a very busy day ahead of us!” Magolor shuffled some papers in his hands. “We already have eager guests waiting outside our gates! I trust everyone has…”

Magolor paused mid-sentence, covering his mouth as a quick yawn slipped out. “My apologies! …Completed their morning tasks!” He said with a smile.

“Yes sir!” shouted his staff of Waddle Dees as they hopped about excitedly. Kirby was truly impressed. The respect they had for Magolor was undeniable.

“Today will be a great day, I just know it!” He declared. “As always, I’ll be making my rounds throughout the park today so I’m never too far if you need me!”

Magolor was a fine leader. Much better than Kirby had imagined. Seeing all his hard work come together so seamlessly was incredible.

“And with that I do believe it’s finally that time! Are we ready for another successful day?”

“YES, SIR!”

Magolor clapped his hands with delight and nodded his head.

“My assistant and I will be headed to the gates shortly to open the park! Unless anyone else has something to add, that’s all I have for you today!”

With a smile, Magolor then took a bow, his staff then scattered back over to their posts to prepare for the opening. As Magolor quickly made his way to the gates, Kirby hurried bedside him.

“Wow, they really respect you!” Kirby said as Magolor rubbed at his tired eyes some more.

“You’ve really got this manager thing down! You’re a total pro!”

“Y-you really think so?” Magolor stammered, his face turning a bit pink.

“Well, sure! You’ve really built a great place here, Magolor!”

“Wow, Kirby!…I-I’m speechless …” He exclaimed as tears began to swell up in his eyes. Still sniffling a bit he cleared his throat and quickly returned to his normal cheerful tone of voice.

“Thank you, Kirby.” He said with a nod to his friend. “I’m glad to see you and so many others have been enjoying my Park…”. While Magolor was trying desperately to remain positive, it was beginning to wear a bit thin. Kirby wasn’t fooled. He knew firsthand just how stubborn Magolor could be. He knew he needed to get through to him somehow and if Magolor would listen to anyone- it would be Kirby.

“Kirby, listen. I appreciate you stopping by… And I do apologize for not being more readily available.” Magolor cupped his hands together and shot a quick glance at the gates before turning back to Kirby. “I really hate to disappoint you yet again, but I just don’t have time for chit-chat right now. I have a job to do! We’ll catch up another time, hmm?” Magolor tried to make a swift getaway, but Kirby wasn’t having it.

“Well, what other time if you’re always here?”

“…”

Magolor kept his eyes to the ground, once again unable to look Kirby in the eye.

“Why not let the Waddle Dees run the park today?”

“Well, then what would I do?”

“Take a break!”

Magolor scoffed. “The Waddle Dees are diligent workers, but they’re not quite ready to run things on their own just yet.”

And right on cue once again, his loyal Waddle Dee assistant appeared, hesitantly raising a hand.

“Sir, perhaps I could-“

“Waddle Dee!” Magolor cried out, interrupting him. “You keep sneaking away from me!” Kirby stared in confusion at the sudden appearance of his assistant again.

“Oh, how foolish of me! Where are my manners? Kirby, I’d like you to meet my assistant, Waddle Dee!” Magolor proudly introduced him. Waddle Dee gave Kirby a polite nod, but didn’t say a word.

“Wow, you must be really proud to be Magolor’s assistant, huh?”

Ignoring Kirby’s remark, Waddle Dee kept his focus on his boss.

“Five minutes until opening sir.”

“It’s nice to meet you!” Kirby awkwardly continued. “Any friend of Magolor is a friend of mine!” Kirby held out his hand in hopes of a friendly handshake. Waddle Dee shot him the briefest glance, clearly uninterested in conversation. Kirby blinked a few times and shot a confounded glance at Magolor.

"Hehehe..Eh- thank you, Waddle Dee!" Magolor interjected.

“Shall I wait for you at the gates sir?”

“I’ll be over in a jiffy!” The two exchanged nods and Waddle Dee set off the gates. Kirby blinked a few times before frowning.

“Was it something I said?”

“Oh, Kirby. Don’t mind him. My assistant is a Waddle Dee of few words. Don’t take it too personally!” Magolor said, waving his hand dismissively. “He just takes his job very seriously! He’s a real professional!”

“Well, if he’s such a professional why not let him run the park every once in a while?”

“Please Kirby can we discuss this another time?” Magolor groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

“Come on, you’ve worked hard enough! You deserve a break!” Kirby leaned in closer, softening his tone. Magolor stiffened a bit but kept his back to Kirby.

“Listen, I know how important this parkis to you… But you don’t have to do it all alone! You have the Waddle Dees and all your friends back in Dream Land! We’re always happy to help! We all need a hand from our friends from time to time, Magolor. There’s nothing wrong with that!”

Kirby took a few steps closer to him. He remained silent.

