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kelyon · 1 month

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Courtship 13: Invitations

After a fight at home, Miss French takes refuge at Mr. Gold's house

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When Miss French got back to the store after her visit with Mr. Gold, Moe was behind the counter with the phone pressed against his ear and a stack of orders in his hand.

“It’s gonna be how much?” he said into the phone. “God, what was it last year?”

As he listened to the answer, she lurked in the back room to eavesdrop.

“Listen, Larsen, I’m kind of in a bad spot right now. Is there any way you can help me out? For old time’s sake?”

Lacey bit the inside of her mouth. Dad was on the phone with their flower supplier. Did they not have enough money to buy the flowers they would need to sell on Valentine’s day?

“Yeah, it’s not the same without Linda. She was such a wiz with accounting and…” He trailed off, listened to what Larsen was saying. “I appreciate it, I really do. Yeah, of course I’ll pay you back. Alright, you’ve got all the numbers? If you have to short me on roses, try to add in more baby’s breath and filler, okay? I can make do with that. Alright. See you next week.”

Dad hung up the phone and sighed. His shoulders slumped. Lacey moved toward him, but he didn’t turn around.

“Larsen able to get you a discount?”

“Deferred payment,” he said hollowly. “A week or two, until I can get it all together. Larsen’s a good man. He won’t take money until we have money.” Moe’s eyes shifted to her. “Unlike some people.”

Miss French clenched her jaw and headed for the stairs. “I need to go change, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You dress up for him?” Moe asked before she could leave. “You put on a little song and dance? Be a trained monkey for his amusement?”

Spinning on her heel, Miss French glared at the florist. “If you want to know what I do to amuse Mr. Gold, I’d be happy to tell you.” She put the bite in her words. He had to know she wasn’t fucking around.

Moe stared at her. His eyes were placid, but his lip curled. “Your aunt called,” he said. “While you were out amusing him. She wants to know if you can drive her and Chloe to some doctor’s appointment on Friday.”

Lacey frowned. “Dr. Hopper?”

“She didn’t say. Does Chloe need a shrink?”

“Janine said she was acting out at school or something. Apparently having her brother and father die on the same day has been kind of a problem.”

Moe shook his head.

“I’ll call Aunt Terri back,” she said. “Did you… tell her anything?”

“Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?” Moe asked. “No, I didn’t mention what you’ve been up to. You should, though. You should look that grieving widow in the eye and tell her you’re selling your body for fancy clothes.”

“And jewelry!” The spiteful enthusiasm came instantly. The future Mrs. Gold smiled brightly and raised her left hand, showing off her engagement ring. “It’s official now. We’ve already set a date.”

Moe swallowed. His face went pale. His eyes went sad. “It’s not too late,” he mumbled. “You can stop this madness, Lacey. You don’t have to be like this.”

“I want to be like this,” she told him as she sauntered up the stairs. “It’s better than anything else I could be.”

****

She didn’t really talk to her father again until the next night. There was finally enough work to keep them both busy in their separate areas of the store. After closing time on Monday, she headed to Modern Fashions and got some more clothes to wear for Mr. Gold. Dresses and skirts, blouses and shoes, earrings and necklaces and bracelets. Then she spent the rest of the night in her room putting outfits together. There was no conversation, so there were no arguments.

On Tuesday, after she closed up the store, she found Moe cleaning off the kitchen table. He had a pile of mail stacked up, and enough junk mail to fill up the trash can. Two months’ worth. They hadn’t eaten at the table since the funeral.

“We expecting company?”

“Your uncle.” Moe didn’t look up. “He’s gonna come over and make pizza.”

Lacey frowned. When she was a kid, Uncle Manny’s pizza nights were a special occasion, a celebration for birthdays or when her report card had all A’s. Now it seemed suspiciously wholesome. She hadn’t talked to Manny since last week when she had confessed to dating Mr. Gold. Until recently, he had been the only person who knew. Probably he was coming over for the express purpose of talking her out of being with him.

This was gonna suck.

She went to her room to change out of her work clothes. She put on dress slacks and one of her old blouses. That used to be the most formal outfit she had, what she wore for awards banquets and scholarship interviews. It wasn’t good enough to wear for Mr. Gold, but it reminded Miss French of the person she could hope to be. Better than jeans, at least.

“Bonjour, Frenches!” Uncle Manny’s voice boomed out from the kitchen.

In spite of herself, Lacey smiled. If she was ten or even fifteen, that greeting would have had her bounding down the hallway to leap into her uncle’s arms. Now, she walked. She found him hanging up his coat and stomping the snow off his boots. Plastic bags of pizza supplies were already on the table, including a ball of risen dough in a Tupperware container.

“Hey there, Ace!” He opened his arms to hug her.

She accepted the embrace, albeit a little stiffly. As much as she loved Uncle Manny, she was still bracing herself.

“I’m making your favorite tonight,” he smiled. “Pepper-pepperoni. And if you're good, I might add some pepper to it too. Pepper-pepper-pepperoni!”

She tried to smile back. She really tried.

To distract herself from her own dread, she took the drinks her uncle had brought and put them in the fridge. It was a six-pack of beer from him and Moe, and a can of Moxie soda for her. Because she was a child and always would be.

Miss French sighed. She sat down at the table. At the very least, they could have this conversation while Moe was sulking in the living room.

Manny didn’t notice her mood. He spread out the pizza dough on a baking sheet while the oven preheated.

“So, how are the flowers?”

“Fine,” she said. “How are the cars?”

“Broken but fixable. That’s how I like ‘em.”

She didn’t respond. The silence between them seemed to fill the entire room. Even the noise of the TV was muffled and distant.

Uncle Manny looked at her hand, at her ring. He swallowed.

“Wow,” he said, obviously trying to keep his cheer up. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Dad didn’t already tell you?” she said archly. “I imagine you two talk about me a lot.”

He gave her a look, which she returned with determination. Yes, they were doing this. She wouldn’t pretend anymore.

He started spreading spaghetti sauce on the pizza dough. “Come on, Lace” He kept his eyes on his work. “Be reasonable. My brother calls me up at three in the morning in a blind panic because he doesn’t know where you are. He thinks you’re dead in a ditch somewhere and you think I’m not gonna tell him where you might be?”

“I asked you not to tell him.”

“And I asked you to take care of yourself.” Cheese next, sprinkled gently over the sauce. Then he started layering pepperoni and sliced green peppers. “Do you think you were being careful, spending the night at that man’s house?”

“I was taking care of myself. I was getting what I needed.”

“What you wanted, maybe.” He sighed. “But you don’t need him. You’re better than that. You deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, but can I get better than that? Now? In Storybrooke?” She held up her hands in helpless defeat. “Mr. Gold is the richest man in town. That makes him the best. And don’t I ‘deserve’ the best?”

“Of course you do, Lacey,” Uncle Manny said. He slid the raw pizza into the oven and twisted the knob on an egg timer. Then he turned around. “But he’s not it. All the money in the world won’t make up for being with someone who doesn’t respect you, doesn’t love you. And married? Lacey, that’s a huge step.”

“What else do I have? What else can I do with my life that isn’t working at the freaking flower shop?”

“Anything! Lace, you’re so smart. You always have been. Big hair and big brains, you know that’s the French family way.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’re a mechanic and Moe’s a failing business owner.”

“Hey,” he warned. “That’s out of line. There’s nothing shameful in working with your hands.”

“Is there shame in marrying a man rich enough that you don’t have to work?”

“There is when that man is Gold. Jesus, Ace. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you.”

“Guess I’m not as smart as you think I am.”

“Lacey.”

She slammed her palms on the table. “I have been engaged for two days and I am already sick of defending myself to people who should be happy for me!”

“If this was something to be happy about, we would be, Lacey. I promise.”

“Like you promised not to tell Dad I was dating him?”

“Like I promised to love you, no matter how much you drive me crazy! Are you gonna get that promise from Gold? Do you honestly think he’ll be a good husband to you?”

“He’s what I want,” she snarled. “I know who he is. I know what I’m getting. I know him better than you do! So will you fucking trust me to make a decision?”

He looked at her, his dark eyebrows furrowed. He looked at her like she was a stranger or some kind of alien. His favorite niece had mutated into a bizarre creature he could never understand.

“I love you,” Uncle Manny said quietly. “All of us love you. All we want is for you to be safe and happy.”

“I’m safer with him than I am in the house of freezing showers and spoiled milk.”

“I thought your dad said he got the hot water fixed.”

Miss French rolled her eyes. “He didn’t fix it. Mr. Gold bought a new one and hired men to replace it.”

“And now we know why.” Moe stood in the doorway. “He did it to look good in front of you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “He did it because he takes care of his property, which this building is.”

“Uh-huh,” Moe sneered. “Yeah, I’m sure the building was the property that bastard was taking care of.”

“Moe, come on--”

“Did she tell you?” He cut Manny off. “Did she tell you that he gives her money? Bastard fines me fifty dollars a day for late rent, then gives it to her for clothes and jewelry.”

Manny looked at her. “Tell me that’s not true, Ace.”

Miss French bit down on the inside of her mouth so hard she began to taste blood. “He’s gonna be my husband,” she said softly. “If I’m gonna be Mrs. Gold, I’ve gotta dress the part.”

Uncle Manny swore softly through his teeth. “It’s not worth it, honey,” he said. “Whatever he’s giving you, it won’t be worth what he takes from you.”

She pressed her lips together. Her eyes burned. Over the pounding of blood in her ears, she heard the pizza timer go ding!

Miss French stood up.

“I can’t do this,” she declared to the florist and the mechanic. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you two insult me and the man I’m going to marry. You don’t have to be happy for me. You don’t have to approve. In fact, you don’t have to do anything for me ever again!”

Before either man could respond, Miss French threw open the kitchen door and ran down the stairs. With tears in her eyes, she ran from the place that used to be her home.

****

Her intention had been to run the entire way to Mr. Gold’s house. Mentally, she had enough pent-up anguish to run from Maine to Florida and back again. Physically, the cold air pummeled her lungs and she was gasping before she reached the end of the street.

She had left without a coat, hat, or gloves. It was only by lucky chance that she was wearing shoes at the time she started running. Even then, these were her old slip-on loafers, the soles thin with wear. Her toes were already numb. Snow bit sharply at her face and ears. There was an inch on the sidewalk and more coming down. Well, at least there would be tracks if those jerks wanted to chase after her.

They wouldn’t bother. Moe would say it serves her right and Manny would go along with whatever his big brother told him. She wiped dampness from her cheeks, hot tears mixed with freezing snow.

****

Holding her arms over her chest, she trudged into the good part of Old Town, to the biggest mansion on the block. When she pushed the button for the doorbell, she couldn’t feel her fingers.

It took a moment for Mr. Gold to answer. He stayed on the other side of his stained glass, until he saw that it was her. Then he opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I don’t mean to intrude, I just--I don’t want to be there anymore. Can I come in?”

He didn’t speak. His warm hand gripped around her arm as he pulled her inside.

“Stay on the tile,” he instructed. “Can’t have you dripping all over the hardwood.”

Sniffling, Miss French nodded. She stayed where she was, a little rectangle of a landing in front of the door. The snow melted quickly in the warmth of Mr. Gold’s house. Icy water soaked through fabric and flesh and down into her bones.

“You need to get out of those things,” he said. “You can put your shoes over a heating vent to dry them out. I’ll take everything else.”

“I--” Miss French looked over her shoulder at the door. Wide panes of clear glass exposed her to the street outside. There was no one around, but you never knew. She couldn’t undress here. Anyone might see her.

“Do it,” Mr. Gold ordered. “Or go back outside.”

She nodded and began to kick off her shoes. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

Leaning on his cane in the middle of his hall, he watched her strip down. There was nothing sexy about it, at least not to Lacey. She was shivering and numb. Her skin had gone bright red from the cold. Her hair was wet and bedraggled. Mr. Gold wanted her pretty, but now she looked like a frozen, drowned rat.

“Good girl,” he said when she was done. He held out his hand. “Now give me those rags.”

She wadded up the sopping mess that used to be her best outfit and gave it to him. He held the bundle out, well away from his suit, then headed back into the dark interior of his house. Lacey stayed on the tile, alone and exposed and still very cold. She got as far away from the door as she could, standing to the side in an awkward half-crouch. Her arms wrapped over her chest, half to keep warm and half to keep covered.

Mr. Gold was gone for a long time. Where had he gone in this massive house? What was he doing with her clothes? The most likely possibility was that he was throwing her wet things in the dryer and maybe finding her something else to wear. Did Mr. Gold even have a dryer in his house? Or did he get everything dry cleaned and professionally laundered? Was it crazy that she was going to marry this man and she didn’t know how he did his laundry? That she hadn’t been in most of the rooms of his house?

Were Dad and Uncle Manny right? Was Lacey making a mistake?

“Here we are.” Mr. Gold was back. Under his arm, he held a towel and a folded blanket. He wrapped the towel around her shoulders and handed her the blanket to carry. Then he took her hand and led her into his study.

It looked like he had just got up from working. There was a lamp lit on the desk--one of those things with a green lamp shade like in movies--and a leather-bound book with lines of numbers written in it. Mr. Gold sat down in the rolling chair and picked up his pen.

“Get me a whisky, then warm yourself up by the fire.”

Mutely, Miss French nodded. Dressed in nothing but a towel, she went over to Mr. Gold’s bar and poured out a tumbler of Johnnie Walker Blue. The ritual of it calmed her, but there wasn’t the same joy in serving him as when she’d done this before. She felt hollow inside, as numb from emotions as she was from the cold. Even when Mr. Gold patted her ass approvingly, she only felt tired.

Mr. Gold seemed to notice. He turned his chair to look at her.

“Spread the blanket out on the ground in front of the fireplace,” he ordered. “You’re going to start on your knees.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she whispered. She did as he said. His order was the only clear thought in her mind.

“You interrupted my work,” he said gently. “I have to finish this before I can play with you.”

Lacey shook her head. “I didn’t come here for--”

“I know,” he said. “But the point stands. If you’re going to be here, you’re going to do as I say.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“Look at the fire. Use the towel to dry your hair. Wrap yourself in the blanket if you need to, but don’t move from that spot until I tell you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

****

Feeling came back to her slowly. Kneeling on the blanket, she rubbed her arms roughly with the towel, to get her blood moving. She thought she had read to do that in a book once. It felt good, so she kept it up. She covered her face with the dark blue towel, breathed hot air into it, let the heat wash over her. She squeezed out her hair and tried to rub it down so it would dry right. Horrible to think of Mr. Gold seeing what she looked like without conditioner.

He didn’t talk to her. He was absorbed in whatever bookkeeping was in that ledger. Was it accounts for the shop or his rental properties or the personal loans he gave out? Or was he working on those other deals? People talked about them sometimes. The deals that weren’t about money, but about favors.

Miss French didn’t know anyone who had one of those deals. According to rumor, you had to be closer to power and influence to get one of them. It made sense. If all you had was a little money every month, that was all he could take. But if you could make decisions--if you were on City Council or in the county courthouse or even at the hospital--then Mr. Gold could ask you to do things for him. Big things. And that power enabled him to do big things for other people. That was how the universe of Storybrooke spun, with everything revolving around him.

