#must be all that extra height she has on everyone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theholypeanut · 5 months

Text

♪ I Think He Knows ♪

Content: GOM + Kagami + Takao having a tall gf (headcanon) fem!reader, just fluff, tiny suggestive

Notes: “Tall”, but realistically (I know wild for knb) so let’s say approx 5’9 (175 cm)

Kuroko

- Kuroko is so used to everyone being taller than him, that he wouldn’t really feel that out of place while having a tall girlfriend

- You are the only person allowed to stroke his hair, but only in private - you’d never allow anyone to see it

- Kuroko always cares about your comfort and even if he is not much into pda, you hold hands very often

- He love to kiss your forehead when you sit

- He can be both a big or a small spoon, whatever you need

Kise

- Kise absolutely adores that you are tall, but not taller than him

- You can get model gigs with him and he asks you to that often because he is just obsessed with showing you to people

- You can still comfortably wear heels with him

- Kise loves hugging you from behind

- H U G E pda fan, you are never safe in public, holding hands, stolen kisses, constant forehead kisses because “your forehead is just so close to my lips it’s asking for it”

- will literally hiss seeing guys checking you out

Aomine

- He was actually quite bummed at the beginning that you are not tiny, because he cannot make fun of you 24/7

- But who cares about height there are other measurements that are more important (I’m not pointing fingers)

- You are still smaller than him so he can put his hand on your hair and just destroy any hairstyle you have and laugh at you

- The king of putting his hand around you waist

- Randomly nibbles your neck and starts teasing (usually it ends up spicy)

- Mr “I’ll whisper dirty stuff to your ear in public and watch you get red”

- Puts his chin on your head All. The. Time.

- Tries to make you play basketball with him because “tbh you are still higher than Akashi and Kuroko so maybe there’s some potential” (he’d never say that next to Akashi obv)

Midorima

- Midorima is so clueless and extra tall, that he wouldn’t even notice that you are reasonably tall for a girl until someone points it out. Or until you stand next to Takao

- He has absolutely no opinion about it whatsoever because he just don’t think it’s an important factor in a relationship

- However he gets red like a tomato if you’d hug him from behind and put your face on his shoulder

- Or if you stand on your tiptoes and give him a forehead kiss. He is g o n e

- That’s the day he decided he loves that you are tall

- Gets annoyed when someone comments that you could be a model. Tells you that you absolutely shouldn’t start a model career, and didn’t want to elaborate why (because he was afraid you’d start attracting a bigger crowd and leave him bc he is an insecure Bebe inside fight me)

Murasakibara

- Tall? You? You look like a Smurf to him

- Who is this gnome standing next to him? Yes that’s you

- I mean, again, Murasakibara do not find you really tall. However seeing how small are girls at school, Atsushi fast realised that this is as good as it gets

- Atsushi constantly puts his head on yours

- If any guy tries to flirt with you and approaches you, he gets jealous quickly and shows up out of nowhere and holds you by the waist to show dominance (and with his height… works like a charm)

- Murasakibara is a big baby and pouts if any guy is complimenting how tall you are

- Also for very long he would call you “tiny” and everyone had the idea that you must be very small, and gets surprised when they meet you (“well for me she is tiny”)

- He is constantly kissing the crown of your head

- The biggest softie, honestly for him being taller than an average person makes you just… average to him, and that’s honestly perfect

- Not that big on pda but will always hold you close, hold your hand, waist, just to show everyone that you are taken

Akashi

- Being taller than Akashi… oh boy, well

- Obviously you didn’t expect to fall for a guy who is shorter than you, but obviously Akashi has a huge personality and it doesn’t really matter

- You are almost the same height and it has a lot of perks: for example it’s so easy to get a quick kiss without a lot of effort

- Akashi loves to kiss your neck

- No one dares comment about lack of height difference

- Akashi actually encourages you to wear heels if you like them, because he has enough confidence to not get insecure about this kind of stuff, which you appreciate a lot

- Also all of his clothes fits you like a glove, which is a huge perk especially with the fancy expensive stuff you can wear as your own

- You sometimes kabedon him as a surprise when you are alone

- It never ends up well for you (but spicy edition)

Kagami

- Kagami just like Midorima has one braincell and he wouldn’t even notice that you are tall until someone says it out loud

- One day he saw you standing next to Kuroko and he yelled “oh you are taller than Kuroko? You should play basketball”

- One braincell golden retriever

- Just like Aomine he tries to persuade you to play basketball with him (basketball ball for brain I swear)

- He has this reflex to grab your waist and pull you closer whenever there is a crowd

- Loves it when you lay down on his shoulder and fall asleep when you watch a movie

- Loves it when you snuggle your nose in his collarbone, he gets so red

- He is not big on pda but when no one is looking he would sneak a tiny cheek kiss (he actually loves tiny kisses, as well as steamy make out sessions)

- If someone says you look like a model he would get hyped up

Takao

- Takao is a cheeky boy, he would for sure be the one flirting with you till you fall for him

- He fell first he fell harder and he would do everything to convince you to date him even when he is slightly shorter than you

- When he succeeded he couldn’t believe it and he feels like he is the happiest guy on the planet

- The Greenest Flag in here, he treats you like a queen

- Flexes about you constantly, how beautiful and amazing his gf is

- He loves it when you wear heels, and he would for fun pout and ask for forehead kisses like a baby

- HE would kabedon you for fun to make you blush

- Loves hugging you from behind and kissing your nape

- Also he would playfully bite your shoulder or whisper dirty thing to your earlobe just to make you blush out of nowhere

- Honestly just marry him already or I will

#kise ryota x reader #aomine daiki x reader #kagami taiga x reader #akashi seijuurou x reader #takao kazunari x reader #kuroko tetsuya x reader #murasakibara atsushi #kuroko no basuke x reader #kuroko tetsuya #kise ryouta #aomine daiki #akashi seijuro #takao kazunari #midorima shintarou #kagami taiga #kuroko no basket headcanon #kuroko no basket #dividers by cafekitsune

399 notes · View notes

blu3cl0v3rs · 7 months

Text

Summary: Morro does a little magic trick for Lloyd!

Warnings: None

Prompt: Wands | Illusions

Extra: An AU where Morro doesn't die, but rather gets extremely injured so he returns to the monastery. Also he meets Wu like 5-10 years before Wu recruits any of the ninja. Set in season 1 after Lloyd joins the ninja, but before Lloyd's revealed as the Green Ninja. I'm making Morro give everyone nicknames, so Lloyd is sometimes referred to as "Lulu".

"Be safe, Ninja," Wu said as the four ninja leaped from the flying ship with some 'whoops', their weapons transforming into vehicles as they fell. The other four on board, Nya, Wu, Lloyd, and Morro, watched until the color-coded ninja were out of sight.

"Are you sure you don't want me tailing them? You know they aren't the most careful, Sensei," Nya asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. I believe Jay has been… skimping out on his work on the Bounty, and you are the only other knowledgeable person on this ship on the inner workings of it," he replied. "Now then, I must meditate."

Morro watched as his sensei went inside. Nya sighed in disappointment as she stomped over to the control center to fix whatever Jay had left haphazardly unfinished. Lloyd groaned and slumped onto the railing of the airborne ship.

"Careful, a fall from this height could be a doozy," the elder cousin joked as he walked over, forearm crutches clicking on the old wooden deck.

He ruffled the blonde locks cut into a crude bowl cut, much to Lloyd's dismay, as the young blonde swatted away his cousin's scarred, calloused hand playfully.

"So what's got ya down, Lulu?" The wind master gazed at his usually hyper counterpart with concern.

"I jus- this is all my fault!" he yelled, frustratedly slamming his fist onto the railing. "I was the one who freed the Serpentine, I was the one who caused all this! An- and now the Ninja have to clean up after me, and I… I can't do anything to make up for it!" Droplets stung the corners of the blonde's eyes, throat seizing as he shoved his face further into the sleeves of his black hoodie.

Oh, Morro thought. In hindsight, he should've seen this coming. "No, Lloyd, this isn't all your fault. Well, yes it's mostly your fault-" Lloyd's wince did not reassure him that what he was saying was right. Well, sue him, he's shit at comforting people. "But you're not the only one to blame. You were sent to a school that idolized bad behavior and 'evil' acts, so when you were cast out you'd obviously want to prove yourself to them."

Morro locked eyes with his cousin, stormy grays of violent winds and gentle breezes to bloody reds. "But, you are making up for it. You obviously regret it, and jump on every opportunity to help right your wrongs."

Lloyd broke contact, mulling over his cousin's words.

"Besides, every great hero needs a tragic backstory and motive to be good," the gray eyed man joked.

Alright, Morro thought while looking at the blonde still sulking over his mistakes, that didn't work.

An idea sprung into his head, and the wind rustled in response, which peaked Lloyd's curiosity. As he peered over his sleeves, some sheets of origami paper glided over to the pair, then started intricately folding themselves into shapes. The younger watched, awestruck as the patterned papers formed into butterflies and birds and dragons. One even rolled up tightly into a wand-like stick, then handed itself to Morro. Once the papers finished folding themselves, a few instruments arrived as well; an acoustic bass guitar, a flute, and a viola levitated patiently, as if waiting to be conducted.

Morro slowly raised the paper wand, Lloyd watching the tip like a cat watching a laser pointer, then swung it down, then left, then right, then back up and repeated the pattern. The origami creatures swayed in dance slowly as the instruments began to play themselves. The bass strummed steadily, the viola bowed itself with a melancholy sound, and the flute hummed in harmony with the viola. The butterflies fluttered carelessly, the birds soared in simple patterns, and the dragons pranced along the railing.

Then, the bass froze, and the viola's sound became tense and angry as the dragons lunged after the birds and the flute quietly trilled high notes, adding to the new panicked sound. The butterflies flitter and dodge out of the way of the speeding chase between the birds and dragons. The bass struck back in harshly with firm chords, and the birds were cornered. The viola and bass softened and quieted down as the flute played a sorrowful, legato melody with the butterflies spinning above the dragons and beleaguered birds.

The butterflies dove, whacking the dragons away from the avian origami, in sync with the viola bowing out a high note. The bass struck chords as the dragons fought back, the flute and viola playing in harmony with each other as they struck together to beat the dragons.

The bass played an apologetic solo as the dragons lowered their heads in submission to the other creatures. The birds and butterflies accepted the dragons with a sweet trill and a few harsh notes from the flute and viola, respectively. The three types of origami beings then whirled together as the instruments played happily. Morro ended it with flair as the viola played a complicated lick, the bass belted one last chord, and the flute whistled with intense vibrato.

The elder dramatically threw the wand into the air as the paper origami settled to the deck, and the instruments returned from whence they came. Lloyd marveled over the display as he clapped.

"That was so cool! How did the instruments play by themselves? Did you use string to make the paper things move? Could I do that?! That was awesome!" He exclaimed, motioning his hands to accentuate his point.

Morro chuckled at his cousin's perkier mood. "It was all a little wind, Lulu. Nothing more."

Lloyd's eyes sparkled, an even deeper amount of respect growing for his black and green haired cousin. "That was just your powers! But… how? All those moving parts, I could never keep track of all of them! And you can play instruments without touching them? How long did that take? Isn't it suuuper hard to learn?"

"It's just years of practice. Wu taught me how to play the flute so I would be able to play the Sacred Flute, and I picked the bass and viola up because string instruments sound cool."

"I thought it was called a violin?"

"That's a different instrument. A viola sounds lower than a violin."

"Ohhhhhh. Cool!"

"Yes, very cool.

#morrotober 2023 #ninjago #morro #morro master of wind #morro ninjago #lloyd garmadon #lloyd ninjago #ninjago morro #just in time #the ninja are briefly mentioned #nya and wu are there for like 2 seconds #I FORGOT TO TAG THIS AS #green cousins #greencousins #i'm so disappointed #in myself

47 notes · View notes

the-painted-siren · 10 months

Text

The monster stays poised on its feet—bright violet eyes boring into you with a bitter cold—before steadily rising to its full height. There’s something about the movement that’s too graceful to be unpracticed. Too deliberate to be mindless. Then you feel your breath freeze in your throat, a wave of familiarity deluging from your memories. You hear the voice of the person who occasionally guides you—who gave you these robes and the warnings to never drink elemental potions. “A lot can turn you into a power-addicted monster, and too much will be fatal.” It is unmistakable. This monster—it, she, they—had been human once.

Finished piece(s) for @general-yasur ‘s 1K DTYIS! The second you mentioned that tidbit about never drinking elemental potions, I knew it was over for both me and Lyra. I had an excellent time making this! It gave me the chance to get really creative. (And also, listening to Kekkai by Hiroyuki Sawano while finishing this up? Best decision ever.)

All the extra information for her is beneath the cut, so that way I'm not clogging everyone's dashes.

Lyra's original color pallet isn't super bright or bold, so I ended up adding a lot of pink and purple to her clothes. Both colors (especially the latter) feature very heavily around her when she's casting magic.) Though it's not very noticeable, she prefers a hooded cloak to a hat, since she feels like it would better hide her from prying eyes.

Her robes take on aspects of her og design, such as having dark colors and slits in her dress up to her thighs and protective gear underneath. The original spellbound robes might have had armor but I ended up changing it to a sparkly shawl (I'm sorry, I couldn't resist.)

Lyra's weapon of choice is her usual chiming bo staff—she uses it to cast cloaking spells and ward off predators or evil spirits with the jingling crystals. Also to use for self-defense should something attack her while she's traveling.

Unfortunately, she's not an elemental master so she gets no use out of elemental potions. She merely carries them in hopes she might find someone else to accompany her on her journey. Or perhaps someone else who was fortunate enough to keep their memories like her.

The Overlord is not so keen on her, however. He would have to get creative with stopping her and does so by targeting her dear ones.

She's very protective of the people she loves. If it comes down to it, she would do the unthinkable to keep them safe. In her mind, she might have reasoned that she's an Oni—she's highly resistant to the elements. So that must mean she can hold out longer against the potions' toxic effects than a normal person, right?

No such luck. For Lyra, love is painful—painful but worth it. Even if there are dire consequences, even if she gets stuck in her Empress Oni form with no way out, she's willing to take the risk.

Perhaps Calem has the answer? Though, there's no telling if it would be an answer that anyone likes.

(Might do a very quick sketch detailing where Calem fits into Lyra's story. Tho I don't know if it could be its own separate entry.)

#yasur1kdtiys #ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago oc #ninjago original characters #hails’ art #Oc: Lyra Sone #Oc: Calem Kahale #Oc: Calem Linh Kahale

28 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 7 months

Text

Brewed With Intent, Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2023, Day 1: Attraction

“Well, I personally don’t see what the problem is.” There’s more shirt than Suzu when he shrugs; two layers at least that Shirayuki can count, and both of them wrinkle when he folds his arms across his chest. Defensive, like he expects her to grab him by one. Nervous, like she might be able to drag him over the counter that way. Or at least, like someone has tried. “You knew your order was ready, didn’t you?”

“It’s not that it wasn’t effective.” Hard to argue that when she’s already here, standing in Shidan’s shop, eager to avoid whatever he might cook up as a follow-up. “It’s just that the execution is lacking a little, um…”

The rotating display squeaks under Obi’s singular attention. “Soul?”

“Soul?” Suzu scoffs. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t just send a…a cat! They’re way too high a consciousness to take to anything but the most advanced charms. Though” —one long-fingered hand raises, wrapping oh-too thoughtfully around his chin— “if I tweaked a few sigils, maybe a rat…?”