“We all want to see your dreams come true, but not this way! Let us help you, Magolor, what do you say?”

Kirby awaited Magolor’s response but there was only silence.

“Magolor?…” Kirby blinked. Magolor was still. Too still. Then, a barely audible snore slipped out of him. Kirby sighed, giving him a gentle nudge to bring him back.

“Huh?” Magolor gasped. He turned to see Kirby glaring at him disapprovingly. He let out a nervous chuckle.

“How can you manage the park if you can’t even manage to stay awake?” he said, worry evident in his voice.

“I can manage just fine, Kirby. Now if you would excuse me.” Magolor huffed as he adjusted his hat. pushed past Kirby, heading to the gates.

“What if I helped you open the park? Just for today!” Kirby shouted. Magolor stopped mid-step and turned back to him.

“You? Open the park?” Then, with a shake of his head he scoffed. “Don’t be absurd.” Without another word, he turned away from Kirby, continuing for the gates. Kirby hurried after him.

“Not even for a couple minutes?”

Magolor sighed “Kirby, please. I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but I assure you I’m fine.”

Kirby, who just watched him quite literally pass out standing up, remained unconvinced.

“As Park Manager, I accept that there are sacrifices I must make to keep the wheels turning.” Magolor stated, his voice swelling with a dramatic sense of flair. “It’s up to me to ensure that every single guest that walks through those gates has the BEST experience of their life. I won’t accept anything less!”

Kirby nodded. “But that’s why I want to help!”

Magolor hesitated.

“I can greet the guests! Make sure they have a good time! Keep things running smoothly!” Kirby leaned forward, beaming with confidence. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course I trust you, Kirby. It’s just-“

“Then let me do this for you! Let me take care of Merry Magoland just for a little while! I won’t let you down!”

“I know, Kirby, I know! In fact, I think you’d make a wonderful manager, it's just…”

Magolor looked to the ground. His voice grew quiet.

“This was my true dream all along. Before… well… you know.” Magolor gave a small, bitter chuckle. “You were there. I don’t really have the best track record when it comes to my past. I’ve done terrible… stupid things.” He exhaled, rubbing his hands together. “This is my way of making up for that. To you… To everyone.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a great job! In fact, such a great job that you deserve a break now more than ever! Come on, Magolor, what do you say?”

Magolor twiddled his thumbs nervously as Kirby egged him on.

“You can trust me! The Waddle Dees and I will make sure everything goes perfectly!”

Kirby edged closer to Magolor, giving him a sad but endearing look. Magolor exhaled deeply.

“Kirby, don’t look at me like that.” He said sternly.

Kirby didn’t say a word, but kept his sad eyes fixated on Magolor.

“Kirby, I’m serious! Stop it!” Despite Magolor’s pleas, Kirby's eyes grew bigger and sadder. After fighting it as long as he could bear, he held up his hands in defeat.

“Well, it looks like I’m no match for you once again.” He said, with a defeated sigh.

“Alright Kirby!... You win. If it will make you happy…I’ll take a break. A quick break! 5 minutes and that’s IT.”

Kirby froze where he stood, eyes wide. Then, his face lit up, his entire being bursting with joy.

“YAHOOOOOO!” He shrieked. “You won’t regret this, Magolor! I’m gonna be the BEST manager EVER!” Kirby beamed, punching the air with so much excitement that he nearly toppled over.

Magolor felt dizzy just watching him.

“Don’t get too excited now, Kirby!” he said, waving his hand. “It’s just the opening I’ll need your help with. After my break, I’ll return to my work as usual, and you can be on your way!”

Kirby’s smile slowly began to fade as Magolor walked past him. He turned his head, with a subtle wave to Kirby behind him.

“Follow me, I’ll give you a quick rundown on how things work around here!”

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Magolor led Kirby to a secret hidden door behind the Managers desk in the plaza. Magolor pulled out a gold key and unlocked the door. With the flick of his finger the lights in the room switched on to reveal a tiny, cluttered room. The lighting was a bit dim due to multiple lightbulbs being burnt out. The room reeked of coffee and expired milk, and it was freezing cold thanks to the multiple air conditioners Magolor kept running at high speed.

“I apologize for the mess… I haven’t had time to tidy up in a while.” Magolor said, blushing slightly. “Watch your step there!” He extended his hand out to prevent Kirby from walking over some trash on the floor in the doorway. Magolor’s office was a bit of an enigma, and this would be the first time Kirby had ever stepped foot inside. The walls were, of course, those famous shades of blue and yellow. All over the walls were corkboards, framed photos and shelves full of rocks, dead plants, books and various trinkets from his travels. Kirby was rather surprised to see how messy it was. Magolor had always struck him as the “perfectionist” type so seeing him work in such a messy environment raised some red flags.