And she was going to be his wife!

Flames danced in the fireplace. Shadow and light played over her naked skin. She was warmer now, though she kept the blanket over her shoulders. It was made of wool, rough and itchy in the best way. Squares of brown and green and orange criss-crossed over each other in that Scottish plaid pattern. What was it called?

Tartan.

Miss French wrapped Mr. Gold’s tartan tightly around her naked body. He had given this to her. It was thick and warm and probably pretty expensive. She hadn’t thought about what kind of comfort she expected to get when she ran away to Mr. Gold’s house. Sure wasn’t just a blanket and a fire and a man who ignored her in favor of his paperwork. But it was better to have this than nothing. Better to be here in this peaceful silence than to endure the stilted conversation and barbed comments she’d get if she’d stayed at Game of Thorns.

In time, the scratch of Mr. Gold’s pen faded into silence. His chair didn’t squeak, but she could hear him turning around. She stayed where she was, looking at the fire like he had ordered her to.

“Can you take the blanket off?”

She didn’t answer, except to let the tartan wool fall from her shoulders onto the ground. She straightened up a little, getting properly on her knees, showing off her breasts, but she kept her eyes focused on the fire.

“That’s very nice,” Mr. Gold said softly. “You really are a pretty thing, you know that?”

She licked her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

He stood up, walked behind her. He put his hand on her shoulder, then pressed his thumb into her back, where he had flogged her. It hurt, but she didn’t look away from the fire.

“You still have a bruise here,” he said. “You bruise like a fresh peach, don’t you my dear?”

“If you say so, Mr. Gold.”

“But you don’t need me to bruise you tonight, do you? No, you’ve already been through quite the little ordeal.”

Miss French nodded.

Mr. Gold moved to his plush leather armchair. “The last time we spoke,” he said. “I instructed you not to touch yourself. Have you been following my orders?”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“Have you wanted to disobey me? Have you been tempted?”

She shook her head. “No, I really haven’t, Mr. Gold.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been--well--satisfied, Mr. Gold. You’ve taken excellent care of me in that area.”

She wasn’t allowed to look at him. She couldn’t see if he enjoyed the compliment.

“Very well then,” he said. “If you don’t need relief, I won’t force you to take it tonight. But the order still stands, and if you do disobey me, I will be quite displeased.” He made a low sound of arousal. “I’m waiting for the day when I’ll need to really punish you, my slut. I want to see if there are limits to the things you can take pleasure in.”

“Well, I don’t like walking through a snowstorm,” she half-joked.

“Yes,” Mr. Gold said. “What happened?”

Lacey tried to find the words. “It was-- My dad-- My uncle--” She shook her head, started again. “What if they’re right? What if we shouldn’t get married?”

Mr. Gold was silent for a moment. Then he ordered, “Come here, silly thing. Come sit at my feet.”

Crawling on her hands and knees, Miss French left the blanket behind and took refuge by Mr. Gold’s knees. He leaned forward and held her by the shoulders. He lifted her chin up to look him in the eye.

“I chose you,” he said. “I want you. I am not in the habit of letting the opinions of lesser people get in the way of what I want.”

“What if they’re right?” she repeated. “What if this is a disaster?”

“Don’t be absurd.” He stroked her hair. “Do you think I would willingly engage in a disaster waiting to happen? Do you think I don’t know what I’m doing, Miss French?”

There was an edge of warning in his voice, just an edge. She understood the implication, that she was insulting him by questioning his judgment. He had asked her to marry him, so of course he thought it was the best choice for both of them. The opinions of lesser people didn’t matter.

Was she a lesser person, in his eyes? Would her opinion be enough to dissuade him, if she had to press the issue? Could Lacey French actually say no to Mr. Gold? Did she want to?

“I know this is stupid,” she said. “I do want to marry you, really, I do--”

“Good.” Mr. Gold cut her off before she could say more. “That’s all you need to think about. You want this, I want this. It’s going to happen. Nothing else matters.”

Miss French opened her mouth, then shut it. It was all so simple when Mr. Gold said things. He had no questions, no doubts. She had to remember that. Nothing else mattered.

He held her chin in his hand, rubbed his thumb over her lips. She parted them, in case he wanted to gag her. He just grinned.

“Go to the desk,” he ordered. “I have something for you.”

“May I walk?”

“Yes, you may.”

Miss French stood up. Her legs were less wobbly than they had been other times she’d knelt for him. Maybe she was getting the hang of this.

In the top right-hand drawer of Mr. Gold’s desk, she found a long, white, paper box. It wasn’t heavy when she picked it up, but it was definitely full of something. There was also a notepad of yellow paper with a line drawn up and down the center. On one side of the line, the paper was filled with names written in ink. The other side was blank.

She brought both things to Mr. Gold.

“What are these?”

“Open the box.”

She knelt on the ground and lifted the lid off the box. It was full of paper--no, envelopes. A long row of envelopes, all lined up standing on their ends. There was one on top of all the others, lying down. It was blank on the outside, but inside there was a card. A single sheet of heavy white paper. In neat letters and swirling script, it read:

Mr. Gold

Requests the honor of your presence

At a reception celebrating his marriage to

Miss French

At Dodici’s Dance Hall

February the twelfth at seven o’clock in the evening

Black tie optional

“Oh,” Miss French said softly. She looked down at the box, at the hundred or so other envelopes inside. “You got invitations printed.”

Mr. Gold nodded.

“Isn’t this really close to the wedding day? Will people have time to prepare? I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day weekend, every couple will have plans.”

“They’ll come,” he said. “Every one of them. I give a hint that I want something and people come running to offer it. They think it will make things easier for them next time they want something from me.”

“Oh,” she said again.

“The printer will address the invitations once we give them a guest list.” He gestured to the notepad. “I’ve filled out my side.”

She began to read the list of names on yellow paper. “These are the most important people in Storybrooke.” It shouldn’t surprise her, but it did. “You--you’ve got Mayor Mills on here!” Miss French looked up at Mr. Gold. “Do you really think she’ll come?”

Mr. Gold gave her an indulgent smile. “The Mayor and I have worked together for many years on various occasions. Lord knows she’s dragged me to enough fundraisers and social functions. She owes it to me to come to my wedding.”

“Even she owes you something?” Miss French shook her head in disbelief. “Wow.”

As she read down the list, she recognized names of doctors and lawyers, even the District Attorney. All of these people would come running to make Mr. Gold happy.

“You’ve got Sean Herman’s parents on here.” At Mr. Gold’s inquiring look, she explained. “I went to high school with him. And--oh. You’ve got my ex-boyfriend’s family too.”

“Which one is that?”

She pointed at the line. “Richard ‘Big Dick’ Duke, and his lovely wife Karen.”

“Ah,” Mr. Gold said. “Yes, Mr. Duke is an important man in the local bar association. It would be a snub if I didn’t invite him, but--”

“Oh I don’t mind,” Miss French said. “In fact, I want the Dukes to be there. All those rich New Town people thought girls like me weren’t good enough to hang out with their sons.” The image flashed in her mind of Ashley Boyd, pregnant and crying, in love with a boy who cared more about his parents’ approval than her desperation. “I want them to see me married to a man who’s ten times better than any of them.”

Mr. Gold grinned. “Are you talking about the boys or the families?”

“Both,” she said firmly. “Put together. You’re better than all of them.”

He reached down and held her chin. “I don’t normally care for flattery, my dear, but in this case, that is a clear-eyed assessment of facts.”

“And you want me?” she asked. “A girl like me? An Old Town charity case? You want to marry me?”

“I do. That’s why I suggested it.”

“Because you see potential in me.”

“Yes.”

Other questions ran through her head. Questions like Why? and Does that mean you like me? She let them go unasked. Mr. Gold was a man for whom words were obfuscation and only actions were real. His deeds bore out his desires. He had set a date. He had rented a hall and printed invitations. He was going to marry her. That was what mattered. Intent was meaningless.

He stood up from his chair. “I imagine your clothes are done drying,” he said. He took a pencil from one of the desk drawers and handed it to her. “Write down who you want to invite. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

****

It was a shockingly short list. Partially, that was the lack of extended family. If the Frenches and the Woolvertons were more prolific in having children, she could have filled out the notepad with more aunts and uncles and cousins. It was also hard to think of anyone who had been her friend in high school who was still relevant to her now. And it wasn’t like she had coworkers.

In the end, Miss French’s contributions to the invite list amounted to four lines: Her father, Uncle Manny, Aunt Terri with Janine and Chloe, and Mara with her mother Irma. Those were all the people she had in this world. Three less than there were this time last year.

When Mr. Gold came back, she offered him the notepad and took the stack of her clothes. He read over her additions and nodded to himself. He sat down at his desk and put the notepad back in the drawer.

“Very good,” he said. “They should all be able to fit at one table.”

Miss French sat on the floor, the blanket draped around her legs. Her hands were folded neatly over the warm stack of equally neatly folded laundry. “Um,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to have a best man?”

He shook his head. “It won’t be necessary. City Hall isn’t well-equipped for a large ceremony.”

“Oh.” Miss French bit her lip.

Mr. Gold’s mouth twisted into a grin. “We’re not going to get very far if you’re too afraid to ask me for something when you want it.”

Her face went hot. “Sorry. I--I was just wondering… if I could have bridesmaids?”

His grin deepened, became indulgent and fond. “Of course you may,” he said. “You want your friends to be with you on your wedding day, how could I refuse you that?”

She smiled shakily. Of course, Janine and Mara didn’t know she was getting married in two Saturdays. But their weekly lunch was tomorrow, she could tell them then.

“In fact,” Mr. Gold reached for his wallet, pulled out a wad of fifties. “I want you to make sure your companions are dressed appropriately and otherwise taken care of.”

Miss French looked at the money. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said. “Your family is important to you. Why shouldn’t they benefit from your excellent taste in husbands?”

It sat on her tongue to talk about her father and his rent problems. Would he be less of an asshole if he didn’t have the threat of eviction hanging over his head? Though it did seem unlikely that Mr. Gold would kick out his future father-in-law, if only just as a favor to her. Would Dad take money from Mr. Gold? Would he accept any kind of reprieve on the rent or waived fees? Or would he refuse? Was Moe French stubborn enough to lose his home and his business rather than take generosity that only existed because his daughter was a whore?

Miss French sighed.

Mr. Gold cocked his head at her. “You’re not any better than when you came in here.”

She shrugged. “I’m warmer at least. And my clothes are dry. Thank you for that, Mr. Gold.”

He raised his hand in dismissal. “A fair price to pay for getting to look at you all evening.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t in the mood for more.”

He shook his head. “If I wanted anything, I would have gotten you in the mood for it. Which reminds me…” Turning in his desk chair, he picked up the phone and dialed some numbers. Then he turned back to her, grinning.

It had to be almost ten by now. Who was Mr. Gold calling?

His first words answered her question.

“Whale? This is Gold. I need you to call in a prescription for birth control. … Of course not for me. It’s for Miss French. Yes, that Miss French. … Why do you think? … No, that won’t be necessary. I want her to be able to pick it up tomorrow afternoon.” After a moment of listening, Mr. Gold lowered the receiver and asked her, “You don’t have any medical conditions, do you? Are you already on any medications?”

She shook her head.

“And not a smoker?”

“No, Mr. Gold.”

He turned his attention back to Dr. Whale. “No, nothing like that. Anything else?” He listened. “Fine, fine. I’ll make an appointment with your office in the morning. Just make sure she can start taking something as soon as possible.”

The tinny sound of the doctor’s voice was still blathering as Mr. Gold hung up.

“I’ll give you money so you can go to the pharmacy tomorrow afternoon.”

Lacey gaped at him. “You just… decided I need to be on birth control?”

“Well, you’re not going to get pregnant, and condoms are as much of a nuisance as any impatient boy will say they are. And while I enjoy using your other holes, I want every part of you to be open to me, at all times.”

Arousal seeped into her shock and confusion. All she could do was stare at him.

“You didn’t want children, did you?”

She blinked. “I… I never thought about it before. I mean, I always assumed I’d have a family, at some point.”

“If that is your goal, you’ll have to meet it with the help of someone else.”

“Yeah, I--I mean… It doesn’t matter more to me than you do, Mr. Gold. I guess I just didn’t think I’d have to make the decision so soon.”

“It’s not your decision,” he said gently. “I’m not letting you get pregnant with my child. And if you conceive with someone else, I would call that immediate grounds for divorce. Is that unreasonable?”

“I guess not.”

It really wasn’t. That was how things were with Mr. Gold. His life was already established. His house, his habits, his work--these things were set in stone. If Miss French was going to be a part of it all, she would have to fit in with what already existed. A baby would upend everything and Mr. Gold didn’t want that. Not getting pregnant was just another rule she would have to follow if she was going to be good enough for him.

“Yes, you’re right,” Miss French said confidently. “Thank you for making it clear to me, Mr. Gold.”

He gave her a nod and an inscrutable expression. “Stand up,” he ordered.

She obeyed, leaving her clothes and the blanket on the floor. She stood with her hands out to the side a little, a halfhearted display of her wares to the man who was buying her fifty dollars at a time.

“You should dress.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

She put on her bra and had just finished pulling up her underwear when Mr. Gold told her to stop.

“Come here,” he said.

She stood in front of him and he put his hands on her hips. The heat of him steadied her. If he had started this evening by touching her, maybe she wouldn’t have been so unsure. She was sure now. Sure of her purpose, sure of his desire, sure that somehow everything would work out.

Mr. Gold poked his finger against a patch of skin revealed by a hole near the waist of her underwear. “What is this?”

Miss French looked down. “Oh, sometimes they rip when you pull up too hard.” She shrugged. “I would have worn something better if I had known I was coming over.”

“Do you think this is acceptable for my fiancee to wear at any time?”

“I…” Of course she had never thought about it. “No, Mr. Gold. It’s not acceptable.”

He shook his head and tutted. With one hand still gripping the hole, he pulled open a desk drawer and brought out a long, sharp pair of scissors.

Lacey blinked. Her heartbeat sped up, just a little. “What are you going to do with those?”

“Correct the situation,” he said.

Then the hand on her underwear began to pull. The fabric--thin with wear and a thousand washings--came apart easily in his hands. The sound of ripping all but echoed in the quiet study. Miss French just stood there, as her fiance tore apart an article of her clothing. He turned her around to get to her other side. Faded white fabric hung in tatters from the elastic waistband, clinging together only at the seams.

He used the scissors on the seams. Cold, slick metal slid against her skin. She felt the movement of the blades coming together to cut these rags off her body. Her breath shook. Heat flooded her. Mr. Gold picked the scraps up off the floor and dropped them in a trash can.

He patted her somewhere between her thighs and her ass. Her flank, maybe, though that was usually a word only used for horses.

“Go finish dressing,” he instructed her.

Miss French obeyed on wobbly feet. She pulled her slacks up over her naked cunt and tried to pretend that was normal. But it wasn’t normal and that was the whole point. That was why she loved it.

“I think it might be harder not to masturbate after that,” she said as she pulled her blouse over her head.

“Good,” Mr. Gold stood up. “That was the idea. There’s no discipline in not doing something you don’t want to do.”