With a piercing squeal, the display’s tortured keens abruptly cease. It may be next to impossible to look at Obi, but by the tilt of his head, she knows his eyebrows must be scraping his hairline. “Bro. Vermin isn’t going to be an improvement on bird.”

“I thought pigeons were already considered—?”

“She’s not complaining about the genus, Suzu,” Yuzuri deadpans, one ear flicking at the precise rhythm Garrack's left eye used to, before— er, well, recent events. “It’s the method.”

“Really?” Suzu frowns, and to her dismay, turns it right on her. “Yuzuri did mention that she found its movements a little uncanny—”

“Gross,” she corrects with relish. “I called them gross.”

“—But I thought that if I tweaked a clause or two, I might be able to make it more bird-like.” He blinks down at her, more curious than concerned. “Do you think that might help?”

“Erm…” Her gaze doesn’t quite skitter over to Obi, but near enough that she can catch the encouraging arch of his eyebrows, the goading wave of his hands. “Maybe?”

Obi clucks his tongue. At her, she knows. It’s just— Suzu might be comfortable doling out cutting critique like her grandma did butter on bread, but ‘it’s an abomination’ is hardly constructive enough to be considered an objective review. “I don’t think Miss cares about how it moves. It’s that it’s moving at all.”

Suzu scratches absently at where his goggles dig a divot in his curls. “But how else would it get to you?”

Yuzuri sighs, long suffering. “How many times do I have to explain this? It’s dead, Suzu. No one wants it to ‘get to them.’ They want it to go away!”

“What are you talking about? My messengers are a stunning example of highly skilled charm work! Besides,” he adds, confidence leaking from him like helium from a balloon. “It’s the only way to get people to pick up their orders.”

Obi cocks his head, curious, like a cat. “Doordash has an app.”

“Weren’t you just complaining about a lack of soul—?”

“What about the coin?” Shirayuki blurts out, before she can think better of it. “That’s what the shop used to use, right? A coin that was spelled to glow?”

“Well, yeah, at one point. But metal is really more Shidan’s element, you know.” Suzu has all the height he needs to look down his nose at them naturally, but his chin takes a prideful tilt anyway, giving him an extra inch or two. “If I’m taking over order management, I've got to rely on my own talents. That’s what Shidan told me. Work with my own medium.”

Yuzuri cocks her head, ears splayed in annoyance. “And that medium just so happens to be dead stuff?”

“We can’t pick our natural proclivities,” he sniffs. “Besides, everyone always complained about the coin thing anyhow.”

Like most of the words Garrack said this morning, the answer to this is seared in her mind. “Easily lost?”

“See?” Suzu jabs out a hand. “Shirayuki gets it. No one’s going to lose a bird.”

Yuzuri throws up her hands. “A dead bird!”

“Listen, I’ll give you: no one’s gonna lose it.” Obi braces a hip against the counter. “But they are gonna run away.”

“What, why?” Suzu huffs. “It’s a bird, everyone loves birds!”

A strong stance to take in a city where Shirayuki has routinely watched commuters throw their purses at the pigeons perched at the bus stop. “Well, maybe that’s true, but ah…these ones talk.”

“Oh yeah.” Shirayuki doesn’t so much see Obi shiver as the air around him trembles, tracing goosebumps up her own arms. “Talk about nightmare fuel.”

“What’s wrong with the way it talks?” Suzu leans over the counter, all business now, face furrowed with stern curiosity. “Is there some sort of pitch change? Or maybe a slow down effect, or static—?”

“Oh, buddy.” A breath whistles through Obi’s teeth, pitying. “You wish it was something that simple.”

Suzu’s eyebrows disappear beneath the curtain of his curls. “What do you—?”

There’s a rustle and a clatter before the back door swings open, guided by Shidan’s hip before the rest of him bustles through, letting it swing back on its hinges. “All right then. Took a little bit of doing, and a couple of, er, spectacular failures—”

“He set his beard on fire,” Yuzuri mutters, “twice.”

“—But I think I managed to get something that’ll work.” He glances over at Obi, only for his eyes to skitter back over to the much safer harbors. “For your…special circumstances, I mean.”

Obi’s lips tug at a corner. “No explosions?”

“No.” Shidan attempts to meet his eyes, but only makes it to his shoulder before he shudders, retreating straight back to the counter. “None of that.”

Shirayuki can’t tell if Obi’s raising his eyebrows or furrowing them, but his whole body curves into a question over the counter, so— he’s curious. Maybe even impatient. “Well, hope it goes with my fit.”

A wooden box settles on the counter, a different grain than the polished oak it sits on. Shidan’s the one to slide the lid open, revealing a plush green cushion beneath, and on it—

“Oh,” she hums, surprised. “A necklace?”

It’s not anything fancy; no precious gems or rare metals. Just a thin slate of clear quartz a little smaller than her thumb hanging from a cord. Not Obi’s usual style— he’s more into leather wristbands and collars that look like they could come straight from the pet section of Fred Meyer, but there’s a quiver in his shoulders when he looks down, an expectant stillness in his casual lean. He likes it.

“I don’t often work with jewelry.” Shidan shuffles, almost nervous as she lifts it off its cushion, letting the crystal dangle from her fist. “Clockwork is really my wheelhouse, really. But after Suzu explained the lengths you all went through so Obi could use a smartphone…”

Shidan’s hardly closed his teeth around that last syllable before Obi’s whipped it out, a smooth screen wrapped in a thick rubber case. Lines bite deep into the silicone, straight rays and curving spirals, a sigil so complex it’d taken Suzu nearly five days to complete it. According to Yuzuri, he’d slept for nearly two straight days after, only rousing to shuffle to the bathroom before throwing himself back into mattress.

“I can drop this baby down the stairs and there’s not a scratch on it,” he informs Shidan proudly. “Just last week a genius loci tried to swallow it and I didn’t even lose service.”

By the way Shidan’s gaze cuts to her, he doesn’t miss the implication that Obi was inside it at the time. “It was in a sewer,” she adds, although she doubts context will take the concern out of his eyes. “Obi wasn’t to its, er, taste.”

“Ah, well,” he murmurs, faint. “Good thing I thought cogs and gears might not be very compatible with his…biological peculiarities. I see that might not have been a good fit lifestyle-wise either.”

“No,” she agrees, thinking of the last kelp forest he’d had to extract her from. That couldn’t have been more than a month ago, maybe two. And certainly not the first. Nor the last. “Our work doesn’t tend to be, ah…”

“Dry?” he offers, a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Definitely not.” Shirayuki tilts her hand, crystal tumbling against her knuckles, and ah— the light splits over it, a thousand tiny etchings shining gold. Air hisses through her teeth. “This is amazing, Shidan. We can’t have possibly paid you enough for this amount of—”

Care. Attention. A hundred thousands words that evaporate the moment he rubs at his neck, and she remembers Garrack doing the same. Garrack who had mouth marks all the way down past her collar and—

Ah, she’s just not going to think about what Shidan might be keeping beneath his. “Um, never mind.” Her cheeks heat as she drops it back in the box. “Just…thank you.”

“No need to stand around thanking me.” He lifts his chin, encouraging, “Try it out.”

Shirayuki blinks. “Oh! Are you, um…sure?”

Both his eyebrows lift. “No point being so grateful if you get all the way home and find out it doesn’t even work.”

“Or worse.” Yuzuri’s ears give a playful flick. “It turns him into a frog of something.”

Shidan glares at his apprentice. “It’s not going to turn him into a frog.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I’m sure the Emerald Lady didn’t think that nice scarf of hers would turn into a fireball either.” The chair she’s in isn’t built for lounging, but Yuzuri lifts her legs up over the arm of it anyway, somehow casual even though she can’t possibly fit. “Who knows what Obi’s body chemistry is gonna do to this thing.”

“No one is going to get turned into a frog. Or a fireball,” Shidan assures her. “It’s just…best to try it out in the shop, where I can work out the kinks, if there are any.”

“And where we have a fire extinguisher.” At Shidan’s glare, Suzu offers, “Just in case.”

“Thanks,” Obi says dryly. “Real vote of confidence, there.”

Suzu shrugs, nearly lost under the labyrinth of shirts. “Forewarned is forearmed. And also keeps our insurance premiums down.”

There’s a pause where Shirayuki waits for him to pick it up, to make some crack about fashion or disaster or both as he hooks it over his own head, but—

But instead Obi just stands there, shoulders half-hunched and…awkward. It might be hard for her to look directly at him, to overcome the overwhelming instinct to not see, but the problem has never been mutual— oh, no, he insists on keeping at least one eye on her at all times; just in case you get any ideas about windows, he’d say, too-sharp teeth flashing at the corner of her vision. But now he’s got his head turned, looking anywhere but at her, and she— she doesn’t like it. Not one bit. “Obi—?”

“Shirayuki,” Yuzuri hisses, ears pulling back. “Don’t be rude. You know that Obi can’t take what he’s not given.”

That’s not…strictly true. There’s been more than a few times she’s had to traipse back to the service counter at the store to return the contents of his pockets. Can’t help it, he’d sigh, still looking too proud of himself, I’m trickster-blooded. Can’t help causing a little chaos. Ryuu had once tried to tease out the logic of it, to try to understand how a little petty thievery wasn’t against even infernal rules, only to find himself in a quagmire of loopholes within loopholes, buried in fine print. Certainly a looser definition of ownership than she’d thought the Lower Courts would take.

But still, he wouldn’t steal anything from her. And not just because of who holds his contract.

“It’s yours,” she reminds him, staring at where the edge of his pockets cut across his wrists. “I had it made for you.”

Still, he doesn’t move. Nothing more than one of his too-many-eyelid blinks.

“Ah, that…” Shidan clears his throat. “I believe that by the ruling of the Lower Courts, a gift is the property of the giver until it is physically given. There might even be, er, formalities involved.”

It’s habit to glance at him, to meet his eyes and find the answer there, but—

They skitter away, like they always do, dread churning in her stomach and bile licking at the back of her throat. But not before she sees the tension in his hunched shoulders, in the contorted way he’s twisted his neck, baring it like a dog expecting a kick. “O-oh.”

Her fingers are numb, clumsy when she fumbles the cord from the box. Still, she manages to hook it around the first set of her knuckles, thrusting it out in the space between them. A smaller gap than she’d perceived, she realizes, when her hands have to haul up short to keep from crashing into his chest.

“Obi,” she breathes, watching the pendant tremble with the same rhythm as her fingertips. That’s how some divination works, she remembers. Sympathetic nerve twitches. “You…I mean, I think…you’ll have to bend down…?”

She can’t look at him, not directly, but even she can see the way his eyes blink wide. “Haah…right.”

He stoops, head jutting out awkwardly from his shoulders, baring the long, tanned column of his neck. Without his eyes on her, the soft animal that is her fear only quivers in her belly, letting her lean close enough to count vertebrae. It’s strange to see this much of his skin, for him to let himself be so…vulnerable. A strange heat gathers beneath her belly, scintillating like magic before a charm, and she swallows to keep her hands steady, to keep them from brushing through the bristle of his hair just to see what it feels like.

“I…” There’s no reason for her mouth to be so dry, or her cheeks to be this warm. “I…ah…bequeath this to you.”

The cord settles against the knob on his spine, shifting as he straightens, all six-foot-even of him. The crystal spins helplessly on its cord, settling against his chest. His skin, she realizes, his collar open just enough to let it lay flat against that smooth sliver of copper. His eyes settle on her again, and she feels that flutter of the soft animal in her, the one that feels his attention and longs to flee—

And then, suddenly, it doesn’t. Her fear curls right in on itself, and like a mouse in winter, settles in for a long nap.

Which leaves Obi right there in front of her. Visible, for once.

She hesitates. Why, she can’t say. It’s only—

“Miss?” Obi’s never sounded any less confident than cocky, and yet now his voice trembles, and she…she looks.

Even without being able to see him, there were things about Obi she knew. He was tall for one— taller than her, at least, even if he never thought that much of an achievement. Lean, but in the way gymnasts were, or the kids who played at doing parkour in the park. Skin that wouldn’t fit in even the broadest definition of white. Dark haired enough that she couldn’t tell if it was him using her brush or Ryuu. But now—

“Is the Asian thing because like, BTS is hot right now?” Suzu asks, never one to be constrained by social niceties. “Or is that…?”

“My dad.” His hand snakes up to his shoulder, squeezing. “At least, I think. The Lower Courts keep records, but…”

He shrugs. One shoulder, matching the slant of his mouth, casual and wry. Devil-may-care, some would say. It fits him the way his leather jacket does, clinging in all the right places, molding to his shape. Well-worn. Familiar.

Yuzuri gives him one good glance, boots to bristle, and hooks her hands around her hips. “Oh my god,” she groans, utterly dismayed. “You’re hot.”

There’s a shift when she says that, Obi’s stiff spine melting away so that he can slink up to the counter. Each vertebrae articulates like a cat prowling in the grass, pulling his proportions impossibly long, incredibly lean. “What’s the problem? I thought you liked eye candy.”

“Yeah, but I know you. Hot guys are like Monets” — Yuzuri holds up her hand, keeping him at a distance— “they only look good if you don’t know about all the mess.”

“I always thought that was sort of neat,” Suzu says. “The technique is part of the appreciation, you know.”

“Suzu, we already know you’re a good person or whatever,” she informs him, bored. “You don’t have to tell us.”

“What about you, Miss?” Obi arches back against the counter, languid as his grin. “What do you think?”

Her mouth works, trying to explain that she— that he—

His eyes crease, right at the corner, watching her with a fondness she’s always felt but never saw, and—

“I…” They’re gold. His eyes. So striking it’s an effort to look away. “I think we might need to get you a pair of sunglasses.”

#obiyukiweek23 #day 1 #obiyuki #snow white #akagami no shirayukihime #urban fantasy au #my fic #ans #did i plan for this to all be one scene? no #i had like two more scenes after this i thought i would get to #but having the gang all together was TOO FUN #and let me play in the shallow end of the worldbuilding pool #plus i just HAD to make that part where Shirayuki can see him SHINE #because oh that's gonna all be important later >:3c

15 notes · View notes

saey707 · 2 years

Note

Hello! I read your Viego and Yone prompts and instantly fell in love! May I request a fluffy Aatrox x human female reader please? Just something adorably and ridiculously sweet with such a big red meanie would be cute and fun to read <333

Also, we truly do need more League x Readers, thank you for doing the honors ^-^

✿ Prompt: Your relationship with a big red meanie ✿

♡ champion focus: aatrox ♡ tw: none! ♡ Female reader

Author’s Note: Hello! Thank you so much, your kindness is what keeps me writing <3 I’ve never written Aatrox before though, so I apologize if these are out of character. I wanted to take a more fun approach with this one though, so I hope you enjoy ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

All of Aatrox’s life, he’s been set on achieving impossible goals. But, these were goals that he knew he could fulfill: An apocalypse, vengeance, and the possibility of world domination. Still, he found himself alone, with a disgusting feeling, one that was not corruption, but instead, loneliness. Doesn’t everyone fear being forgotten?

When Aatrox met you, his life changed forever. Overwhelmed with such tender, unfamiliar emotions, ones he never thought he could feel for a mere mortal, a being that couldn’t even compare to his size and strength, he could only begin to wonder... Was this love?

How You Meet ♡

Who would have thought a giant, angry meanie could have such a big heart? You did, but that was only because you believed you could see the good in everyone: Even Darkins.

Honestly, he was actually quite nervous to meet you!

“So uh, I’m Aatrox... I’m a transcendental being trapped inside cutlery... Like... A demon, but more edgy, right? You know, cause I’m a sword... What’s your deal?”