“You… Really do spend a lot of time in here, huh?” Kirby said as he continued to stare at Magolor’s dusty shelves stuffed end to end with thick, ancient-looking books. Kirby couldn’t read any of the titles as they were all in Halcandran, Magolor’s native language. He only spoke it when it was necessary. (Mostly to curse, which worked out quite well for him since the Waddle Dees didn’t understand any Halcandran either.)

“This is my home away from home. A good manager's work is never done, Kirby!” Magolor said, waving his finger. “A park of such grandeur requires around-the-clock attention.”

“And you do all of this by yourself?!”

“I sure do! It’s not easy… Oh, boy is it not easy! But it’s worth it to see all the smiles on our guests' faces!”

Kirby followed Magolor as he floated over to his work desk area, tucked away in the back corner nearly hidden behind mountains of files, boxes and stacks of paperwork.

Wow, it must really take a LOT to run this place. Poor Magolor…He really did work so hard to make his dream come true…

Magolor’s work desk sat facing the door, underneath a bright, fluorescent light that Magolor had to flick a few times to get on. His desk was littered with half eaten snacks, empty coffee cups and energy drink cans. A few dying (but still alive somehow) plants decorated one of the corners. The wood was considerably worn down and especially faded towards the center. A shiny, gold name plate displaying…what he assumed was Magolor’s name in Halcandran, sat near a pile of stamps adorned with Magolor’s smiling face. Sticky notes everywhere, some in Halcandran, some Kirby could read.

ORDER MORE BALLOONS!!!

WADDLE DEE NEEDS A NEW HAT

ORDER MORE HATS

ORDER MORE STICKY NOTES

Among many others.

“Oh, pardon me.” Magolor shoved aside the coffee cups and half eaten donuts that covered most of his desk. Underneath the mess, lay a big, colorful hand drawn map of Merry Magoland, signed by Magolor himself. It was so beautiful, Kirby couldn’t believe Magolor could draw such a thing.

“This is the park map, as you can see, you are here!” Magolor pointed to a star in the middle of the map, marking his office.

“If you ever need to find anything this map will be your guide! Now, here you’ll see our employee directory, everyone’s name and assigned workstation is conveniently listed. It’s imperative that everyone report to their assigned position in a timely manner.”

Magolor handed Kirby a clipboard with a list of names that all read “Waddle Dee” repeatedly.

"Wow, the Park looks way bigger on this map! And that’s…”

Kirby flipped through pages and pages of “Waddle Dee” and all their respective workstations.

“A LOT of employees…” Kirby couldn’t believe how long the pages went on for.

“Ahh, don’t worry, they’re professionals! Each Waddle Dee has been expertly trained to perfection by yours truly.” Magolor said with a bow.

“Now, my guests expect nothing but the best here at Merry Magoland and it’s up to you to make sure that happens! Well, for 5 minutes at least!” His voice carried a polished sense of professionalism. He almost spoke to Kirby as if he were a client, not an old friend.

Magolor shuffled more things around on his desk and even took a quick sip from one of the old, cold coffee cups on his desk. Then he rolled up the park map and handed it to Kirby.

“I doubt you’ll need this for the opening, but I’d like you to hold on to it for me.”

Kirby’s eyes glistened with joy. With a confident nod he took the map and tucked it away for safekeeping.

Before either of them could say another word, a loud chime rang from outside,

DING! DING! DING! DING! DING!

Magolor dusted himself off and straightened his tie.

“Would you look at that? It’s about time to open the gates! Are you ready Kirby?”

Kirby was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement.

“You bet, Magolor! Just watch me! I’ll show you what it takes to be a manager! Here I Go!” Just as Kirby prepared to dash toward the door, Magolor hastily raised his hand.

“Kirby, wait!” Kirby skidded to a stop.

Magolor floated over to a worn-out looking trunk near his desk. He carefully opened it.

“One last thing, before you go!”

He rummaged inside it for a second before pulling out something neatly folded. He gave it a quick visual inspection, checking it for wrinkles and imperfections. Then he turned back to Kirby with a big smile on his face.

“If you’re going to be a manager…then you have to look like a manager!”

He tossed the outfit to Kirby who caught it midair, his eyes radiant with wonder.

“There you go, Kirby! Your very own Manager’s uniform!”

“OH, WOW! I get to wear this!?” Kirby said, clutching the outfit tightly in his hands as if it were an expertly hidden energy sphere he just found. It was soft, regal and expertly crafted, (as expected from such a creative and talented visionary like Magolor!)

“That’s right!” He smirked proudly. I do have a brand to uphold after all! Hee, hee hee!” Despite his usual cheerful tone, his enthusiasm seemed to be fading. Kirby could hear it. That slight dip in energy, that forced cheerfulness. Magolor was putting on a front in yet another attempt to hide any signs of weakness or vulnerability.