He came close to her. For the first time since she came into the study, they were both standing, facing each other. His arm wrapped around her waist. His hand squeezed her ass through the thin fabric of her dress slacks. He kissed her--softly, gently, and for a long time.

“You’ve been through a lot today,” he informed her. “I want you to be good to yourself. Buy yourself a little something tomorrow.”

“I’ve been buying myself a lot of things lately.”

“And don’t you like it?” He kissed her neck, just behind her ear. “Don’t you want more?”

“The only thing I want more of is you, Mr. Gold.”

“Ah, you should have told me that an hour ago.” He kissed her a few more times, but kept his hands on her upper arms. “As it is now, you need to get to bed.”

She looked at the ground. Part of her hoped for another night in his bed, but that didn’t seem to be in the cards. “You’re going to send me back out there?”

“Not at all, dearie, I am a gentleman. I’ll drive you.”

#courtship #rumbelle #rumbelle fics #golden lace #golden lace fics

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yanderesnjunk · 1 year

Text

The Loan Shark

Lorenzo Diaz

♡ Morning, Lovely ♡

“Hope you slept well.”

“…something wrong? Say good morning. You know, it’s rude to not greet your house spouse good morning. Especially after that person made you a delicious, well-rounded breakfast.”

“…huh? Who am I? How sleepy are you? It’s me, Lorenzo. Though, I really wish you’d call me Zo.”

That’s right! Be polite to your m̶a̶n̶i̶p̶u̶l̶a̶t̶e̶ m̶a̶n̶s̶p̶l̶a̶i̶n̶ malewife Lorenzo. Just because he’s more lenient with his darling than others doesn’t mean his tolerance is limitless. He worked hard picking out your clothes and making you breakfast. A small thank you would suffice.

He takes time out of his schedule to make you getting ready for your day easier. He still needs to be ready to do his own job. But he loves you so much, he wants to make sure you’re ready. He doesn’t do this for anyone else, so you really should be appreciative. His fashion sense is impeccable, too. So, you’ll always be the best dressed at work. Would you like his help styling your hair (or wig)? He always knows how to frame your face perfectly! He always does a great job. Don’t you want to praise him?

Breakfast is hot and ready! Won’t you sit down and eat with him? He’s going to have a long day without you. Making boring calls to people whose voices aren’t nearly as melodious as yours. Handling monotonous paperwork that lacks any semblance of you. Not being able to cook for or cuddle with you during breaks. Not being able to leave little kisses all over your face. He’ll have to suffer for hours by himself. So, the least you’ll do is eat the breakfast he made for you, right? You’ll thank him, right?

Time for work? He can drive you! You can spend more time together on the ride there. You'll tell him your schedule on the way, won't you? He just wants to know when your lunch break is so he can call you! Your voice is the perfect pick-me-up during a long shift.

What do you mean he can't call you during lunch?

You're going to have lunch with a co-worker?

Who? What's their name? How old are they? Where are you going to eat? Are they your senior or junior? What do they look like? Why haven't you mentioned them before? How do you know you can trust them? What if the food they choose makes you sick? This is a bad idea. You should just eat the lunch he packed for you. You know how hard he worked on it. Do you want his hard work to go to waste? You're not that heartless, right?

Where does he work? Don't you remember? He's a branch manager at that bank downtown. What bank? Geez, are you still half asleep? What does he do? Oh, it's just boring things. Don't worry your pretty little head about it. You'll fall back asleep if he gives that long explanation.

Huh? What? He isn't dismissing you. It just isn't a very interesting thing to talk about. You have better things to think about. Like what you want for dinner. Do you want French or Thai?

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #male yandere #my ocs #oc intro #yandere concept #yandere content #yandere oc x you #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yancore #yandere blog #yandere x y/n #yandere male x reader

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children-of-epiales · 8 months

Text

Careful

Word Count: 711

Jody turns his head away from the gauze, his eyes narrowed at the brunette in warning.

“ If you don’t let me do this-I will make sure you’re ordered to take time off.” Rouen promises, returning the nasty expression. “ That shit doesn’t work with me.”

“ What. Shit.” The enraged man grits his teeth; with his hair being so disheveled and the mixture of dirt and blood that covers him, it’s no wonder why Reaper’s the only one who offered to deal with him.

Instead of answering him, the brunette places the gauze back in its packaging and turns on her heel; she’s ready whenever Jody reaches out for her, yanking her arm so he won’t be able to prevent her from leaving. “ Hey!” He barks when she makes a break for the door, “ Rouen please-”

“ Please what?” The Canadian spat at him in the same threatening tone he spoke in before.

“ Please fucking help me, alright?! Please it…it hurts.” Jody gestures to his head, the fingers on his right hand just as bloodied from being stomped and grinded on. “ It hurts so bad.”

Rouen tilts her head forward. Her friend returns to the seat and she opens a new pack of gauze, this time not waiting to press it on his head wound. “ What were you thinking…” She wipes some of the running blood, then tosses the stained material and opens another, this time neatly taping it down on the wound. “ These people-they’ll kill someone if enough of ‘em agree on it, you know what. You, J, nor I have made the best impression, so we need to be careful.”

She washes his injured hand and works on bandaging that, wrapping each finger before the palm of the hand. “ Go on-” Rouen’s eyes flicker up at Jody, “-what she’d say? What did you say? How’d the fight happen?”

Jody goes silent upon hearing the question. The French Canadian glances to his friend’s left, then to her right and his gaze remains on whatever is across the room. “ Roze made a comment, and I got upset.” He decides to answer. “ I’ll give credit where credit’s due-I know no ranger is someone to screw with, but she’s such an asshole, Rouge. Fuck-the other day when she shoved J because he was gonna grab her rifle by mistake? I don’t do shit like that.”

“ It’s not easy to be around her,” Rouen agrees. “ But, do you remember what Evan said?”

Jody narrows his eyes at her. “ We’re not here to make friends, we’re here to do our jobs.” He repeats mockingly. “ But I can’t do my job if I’m too busy having to worry about watching my own back, can I?” His brows raise when Rouen rolls her eyes at him. “ Go on-tell me I’m wrong and Stiletto totally didn’t try to slice you up two weeks ago. Tell me, Rouge, go on-you know you wanna.”

The brunette shushes him and places her fingers over his mouth. Jody immediately licks them, earning him a slap on the slap on the shoulder. “ Idiot!” Rouen scolds him before collecting her supplies. “ Listen, I know it’s tough-we all do-but you just gotta try and adjust okay? You find yourself near someone you think will get on your nerves-”

“ I gotta distance myself.” The brunet looks Rouen in the eyes while recalling the line. “ I get, I get it, I get it.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, roughs it up as much as possible, somehow always managing to forget that he gets it cut before going back out into the field. “ Thanks for patching me up, Rouge.” Jody mumbles, letting out a heavy sigh after. “ We should…”

“ Go before they say something, right.” Rouen nods, though it takes her a minute to process what they’re actually doing. She, too, does not want to return among the soldiers that she has to force herself not to return a glare at, not to open her mouth when they converse about her when she’s in the room, to always double check that her gun is with her before she goes to sleep at night.

She eventually leaves, and it doesn’t take Jody long to follow her out. The only thing worse than having to go undercover is doing it alone.

Tagging: @voidika @shegetsburned @jinfromyarikawa @scentedcandleibex

#didnt wanna finish it here but it was kinda sitting in my drafts #cod au #cod coyote #joseph chatelain #cod reaper #rouen blake #fic #cod au fic

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detectiveichijouji · 6 months

Text

Case 25 - A brother’s puzzle: The last shard!!

[AO3 version]

With the warnings given by the 02 Team and Koushiro, Yamato got a little way more concerned than usual. Takeru asked everyone to not tell Yamato that he was also a victim of those bad guys before, knowing very well who his brother is capable of doing.

Would someone spill the beans and tell Yamato? Not really, at least not from the younger kids or the rest of the older six.

He knew there’s two kinds of digimon running around and brainwashing people, giving them shards of a wicked and forbidden Digimental. He knew Sora, Taichi and Joe were victims, and that almost Mimi was the next. What would happen if someone else… Someone…

“... Takeru.”

“?”

Yamato had called Takeru for a drink at a coffee shop. Patamon was with Takeru, of course. But Gabumon… Was actually at Koushiro’s server, and talking with them via Yamato’s phone.

“...” Yamato wanted to ask him about something, but he faltered.

“What is it?”

“ ‘I want you to be careful.’ is what Yamato wants to say,” Gabumon spoke via the screen.

“Don’t worry, they can’t catch me or the others” Takeru smiled, “We don’t have strong negative feelings or desires at the moment.”

“But…!!”

“I’m with Takeru and I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to him!” Patamon said with a serious yet cutesy gaze on Yamato and Gabumon.

“I’m counting on you, Patamon” Yamato then gave the digimon a pat.

“Leave it to me~”

“Did you catch that digimon who forced Sora and Piyomon to fuse-evolve?” Then he asked Takeru and Patamon. Takeru could notice that he stopped the pats on Patamon and grabbed his latte. Took a sip, and then looked again to his brother.

“Uh, no?” Patamon replied with a frown.

“But you don’t need to worry about it,” Takeru added quickly, “We will find them and retrieve the last two shards before someone else turns into a victim.”

“... How about Arsenemon? He got 10 of those. There’s nothing saying he won’t use them on you or on others.”

“Um… Arsenemon is a weird case” Patamon explained, “He has gathered ten fragments of the Digimental, but he… Didn’t use them at all.”

“Yeah,” Takeru nodded, “He told Daisuke-kun we wouldn’t believe him if he told us his true intentions with those shards.”

“I understood,” Yamato said, thoughtful.

“... Daisuke-kun wants to ask him what he plans to do with them though,” he added, trying to keep the conversation going on, “Though he has been acting strange lately.”

“Daisuke?” Yamato raised an eyebrow; he took a sip of his latte again.

“Yeah, first he was fired up about catching Arsenemon, but since he met a new student called Noel Leblanc he’s… Not much interested in it anymore.”

“Hm??” Gabumon blinked.

“Ichijouji-kun suspects Noel-kun had created Arsenemon, but Daisuke-kun gets a little defensive when we check Noel-kun’s background…”

“A human-made digimon… Like Chimeramon, or Arukenimon and Mummymon…” Yamato took another sip.

“He said he knows Catherine, the French Chosen Child who I met six years ago… But… It sounded a little off too.”

“... Stay safe then, if you think this kid is suspicious.”

Yamato finished his latte and then got up from the table. He took his phone and put it in his pocket. Then, “I have to go now. I have classes now.”

“Oh ok, so please stay alert and don’t let those digimon come after you. And don’t do something reckless.”

“Same to you.”

“...”

Daisuke was a little… strange indeed. He just felt like he had done something bad but why?

“I caught you now, and you will give me those shards!!”

“My, why don’t you ask yourself if it is a good idea keeping me captive right now, mon ami?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!!”

“Your friends are in danger, monsieur Motomiya. And I’m the only one able to save them right now.”

“...”

“Daisuke…” Lilymon had called him, “Aren’t you…”

“Ack, I don’t know! Lilymon please let him go. I got a bad feeling…”

“But…”

“Just… Trust me, okay?”

“Alright…” she had snapped her fingers and the vines and flowers magically had turned into dust, freeing Arsenemon.

“Oh? Are you really letting me go?”

“Save them. Like, now. I don’t care about that stupid shard, just save Wallace and Gummymon. Stop them before they hurt someone.”

“Alright, mon ami. I will grant you that wish.”

Arsenemon had left in a blink of the eye.

“...” Now, Daisuke was full of regrets. But… Deep down, something said it was the right choice.

“You’re too quiet,” V-mon commented.

“... Sorry, I… I was thinkin’ about…”

“Is it about Arsenemon?” the digimon said, while they headed back home, “You think Ken is right about Noel?”

“... I don’t think Ken is right, he’s just accusing Noel without proof. Like, who cares if Noel is a distant relative of some famous writer??!”

“Said writer made a character called Arsene too, it’s… suspicious, don’t you think?”

“Noel wouldn’t make something like this, he’s not a guy like… The old Ken, ya know?”

“Maybe Arsenemon is not a bad guy,” he heard someone’s voice coming from the back. He and V-mon looked back, and saw… “Ah I’m sorry I heard you by accident...”

“Since when you were behind me, Noel?” Daisuke blinked.

“I just… I just came. Sorry, I wanted to talk about something with you.”

“Something huh…” V-mon blinked.

“... About Arsenemon.”

“?!”

“So, you made him, right!?” V-mon babbled, Daisuke immediately covered the digimon’s mouth.

“H-huh??”

“Don’t mind him, he ate too much sugar today!” Daisuke babbled, “T-then… What do ya want to talk about him…?”

“I think he’s not a bad guy…” Noel began, “I mean… It’s just a gut feeling.”

“Yeah, he kinda… helped us out before and before, and he said to have a reason for catching those, something he claimed we wouldn’t believe him…”

“And why would he think you guys wouldn’t understand his reasons?”

“Beats me” he uncovered V-mon’s mouth and shrugged, “I think he’s just a weirdo.”

“A… A weirdo…?” Noel gasped.

“What, don’t ya agree?”

“Or are you implying you know something we don’t?” V-mon squinted his eyes at the French boy.

“O-oh… No, I… I never thought of him that way…” He seemed sad???

“... If you…” Daisuke started, quite hesitant, “If you were to make a digimon, like, if you could make one… You wouldn’t make one to hurt others, or… us, right?”

Noel blinked, “Uh… No? Why would I do that…? Humans shouldn’t create digimon, they shouldn’t play a god role…”

“... Ah Alright. You’re right, this would be bad.”

“But Oikawa…” V-mon frowned, “Oikawa did that… And he wasn’t bad.”

“... You’re right… But Arukenimon and Mummymon said their only purpose was to destroy the Digital World… Though… I think it was because of Vamdemon’s influence, if they…”

“A human shouldn’t mess with the power of creating digimon life” Noel sighed.

“... I think Arukenimon and Mummymon would’ve been good digimon if they had the chance…”

“?!!” Noel gasped in silence.

“The Digimon Kaiser made a legit bad digimon without a single mind, so I don't think Chimeramon would be redeemed. However…”

“You think I made Arsenemon, right…?”

“No, I…”

“It’s okay… You don’t need to defend your thesis. Actually, I--”

Daisuke’s phone rang and he gently asked Noel to wait a moment, so he took it from his pocket and answered the call. It was Koushiro.

“I’ve detected one of those fragments. I sent the details via email, please check it.”

“Oh, right! I’ll check my inbox right now, thank you!” and then he hung up, opened his email inbox and then the most recent message on it.

Noel frowned, he didn’t want to be interrupted like this… Daisuke then smiled.

“It wasn’t activated yet!!” Daisuke cheered “It’s not that far from here…!! We can catch that Impmon before they use it on someone!”

“Um, Daisuke-san I…”

“Uh, sorry Noel. Can we talk later? This is important, we might get a fragment and stop those pranks!!”

“O-ok… See you later, I suppose…” And then he watched Daisuke and V-mon leave quickly.

“...”

Noel fixed his bangs, and he glanced in the direction Daisuke and V-mon went with his green eyes.

“... Maybe I should be going too…”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaah, Naito will murder me if I don’t find that fragment before those humans and their digimon--!! Where did I put it?! W-where-- HUH?!”

