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donutloverxo · 4 years ago

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A Royal Scandal 3

Modern Royal King!Steve au

(Image from Pinterest)

cowritten with @lizzygal

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Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 7k

Story masterlist

Sometimes Steven forgot that you weren’t that much younger than him. He forgot about a lot of things when it was only the two of you. You did that to him. You made him forget things that everyone else reminded him of constantly, intentional and not.

Early that morning was no different.

Long before his alarm went off, Steve found himself on his side watching you sleep. Feeling in every way equal to you, like there was not this huge ocean of things that he did not have in common with you, opposed to what the two of you shared.

Obviously, he was the son of kings and tyrants while you were the daughter of immigrants and a blue-collar family. You’d grown up in a house full of love and kindness and acceptance, he had not. You’d ended your teenage years going to college and then travelling and ending up here, where you chose to stay and work and travel and live a life that Steve could only dream of, his own had never been his own and never would be.

You had dreams and hopes, little things like aspirations. He didn’t.

Steve’s life was dictated by things like duty and obligations, expectations. Yours was not.

Maybe that was why he’d been so drawn to you?

Compared to all the royals around Europe and titled individuals, politicians, even old families, none of them interested him even a fraction of the amount that you interested him. To Steve you were exotic. You were a fascinating creature who might as well have come from Mars.

He couldn’t even say what it was or why.

For so long it had felt right to be alone. Considering the blood of monsters ran through his veins, Steve had been uninterested in any sort of companionship more than a brief encounter at a private location.

For Christ’s sake, he refused to sleep in the bedroom that his father had slept in.

Upon assuming the throne, he’d selected to take up older quarters in an unused part of the palace living complex. As if to ensure he was as far away from the rooms that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had slept. Choosing to sleep in a bed untainted by any of those men, stored from when his land was ruled by an emperor. Hoping with the hopes of a young king that it would save him from their madness.

Beside him, you slept so peacefully, trustingly.

Steve had never brought anyone into his private apartment. Nor had his bed seen any carnal action since it’d gone into storage. Until you. He’d simply never been so inclined.

A rough sound from the growth on his cheek rubbing against his pillow. A pleasant reminder of that night that felt so long ago, yet also like only yesterday.

He’d had a beard back then he remembered.

A full bushy one.

One that had made you laugh softly at, roll your eyes and still manage to pull off an acceptable bow when you greeted him that late night.

“They beat Canada then Your Majesty?” You had inquired with good nature, setting down a whole stack of papers and folders onto the very modern conference table in a big room that could fit two dozen, more if the people were standing.

He’d beamed.

Steve remembered he’d been in a particularly good mood that night. Even if he was working late on the education push into the outer regions of his kingdom. A good amount was still very rural, many simple villages that lived as they had fifty or more years ago. Many parts of his kingdom were still deeply rooted in the past.

“Indeed. Eleven to four.”

He was beaming. Beaming! You were pretty sure you could see molars. It made you shake your head and begin to sort out all your work into piles to go over. Not that you’d ever admit to secretly being caught up in the hype of the team being so close to gold at the Winter Olympics. “So then the beard stays?”

“You of all people,” he admonished, coming over to help you. Picking up the well-marked up maps you’d spent hours annotating.

Making you roll your eyes.

On he went though, obviously needing to drive home the seriousness of this matter. “The beard stays until we win gold. Next we play Norway. I don’t think it needs to be said that we cannot risk it.”

He was serious. Really serious. If that full glorious beard was any indication.

More focused on the organizing task yourself.

Sorting your work by region, pile by pile, each had taken much work and effort and negotiation, endless phone calls and trips and emails to each area to get them to work not only with you, but one another. It was like herding cats. It had taken you months to get this all sorted out for Steve to see. His ideas weren’t even ready to be implemented. This was just the pre-gaming, the leadup, the work in preparation. You weren’t even on Step One. You were on Step Zero.

“Now that I know, I’ll be sure to grow a beard next Winter Olympics.”

And then you were rewarded with a rich hearty laugh from your king.

Well not your king, as you weren’t a citizen of this country. But you still liked to think of him as your king.

Watching you sleep was something he’d never tire of. Never get enough of. It was a luxury that he didn’t realize he wanted day in out.

The ability to wake up with you tangled up in blankets. Curled back against his front. Hogging pillows as you did. Allowing Steve to run his fingers up and down your bare thigh, along the curves of your body. Letting him lean forward to press his lips to your shoulder and see the peaceful rest of your face in his slowly lightening bedroom. Every last inch of you here for him.

Hungry.

That was what it was, he was hungry for you. Like a big bear that woke from hibernation after a long winter. At times he felt such a way. Never having felt this way about anyone prior.

In his own time, he slipped his fingers down along the round of your ass underneath the flesh of your hip. Warm. Soft. Smooth. Neither of you had left the bed since the late night bath in his tub.

Further down Steve allowed his fingers to trail.

Memorizing every last second to get him through his day. From how you felt pressed against the front of him, how your back moved against his chest with every steady breath you took. The way your legs tangled in his buttery sheets with his own, how the soft cheeks of your bottom pressed against his alert groin.

Most definitely though, how your skin tasted and felt beneath his mouth. Smelling like yourself from all your favorite bath products kept in his bathroom.

You’d smelled so good that night too.

You always smelled good.

It was something that he had noticed but hadn’t given any real thought to.

It seemed to be a mix of perfume and body lotion or cream. Cause Steve found the flowery smell would linger after you walked by in the way that perfume did, infusing the air and making his brain scream out that you were near. But also, when you shook his hand, it always had that sweet fresh clean smell afterwards.

Now, whenever Steve smelled it, all he could think about was you.

Those smells danced around him. Making the late hour bearable. Making the fact that the offices were empty but for the two of you, when you both should have been home in bed, not matter.

“Ok…” you were talking to him, pointing out places on the massive map that was his nation. Arms crossed. Legs spread. Standing beside you as you informed him with tones that indicated your happiness, your displeasure as well as your utter irritation. “…so I managed to get in touch with every Education Department in all nine of your territories.”

Though you were not looking at him, Steve nodded, laser focused on this project he’d tasked you with months ago.

“All of the department heads are on board with your desired overhaul to completely modernize the entire system. Unfortunately, they told me that I had to call all the district heads for all forty-six provinces to get their agreed participation too.”

Your tone went from pleased with yourself then skeptical and then annoyed.

You turned your head to look at him. “Which is what I spent the last three months doing. It was something of a thing.”

Steve could only imagine.

He was quiet though so you could go on. More than pleased with how well you worked in this position. He’d originally been skeptical with your being a foreigner. How dedicated would you be to a job in a country that was not your own? One hundred percent as it turned out.

Your hands flattened out dramatically on the table. Outrage surged from you. “I’m still waiting on two appointees because their predecessors apparently died during harvest season and no one could be bothered to replace the position. I literally had to fly out to the outer reaches of civilization to find this out. Cause all the government offices are closed during harvest season, fyi. But they’re literally filling the positions now.”

Such was the challenge of having a large kingdom with one foot in the future and one in the past. Such things led to the difficultly of keeping a Chief of Staff.

Steve’s previous Chief of Staff had come highly recommended and lasted a little over a month.

Whether it was from a lack of dedication, the obvious frustrations of the job or maybe he simply had not wanted to jump on a plane and fly six hours then ride by car five hours to remote areas in order to complete his work. Steve could not be sure. All he knew for sure was he’d keep you as long as humanly possible.

In his eyes, you were a saint.

“What’s with the question mark?”

Making you look to see which question mark you’d marked on the map full of stickers and marks and tabs. Hours had been spent working on the damn thing.

Seeing which question mark in question made your nose scrunch. “Oh…them, they refuse to even answer my calls until they are allowed to take their traditional name for their province. Which is way above my pay grade. Someone else is going to have to deal with them. I tried.”

Ah, Steve nodded, that was far from surprising. The far outer regions were notoriously independent or rebellious, depending on your stance.

He would deal with them accordingly. Not how his father did, but in his own way.

Steve’s attention was drawn to two nearby provinces. Each had a frowny face sticker. Without asking, he merely pointed.

A noise of pure disgusted frustration came from deep in your throat. Making you stand and look to him, brandishing your hands in all directions. “I tried my best with them. I really did. Both of those provinces absolutely refuse to take part in anything if the other is involved. Apparently, they’re still salty at one another over something that happened in fourteen-seventy-three and refer to me as the foreign she-devil. So…good luck with them Your Majesty.”

Soundly you slept.

Comfortable. Safe. At peace.

Making him feel like a true man. A provider able to care for you, protect you, satisfy you. As if he were stripped down to what nature intended. Instead of what society had dictated for you both.

Reaching down to that heavenly place between the V in your thighs, Steve pushed his fingers further to find your softness slippery, your skin slick with viscous arousal. In pushing his finger up further, running it around the edge of your slit to where the gateway to your body was hidden, he found you heavily aroused. Coating his fingers with a thick fluid that promised you would be able to take him now. Oozing into the cervices between his fingers and smearing thickly down his palm and over the back of his hand.

Unable to help himself, he brought his hand out from between your legs in order to look at your arousal. Merely the sight made his balls clench in eager anticipation. Tasting the bodily excretions had his hips moving against yours on their own.

A noise came from you. Though you were far from waking. Always one to enjoy your sleep.

On his tongue you were heady, ripe. Tasting like sin. Steve licked his fingers. Eyes closed so he could savor the taste, how you clung to his tongue and were thick, like a burst of brandy swirling with his saliva.

Awakened now from his deep sleep. Ravenous like a beast of the forest. He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Making you mumble. Making you wiggle in your sleep, causing you to reach your arm out for a pillow to pull close. Hooking your leg up higher too. Becoming more comfortable in the bed in addition to opening yourself up more to your king. As if your body had connected to his on a level your mind was unaware and encouraged him to take you.

Down he peered. Strands of hair fell across his forehead at the harsh angle. A soft lightening of the sun through drapes he never closed last night allowed the sight of moisture. Folds of bare skin sheened up at him. Tempting him with that webbing of goo that promised him you were ready.

Taking himself in hand, he caught sight of your name curled over his side. Reminding him of your absolute possession over him. Sending his hand low to pull his foreskin back in order to feed this hunger of you that consumed him.

Your signature was all swoops and swirls.

Recognizable above anyone else’s writing he came across on a daily basis.

All over paper and on the maps. In little corners. Highlighted. In different color pens. On stickie notes. Written on napkins or on the back of random pieces of paper.

At the time, he’d had no idea how far gone he really was.

Not even when he watched you take note after note with a purple inked pen, your hand flowing across paper like a swimmer cutting through the water. Taking down his every word, every command.

A incredibly distinctive feeling of being full woke you up from your glorious sleep, in a very singular sort of way that could be from only one thing. Only one thing on earth felt like that when waking you up.

Pulling you out of a warm blissful sleep only to wake you with the exquisite feeling of being stretched open, pushed into, filled up. Making your fingers clench bedding or pillows or whatever they could grab.

A low breathy moan came from you in the time between you were woken and awake, your face burrowing in a pillow was followed by a soft profanity. Weight slowly covered you. Weight pinned you down to the bed a little at a time. Skin and sheets and soft dustings of hair rubbed against you.

Only when you had fully woken did you feel pubes brush against your cheeks. A light tap of scrotum bumped you too.

Long arms wrapped around you. Wet lips mouthed along the curve of your neck.

This was a far superior way to wake up. Compared to your apartment, in bed alone, to your neighbors loud shrilling alarm clock through your paper-thin wall.

Groaning out at the feel of His Majesty’s cock stuffed safely up in your secret garden. You found yourself whining at Steve at whatever time it was in the early morning. “…fuuuuck…what’d I say about doing that…” A swivel, nay, a swivel with a pop of his pelvis followed, making you see stars, gasp deeply as if you’d been stabbed in the lungs and then add on for God and Country. “…My King…shit, My King…oh shit, My King.”

Though it may have been said in jest, his tone was hot enough to scald. “If memory serves me correctly…” another deep push of thick hips shoved you forward into the pillows. “…you say, not in my ass unless I’m awake.”

Stars.