“So… what are you going to do during your break? I bet you have a whole list of stuff you’d like to do!”

Magolor hesitated, then let out a small chuckle. “Well, sure, Kirby! Plenty of things! But… the park needs me. My employees need me! I can’t stray too far.”

With a content sigh, he floated over to one of his bookshelves running a hand along the spines of well-worn tomes before finally plucking one out. A thick cloud of dust puffed into the air as he blew across the cover, revealing the title (in Halcandran, of course) unreadable to anyone but him.

“I’d love to finish this book!” he muttered, flipping it over in his hands. “I used to breeze through chapters in no time! These days I’m lucky to finish a single page it seems.”

With his book in hand, he drifted back to his desk and plopped into his chair. He cracked it open, scanning the first few words before glancing out the window toward the park entrance… then down at the pages… then back at the window again.

“Five minutes?…” He huffed. “That’s an awfully long time to be away.”

Magolor let out a dramatic sigh, resting his head on his hand as he gazed sadly out his office window.

“What will Merry Magoland do without it’s manager?”

Kirby smirked, hands on his hips. “I won’t let you down, Magolor! You just sit back, relax, and leave everything to me because today, I’m the manager!”

“…For 5 minutes you’re the manager.” Magolor corrected him, flipping to the next page of his book.

“Right, 5 minutes…got it!” Kirby nodded.

“Good! When those 5 minutes are up it’s back to work! Just meet me back here, alright? I’ll be right here at my desk waiting for you!”

“You can count on me!” Kirby exclaimed with enthusiasm. Then, with a dramatic spin, Kirby quickly changed into his new manager’s uniform. Once dressed, he turned to see himself in a nearby mirror, his eyes sparkling as he admired the outfit. A silky white scarf draped with a matching cloak adorned with royal blue embellishments. Oh, and who could forget the giant, glittery bow tie complete with a hand-knit energy sphere embroidery? Among his many tailored get-ups this one was by far the flashiest. Kirby was feeling more like a manager already! He eagerly bounced in place, his grin widening.

“WOW! Look at me! I look just like you!” He puffed out his chest, adjusting the bow tie carefully, making sure it sat just right on his round body.

“So… Do I look like a real manager or what, Magolor?”

After a few practice smiles, Kirby realized Magolor didn’t answer him. Maybe he didn’t har him.

“Magolor?”

THUD!!

Kirby flinched at the sudden noise, turning around quickly. Magolor was face-down on his desk, the book he had just been holding now lying on the floor beside him.

Kirby blinked.

“…Magolor?”

He stepped closer and picked up the book, carefully attempting to hand it back. But Magolor was out like a light, snoring away!

Kirby stared, unsure how to react.

His eyes then caught a glimpse of the clock on Magolor’s desk. He gasped. It was time to open the park!

“Ah, here we go! It’s time, its time, it’s finally tiiiiime!” Kirby dashed excitedly to the door nearly knocking everything over in his path. He hesitated, looking back at Magolor one last time.

“See you in 5 minutes!” Kirby burst through the doors, sprinting full speed down the walks of Merry Magoland, weaving past Waddle Dees, dodging snack carts, and leaping over stray balloons like he was in an obstacle course. He landed right at the entrance just as the gates were ready to be unlocked. Waddle Dee was already there waiting for him.

As soon as Kirby appeared, Waddle Dee’s face lit up, only to immediately shift into confusion.

“Kirby, you’re back.” His eyes quickly darted behind him, noting his boss’s absence.

“…Where’s Magolor?”

“Oh! Right! He’s...taking a break!” Kirby grinned.

Waddle Dee froze.

“…He’s what?”

“He’s taking a break!” Kirby repeated with that same big grin still on his face.

“Magolor? Taking a break?!” Waddle Dee’s voice rose in sheer disbelief. “Magolor never takes breaks. How did you convince him to do that?!”

Kirby rubbed the back of his head, laughing. “Well… he didn’t really have a choice, you see-”

Waddle Dee tilted his head. “What do you mean he didn’t have a-”

Before he could finish, Kirby reached into his scarf and pulled out a large, golden key, holding it up proudly.

Waddle Dee’s eyes locked onto it.

The official Merry Magoland gate key.

Magolor’s key.

The same key that he’d seen Magolor use countless times to open the park, standing right where Kirby was standing now.

Something tightened in Waddle Dee’s chest.

It should have been him holding that key.

Kirby grinned eagerly, completely unaware of Waddle Dee’s lingering stare.

“Time to open the gates! Here we go!”

Waddle Dee quickly snapped out of it, clearing his throat and nodding. “R-Right. Let’s get to it.”

With a big, enthusiastic turn of the key, the gates of Merry Magoland swung open, and a massive crowd of eager guests came rushing in. A wave of excitement filled the air, as well as colorful balloons, confetti bursting from the entrance, and cheerful chatter from hundreds of eager park guests.