The First Date ♡

On your first date, you didn’t expect him to be the one to choose. If anything, most of the time you were the one taking initiative!

Aatrox gives you flowers he picked from an open field, gets too nervous to hold your hand when you walk side by side and buys burgers for the two of you.

Is it obvious that he is a complete and total wreck? Hell, could you even blame him? This is his first date!

By the end of the night, you kissed him on the cheek. Sure, it took a few extra steps to reach his height, but the effort was well worth it to see his face fluster a deeper shade of red.

It almost looked like he was angry, with the way his eyebrows knit together! “Do it again!” He angrily exclaimed.

You couldn’t stop yourself from placing a kiss on his lips the next time you leaned your head in. Was it possible for a Deathbringer to be this red?

How Aatrox Acts Around Others ♡

It’s only a matter of time before he grows to be extremely protective of you. In fact, he’ll sometimes talk you up to his opponent and boast about how “you give him a reason to fight”.

“As long as she exists, as long as time has meaning, I am not done!”

The first time you saw how he acted around other people was definitely a surprise to you. You never would have expected for Aatrox to be so mean that he made grown men cry!

“I must congratulate you, obviously your parents never had reason to.” “How annoying you are!” “Somehow, I doubt you’ve mastered self-esteem.”

You hound Aatrox often to apologize, however, the most he could do is give a back-handed compliment or say that his statement was only “partially true” to the receiver. In return, you give him the sweetest kisses, which is the entire reason why he continues to apologize to anyone in the first place!

“A kiss... I shall deliver it to you.”

The First Fight ♡

Despite his temper, he would never pick a fight with you again, let alone argue with you over menial things that aren’t worth his time. The last time that happened it ended with you in tears.

Aatrox doesn’t realize that words can really hurt a person, especially cute little humans such as yourself.

He still struggles to forgive himself after seeing that sad look on your beautiful face.

After your argument, Aatrox had to constantly remind himself humans are frail... and women such as yourself are sensitive, and don’t take well to being called “a temptress carving a hole into his entire being and sucking the life out of his stolen flesh”.

More Small Relationship Fluff ♡

Aatrox is more than willing to reach the top shelves for you, or even pick you up to give you a boost. In fact, he prefers the second option more because he enjoys hearing your naive laughter as he holds you up in his arms.

He enjoys sitting in comfortable silences with you, and he certainly isn’t opposed to the occasional cuddling (yeah, more like he is more than happy to take you up for a nice snuggle every chance he could get), especially with how soft you are! Being in your arms is comforting to him.

“I feel... at hooooome...”

Aatrox enjoys baking with you and even has his own little chef hat! ...Even though he burns everything he makes and throws a temper tantrum because of it. Luckily, you are able to bake! To him, the treats are like finger foods, so he admires all the effort you make to double- or even triple- the batches for him.

“No!! Not my bread!! Curse you, Pantheon!!”

Believe it or not, Aatrox is clingy as all hell. He just won’t admit it.

In the rare times that he does, he won’t hesitate to shower you with all of his love and attention... And his love is quite aggressive! Possessively squishing you in his arms, smothering your face with warm kisses, thigh squeezes while you sit on his lap- He goes the extra mile when he’s desperate for your attention!

Aatrox is definitely an unexpectedly gentle lover and is willing to destroy tens of hundreds of worlds if it meant it could just be you and him together on this one alone.

#saeybaewrites #request #headcanons #aatrox #aatrox lol #aatrox league of legends #aatrox x reader #aatrox league of legends x reader #aatrox lol x reader #league of legends x reader #lol x reader #x reader

145 notes · View notes

kiwixlime · 2 years

Text

I'm Bad News, In the Best Way

N is for Neighbors

You get to know your new neighbor on a surprising level.

Pairing: Samuel Drake x Female Reader Warnings: This is smut, folks. There’s some plot, if you squint. But it’s pretty much your basic smut. Nothing different to what I usually write. By the way, this does take place in the Uncharted universe. But like, before Panama.

Over the week, you and your roommate, Natalia, notice the chaos unfolding next door. The sweet elderly couple who used to inhabit that apartment has long gone. Now when you go out, you both catch glimpses of a younger man. One who weaves in and out during the days and disappears during the nights. You can never see his face leaving his looks, other than his height, a mystery.

Natalia practically stalks the new guy. She’s always in the hall, putting herself in the way for the rare chance to meet him. You admire her effort, suspecting her newfound obsession is because she’s currently in between jobs at the moment and needs something to keep her occupied.

You can’t say you’re not curious as well. The two of you have kind of turned the suspense of a new neighbor into a game. She has the theory that he’s a stripper being that he’s always gone at night. Of course, there are many reasonable explanations for that, but your friend is an oddball. And she loves a good thrill.

But you think there is something far more dangerous going on there. You’re both probably incredibly wrong, but it’s still fun to guess. At least until you get the pleasure of meeting this mystery man.

When you finally do, it's after a late night on the job. You have the pleasure of working in the makeup department on the set of a small television show. And today has been a big day for makeup with a lot of intense scenes being shot during your schedule. Everyone has needed something from you all day. So by the time shooting wraps up for the evening, you’re exhausted. Delirious, almost.

By the time you eventually get home, it’s so late you’re surprised to see Natalia standing outside of your apartment in her silky blue pajamas and bunny slippers. She’s been waiting for you to come home. You can tell by the excited grin on her face.

You approach with caution, smiling awkwardly at her peculiar behavior. Really, she looks like a kid on Christmas morning with the way her smile stretches from ear to ear. It suddenly hits you that she’s met the new neighbor.

Full of intrigue, you reach the giddy girl, curiously questioning her with a raise of your eyebrow if she’s okay. Her perfectly white teeth scrape over her lip, and she nods. “I met him!” She squeaks, and it’s endearing how excited she is by this development.

The mysterious man behind the S. Drake label on the mailbox. He must be cute if she’s this enraptured. Good, you think. It’s been a while since Natalia’s been on a date. She’s always interested in meeting guys. Maybe now she can stop dragging you along to bars for happy hour.

“He sounds cute,” you tease as you shove your keys back into your bag.

“Aw,” you hear a deeper, newer, voice approach from behind you, and your heart drops. Natalia holds in a giggle as your eyes widen in fear. “That’s so sweet, thank you,” the voice says.

Slowly, you turn around - ready to run back outside if needed - to finally see the face of the infamous mystery man. And wow, oh wow. He’s much more attractive than you’ve been expecting. You feel your face get hot as your eyes come into contact with a pair of sparkling hazel ones.

“I’m Sam,” he says, outstretching his hand in greeting.

Words are nearly lost on you as you return the gesture, not missing the way your insides flutter as his warm hand grasps yours. Oh, boy. You’re in trouble.

“Nice to meet you,” you mutter shyly, introducing yourself by first name before glancing over to Natalia. No wonder she slipped on her extra cute pajamas for the night. Now you can’t help but think you’ve interrupted something. If there’s one thing you know about your roommate, it’s that she does not move slow at all when she finds a guy.

“You as well,” Sam expresses with a genuine grin. You bite your lip as you take your hand back, awkwardly clutching onto the straps of your purse until your knuckles turn white. You should really give them their privacy. Then again, you don’t want to hear what they’ll be up to later in the night.

You move to excuse yourself, give them some space, but Sam stops you. Confused, your eyes dart to Natalia who only shrugs. “I, uh, asked your friend over here for advice on a pizza place since I’m new in town and she said she doesn’t eat pizza,” he says, making a face as if he’s asking who the fuck doesn’t eat pizza.

She rolls her eyes and pouts, all with very flirtatious undertones. She’s pulling out all the stops tonight. Actually, you’re a bit surprised she hasn’t lured Sam to her bedroom yet. Natalia is a stunning girl. Guys always drool over her.

“Uh, yeah,” you laugh, moving to stand by your friend. “She’s particular,” you say. You always thought it was bizarre, too. You’d never tell her that, though. She’s weird, and you love her. “There’s a place called Mac’s. It’s over on Strawberry. Best pizza in the city.”

“Mac’s,” Sam repeats, eyes dropping to your lips for confirmation. Or at least, you think. Pretty sure that wouldn’t cause him to click his tongue, though. You wonder if Natalia notices his behavior. But if she does, she says nothing.

The man sighs and then very boldly looks you up and down. When he meets your stare again, he winks. You can’t believe this shit. But Natalia isn’t paying attention with her nose buried in her phone. “Thanks for the tip,” he says politely, then turns on his heels. “You ladies have a good night.”

At this, Natalia snaps her attention back to the two of you. She pushes her hair off her shoulder and smiles. “Have a good night, Sam!” She calls, wiggling her fingers in his direction. “Oh my god,” she swoons, placing her hand over her heart. “He’s so hot, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, face burning from your small encounter. “He definitely is.”

“I think I’m gonna ask him out,” she states confidently. “Once he’s more settled in and all. I can show him around town…” She says.

You bite your lip, keeping whatever comments you have to yourself. “Yeah, Nat,” you huff. “You do that.”

“Sam,” you groan, leaning back into his chest. One of his hands rests on your hip while the other teases your lower stomach beneath your shirt. You can feel his breath as he laughs, erupting upon your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear, nipping gently before he speaks.

“Yeah, princess?” He whispers, moving his hand downward. His long fingers dip beneath the waistband of your shorts, dangerously close to the lace hem of your panties. “Talk to me,” he continues as if you can, as if his fingers aren’t slipping inside you.

You bite your lip to cover a moan, fully aware that you’re in the laundry room and any other tenant could walk in at any time. Natalia included. “We s-shouldn’t,” you breathe, grabbing onto his wrist with your hand.

He presses his fingers into you, and you shudder, knowing that you should pull his hand out of your underwear, but he’s working his magic, and all you can focus on is the pleasure he’s making you feel. Your nails dig into the flesh of his wrist, and he hisses at the sting but welcomes your reactions, proud of himself for making you squirm. You accidentally let out the softest moan, and it’s like music to Sam’s ears. And his ego.

“You sure you want me to stop?” He asks, pressing his lower half against you. He’s hard just from touching you, listening to you. That’s hot.

“N-no,” you stutter, grinding against his hand.

“Good girl,” he praises, rotating his wrist so his fingers slip between your folds, gathering the slick in your panties that you made just for him. “So wet, princess,” he purrs, brushing against your clit. “Do I make you feel good?”

“Mhm,” you nod, letting your head fall back onto him for support. You can’t think clearly, lost in Sam’s scent, mesmerized by his touch. This is so wrong on so many levels. But fuck, it feels so right.

“Use your words,” he says sharply, stopping his movements suddenly. “I want you to tell me exactly how I make you feel.”

“Ugh, god,” you groan, wiggling against him in annoyance. The bastard only laughs at your pathetic struggles. He's a sadist, you've decided.

“If that’s what you wanna call me,” he taunts.

You hear footsteps approach and the thrashing in your stomach subsides. Whoever it is, they’re your savior and your enemy all at once.

Sam reluctantly withdraws his fingers from your sensitive pussy, and you whine at the loss of contact. But you have to compose yourself. You can’t believe you let Sam finger you in the laundry room. Again.

You clear your throat and step away from him, turning around to see who is making their entrance. It’s someone from one of the lower floors. You don’t know their name. You’ve only seen them around before. Being polite, you offer a friendly smile before looking back at Sam.

He stares you in the eyes as he brings his fingers to his mouth. You watch with parted lips as he sucks them clean, rolling his tongue along each of the digits, savoring your flavor. The warmth builds in your gut, and when he removes his fingers with a wet pop, you whimper.

He leans in closer, and you close your eyes, preparing yourself for whatever smartass remark he has. “You taste…so fucking sweet,” he voices. Your eyes blink open in surprise, arousal pooling between your thighs. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Sam winks at you, amused by your dumbstruck expression, before walking away and out of the laundry room, smug smile on his lips.

It’s been two months since Sam moved in, and this has become a regular thing for you. Natalia hasn’t found the courage to ask him out yet. And now you’re afraid when she does, things will get complicated.

You’ve never slept with Sam. But you’ve kissed him. And you’ve done other things, having your secret rendezvous in places like the laundry room or the hallway or in his car when you both get home from work at the same time.

Honestly, you don’t know what your relationship is with Sam. You just know that you’re drawn to your new neighbor like a moth to a flame. And for whatever reason, he feels the same way about you.

You don’t even know how it started. One night you ran into each other in the hallway, the both of you complaining about your long work day. And the next night, when he ran into you again, he had you pinned to his front door within minutes, his lips harassing your own.

Since then, he’s been very handsy with you. And you don’t hate it.

You’re asking for trouble, though. You know Natalia still has a crush on him. What you’re doing is definitely against Girl Code, but it’s not like you planned on falling for Sam… If that’s even what you want to call it. It just happened.

He’s handsome, and he’s fun. You can talk to him for hours and never get bored. Sam has the most interesting life stories. Turns out you and Nat were both wrong about his job. He’s not a stripper like she thought. And he’s not a criminal like you thought. He’s a treasure hunter, which is just completely wild to you.

But you’ve seen his collectibles strewn throughout his place on the rare occurrences you’ve caught view of inside his apartment. And he’s very detailed when telling you about his adventures. You and Natalia were stunned to learn of all the places he’s been. But it’s also something that made him more attractive to both of you.

You are definitely in a sticky situation here. But there’s nothing you can do, simply because you don’t know where to start. For now, you can keep your secret with Sam. You don’t think your roommate will make a move on him yet.

That's enough to satisfy you for the time being. Settled with your thoughts, you grab your laundry basket and your detergent and bid goodbye to the familiar tenant who entered. You try to make your way back upstairs without noticing the discomfort between your legs.

As you fight your way up the steps, huffing and puffing, you're overcome with fear as you hear a pair of voices. Natalia is in the hallway and so is Sam. You hesitate as you reach the landing, rounding the corner when Natalia spots you.

Cursing, you attempt to shuffle back down and pretend you forgot something, only to have her stop you. She calls your name, and you wait, clenching your teeth as she beckons you over. Sam lingers there with a pleasant smile on his face like nothing happened a second ago.

“Hello, Sam,” you greet him, avoiding eye contact and hoping that he will do the same. In fact, you'd love it if he just ignored your existence entirely right now.

“Hey, neighbor,” his rich voice rings in your ears.

“Sam and I were just talking about you,” Natalia speaks, inching closer to the man at her side. She looks at him with a shy smile that he doesn't return.

“What?” You ask quickly, swallowing down your trepidations.

“I was just tellin’ Nat here that I had to get my ass downstairs to do some laundry or I’ll be walking around these hallways naked,” Sam answers with a cute little tone in his voice.

“O-oh,” you mumble, flustered and still a bit confused. “And I came into this conversation how?” You wonder out loud.

Natalia cocks her head to the side, eyes dropping to your full arms. “The laundry, dear,” she says, nodding to the basket.

“Oh!” You laugh, letting out a breath. “Right." The laundry, of course. Could you be more dreadful? Honestly...

“Anyway, it’s always lovely to catch up with you ladies, but I’m afraid I have some things I need to attend to,” Sam states, his shoulder brushing against yours as he walks back to his apartment. His fingers, those same fingers he had inside you only minutes ago, come to his lips, blowing you both a flirty goodbye kiss. He winks, and you know that it’s for you.

But Natalia doesn't, twirling her hair as she says a soft goodbye. Once he’s gone behind his door, your roommate lets out a dreamy sigh. “I think I love him,” she muses, head in the clouds.

“Oh boy,” you mutter to yourself, feeling guilty. And a little annoyed. Why does she always want the guy?