Impmon just found Ken with the said lost shard in hands.

“Oh, maybe I could--”

Stingmon appeared behind Impmon, and tried to catch him. Impmon screeched and left his hidden spot in panic “AAAAH W-WHAT HOW DID YOU--”

“I know you would be there,” Ken had the same Digimon Kaiser glare at the digimon.

“G-give it b-back!!”

“No, because I know you want to use it on someone else” he smiled, then he put the shard on his pocket from his coat, “Now you will show me where’s the last one, or…”

“Or what, you punk!?”

Ken snapped his fingers and Stingmon charged his spikes to execute a Spiking Finish attack.

“AAAAAAAAH!! I do-- I do tell you but please don’t hurt me!!” They replied in panic.

“Then… Where is it?”

“W-with Dracumon…!! I don’t know where he is though, don’t ask m--”

“Spiking…”

“AAAAH H-HE WENT AFTER O-ONE OF THE CH-CHOSEN CHILDREN!! PLEASE DON’T KILL MEEEE!!”

“One of us…?” Ken raised his eyebrows, this meant something was not right.

“Ken!!” Daisuke called him, meeting with the other. Just by doing this, the eyepatched Impmon managed to escape, “Huh, that Impmon--”

“Easy,” then Ken showed him the shard, “They lost the fragment and we found it first thanks to Koushiro-san’s tracker.”

“That’s Koushiro’s power for you!” V-mon grinned, “But they left…”

“Yeah, but there’s one more problem…” Stingmon said.

“What is it?”

“Dracumon has the last piece” Ken explained, “And is after one of us.”

“Man… Alright, it’s easier if we let this Dracumon spot one of us first than start looking for it.”

V-mon, Ken and Stingmon looked at Daisuke in awe.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, that’s… better than nothing,” Ken shrugged.

“H-Hey, I’m really trying to think how we can get that piece BEFORE that thief! And before someone gets hurt too.”

“He’s still upset with those meanies for using Takeru,” V-mon explained.

“Not just Takeru… I meant everyone so far!!”

“Alright, let’s gather the others, and try to track the last one.”

Arsenemon was there, hiding… And starting to not trust those kids to solve any major problem, so he used his magic to write on thin air the list of possible victims according to what he eavesdropped from the boys.

“Hmm… One of them… This means it can be either one of the young ones, or one of the older ones.”

“Would they use someone else again?”

“Hmm… They wouldn’t target the younger ones, because they’re attacking them indirectly…”

“And mademoiselle Tachikawa has returned to her current home overseas… Hmm…”

“Ah, could it be…!!”

Yamato was going home, still worried about Takeru, and also about Sora. He was well aware Taichi and Joe were also victims, and his blood was still boiling. He was almost going after that Impmon! Almost…

Suddenly, he stops in front of a hooded person. Still wary about the events, he brings Gabumon to the scene by opening his phone and accessing Koushiro’s server. Gabumon popped out from the screen and stood in front of that human.

“I’m not an enemy,” the hooded person said. Then they showed Yamato one of those forbidden shards, “I know you can use this for good. I can offer you… Protection against that Impmon.”

“Offering me one of those like them?” Yamato flipped, and this was what the little shard needed to be activated.

“That Impmon… Attacked your brother, didn’t you know?” Then, Yamato and Gabumon saw that smile under the hood. By the shock, Yamato couldn’t move, and then the hooded human put the Digimental piece in Yamato’s hands, muttering “Make them all pay for hiding this little secret from you, and get rid of that Impmon.”

“...”

But mysteriously, Noel managed to witness the scene. And he left in a hurry.

The group was all gathering at the usual karaoke booth, checking the network and the radar program Koushiro made… When suddenly… Someone knocked on the booth’s door.

Ken opened the door, but he realized no one was there… Until something almost hit him in the face. He dodged a card which was pinned on the door by one of its edges. Ken also managed to get to see someone hiding behind the wall of the corridor section -- Was it Noel? -- he thought.

The fine pretty black card with its back filled with a golden cat paw caught Ken’s attention. He took the card from the door and closed it. He showed the new Calling Card to the others.

“W-what!? Already!?” V-mon exclaimed.

“I think I saw Noel Leblanc too,” Ken explained.

“Maybe he was told to deliver it!” Daisuke quickly tried to defend Noel, enough to make the others wince, “It doesn’t matter. What does it say?”

“It says… He’s going to retrieve the fragment from… Yamato-senpai.”

“WHAT!?” They all exclaimed.

“But why Yamato?” Takeru babbled, “Oh no… It must be that Dracumon you mentioned before…!!”

“We should not waste time,” Tailmon said with a serious glare, “Miyako, have you caught anything on the radar?”

“Ummm… I think yes, there’s something near the area of the university Yamato-senpai attends.”

Then, they left the booth, but… For some reason, Daisuke caught something suspicious and went after it. Again, V-mon was left with Ken and the others… Was Daisuke just being reckless lately?

Yamato was not found. Instead, there was this dark armored digimon -- Plutomon. The 02 Team could sense this meant Yamato and Gabumon fused into that digimon, or Yamato used the fragment in himself or in Gabumon.

“When would you tell me… That that Impmon hurt Takeru?”

They definitely heard Yamato’s voice coming from that digimon.

“Isn’t that Plutomon?” Patamon asked, “This is no good…!”

“He definitely sounds like Yamato-senpai” Miyako frowned, then looked at the group while clutching her digivice, “What should we do?”

“YAMATO!” Takeru screamed, “Please stop! I’m fine now!”

“... You lied to me.”

“... Everyone, let Hikari-chan, Miyako-san and I deal with this.”

“But why Hikari and Miya--” V-mon was about to ask, but Takeru interrupted him:

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” Takeru looked at them with a smile, “I will save my brother from himself.”

“If you say so…” Armadimon shrugged.

After finishing evolving, all the digimon went to their positions -- Ankylomon and Stingmon were there to shield the kids, Silphymon and HolyAngemon were on the battlefield and ready to fight. It was when they realized… V-mon came all alone.

“EH!? Where’s Daisuke!?” V-mon looked around quite panicked, “D-did we get separated!?”

HolyAngemon knew what was Takeru’s plan, so he and Silphymon attacked Plutomon immediately. Plutomon shielded and even repelled Silphymon’s Top Gun and Dual Sonic attacks. They had to find a way to approach Yamato (?) immediately!!

“Daisuke’s not here…” Miyako frowned, “This means we can’t use Paildramon to hold Plutomon and let HolyAngemon get closer…”

“No, he can evolve without Daisuke,” Ken explained, “That’s how I evolved him before, remember?”

“That’s right…” Iori nodded, “Ichijouji-san was who evolved V-mon and Wormmon into Paildramon when we had to fight Wallace-san.”

“... Can you do that?” Takeru asked out of the blue.

“You don’t want us to use Imperialdramon, right?” V-mon spoke, “Well, we can use Paildramon instead, we won’t hurt Yamato or Gabumon!!”

“Thank you, V-mon.”

Once Paildramon was in the fight, they used their cables against Plutomon the moment the opponent was simultaneously attacked by Silphymon once again. Plutomon dodged Silphymon’s Dual Sonic again, but got trapped by Paildramon’s finger-cables.

“NOW, HOLYANGEMON!” Takeru screamed.

“HOLY DISINFECTION!!”

HolyAngemon approached very quickly and used his holy aura coming from his hands and touched Plutomon’s head, and then, he removed the shard on the chest of the armor, undoing the fusion between Yamato and Gabumon, but falling unconscious. HolyAngemon and Silphymon catched them before they hit the ground and gently put them on the floor.

The digimon devolved back to their usual standard forms. The kids approached Yamato. Ken put his hand on Yamato’s wrist to check the man’s pulse.

“He’s fine, just passed out.” he looked at Takeru, “He and Gabumon might just need to rest for a while.”

“...” Takeru looked at Yamato sleeping.

“Ah! You got it…!!”

They heard Daisuke’s voice from the distance, and glanced at the other:

“Where were you, Daisuke?!” Miyako and V-mon snapped.

“Oh… I… I was after Arsenemon, he was inside the karaoke building.”

“He was there!?” The others exclaimed. Daisuke just nodded his head.

“But why was he there, dagya?”

“Beats me” he replied with a shrug, “The moment I almost caught him, he vanished in thin air like magic.”

“Hmm…” Ken mused.

“Oh, you got our 10th shard!” Daisuke looked at Takeru’s hands, “Now all we have to do is take the other ten back from Arsenemon and we will finally… What do we plan to do with them though?”

“We will find a way to seal them away from everyone else,” Ken explained.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“I thought that was obvious,” V-mon blinked, “Like, what else would we do with them? If they’re cursed and the Digimental itself has a price to pay for its power…”

“O-oh… Yeah, that was a stupid question.”

“Are you okay?” Hikari frowned, “You seem strange…”

“Haha, I’m fine no worries!” Daisuke laughed, “Then, we should send this right to Koushiro-san while we’re plannin’ how to snatch the other ten from that sneaky thief!”

“Yeah, we’re about to do that,” Patamon replied.

“Daisuke…” Ken looked at his best friend for a moment.

“Huh? What is it, Ken?”

“Nothing… Let’s go.”

With 10 fragments for each side… The Chosen Children now are about to witness something unexpected…

Something Ichijouji Ken cannot stop in time.

#young prince detective ichijouji ken #02 team digimon case files

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funbonded · 1 year

Text

✟ Ƒ Ƒ｡✟ - ❝ OOooooh don’t be that way! You’ve got love the classics! ❞ If it isn’t evident by the ever so crazed look in his eyes; he’s enjoying this. ❝ I know I do. ❞ . He may have accidentally been a bad show man and repeated a line twice to many. Call it excitement. He always brought all of his energy to this show. If she managed to escape? It would irk him some and yet GLASS HALF FULL; he’d be able to apprehend her all over again.

Still he turns the voltage up a notch just for a little added heat. ❝ Ooops too late, French Fry. And you really are going to FRY ❞ He did notice the wobbling, a small scowl on his face. He’d better fry her quick and get it over with before she finds any way out.

There was not much he could do from out here aside from take action if the little weasel did some how pop and go. No. He would have to be careful the voltage didn’t interfere with HIMSELF if that happened.

Funtime Freddy was one of the scarce few animatronics here who refused to use the charging station.He found other means to charge himself. Suppose it was really projecting all this encasing people within such a confine space filled with electrical currents surging through them.

✟ Ƒ Ƒ｡✟ - ❝ What will you do now, pet? Tell me how it feels. Do you feel all the electricity cooking your brain yet? I hope you didn’t think I’d make this easy for you after our little talk about you being a hero. Why you can’t expect to be the hero without someone who intends to make it difficult for you to do your job, little lamb. No. I think I made my word clear last time. I won’t kill you. I’ll just mangle you until you beg me to finish the job. You can’t do anything about those souls, face it, my dear. It’s not in your control. It’s all arbitrary whether this encounter kills you, despite my intentions to torture you, or not is out of my control, really. It depends on whether you get lucky. It makes no odds to me whether you die now or later. ❞

✗ @cantfixyou ✗ c o n t i n u e d

#✝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐔𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄 . 𝐢𝐜 #𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐘'𝐒 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 ! 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒 . 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜 #cantfixyou #whyd this take long for me to answer it's so fun i generally enjoy playing funfred #terrorising other people's muses he's terrible honestly

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estrellami-1 · 9 months

Note

Good morning star baby

Estoy aprendiendo, quiero aprender todos los idiomas, quiero poder hablar con todos. Quiero poder cuidar todos el mismo. Hay muchos personas que habla español en mi ciudad, y chino también. Mi español todavía necesito trabajar 😅

Same lol I have a running list of all the things I want to learn so I don’t forget

Also I feel like you know who I am because you’re smart and I’m bad at subtlety lol but at this point I don’t know what I’m doing, at first I just wanted to tell you because I think everyone should get to know when people care about them but now I’m just winging it there’s no plan it’s a bit scary 😅💜

Good morning lovely ❤️

My brain saw that and went “lol nope” so full transparency I was able to understand 90% of it but I did put it into Google Translate just to be sure. Also translating my English to Spanish was… not gonna happen today. So I’m sticking with English 😂 that’s very cool though!! I feel like Chinese would be really hard to learn, no? I’d like to finish learning Spanish lol, I’d like to learn Italian and French and maybe German? Some of my family is German and it’s got kinda the same base as English so it’s actually not too difficult in comparison. Or so I think; I know a handful of words 😂

Honestly babe I have no idea who you are, I miss details CONSTANTLY, like unless you explicitly tell me “I’m So-and-so” I won’t know 😂 but I’d like to know!! ❤️

Can I ask questions? Nothing too prying (or I hope not lol) but can I have something to call you other than nonnie? ❤️

#asks #my asks #thank you nonnie #I love you nonnie

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edwardskhakipants · 3 years

Text

Forks, Washington. August 2004.

Esme and Carlisle stood in the middle of their grand living room, waiting for their five vampire children to arrive. Alice arrived first—prompt as usual. She settled herself gracefully onto the tufted sofa Esme had recently acquired, only to be immediately jostled by Emmett who heaved himself onto the cushions. A breath caught in Esme’s throat—she had lost many pieces from her beloved collection by that action—but it looked like this one was still in one piece. For the moment. Jasper took Edward’s normal spot in the only armchair, forcing Edward to wedge himself between Alice and Emmett.

“What?” Rosalie grumbled as she perched on the armrest of the couch beside Emmett, “Are we having another one of those How to Respect the Telepath in Your Life meetings again?”

“No,” Edward answered, fully aware of the intent of this meeting since it hatched in Carlisle's mind two days prior. “But there’s never a bad time to bring that up. Christ, Emmett, if you’re going to have a song stuck in your head for over seventy-two hours, the least you can do is learn the correct lyrics.”

Emmett’s eyebrows knit together, asking his brother a silent question.

“It’s ‘mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido,’” Edward answered.

Emmett’s brow furrowed doubtfully.

“No.” Edward shook his head, answering Emmett’s thoughts. “Why would he eat a beetle?”

Emmett grinned playfully and tilted his head towards Edward.

Edward wasn’t amused. “You know what it means.”

A silly grin plastered on his face, Emmett elbowed Edward in the ribs, silently egging him on.

Edward’s eyes darted to Carlisle, then Esme, and he shifted in his seat. “Sexual desire,” he muttered.

Emmett howled with laughter and clapped his hands once, “Wow, Eddie! You’re just going to say that in front of Esme!?” Edward scowled as Emmett’s bouts of laughter echoed through the room.

Esme ran a hand through her youngest’s ginger hair. “Boys,” she warned, and Emmett sucked in his laughter.

“Our meeting today has to do with all of you,” Carlisle began.

“We simply wanted to go over the rules of attending school with you kids before you start your second year at Forks High School,” Esme explained, unfolding and re-folding her hands in front of her. “There are already whispers, and we don’t want those whispers to turn into rumors.”

“I thought the only whispers about us at school were whether or not Edward liked girls,” Rosalie said, earning an eye-roll from Edward.

“No,” Alice chirped,” Some kids think we’re a cult.”

Jasper leaned back heavily in his chair. “We haven’t heard that one since the Seventies.”