“HELLO! WELCOME TO MERRY MAGOLAND!” Kirby beamed, waving wildly as guests poured in.

It didn’t matter how many guests entered Kirby was determined to greet each and every one of them.

And he meant everyone.

His infectious spirit was contagious as laughter and joy spread throughout the eager crowd. Waddle Dee, meanwhile, stood just slightly behind him, watching.

You’d think he’d be happy. After all, things were running smoothly, right? Just like Magolor wanted. Kirby was doing such a good job…

But as he watched Kirby, standing at the entrance, wearing Magolor’s colors, holding the key to the park…

That should have been him.

He quickly shook it off, forcing himself to focus. For now, he had a job to do.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough waving,” Waddle Dee sighed, stepping up beside him.

He crossed his arms, his foot thumping against the ground.

“So… when exactly is Magolor’s break over?”

Kirby froze mid-wave.

“Oh!! Right! Magolor! It’s been five minutes!!”

Before Waddle Dee could say another word, Kirby whipped around and took off at full speed.

That was fine. It wasn’t like he minded being left behind. Again.

His eyes narrowed in a sharp frown, but after a small sigh, he forced himself to let it go.

It was fine.

Actually… maybe it was even better this way.

Magolor would be back soon. The real manager.

With a small shake of his head, Waddle Dee disappeared into the crowd, vanishing among the sea of guests.

For a moment, he was just another face in the bustling park.

And then, he was gone.

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Kirby burst through the doors of Magolor’s office practically bouncing off the walls. His whole body buzzing with excitement, his steps light and bouncy.

“I did it, Magolor, I did it!! The park opening was a huge success!” he shouted.

“There were soooo many Waddle Dees! More than I’ve ever seen in one place before! They were everywhere! Some of them even waved back when I waved at them! It was so much fun! I can really see why you like doing this so much!” Kirby spoke so fast he barely took a breath. “Also, you were right! 5 minutes does go by fast! But I did it! So, how was your break?”

Expecting to be greeted by the ever-doting manager, Kirby instead found Magolor still sitting asleep at his desk, his head resting comfortably on his hands, his scarf puffed up around his face like a pillow. He looked like he hadn’t moved a muscle since Kirby last saw him. Kirby tilted his head and hurried over to him.

“Hey, Magolor, I’m back! The opening went great, and it’s been 5 minutes so you can go back to work now!”

Magolor remained still, a soft, airy snore crept out, followed by an unintelligible sleepy mumble. Usually, Magolor perked up at the slightest noise, especially when it involved work. So, this felt a bit odd…

Kirby reached out and gave him another shake. “Heheheh…Very funny. Wake up, Magolor!”

Still nothing.

Kirby frowned and nervously glanced at the clock. Magolor specifically asked for a five-minute break. Five minutes had long passed now. A small sense of panic arose inside him.

Then, an idea struck him.

“I know!”

Kirby carefully placed his hands on one of Magolor’s eyes and gently eased it open.

“HELLO!? Are you in there?!” Kirby yelled, his voice nearly echoing throughout the room.

Magolor’s blank, unfocused eye stared past Kirby, completely unseeing like a glass marble. Kirby shuddered, closing it back.

“Nope, don’t like that.”

His face brightened with realization. Another thought struck him. He took a deep breath. And then…

“MAGOLOR, HEY MAGOLOR YOU WON’T BELIEVE THIS! CHEF KAWASAKI IS GIVING OUT FREE SNACKS IN THE PARK PLAZA!” Kirby loudly shouted, his voice booming through the office, shaking the very walls.

“THEY HAVE ALL YOUR FAVORITES! DONUTS, CUPCAKES AND POTATO CHIPS!”

Kirby rushed over to the door, fully expecting Magolor to have sprung up and followed him but to his surprise, Magolor hadn’t so much as stirred.

Kirby huffed. His eyes darted to the clock, Then back to Magolor. Then back to the clock again. The park had now been open for almost 10 minutes.

Suddenly, a horrible realization hit him.

“O-oh…Oh no…” he whispered.

W-wait… what if… what if he…worked himself…to death?!

“Oh, Magolor, NOOO!” he wailed, collapsing to the floor in despair.

“Why couldn’t you have just taken a break?!”

And then-

A quiet, irritated grunt slipped out of Magolor, low and muffled, almost as if he were trying to say, “shut up, Kirby!”

Kirby let out a long, relieved sigh. Magolor was fine, he just needed to rest. He let himself all worked up over nothing. Kirby glanced at the nearby window. Outside, the park was already bursting with energy in every corner. The sound of excited chatter, the sight of guests flooding through the gates, balloons and confetti galore! Merry Magoland was truly alive!

…But its manager wasn’t.

And that meant…

It was up to him now.