So many bright and colorful stars.

Mmm.

Yes, that was something you had told him on many occasions and it still held very true. If Steve was going to put anything in your ass, forget that thing he claimed was a dick, you needed to be fully awake so you could both physically and emotionally prepare yourself.

Nothing at all could have prepared you for the drastic turn your life was about to take that night.

Nothing.

Everything had been so normal. It was so regular. Like many a long night working late hours at the palace before. Hours had been spent going over all your hard work contacting each and every head in each education department per province, as well as per territory. In addition to the national department of education, preparing to prep them for what the king wanted.

Like any other late night, Steve helped you put all of your paperwork back in the correct order you had it in. Like every other time, he requested a palace car take you to your apartment. Granted the apartment you shared with your best friend was walking distance away. It was late and simply not safe and you found were touched that Steve would think about your well-being.

For a king, he wasn’t that bad. When it was the two of you anyway.

Looks aside, which he had in spades, he could be very funny in a sarcastic sort of way. He was very well read and intelligent, quick on his feet. Although people seemed to think of him a certain type of way based on his father and his own kingship at a young age, when he really was his own person.

You’d noticed he had a definite interest in the classical masters and had on rare occasion seen him sketch out something on a flight or during a less than stimulating event. He had an artistic ability that would never come to anything due to his role.

His strong sense of duty paired with a disgusting moral obligation pretty much guaranteed his life would be spent in service to his country. Period.

You could see why people thought he was hot. The man had been blessed by the genetic gods. Plus he was a king. Who didn’t grow up dreaming about being a princess? Or think about a literal Prince Charming from fairy tales?

Having now had the benefit of working in a real life palace. You knew the realities of that fantasy.

You had two pages of notes that could attest to the reality of your childhood Disney Princess movies.

Reality was always so different.

Not for the first time, you found yourself repeating yourself. “…and let me say one more time. Thank you so much for talking with my parents. I know it was only ten minutes, but, I know how busy you are and it just completely topped off their visit. My mother has been telling everyone about how she met the king. You even have my father cheering for the hockey team.”

A smile came over Steve’s face that was real.

It wasn’t one of his practiced smiles. It was an actual smile. You could tell because it reached his eyes.

“Well,” Steve answered you with a shrug, sounding genuinely pleased even if he also sounded tired and like he wanted nothing more than to go off to his living quarters in the palace and crash into bed, before he had to get up to start a new day. Helping you stack the last of your papers up. “Anything to convert a soul to hockey. Technically, it is his team too.” And because he could not help himself, Steve added on, “Even if his grandparents fled from here for a cushy life in the west.”

Up your hand flew to your chest.

Your jaw dropped in mock pain. “Ouch, Sir! That one was painful.”

His smile grew at your over-the-top reaction.

Still though, he dipped his head and you noticed there was a little blush on his cheeks above where that magnificent beard grew. Chagrined, he quickly followed up with, “I apologize. That was a cheap shot.”

In a physical sort of way that his people were known to interact, personal space be damned, Steve reached over to touch your arm apologetically. Not something he did frequently. Although he had done it a handful of times. The press of his mouth to your cheek was new. The little kiss was brand new. Steve’s lips were gentle on your skin. His beard tickled your face.

Never in your life had your heart pounded as violently in your chest as it did at that gesture. Quickly, your head turned. Though you did not move back or say anything. Instead, you found yourself staring at Steve. Looking into those pools of blue that were looking at you with the same amount of surprise that you felt. His lips were right there, right there.

Blood roared in your ears, your heart pounded faster and faster and faster.

He kissed you.

Did he really though?

Was it a kiss or was it a kiss?

For a moment in time, you leaned in. Leaned closer. Leaned till you almost touched him because that was what your body wanted to do. Until you remembered that Steve was a king. A KING. Remembering that made your head command your body to lean backwards a bit. Allowing you to see that he had leant in to meet you.

He’d leaned closer to kiss you.

What were you doing? What in the hell were you doing? You had no business doing this, no business at all messing around with Steve.

Fingers moved along your arm, tracing up the back of it softly. That simple touch made goosebumps break out over your skin. It made your breath hitch. Your hands began to shake so you grabbed the fabric of your skirt.

However, you made no move to step away from Steve. Nor did he make any sort of move to step away from you.

Another attempt at a kiss was not made.

Fingers touched your face instead. Steve was close enough to you that you felt his legs brush yours. You felt his breath against your face. Fingertips ran across the swell of your cheekbone, down over your lips, tracing the bridge of your nose in what felt like a desire to memorize your face.

Steve was gentle. His fingertips felt like feathers on your skin. He made you shake like a leaf in terror because you wanted him to touch you more. You wanted to be touched. You wanted to feel his hands on you and the soft glide of his thumb along the line of your jaw was painfully insufficient.

Without thinking, you reached up with your hands until you remembered that he was the king.

Were you allowed to touch the king? You weren’t sure. He was touching you and it was fabulous but were you allowed to do the same? You wanted to. You so deeply wanted to. You just were not sure what was allowed in this situation. It had not exactly been covered in the Royal Protocol Guidebook you had.

Then came Steve’s voice. Harsh. Gravelly. Desperate.

“Touch me. It’s ok. I want you to.”

For only a heartbeat or two you remained still, observing him, making sure. Only after that did you reach up with your hands to cover his wrists. Rub along the fabric of his button-up shirt. In doing so, you not only felt the strength in his well-muscled wrists, or how warm the silky fabric was, but, you could feel him tremble. He was shaking about as much as you were.

A rush of air surged from his lungs as if you had burnt him.

Curious, you turned your head so you could place a single kiss on the inside of his hand touching your face, right at the base of his thumb. In doing so, you ripped a noise from deep within him. A noise that was both pained while also infused with wanting.

“This is ok?”

“Yes,” he croaked out, as if he were terrified you would stop.

Never would you have ever imagined he would be so responsive. Almost touch starved it felt.

Sometimes, Steve still felt as if he were a little touch starved to you. Sometimes it felt like he’d gone his entire life without having that physical connection between two people. As complicated of a man as he was with as complicated of a life as he had, you at times forgot that he was still a human being with human being needs that were essential to thriving.

And it wasn’t like you were complaining.

Far from it.

Not after the orgasm you just had, not from on top of him either. Lounged across the front of him. Loose limbed. Languid down to your marrow. Peppering the damp skin of his neck with slow wet kisses and scrapes of teeth. Long drags of your tongue collected drops of salt that tasted of him. Lazily. Heart to heart. Stomach to stomach.

There really were worse ways to wake up.

Like, for instance, in your apartment taking cold showers cause the building’s water heater was ancient. That wasn’t fun at all and usually had you shivering and hurrying through an icy shower. Straight up not a good time.

This? This was soooo much better.

Feeling Steve’s long legs wrapped up in your own, paired with his softening member filling you by virtue of sheer size not letting himself just pop out…this was a much better way to wake up. Far superior in every way.

Not that you were willing to waste precious time like this luxuriating in post-coital bliss. No, no. A burning question was hot on your mind that kept popping up after last night. After all, you were a modern woman and this was a serious relationship. You had every right to ask this question at any time you wanted. Even now. As your boyfriend, the king, fondled your breasts in his hands with such intensity that you would have thought he’d just broken out of Alcatraz after a decade of no nookie. Not that you were in the least bit complaining. Not one bit.

“Am I going to have to quit my job?”

It was something of a concern.

You loved your job. You loved working with Steve. You loved your life as it was and a big part of you suspected becoming queen would mean big changes.

Not that you lifted your head from his neck, or ceased your trek down towards his collarbone. Trail of your kisses never slowing or stopping. No hint of any sort of disruption came. Not for a moment or two. Not till your ravenous boyfriend squeezed your breasts possessively. Thumbed your nipples and finally opened his eyes, as if it were the biggest chore on earth.

His voice was rough. His tone felt like hot gooey honey that just got everywhere. “No…not yet…”

Leading you to make a noise. A pop followed when your mouth left the dark spot you’d been sucking on nearly at his collarbone. What with your name already etched on him. What else could you leave in a display of ownership over him? “Nothing else to add My King?” For added emphasis, perhaps you gave you vaginal muscles a clench knowing what that did to him.

A grunt came from beneath you.

Wrapped up in yours, Steve’s legs clenched in response to what you did. White teeth sank into his upper lip and you absolutely thrived at the sight and feel of him arching up against you, shifting around beneath you at the way your body squeezed him.

Those hands left your breasts only to reach down, run over your waist as they had so many times before, leading you to grab them. Snatch then right up. Press them down into the mattress over Steve’s head. Since the man was far larger than you, this sent you leaning downwards and ever closer to his face. “Steve? I asked you a question.”

How easy it would have been for him to get free. Yet, he seemed content where he found himself. Still wedged within you. Warm in bed. Body a sea of a complex cocktail of chemicals after physically releasing into you. A far better way to wake up than alone in a massive bed. Or worse, to his mother jabbing at him to urgently tell him something that was not urgent at all.

Feeling your breasts press against his chest. Lightly brushing over his skin, your nipples little points that sparked a definite interest in his dick.

God did he want you to be his queen.

“Not yet,” Steve ground out, nearly close to being overwhelmed by you. Each and every word was enunciated to utter perfection, as if it took all of his concentration and effort to get them out. “I’ll have the palace leave your name out of the official statement today. We can go slow. Ease you into things��ease you out of your job…” and to reward him for such a thoughtful statement, you clenched around him once more.

However, it seemed, there was more and even though his eyes rolled up into his head at the feel of your core squeezing his not entirely soft organ, he pushed on with the determination of his ancestors. Grunting. Arching back into the bed as the pillows had all wound up on the floor. Perfect teeth clenched together. “M-my people…will…love you…too.”

So, it was entirely possible, that you were feeling all kinds of powerful watching him writhe beneath you. Knowing exactly what sort of repercussions this could have to your morning. Which was still progressing on time. It was entirely possible that you may have intentionally pushed your own pelvis against his to reseat yourself.

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure? You saw what happened with those two over in England. And that prince isn’t even next in line to the throne.”

Perhaps it was the seriousness of the direction in which your conversation had taken, Steve remained beneath you. Taking no action, even though you could quite literally feel his dick grow more interested in what your hips were doing.

A panted out, “…fuck…” escaped from him, before he opened his eyes to look at you seriously, if not also a little heatedly. “Quit obsessing over them. The King of Jordan married for love. Queen Rania was a commoner. If you must, focus on them.”

Sudden movement found you falling off Steve and onto the bed, shoved onto your back and in a flash, he was on top of you again. Over you. Hovering. Though he’d escaped out of your body, you could feel the king’s most delicious semi, slick from your previous copulation, squish between you both.

Admitting on an exhale, “Forgot about them.”

“Everyone does.” He agreed, surveying down, taking in the sight of you. “My country appreciates you. They’re fond of you. You’re in all the papers and they’ve given you a nickname.”

And that. That. Nearly killed the mood.

It sent your eyebrows together dubiously so.

Everytime you were in the press it was when your skirt had been blown up on a windy day, or if you’d accidentally gotten food on your shirt. Or that time a baby goat pooped on your shoes. Or when you’d tripped and fallen off a dock into a lake. Who could forget that time you’d accidentally called the Prime Minister of Canada a ‘moose fucking cannibal’ when you’d still been getting the hang of the language, your first year on the job?

You’d been affectionately dubbed, ‘the King’s Foreign Devil’ and it had stuck.

Hell, you still got asked about your thoughts on the Canadian Prime Minister whenever a member of the press was around.

“Most the time, you have a higher approval rating than I do,” he added. Much to the consternation of Maria Hill in PR. “Trust me. There is nothing my country loves more than a hard-working loyal servant of the people who talks shit about western leaders.”

Mood totally killed, you seethed and not for the first time, “That was an accident! I was trying to call him Canada’s Disney Prince.”

***

The note had been hand delivered to the palace and was now crumbled into a ball in the Queen Mother’s bedroom as she stormed off, once more, that early morning in a fury of rose satin and silk. Her perfume clouded around her, drifting behind her, much like the wake of a boat cutting through the water.