“Kids are getting more creative these days.” Emmett nodded appreciatively.

Esme held up one, delicate finger. “Which is why it is best to take preventative action.”

Carlisle took the floor. “We thought a few reminders would be helpful before you started your first day of your second year,” Carlisle said. “We don’t want another incident like the one we had at the end of last year.”

Every head in the room turned towards Emmett.

“What?” Emmett threw up his hands in exasperation, “The water gun fight was the senior prank—I wasn’t the one who brought them to the school. Hell, I wasn’t even the only student who got suspended!”

“That’s true,” Carlisle agreed, “but you were the only student to shout, ‘Sit down, kids! Daddy’s gotta tinkle,’ and shoot the stream of the gun from your crotch.”

Jasper snickered—the sound was immediately silenced by a single raised eyebrow from Esme.

“I still don’t see the problem,” Emmett continued, “That’s not necessarily a vampire thing.”

Edward—who often mistook himself as the third vampire parent rather than the youngest son—sighed, “Yes, but it brings unnecessary attention to the family. Which is the first rule: do not bring attention to yourself.”

Esme ran her fingers through her son’s hair once more, “Yes, darling, you are especially good at keeping to yourself.” Edward’s eyes widened, despite Esme’s gentle touch, already aware of where her point was headed. “So much so, that I have been given the names of several child therapists to help my son through his depression. One was recommended for his exceptional work on spotting and treating the early signs of sociopathic behavior.”

Esme grabbed her son’s chin and forced him to look at her. “You have to talk to other people.”

Knocked off his high horse, Edward flinched back from Esme’s hand. “Friendship with humans never bodes well for us.”

“We’re not asking you to create lifelong friendships with humans,” Carlisle clarified, “We are simply asking you to be likable.”

“A nearly impossible feat for Edward.” Rosalie grinned. The comment went unnoticed, save Edward’s slight flinch. But the quick, little tick was satisfying enough for Rose.

“Look at your father,” Esme gestured towards Carlisle, “At every hospital he works at, he goes out of his way to ensure he is well-liked among his colleagues. He forces down countless lunches and coffees, solely to make sure they’re comfortable around him.”

Carlisle took over. “And your mother, a beloved member of her gardening club and a prized member of the PTA.”

“And neither of us have rumors started about us, and do you know why?”

All five teenagers grumbled the ingrained response. “Humans don’t want to spread rumors about people they like.”

“Exactly.” Esme nodded.

“I try!” Alice whined, “But Edward never lets me talk to any humans.”

“That’s because every, single thing that is about to come out of your mouth is incriminating. You might as well walk around with a neon sign that says, ‘I’m a psychic vampire’.”

Alice scoffed, “Is not!”

“You wanted to tell Nihal Howard not to audition for the musical.”

“And he broke his leg on opening night,” Alice challenged.

“You were going to tell Christiana Ward that pink was not her color.”

“And she lost prom queen to Ashley Kirby.”

Jasper put a comforting hand on his wife’s knee. “Maybe try not to meddle so much, darlin’. Natural relationships, first.”

“They would have been!” Alice wailed, “I would have played it cool and casual and made friends and you all would have seen it! But everyone’s hurt and I have no friends at all because Edward won’t let me try!”

Edward rolled his eyes.

Carlisle suppressed a heavy sigh. “You have to let your sister try, Edward.”

Edward’s mouth fell open. “You cannot seriously be siding with her on this!”

But Carlisle stood his ground. He and Edward stared at one another for a few seconds, engaged in a silent conversation. In the end, Carlisle tilted his chin and Edward slumped back. Victorious, Alice used both pointer fingers to jab Edward in the side several dozen times at vampire speed.

Rosalie flipped her golden locks over her shoulder. “I don’t know how you all struggle so much. I have no issues with becoming well-liked at school while remaining inconspicuous.”

“Oh yeah, you’re so inconspicuous,” Edward grumbled, now extra-petty that he had been called out two times in one meeting. “You dress like you're on your way to brunch at your second husband’s country club in Beverly Hills and you make out with your foster brother. The perfect picture of discretion in Forks High School.”

“At least I don’t dress like a sad, old man.” Rosalie grimaced, disappointed in her comeback. The light, humorous insults that were required in family situations were Emmett’s forte; Rosalie’s insults were meant to emotionally cripple a person.

Edward sat up in his seat on the couch and turned to face Rosalie. “I think you missed the main takeaway in that you make out with your foster brother.” Edward turned back. “I can read your minds, and I still don’t understand what made either of you think it was okay to bring your relationship to school?!”

Emmett smiled, unperturbed. “It’s hot.”

“It’s disturbing,” Edward disagreed.

Esme frowned, “You kids don’t really do that, do you?”

“Would it help if Jasper and I became an official couple too?” Alice suggested. Jasper perked up at the idea of being able to hold hands with Alice in public again.

“No!” Edward yelled at the same time Emmett and Rosalie muttered their acquiesce.

“It wouldn’t seem as weird if there were two couples,” Emmett agreed.

Edward dug his fingers through his hair. “Oh my god!”

“...maybe not, kids,” Esme intervened, but was ultimately ignored.

“So should we come out today like it happened over the summer, or make a little show out of it?” Alice asked Rosalie.

Rosalie waved a hand in the air. “Oh, it’s way more fun if you play up the theatrics.”

“A little more realistic, too,” Emmett agreed.

Alice looked to Jasper for his opinion. “It might be better if we were discreet about it,” she said. “Like we knew it was wrong, but we wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of our love.”

Jasper scooted forward to the edge of his seat. “Or we could let it be quiet and drawn out. Let others see our mutual pining, and root for us to be together.”

Gazing deep into the golden eyes of her soulmate, Alice sighed, “I love that.”

“If people wanted us to get together, it would normalize Emmett and Rosalie’s relationship.”

“Or Rosalie and Emmett could stop,” Edward suggested, bitterly. “That would be normal, too.”

“Oh, Edward,” Alice patted his shoulder, “You’ll find love someday, too.”

“That is not at all what bothers me about the situation.”

Carlisle made the decision for everyone. “Rosalie and Emmett, break up at school. Alice and Jasper, remain friends and siblings.”

Disappointment filtered into the room through Jasper.

“I heard that,” Edward grumbled at someone’s thoughts.

“You were supposed to,” Rosalie shot back.

“We are also initiating a new rule,” Esme brought the room back to the conversation at hand, “No more correcting your teachers.”

A chorus of complaints rang from the couch.

Esme clicked her tongue, “I’m tired of defending you all from entirely preventable issues. I have emails from curious teachers wondering why my foster daughter is taking French 101, when she already appears to be fluent.” Esme looked at Rosalie, who immediately tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Or why my son, at the tender age of sixteen, could not only deadlift three hundred pounds in his first weightlifting class, but also give his coach tips on improving his posture.”

Emmett glanced over at Edward before he realized Esme was, in fact, addressing him. “What!?”

Jasper snorted. The sound was a mistake, for it brought Esme’s wrath onto him. “And not to mention the emails from not one, not two, but three teachers warning me that my foster son has an intimate understanding of the mechanics of a point fifty-eight caliber rifle-musket.” Esme held out her hands, almost pleadingly, “How does that subject keep coming up, Jasper?”

A noncommittal grunt was the only answer Jasper had for that question.

“No more,” she commanded. “You can get good grades but keep your extra knowledge on any subject to yourself. Whatever your teacher teaches is all you know. Understand?”

“But what if we��” Edward started.

“Understand?” Esme repeated.

The five teenage vampires understood, even if they didn’t want to.

“I believe that all five of you will graduate from Forks High School!” Esme cheered.

The kids stared back, unable to muster the zeal Esme had over the prospect.

“Meeting adjourned!” Carlisle announced, and faster than fast vampire speed, the kids bolted from their seats.

Esme was able to get in a few more reminders as her children flitted around the house and filed out to the silver Volvo. “Remember to buy lunch with cash and not your credit cards. Emmett, please do not joke about being mauled by a bear. Do not address your teachers by their first names—I don’t care if you’re older than they are, Edward. Alice, please wear something a bit more causal, pet.”

When the house was finally empty, Carlisle pulled Esme backwards into his chest and began massaging her temples. The gesture wasn’t needed, but any touch from her husband was always welcome.

“Do you think they’ll listen?” she asked her husband.

“Not a chance.”

#this bad boy had been swimming around in my head for awhile #please enjoy #my other fics havent been cullen centric enough for me lately #so i had to do something #twilight fic #twilight fan fiction #and thank you to the editing queen edwardsmate4ever for beta'ing for me #youre a queen

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barbiegirldream · 2 years

Text

Been thinking about the problem with twitters idea of activism being dog piling and harassing which actively undermines work being done by minority activists who do want to educate and teach.

Like okay I get being angry. I get being tired. How could I not. I’m a jewish/roma half black white passing queer woman who’s incredibly mentally ill with a chronic illness who passes in society as pretty ‘normal’ But because of who my family is I see up close and personal the horrific bigotry they all face. I see my old teachers who treated me perfectly fine be racist to my little brother, who did not get the french canadian whiteness to say the least, in ways they probably don’t even realize. And it hurts me knowing what he goes through, knowing I can’t make the world instantly better for him. And the constant sexual harassment I get, the homophobia, the whatever else if someone learns about a different less obvious facet of me is draining as hell. It makes me want to scream and shout and cry and just be angry.

So when I say no person who is apart of a marginalized group is ever obligated to educate someone else I mean it with my full heart. So I extra mean it when I say you should respect the hell out of marginalized people who are activists and educators.

Hatred is taught. Bigotry is taught. It can be untaught. Especially in the United States when is comes to racial relations for example the government carefully puts different races against each other it’s just class warfare strats point the poor people at other poor people and say ‘it’s their fault’ but like with races instead. When it comes to queerphobia every single group alive including queer people are at risk of falling into ingrained behaviors. The same goes for ableism, sexism, religious prejudices and all sorts of different facets of life. It’s also very tiring when it comes from people who belong to these communities but are wholly uneducated on what they’re talking about. Or people outside the communities talking over people in them.

When you see queer activists trying to educate a group of ignorant people and you come in and start telling those ignorant people they’re bad and wrong and will never be better and should die how do you think you’re helping? What do you get out of trying to make people retreat further into right wing ideologies?

If someone is trying to explain the inherent ableism in the world around us for physical disabilities and someone who is able bodied runs into start going ‘shame on you morons for not already knowing all of this’ they’re not helping.

In Classics and Archaeology one thing we’re actively working towards is unraveling the white supremacy that permeates throughout the field. I know so many other historical fields and science fields are trying to do the same. The idea of giving up on it? On throwing it out? That’s surrendering these things to the white supremacists.

Same applies to people I’m never ever going to give up on teaching people and educating them on how to identify harmful beliefs and how to change them. Because the minute you give up on the belief that people can get better and learn and grow is the minute you give up on yourself too. Things won’t magically get better this whole society needs to get better. Let activists do what they do. The more fake activism and virtue signaling speaks over them the harder these things get.

#discourse #long post #ask to tag

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thesunicarusfellfor · 3 years

Note

Hello my beloved! ( Can I call you that? And people it's platonic!) I have an idea and this is for pogtopia wilbur and ghostbur! Can you do a reader who loves painting and one morning they find a picture of them with a note about the reader confessing to then but they didn't do it in person because they were really nervous? Thank you!

And please take as much time as you want also could it be a long story? Thank you!

- Your beloved Moosh 🥺

Moosh, darling! Hello! Yes, you have my full permission to call me that, thank you for asking! This is the third time I've written this story because Tumblr just really enjoys screwing me over...

Also. You never clarified whether you wanted fluff or angst, but it's Pogtopia Wilby so I kinda just went with angst? If you want a happy end to this, I'll rewrite this no problem! But it won't be as long because... Well, you'll see. Also also, I didn't exactly know where to throw the Ghosty Bur in, so... Yeaaaah? He's at the end tho!

THE FIRST PART IS LIKE NEW NEW POGTOPIA WILBUR

TW: (Sorry it didn't save the first time) C!Schlatt, bruising, threatened hanging, self doubt

Perfect Picture of Imperfection (Pogtopia!C!Wilbur x GN!Painter!Reader)

Maybe you painted Schlatt's horns the wrong colour? Or his jawline was off? He was furious when you finally showed him your art piece... It was the best you could do with the few hours you were given! Paint physically couldn’t dry as fast as Schlatt wanted it to you… He didn’t seem to care when he threw the wooden frame of the torn canvas at you, giving you a dark bruise right above your eye, or when he started yelling at you and threatening to burn your art studio down to the ground.

Or even when he grabbed you and suggested to Quackity to hang you at the gallows for insulting the emperor of Manberg.

The man you had once been friends with grinned widely and nodded happily, “Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” He said, without a single care that you were a living human being, only giving a cheer as he picked you up so your feet were dangling on the ground, leaving you silent in terror. Tubbo only averted his gaze.

“Aww… You’re like a little fawn, caught in the torchlight of a traveller.” The ram hybrid smiled in a sickly sweet manner, causing the colour to drain from your face, “Come now, darling, I’m not a monster… You’re the only one of Wilbur’s sweet little subjects that he hasn’t gotten back, and here I thought you were his favourite… Or maybe he left you here to act as a sacrifice so they could all be off doing their own thing... Guess he prefers Niki over you…” He whispered as he dropped you, chuckling softly as you scurried out of the building as you quite literally ran for your life.

You called Wilbur when you were safely hidden in your house, gasps and sobs leaving your mouth quicker than tears could pool out of your eyes…

“(Y/n)... You can’t be calling me when-”

“Wil…?” You whispered into the communicator, your voice shaking enough to shut him up immediately, “He… He’s going to…” Hiccuping meekly, you curled in tighter on yourself as you heard Schlatt’s loud and pompous voice come over the speaker system he had hung up all around the once beautiful country, “I think I’m going to die here…”

The dead silence that followed through the line was sickening…

“Is it true…?” You couldn’t help but find yourself wondering aloud, “Is that why I’m the only one left here? Am I a sacrifice so you can live happily elsewhere? ...Is that why you haven’t come to get me?”

“(Y/n), I want you to never utter those words again.” His voice was dark and steely as there was a bit of crashing around that came from the other side as well as faint mumbles which were clearly from Tommy judging by all the swearing, “You are not a sacrifice. Now... Get your Enderchest and Inventory packed up, I’m coming to get you tonight, and then I’ll explain in person…”

The line cut off and you slowly lowered the communicator down from beside your ear. Your heart was sinking one minute, but soaring the next… A terrible feeling really. You were saved! But… He could get caught trying to come to get you… You couldn’t let that happen for sure. With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your eyes free of tears before standing up and beginning to shove any necessary equipment into your Enderchest, including your finished painting of Wilbur that you were going to give to him when he won the election… And finally, confess your feelings…

When midnight hit and the lights of the city finally died down, you climbed up onto your roof and looked around for the president, fear and paranoia flooding through your veins as your mind went wild. What if he got caught? What if he was trying to give you false hope? What if. What if. What if. These sort of questions buzzed around in your mind for an hour as you waited for your saviour to arrive…

Finally, when enough became enough and you decided he wasn’t coming, you stopped pacing and slowly sat down on the roof as the tears began to start again. You could practically hear Schlatt chiding you in the back of your mind, telling you that you were a fool for holding out hope.