The park needed a manager and right now that manager was… Kirby!

“Alright! It looks like I'll be running the show today!” He said proudly, grinning wide with a shining sense of purpose.

“I’ll earn my reputation as a manager!” He continued. “My help running this park will be invaluable!”

Kirby’s gaze drifted to Magolor’s desk, then to Magolor himself. His signature hat was still perched on his head, slightly askew. Slowly, Kirby reached for it.

“Ah, at long last it's mine!” Kirby beamed as he gently picked the hat up.

“The source of limitless power…”

He hesitated for a moment, then carefully placed it on his own head.

“MANAGER KIRBY!” He shouted proudly, striking a bold, triumphant pose that would have made Magolor proud- had he been awake to see it. Kirby opened the door and took one big, confident step outside.

“Here goes nothing! I’ll make you proud Magolor! Now, onward to a- WAH!” Kirby stopped dead in his tracks, startled by the sudden sight of Magolor’s assistant Waddle Dee standing right outside the door. His arms were crossed, and he did not look happy. Magolor’s manager hat, being just a tad too big on Kirby, slid off his head onto the ground. Waddle Dee glared at Kirby with vehemence.

“Is…that Manager Magolor’s hat?!” He exclaimed. Kirby picked the hat up, dusted off the dirt and put it back on his head. Waddle Dee’s eye twitched a little at the sight.

“Why…” He said slowly, “Do you have his hat?”

He tried to peek behind Kirby into Magolor’s office, but Kirby quickly slammed the door shut and laughed anxiously.

“Where is Manager Magolor? Did something happen?”

“He’s fine! Why wouldn’t he be?” Kirby said.

“It’s…it’s opening time! He should have returned from his break by now! Something isn’t right.”

“No, really! He’s fine! He’s just…he’s just…” Again, an idea struck him.

"He’s cleaning his office! Yeah, that’s right! It’s a real pigsty. You’ve been in there, right? PHEW!" Kirby waved a hand dramatically, faking a shudder.

“He’s cleaning his office. By himself?”

“Yep! It could take him all day even.”

“ALL DAY!? I’m going to go help him." Just as Waddle Dee prepared to set off Kirby grabbed him.

“NO!” Waddle Dee froze mid-step, staring at Kirby with perplexity.

“I-I mean- hehehe. He…uh…He seemed like he really didn’t want to be bothered…”

“First, he takes a break, and now he’s cleaning his office alone? That’s not like him at all.” Waddle Dee’s eyes narrowed. “He would never abandon the park for anything.”

“Everything is fine Waddle Dee! Magolor didn’t abandon anything! He’ll be back before you know it!”

“Waddle Dee crossed his arms. "...How are we supposed to run Merry Magoland without our manager?"

Kirby puffed out his chest with pride, flashing his sparkling bow tie.

"Today, I’m the manager!"

“Y-You are?”

“That’s right! Magolor entrusted me with running the park today! Just call me Manager Kirby!”

“He… He put you in charge?” Those words almost felt like a slap right to the face.

“Don’t worry Waddle Dee, I’ll take good care of Merry Magoland! In fact, I could probably use your help! What do you say?”

Waddle Dee’s expression barely changed. His fingers tensed at his sides. His gaze turned to Magolor’s hat now sitting snugly atop Kirby’s head. For a split second, something dark flickered across his face. A hesitation, a small crease in his brow. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“…Sure…I’d be happy to help.” Waddle Dee said at last.

Someone has to make sure you don’t mess things up.

Kirby laughed. “That’s the spirit! Come on, Manager-In-Training, let’s go make this the best day in Magoland history!”

He spun around, heading off to the bustling entrance plaza.

Waddle Dee followed a few steps behind him. As he walked, his gaze drifted toward Magolor’s office door.

Why Kirby?... of all people, Kirby was Magolor’s first choice? Over me?...

His fingers clenched at his sides before he shook the thought away.

It didn’t matter. He was just here to help. To assist.

Nothing more.

Waddle Dee tore his gaze away and turned back around, returning to the lively chaos of the park.

Ahead, Kirby was practically skipping toward the plaza, basking in the cheers of the crowd, ready to take on his role as manager.

Far behind him, Waddle Dee’s shadow stretched long on the pavement, until it was swallowed up by the crowd around him.

The guests cheered. The rides sputtered to life. The festivities sparkled in the golden morning light.

But the day was only just beginning.

And so was everything else.

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[deeninadream]

First Name Basis (My One Shot from Ao3)

Warnings: Bar setting, alcohol consumption, drunk reader, that’s about it I think, oh and this is my first fic!

Summary:

You go out with the team to wind down after a long week. You planed on only getting one drink...but ended up getting crazy drunk. In the end Hotch has a soft spot for you and you like using his full name. ---- This was going to be a part of my future series, "Necessary, Needed, & Wanted," but I though i just put it up first. Enjoy!