She doesn’t notice your change in tone, though. And continues to daydream as she heads into your apartment. You close the door behind you and take a few deep breaths before disappearing to your room to finish what Sam had started.

Days pass by, and Natalia’s not any closer to asking out Sam. Therefore, you’re not any closer to ending things with him. Actually, you could say that your relationship has escalated.

You still don’t know what it means. Talking about your feelings is not something you and Sam do often, if at all. Perhaps you should, but that would just complicate things more. You’re comfortable with your current situation, taking it one day at a time.

Plus, it’s hard to worry when you have an attractive man standing between your legs, biting your neck like he owns you. His hands sensually rub up and down your thighs, gliding up your skirt and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your arms slide around his shoulders as you tilt your head back, giving him more access to kiss his way up your throat.

Your head bangs against his cupboard, and you can feel his smile as he chuckles against your skin. One of his hands travels upwards, gently cradling the crown of your head. “Clumsy girl,” he teases, pecking your lips softly.

“You’re the one who put me on the counter,” you mumble, situating yourself as he pulls away from you. His lips are red and raw from your little makeout session mere moments ago, and his hair is sticking up from where your fingers were tugging. He looks sexy. Like, really sexy.

“Better access,” he shrugs, and you scoff. His hands land on your thighs again, inching their way up beneath your skirt once more. You raise an eyebrow as you watch his fingers disappear beneath the soft cotton.

“We should stop,” you say, but your voice is spineless and unconvincing. It’s hard to tell Sam - and yourself - no when he touches you like that.

“Seriously?” He groans, dropping his head quickly. You jolt back as he accidentally bumps your nose. You lament and he laughs, gently cupping your face in apology.

“Sam, Nat is my best friend. And she’s really into you.” You tell him these things as if they matter. As if they’ll change what’s happening right now. You and Sam are inevitable.

“Well, I’m really into you,” he says before kissing your lips soft and slow. “Or I’d like to be." He whispers, knowing the influence his words have on you.

You groan as the pleasure mounts within you, attempting to snap your legs shut. But you can’t with Sam’s body in the way. "Fuck," you mutter.

“Look, if you want to stop, we’ll stop. I won't bother you again,” he confesses. He doesn’t sound annoyed, just frustrated. Upset. Maybe you’re being a bit of a tease. “But you need to know that I like you. I want you. Natalia is a cool chick, she’s a good friend. But that’s all she’ll ever be.” His admission is of little help. Your problem isn’t with him potentially liking Natalia. You feel guilty. You’re being a bad friend.

You sigh, looking up at him with wide, unassuming eyes that make his breath hitch. You are perfect on nearly every level. And he wants you so bad. He wishes you would stop doubting the two of you. It’s obvious you work well together. You’re supposed to be with him.

“You, on the other hand, princess, the things I want to do to you…would mortify your roommate.” He says, ticking that nerve that makes your resolve crumble. For a hot minute, you really miss the old couple who used to live next door. At least with them around, you never had a problem like this.

“Sam,” you whimper, tugging at his shirt and drawing him closer. The need between your thighs intensifies as you look up at him. He wants this. You want this. Who are you to deny yourself pleasure?

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks quietly, holding your desperate gaze with one of his own. He knows the answer. He just needs you to say it. He needs you to be vocal.

“No,” you shake your head, tugging him in to kiss you. You melt at his hungry touch, finally feeling relaxed now that you’re not fighting him. And you’re so glad you stopped because Sam is a fucking god. You would never admit that out loud. His ego is already huge. But fuck, it’s true.

Sam kisses down your neck, grazing over your sensitive spot with his wet lips. He licks a line up the side of your throat, pulling a raspy moan from your lips. You arch into him, and he takes the chance to kiss his way down your chest, swiftly undoing your bra. His hands reach for your shirt, but you’re already ahead of him, pulling the garment off to reveal your bare self to him.

“Good girl,” Sam purrs, using the opportunity to bring his hands to your tits. His lips meet yours again as he feels you up, pinching your nipple so you moan, giving him the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth.

He tastes like root beer and tobacco and it should turn you off, but it’s intoxicating. And the stench of cheap cologne and smoke penetrates your nostrils. You’re drowning in him completely. On anyone else, you’d be repulsed by these combinations. But on Sam? It works.

You miss his lips as he drags away from you, but then he slides to his knees, and your stomach ignites with yearning. The fiery look in his eyes as he peers up at you makes you quiver, and he notices, sending an arrogant smirk in your direction as your body twitches with want.

He spreads your legs further apart, situating himself perfectly to kiss up your inner thighs. You bite your lip as you watch him glaze his lips up your soft skin. He stops midway to suck a bruise into your flesh, effectively leaving his mark on you. He makes a filthy sound, nipping at the purple blemish, causing you to jump.

“Sam!” You hiss, lightly tapping his head. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his mouth twist into a smile.

He continues working his way up your right thigh before moving to the left, repeating his motions. He stamps you as his with his tongue and his teeth. And you know that no one else will ever see these intimate parts of you, but it’s still hot to think that if anyone did, they’d see Sam’s handiwork and know that you’re already spoken for.

“You still with me, princess?” He questions as you seem to daze off, but before you can answer him, you feel his fingers toying with the band on your panties. You fall silent again, closing your eyes to focus on each sensation, the feeling of him tugging your underwear down, the way his fingers graze over your dripping folds, his hot breath clashing into your core.

“Please,” you gasp, jutting your hips upwards.

“Please what, dollface?” He mocks, pressing a hot kiss to your needy pussy. Your toes curl instantly, blindly feeling for his head or hands or anything to grab onto before you dissolve onto his counter. “Is this what you want?” He quizzes before gliding his tongue up your slit.

You nod, letting out a sharp breath when he does it again. He mumbles something under his breath, but you can’t hear him. And you don’t care, not when you feel his warm tongue descent inside you.

“Yes, Sam, more,” you mewl, your hand shooting up to grab the cabinet above your head. Your fingers grip the underside of the base, knuckles turning white from the pressure, and hand cramping. You can’t help it, though.

Your other hand rests atop Sam’s messy hair, lightly brushing your fingers through with each flick of his tongue against your walls. Obscene whimpers tumble from your pretty lips as he delves his tongue deeper into you, eating you out like no one ever has. Seriously. You’ve never ever felt things like this before.

With a strangled cry, you grind yourself against his face, silently begging him for more, which he happily gives you. His palms wrap around your thighs, pulling your cunt into his face. He laps at you quickly, circling your swollen clit with his skillful tongue.

He’s so good, so sensual. You can barely take it. You squeeze your thighs around his head, the pleasure building in your abdomen ready to release.

“S-Sam,” you moan, but it comes out like a whine, and the sound goes straight to his hard dick. “I can’t,” you cry out as spots appear behind your eyelids.

But Sam doesn’t stop, sucking your clit into his mouth and pressing his long, lanky fingers into your pussy. Your hands fist his hair, tugging on the long strands as your climax approaches. You can feel it in your toes. That heat in your stomach burns like fire.

Sam plunges his fingers in and out of you. And the force mixed with the talented flicks of his tongue have you cumming hard with a repeated groan of his name. You feel like you're floating as he works you through your orgasm. No one’s ever made you cum that hard.

As he stands, you watch in a lust-induced haze as he licks his lips, gathering every last bit of you he can reach. His hand wipes over his chin and he smiles down at you, impressed. “That was hot,” he mutters.

You don’t have anything to say as he undoes his jeans, shoving them down and pulling his cock out. Your eyes fall to his hand wrapped around his length, slowly stroking himself with your slick. On instinct, you spread your legs, welcoming him in between. Sam smirks at your blissed out expression and settles himself over you.

“So eager now,” he chuckles, dragging the tip of his cock through your drenched folds. “Guess I know how to stop your rambling,” he teases, softly pushing into you before quickly pulling out. Bastard.

“God, Sam, just fuck me,” you plead, throwing any reservations you had to the wind. You’re tired of denying yourself the simple pleasures of life. And Sam Drake is definitely a pleasure. “Please, just…I need you,” you mewl.

“Need?” He tsks, placing his hands on the countertop. “Good. I want you to need me,” his voice lowers. “I want you to need me until you can’t fucking take it anymore. And I want you to beg. I want you to beg for me, for my cock, tell me how much you fucking need it.”

“I--” You start to speak, but Sam cuts you off by slamming himself into you, knocking the words from your head and the breath from your lungs. Instead, all of your thoughts come out as high-pitched mumbles and cries. This is how you can tell him you need him.

Still sneering, Sam moves his hips hard and fast, rough and frantic. The sound of his skin slapping against yours bounces off the tile walls, ringing right back to you. His hands scratch the counter, gripping tight as he pounds into your tight pussy. The feeling of you around him is sensational, and he’s happy to let you know it. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” he grunts, his mind already fuzzy with devotion.

“Faster, Sam, fuck me faster,” you beg, wrapping your legs around him tight. You dig your heels into his back and pull him deeper into you, tossing your head back as he fills you to the brink. You grab his shoulders, clawing at his tensed muscles, which seems to set him off, judging by the way he groans and kisses your lips. Hard.

“You look so good getting fucked,” he purrs, biting at your lower lip. His hands move to grab you by the hips, yanking you harder onto his cock. “Knew it from the day I met you. Imagined what you’d look like beneath me, the faces you’d make with my dick buried in you.”

His words make you tingle. The fact that he’s thought about you in such a way for so long is flattering. And kind of obvious. “Yes, yeah,” you moan, acknowledging his confession. “Oh, god, Sam, feel so good,” you whimper.

“That’s it, princess,” he groans in response. “Take it, fuck, take my cock.” He drops his face into your shoulder, trying to keep himself composed, but it’s nearly impossible. He’s about to come undone. But so are you.

“Sam, I’m gonna cum,” you cry out in warning. He’s so deep inside of you, you can’t take it anymore. And you’re still sensitive from what his tongue did to you. God, you feel so bad for Natalia. But you feel so good right now.

“Again,” Sam teases, his breath hot on your neck as he laughs. “You’re gonna cum again. Do it, baby, cover me in your juices,” he encourages you, bringing his hand to where your sweaty bodies meet. He rubs your clit in time with his thrusts until you're trembling.

“Fuck, right there,” you gasp, and your body, following Sam’s orders, convulses as you cum for the second time, creaming on his cock like he wanted. Exhaustion hits you almost immediately with the aftershocks still pulsing through your veins.

Sam smiles at your sweaty face, the hair stuck to your skin, your lidded eyes, the way your teeth scrape over your lip. You’re out of breath, fucked right. But Sam’s not done.

He keeps fucking you, listening to the way your velvety walls squelch around him. You look so fucking pretty like this. A dream come true. He’s wanted you since the day he met you. And now that he has you, he never wants to let you go. He’ll talk to your roommate if you want. He just needs you.

“Cum inside me, Sam,” you mewl as your body shakes in the aftermath of your climax. His dick brushes that spot inside of you, and you flutter around him in a delicious way that spurs him on. “Please, please,” you gasp, craving the feeling of him filling you with his cum.

“Sweet girl,” he hums, holding your warm cheek in his palm. “So desperate for my cum, so desperate to have it inside of you, huh?” He coos, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. "You want me to make you mine, don't you?"

“Yes, Sam,” you hum, “make me feel it. Make me yours.”

“Fucking filthy,” he murmurs, snapping his hips a few more times before unloading deep inside you. The warmth that seeps into you sets your nerves ablaze. He slows down, your pussy milking his cock until he’s done.

Once he regains his breath, he slips out of you, and you wince, sliding off his counter. That’s definitely going to need to be cleaned, you think. And as you look down at your shaking legs and the mess between them, you’ll need to be cleaned, too.

“So,” you cough, catching Sam’s attention. He smiles and wraps his arms around your waist, his pants still around his ankles. Well, this is new. But you like how close he feels to you.

“So?” He repeats, waiting for you to say more.

“What now?” You ask quietly, nervously. Now that Sam’s fucked you, will he get bored? Will he move on? Will he make a move on your roommate?

“Now… Now we shower and I make you dinner. And you stay the night. And we do it again,” he laughs, kissing your cheek sweetly. “I never wanna let you go,” he sighs, squeezing you tightly against him.

“Really?” Your surprise must show in your voice because he drops his arms and turns you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he answers with a grin, tilting your chin with his fingertips. “If you’ll have me?”

A smile spreads across your face. Of course, you’ll have him. Just…one thing, first. “I’d love that. Just pull your pants up.”

Masterlist

Sam Drake Taglist: @julesclues - @tiredbeebo

#sam drake #sam drake x reader #samuel drake #samuel drake x reader #sam drake fanfiction #uncharted fanfiction

115 notes · View notes

allofthelights11 · 2 months

Text

A surprise Panville one-shot, just in time for Valentine's Day? Yes, plz

“Ready?”

Neville’s outstretched hand clasps hers securely, alleviating any lingering nervousness she might feel. The folding door to the Knight Bus opens, squeaking precipitously on magical hinges, and the slightly-deranged grin of the conductor welcomes them aboard.

They have no luggage. Not everyone does, of course. Plenty of Knight Bus passengers use it for short-distance travel. Pansy hadn’t known what to expect from this little venture, but the lack of luggage does tell her something.

Neville’s strong grip helps her effortlessly up the three steps, before turning over an egregious amount of money to the conductor. Not that the Knight Bus is costly, but given that they have no luggage, it is peculiar. Not enough for the conductor to notice, however. The Knight Bus is full of oddities and unexpected characters along for unplanned journeys.

Neville tugs her confidently along to an open seat just past the second set of doors halfway down. One seat. Singular. Pansy hesitates, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that she usually pays a lot of money to have makeup achieve on her behalf.

Neville had given her a few instructions for the evening: no luggage necessary (Pansy would have been more surprised if it had been; she and Neville have not, so far, had the kind of relationship that encompasses weekend getaways), skirt required. The heels he likes best, the ones with the delicate strap around the ankle and the extra height, which have the added benefit of elevating her knees when she sits.

And sits, she must. Neville lands first, with a casual elegance Pansy wishes she was capable of. She pretends admirably though, knowing her mum would be proud (so long as she had no idea what Pansy was truly doing here tonight). His long legs tuck to occupy a respectable amount of space, knees nevertheless slightly ajar. Hands pull Pansy down on top of him, strength in long fingers wrapping around her waist. It never fails to make her hot, not unlike his confident directions of where to be, when, and what to wear.

The other passengers pay them no particular mind. The Knight Bus is always a mysterious mix of necessity, optimism, and derelict desperation. Pansy isn’t sure which one they are; or which one she is, as she and Neville might fall on totally different scales here.

One thing can always be counted upon: the other passengers, hapless or otherwise, are well-distracted with their own problems or with the problems the Knight Bus presents simply by its nature. Neville hopes to exploit these, Pansy knows. And while she’d never have suggested it (or thought of it, for that matter), she’s extremely eager to see what Neville has in mind.

But she hasn’t asked him. Inquiring in advance takes the fun away, for both of them. Pansy’s learned this over their weeks together, and her naturally curious mind has found new delights in speculating wildly on her own. Whatever she can envision, Neville exceeds it. Every time. It’s become an internal game of sorts, of a metric or a scale - one Pansy can’t wait to explore. How far will he go? How far will she?

Heels. Skirt. No knickers. No bags. She never needs a handbag, anyway. Not with Neville. He always takes care of everything, and this provides an extra level of want deep inside Pansy. She needs nothing, nothing at all. Neville is all she needs.

He likes it when she slowly presses her hips down and low, rolling into him so slow no one could notice. She may not know for certain what he has in mind tonight, but she can hazard an educated guess or two. His fingers rest lightly on her hips but she knows the power that lies dormant there. He can put her anywhere he wants her.