Thick carpets silenced her heels. Doors opened for her as she neared them, allowing her to not need to slow her step even for a second. Not a single moment wasted as she made her way through the private living quarters of the palace.

Down hallways and around corners, over to the rooms that her grown son had selected as his own.

It would have been so much easier if he would have just taken the rooms that his father had lived in.

Although, with the horrific memories attached to those rooms, how could she blame him when he elected not to? She had her own private rooms. The dead kings rooms were locked up tight and still not used. Abandoned like so much he’d done, started and accomplished in his life.

Upon coming to her only child’s rooms, those doors were held open for her and on she pressed on. Sailing through his rooms, one after another, until she got closer to his bedroom and could hear his shower which was the direction she headed.

A brief glance was made at the mess that was his bed.

A roll of her eyes was followed by a shake of her head.

Some things males never grew out of it seemed.

“Steven!” She called out in warning, should he be in the bathroom about to come out in the nude. Which was the last thing she wanted to see.

Not only was his bed a mess but his clothes from yesterday were all over the floor.

She had every intention of telling him that he needed to straighten up this mess before the cleaning staff came in his room. The last thing she wanted was for them to think he was messy and then tell their families and friends when they went home that the king had a messy bedroom and word would get out that her son was a slob. Ugh. No. She’d make sure that he straightened up.

Speaking of the devil.

As his shower ran, Steve peered out of the bathroom with a wet head. A midnight blue towel was wrapped around his waist. A toothbrush was in his hand. To Sarah, it was very clear that her grown son had not shaved yet either.

Seeing him in such a state that morning along with his messy room and the fact the shower was going wasting water. It did not make her mood any more agreeable.

Though her son was taller than her and considerably more muscular, she never feared him.

She knew he would never hurt her like his father had so many times. Towards the end, Steve had even defended her from his father’s physical attacks. Those days. They had been dark. Horrible. Terrible. When she noticed that her husband had begun to carry a knife to protect himself from his son. Well. What was she supposed to do?

Attacking her was one thing. Being violent towards her was one thing. There were some things that she learned to tolerate. It was unescapable. Their son though. To take a knife to their son? Her son? Sarah would never allow such a thing.

She was queen at the time.

It was not so difficult to get the drug that she put in her husband’s evening nightcap. She’d used all of it. Thrown the vial away the next day when she went to rouse the king as she did every morning, only to find him dead in his chair. Fireplace having long gone out. Slumped down. Cold. The coroner had said it was a heart attack. Exactly as she’d been told the drug would work. He’d been buried with no one the wiser. Not even Steve.

“Yes mother?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You are not growing another beard. Last time you looked like some man that lives up in the mountains in a tiny shack.”

Just as her own father once did, Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise and question.

No. That was not why she was here.

Sarah had a higher calling that morning and straightening her slim shoulders, she so informed him. “Hope and Janet are here in the city. They’ve come for a surprise visit and will arrive at the palace within the hour.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at her in response to her information.

It was horrifying. It was outrageous. It was not what he wanted to hear that morning one bit. Not at all. Not one single bit.

Hope and Janet?

Those were two names he never wanted to hear with the additional words being, ‘on their way’. No. Just no.

All he could say that was remotely civil, after what the then Princess Hope van Dyne had done, came out in something of a tone. “I don’t want to see either of them. If you want to see them, that’s your choice. Keep them away from me.”

Considering what the now Duchess Hope had spewed to every reporter, journalist and whomever with a platform…Sarah was a little surprised that Steve was being so kind.

She’d expected a bit more of a reaction from her son.

Could she be holding a bigger grudge against her one-time closest friend’s daughter? After what had happened, Queen Janet van Dyne had become somewhat distant. Which was not surprising. Hope had not broken the engagement gracefully. Nor had she been anything less than opinionated afterwards.

“I suspect she is in trouble,” Sarah confessed. “Why else would they come here? Considering everything that Hope has said over the years.”

Steam continued to seep through the cracked door.

Sarah was about to say something about the shower. Steve was wasting a considerable amount of hot water. She herself was leading the Go Green Initiative in the country and as she stated constantly, it all began at home.

“Mother, don’t take this the wrong way, but, I wouldn’t shit in Hope’s mouth if she was starving.”

Ah.

Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge Steve’s current opinion on the wayward duchess?

Pondering his statement, Sarah found herself looking for any way to come back with a counter when she noticed that the shower turned off. Which was odd. Shower’s didn’t turn themselves off.

What was even more peculiar, Steve reached back behind himself to shut his bathroom door.

It clicked.

Like a light going off.

How could she not have noticed? How could it not have been obvious?

Blue eyes that were a little softer than her son’s narrowed. “You aren’t alone.”

Silence.

Quiet.

Her pink lips opened in surprised. A question hovered on her tongue.

“No mother.”

“But…”

“Mother,” he implored as only a son could. “Not now. She would not want the first time she officially meets you to be when you’re dressed for the day and she is not.”

And though her son’s words were true. They were right. They were exactly what she would have wanted him to say and because she had raised him well, she was even proud that he had made such a quick decision. It wasn’t fair.

Sarah wanted to find out who you were. She wanted to meet the woman that her son was involved with. Was that so wrong? Sarah wanted to meet the woman that her son was considering marrying. There was so much she wanted to say to you, so much to teach you, so much she wanted to learn about you. Perhaps her desperation showed because her son reached out to place a hand on her elbow.

“If you can chase Hope and Janet away, we could have lunch together. The three of us. If not, dinner? Or even tomorrow. I’m not doing anything with Hope under this roof. Not after she referred to our country as a third world plus hellhole full of war criminals and superstitious backwoods heathens.”

Ah, so he did remember.

Those words had been seared into her memory as well. Sometimes Sarah wondered, as Steve had never really given much indication that he cared one way or the other what Hope had said. It was only after she began to speak unflatteringly about their people that he grew irritated, much like herself.

Although, what irritated Sarah more, was the quiet that came from the royal house of van Dyne and Pym a few countries over. Never once had Janet spoke up. Never had Janet said anything about her daughters outrageous remarks or behavior. Nor had she apologized.

Knowing her son, Sarah knew that he would never court anyone who was not kind or compassionate. Steve would never pick a Hope as his queen.

Up came a hand that bore a lovely ring decorated with fresh water pearls from their own waters. “I’ll have them gone before lunch and then we will all sit down together so I can finally meet her.”

#steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n

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simsadventures · 4 years ago

Text

Gilded: Chapter 2: Our House (The Mess We’ve Made)

Mobster! Steve x Reader

Summary: Steve doesn’t like to be questioned, and you learn that the hard way. When he wants something, he gets it, and now he wants to have everything over with as quickly as possible. But there are a few bumps on the road.

Warnings: mafia au, swearing, violence, blood, threats, violence on women, slight mention of a rape, fluff, I mean, Steve is very demanding here, but it’s a theme so…

Word Count: 6087

A/N: I’m beyond excited that you guys liked the first chapter so much and are giddy for the next one. So, here we have it. More of our arranged couple and more mafia stuff. Let me know what you thought, and again, thank you for reading! xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

“You did what? Are you fucking kidding me right now? Y/N, I love you, but you must have hit your head real hard because this is not like you, at all,” Caroline reasoned, but you could see she was close to losing it completely.

They were both waiting for you to come home that night, and you first had to make sure neither of them would talk about anything you were about to reveal. You trusted both of them with your life, that wasn’t the issue, but you were afraid that if they talked outside of your apartment, Steve might know and the things he could do to them would be the core of your future nightmares, you were sure of it. When they finally agreed, you got to explaining. But you didn’t even get a full sentence out before they started jumping in it, asking questions and wildly swatting their hands, trying to make you see just how stupid of an idea it actually was.

“Do you think I don’t know it sounds insane? I do, but also like, it’s gonna take care of so many issues, and, I mean, all he needs from me, as far as I understood it, is to go to a few events with him, go to some vacations with him and that would be all. I mean, I can still have the job I actually enjoy and don’t have to slave in that fucking pub with all those weirdos, and I won’t have to worry about money,” you tried to sound reasonable and sensible, but from the looks on your best friends’ faces, you weren’t doing too good of a job.

“Right, right, cool. So, you wanna tell me that the most notorious fucking mobster in America will let you live here, with us, while he parades you around the city at night? Or that he doesn’t have enemies you should worry about? Or what about the fucking police, Y/N, huh? Have you thought of that? You will be affiliated with a known criminal, and they will start to notice you and your life won’t be as easy as you picture it,” Aidan sighed and massaged his temples, the stress of it all getting the best of him.

You sat down next to them and smiled at them fondly. It was sweet that they worried so much about you, and just the mere thought that there were people on this planet who gave a shit about you, even to the point of yelling at you at 11 PM on Wednesday night was heartwarming. You understood their reservations, you really did, but you also knew this all before you said yes to Steve. You knew it wouldn’t be as easy, and while you weren’t sure whether you would have to live with Steve in Manhattan or somewhere else, or if he let you just be on your own, you knew you could take it. The police didn’t scare you, you’ve had enough training in diverting the police from yourself, so the police was the last thing on your mind. Besides, you were signing petitions left and right to defund them, so… You were pretty sure they already knew your name from the demonstrations in front of their precincts.

Enemies were a bit more challenging to handle, but you were sure Steve wouldn’t want his new wife to die on his watch. How would that look for him? So really, all that was at stake was your sanity and your integrity, and thinking about it, Steve didn’t ask you to do something illegal. The only thing he wanted from you was to be a good girl, marry him and be by his side. And you could do that. And you were only human, Steve was a sight to behold, so you didn’t mind being connected to him, even though he specifically told you he wasn’t attracted to you.

That one still stung, but maybe it was for the better. You wouldn’t have to worry about doing something stupid when the other party was completely uninterested, and knowing it, you could just never let your body have even a minor crush on him, so the situation really resolved itself even before anything could have happened.

“I really think I can gain more than I can lose, you guys. I didn’t imagine my life being like this, far from it, and maybe Steve and his money can help me get where I want. And I won’t even have to sleep with him or anybody else. He even talked about putting a no-sex clause in our contract so that I would be safe even on paper. You always tell me that I’m not taking enough risks and that I stay rooted in my comfort zone. Well, this is quite the improvement, isn’t it?” You laughed, and they both just shook their heads but chuckled nevertheless.

“You are a psychopath, babe,” Aidan muttered but gave you a side hug, and Caroline soon joined.

“We love you and worry about you, that’s all. But if you feel good about this, then so do we. I just hope he’s ready for our wrath if anything even remotely bad happens to you,” Caroline said, and the three of you started to laugh. You would bet somebody like Steve would be scared shitless from two 20-something-year-olds who, one who was scared of wasps so much she almost fainted every time she saw one, and the other having a hard time peeling a grapefruit. Yup, they were the combat duo you would bet your money on in a fight, for sure.

Waking up, you had a good feeling about the decision, even more so than the night before. You had mulled it over and over in your head, seeing that this was the way out of everything and also your way to a lot of those things you wanted to have by now. You even thought of the saying, sometimes, the only way out is through, and this was your through. There was no foreseeable way of getting out of debt, of getting out of the depression caused by your hectic and unsatisfying life. Your way through it was accepting Steve’s money and his help for a year, freeing you from the shackles of your current life, in a sense.

That it would come with a different kind of shackled you were sure of, but everything was better than your life now because you really couldn’t even call it a life. You wanted so many things, see so many places, but the world wasn’t made for the people playing by the rules, slaving in their ordinary jobs. No, this capitalist world was made for sharks, and you had been disguised as a sheep for too long.

When you got to the gallery, you were welcomed by a sight that surprised you, and not in a good way. Where you were used to sitting every day for the past two years was another girl. She was pretty, and you bet she was wonderful, but at that very moment, all you saw was that somebody replaced you.

You swiftly unlocked the door and walked in, the girl standing up immediately to greet you with a shy smile and a wave. You couldn’t be a complete bitch to her, after all, this was way above her pay grade. So, you just nodded and strode towards the offices where the director sat.