While you decided that a night out with the team, drinking, dancing, and gossiping would be a good way to forget the most recent case, you had certainly not expected to get this drunk.

Derek sat to your right; an arm slung behind you on the sticky booth. Pen sat, or really happy squirmed, to you left. At the beginning of the night, you suggested they sit together, and that you could sit with Spencer.

This was only really because you didn't want to get too crazy tonight, and you had recently read an article you would love to discuss with him. However, they insisted that they squish you in between them to protect you from any guys that came your way.

Dave sat across from you with Hotch on one side, and Spencer on the other. Emily had convinced JJ to go dancing a few minutes ago, but you're sure they'll be back soon.

Now, how did you go from getting a Shirley Temple to getting hysterically drunk? No fucking clue.

So here you are, jumping in between every conversation. Whether it's office gossip, a new scientific discovery, Jack's upcoming birthday party, or why you don’t have someone to go home to at night.

At least that's what it feels like to you, to everyone else though…they're having productive conversations, and you're randomly (and rather cutely) asking not so productive questions.

“Daaaave?!” you ask in a whisper yell. Dave looks over from his talk with Hotch to see you leaning over the table. You’re sure no one else can hear you, though your whisper yell is more at a raspy talking level.

Dave doesn’t even have to raise an eyebrow for you to continue.

“Okay, so obviously I know his middle name from the documents I look at all day loooong. But I can’t find it in me to remember his first name. What is his first name?!”

Now everyone is looking at you, not that you notice. They aren’t surprised you’ve asked such a weird question, but they are definitely intrigued.

Dave chuckled, glad that you’re finally letting loose, ”Who’s first name, darling?”

“Like I know his middle name, right, ‘cause I think it's funny that I’m the only one that can call him out on his shit like that. But it doesn’t work if I don’t know his first name,” you wine a little at the end. Like you’re five and he's not getting you ice cream.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at that, he had never seen you so delirious. He had been around you with barely any sleep for a week once, and you were more put together. Not that he’s complaining.

Now it's Derek's turn to chuckle, "Pretty girl, if you want us to answer you, you have to tell us who you’re talking about.”

You pay no mind to Derek; it's like you had a tunnel going from you to Dave. This just makes everyone laugh. Emily and JJ are coming back around, not that you have any idea.

At that Hotch puts his beer down and leans into your line of sight slightly. Your eyes immediately lock onto his. Everyone’s waiting, knowing that if anyone can get something out of you, it would be Hotch.

“Who are you talking about?” Hotch asked, surprisingly also wanting the answer.

You just stare into his eyes. If you weren't already unaware of your surroundings, you certainly aren't now.

Pen sees an opportunity to chime in, "Are you talking about that hot guy from budgeting?”

Your head snaps up, and directly to Pen’s,” OH MY GOD! Pen, please tell me I didn't say he is hot! I’m not supposed to say that!!” you wined, looking frantic and mortified.

Emily chuckled next to JJ at their chairs at the very end of the booth they now occupy, "Okay, are we talking about the mystery man, or the budgeting one?”

“I thought they were the same person?” JJ jumps in, though she's still looking at Emily. Spencer nodded his agreement with furrowed brows.

You now look towards the couple, seemingly forgetting about your momentary outburst after a sip of your drink.

“Mystery man," you say with a nod of finality, "Also ‘mystery man’? He’s your boss, Emily. How could you forget his name…? Oh wait, that's what I was asking. Dave, what's Hotch's first name?”

At that, everyone at the table excluding you and Hotch burst into a laughing fit. After a few moments of everyone trying to catch their breaths, and you looking around the table for some clue on what is so funny, Dave speaks first.

“Hotch’s first name is Aaron, you know this,” Dave helps you out, as if Hotch wasn’t sitting next to him.

“AARON BENJAMIN HOTCHNER!!” you take a small sip of your drink, "Thank you! I will be using that every chance I get!” Now your drink and pointer finger is aimed at Hotch.

Hotch looks at you with wide eyes and then smiles a smile that only seems to be for you. He then shakes his head, reaches across the table to pluck your glass from your hands.

You look up at him with a pout, ”Hey! I will use your middle name again!”

He just lightly chuckles and slides out of his side of the booth, "I don’t doubt you. Come on. Let's get you home.”

“But, but, but…” he just gives you one of his signature Hotch stares,” Oh, okay. Goodbye everyone! Mwah, mwah, mwah! I'll see y'all on Monday.”

Everyone says their respective goodbyes as Hotch helps you out of the booth. As you stand up, you trip a bit due to your heels, and your uncoordinated state. Hotch quickly catches you, putting an arm around your waist.

After standing fully up, you put your arms up in the air, and yell loud enough to be heard above the music, "AARON BENJAMIN HOTCHNER, EVERYONE!!”