She’d have never seen herself here. Not in a thousand years. Ten years after they’d all left Hogwarts, and here she is, sitting on Neville Longbottom’s lap in full public and subtly searching for a particular seating arrangement. While they share a single seat on the crowded and chaotic Knight Bus, Pansy alone is in search of something specific.

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #smut #panville #neville longbottom #pansy parkinson #spicy content #fluff and smut #one shot #knight bus

3 notes · View notes

cebwrites · 2 years

Text

shopping date w/ their girlfriend (kiku, ikkaku)

for my wlws out there following this page, all three of you *bumps chest*

fem reader, fluff word count: 0.7k

Kiku

Her natural instinct is to spoil you, so the easiest way to convince Kiku to treat herself every once in a while is to make a day out of it

Say that you’re looking to get something nice for yourself and then sneak in little things for her, too

“But Kiku-chaaan, wouldn’t it be so cute if we got a matching pair?” gets her every time

You’d still be walking away with a fair amount of stuff, though, Kiku-chan has methods of getting her way too (batting her cute little eyelashes and carrying you up to her height so the puppy eyes are SUUUPER effective)

Kiku can be a bit naïve when it comes to shopkeepers spinning wild yarns about how beautiful - ethereal a lady would look in their wares, how a woman simply mustn’t go without [insert whatever cheap product they try to peddle to your poor lovestruck lady]

You can immediately see the stars in her eyes when she looks at you for affirmation, specifically to ask permission to buy it for you, and you have to pull her away before the money you were looking to spend on lunch gets swindled out of her pockets

Kiku only ever means well, but she can get a little tunnel visioned when it comes to matters regarding to you and your happiness...

And really, could you actually be mad at her for caring that much?

Shopping dates - dates with Kiku in general - were ended by sharing dango and wagashi outside of Tsuru’s tea shop, the older lady sneakily listening in on your lovey-dovey conversations every now and again for the tea like the gossipy aunt that she was, but in the end would sigh wistfully and leaving you two lovebirds to your own devices

Kiku would pull you into her lap, arms around your waist for ‘support’, and you’d feed her in return, occasionally wiping sauce from the corner of each other’s mouths, sharing chaste kisses that still sent fire to both of your faces even though you had been an item for quite some time now

It was all incredibly sappy and saccharine couldn’t even begin to cover it, but the two of you were happy with these arrangements, and neither would have it any other way

Ikkaku

She kind of has a bad habit of letting stuff wear through, so shopping trips every few months or so are a must

“If you wanted to go on a date, mi amorcito, you just had to ask~”

Ikkaku would tease you and pull you into her side every time you pouted, pecking kisses all over your face until her captain cleared their throat and sent a very dry look towards the two of you in the middle of the meeting he’d called

Frankly you thought it hypocritical considering how Law acted around one such ‘Denki-ya’, but you weren’t so bold to actually mention it to your captain - that would obviously be your beloved (through gritted teeth) girlfriend

After the two of you were done with a week’s worth of extra cleanup duty for Ikkaku’s little stunt, she’d take you out for a grand night on the town

Smoothies in the late afternoon to start off, you hassling her into at least a handful of dressing rooms in an attempt to get her some new clothes to replace the tatty, worn out ones that always lined the back of her work chair, then Ikkaku staring at you with the biggest hearts in her eyes when you pose and twirl for her with the clothes you pick for yourself

From there a walk downtown before Ikkaku inevitably drags you off into a park or the town square where she embarrassingly dances with you like no one’s watching, shopping bags and all,

And finally, a wonderful dinner after dropping off the day’s “catch” with Shachi so the two of you can spend the rest of your night unbothered

When you get back to the ship, everyone is conveniently out of the way and there are no chores to be done, either - Ikkaku washes your hair with your back against her in the tub of the Tang’s communal bathroom, cooing soft compliments about how cute you are and how lucky she is to have you

The two of you climb into bed to sleep like snuggly logs, albeit after you find her sneaking a late night snack an hour after going to bed, until sunrise

70 notes · View notes

monty-glasses-roxy · 1 year

Text

Remember all those posts about Roxy having programming conflicts between her animal based programming and the character they wanted to portray for advertising purposes? Well guess who else has big trouble with this!

That’s right! It’s Chica!

She is programmed to be kind and caring, fun loving and energetic. She is the sunshine and the rainbows, the girl power and the glitter. She’s the nail varnish and the sleepovers, she’s the stickers and dance parties. She loves food and is an expert in yoga, safe exercising and she’s everyone’s cheerleader. She’s a joy to be around and everyone is involved when she’s around. She cheers people up and she brings them into the fun. She’s excitable and will sing at the drop of a hat, she loves musicals and romcoms and harmless gossip. She’s a natural when it comes to reading emotions and giving the best response she can, and offers affection in every which way she can in spades. She’s understanding, and compassionate, always willing to help someone out in need. She’s great a quiet times, and will sit for hours with younger kids to play with their favourite toys if they want to. She’s maybe not the brightest bulb in the box, but she’s intelligent in her own way, with feelings and her favourite subjects. Maybe a little bit of a ditz and maybe a little bit clumsy at times but she’s so loveable! No one minds when she makes a tiny mistake and she always cleans up after those. She’s quick to apologise and even quicker to stand up to bullies.

She’s your typical, happy girl character!

But she’s also a chicken.

She caws at danger, and loves the water and the heights. She plays with people’s hair all the time and has a limited sense of boundaries. She has to be a part of the group, a part of the flock and everyone in the flock has their place in the pecking order. She needs to keep the order here since no one else is going to do it. The weird kids need to know they’re weird and the cool kids need to know they’re cool. Everyone has their worth and everyone needs to know what that is. She’s in charge of this coop whether they like it or not. She’s protective of those under her care and a total gossip. She loves to sing early in the morning and isn’t much of a night timer. She’s not physically affectionate to anyone but her close friends, and has a special bird call for those extra special to her. She takes on those that threaten her with absolutely no hesitation. Keeping her feathers – or I guess the animatronic equivalent – is an absolute must, and she’s an avid rule breaker. She’s a creature of habit and routine. There’s a set time for everything and she knows where she and everyone else is supposed to be at all times. It can get a little irritating when people like Roxy and Monty actively stray from their set schedule and she’s the one most likely to passive aggressively mention it, not like either of them care. She favours the daycare and adores spending time with the younger kids since she gets to mother bird them a bit. Can and will cock-a-doodle-doo at the start of the day every single day loud enough to wake the dead. She’s clever and an expert in noticing patterns. She’s a quick learner and a great teacher.

So what’s the problems here? Well.

She is kind and caring, but mean and hurtful. She is the poster child for exercising safely as she jumps head first into the jaws of the robotic gators in Gator Golf to go swimming. She has a chicken language processor to conflict with her human one, though less so since both are very vocal. She’s encourages independence but is overprotective as hell. She’s uplifting but degrades those beneath her. She wouldn’t hurt a fly but is the only animatronic 100% capable of killing you. She’s excited to meet all sorts of new people but her established friendship group comes first and foremost. She treats everyone with kindness and fun but the regulars get special treatment. She’s motivated by the thrill of achievement but is incredibly food motivated. She’s understanding and helpful but judgemental with a habit of subtle sabotage.

She’s in a constant back and forth of being mean and being kind, encouraging and discouraging. How much is too much? Was that too mean? Bullies? They’re not bullies! They would never! Her? Mean? She could never be! She’s the nicest one here!

… Right?

As with Roxy, she needs to find a middle ground to figure out who she really is under all this nonsense. That’s just easier said than done.

#glamrock chica #fnaf security breach #voila #enjoy your chica post #/chill

14 notes · View notes

maybeimamuppet · 1 year

Text

once upon a time

hello everyone!! long time no see lol oopsies

i hope you’re having an amazing week!!

this one is a bit different from what i’ve done so far so i hope you all enjoy it!! this one has more to do with mrs phelps bc i think her relationship with matilda is criminally underrated and underexplored :)

tw for

child abuse/neglect

and please let me know if i missed anything so i can add it in :D

enjoy!!

��————

Matilda met one of the most influential people in her life when she was just two years old.

Her brother went off to school and her father went to work like they did every day. Her mother went off to her salsa and ballroom dancing class like she did every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Tuesdays and Thursdays are for bingo and bridge.

Matilda gets herself dressed and brushes the few teeth she’s started growing. Makes herself breakfast and brushes her hair. And she looks out the window.

She’s taken to doing this a lot. Watching the other young children play outside with their mothers and fathers and wondering why her own won’t do that with her.

Today, all the children drag their parents down the sidewalk, chattering and skipping excitedly, trying to get their parents to go faster. Matilda opens the curtains a little further, trying to see what they’re rushing towards. She can’t see.

She slips off the sofa she was perched on and heads to the door. She has to stand on her tiptoes to open the door, but she manages after her chubby hand slips off the doorknob a few times.

Matilda toddles her way down the sidewalk and sees all the neighborhood children surrounding a bus. Her neighbor, Mrs. Phillips, told her to mind strange vans, but for some reason this one seems to be okay for all the parents and children.

Her mother says she’s not to be seen by anyone else in the neighborhood, so Matilda hides behind a nearby shrub and waits for the crowd to clear. It seems to take hours, but one by one, the children and their families clear out. Matilda emerges from her bush and makes her way to the bus.

The steps up to it are nearly as tall as her, so she has to lean over each and kick her legs to make it up. She pants for breath as she climbs up the last one and looks around to see where she’s found herself.

A kind looking lady with a very strange hat pops out from behind a shelf. She yelps a bit at seeing Matilda standing there, and blinks at her in confusion. “Hello there, sweetheart, what’s your name?”

The lady has a very intriguing accent. Matilda steps closer, looks up at her, and says, “I’m Matiwda.” She grimaces. She’s not Matiwda. But her mouth doesn’t always move the way she tells it to. She tries again, making extra sure to annunciate every syllable. “Ma-til-da.”

“Very nice to meet you, Matilda. I’m Mrs. Phelps,” the lady says. “How old are you?”

“Two,” Matilda responds. Thank goodness she learned how to read the calendar. Her parents forgot her birthday this year.

“Are your parents here? Where are they?” Mrs. Phelps asks. Her voice has suddenly got much higher. Matilda doesn’t care for that. She never understood why people don’t talk to babies normally. Not that she’s a baby, of course.

“Out,” Matilda says.

“Outside?” Mrs. Phelps asks, trying to look for them out the windows. Matilda shrugs. Probably not, but she can’t say where her parents are for certain.

Matilda looks around at all the things on the shelves. She grabs one from her height and holds it aloft between her little hands. “What’s dis? This?”

“That’s a book, you must have seen one before,” Mrs. Phelps explains. She gently takes it from Matilda and shows her how to open it. “See these words? Someday you’ll be able to read them.”

Matilda holds it close and looks over the cover. To her, they just look like squiggles. She squints up at the woman. “Read?”

“Yeah, you know. All the letters have sounds that make words. Like speaking, only… in print.”

Matilda squints at her again in disbelief. Mrs. Phelps sighs and gently takes it from her.

“Let’s start smaller, shall we? Let’s try… this one,” she says. She grabs a colorful one off a lower shelf about Matilda’s height. “Come.”

Matilda hesitates, but sits on the dusty carpet next to Mrs. Phelps. The kind woman puts an arm around her and opens the book, beginning to read aloud.

“This is A, and A says aah, ahh, and ay. A begins apple, avocado, and airplane.” Matilda looks as she points out all those things in the picture on the page. Mrs. Phelps lets her look all she wants before she turns the page. “This is B, and B says buh. B begins ball, book, and baby.”

Matilda looks up at Mrs. Phelps this time. The woman who introduced her to the most amazing thing.

She stays there until Mrs. Phelps finishes the book, and then stands up. Her mother will be home from dance soon. Matilda is sad. She found herself in such a wondrous world here, she doesn’t ever want to leave.

Mrs. Phelps notices her sad face and crouches down to Matilda’s eye level. “Do you know what a library is?” Matilda shakes her head. Mrs. Phelps stands and spins with her arms out to her sides. “This is a library. I own it. And I’ll tell you what. Since you and the other children here love my stories so much, I’ll be on this corner every Friday afternoon. Okay? You can come whenever you’d like.”

“Really?” Matilda asks eagerly. Mrs. Phelps nods.

“And… if you’d like, you can get a card to take books home. You can keep this until next week,” Mrs. Phelps continues.

“Keep it?” Matilda asks, looking up at her. The woman nods again.

“You’ll need to take good care of it. Make sure it doesn’t get dirty or wet, and none of the pages get torn. And you’ll need to bring it back next Friday. But in the meantime, it’s yours.”

Matilda eagerly gives her her name and address to sign up for her library card and proudly toddles back home with her brand new book. She hides it beneath the mattress of her bed so her parents won’t see. They’d most definitely ruin it.

She goes to sleep that night with a smile on her face.

—————

By Mrs. Phelps’ next visit, Matilda had memorized the book. She knew all the sounds the letters made. She tried to show her mother what she had learned, but she got shoved aside with a cold, immaculately manicured hand. Maybe some other time.

Matilda spent the next week poring over every magazine she could get her hands on. She can sound out the words, but she still struggles a little with understanding what they mean. Especially the ones in the nudie magazines hidden beneath her father’s side of the bed.

But Mrs. Phelps is true to her word. Every Friday, she’s at the end of the block. Matilda moves on to bigger and bigger books as she herself gets bigger and bigger. Dr. Seuss books, Bartholomew Bear, Winnie the Pooh, Todd Parr, Junie B. Jones, The Magic Tree House. Anything she can. She takes bigger stacks home with her every week.

—-

By the time she turns three, Matilda has read all the children’s books Mrs. Phelps has available. “Goodness, Matilda, you can’t have finished all of those. Don’t you want to keep some for another week?”

“I finished them all. Have you got anything new?”

“Not for children, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Phelps says apologetically.

“What about… for grownups?” Matilda asks, heading to the young adult shelves and browsing.

“Matilda, I think those might be a bit difficult for you,” Mrs. Phelps says, running after her. Matilda just turns around. The bus isn’t that big.

“Can’t I just give one a try? Pleeeease?”

Mrs. Phelps looks hesitant, but she does pull one down off a shelf and hold it. “I think your parents will be happier if you stick to children’s books for a while, Matilda.”

“Oh, they don’t mind,” Matilda says honestly.

“They must be so proud of you, reading all you do,” Mrs. Phelps says as she scans the shelves for others. “Are they in today? I’d love to meet them.”

“Oh, no, Dad’s working and Mum’s at her dance classes all day,” Matilda says. She doesn’t mention the other thing.

Mrs. Phelps hums in disappointment. “Well, maybe some other day.”

Not if I’ve got anything to say about it, Matilda thinks to herself. Mrs. Phelps hands her a couple books to try, and Matilda takes off before she can ask any more questions. “Thank you! See you next week!”

—————

Matilda starts to linger in the bus longer that year. There’s no sense rushing back home just to read the same books she could read here. Mrs. Phelps seems glad for her company. She certainly talks enough for it.

Matilda likes her stories. And she’s learned enough from her parents to know how to tune out things she doesn’t necessarily want to listen to. Mrs. Phelps also makes delicious lemonade.

Matilda starts hunting the bus down on its stops every day, too. She comes by in the morning, picks a book, and reads it in the corner for the morning. Some of the grown ups scowl at the unattended child in the corner. Matilda doesn’t understand that. It’s not like it’s her fault her parents won’t come along, try as she might to get them to.