“Good morning, Ms Y/L/N. I see you have met Laura, our new receptionist. And before you say anything, I just wanted to tell you that we appreciate everything you had done for this gallery for so long and that we thought it was time for you to learn some other skills, as you are more than capable of that,” he smiled warmly, and you weren’t sure if it was a nice way of saying you were let go of, or if you were promoted.

“What does that mean, Mr Jones?” You asked incredulously, not really in the mood to search in between the lines.

“You have become my personal secretary, Ms Y/L/N. Congratulations! I know you have the aspiration of becoming a curator, so, this way, you could get a little closer to art even though there is still some way to go, naturally,” he winked and chuckled, and you let yourself relax with the news.

Wow! Your life was already taking a turn for the better, and all you had to was to go with your gut and risk a little. You wanted to laugh out loud at the universe and its mysterious ways of working. But, thinking of mysterious, your mind suddenly pictured Steve and his devilish smirk, and your smile faltered.

“And may I ask, why now? Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely grateful for the chance, and I will do my best to succeed in expectations. I just wonder what happened that the chance has come now?”

Mr Jones scratched the back of his neck, and you gritted your teeth. You already knew that it wasn’t the universe praising you for your bravery. No, this had nothing to do with the universe.

“More things have come together, to be quite honest, Ms Y/L/N. First, my long-time secretary left for her maternity leave a few weeks ago, as you might remember, and I have been looking for her replacement ever since. And I forgot what an amazing student we had here, who is already established with the clients and with our partners, and that this will be a win-win situation for everybody. And your fiancée was quite adamant that your resumé is remarkable and that I should give you a chance,” he smiled and piled gathered in your throat.

How Steve managed to persuade Jones to do this was beyond you when you left him only a few hours ago, most of which were during the night, so there wasn’t much room for negotiation between the parties. You just hoped people wouldn’t start treating you differently when they realised your affiliation. That was the only thing you obviously didn’t think through: the opinion of the society. And since the New York society had been one of the most judging and selective ones even back in the 19th and 20th century, you knew not that much has changed since. People were afraid of Steve, with a good reason too, and now they might become frightened of you too. Fucking awesome.

“I want to assure you that my fiancée won’t be present in my work life, however notorious he is,” you tried to sound as confident in what you were saying as you could, but you weren’t sure if you were doing a good job. But Mr Jones just smiled and sat down, signalling for you to sit down opposite of him, and he started talking about business and about what the job actually was. And while you tried to give him your full attention, there was this angry voice in your head, ready to bite Rogers’ head off. He would meet your famous wrath sooner than you thought, but it was all his fault anyway.

The job was, actually, quite impressive. As your boss told you, you got to meet several artists already, you could sit in the meeting where they decided what kind of art the gallery was interested in, and you soaked all that in like a sponge. You were radiating by the end of the day, and the wrath subsided a little, but only till the moment, you saw a black SUV parked in front of the gallery and one of the turtlenecks standing beside it.

You decided that if Steve could do what he wanted, so could you and so you walked in the opposite direction than was the car, leaving the turtleneck yelling your name and running after you. But you ignored him completely, even when he reached you and patted your shoulder, slightly bewildered that you recognised him and still decided not to do as he said. Oh, these obnoxious mobsters needed to learn that they couldn’t get everything they wanted.

“Miss Y/L/N, please, you need to come with me. Mr Rogers is waiting for you in the car,” he said, and you finally stopped and looked him deep in the eyes while you folded your arms across your chest. You hoped you looked intimidating, but since the guy was wearing a pair of sunglasses you couldn’t be entirely sure whether it worked. But you didn’t relent and just stared him down, and when he shifted uncomfortably, you knew you were winning this contest.

“Would you please come with me? Mr Rogers hates to wait,” he mumbled the last thing, and you would have snickered if you weren’t so determined to be the tough guy there. It was only when you heard other footsteps somewhere behind you, and the guy in front of you actually flinched that you realised the big boss himself was there to get you.

“No, Mr Rogers really doesn’t like to wait, Y/N. Is this the way to treat your fiancée?” Steve asked when he reached you, and you shuddered from the poisonous undertone in his voice. Safe to say, it might not have been the best strategy to try and walk away from him, but you had decided for it once, and now you were gonna stand by your decision.

“Oh, I don’t know, darling,” you hissed but continued before he could comment on your behaviour, “is intimidating my boss to give me a promotion a way to treat me? You really think you have control over everything and everyone, Steve, but let me tell you something. This is my fucking life, and you have no fucking right to march in and do as you please!”

He just raised a brow, and his nostrils flared before you felt his hand on your upper arm, squeezing it so tightly you were sure your arm wasn’t getting any blood. But you didn’t want him to win, which would definitely happen if you pleaded with him, so you just gritted your teeth and stared him down. Steve nodded at the guys around him to leave you two, and they took a few steps back, sure enough to protect their boss but to give him at least some privacy with you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me in that tone, huh? I think you’ll understand soon enough that disobedience is punished greatly here, honey! So, stop acting like a brat who gets off from causing scenes in public and come with me. And, for your information, this is a fucking order, and I dare you to move from me again,” Steve spat in your ear, and you trained your eyes on the ground.

Well, not your best idea, you had to admit that, and you valued your own head enough to just shut up and follow him. And by following him, you meant walking beside him because Steve obviously didn’t trust you enough to let go of your arm, even if his grip loosened slightly.

He thrust you in the car with a force that could scare many, but it only just slightly surprised you. When he finally sat down next to you, he bid the driver to just go and stared out of the window, not addressing you in any shape or form, and you huffed in annoyance.

“Look, Steve, you brought me here for a reason, so what do you want? I thought we agreed to meet tomorrow and not today, in broad daylight in front of my job.”

“Show some respect!” He roared, and you saw the eyes of the bodyguards, or whatever they were, flick towards you in fear. It was funny how such huge men were clearly so afraid of one of them. You remained calm, however, and just remained looking at him. Then you realised something. He didn’t mind your mouth the night before that much when the two of you were alone, but he couldn’t stand it when people were around. He needed to be the man, his people needed to know that nobody treated him differently and that not even his future wife could disobey him, let alone publicly. You swallowed your pride and shifted your gaze elsewhere.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I’ve had a long day, and I’m taking it on you now. I just wished you spoke to me before you called my boss, but still, thank you for the opportunity,” you muttered meekly, and the triumphant look on Steve’s face spoke volumes. He just hummed and patted your shoulder, his own shoulders slacking and relaxing. These people were so easy to read, you were actually quite astounded that they weren’t played like violins by some secret agents or something like that. Well, you thought, at least you could play them, and it would make your life a little easier if you did it well enough.

“I came because we needed to discuss more things, honey. I had a pressing matter to attend to yesterday so I couldn’t stay longer, but I have the whole afternoon reserved just for you today, so we can go over all the parts of our agreement in great detail and that we can start planning our wedding,” he flashed you a smile, and it was your time to tense up because if you were to have a wedding soon, which was clearly something Steve wanted, you needed to get a move on and that stressed you out. The arrangement might have been just for a year, but you knew that Steve’s wedding was supposed to be magnificent, showing all that he obtained and all that the mere mortals couldn’t have. You included.

But then you realised something.

“Sure, but I need to take care of something first if you don’t mind,” you added quickly seeing the mobster next to you tensing up again. “As I no longer work at Joey’s pub, I need to get my things from there. My boss called me this morning telling me that I still had my work shoes and other stuff there and that I should pick it up or they’ll throw it away.”

“Just give the address to the driver, we’ll get it, and then we’ll go to my place- oh, excuse me- our place and discuss what we need,” he said simply, and you followed his orders.

The rest of the drive was silent, and you could unwind a little, reminisce about the 24 hours you have had. From taking the subway anywhere you needed to, to driving in an armoured SUV with the most prolific mafia boss of the USA, your life took quite the turn. You needed to set some boundaries with Steve, but you needed to do it tactfully and, most importantly, alone. You hadn’t known him at all, but you knew the type. There would be reasoning with him as long as he thought he had a free choice and knew that his position wasn’t neither threatened nor questioned.

This was a part of your agreement that you actually didn’t mind. Joey’s pub was not the fanciest of places in New York and while some of the customers were lovely and tipped well, the weekend sort was made of sleazy assholes who would touch you without your permission and not having to be around them would definitely be something you could get used to.

The boss who’s name wasn’t Joey, surprise, surprise, but Thomas, nodded your way when you came in. The pub was only half full, but the odour of mixed sweat, beer and vomit was ever the same. Gosh, how you couldn’t wait to be out of there.

Taking the places of the little box by the box with beer cans, you scanned the supply closet one last time and nodded as a goodbye. However, when you turned around, you bumped into somebody, and it sent you flying back a bit as you didn’t expect anybody to be there with you. You looked up to see Thomas standing there, looking pissed.

“Funny! I never knew you were on the market, pussycat. And now I find out you are newly engaged and to Mr Rogers no less? I thought you said you didn’t want a relationship,” he sneered as he neared you and you instinctively took a step back. That he had a crush on you, you knew, and you told him multiple times that you weren’t interested, that you weren’t looking for a boyfriend and that you just wanted to be left alone. You scoffed at his immature behaviour now and tried to push around him without saying a word because you knew there was no talking to people like him. But he wouldn’t let you go, of course.

“Maybe if I fucked you, you would see that I deserve you just as much, huh?” He hissed and took your already sore arm, yanking you towards him till you were pressed tight against his chance. You still remained calm, knowing that trashing and screaming would get you nowhere.

“Let me go, Thomas. Steve is outside, and he is waiting for me, so I suggest you take your disgusting hands off of me and just let me go,” you tried to reason, but, again, there was no such thing with dumbasses like him. What was more, he probably didn’t like your remark about his disgusting hands, and so, without warning, he slapped you right across your left cheek.

That made you gasp for the first time because till then, you really thought he was just playing and that he would let you go, but now seeing the bewildered look on his face, you suddenly realised that maybe you didn’t have the upper hand in the argument.

“Like fuck he is, what would Rogers do in these parts, huh? I bet it wasn’t even him who called me last night and that you were just trying to get the upper hand. But guess what, you fucking whore, you are not getting out of here until I fuck you unconscious,” he roared and you gulped, trying to think of possible escape routes. But you were in a fucking supply closet, so there was literally just the one door, and Thomas was occupying the whole space in front of it. So, you’d just have to fight your way through. You were a little rusty, but this big-bellied idiot would stand no chance.

But before you had the opportunity to execute your plan, the door behind him flew open and revealed one fo the turtlenecks (you made a mental note to actually learn their names because this was just awkward) and a very angry-looking Steve.

Thomas faltered in his movement towards you and checked who had the audacity to interrupt him. The shock and fear on his face were priceless.

Steve didn’t waste any more time as he lunged himself at the man and punched him straight in the nose, and the sickening crack you heard must have meant Steve broke it. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care enough to pity Thomas. You warned him, even though you didn’t expect Steve actually coming to your rescue. There were some advantages to being tied to him, it seemed.

The turtleneck then took Steve’s place by Thomas, probably so that he wouldn’t escape and Steve marched towards you, still looking too pissed for you to stand calmly under his searching gaze.

“Did he hurt you?” He sneered but didn’t wait for your reply as he checked your face, seeing your puffed left cheek which told him all he needed to know. The bruise already forming on your arm was both from him and from Thomas, so he didn’t comment on that, but Steve wiped the trickle of blood in the corner of your mouth before he turned around and now calmly walked towards Thomas.

“Next time that degenerated brain of yours even thinks of her, I will come and slice your throat. Am I clear?” Steve spat into Thomas’s face who just nodded, probably glad that he got out of it so easily. What he didn’t see coming (and to be honest, neither did you) was the turtleneck suddenly pulled out a big-ass knife out of somewhere and the air filled with the bone-chilling cries as he cut Thomas’ finger off as if it was the most normal thing to do before he wiped the knife on Thomas’s shirt and tucked it back in his pocket. The blood flowing from the wound was thick and almost purple, and you had to shut your eyes at the scene. But the image was already seared into your brain forever.