Your group and most of the people around you laugh. Hotch shakes his head and starts to lead you out of the bar.

When you finally step out into the cold air, you look up into those coffee eyes. They tell you that while you may just be on a first name basis, there's a lot more than that for both of you.

Guess getting a little crazy doesn't have to be such a bad thing.

Notes:

Hope y'all liked this! I'm new to this and would love to know what you think!

[strang3lov3]

So, I just saw your post about a dad!Joel shower sex fic and I have a few thoughts to contribute. (Did I just think of these in my shower... maybe...) Okay, starting tame, my first idea came because I love my showers boiling, if it isn't from the depths of hell themself did I really take a shower? And I like the idea of reader also wanting the shower like blazing hot and Joel just doesn't, he controls the temperature, and gives you a warning look when you whine about it not being hot enough, and yeah maybe its a little because he doesn't want to fuckin' broil to death like he jokes, but maybe it's a little more about the fact that you don't even really have a say in the small details, like how hot your shower is, you know what I'm saying? 😏

And I mean, is it really shower sex if he doesn't use the shower head on you? I mean c'mon now. And I dunno, I'm a little into the idea of him making just a little too hot and coos at you for being too sensitive (or maybe making a comment about how he thought you *liked* hot showers) and maybe just when you get use to is it switches it so it's freezing. Doesn't matter, he isn't gonna let you cum like that, the shower is already going longer than he'd like to be wasting water, and he needs be inside you now.

And maybe when he's fucking you up against the wall of the shower, water spraying around you make a little snarky comment about how you don't understand why he gets mad when you take long showers but you'd argue this is definitely a long shower and that pisses him off a little cause, you are just an ungrateful brat who doesn't pay the bills around here, you ain't the one who works your ass off everyday to provide for you, and who are you to complain when he's making you feel good? Yk?

Was this too much? I didn't mean to write a whole essay, but I couldn't get this off of my mind and I guess I had more to say then I thought... oops 😬🤭

don't mind me, I just had to share, but like, I'd eat up whatever you write because I am absolutely in love with your writing!

Look at you, thinkin' about me in the shower. Not me, but my little fic lol. SORRY sorry I'm flirting I'll fuck off.

Okay, starting tame, my first idea came because I love my showers boiling, if it isn't from the depths of hell themself did I really take a shower? And I like the idea of reader also wanting the shower like blazing hot and Joel just doesn't, he controls the temperature, and gives you a warning look when you whine about it not being hot enough, and yeah maybe its a little because he doesn't want to fuckin' broil to death like he jokes, but maybe it's a little more about the fact that you don't even really have a say in the small details, like how hot your shower is, you know what I'm saying? 😏

So 👏 yes. I too want my showers fucking boiling. But of course Joel doesn't. Quit your fuckin' cryin'. Just snuggle up to Daddy if you're so damn cold.

And I mean, is it really shower sex if he doesn't use the shower head on you? I mean c'mon now. And I dunno, I'm a little into the idea of him making just a little too hot and coos at you for being too sensitive (or maybe making a comment about how he thought you *liked* hot showers) and maybe just when you get use to is it switches it so it's freezing. Doesn't matter, he isn't gonna let you cum like that, the shower is already going longer than he'd like to be wasting water, and he needs be inside you now.

Suuuuuch a good point. It's really not shower sex if the shower head is uninvolved. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule. Some of us live in shitty apartments and have shitty, one function shower heads that cannot be taken off the wall :)

THE TEMPERATURE PLAY? i'm fucking hyperventilating. I have whiplash from this ask. I was getting cozy with the idea of getting off like that but OKAY APPARENTLY NOT! He's gonna fuck you now, I guess. Lead the way, non.

And maybe when he's fucking you up against the wall of the shower, water spraying around you make a little snarky comment about how you don't understand why he gets mad when you take long showers but you'd argue this is definitely a long shower and that pisses him off a little cause, you are just an ungrateful brat who doesn't pay the bills around here, you ain't the one who works your ass off everyday to provide for you, and who are you to complain when he's making you feel good? Yk?

Can you just like, sit next to me when I write this. Tomorrow/Monday. Clear your schedule. Like just keep whispering in my ear, keep all this perversion coming. I'm thriving on it.

Was this too much? I didn't mean to write a whole essay, but I couldn't get this off of my mind and I guess I had more to say then I thought... oops 😬🤭 don't mind me, I just had to share, but like, I'd eat up whatever you write because I am absolutely in love with your writing!

NOT AT ALL. You are juuuust what I fuckin' needed, honey. I'm gonna be copying and pasting this ask into my outline for showerdaddy and you get brownie points for holding my hand through this. Fucking THANK YOU! i'm kissing your brain mwahmwahmwahmwahmwAH