For the afternoons, she helps Mrs. Phelps sort new arrivals and choose books for people who come by. Mrs. Phelps says it’s nice having such an expert around to recommend books. Sometimes they just chat and have lemonade, and other times Matilda helps tidy up.

In the late afternoons, Matilda takes her selection of books up to the roof of the bus and reads in the light of the setting sun. Mrs. Phelps lets her stay until packing up time is done, and then Matilda walks her stack of books home.

And the cycle begins again the next day.

—————

Matilda feels bad lying to Mrs. Phelps so much.

But in her defense, the woman makes it really easy. Your parents must love having a child like you. They must miss you so much when you’re here. They must be such lovely people to be bringing up a child like you. They must be so proud.

Matilda just has to nod and smile, and change the subject as quickly as possible.

Sometimes she thinks about telling the truth.

But that would only upset the woman. There’s no sense in doing that unnecessarily. Matilda can handle herself and her situation perfectly fine.

—————

Matilda goes barreling to the library one day in November, when she’s five years old. She has urgent news for the most important person in her life. “Mrs. Phelps! Mrs. Phelps!”

“Heavens, Matilda, what’s the matter?”

“Guess what?!” Matilda yells eagerly. Mrs. Phelps winces and puts a finger to her ear. Matilda quiets herself a bit. No yelling in the library. “I’m going to school!”

“You are?! Oh, Matilda, that’s wonderful! Your parents decided to stop homeschooling you?”

Matilda nods and forces a smile. “I’m a bit nervous, though. I’ve heard my headmistress is really mean.”

“If ever a child can handle a mean old bat, it’s you, dear,” Mrs. Phelps says as she pours their daily lemonade.

“Are you terribly busy after closing time today?” Matilda asks quietly, sipping a gulp of her glass through her straw. Mrs. Phelps ponders this and shakes her head gently.

“No more than usual. Why?”

Matilda fidgets a bit with the hem of her dress. “I, er- my parents, that is, were wondering if you might take me to get my uniform. I’ve got the money for it, but… they’re… busy. Too busy to go before the first day.”

Mrs. Phelps hums and takes a sip of her own. “Of course I will. You’ve told them where you’ll be?”

Matilda nods. She hasn’t, but it doesn’t make any difference either way.

“I’ll do it in exchange for one of your wonderful stories.”

“Deal,” Matilda beams.

————-

Matilda is almost sad to be beginning school. She’s stuck there all day instead of getting to spend time with Mrs. Phelps. She has to wait until dismissal to see her and get new books.

Or so she thinks.

Matilda leaves about an hour and a half earlier than she needs to. Her parents are always at their worst in the mornings. Always shouting at each other and rushing about to get where they need to be in time. Matilda hates it.

She’s standing outside, peering in through the rusty gates at her new, huge, ominous school building.

Matilda was expecting a huge building, but she wasn’t expecting it to look so… old. And dingy. She was expecting lots of children and play equipment and color.

There’s none of that. It looks more like a prison. But school is school, so Matilda is excited.

She hears a familiar rumbling behind her and whirls around in surprise. “Hello Mrs. Phelps!”

“Matilda? School doesn’t start for another hour yet, does it?”

“Oh. I’m early. Because of…” she needs a lie, quick. “Excitement.”

She continues, spouting off everything she can think of that a normal child might be excited for about school. Mrs. Phelps eventually beckons her inside just to shut her up. Matilda complies eagerly.

Mrs. Phelps listens eagerly to her latest story as she helps Matilda do her tie properly. Matilda did her best on her own, but it’s hard doing it from a book. Especially a book she read two years ago.

Matilda rushes out when the school bell rings and goes barreling towards school. “Have a great first day!”

“I will!” Matilda yells back. She waves and rushes in.

And oh, the day she has.

—————-

Matilda had always known she was a bit… unusual. She knew she was a bit more advanced than some of the other children in the neighborhood. She didn’t quite realize how much until she saw the look on her teacher’s face when she listed off all the books she’d read that week.

Miss Honey left in a hurry, leaving the students to their workbooks. Matilda feels a bit of a sinking in her gut when she explains she’s off to have a quick chat with the headmistress. One day in and Matilda’s already causing trouble. Maybe her parents are right about her.

Miss Honey looks a bit shaken when she comes back, and she dismisses them to recess quite quickly. Matilda hesitates a bit before letting Lavender drag her outside. Part of her wants to apologize, but Mrs. Phelps always says she should never feel the need to apologize for being who she is.

—————

“Do you want to hear about my first day at school?!”

“Of course I do! Tell me all about it,” Mrs. Phelps says, beckoning her into the bus. Matilda rushes in and tells her all about the wonderful things she learned and her new friends and how amazing her teacher is and everything she can think of. This time, the eagerness comes naturally. She doesn’t have to lie about a single thing.

Mrs. Phelps smiles seeing her so happy. Matilda smiles back.

——

The terror of The Trunchbull quickly reveals itself. Matilda finds herself wondering if she really did turn a child inside out and throw poor Julius out the window.

Matilda has to work quickly to save poor Nigel from the Chokey. Years of experience lying through her teeth to her parents and Mrs. Phelps gives her enough confidence to make up a good story for The Trunchbull.

She can’t do anything to save poor Amanda, but luckily, everything turns out okay for her.

——

“Mrs. Phelps, look!” Matilda says after her second day. “Miss Honey’s letting me do sixth grade work, look! Algebra, history, geography!”

“Oh, how wonderful! You’re certainly bright enough for it. How are things going?”

Matilda tells her all about it, including the next bit of her latest story. This one hasn’t come to her all at once. It comes in… bursts. Fizzes. Like there’s something in the universe doling it out to her in bits. Something that doesn’t want her to know the ending just yet.

“Where is this coming from, Matilda?” Mrs. Phelps asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this story has taken a rather dark turn,” Mrs. Phelps says.

Matilda frowns. She thought she was enjoying it. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you anymore.”

“No! Nonono,” Mrs. Phelps insists immediately. “I just mean… is… is everything alright? Has something happened at home?”

“No, everything’s fine. I’d better go. My… mum’s waiting for me. She hates being away from me. She says every minute is like an eternity, so…” Matilda trails off before she grabs her bag and goes running into the woods towards home.

“I’m by the windmill tomorrow!” Mrs. Phelps yells after her.

“Okay, I’ll find you!” Matilda yells back. She always does, and she always will.

—————

Matilda has just enough audacity in her that night to question her parents.

And she pays the ultimate price for it.

Everything in her is screaming at her feet, her legs, her arms, to move and stop her father ripping the library book apart.

But she doesn’t. She can’t.

She stands frozen and watches in horror as the pages fall to the ground. Falls to her knees to gather them and runs up to her room.

All she can think of as she superglues the book back together as best she can, is Mrs. Phelps’ famous saying. Two wrongs don’t make a right.

But Mrs. Phelps also always tells her to be who she is.

And sometimes, Matilda is a little bit naughty.

How she wishes she could tell Mrs. Phelps about how she glued her father’s hat to his head. But that would only get her a lecture.

——————

In December, Matilda thinks her worst nightmare is about to come true.

She comes home to a delighted mother, for what’s possibly the first time in her life. “Oh, it’s just like winning the lottery!”

“Me?” Matilda asks sheepishly.

“Ew, no, you’re like eating someone else’s bogies.”

Matilda looks down, not hearing what her parents say next. Until her mother says, “It’s the books, Harry, and the stories.”

“Books and stories, is it?” her father huffs. “You know what I’m gonna do tomorrow?”

Matilda shakes her head, desperately clutching her books to her chest. Clutching them like they’re Mrs. Phelps herself. Like if she holds them hard enough the hero from one of their stories will come save her.

But all that happens is her father yelling, “I’m gonna go down to that library and tell that old bag to never let you in again!”

“No!” Matilda protests immediately. “No, please!”

She doesn’t hear anything else her father says before he grabs her by the collar of her blazer and drags her up the flights of stairs to her bedroom. He tosses her unceremoniously to the ground and slams the door after him.

Matilda starts to cry. Reaches out a hand and gently runs a finger over the plastic-covered spines of her books.

Maybe heroes and saviors are only a storybook thing.

—————

The Trunch continues to be a terror.

Matilda continues to fight back.

Mrs. Phelps continues to be a haven.

But in February, everything

crashes

down.

Matilda’s riding high, coming home from tea with Miss Honey. She doesn’t mind the rain beating down against her as she runs home.

Her parents are yelling again.

There’s boxes everywhere.

“What’s going on?”

“Pack your things. We’re moving to Spain,” her father spits in her general direction.

“Spain? But why?”

“Because this idiot, this twit, this shit-for-brains, sold a load of old bangers to the bleeding mafia!” her mother hollers. Uh oh.

Mrs. Phelps is the first person in her mind. The first out of her mouth. “But-but what about Mrs. Phelps?! Lavender, Nigel, Amanda? What about Miss Honey?!”

“Forget ‘em! You’re never gonna see ‘em again!” her father yells.

Matilda bursts into tears and runs up to her bedroom.

The next part of the story arrives.

Matilda can’t bring herself to look at the crinkled, wrinkled rubbish bin in the corner. That’s a problem for another day.

—————

Her walk to school the next morning is a solemn one. She sticks the shoddily repaired book through the bus’ door handle with a short note.

Maybe not all stories have happy endings.

There’s so much more she wants to say. But for once, the words don’t come to her. Not even a proper thank you for all Mrs. Phelps has done for her.

All it does is fuel her. Make her angrier.

———-

As it turns out, that’s quite useful.

Matilda, with the help of her newfound telekinesis and the other students, run The Trunchbull out of town for good. At least she got to do something nice for Miss Honey.

Her father’s work truck comes rumbling up the dirt road. Matilda almost thinks it’s Mrs. Phelps. The red of the pickup is so disappointing.

Matilda says her goodbyes and prepares to climb into the back. Hopefully she picks up Spanish and finds a new library quick.

She allows herself to hope for the first time in months when Miss Honey begs Matilda’s parents to let her stay.

Her dad, for whatever reason, agrees. With a handshake and hat removal, he screeches off. Hopefully never to be seen again.

Matilda leans the true definition of home that night. Sleeping in that tiny, tiny shed Miss Honey calls a house.

She’s happy.

Miss Honey adopts her just after her sixth birthday.

They both start spending quite a lot of time with Mrs. Phelps. Matilda suspects something is going on between the grownups that she’s not meant to know about. Curiosity burns within her, but she doesn’t ask. She trusts Miss Honey to tell her. And her own mind to figure out what’s going on before she gets the chance to.

Mrs. Phelps comes over for dinner about a month after they move back into Miss Honey’s father’s old house. They’ve spent ages fixing it up after all the damage The Trunchbull did to it. It’s starting to look nice.

Matilda eagerly chatters about what she’s learning in her new advanced classes over their meal, and heads upstairs happy and with a full belly to wash up and go to bed.

She hears raised voices coming from downstairs after Miss Honey comes to kiss her goodnight. Something she hasn’t heard in months.

She slips out of bed and pads her way to the top of the stairs as silently as she can. The floorboards creak a bit beneath her feet, but not loudly enough to be noticed. She hopes.

Miss Honey and Mrs. Phelps are in the kitchen, standing in the light of the chandelier. They’re… yelling at each other. Matilda sits and watches.

“How could you not have known?!” Miss Honey pleads desperately. “Not have seen anything, not have noticed?!”

“I had my suspicions, but you know how clever she is! She-she told me she was alright! Every time I asked, she told me she was okay!”

“Couldn’t you see she was lying?! How could you not see her clothes never fit and her hair was never brushed?! How dirty she was, how many bruises she had?!”

“What was I meant to do?! Ask her if she was being abused?!”

“Yes!” Miss Honey bellows. “Yes! You should’ve seen through her stories! You-you should’ve called someone! Should’ve… should’ve saved her.”

“I wasn’t the one who was meant to save her, Jen,” Mrs. Phelps says. “You were.”

Miss Honey dissolves into tears at that point. Mrs. Phelps pulls her into a tight hug and lets her cry into her shoulder. Matilda stands and runs back to bed.

Mrs. Phelps is still there for breakfast the next morning. Matilda smiles. She’s starting to put the pieces together now.

Mrs. Phelps comes over a lot more after that.

None of them really know what the future will bring.

But Matilda knows one thing.

They’ll all live happily ever after.

—————

thanks for reading!!

i just wanted to give a bit of clarity as to why this took so long (feel free to skip this if you’re not interested lol. but it is important!!)

if you follow me here you may be aware that some of my fics for my other fandom had been stolen by someone on ao3 with the handle of wlwsharks. so i just wanted to say, if you’ve ever thought of plagiarizing someone: don’t!!

it was a silly thing looking back but it was still absolutely devastating to see and have to sort out. every fic i write takes so much of my heart and so so so much energy. i’m disabled, which in and of itself makes all of my fics take much longer to write. this incident only made it longer because i was having panic attacks every time i even thought about posting anything else. it had been doing on for six months and i would never have known if i hadn’t received a comment giving me a heads up.

seeing someone else get (in most cases, more) love and enjoyment out of something they simply copy and pasted than i did for something i spent up to a few months devoting myself to was absolutely beyond gut wrenching. but they’re gone now and things are looking up once again :)

if any of you happen to be in the wednesday fandoms or the owl house or anything like that, please please please keep an eye out for something like this happening again. and if anything you read feels familiar in a way it shouldn’t, please look into it. you could save a writer so much heartache.

anyway!! rant over. much love to you all and i’ll see you again soon. thanks for reading and i hope you enjoyed!!

lots of love,

ezzy

#matilda #matilda roald dahl #matilda 1996 #matilda the musical #matilda 2022 #matilda wormwood #matilda honey #jennifer honey #miss honey #mrs phelps

6 notes · View notes

midasgutz · 11 months

Text

i love shirogane takeru hell arc. and i love what it does to him. and frankly i found him kind of likeable even back in extra. but like god... the hell arc. Hell on Takeru Technique.

like. he goes there to escape from the sudden harsh awakening to the dangers of this war torn, battered and beaten alternate reality. and not only that but the finality of it. he goes, and who does he meet but the face of his sweet, caring teacher. in this world, almost a completely different person. in extra she canonically has a crush on him. in unlimited, he was picked to pieces by her and pushed to the brink every day until suddenly it was all useless. in alternative, she’s the face of death. his death. the death of his happy world. he sobs into her, apologizing over and over. and the next day, he awakes to screaming. on the news he hears about it. about how she was pushed face first into one of those machines that eat anything you see in videos chewing up whole engines, entire pieces of furniture... just whatever. you can only imagine the mess, but he knows EXACTLY what it would look like. it looks like exactly what he ran here to escape. in disbelief he runs to the school to find yuko, the mastermind of the otherworld. the one person council in control of his fate. and she tells him HE did this, it’s HIS fault. for being a fucking coward and running from his problems. he brought this event back over with him. marimo jinguuji has her head broken open like a melon. the information is attached to takeru and he brings it over. and this isn’t even close to all of it. she goes on to tell him how his presence here is allowing memories to leak out into the ether of the other world, with no one to attach to. and the people affected by this? the people he cares about most. for a moment it seems like sumika is immune, but later he visits her room. and he sees journals, pieces of paper, crude drawings. everywhere. his entire life from sumikas perspective laid out in front of him. by this point meiya has no idea what she was even doing living in his house in the first place. as quickly as it popped up the mansion she built attached to his house just disappears. the only member of her entourage who can even remember it all is tsukuyomi, herself a completely different person in the other world. what at this point must feel like the real world. mana tsukuyomi, the loyal attendant can only apologize to him. how could she hope to understand what just happened to meiya? it’s like the soul has flown out of her body, one moment she’s who she is and another she’s just someone else. at the height of his despair he goes back to the school, his one last place. to say goodbye to yuko, the yuko of this world. the only one who can at least understand the depth of the sins he committed in coming there. that’s when it’s revealed. sumika, the love of his life, the person for whom he can accept no replacement, absolutely ravaged by the same phenomenon that took his teacher away from him for the second time. i feel like his screams may have been voice acted. but the absolute horror, the hole in his heart, i can only imagine the sounds that would come out of me. and they are pathetic. wailing, weeping, sobbing like a child. and he thinks he cant go back. he asks yuko to help him kill himself, and while they’re literally driving to go execute him she reveals herself as the god damn monster she’s always been. i can send you back, shirogane. i can put you back in that hell, i can save you from this one. he cries like a child and begs for the opportunity. she tells him he might even be able to undo what he has done in coming to the happy world that he’s now ruined. they break into a power plant and send him back. from then on he’s a different character, with only glimpses of the person we knew for easily 60 hours up to this point.

like, everyone will mention that things get heavy later on in muvluv. but nothing really prepares you for the massively abrupt shift. she’s just there one second and the next, this grotesque image. one of the first times you actually see the beta really clearly if i remember right, and it’s just... gnawing on her face. in the middle of what was almost a really sweet moment. following this he’s drugged, hypnotized, confined, interrogated. the works. it’s not long before he runs away. and you can understand the impulse. because the whole time it really was just fun and games... until.