“Fucking rapist,” Steve said and kicked the already laying man, motioning to the turtleneck and you that you were to follow him. But your legs weren’t listening to your brain, as you were just watching Thomas writhing in pain, wailing and sobbing, and all that because he dared to touch you. An involuntary shudder shook your body, and it as only when you felt an arm around your torso, pulling you to the person’s side that you woke up. Steve didn’t say anything as he came back and wrapped his arm around you, walking you out of there, probably used to that people were dazed when they saw that much blood. And that was just a cut-off finger, how would it look if a person actually bled out there?

“Here, have a piece of chocolate, it should help you,” Steve whispered into your ear as he handed you a little piece when you finally made it to his car, and you took it without question, savouring the sweet taste on your tongue as it streamed into your system like the most delicious medicine. You took a deep breath, your brain recognising that it was a different environment and that the stench of the pub was long gone as was the blood.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you heard yourself saying meekly, but there was no reprimanding him, there was no anger in your voice and Steve heard that. He knew it was the shock of the scene talking because you weren’t one of them. You didn’t see blood on an almost daily basis as he did and you had the right to be surprised.

“I actually had to, Y/N. He touched you, he hurt you and nobody hurts what’s mine. And you are mine now or will be very soon, and I can’t have dickheads like him running around the city thinking they are invincible. You are under my protection, and the whole world has to realise that,” he tried to make you see his point, and when you nodded solemnly, he saw you understood it. You might not have been ok with it, but that was another thing, and that would take time. Steve hoped people wouldn’t be so dumb and try anything on you, but, the truth be told, inwardly he knew he would have to protect you more often than not because some people had a death wish.

“Are you up to discussing our marriage, or do you want me to drive you home?” He asked, and you looked at him for the first time since the pub scene. You shook your head and chuckled a little, not understanding where was this coming from. It was apparent that there were many layers to Steve Rogers, but his mood swings were giving you a headache already. One second he was the infamous mobster and the other he impersonated a caring boyfriend?

“I’m fine, Steve, thank you. I was just taken by surprise because I thought I would have to take him down myself, and I probably wouldn’t cut off his finger in the process, but we all do our things. I’m good for a discussion, if you are,” you gave him your best encouraging smile and Steve stared at you in disbelief for a moment before he averted his eyes towards the driver and gave him a signal that he was to take you two to Steve’s mansion.

Three hours later, you regretted your decision greatly. Steve and you had been talking the whole time, trying to reach a compromise that would be suitable for both of you considering your marriage and your wedding. You were quite surprised when Steve came up with things that were up for discussion because you really thought he would just come with a set of rules for you to follow, and that would be it. Well, the set of rules was there, but so were other things, like where you’d like to live (it was either the New York mansion which he called the apartment or some villa he had in Hamptons, apparently), what were the countries he could take you (which was actually a nice touch) and others. You didn’t give a damn about a lot of the stuff, but the countries were something that caught your attention.

“I would love to visit different places, that’s beyond doubt, but I do not wish to be taken to California, ever,” you insisted, and while Steve tried to inquire why it was that California was on your hard-no list, you wouldn’t budge. You just told him that you weren’t a fan of the hot weather and the swarm of people you heard was in LA and that it was the only place where you wouldn’t go with him, under no circumstances. After a while, he gave up and just jotted it down with a nod.

“Now, to the sex thing, do you want it on paper that I don’t want you in this way or are you good with my word?”

You felt your cheeks heating up, but you tossed your pride away again. This was a business meeting, and Steve was actually extremely honest with you, so the best you could do was to be frank with him as well.

“I’m good with your word, thank you for asking. What I’d like on paper is that you won’t trade me with information. I don’t wanna wake up one morning to be chained by some of your pistol-buddies who wanted to fuck Steve’s wife,” you raised a brow, and Steve chuckled and licked his lips, which was something that got your attention. You snapped at your brain to stop the thought flooding your brain, and a part of you considered putting licking his own lips around you on the hard-no’s list for a second.

“Alright, I will never do that, and I will put that in our contract. Now, have you decided where you want to live? And no, your own apartment isn’t an answer. I’m willing to pay the expenses so that your friends can stay there, but you are coming to live with me, either here or in Hamptons. So, which one is it?”

“Here,” you answered after a while, “I have my job here so I can’t be going back forth to Hamptons every day. Speaking of my job, will you require my presence at every meeting? I’m just asking if I even have a chance attaining my job as is, or if I should quit now because you will never let me go there again.”

“I would have let them fire you if I thought about not letting you work there anymore, now, wouldn’t I? Most of the meetings that I will need you are at night, so your work is fine. I hope your boss will give you enough vacation days because we will need those, but other than that, I think you will be fine at the gallery. Besides, I’ve assigned a personal bodyguard for you who will go everywhere with you, so you won’t have to worry about anybody attacking you,” he concluded, looking proud of himself. You, on the other hand, were bewildered.

“A personal what now? Steve, I can’t just show up at work with some huge guy in all black following me everywhere I move. I saw the looks from some of my coworkers, and they would never accept me if I had a bodyguard, c’mon,” you were desperate now because just the thought made you shudder.

“This is not negotiable, so just learn to live with it. Alright, I think that’s all from that, and we will both sign it before the wedding. Now, the wedding will be next week. I already hired planners, so that the only thing you need to care about is the wedding dress. It’s just for a show, and if it were up to me, we would just go to the city hall, but the world needs to see this wedding, so we’re doing it in the Weylin. Write down your favourite colours and flowers, the cake will be red velvet, and that’s not negotiable, but everything else you want, you write down, and the planners will do it. Also, write down all the guests you’d like to invite, family and all that, so we know how many guests we’re having,” Steve rambled on, but your mind wandered towards your family.

None of them would be attending the wedding, and your heart gave a painful tug at the thought. You had always wanted your dad to walk you down the aisle, and he was so excited to do so, but now that wasn’t possible. And your beautiful mother… The memories made your eyes water, but you blinked the tears away quickly enough so that Steve wouldn’t see them. But he was used to reading people, so he saw your reaction to him mentioning a family very clearly, he just decided against commenting on it. Yet.

“Alright, I’ll send you all the lists by Saturday, if that’s good enough, and I’m actually good with red velvet. It would be a problem if you said some cakes with loads of nuts because I’m extremely allergic to a majority of those, you should know about that, but red velvet is fine enough,” you nodded, and Steve did as well, glad he didn’t have to fight you on that one. Not that it would be a fruitful fight since the red velvet was his favourite type of cake on Earth.

“I want you to move in before the wedding, I’ll have a room set up for you tomorrow, and you can bring whatever you want from your home. You will have access to my credit card, but I’m warning you, excessive spending will not be tolerated, alright?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes but bowed your head in mocked understanding. Steve had obviously spent his life with women only caring about the sum on his credit card, while you couldn’t care less. The card would be good for the wedding dress, but that was about it. You realised a long time ago that the fashion industry was one of the most dangerous ones for the environment, and while you still shopped from time to time, you tried to reduce it to a minimum. And if you did shop, you loved local stores and fair-trade manufacturers, who vowed to keep the well-being of the planet their number one priority.

“I’ll take it that you understood it. Fine, so, you’ll move in tomorrow, I think my people can manage it till that. So, they’ll pick you up, let’s say, around 8 PM? That enough time?”

You blinked and took the information in. He wanted you to move in tomorrow. Not in a week so you’d have time to actually pack and say goodbye to your friends, even if you still planned on meeting them every other day or so. You wanted a goodbye sleepover where you’d just laugh and drink and hope that the year would be a good one. Or, at least, not a disastrous one.

“That’s definitely not enough time, Steve. Can’t it wait till next week? I need to say goodbye to my friends, and it’s already late, so we can’t do it tonight and just… Give me at least till Saturday evening, Steve, please,” you tried to bargain, and while you saw he wasn’t the greatest of fans, he agreed eventually. That ended your discussion, and you were soon driven away from the house you would soon call yours.

/ Next Chapter >

Taglists in reblogs :) xx

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oliviridian · 2 years ago

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Reflecting

I can’t help but think now that we’re 5 weeks into this root canal of a break-up how utterly unromantic the relationship really was.

It was founded a long time crush on my part that was never reciprocated until I was emotionally present for her in a hard time. Then, we transitioned to LDR which she hated so much, that she couldn’t stand at all. So I visited in person and she visited in person, and then I stayed there. When she found out the dorms at the college she was likely to go to wouldn’t let her stay in the women’s it was a reminder that her home state wasn’t kind to people like us. I suggested she could come stay with me and my Mom, start working and eventually we could move out together. She would have a chance at the dorms here in Washington too. Without researching she jumped on the plan. When she found out that she needed a year of residency to make tuition affordable, she focused all of her attention on getting money for a car. Then getting us out of my Mom’s and into a studio apartment.

At this time, I was working part-time and going to school and shortly after our move the COVID-19 pandemic began. At first, things looked alright. My job went remote and her’s gave her two weeks paid time off. They created strict control over the situation, not letting customers into the store at all. But while I was working from home and doing zoom school, my ex started resenting me for the privilege of my situation. Resentment only grew, she hated I had support from my family that she lacked, she hated that I could work from home, she hated that I would spend days in our studio apartment focused on work and school and leisure and that for me all of those things were essentially confined to a desk. We spent two years in a studio apartment with resentment fermenting. I tried to be a good partner in every way that I knew how but the situation was already untenable by the time she shook me. Our sex life broke down.

We break up for the first time in July of 2021. I ask my friend to take me somewhere else, I negotiate my way into moving in. I regret not doing that now. I clutch a letter she wrote our first valentine’s day. One of three or four romantic gestures in our whole relationship. I was so starved for love and affection, her texting me asking if we were making a mistake, asking to see me made me crumble. I wanted to eat breakfast together and be okay. We agreed to reevaluate the relationship at the end of the lease. Our sex life never improves. The resentment is still there. But we’re happy to just go back to being comfortable. We can rely on each other. Everything works okay if we just trust each other. We really do love each other, even if we’re so mismatched, right? I tell myself it’s normal I have to fight her tooth and nail for her to tell me any reason she likes me.

We move again. We don’t move to the apartment I want, we move to the one she wants. Old fights flare up harder than ever. I try to address her needs so hard I break my arm. Stop being able to work on driving. She always wanted me to be driving. She leaves for home to see her family. Home is always not with me, I notice. My friend visits, she organizes a trip to Seattle with a third friend. When I go, this is the last straw. Sarah wanted to go to Seattle. We never made time. I’ve been working 40 hour weeks and so has she. We have shared as many days off as I can count on my hands. I didn’t plan a daytrip on any of them. This is the reason it ends. We fight and break up again.

She asks to go to couples therapy like my friend suggested months ago. I ask to think about it. My therapist reminds me this relationship has looked abusive to her for two years. I think about every time I had sex when I didn’t want to. I look at my body’s reaction to her, walking on eggshells, desperate for approval, afraid of her anger. I realize it has been too late for at least a year. It might have always been too late. I was a solution to a problem. My affection and desire were ego boosts. I bitterly think of her sucking the validation out of a man’s cock next time. I get upset with myself for the bitterness and anger that creeps in. I feel used and dirty. Everything hurts for a few weeks. We’re still living together. Ten Days left and I will never see her again. I don’t think I’m going to miss her.

#personal

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eminems-skittles · 4 years ago

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family game night [spencer reid x reader]

spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: mentions of alcohol word count: 2k

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

"Who's in for a party at Rossi's house tonight?" Y/N said, cheerfully, as she walked into the BAU office. Her bright arrival caught the attention of her teammates, all of them looking up from the mountains of paperwork they were drowning in. Spencer shot a look up to where Hotch and Rossi's offices are.

"Does Rossi already know or are we just inviting ourselves over?" Spencer asked, eyes darting around the group, before looking at his girlfriend. "You know, it's proven that if you invite yourself over to someone's house, they're more likely to unfriend you than someone who invites you over."

"Rossi can't unfriend us, we're basically his children. And he's not going to mind. Are you forgetting I'm basically his favorite daughter?" Y/N said, raising her eyebrows at Spencer. Her claim that she was Rossi's favorite 'daughter' caught a certain brunette's attention.