“(Y/n)!” A low hiss came from beside you and a hand touched your shoulder. You certainly would’ve screamed bloody murder if another hand hadn’t quickly wrapped around your mouth, “Sh, sh, sh, it’s me… It’s Wilbur.” The voice soothed softly as the hand left your mouth, quickly allowing you to turn your head.

It didn’t feel real… Seeing him after so long… And in an outfit other than his uniform. “Wil...bur?” You repeated, staring at him for a while before giving him a soft smile filled with relief, “You really came…”

“Of course I did!” He almost seemed offended for a moment before his eyes softened as he realized what Schlatt must’ve drilled into your head. Wilbur easily caught you as you flung your self at him, quickly wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your (h/l) (h/c) hair, “I missed my artiste…” He whispered, donning a temporary french accent for the word ‘artist’.

Holding back a sob, you quickly grabbed his extended hand and followed him as he jumped off your roof, safely landing in a bed of hay that you used to feed your old farm animals that Schlatt confiscated before following him out of this damned country.

After that, things seemed to change between you and Wilbur. He always seemed to be at your side, choosing to personally train you rather than letting Techno train you with everyone else, or even running over ideas on how to expand Pogtopia with you rather than with Tommy. His touches always lingered longer or he somehow wound up leaning closer to you than originally necessary, but you never caught yourself complaining. He would watch you paint beautiful designs along the armour he had gifted you, knowing full well it would chip off and was heavily unnecessary, but he only smiled and let you continue doing it as long as it didn’t interfere with enchantments.

Each day with Wilbur became better and better, but your heart physically couldn’t take it any longer, you had to tell him that you felt this way for him… The way that you had to fight back the reddening of your cheeks when his chest pressed against your back as he adjusted your stance in training, or the way you had to struggle to regulate your breathing every time he complimented you on how far you had come…

He was going to be the death of you…

Your already calloused hands were bruised and blistered, but somehow, you were still able to hold a quill, pinched in between the fingers of your dominant hand. Wilbur had come to your Pogtopia home this morning, but upon realizing that he had knocked you to the ground a little too hard yesterday as you were incredibly stiff and sore, he let you have the day off of training.

This was at least a little chance… You had torn a page from your notebook and sat down at your handmade desk with a bitter sigh. Trust me, you wanted to tell him in person, but you were just too scared… Plus, maybe you could play it off as someone pulling a prank on him if it went south.

Biting your lip, your fingers treated the quill as a brush, delicately running the ink dipped tip over the top of the paper, letting your heart control what words you wanted the ink to form.

Wilbur,

You don't realize how much you mean to me. Although we've been friends for only a year, I feel as though I've known you my entire life. My connection to you is already so deep, and my love for you is already so strong that I can't remember what my life was like before we met. Even more, I can't imagine my life without you now. I can't imagine the future without you, either.

You have saved my life several times already. You have even saved me from myself several times, too! I am so thankful for your guidance and care. Whenever I'm having a bad day, I know that I can just give you a call. I know I can depend on you and, with your help, everything will turn out well.

I want you to know how I really feel. It's time for you to know that I'm ready to admit how much I care for you, how much you mean to me. I know, this isn’t the best timing in our lives, but I trust it will get better through your leadership. I love you, Wilbur.

Please, don't ever forget how much I love you.

Love, (Y/n) (L/n)

Sighing, you put the quill into the inkpot and put your head in your bandaged hands. ‘This is going to work. It will work. Go on. Have faith in yourself, as Wil said…’ You took a few deep breaths and stood up, picking up the letter once it was dry and reading it over as many times as you physically could before your mind couldn’t handle it any longer.

Walking to the door, you cracked it open to search for any sign of your president, sighing again as you realized he was likely out helping gather resources. “Is… This enough?” You mumbled sadly as you stared down at the simple letter before looking at your Enderchest in thought. Surely you could give him a few emeralds or some gold… Yeah! That’s what you’d do! Smiling in victory, you quickly wandered over to the chest and opened it, digging through it for a few moments.

It was sort of empty…

You groaned as you remembered that you haven’t really been one of the miners or forgers for Pogtopia. Instead, you were one of the warriors, focused on protecting others instead of gathering supplies.

Going to shut the chest, you suddenly paused as you saw something colourful resting at the bottom. Pushing aside your old L’Manberg uniform, you gasped as you found your old painting of Wilbur from a few months ago. It was old, yes, and a little dusty but you were still proud of it even now! Perfect.

Pulling out the painting, you began to lightly brush the dust off of the picture, smiling at the splashes of paint and colour forming a picture. It was your magnum opus.

It was a painting of Wilbur holding up a massive L’Manberg flag against the sunlight with a wide smile and hope in his eyes… This was the day that L’Manberg won independence from DreamSMP…

Standing up again, you quickly hurried out the door and walked to Wilbur’s room, silently creaking open the door and looking around, even though you were well aware that he was gone for the day. You walked over to his desk and gently setting the painting down on top of the countless sheets of work, making sure not to mix up any of the papers, then putting your letter on top where he could see it before hurrying out before you could change your mind.

Thankfully you got out when you did because, by the time you pulled an already baked potato out of the furnace, Wilbur came down the stone stairs, looking extremely exhausted, “(Y/n), my artiste…” He murmured with a smile, “I’m glad to see you’re still up and going… I was worried we would have to make you a healing pot.”

“It’s not too bad… It’s mostly just my hands that hurt.” You chuckled and held up your shaking bandaged hands, “You want me to cook you up some potatoes and carrots? Or I could maybe try and get some steak cooked up before you go to work?”

Wilbur tried to smile a bit, deciding not to question why your hands were shaking so badly, taking everything out of his inventory and placing them in their designated chests. “No, no… It’s alright. I’m going to go get ready for Tubbo’s report… I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

You gave him a small wave before Wilbur disappeared into his office. Taking a sharp intake of breath, you quickly followed after him and peeked through the tiny crack in the door where he didn’t close it all the way. He stood in his room silently for a moment before throwing his hat off at a wall, screaming into hands, muffling it heavily to the point where you wouldn’t have heard it if you were still near the furnaces. Wilbur threw off his jacket before plopping himself into his chair with his head in his hands for a few moments, then lifting it to stare at the painting that you had placed.

He was still for a long time, then he slowly picked up the note, his eyes softened slightly before his face broke out into a wide and genuinely happy smile before his mouth twitched and the smile began to fall, tears bubbling into his chocolate coloured eyes. Wilbur held the note up to his chest and slouched back against his chair, sobbing into his hand, whispering ‘I’m so sorry’ repeatedly.

Frowning, you realized that he physically couldn’t return your love because of the stress of caring for Pogtopia and trying to win back L’Manberg. With a sad smile, you stood up and walked to your room, putting your head down as you saw water droplets hit the stone below you, “It wasn’t a no…” You tried to tell yourself, ignoring the tears running from your eyes as you shut the door, sliding down to your knees.

The next few weeks after that were hell, the complete opposite of the Utopia that you were blinded by for the past month. Wilbur asked Techno to pick up your training, and he never even spoke to you about it again… It was the Piglin hybrid that awkwardly told you. During dinner, Wilbur would practically eat as little as possible as he ignored you, trying to make any situation where he would be in the same room as you as short as possible.

“Wil-...” You reached out to the president but watched as he only gave you the saddest gaze before walking past you as if he never saw you. But he would have no problems talking to Niki, or anyone else! It wasn’t fair!

Time ticked by in a haze of fog and you quickly watched the man you had once fallen in love with becoming a complete shadow of his former self… It was sickening… He… Lost it… His mind was becoming twisted… And all you could do was watch in horror…

You knew something was wrong when he crept away from the festival and the celebration… But you just decided that he was going to take a break from the excitement. He was quite old after all…

Then the ground shook with booming roars as TNT blew craters into the earth, sending debris scattering and people screaming, scattering for their lives. Gasps of terror escaped your lips as you realized the cause of it all… You hopped over gunpowder scented broken stone and batted the smoke away as you saw the final picture to paint the last stroke of horror in your heart.

There was a blond man with massive avian wings holding a diamond sword glimmering with enchantments as the brunet clung to his clothing, slowly sinking to his knees. With a sob of despair, you watched the man you once loved so dearly, get stabbed through the chest by his own father.

“WILBUR!” You shrieked, your ears ringing from the blast as you sunk to your knees, sobs racking your frame violently. Wilbur’s head lazily rolled to look in your direction…

And in his last dying breath… He smiled…

“That painting…” A light airy whisper echoed through the darkened stone halls of your home, “It’s familiar… Yet so foreign...”

You gave a hum as you hung your netherite armour on your stand before turning to stare at the spectral figure floating in your doorway, “Which painting, Ghostbur? There’s many… You have to elaborate.”

“Right! Because you’re an artiste!” The transparent male chirped happily, not seeming to notice your flinch, “I mean the one hanging above the fireplace, of Alivebur.”

“Right…” You nodded, following behind the eager sweater-wearing ghost down the eerie hallways and into the office, "I'm going to take it down... I think it's doing more harm than good..."

Ghostbur didn't seem to understand your reasoning, but he didn't say much, knowing that Alivebur hurt many people... But he didn't think he hurt you, "It's pretty though... But your art style has changed, in a good way though!" He smiled softly as you opened the large dark oak double doors.

You walked past your grand dark oak desk to stare at your former magnum opus, dangling above the unlit fireplace. "Hey, Bur, if you have a flint and steel, could you light the fire please?" You glanced over and watched him nod as he dug through his pockets. In the meantime, you climbed up onto the mantle and began to struggle to pull the canvas off the wall. With a bit of hassle, you managed to pull it down and toss it onto the ground before climbing down, just in time for your ghost friend to light the fire.

"Don't damage it, (N/n)! It's still really good!" Ghostbur scolded you with a pout once you hopped down and picked the canvas up, "And you used to be proud of it!"

"I'm not, don't fret too m-" You paused mid-sentence as you saw a letter tucked into the bottom corner of the back of the painting. Frowning in confusion, you slowly picked it up and turned it over into your hand, only to discover that it was addressed to you in fancy cursive, sealed with a light red and white wax seal, "What's this?"

He looked over at you and tilted his head, seeming almost as genuinely confused as you were. Ghostbur shrugged as you propped the painting up against the wall before sitting at your desk, using your letter opener for its purpose, "Love letter, perhaps?"

"I doubt it..." You mumbled softly as you carefully unfolded the paper, recognizing that it was probably a few years old, "Let's see... Who wrote this..." You hummed before beginning to read.

My darling artiste... I'm sure by the time you read this, I'm either dead or... Well, most likely dead, if all goes to plan...

I am writing this letter to you to let you know that life without you is not the same. Life without you is very sad and lonely. I have realised that it was you who keep me alive and cheerful.

I thought I would get used to your absence from my life, but every day has been harder when I think of all the good times we spent together.

There are so many things which I want to confess. It's killing me because I don't want you to go another day without knowing how I feel about you.

And I'm not able to tell you I'm in love with you.

What an idiot I am.

And for the past few days, I've been trying to figure out, why there aren't some words to describe it. I want to tell you exactly how I feel but there isn't a single goddamned word in the entire dictionary that can describe my love for you.

But I need that word. I need it because I want you to hear me say “I love You". I want to make the sweetest gestures in front of you which make you feel even more loved.

Trust me... I know... I act like an absolute ass towards you. I'm so scared of your life being in more danger than it was... I really did love you, and still do, but I didn't want it to hurt you more when I blow up L'Manberg...

Darling, I could have simply called you on your communicator and took you out on a surprise date but I couldn't have expressed my feelings. You have become an integral part of me. I want to give you all my love throughout my life.

The painting you made me is beautiful and I will cherish it for as long as I'm alive... It's a perfect picture of imperfection...

I Love You, (Y/n), even if by now you'll never love me back.

- Wilbur Soot

"That... That idiot..." You whispered, holding your head in your hands in an attempt to hide the tears from Ghostbur, "He planned blowing up L'Manberg from the beginning... That's why he refused to acknowledge me after I... He wanted me to hate him..."

Ghostbur held a bit of blue in his hands tightly, avoiding your gaze as you murmured to yourself, "Yeah... Most of my happiest memories involve you... That's why I couldn't understand when you said Aliverbur hated you..." He glanced away again as he saw you look at him.

"(Y/n)... Are you ever going to move out of Pogtopia?"

"Probably not for a long time, Ghostbur."

#pogtopia wilbur #pogtopia wilbur x reader #c!wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #pogtopia wilbur soot x reader #dsmp x reader #dream smp #dreamsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #wilbur mcyt #villain wilbur #villain wilbur x reader

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ptergwen · 3 years

Note

Hi val! Got a request, it's okay if you don't wanna write it, but can you write about peter telling the reader he's going on a huge mission and he's excited about it but the reader is so worried they end up arguing? But when peter gets back from mission all bruised, the reader is still upset but dresses his wound anyway and it ends up with fluff??

abort mission

w/c: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, and angst

a/n: woah woah woah i ended up writing way more than i expected but i loved this request so much :,) i hope you do too

“we’re staying in this, like, super fancy castle while we’re there. it’s gonna be awesome,” peter rambles to you. he takes all the clean shirts in his drawer and throws them into a suitcase.

he’s packing for a mission in europe with the avengers, and you’re here to say goodbye. you’ve been pretty quiet while peter gives you as many details as he’s allowed to. it’s always an honor when the team invites him on. he gets so stoked about it. you’re happy he’s happy and gets to pursue his passion, but you’ve noticed a pattern.

every time peter leaves the country with earth’s mightiest heroes, he comes back in worse condition than the last. it seems like they protect everyone except peter. he’s oblivious to the fact that the end result is always his suffering. he’s just glad to be there. really, he gets nothing in return except scars that never heal, not even a permanent spot on the team.

so, you’re not thrilled he agreed to go.

“plus, i get to miss two weeks of school.” peter beams, getting onto his knees to zip the suitcase. “feels like a vacation almost.” “you like school, though,” you remind him. you’re sat at the edge of his bed while you watch, rather than help. he hops up again with a shrug. “i like vacations more.” “it’s not a vacation,” you mutter to yourself, then speak up.

“how are you gonna catch up? that’s a lot of missing assignments.” with that same innocent smile, peter walks over to you. he grabs both your hands and laces your fingers together. “i’m a fast learner. besides, ned said he’d help me.” you sigh, looking down at the floor so you don’t have to look at peter. “or, you could. make it into a little study date when i get back,” he suggests while playing with your fingers.

“i don’t even want you to go,” you finally admit and meet his sparkling eyes. nothing could ever dull them. “why not? you’re gonna miss me?” peter teases, pressing a couple of kisses to your palm. “you don’t have to. i’m pretty sure france has wifi.” he wiggles his eyebrows. “oui oui, mademoiselle, eh?” despite yourself, you giggle at his french accent and tug on his hands. he sits down next to you with a chuckle.

“nat has been giving me lessons,” peter explains, you quirking an eyebrow. “she speaks french?” “she speaks a lot of languages, actually. she’s so cool.” peter scoots closer to you and sets his hands on your waist, his voice dropping. “you’d love her.” your face twists up in confusion at the idea.

you don’t have anything against the avengers, obviously. they’re good people. you’re just not the biggest fan of them at the moment, considering the circumstances they’ve put peter under.