0 notes

filthy-reckless-rp · 2 years

Photo

♛ Spotted on the Upper East Side…

Name: Bethany Levesque Pronouns: She/Her Age: 20 years old Hometown: Upper East Side, NY Occupation: Sophomore at Harvard University Social Status: Outsider Faceclaim: Jessica Sula

Who Is Beth?

“If there’s so much I must be, can I still just be me, the way I am? Can I trust in my own heart or am I just one part of some big plan.”

Bethany Levesque, whatever happened to you not wanting to be in the spotlight? I thought you were firmly against indulging in the lifestyle of your former classmates? Firmly against being the name on everyone’s lips. Look at you now! There was time when I had to explain to my dearest followers who you even were and now I’m seeing you on the arm of an actor? We really need to catch up. You’ve always been quick to judge and make your opinions known (I can relate). Honesty and integrity still mean something to you. You’re determined to be your own person even with the world’s most involved (read: controlling) mom. You’ve learned how to compromise, how to be smart with your arguments and what you really care about. You’ve learned how to play the game without ever meaning to. Well, save me an autograph, won’t you? XOXO ---Gossip Girl

A Little Extra

Beth always kept herself to herself, preferring to be a fly on the wall and stay firmly out of the drama. She unfortunately had to bear witness to more than a few meltdowns, betrayals and fights between her former classmates and it only solidified her judgements on them. Sure, Beth can be a little harsh and she’s not big on second chances (although, she is trying to be better). For Beth, getting into college and starting to make her own money, was the way out for her. The road to independence even if she’d never truly be free of her mom’s expectations. She’s always been smart, preferring to spend Saturday nights with a good book or bailing on a date to work on an extra credit project. It was all about the college applications, thank you very much. Romance, dating, drama- none of it really appealed to her. Sure, she might like to have someone one day but they were really going to have to be spectacular to live up to her own expectations. Hazel Levesque- her mom- had other ideas though.

It wasn’t enough that Beth was getting the grades or putting in the work, her mom wanted her to care more about her reputation. About what she wore, how much makeup she put on, who she was seen to be on a date with. You can’t win every fight so Beth would go on dates with other rich people who were nothing short of mind numbing. It would be torture for a couple of hours but it would get her mom off her back. And then the cycle would start up again. It could be utterly exhausting, you know? She never really liked anyone she went on a date with either until one very unexpected set up with Frankie Vives. It was like for one night they both just got to be themselves without the pressure and sure, she liked him. Once he dropped the bluster and BS, of course. Now, that was supposed to be the end of it or so Beth thought. The next thing she knew, her mom was raving about the positive attention her baby dating Frankie Vives was giving them and somewhere on the other side of town, Frankie’s agent was doing the same. Before Beth could protest, it was too late. The whole world had decided that Beth and Frankie were the new ‘IT couple’ and there was no getting out of it. At least, not for a while. So much for a drama free life, right?

What Does Gossip Girl Have On Them?

Beth never even read Gossip Girl when she was at her height of terror and doesn’t intend to start now. GG surely has nothing on her because guess what? Beth minds her own business!

Connections

Samuel Watts - childhood best friend! Beth and Sam’s parents were BFF growing up as well so there was really no escaping each other. She loves him but she will judge him.

Amber and Gracie Watts - Sam’s siblings! They also all grew up in each other’s lives. They’re practically Beth’s siblings too.

Frankie Vives - the accidental boyfriend. Well, ‘fake’ boyfriend. They’re dating in the eye of the public for the moment but it’s not real. It’s not. And that is fine!

Blair Waldorf - Blair Waldorf was everything Beth hated about the Upper East Side and Constance Billard. Blair was the worst and Beth still holds onto that resentment (because she’s right!).

#t #c: bethany levesque #outsider #ues #sophomore #sam #amber #gracie #frankie #blair

0 notes

soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

Hawkmoth was a bitch, and Marinette meant that with every fiber of her soul. Fu was also a bitch, and Marinette actually had good memories of the guy. Not many, but she had some. The fact that the guy got two ten-year-olds to become super heroes and fight a supervillain for him kinda soured those memories, though. But with Chat Noir not allowed to leave his house? Yeah, even as young as they were it only took about a year to find out who HawkMoth was and another year to take him down.

Except, that left Marinette alone. The final battle took her mom away, and Chat had to move out of Paris after his dad was arrested. Luckily Jagged allowed her and her papa to move into his house in Gotham, and everything was…

Well, it was okay. For about a month.

Then her dad was gone too, and she had no way to talk to Jagged, and the police were scaring her—

Yeah, that was the basic order of events that led to where she was now. Pushing fourteen years old, ex-superhero, protector of a magical box of gods, stealing the tires off of a very nice motorcycle.

Marinette was tempted to just take the whole thing, she loved bikes and knew she could drive it. But the thing had more security than she knew what to do with, and the fact that it belonged to Red Hood… she didn’t want to deal with trackers today, thanks. So the tires it was.

Should she maybe care more about the fact that she was stealing from a vigilante with a violent streak? Maybe. Did she? Hell no. For all she knew, maybe Red Hood was a bitch too. (Yes, she was still learning English slang. She was fluent by educational standards, but learning how to curse in a foreign language was fun and she still had a little bit to go. Her few street friends were very happy to help).

A shadow dropped down in front of her, and Marinette’s hero instincts kicked in. The tire iron she was using cut through the air, slamming right into the side of Red Hood’s knee.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Hood,” Batman’s voice grumbled over the comms, instantly grabbing the attention of everyone else who was on the comms. It wasn’t as gruff as he usually sounded, in fact it almost sounded like… he was trying not to laugh?

“Did you get gassed by Joker?” Dick asked before Jason got a chance to respond. “Need backup?”

“No,” Batman responded, sounding a little more composed. “Not a rogue. But Hood, I need you to join me at my location as soon as possible.”

Finally getting the chance to talk, Jason responded a little warily; “Sure, B. Wait,” he blinked at the location that was sent to him. “Isn’t that where my bike is parked?”

Batman didn’t respond at first, only the sound of labored breathing— again, as if he was trying not to laugh. “Just get here, Hood.”

Sighing, but not too mad since the night had been fairly quiet so far, Jason decided to humor the old man and head over. When he could see the cape-clad back of Batman, he easily leapt over the last roof and sauntered over.

“Okay, B,” he had his thumbs tucked in his pockets as he drawled. “What’s the issue?”

Batman was grinning. As in, actually showing amusement. And he just pointed down, straight at Hood’s bike.

Jason rolled his eyes under his helmet, turning to look. At first he didn’t see anything amiss, until he saw movement and looked harder. Oh. Oh, holy shit.

“Is that a kid?”

“Yep,” Batman’s grin grew.

“Is she… stealing my tires?” Hood was so, so glad he wore a helmet that hid his expression. Because… wow.

“Yep,” Batman finally lost his composure, chuckling. “This seems like Karma, don’t you think?”

“And you just watched her so you could rub it in,” Jason groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. Of course he would. Nobody knew it (except the other heroes who knew him) but Batman was a petty little jerk when he wanted to be. He bought the whole Daily Planet just to spite Clark, for crying out loud.

“Don’t adopt her,” Batman said as he stood up, patting Red Hood’s shoulder. “It looks like she’s almost done.”

“Shit,” Jason hissed, looking down to see that she was, actually, very close to being done. She had already had one tire completely free by the time he had arrived, and now she was only seconds away from getting the other one completely free.

He took a quick assessment— she was tiny, and really thin. Definitely a street kid, he thought, though he didn’t recognize her. He knew most of the street kids that stole to get by, nowadays, which meant she must have been fairly new. But even though she seemed to know what she was doing, her small frame made her take longer unscrewing the tires than it normally would have taken. Sure that she wasn’t a threat by any stretch of the imagination, he jumped down. His plan had been to startle her a little by showing up out of nowhere, but he didn’t want to scare her too badly. Just make her jump a little.

But he had underestimated her, it seemed. Without wasting a second, she jumped up and swung her tire iron at his knee. He cursed, she was a lot faster than her had been expecting. He was able to move so that the weapon only clipped the side of his knee, his knee pad thankfully taking the worst of it. She still hit hard enough to make him stumble and hiss in pain though, which was an accomplishment.

That’s when she abandoned her weapon and her tires, darting to try and escape only for Batman to drop down and block her escape. Though really, it was the grin Batman had that scared the girl most of all, apparently, making her slowly back away from him.

“Please stop smiling,” she begged with a faint French accent to her words. “It is not natural.”

That made Red Hood laugh, already recovered and right behind her. He plopped a gloved hand on her head.

“I know, it’s creepy right?” He joked. “What’cha doin’ stealing my tires, kid? I kinda need them to drive anywhere,” he was careful to keep his voice light and devoid of any anger. He wasn’t really upset, all told. It would be hypocritical of him if he was.

She looked between the two vigilantes for a moment, clear intelligence behind those bright blue eyes as she seemed to consider something. Suddenly she pulled away from Red Hood and stepped away from his reach, straightening up and trying to look tall.

“My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said as firmly as she could. “My father was Tom Dupain, he was killed in a mugging three months ago. We were living in a house that our family friend leant to us after my mother’s death six months ago, and we moved here from Paris. I haven’t been able to contact him, and the police… I don’t trust them,” she admitted, clearly seeing this as the chance she had been waiting for. “I have been living on the streets since my father died. I am sorry for trying to steal your tires, Monsieur Red Hood. But it was a risk I had to take.”

“Did you expect us to catch you?” He asked, crossing his arms as he re-evaluated the girl. She was a lot stronger than he had assumed earlier, both physically and mentally. She seesawed her hand to indicate ‘kinda’.

“Even if you didn’t, I could make good money off your tires,” she justified with a shrug. “To me, I would win either way.”

“Who is your family friend? Can he help you now, take you in?” Batman asked, moving forward and kneeling down to be closer to Marinette’s height. Neither he nor Jason had missed the part where she was an orphan, but they had expected that considering what they had caught her doing. And they both knew that she wasn’t likely to take any apologies they tried to offer very well. It was best not to show pity, or she might get angry.

Marinette frowned. “... Our family friend is Jagged Stone. He lets me call him Uncle Jagged,” she told them, clearly expecting the disbelieving grunts they gave. “I mean it! You can call him, he might even be looking for me! I—“

“We know,” Hood assured her, now kneeling down as well. Man, she was short. “Calm down, we know you’re telling the truth. Jagged has made several public announcements about his missing honorary niece, we just didn’t recognize your name right away. And Jagged doesn’t have access to very many pictures of you, those he does have the Mayor isn’t allowing him to show because that spineless jackass—“

“Language, Hood.”

“—Cares more about keeping bad press off the air than finding a kid, even if it’s a world famous rockstar who’s asking. That’s probably why you haven’t heard anything, the mayor’s keeping it off the radio and not many reporters are brave enough to take the story and get on his bad side.”

“Oh…” Marinette took a deep breath, fighting the tears that were threatening to rise up. “He has been looking…” she sniffled, curling in on herself a little. “Can you take me to him?”

“I think we can do that,” Batman agreed, standing up. “I’ll contact him. Red Hood, can you handle everything here until I give you a place to meet up with Jagged Stone?”

Jason nodded. “No problem, B. Come on, little rabid pixie. Step one of gettin’ you back to your uncle is to help me fix my bike back up.”

Marinette sighed, shoulders dropping. “All my hard work, undone…” she playfully complained. But in the end she didn’t argue or fight against it, she just sat down and helped him reattach his tires.

All the while, Jason’s family kept teasing him over the comms. Clearly they were also thoroughly amused by the cosmic display of karma.

“...Monsieur Hood,” Marinette asked once they were done repairing the motorcycle and he had given her his too-big extra helmet. He tilted his head a bit to show he was listening. She squirmed. “Can… can we stop by my hideout? I have something really important I have to get.”

Jason smiles gently under his mask. She might not have been a street kid for very long, but she really did bring back some memories for him. He got on his bike and held a hand out to her.

“Sure thing kid. Wanna grab something to eat after? Can’t have a reunion on an empty stomach.”

She gave him a lopsided smile— not quite overjoyed, but definitely hopeful and thankful. Maybe this was the end of her streak of bad luck, she could only hope.

“Only if you don’t mind, Monsieur Hood,” she agreed before taking his hand and letting him help her onto the bike.

“No skin off my back, pixie,” he assured her. Then they were off. He followed her directions until they got to an abandoned building about three miles away, not in a good part of town at all but at least not in crime alley. Marinette easily led him through the building, skirting around other piles of ratty blankets and up broken stairs until they got to the badly-maintained top floor. She led him over to an almost invisible door in the concrete wall that pulled out to reveal what was probably a broom closet once upon a time. It was crowded with what looked like junk and empty boxes, along with a few blankets and two or three changes of clothes that were clearly her’s. A few belongings scattered around— a book, a small pink purse, and… Marinette came out of the pile of mess holding what had clearly been a very carefully hidden box. She also grabbed the purse and slung it over her shoulder, but didn’t seem worried about anything else.

Jason frowned at the box. It wasn’t that big, but it was clearly made of old wood. There were intricate carvings that were painted pink, in a symbol that was itching at the back of his mind. He recognized that symbol, but from where?

“Ready to go, kid?” He asked as he thought about it, getting a nod from Marinette. Twenty minutes later they were at a Batburger, sitting in a shaded booth that couldn’t be seen from the street.

She never let the box out of her sight. She kept it on the seat next to her, and Jason noticed that she tried to keep one hand on it at all times. But when she spoke, now her French accent stood out to him even more than before. But why—?

And then it clicked. Paris. Hawkmoth. Ladybug, Chat Noir, magic artifacts called Miraculous. Wonder Woman had raised a fuss when the heroes disappeared, declaring that something was wrong but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Then the magic users they trusted were called in, and returned from Paris with the grim news that the former Guardian of those artifacts had activated a failsafe and passed the guardianship on to someone else while erasing his own memories at the same time. But nobody knew who he could have passed it on to, so Batman had been given the green light to do all the research he and his team could into the Miraculous box to try and help track it down.