"Um, excuse me, but I'm Rossi's favorite daughter," Emily scoffed. "I'm down for a party if someone else buys the booze. We should have a game night or a poker night?" Emily suggested,

"Uh no, I am not going to lose anymore money to pretty boy over there," Derek chimed in, his head popping up from behind the stack of folders on his desk. "And we all know that I'm his favorite daughter. Count me in for tonight." He said before pushing out of his chair, "I'll go ask Pen if she wants to go also."

"Alright, so it's all of us for sure. Emily can you ask JJ for me? I'll go ask Hotch, and then tell Rossi," Y/N said, before skipping up the stairs to Hotch's office. Emily nodded but Y/N's back was already turned to her.

"How does she have so much energy? It's 8 in the morning," Spencer questioned, marveling at his girlfriend skipping around the office in the early hours of the morning.

"She consumes the same amount of sugar you do just without the coffee," Emily replied, going back to her paper work, with a small smile on her face.

Y/N knocked on Hotch's slightly open office door. Hotch was hunched over a file when he looked up. "Y/L/N, come in."

"Hey Hotch!" She greeted him with a beaming smile. "All of us are planning on going to Rossi's for a game night tonight. If you could, you should totally swing by!"

"Does Rossi know about it?" Hotch questioned, a smirk settling on his face.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? Of course he doesn't know about it yet. He'd never agree before hand." Y/N said, laughing lightly.

"I'll let you know if I can. Jack might be jealous that I'm hanging out with Aunt Y/N without him," Jack and Y/N spent a lot of time together, Y/N often volunteering to babysit Jack when Hotch had to work late.

"Tell him I'll take him to the movies tomorrow," Y/N added.

"Alright, Y/L/N, I'll go. Should I bring anything?" Hotch asked, his eyes scanning the paper on his desk.

"Emily doesn't want to buy the booze, but I think Rossi might have some. If you want to, you can pick up some beer or some wine. I think I am going to bring some snacks if I can stop at the store," Y/N explained, leaning against one of the chairs that faced Hotch's desk.

"I'll pick up a few cases of beer on the way over," Hotch said, smiling at the younger girl.

"Great! I'll text you what time. See ya, Hotch!," and before Hotch could say bye to Y/N, she was out of his office, her hair just barely catching his eye, as she quickly made her way to Rossi's office.

"Knock knock," Y/N said, knocking on Rossi's open door. He was sitting behind his desk, revising a piece of paperwork.

"Who is it?" Rossi said, a singsong tone in his voice, as he looked up at the Y/H/C agent in the doorway.

"Your favorite 'child'," Y/N said, using air quotes when she said child.

"Of course. What do you want this time? A key to my house?" Rossi said, a hint of sarcasm laced in his words.

"Oh that'd be awesome! Then I wouldn't have to ask you every time I wanted to throw a party at your house. Speaking of which," Rossi groaned, "the team wants to have a get together tonight since we have no cases this weekend. Can we have it at your house?" Y/N didn't even have to ask, she knew she didn't. He always said yes even if he put up a fight about it.

"You already told them it was at my house didn't you?" Rossi questioned the younger agent. He saw her as a daughter, just as he saw all of them as his children.

"Am I really that predictable? I did," Y/N said, her face lighting up with a smile. "Everyone is in, even Hotch."

"Okay, fine. But only if you set up and clean up," Rossi negotiated.

"Will you cook or should we order in?" Y/N asked, making a list of all the things she had to do before tonight, in her head.

"I'll cook. Go get your work done," Rossi said, shooing her out of the office.

She left his office and made her way back to her desk. Y/N pulled out her phone to text the BAU group chat,"Papa Pasta's Spaghetti Children", that Rossi had said yes to the party. Everyone agreed on 6 pm, before remarking on the title of the group chat, like they always did. The conversation ended with Emily saying she was the favorite 'daughter' and no one bothering to correct her.

—TIME SKIP—

Spencer and Y/N had arrived at Rossi's house at about 5:30. They had stopped at the store on the way over to Rossi's to pick up snacks and games for the game night.

Rossi was the first to show up, given it was his house. He started cooking the pasta he was making for everyone, opening a bottle of wine for Spencer and I. JJ and Emily were the next to arrive, each greeted with a glass of wine. We gathered around the island in the kitchen, chatting about our plans for the weekend. The next people to arrive were Penelope and Derek, Penelope claiming a glass of wine while Derek waited for Hotch to arrive with the beer. Ten minutes later, Hotch was walking through the front door with a case of beer in each hand. As Rossi made dinner, Y/N took out the first game of the night, Cards Against Humanity.

"Okay, the card is 'Honey, Mommy and Daddy love you very much. But apparently Mommy loves (blank) more than she loves daddy," Spencer said, a grimace settled on his face, clearing not excited to be judging this round. Everyone slammed their cards on the table, Y/N and Penelope barely able to contain their giggles. "Alright let's see what you guys put down. 'The Kool-Aid man.' 'The invisible hand.' 'Daddy Issues.' 'Chunks of a dead prostitute'" that card earned a chorus of groans and giggles from the group. "And last but certainly not least, 'Spontaneous Human Combustion.' Alright, let me think about this for a second," Spencer said, mulling over his options a little too seriously. "I think the winner of this one is 'Chunks of a dead prostitute.'" Hotch cheered, grabbing the black card. Everyone looked at him in shock.

The game continued until dinner was fully prepared. The team gathered in Rossi's dining room, digging into the meal Rossi made. Dinner went by relatively quickly with stories and laughs being shared. When everyone was finished, they moved into the living room, settling, more like squishing, onto the couch.

"Okay children, time for the surprise game of the night," Y/N said, pushing herself off the couch where she sat next to Spencer. She pulled a game out of a bag that was on the floor.

"You got us Mario Kart?!" Penelope all but shrieked. "When did you get that?"

"I got it a few days before the last case. Rossi mentioned something about having a Wii so I thought why not get us a game for it?" Y/N answered, handing Rossi the game to put into the DVD disc holder. He popped the disc into the Wii and handed four Wii remotes to Y/N. Y/N gave a remote to Penelope, Derek, Spencer, and JJ.

"Wait, I don't know how to play." Spencer said, kind of handing the remote back to Y/N.

"Penny, can you show him how to play? Last time I played was 10 years ago," Y/N asked, going to get a round of beers for everyone from the kitchen. When she came back, Penelope was showing Spencer how to play the game. He looked like a confused puppy.

"Okay I think I'm ready to play," Spencer said, unsure if he could actually play.

Penelope got the game all set up and hit start. The room was filled with the sounds of shouting from the players and laughter and cheering from the onlookers. Penelope was in first place with JJ following in a close second. Derek wasn't that far behind JJ and Spencer could not have been any farther behind the other three. After a few minutes, everyone, except Spencer, were on their third and final lap. JJ ended up winning, with Penelope in 2nd, Derek in 3rd, and Spencer in last place. He let out a huff and threw the controller onto the ottoman in front of him.

"Aw, baby, don't pout," Y/N said, brushing a piece of his hair behind his ear.

"I'm not pouting! It's a dumb game that doesn't make any logical sense," Spencer said, leaning into Y/N, taking a sip of his beer. "Why do players get to throw turtle shells? How does that make any sense?"

"Chill out, pretty boy. You have chess and other smart people games," Derek said, slightly out of it from how much he drank.

"It's just a dumb game," Spencer mumbled under his breath, digging his head into Y/N's shoulder. She rubbed the back of his neck, sharing a look with JJ.

"Are you grumpy because you lost or grumpy because you're tired?" Y/N whispered in Spencer's ear. Whenever he drank too much, he tended to get grumpy, tired, and clingy.

"Yes," he muttered, causing Y/N to giggle. The other's had started on the next game of Mario Kart, oblivious to Spencer's current mood change.

"Alright, let's go home, babyface. I'm gonna go get my purse and tell Rossi we're leaving," Y/N said, standing up from the couch, Spencer whimpering before leaning back on the couch. "Hey Rossi, I think Spence and I are going to head out."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Y/L/N. You've both had a lot to drink tonight. Just crash in one the guest bedrooms okay? I think everyone is going to stay the night," Rossi said, turning to look at all of his shit-faced 'children.'

"If you insist. Does it matter which one?" She asked, looking over at Spencer who was almost asleep.

"Just pick one. See you both in the morning," Rossi said, walking away before adding, "And use protection."

Y/N rolled her eyes before going to get Spencer. They said their goodnights to the team before making their way to the first available bedroom. After they changed into the PJ's they brought just in case, Spencer and Y/N both climbed into the bed. It was quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds Y/N heard were the laughs from the ever so lively party.

"It's a dumb game," Spencer said before he drifted off to sleep.

Y/N kissed his cheek before whispering, "You're just a sore loser," falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

#cassie's masterlist #{ writing }#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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marginalgloss · 4 years ago

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It occurred to me recently that I haven’t posted here for about nine months, and that if you knew nothing about me except for this blog, you might think that it something of a cliffhanger that I ended it on a post about expecting the arrival of my first child. (Or perhaps that would have been an entirely fitting way to end it.) Either way: I am fine, and we are fine, and last November brought the arrival of my son Robin into my life. I have been very busy almost every day since.

There are a couple of cliches about parenting that remain indisputably true. The first is that they grow up so fast. And the second is that nothing prepares you for it. We thought we were entirely ready and pretty well informed but from his delivery onwards nothing went as planned. We thought we’d feed him when he was hungry, and we’d put him to sleep when he was tired; and change his nappies, and play with him, and love him; and what else was there to it, really?

It turns out there is a lot more to it than that. Before Robin I never realised how polarised, how strained and how political people’s feelings are about matters of childcare. We’ve ended up raising him in ways we had never previously considered, partly out of necessity, and partly out of the kind of habits that grow into paths of desire across the days. Consciously or not I judge people who do things differently, and no doubt they judge me too. In spite of the reams of available literature it turns out that for many things — perhaps even most things — there isn’t necessarily a right or a wrong way to proceed.

Here is a third cliche that turns out to be extremely valuable: every baby is different.

The question of literature is a tricky one. In search of assistance I read a few parenting manuals; some of these turned out to be better than others, but I’ve yet to find a good book about what it means to be a father. Most books aimed at new dads are of the ‘pull your socks up’ variety — the kind of thing where the author imagined it thrust upon some feckless deadbeat by a weary spouse. But, being reasonably conscientious, and looking for something with a bit more depth than a guide to how to change nappies, I’ve found most books about parenting have little of interest to say to new fathers.

Being a dad is an odd thing to write about. I’ve read and heard people talk about how new mothers ought to be proud to be joining a kind of grand universal maternal tradition, one which predates even humanity itself. (Animals surely know about babies; witness my cat Louie’s endless patience with Robin’s various attempts to pull his ears off.)

People do not generally talk about the grand traditions of fatherhood in this way. And for good reason: a lot of men today wouldn’t be happy to follow the example of their own fathers, let alone imitate the conditions of detachment and distance that defined fatherhood for centuries. I want to say that expectations of fathers today have never been higher; but this is only because for most of recorded history, we had no expectations of fathers at all. In the space of perhaps two or three generations we have gone from the idea that a father should only have to provide for a child’s upkeep (and not slap them around too much) to a very immediate understanding of dadhood as a central plank of parenthood.

Perhaps a lot of this speaks more to my own insecurities than it does to anyone else’s. Still, I feel like there’s an easy camaraderie between mothers that isn’t apparent between fathers. My wife has developed a little circle of local mums with whom she’s in constant communication, whereas the WhatsApp group we created for the fathers in our NCT group has languished in silence. I don’t really have anyone with whom to compare notes. And what would we say if I did?

The pandemic has put us in an unusual situation. Ordinarily I would have had two weeks’ paid paternity leave, plus any holiday time taken alongside that. So I took three weeks off work — but I’m still working from home every day, as I have been since March 2020. This means that instead of watching me disappear to work five days a week, my son has spent every day of his life together so far with both his parents. I don’t even know where to begin with writing about the way this has changed us; perhaps I won’t know how to talk about it until it comes to an end.