“peter, i don’t want you to go,” you repeat more seriously than before. your teeth sink into your lower lip. “and, it’s not because i’ll miss you.” “none taken,” peter jokes, implying there should’ve been a no offense. he then realizes how distressed you look, so he cuts it out. “sorry, sorry. i’m done now. how come?”

you take his hand again and hold it tight. “what if you get hurt?” you ask in the nicest way possible, out of care. “i don’t wanna see you hurting, pete. this mission sounds really... dangerous.” he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, his grin faltering a bit. “it is, but i’m ready for it. i’ll be fine.”

you’re not convinced yet. that line he likes to overuse isn’t enough to do the trick.

his eyes searching for yours, peter brushes a piece of your hair back. “have a little faith in me, babe.” “no, i... i do. i have the most faith in you, peter.” you find yourself frowning as he twirls your locks around his finger. “that’s not the problem.” peter’s voice becomes a whisper. “what is it, then? talk to me.”

you do the opposite because you’re afraid you’ll upset him further, which is the last thing he needs right now. your silence prompts peter to fill it. “would it make you feel better if i say mr. stark is keeping an eye on me?” he’s smiling sheepishly, you scoffing. “oh, like he kept an eye on you in amsterdam?”

the only eye related activity that happened there was peter almost losing one of his. he’d come back with an eyepatch and couldn’t see out of it for over a month. to this day, there’s still a bit of blood in it when you look close enough.

“i already told you, that was my fault,” peter grumbles, turning so he faces forward. “i didn’t listen to him-“ “who gives a shit? he’s the one who put you in that situation!” you blurt out. you’ve been way too patient this whole time, and now you’re reaching your breaking point. “you say that like i didn’t wanna be there.” peter clenches his jaw, still mostly calm.

“either way, mr. stark,” you mock what peter always calls him, “was supposed to keep you safe, and he didn’t. i’m scared it’s gonna happen again.” letting out a noise close to a growl, peter stands up from the bed. “you’re not listening to me, y/n. everything was fine. i just-“ you’re not in the mood to hear him make excuses, so you interrupt.

“do you know any other sixteen year olds who fight literal terrorists on their free time?” you rhetorically ask and get to your own feet. peter tries to walk away from you, only you follow him. “you’re a kid, peter, in case you forgot.” he spins around to give you a nasty look. “do you know any other sixteen year olds who stick to fucking walls?”

your heart starts to race from his sudden outburst. he’s scary when he’s mad, and he almost never gets mad at you. all you can do is blink dumbly. “didn’t think so,” peter spits. “this is what i’m supposed to do, help people. is that so wrong?” his breathing becomes ragged as his anger grows.

“what about you? are you helping yourself?” you speak softly, expecting an answer this time. “you’re not my fucking therapist, y/n,” he deflects the question. “i am your girlfriend, though. i care about you so much, you know that.” eyebrows furrowed in concern, you reach out for peter. he takes a step back. it doesn’t take long for tears to cloud your vision.

“i was excited to share this with you, and i thought you’d be happy for me.” peter balls his hands into fists at his sides. his voice stays low. “instead, you made it all about yourself. you can never let me enjoy team stuff.” you’re speechless, peter nodding as he lets his words sit. “thanks for the support.”

“you’re an asshole,” you laugh out bitterly and wipe under your eyes.

he didn’t mean to make you cry. he was so caught up in himself, he didn’t realize you were.

peter’s whole demeanor changes. “y/n, baby...” he attempts to put a hand on your cheek, but you hit it away. “get off of me. what did i just say?” you sniffle, your tone harsh in contrast. “you’re an asshole, peter.” he changes his mind about feeling bad. you’ve berated him way more than he did you, anyway.

“you should go. i have to be up early,” peter decides, even though he’d said you could stay the night. whatever, you don’t want to anymore. “fine,” you agree shortly. “i’m leaving.” he stands there while you collect your things, shoving them into your bag. you’re going slow enough so he has a chance to stop you. he doesn’t.

you pass by him on your way to his door, sucking in a breath. here’s your official goodbye. “see you later, peter. don’t die.” “mhm, i won’t,” he replies, his tongue poking at his cheek. with one more shared look between you two, you make your grand exit, no doubt informing may of her nephew’s behavior before you’re gone.

peter immediately regrets the way he talked to you, and that you’re leaving things like this. you were only trying to protect him. you’ll never be able to save the city like he does, so this is how you do it. he truly is an asshole for not seeing that.

frustration consuming him, peter kicks over his fully stuffed suitcase, its contents spilling out. he grits his teeth.

“fan-fucking-tastic.”

you don’t talk to peter the whole two weeks he’s gone except for some are you alive and yes texts. he’d called you quite a few times, and was sent to voicemail for all of them. he gave you the benefit of the doubt because of timezones.

it was actually because you declined, which peter knew deep down was the real reason.

he’s coming home from his mission today. you’re not sure when or if he plans on dropping by. you’re not sure you’d like him to, either. you don’t really get a choice in the end.

there’s a series of knocks at your window, at some ungodly time in the night. you’re all too familiar with this routine. it’s peter.

you slip out from under your covers, a scowl already painting your face as you go to the window. surely enough, peter is perched in front of it, clad in red and black. the suit must be new because you’ve never seen it. you push up the window and step aside so he can get through.

“thanks,” peter mumbles, climbing into your room less gracefully than usual. he’s sort of wobbly when he lands. “yeah,” you dully acknowledge. “how was france?” “uh, good. you know, lots of cheese and all that.” his voice is muffled from his mask, since he hasn’t taken it off yet. that’s odd. “i was talking about the mission, but cool,” you almost laugh back.

“the mission was... fine,” peter clarifies and scratches the back of his neck. he never describes something as simply being ‘fine.’ when the boy talks, he lectures. you’re starting to get worried. “that’s good. at least you didn’t die, right?” you say to lighten the mood. peter awkwardly chuckles. “haha, yeah. thank god for that.”

you hum and walk over to sit on your bed, peter staying where he is. “what time did you get back?” you wonder, a completely harmless question. “um, this morning,” he says in response, raising your suspicions. “why’re you still in the suit, then?” you squint at him. “i like it, by the way.” “thanks, y/n/n. i, uh,” peter trails off, no good explanations coming to mind.

you’re quickly developing a hunch for what what down. you wordlessly get up again, meeting peter by your window. he’s nervous to see what happens next. peter’s shoulders slump when your fingers land on his mask. you carefully lift it, revealing his face to you. his banged up, bloody face.

“surprise.” peter musters up a grin, you tossing the mask at his chest. you’re beyond angry now. it’s not at him, athough it is at his injuries. “please don’t be mad,” he nearly begs, you shaking your head. you go to leave your room for some space. peter’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back. “i should’ve listened to you, okay? i’m sorry,” he genuinely apologizes.

you still don’t say anything while you look over his beaten body. there’s a gash with stitches in it on his chin, a deep slice across the bridge of his nose, cuts littering his cheeks. he’s even got a busted lip for good measure. this might be the worst condition he’s let you see him in.

“you were right, y/n. i think... i think i’m gonna sit the next one out. it’s too much for me, clearly,” peter continues, fingers sliding down to lock with yours. “you should say you told me so.” “how... how did this happen?” you manage to get out instead. “the bad guy fought me,” he says with the hint of a smirk. “i won, though.”

it’s a relief that he’s handling this so well, even earning a laugh from you. that puts you more at ease.

“this is probably a dumb question, but are you okay?” you brush your thumb over peter’s cheekbone gently, avoiding his scratches. “not really. my face hurts a lot, and flash is gonna tease the hell out of me on monday.” his lips form a line, arms looping around your waist. it’s very much welcomed by you.

“you just spent two weeks trying not to die, and you’re worried about flash?” you snicker and draw a heart on his skin. peter shrugs a shoulder. “he’s so mean to me.” he brings you in closer to him. “besides, this is the normal kid stuff i should be focusing on.” you’re glad he finally came to terms with that. you’ve been saying it for the longest time.

you smile wickedly at him. “exactly. so is all that homework you have to make up.” peter lets out a breathy laugh, you laying your head on his chest. “i missed you,” he tells you quietly. “really wish i could kiss you right now.” “i missed you too, pete. so much,” you murmur into him. your hands settle on his biceps. “and, i forgive you.” “thanks, baby,” peter exhales.

“of course. once your lips are healed,” you pull back from his chest, making a kissing noise. “pucker up, lover- oh my god.” you’re looking up at him with wild eyes. peter gets reasonably startled from it. “what? what’s wrong?” “you... you’re bleeding!” you point at his stitches. he winces, touching the spot. there’s blood, alright.

“crap. do you have a bandaid or something?” peter gives you an apologetic smile. “mr. stark said i should cover them when this happens.” maybe, tony isn’t so bad after all. you nod and take him by his hand. “yeah, in the bathroom. come with me.”

peter sits on the edge of your bathtub while you patch up his chin. he tells you more about the fun parts of his mission, you placing the cinderella bandaid over his gash. you have those from a while ago and also regular ones. however, he preferred the princess design.

“you saw the real mona lisa? like, in person? that’s insane.” you grin, smoothing down peter’s bandaid one last time. “yeah, she’s even prettier up close.” peter returns the smile. “thanks for taking care of me, y/n. i swear i don’t deserve you sometimes.” now pouting at him, you crouch down so you’re at his level. “it’s the other way around, peter.”

“let’s just agree to disagree,” he concludes and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “i love you, okay?” “i love you, too.” you press a light kiss to his bandaid, getting a giggle from peter.

yeah, it’s going to be hell finding replacements for his lips.

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut

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mc-lukanette · 3 years

Text

Marinette tried not to be obvious with her annoyance, but it was difficult when she knew that Lila had come to the Liberty specifically to irritate her. It wasn't even her paranoia creeping up, as Lila had made it clear from their first day of face-to-face interaction that she wanted to make Marinette's life miserable. The worst part was that everyone else either believed her or tolerated her, meaning Marinette looked unreasonable no matter what she did to combat it.

She figured she should've known that Luka would be Lila’s next target. The Liberty had always felt like somewhat of a safe haven - funny, considering who owned it - so it had only been a matter of time until Lila had heard enough to decide to show up there.

"Oh, she seemed so curious to actually be on a houseboat! She's only ever been on yachts and stuff before! How could we say 'no'?

Marinette tried to keep her lips shut tight so the gritting of her teeth wasn't seeable to anyone. The best she could do was watch from afar and keep any unkind comments internal while vaguely fantasizing about being Ladybug and dumping Lila in the garbage where she belonged.

Luka, to his credit, didn't seem to take Lila's bait like everyone else. She'd sought him out and he technically listened to her (as she lied about all the music people she knew and all the connections she could give him), but he was mostly occupied with tuning his guitar, only giving her a vague noise every now and then to signal that he was listening.

It was one of Marinette's few joys of the day, which made it twice as infuriating when Lila ruined it.

"Anyway, Luka," Lila added, her voice saccharine and fake, "I really hope you and I can become great friends."

Luka's eyebrow twitched.

"And don't worry, I would never force you. I know there are some people like that, who want to make everything go their way—"

Marinette knew it was a jab at her even though she definitely wasn't that kind of person; from Lila's point of view though, of course she'd think that.

Lila continued, "but I'd never do that to you, okay? I promise!"

For the first time since she'd been talking to him, Luka turned to her, his expression somewhere between neutral and the annoyance he showed at listening to XY's "version" of Kitty Section's music. "Can you please—"

He didn't get to finish that sentence, as Lila suddenly leaned in to kiss him. Luka jerked away the moment it registered with him, but it was already too late; the contact had been made.

All the anger that had been stewing in Marinette's stomach bubbled to the surface. She stormed over, her body language confrontational as she asked, "What do you think you're doing?!"

The outburst had gotten the attention of the other girls. Though they hadn't seen it, what happened was obvious given the way Luka was covering his mouth.

Lila turned to face Marinette, sinking to that vulnerable state she used so much whenever she got caught. "I-I didn't mean to! I meant to kiss his cheek and he turned too quickly."

It was a lie, and Marinette knew it. Lila had intentionally said things to make Luka look at her so she could kiss him, all to irritate Marinette.

"You see..." Lila pressed her palm to her cheek. "I-I thought a cheek kiss would be okay. You don't seem like the type of person who would be close to someone like him, and everyone told me that you do it all the time."

Marinette was fuming at the implication, feeling personally insulted at the idea that she and Luka weren't close.

And they'd told her. Her friends had been gossiping about her to Lila, or at least telling her details, which Marinette herself had definitely not consented to.

She went to toss a glare her friends' way, but they were already rushing forward to assure Lila that everything was okay, with Marinette having to step away or risk getting knocked back with the way they formed around her.

"M-maybe I need to re-learn French customs. I spent so long away from the country and other places have—"

Marinette wasn't listening anymore. She knew how this went and didn't want to be around to see another repeat of it, nor her friends potentially shouting at her. She turned away with a frustrated exhale, speed-stomping away and going up the stairs to head outside.

Passing by the cabin, she went into the greenhouse-esque area with all of the larger plants, plopping down on the long flower-patterned seating with a heavy sigh. She'd fallen right into Lila's trap, again, and couldn't help being angry at the whole situation.

Going after her was one thing, but Luka? And to kiss him like that on top of trying to lure him in with her deceit? Marinette knew deep down that she had a right to be upset at Lila's actions, but the way she reacted to it just ended up making Lila look like the victim instead of Luka. Had she failed him?

She groaned into her clasped hands, imagining that Luka must've thought that she looked like a fool shouting like that. She liked to think that she would've done things differently had she been able to do it again, but she was still angry and honestly just wanted to go off on Lila again.

She didn't move, though briefly considered going home. After all, it'd be pointless going back downstairs, as she'd probably just end up being glared at and blamed for Lila being upset. Luka probably didn't want to see her either after that display anyway.

As if her concerns had summoned him, she suddenly heard his voice call out to her from nearby. "Marinette?"

She stiffened, then lowered her hands enough to peek at him. When none of the negative emotions she expected showed on his face, she lowered them the rest of the way.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

She straightened, jaw slack that's that what he was concerned about. "Am I okay? What about you?!" She gestured wildly to him. "That—that akuma-luring harpy just kissed you!"

She realized what she said and covered her mouth, knowing that it was a much more direct insult than she usually would've gone with. Luka, however, tried to suppress a laugh from it, snorting loudly into his hand.

"I—" He cut himself off, still chuckling too much to speak. After a few seconds, he took a breath to calm down, then gave her a calm smile and continued, "I washed my mouth out, just to make sure."

Marinette tried to keep her negative emotions at the forefront, but then she was trying to suppress her laughter as well. She almost felt bad about it, but the wide grin on Luka's face showed that he'd fully intended for her to have that reaction. He walked over, taking a seat down next to her and leaning forward to maintain eye contact.

He waited until she quieted herself down with a final squeak that he asked again, "Really, are you okay?"

The smile she had on from laughter faded, though her spirits were still much higher than before. "Not really. She—she's always doing that." She glanced at him. "Let me guess, they're catering to her?"