And here it was. The carvings were in pink now, which might have been the “cosmetic change” that Constantine had mentioned might happen when the box changed guardians. He had found the box full of super powerful magical artifacts… in the hands of a newly orphaned street kid who couldn’t have been older than fourteen at best.

What the hell?

“...” Red hood reached into his pocket and pulled out an old receipt and a sharpie. He scrawled on the back of the receipt and handed to Marinette. The girl was halfway into a bite of her burger when he did, and blinked at him owlishly before swallowing and cautiously reaching out to grab it. She frowned at the numbers scrawled there.

“What’s this?” She asked.

“My contact info,” he explained. “I won’t ask questions about why you have that box,” he watched her instantly stiffen but continued as casually as he could; “but it doesn’t matter. You can call me if you ever need help with anything, kid. Help with that box, help if you get in trouble in Gotham again, or even if you’re having a bad day. You can call me for whatever, got it? I don’t care if you think it’s stupid, if you can’t talk to anyone else in your life you can always call or text me and I’ll do whatever I can. Got it?”

“...” Marinette sniffled for a second and looked down at the table in silence for a second. “... what if I want your motorcycle?” she joked, but the watery tone of her voice gave her away.

Jason laughed, patting her head. “I need my bike, but we can talk about getting you your own once you are old enough to get a license. You almost done? Bats says that Jagged is ready to meet you, I can take you to him right now.”

“Yeah, lets go!” she was newly energized and shoved the last bite of burger into her mouth greedily. “And Red Hood?” She asked as they headed out to where he had parked.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Permanent tag list (I remembered it this time!)

@rosalineandrosemary @neakco @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @trippingovermyfeet @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @bigpicklebananatree @fantasylover-92 @prongs-flowers @jumpingjoy82 @prettylittlebutterflie @queenz-z @literaryhiraeth @waffelyunsure @deathssilentapproach-blog @waiting247 @theirlmikan @unoriginalmess

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #soulmate-game #platonic jasonette

1K notes · View notes

bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

A new servant desperately struggles to understand what exactly Merlin is:

A cryptid? Arthur's boyfriend? Simply a dude? The court jester? Something else entirely? Who knows, certainly not the new guy.

The first time the new kitchen-hand, Tristan, saw The King’s dark-haired servant sprinting down the corridor, he couldn’t tell if the man was laughing or crying.

He was fast, faster than Tristan thought possible for someone whose arms were so full of laundry, but he politely steps out of the way, coming to the conclusion that he must’ve been late for something. At least... he did think that, until he turns the next corner to see three of The king’s most trusted knights peering out of windows and into random doors. Tristan freezes in the corridor, he’d heard that servants were treated extremely well here, but he’d only been employed for a few days and he didn’t want to risk anything by pushing past or addressing his betters.

One of the knights, Sir Leon, his brain helpfully supplies, spots him stood there, and his annoyed frown quickly morphs into a friendly smile:

“Pardon me, sorry, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Merlin around anywhere, have you?”

Tristan’s eyes go wide and the grip he has on his tray tightens, but he forces himself to take a breath and answer, trying his best to keep his voice even:

“Merlin is... The King’s manservant? Tall, with dark hair?”

Another knight pushes forward, he looks to be the oldest, with dark hair falling in an almost deliberately tousled way around his bearded jawline. His charming grin seems just a little too wide to be genuine, but Tristan isn’t quite sure if that’s because he’s about to take pleasure in punishing someone, or if he’s just being polite to a stranger:

“Yeah, yeah that’s him, seen him? Arsehole turned our shirts pink in the wash, and something tells me it was deliberate.”

Tristan gulps at the accusation and he takes a shaky step back, but before he can even think of defending the stranger that he now thinks must’ve been crying, the last of the three knights, a giant, if Tristan believed in such things, steps forward:

“Don’t worry, we won’t beat him too much.”

He says it with a grin and a quirk of his eyebrows, but once again the kitchen-hand can’t tell if it was cruel or genuine, if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Uh... yeah, he turned left at the end of this corridor, but I didn’t see where he went after that, I apologise.”

Sir Leon waves away his apology with a smile, looking to the long-haired knight with a raised eyebrow:

“The stables?”

The man grins widely, nodding his agreement as he turns his grin to the giant. Sir Leon offers Tristan another soft smile, murmuring his thanks before moving past him, elbowing the other two to prompt them in to thanking him as well. The three of them march down the corridor with almost vindictive smiles on their faces, and Tristan prepares himself to see a vacancy note, or possibly a funeral invite, posted on the notice board by the next morning.

When he passes a window that evening to see the King’s manservant being carried on the giant’s shoulders as five other knights pelt them with gloves, a grin on every face, he decides that... well... it’s probably best to just not to ask.

The next time he sees Merlin, a few days later, The King is also there.

This is the first time Tristan has been in Arthur Pendragon’s presence, and though the other servant’s all rave on about how awkwardly kind he is, he’s a bundle of nerves. Not even Cook’s stories about how often she whacks The King’s knuckles with a wooden spoon when she catches him about to pilfer something stops Tristan’s heart from racing.

The King was overseeing a few of the servants decorate the main hall for a feast, and whilst Tristan is certain that that’s not something The King normally does, he doesn’t question it, just thinks that maybe the other servants had been telling the truth, and he was a genuinely nice, but normal man.

Merlin stands at his side, and though Tristan can’t hear their conversation, the two of them are clearly bickering over something. The servant can’t help his curiosity, wanting desperately to move closer to find out what sort of things The King allows his servant to bicker with him about; luckily, the table right next to them has yet to be laid, so he moves towards it quickly. He doesn’t even glance at them, terrified of being caught out, but perhaps Merlin surviving the knights non-wrath the other day is encouraging him, and his steps don’t falter. Their words come in to focus, and he has to stop the confused, and slightly horrified, frown from spreading across his face:

“Arthur, I swear to the Gods, if you make me wear that hat again, I’ll piss in your wine and serve it to you in front of a crowd.”

The King scoffs just as Tristan shakily begins laying down the cutlery:

“That’s treason, Merlin.”

“Do I look like I care? Not only will I piss in your wine, I will not hesitate to push you over a balcony at the first opportunity. This hall is high up and it’s a long way down to the gardens. He drank toxic wine and turned loopy and tipped himself off a balcony and went splat! That’s what people will say. I’m not wearing the Godamn hat.”

Tristan has to focus extra carefully to stop himself from gasping; Merlin just threatened to kill The King... that’s got to be a death sentence. Pissing off some knights that he’s obviously friendly with is one thing, but threatening to kill The-

“Ha ha. Very funny. If you can’t tell, Merlin, I’m being sarcastic, I know you struggle with complex concepts like that.”

Merlin just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he says with no hesitation:

“My mind is more than capable of coping, My Lord, it’s your belt I worry about being able to cope nowadays.”

Tristan bites his tongue to stop himself from yelping and turns away so neither of them can see his horrified face. The King just makes an outraged noise in the back of his throat, and Tristan can hear Merlin snort in laughter at whatever expression Arthur was wearing to match such a noise:

“Go to the stocks. I want you there for three hours.”

Tristan lets out a confused breath; Merlin threatens to kill The King, and gets playful sarcasm, but he implies The King might be a tad overweight, and gets sent to the stocks for three hours? How is that-

“Yeah... no. Not happening. The feast starts in less than two hours and I still have to help Guinevere organise some stuff in the courtyard, do Gaius’ rounds for him, then put an extra hole in your belt and help you get dressed because, despite being a grown man, you’re still an idiot who’s incapable of putting clothes on in any sort of decent manner.”

Tristan finds himself relaxing a little. This seems to be the norm for them, but surely... surely The King had a line somewhere, and a servant just flat out refusing to be disciplined must be where it lies?

Arthur just scoffs, and Tristan angles his head in such a way that he can see him roll his eyes:

“Fuck off.”

Merlin grins, seeming to cast a suspicious gaze over the room to make sure no one was watching and somehow completely missing Tristan stood just there, before saying quietly:

“You love me really, you prat.”

With that, Merlin reaches up to yank at a lock of The King’s hair before hurrying off in the direction of the courtyard before Arthur can react. The King jumps slightly, clearly caught by surprise as an annoyed flush rises on his face, but Tristan just frowns in confusion when his shock gives way to a softly amused smile.

Huh.

The next few times Tristan saw Merlin made him fear for the servant’s safety. He was being taken on hunts by The King and his knights, that’s meant to be for squires, to learn the ropes and gain experience in tracking and riding.

He supposes it isn’t entirely unheard of for a servant to follow their master on a hunt, but with the way Merlin complains without pause, and The King in turn complains about his complaining, he thinks it would better for everyone if Merlin just... didn’t go. When he brings it up to another servant, a lovely woman named Guinevere who had helped him get unlost at least three times in his first week, she just laughs and smiles at him pityingly:

“I wouldn’t worry, those two have been like that forever, they’re practically inseparable.”

Tristan responds with a rather intelligent sounding:

“...What?”

Gwen laughs softly again, shaking her head and patting his shoulder consolingly:

“You’ll get used to it, they’re just... like that.”

She gives him one more smile before turning to wave the boys out of the gates and walking back to the castle as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Tristan supposes that it probably is.

The next time Tristan sees Merlin leave the city gates with the knights, Sir Elyan, Sir Mordred, and Sir Lancelot this time, it’s distinctly worse. Because he’d caught sight of the patrol rota last time he ran food down to the training ground, and he was certain that those three had a city patrol right about now.

Before he even has time to gape in shock, he hears Merlin’s pleading voice as he trails Sir Elyan like a lost puppy:

“Please, El, I promise to stay out of the way, I will do anything, but I swear to the Gods if I have to spend one more minute around that prat, I’ll hurl myself from the battlements.”

Swearing to the Gods and threating to hurl various people, including himself, from significant heights seems to be some sort of theme for The King’s manservant. Before Tristan can consider the implications of that, Sir Elyan turns to Merlin with a wide, teasing grin on his face:

“You know, I would’ve let you tag along for free, Merlin, but now that you’ve promised me something I feel the need to take advantage.”

Tristan tenses at that, a shot of ice spiking down his spine. He has keen eyes and sharp ears, he knows that Sir Elyan is the lovely Gwen’s brother, Sir Mordred seems to have an... odd worship for the servant, and he’s definitely picked up on the close bond between Merlin and Sir Lancelot, but is this where Camelot’s image comes crashing down in Tristan’s head? He knew that it was better here for servant’s than other Kingdoms, but there are always people who’ll take advantage of their position, no matter where you are. Merlin’s shoulders just drop and he asks in a sulking voice:

“What do you want?”

Tristan grits his teeth, moving his gaze so no one would catch him glaring at the knight as he tries to figure out a way to help, a way to get this virtual stranger out of being... abused, in such a manner. If he’d carried on glaring, he would’ve noticed Elyan’s soft smile and amused raised eyebrow:

“Next time you gather herbs for Gaius, bring back some more of those flowers that you got for Gwen. She said they added vibrancy to the house, whatever that means, but they make her happy, so...-”

Merlin just giggles and nods and Tristan relaxes, looking back to them with a confused smile on his face. That was... actually kind of sweet, he can definitely see the resemblance between the knight and his sister:

“-AND I want whatever Arthur’s having for dinner tonight, his food always looks way nicer than ours.”

Merlin lets out a faux annoyed groan, but then rolls his eyes and grins, nodding:

“Consider it done. Can we go now? I really don’t want to risk him seeing me and giving me some stupid chore to do.”

Elyan laughs and nods, and the four of them begin making their way out of the courtyard and into the city. Sir Lancelot finally joins the conversation, clearly amused as he says:

“You know it’s literally your job to do chores, right?”

Merlin turns to glare at him as Sir Mordred and Sir Elyan laugh, and Tristan only just hears his reply as the castle gates shut behind them:

“Fuck off.”

Tristan decides it would be pointless to bring this up to anyone again, he figures he’ll probably just get the same answer as last time.

The next confusing incident happens only a few days later. But Tristan supposes that at this point... it really shouldn’t be confusing. Gwen was right, he did just... get used to it.

He heard the steps pounding down the corridor before he saw him, but they were coming fast and hard, so he presses himself against the wall, holding the tray to his side to protect it as best he could as Merlin comes skidding round the corner.

He stops just long enough for Tristan to calm himself by spying the wide grin on his face, but he’s quickly sprinting down the hall again, laughing as he waves whatever it is he’s got clutched in his hands. The second set of loud, rapid footsteps stops Tristan from stepping away from the wall quite yet. Just a moment later, Sir Gwaine follows Merlin’s skidded path around the corner, though the heavier man overshoots slightly and he runs into the wall opposite Tristan with a crash and a deep groan.

The rebellious knight gives a wide-eyed Tristan an awkward nod before pushing himself off the wall and following Merlin’s blazing trail, screaming down the corridor:

“I warned you Merlin!! Don’t come between a man and his ale, now give that back you bastard!”

Tristan hears Merlin’s laughter grow louder, even from the two corridors away that the other servant had managed to race to.

He shrugs to himself, waiting for a moment to see if anyone else was going to come barrelling around the corner before sighing, and continuing his journey up to the visiting Lord’s chambers.

It was unusual, he thought, how quickly he’d come to terms with the fact that a servant was sassing The King and pranking the knights and inviting himself on various hunts and patrols that he really had no business on. Unusual indeed.

He’d learnt to ignore it. Or at least brush it off.

In the two weeks since Merlin had (presumably) stolen Sir Gwaine’s skin of ale, he’d seen the servant call The King a long list of imaginative insults (what the hell is a dollop head?), walk around with Sir Leon’s cloak on because he was a little chilly, accuse someone of treason (and somehow been right about it), and threaten to kill at least seven people; including, but not limited to: The King himself, The King’s already dead father, some stuck up Noble (though that was under his breath, Tristan just happened to be stood next to him), and Sir Percival.

And Gwen was... absolutely right. He's just... like that. He's Merlin, and that’s what Merlin does.

So when he turns a corner in a rarely used to corridor to see him pressing The King against a wall, snogging the life out of him, Tristan simply turns around and walks back the other way. Both of them look fairly happy with the arrangement, and they’d probably chosen this corridor for the exact same reason Tristan had: it was out of everyone’s way, and was unlikely to be inhabited.

He thinks it’s odd, how... un-odd he finds it. He absent-mindedly thinks that, with the way they acted around each other, he really should’ve seen this coming. A sudden thought occurs to him, and he ducks into a storage cupboard, laying his tray down carefully as he rummages through the boxes. He lets out a quiet “Yay” when he finds what he’s looking for, carefully picking up his tray with only one hand and nudging the door open again with his hip.

He walks back towards the corner he had just turned (and turned again) making a conscious effort to keep his steps quiet; he places the danger sign, usually used where walls had collapsed or windows had been smashed, in the middle of the corridor, a clear indication of “Do Not Enter”.

He nods smugly at his quick thinking and easy handy work before mentally planning the quickest route to the kitchens and following it hurriedly.

He casually wonders if he has time to circle around to the other end of the corridor so he could put another sign down before Cook gets angry at him for being late. Probably not. At least, not before they... finish up and move on. Hmm. He suddenly panics about the thought of them seeing the sign and knowing that someone had spotted them but... well. Hopefully they would just appreciate it and move on.

Yet again, he decides not to bring this up to anyone. He may or may not have overheard a few of the knights making some sort of bet, and he may or may not want to watch on with amusement as they fail to realise that all of them have already lost.

Tristan smiles to himself; working here had turned out to be rather entertaining, in the end.

THE END

I know it’s short, but I really didn’t know what else to add without it sounding like I was just repeating myself over and over😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it!!

2K notes · View notes