It does mean that parenting feels like it has consumed my life in ways that might not have otherwise been the case. Being at home for so long with a new baby was a remarkable opportunity, and in the early days — through winter and the Christmas lockdown — it didn’t feel like I was missing out on much. Things are a little different now. Every absence independent from my family feels like it requires a negotiation as much with myself as with anyone else. And I don’t only mean literal absences. Someone new has come into my life and they have no tolerance for anything else that might be meaningful to me. So many of the things against which I used to define myself have necessarily had to be neglected.

It goes without saying that I haven’t written much. Whatever free time I have at the moment is normally spent collapsed in an exhausted heap on the sofa, watching TV. I can count the number of books I’ve actually finished in the last eight months on one hand; I have started and set aside perhaps two dozen. I feel very remote from the person who spent several years documenting here every book he finished.

Games have fared a little better. In the early days, when I found myself with some late night hours to myself, I picked up the remastered Bioshock collection. It took me months, but I eventually finished all three: the first game is a masterpiece, the second is a very decent sequel, and the third is probably the greatest missed opportunity in all of gaming. (I ended up writing several thousands of words about the games, over the course of weeks — the only thing of substance I’ve written since Robin was born, in fact — which I since abandoned, in a fit of self-doubt and impatience with my own tortuous style.)

But I mean it when I say that the first game is a masterpiece. I had forgotten just how immensely absorbing it is — a journey into another world that’s less realistic than it is gloriously theatrical. Every time I think about it I feel like I want to replay it again. And it never really occurred to me before that Bioshock is about parenting as much as it is a picture of Objectivism in decay. It hits different now, as the kids say.

While driving over the weekend I passed the word ‘DADDY’ outlined in rich pink flowers, laid in memorial at the centre of a roundabout. It made me flinch. Every time I see that word in whatever context it seems to come with an intimation of departure. And in the same way every time I think about this game it seems laden with the feeling of a dying fall that nobody ever really seems to talk about. You play as a kind of genetically modified clone, returning home to his unwelcoming father and near-absent mother in a demented inversion of the Odysseus tale; and the only good you can do in this world is to rescue the handful of innocents left within it. You have to become a father yourself, in a sense. But your days are numbered.

The ending of the original Bioshock is often written off as a bit of a joke. You fight a deliriously incongruous final boss, and then depending on your actions through the rest of the game, you get to see one of two final sequences. In the bad ending, the denizens of Rapture somehow steal a nuclear submarine, and it’s implied that something very bad follows. But the good ending has more to it than that. You return to the surface, and it’s implied that you adopt some of the Little Sisters you rescued down there as though they were your daughters. There’s a brief montage of scenes from an assortment of lives. A graduation. A marriage. A child reaching for a parent’s hand. And then a death bed. The hands of your daughters reach out for you one last time.

After perhaps twenty hours of gameplay this sequence is perhaps less than a minute long. It feels rushed, awkward, sentimental. But as a coda, it also has the outstanding benefit of being perfectly real.

#robin #personal #fatherhood #video games #bioshock

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clonecest-bin-account · 4 years ago

Text

Bet?

Ship: Cody/Fox/Wolffe

Rating: E

Cody, Fox and Wolffe make a bet. Will Cody be able to win, or will Fox and Wolffe best him?

AO3 link

It begins, like many other things, with a more drunk than sober conversation at 79’s, but then it turns into a bet: if Cody prides himself on his self-control so much - unlike Fox and Wolffe, according to him - then he’d surely be able to resist if they… toy with him a bit.

The bet is this: Cody will be able to resist for a whole day with a remote-controlled vibrator up his ass, with the controller of course in Wolffe and Fox’s hands. Cody sustains that it wouldn’t be a big deal for him, which prompts Fox and Wolffe to share an amused gaze; sure, he’s saying it now, but they’re certain that eventually, he’d crumble too, and they know it.

Of course, they say nothing of this, actually encouraging Cody in his endeavor: it’ll be sweeter once he falls. After all, they have no intentions of going easy on him.

It’s hard to find a moment in which they’re all three on Coruscant, but with a little bit of luck by their side they manage.

Now, the fun can begin.

Cody whines as Fox presses the toy inside him. He’s had to pull a few strings to get it manufactured for this specific occasion, but the result is worth it: it’s not too big, not enough to make moving around difficult - after all, something can still happen, and they want Cody to be able to defend himself if it does. A small vibrating plug bright orange colored, just like the 212th armor - he thought Cody would appreciate it.

Once it’s completely seated inside, Fox gives it a few tugs, just to test it, but it’s still enough to make Cody moan. He can feel his cock beginning to twitch in interest at the ministrations, but he wills it down, knowing that it’s going to take a long time before he’ll be able to get some release, so he’d better keep himself in check.

He’s not expecting Wolffe to slap his ass with so much force behind it that it makes him almost stumble. Before he can stop himself, he yelps, sending then a glare towards the other, who’s smirking.

“What?” he says, like he doesn’t know what he did wrong.

“You’re an asshole,” Cody replies, though by the way Wolffe chuckles, he doubts he’s taken it seriously.

As it often happens, Fox’s the one who puts them both back in line, though he uses a method similar to Wolffe’s: he spanks Cody as well, though with way less energy in the slap, and calls them both to attention.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?” he tells Cody, eyebrow raises. Cody huffs as he begins to get dressed again without deigning that affirmation of a reply, as if the act will ever convince the others that he has everything under control.

“Tell that to Wolffe, he’s the one who wasn’t letting me go,” he points out then, to which Wolffe just rolls his eyes. They’re not going to bicker like a couple of cadets… And yet Wolffe can’t help but to retort. “You’re gonna miss me, later.”

Now it’s Cody’s turn to roll his eyes. “Suuure,” he says, doubtful.

Once he finishes getting dressed again, he begins to walk towards the door. It’s weird doing it with the thing stuck up his ass, but it’s not too bad; only a very attentive eye would notice that there’s something weird in the way he’s moving, which Cody hopes won’t happen because how could he explain this without dying for the embarrassment?

Oh well, it’s too late to worry about that now. After all, it’s not like he’s gonna step back from this.

He turns towards the others again.

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” he says, though deep inside himself he knows that’s going to be exactly the case. They’ll try to make his life a living hell until the end of the challenge, but he knows this already, so he’s prepared to resist them.

As to confirm his suspicions, Wolffe sends the biggest grin his way.

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” he replies, waving his hand at Cody.

“Have fun,” Fox says then, imitating Wolffe.

Cody huffs, but otherwise doesn’t respond, knowing that they’re provoking him for their own amusement. He’s going to be the bigger person and not give them the satisfaction of a reply, even though the frown on his face is enough to give himself away.

He shakes his head then, turning back towards the door.

“Right… See you later,” he says, and with that, he’s out, leaving Fox and Wolffe alone in Fox’s quarters.

“So…” Wolffe begins. “How long do you think he’s going to last?”

“Who cares, as long as we make it hard for him,” Fox replies, and in a moment he’s beside Wolffe, closing his arms around the other’s neck with an inviting smile on his face. “I say that we have some fun between us, for now.”

“Mmmh… That’s an excellent idea,” Wolffe replies, and without needing to exchange any more words, they walk to Fox’s bedroom to enjoy some private time.

It’s like they’ve forgotten about Cody, but what they’re really doing is biding their time in order to make the other fall into a false sense of security; that, or Cody is going to be tense all the time because they still haven’t made their move. Either way it’s going to be good.

Besides, they have some pent-up frustration to get rid of. In a way, it’s Cody’s fault: how were Fox and Wolffe supposed not to get aroused as they inserted the plug inside him? Yes, it’s definitely his fault.

They kiss and touch and rub against each other like two eager shinies. It doesn’t matter how they do it, as long as they get off. They really need to take off the edge.

Growing impatient, Wolffe grabs their cocks with his fist, jerking both of them off at the same time. Fox howls - such a nice sound - and grinds into it, adding even more friction.

“Oh fuck, Wolffe! Yeah… Like that…”

Wolffe kisses him to shut him up, but by the way Fox melts into it, he must not mind it, especially when Wolffe slides his tongue between his lips.

They come embarrassingly fast, but it doesn’t matter to them. After all, it’s going to take a while before Cody comes back to them, so they have all the time in the world to get going again. The important thing is that they’ve taken the edge off now.

After a moment of catching their breath, they both lay down, with Fox almost entirely on top of Wolffe, resting his head against the other’s chest.

“Think we can begin messing with Cody?” he asks then, eager to get the game going. Wolffe hums.

“I think so…” he begins, then he seems to think about something, and backtracks. “But wait, what if he just gets off on his own and then acts like we didn’t get him at all?”

Mmmh, he’s right, but it’s also true that while Cody might pretend he’s not, but he’s a prideful one: he’ll do his best not to resort to that, which will make things exciting, they’re sure of it.

“No, he’d feel like he’d lose if he does it. Trust me,” Fox replies. He and Wolffe exchange a gaze and oh, they know they’re going to make Cody’s day a living hell.

They begin tamely, just turning the vibrator occasionally on and off, just to make him jolt by the surprise, but then things, of course, escalate: they begin keeping it on for longer periods of time, even turning it to higher settings, then they begin sending him holopics of each other while they’re getting frisky - because of course they’re not going to wait for him to come back at the end of the day - with captions like “we miss you” and “can’t wait for you” accompanied by a few hearts just to make it sting more.

Cody never responds, but he visualizes their messages, so at least they know that he’s seeing them. He must surely be fuming.

And indeed, Cody is fuming.

He still looks at the messages he receives, if anything because he wants to make a point that he doesn’t care about what they’re doing right now and that he’s not bothered by the game.

Still, each time, looking at his comms becomes harder and harder, especially as the shabuire begin to get meaner and meaner in the way they activate the plug inside him: sometimes they keep it on at a lower setting for so long that it only manages to get Cody frustrated, and then end it without any kind of ceremony; other times, they suddenly turn it on at the highest setting, never failing to take Cody by surprise, only to abruptly end it immediately, just to get a rise out of him.

The worst thing of it all is their timing: even though they can’t monitor his movements, they still manage to activate the plug at the worst times, especially while Cody’s talking and is surrounded by multiple people.

He’s even been asked if he’s alright or if he needs to be seen by a medic, for Prime’s sake! He swears he’s going to make them pay so hard when he gets there--

Agh! Here it goes again!

After calming himself down, Cody frantically looks around, afraid that someone noticed his sudden tensing, but it looks like everyone’s busy enough not to have given him a single thought, which is excellent.

Luckily, he’ll be done with this job soon, meaning that he won’t have to be anywhere else involving a great amount of people, meaning that he can go back to his quarters and wait until the evening, when he’ll be allowed to join Fox and Wolffe back, at least according to the game. Sure, it won’t be easy, but at least he’ll be on his own; he might even touch himself… No, he can’t do that. That would be like admitting defeat!

“Hey, Commander, should we load in this crate too?”

Oh, yeah, he should stay focused on the here and now. Let’s see: they’re resupplying the Negotiator before their next military campaign, but is that crate part of the supplies as well? Cody walks towards it to inspect the serial number; only once he’s done he replies: “Yeah, this one goes in too--!”

Fucking Sith hells, not now!

The trooper was about to grab the crate, but he startles at the sound Cody makes. Is he in pain?

“Huh… Commander? Is everything alright?” Cody is going to murder them so hard.

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Just pulled a muscle,” he lies, hoping to be convincing enough. The trooper gives him a sympathetic nod.

“Oh, that happens to me all the time. Make sure to go to a medic, yeah?” he says, before lifting the crate and bringing it inside the ship, while Cody thanks him.

Now more than ever he’s thankful for wearing his helmet, so nobody can see the flushed expression on his face, nor him gritting his teeth from the frustration.

It’s now that he admits to himself that he might’ve overestimated his endurance.

Resisting is getting harder and harder, but he refuses to go to them early, he refuses to undergo that humiliation.

He can do it. He will do it.

Fox and Wolffe have lost count of how many times they’ve got off since Cody’s departure. Of course they’ve been mindful to take breaks and stay hydrated, but apart from that they haven’t been doing much else except fucking.

Cody has officially surpassed their expectations: they thought he was going to resist way less than this. They weren’t expecting him to barge in per se, but at least trying to get them to stop sending him stuff - and they’ve sent him some pretty filthy stuff - or to stop playing with the plug too much, but no, they’ve received only silence from Cody.