He nodded. "They're planning on having lunch without you since you—" He made a face, clearly displeased. "—'made her so upset.'" He stared out of the glass opposite of them. "I wasn't going to join them."

"You didn't have to do that," she said, though her voice was soft from being touched by the gesture.

He gave her a smile. "I know, but I'd rather have lunch with you than with everyone else and that—" He smirked. "—'harpy.'"

Marinette tried to bite back a smile of her own, but couldn't. Hearing the pure-hearted Luka say an insult so brazenly, even if he was just parroting her own, was too funny not to smile at.

"Thanks~" she said gratefully.

"I should be thanking you," he argued. He leaned back in his seat, but didn't stop looking at her. "For being so upset on my behalf."

She blushed, looking away with both shyness and embarrassment. "I-I was really loud though."

"You play your song for everyone to hear, Marinette. I love that about you."

She blushed deeper, mentally cursing his smoothness. "How are you so okay with this?"

"I'm not," he replied, "not really, but..." He shrugged. "That kiss didn't mean anything to me. It wasn't real."

She looked over at him, frowning. "T-that was your first though, wasn't it?"

His brows rose in surprise, his face telling her everything she needed to know even before he responded. "...Well, yeah."

Now that she'd had it officially confirmed, Marinette bristled. "It's not right!" She huffed and turned to him, throwing her arms out. "Your first kiss is supposed to be special and with someone you really love! It's not supposed to just be stolen from you like that!"

He touched a hand to his chest, clearly touched by her passionate anger. She turned red and forced herself to look away from him, finding it hard to stay angry when he stared at her that way.

"...And I know you were already pretty upset with her, I could see it," she explained, "so it wasn't like I felt like I had to get angry for you, but still. She doesn't care what anyone thinks and I'm mad at her for kissing you like that and I'm mad at me because she only did it to get on my nerves and I know I shouldn't be mad at me because she's just mad that I won't fall for her lies but I'm mad anyway because I still let her rile me up when that's exactly what she wanted." Burying her face in her hands, she whined and added, "I guess I wasn't jealous at least - not in that way anyway - since I'd never want to do anything to you without your permission like she did, but I know she meant for me to get to jealous because I just—"

She cut herself off, the words clogging up her throat and forcing her to swallow them. She raked her fingers through her hair, mentally debating with herself if she really wanted to tell Luka everything.

But of course she did. Not only did he deserve it, but she felt responsible for her feelings and it was her fault that things happened the way they did, even if it was indirect on her part.

"I..." She closed her eyes and sighed, her voice lowering itself to a whisper. Hunching over, she wrung her hands together and admitted quietly, "I wanted to be your first kiss..."

Silence took over the conversation from there, but she understood. She just dropped a bomb on him and couldn't expect him to reply right away, so she let the seconds drag on without any judgment on her part.

Eventually, she heard the sound of Luka sliding himself closer, so close that the side of his hand briefly touched her leg. He inhaled softly like he was about to speak, stopped, then tried again.

"You... you what?"

She steeled herself up, the words only slightly easier to say than before. "I wanted to be your first kiss. I-I'm selfish, and I know that. Everyone knows it, and that's why—"

His hand touched her leg again. She briefly jumped in surprise, then realized moments later that the touch was intentional this time, as he'd fully settled his hand on her leg. Fighting against her nerves, she turned to look at him and saw how relaxed his expression was.

"You can be selfish."

"W-what?"

"It makes me happy. It means that—" He paused, his cheeks tinting pink as he smiled wide. "—you really want me."

It almost sounded like a question the way he said it, his eyes distant only in a way that implied that he's still absorbing what she'd said.

Her chest filled with hope as she squeaked out, "I...I do. Of course I do." Looking down at the hand on her lap, she placed her own onto it and gave it a squeeze. "But..."

The hope twisted and fought with the shame attempting to take its place, memories of the past coming back to haunt her. She averted her gaze fully, staring off at nothing in particular. "I-I can't give you my first kiss." She squeezed his hand tighter, as if that made anything better. "There was this akuma, and I had to... I mean—"

She felt his hand shifting in hers and immediately worried that she'd squeezed it too hard. She loosened her grip, only to feel his hand turn itself around to hold her hand back, pressing their palms together. The motion made her look back and make eye contact with him.

"Then that wasn't real either, was it?" he asked gently. Giving a fond glance down at their joined hands, he added, "This might be more Rose's type of music than mine, but I think the only kisses that have to matter are the ones that you put meaning into playing."

She gaped. It was still registering with her that he was not only okay with her crushing on him, but still returned it. "S-so... it's not any different? You'd let me kiss you anyway?"

"I never thought about first kisses or second kisses, or any verses beyond that," he told her, placing his other hand on top of their joined ones. "I only care about your kisses."

Marinette's cheeks turned crimson, and she nearly burst into happy laughter. She settled for beaming at him, still amazing at how easily he could ease all of her worries and doubts.

"Then... I'll give you all of them."

She shifted, continuing to hold his hand while her other went to his face. He leaned into her touch, making her all the more eager to pull him in. He didn't protest when she did, his hand moving away from their joined ones to grab her shoulder.

They kissed. Marinette was momentarily surprised when Luka's lips seemed to have a hint of wetness to them, only to realize that he'd meant it when he said that he'd washed his mouth out. She giggled mid-kiss, positively delighted to have someone like him, and he responded to the sound with a soft noise of content. She stroked his cheek with her thumb, then slid her hand down to his neck to urge him closer. He did the same with her shoulder, pulling her in and deepening the contact.

It took a few seconds of internal debate for her to convince herself to break the kiss to talk to him, and she enjoyed the slight whine he made as she did so.

"Better than Lila?" she asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it regardless.

"Definitely," he replied without hesitation, leaning in to touch his forehead to hers.

She hummed. "Mm, good." She pulled him back in for a smaller, quicker kiss that was no less loving than the last. Full of confidence, she felt it safe to say, "I should always be playing my boyfriend's favorite song."

His reaction was immediate, his eyes sparkling and his smile wide. She blushed red, overwhelmed and half-regretting saying anything. He was just too much.

"What is it?" he asked when she averted her gaze.

"P-please stop smiling like that," she whined.

"I can't," he said. More to himself than her, he added cheerfully, "I'm your boyfriend."

"Luka!"

#lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

Text

Late Night Talks

Summary: After a long hunt, the reader and Dean grab a late dinner on the road. Dean notices the reader not eating much and calls her out on her recent eating habits when he gets concerned about the road she’s on...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, discussion of disordered eating & eating disorders, fluff

A/N: Written for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo!

______

“I read this article earlier,” said Dean as he popped a french fry into his mouth. You were about five hours from home, eating a midnight dinner at some tiny little diner on the side of the road after a successful but exhausting ghoul hunt.

“Mhm,” you hummed, picking at a brussel sprout on your plate.

“It was on disordered eating,” he said, picking up a piece of bacon that’d fallen onto his plate and eating it.

“You mean eating disorders,” you said, stabbing into the sprout and eating it before you went back to your dicing up your chicken tenderloin.

“No this was something different. It’s like, how some people shift into having an eating disorder, like pre disorder I guess.”

“So...was there something interesting in this article?” you asked, picking up a piece of chicken and taking a bite.

“Actually yeah,” he said. You chewed and took a few bites before he set the burger down and wiped off his hands. “It was about how there’s dangers involved with disordered eating since it could turn into something all consuming, like a full on eating disorder.”

“Well that sounds kinda obvious,” you said.

“Well it was about how stuff like skipping meals, limiting your calories too much, saying some foods are good and others are bad, that stuff over time can really start to mess with your head and lead to that compulsion of being obsessed with food and weight.”

“Isn’t that just common sense,” you said. He hummed and you ate another piece of chicken before pushing the plate away. “I don’t know about you but I’m full.”

“Yeah, it is common sense,” he said. You raised an eyebrow and he pulled out his phone, tapping on it for a moment before spinning it around, showing you a number.

“Are you tracking my fucking calories?” you said.

“Oh geez, Y/N. Maybe cause you hit every red flag in that article I read and I got concerned. There’s no humanly possible way you’re full when you’ve eaten a whopping 800 calories today. You’re starving yourself.”

“I’m not hungry today, weirdo,” you said.

“You were slow on that hunt and we both know why. You’ve been doing this for weeks really extremely and honestly, since I’ve met you.”

“I’m on a diet. You know that.”

“You’re on the ‘I’m fucking up my metabolism’ diet. Ah, that one’s a classic,” he said.

“Back off. I am not hungry lately is all.”

“Eat this,” he said, sliding his plate in front of you. He took your plate and started eating, staring at you. “Eat the burger.”

“I said-”

“Take one bite.”

“I’m not hungry,” you growled.

“Then take a bite and spit it out.” You picked up the burger, covered in cheese, bacon, peppers and a sauce that smelled so good. You swallowed and put it down, Dean shaking his head.

“Dean. I’m just not hungry.”

“Why won’t you take a bite?” he asked. You sighed and closed your eyes. “Y/N.”

“Because I’ll want to eat the whole thing and this has to be a thousand calories and I can’t eat that much, Dean. I’m on a diet.”

“Today I’ve seen you have three cups of coffee, a banana, and half of a small piece of chicken and a few brussel sprouts. You need to eat.”

“I need to lose weight.”

“For what?”

“I’m overweight.”

“Because a little stupid calculator online said so? So another stupid little calculator tells you how much food you’re allowed a day? But maybe you’re having a bad day so you tell yourself you don’t deserve to have even all of that already restricted food? So you make it even smaller to the point of, hm, what’s that word, disordered eating?”

You stared down at your lap and heard him get up, sliding into the booth beside you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you looked out the window.

“I do need to lose weight Dean. It’s true. I’m not supposed to be this big.”

“What are you supposed to be then?”

“Like that waitress. She’s small and thin. She’s healthy.”

“I see,” he said. She was working behind the counter, no one else in the place aside from a man at the other end and the cook. “Excuse me miss?”

She popped her head up and walked over with a tired smile.

“Can we get another bacon cheeseburger? And a big bowl of that ice cream sundae?” he asked.

“You got it,” she said, writing it down.

“One more thing,” said Dean. “Do you like the way you look?”

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Dean, shut up,” you said. “Please ignore him.”

“I mean, are you happy with your body? Do you eat whatever you want, wear whatever you want, never worry a second about what goes in it or how it looks? You’re a beautiful woman but what do you actually think of yourself?”

She was quiet for a few moments before she noticed the swapped plates in front of you.

“You know when you first asked that, I thought, you were being creepy. I get creepy guys in here a lot late at night. The cook is a big guy but it happens. I know I’m small. I wish I was stronger. I wish I looked like she does. I’m something that looks like they’d snap in the wind. She’s strong and has an ass and curves. She’s not a rectangle with no curves or chest. She doesn’t look like a guy. I wish I wasn’t so delicate but I don’t think I can change that much.”

“Probably not so much,” said Dean. “But I hear weight training is good for muscle building. Creeps are always creeps but might help to be able to deck ‘em.”

“Yeah. I’ll go put that order in for you guys,” she said with a smile. Dean turned his head back to you after she went through the double doors.

“Funny. You want her body. She wants yours,” he said.

“She doesn’t know I’m overweight.”

“She doesn’t know how damn strong you are. Her body? She was right. She is delicate and it’d be a safe idea for her to put on some muscle given her job. You though? You I’ll worry to death over no matter what. But you’re missing the most glaring thing of all.”

“What?”

“You just said she doesn’t know you’re overweight. She doesn’t know how much you weigh. If she doesn’t know how does anyone know? Why does a number on a scale matter? Health does, don’t get me wrong, but care more about what your body can do than what size pants you fit in. It’s all bullshit anyways. You can be a small one place or a triple XL somewhere else. You can have a normal chest but be told it’s too big or too small by a different brand. I just don’t want to see you going down a path towards something worse where you’re hurting yourself.”

“I’d never hurt myself, Dean.”

“If your body is hungry and you don’t feed it, you’re hurting it. I’m talking about you’re cold, you’re starving, you have no energy, you feel like crap. But you won’t eat, not until it gets a little worse because you think you can take it because you’ve taken it before. That’s hurting yourself and you hurt yourself a lot sweetheart.”

You looked down and swallowed, taking a deep breath.

“I’m really cold right now,” you said quietly. “I’m tired of always being so fucking cold.”

“Eat,” he said, tugging his plate closer to you. “I’ll order you some soup too. That’ll warm you up.”

He took off his jacket and wrapped it over your shoulders. He kissed your cheek and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’ve been like this for years, Dean. I don’t know how people eat normally anymore.”

“I know. You probably fucked up your metabolism but we can unfuck it up too. You can be healthy but this, this isn’t healthy. I’ll do it with you but you gotta promise me you won’t starve yourself anymore.”

“I’ll try,” you said.

“I’ll take trying to start with,” he said. “I’m gonna order that soup. Eat up for me sweetheart. You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

One Month Later

“Y/N!” shouted Dean from the kitchen as you walked past. “You eat lunch yet?”

“No,” you said.

“Are you hungry?”

“A little. I was waiting for you to get done with Baby,” you said.

“What’d you eat so far?” he asked.

“I had a cup of coffee and a protein bar and for lunch I’m having one of those greek wraps I like,” you said. “Satisfied?”

“I’d prefer if you had two wraps or a wrap and snack with it,” he said. You grumbled and he sighed. “Y/N. You said I could take the lead on this.”

“I’m gaining weight,” you said.

“Yeah cause you aren’t eating what a toddler does in a day anymore which is perfectly healthy for a grown woman. I know it’s only been a month but you have so much more energy, you sleep better, you have less nightmares. Your skin looks amazing. So gain a few pounds, gain more than a few, let’s fix your metabolism and then we’ll start working out a little and we’re not gonna give a fuck how much we weigh at all and we’re gonna be the hottest fucking couple in this neighborhood I swear.”

“I like not feeling cold anymore,” you said with a small smile, Dean walking over and rubbing your arms. “It’s just...hard sometimes to not...wait to eat until your stomach hurts from no food. I’m figuring out what being hungry is again.”

“It’s gonna take some time but your body will learn again. We just gotta be extra nice to it right now while it recovers,” he said. “And then we’ll always be nice to it, right?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I promise.”

“So, one wrap or two?” he asked, opening the fridge.

“One. I’ll save the other for tomorrow. But maybe I’ll have some pita chips and hummus with it?” you asked.

“That sounds yummy,” he said. “I think I’ll have that myself.”

“You don’t have to eat my diet Dean,” you said.

“I could do with being nicer to my own body myself,” he said. “After lunch do you want to go for a walk? I have a sneaking suspicion the couple three blocks over are a pair of vamps.”

“That’s the guy with the skin condition, babe,” you said.

“Are you sure cause he got like a weird rash that one time.”

“It’s a condition,” you said with a smile. “But I would love to go for a walk with you while the day is still nice.”

“Sounds like a plan sweetheart,” he said, starting to take food out of the fridge. You walked over and gave him a hug from behind.

“Thanks for saying something. Even if I tried pretending I was fine.”

“You’d do the same for me,” he said. “Come on, cutie. Let’s get some grub. I’m starving.”

________

#tell me a story bingo #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #spn fanfic #dean fanfic #dean x

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