“Maybe we should call him,” Fox wonders.

Wolffe huffs; leave it to Fox to start a conversation right while they’re fucking.

“You mean right now?” he asks, emphasizing each word by thrusting upwards into Fox’s heat, making him lose balance completely and fall on top of Wolffe, completely at his mercy.

“Yeah, right now… Oh! Right there! We can… Yes! Tell him we miss him…”

At those words, Wolffe can’t help but to smirk. He’s sure Cody would enjoy a call from them, and by enjoy he means not enjoying at all; he bets he’d get all jealous that they’re having sex while he can’t even get himself off alone. Still, despite how good that idea is, he doesn’t make any motion to stop himself, and actually claws at Fox’s shoulder, keeping him there as he begins to thrust deeper, more wildly.

“Don’t feel like sharing at the moment,” is all he says, before he makes Fox forget how to speak.

At least an hour has passed since that moment, and the two are completely spent, at least for now. The good thing is that they’ve finally taken a shower so that they could get rid of the filth that they’ve been accumulating for a while. Now that they’re clean, they feel a lot better.

“Should we watch something?” Fox asks, joining Wolffe back to bed, waiting for him to leave him some space before laying down as well.

At the risk to sound insatiable, Wolffe has to admit that he still feels quite horny, though he supposes he’d better save this energy for when Cody arrives; the poor thing will surely be in need of a lot of care.

“Sure, why not,” he replies then. He doesn’t even bother to make any suggestion, knowing that whatever will be picked will end up making Wolffe fall asleep, which is something he’s counting on. He wouldn’t mind a nap. Given Fox’s choice, a boring old ass holomovie, he might be thinking the same.

As they get comfortable, Wolffe hisses when Fox’s thigh brushes against his soft cock - yes, they’re still naked - and sends him a glare.

“Really?” he asks, deadpan.

“I’m sorry!” Fox exclaims immediately, huffing and getting into a better position, away from any kind of appendages. Wolffe, however, doesn’t believe him not even for a second.

“Sure you are.”

“I swear I didn’t mean to!” Fox huffs, unamused by Wolffe’s behavior. “You’re so annoying.”

“But you love me anyway.” Wolffe smirks, and even though Fox hates every second of it, he can only agree with him.

“You’re lucky I do.”

There’s a knock at the door.

Both Wolffe and Fox freeze, pulling away from each other just to exchange a silent look. This is Fox’s free day, so who can it be?

It could be an emergency, though Fox supposes if that were the case, they would’ve commed him. That might not be the case, however, which prompts Fox to jump down the bed frantically, looking for his blacks, at least until he hears another knock, this time accompanied by a voice.

“Fox? A-Are you here?”

Oh, that’s Cody’s voice.

Fox turns towards Wolffe, who has heard him as well, and they exchange a smirk.

This should be fun.

They don’t even bother to get dressed as they both move towards the door.

When Fox unlocks it, they’re met by the sight of a very distressed Cody. The poor thing looks like he’s about to explode any moment.

The expression he makes when he sees Fox and Wolffe, naked at the doorstep, is quite comical: it’s almost like his eyes are going to fall from his eye sockets, and Wolffe’s pretty sure that he could fit his entire fist in his mouth for how open it is.

“Hello there, Kote,” Wolffe greets him in a voice that would’ve irritated Fox if it was directed towards him and not the other. “What are you doing here, this early?”

Cody wobbles inside, pushing past the two without even bothering to say anything. Once he’s inside, Fox closes the door again, not wanting to be walked on by someone who shouldn’t be made privy of the game they’re playing.

“I…” Cody tries, turning around them, but he can’t even complete the sentence.

Looking at his wrecked state, they both realize that they might’ve been a bit too cruel to him.

“Aw, look at you, you’re barely standing…” Fox observes, circling around Cody like one would do with their prey. He barely touches his shoulder and it sends a jolt through Cody’s spine. “You’re so wired up.”

“And whose fault is that?” Cody retorts, but he doesn’t sound as menacing as he’d like, not when Wolffe turns the vibrator on again, making his legs lose the last of his energy. If it wasn’t for Fox that catches him in time, he would’ve fallen on the ground. He looks so pitiful, just like the gaze he sends Wolffe’s way.

“Please…” He must be very desperate if he’s already resorting to begging already. Fox and Wolffe exchange a gaze; alright, they’ve played with him enough.

Wolffe turns the vibrator off again while Fox helps Cody on the bed. Once they all get there, it takes them just a moment to strip him bare like they are. Wolffe licks Cody’s ear, making him shiver.

“We’re going to take such a good care of you now…” he whispers, before sliding his tongue inside the other’s parted lips, kissing him breathless while Fox takes his cock in hand, smearing the precum he’s already leaking all over its length.

Right then Wolffe activates the vibrator again, and with a last shake Cody comes already, unable to hold back anymore.

Still, Fox doesn’t stop, and it seems that Cody doesn’t mind. He’s probably already good to go again.

“Kriffing hells,” he moans, face one or two shades darker than it usually is. It’s such a hot view.

“I want to fuck him,” Fox blurts out, turning towards Cody. “Would that be okay with you?”

“Please…” is all Cody is able to get out. It’s enough.

They get to bed immediately, with Wolffe laying onto it on his back - he wants to enjoy the show - Cody on his lap and Fox behind him.

Speaking of Fox, he runs his nails from Cody’s shoulders to his back, leaving soft marks - nothing that would be uncomfortable once he’s back to wear blacks - then he cups his ass, spreading it over. Cody’s hole, now empty, is left twitching in the wake of being filled again. Fox hums appreciatively.

When Cody presses his body against his, Fox decides to stop wasting time.

“Keep him still,” he orders Wolffe, who dutifully grabs Cody by his hips, keeping him pinned there. Fox then begins to rub his cock against his entrance waiting for him to get used to it - thus complacent - in order to press the tip inside.

The sound Cody lets out at the intrusion isn’t like anything they’ve ever heard coming from him. It makes Fox’s cock twitch in interest.

“Fuuuuuuuck!” Cody sounds way past his limit, and yet he’s not doing anything to push neither Fox nor Wolffe away. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s quickly getting hard again, they wouldn’t be pushing him this much.

Figuring that he would just swear at them if he does it slow, Fox begins to fuck Cody in earnest, earning himself a grunt each time he sinks in. His gaze is low, focused on the way his cock vanishes inside Cody’s eager hole.

Wolffe, on the other side, is enjoying a different kind of show: he can’t hold back a smirk at how wrecked Cody looks right now, even though the asshole is getting some saliva droppings on him, but it’s something Wolffe easily forgives, if anything because it means that they’re fucking his brains out for him not to even realize that he’s doing that.

He takes his flushed face between his hands, forcing Cody to keep his gaze on him. He won’t let him look away and get away from this so easily. “Aw, look at you, so needy for cock,” he mocks him, but Cody only whines at his words, making it hard to understand if he’s even heard what he said. Oh well, it doesn’t matter, not when Wolffe decides that he’d rather kiss him, which he does, pressing his lips against Cody none too gently.

Fox is getting closer and closer to reaching the peak. The more he keeps going, the less he’s going to last.

He grits his teeth, grabbing Cody’s hips with even more strength, uncaring of the marks and bruises he’s leaving; Cody’s going to feel them for a long time, and Fox hopes he’ll get hard each time he remembers how he’s gotten them. It would be amusing seeing him trying to keep composure in the middle of a debrief or something.

He reaches down for Cody’s cock, taking it in his hand. After doing that, he immediately begins to jerk him off, despite the pained sounds that are leaving Cody’s mouth at the way he’s treating his oversensitive cock.

“Come on, I know you like it,” he whispers to his ear before licking it, making Cody shiver at the sensation. Cody doesn’t reply, still busy with Wolffe’s mouth, but a loud whine leaves his lips, which counts as an affirmative response.

When Wolffe finally pulls away, Cody finds himself struggling for breath. The fact that Fox doesn’t stop pounding into him doesn’t help at all. “Are you close?” he asks, accompanying each sentence with a snap of his hips. Cody moans, shaking his head yes. “Show me,” Fox says then. “Come.”

All it takes is another couple of thrusts for Cody to come; he opens his mouth to scream, but as soon as he does, Wolffe - the shabuir - decides to shove his fingers in there, forcing Cody to suck on them while Fox chases his own orgasm, which to be fair, doesn’t take too long to reach, not when Fox can feel Cody clench frantically around him, oversensitive and spent.

He doesn’t even pull away, coming still buried deep inside him, chuckling at the way Cody twitches as he fills him up with cum. Such an endearing sight.

Only when it looks like Cody’s more stable, Fox begins pulling out, though as soon as he does, Cody slumps forward, but he’s thankfully caught by Wolffe. Fox rubs his thighs, leaning down to kiss his shoulder. “Are you ok?”

Cody doesn’t say anything except for a long whine, so they suppose he’s fine. Besides…

“My turn now,” Wolffe grunts, moving Cody by the hips so that he can line the tip of his cock against his entrance. It’s like lifting a dead weight, but he doesn’t mind it; he’s going to wake up Cody soon, after all. He has at least the kindness to lower him down slowly, despite how loosened up he is, but Wolffe doesn’t want to force it.

Once he’s completely seated inside, he lets Cody lean against him, chest against chest, and closes his arms around his waist, keeping him there - not that he has enough strength to leave, even if he wanted to. He can’t help the smile that appears on his face when Cody nuzzles against his neck, but the soft quiet lasts little: after planting his feet on the mattress to get better leverage, Wolffe begins to slowly rock his body against Cody’s, making him whine softly at the sensation.

After making sure that Cody’s getting into it, Wolffe doesn’t waste any more time as he begins to pound into him the way he wanted to do from the start. Cody is completely powerless in front of such an assault, and all he can do it to arch his body, screaming from the intensity of the pleasure as Wolffe nails his prostate each single kriffing time.

It’s a great visual, or it would be if Fox were able to keep his eyes open for more than one mere second.

After having laid down beside Wolffe and Cody, he’s been attacked by a sense of sleepiness that has taken him by surprise, though considering what he’s been doing while he and Wolffe waited for Cody maybe he should’ve expected it. The thing is, he’d really like to go for a nap now, but on the other hand, how is he supposed to miss the show in front of him?

Cody’s voice is really doing a marvellous job waking him up, he has to say. His throat is surely going to get hoarse once they’re done with him; oh yeah, he’s getting completely wrecked.

Still, for now he’d rather watch than actively participate, especially considering the excellent job Wolffe is doing. He’s not going to lie, it’s quite tender the way they’re holding onto each other, it makes Fox smile that damned stupid smile he does only when he’s with them.

Ooh, Cody’s beginning to move along Wolffe’s thrusts, making him penetrate even deeper. He must be close if he’s finding the strength to move his hips like that.

That knowledge is enough to shake Fox up. He says: “Wolffe, wait.”

Wolffe immediately stops, much to Cody’s disappointment as he grunts, clearly displeased by the unnecessary interruption. He soon changes idea however when Fox speaks again. “Turn him over, I want to blow him.”

A moan leaves Cody’s lips at those words. “You’d like that, would you?” Fox asks him, delighted by the frantic way he nods, then letting himself be moved with ease, turning around so that he’s giving his back to Wolffe.

The way he sinks back on his cock is almost feverish, but damn if it doesn’t make for a very pretty picture, a picture that Fox would happily stare at for the rest of his life, but he has a job to do.

He goes down immediately, parting his lips around Cody’s cock, swallowing him whole. He doesn’t even need to move much since Cody already does it enough on his own; no matter where he goes, he either impales himself on Wolffe’s cock or thrust into Fox’s delicious mouth. A true win-win situation.

The moans that are coming out of him are absolutely obscene; they should’ve recorded him, just for posterity’s sake.

“Close…” he manages to croak between a moan and another.

Hearing that, Wolffe’s grabs Cody by the hips, forcing him still; Cody whines at that sudden pause and he’s about to protest, only that Wolffe begins to hammer inside him just like he was doing before; he begins pushing into Cody with all the fury in his body, in and out, in and out.

The shouts that leave Cody’s lips are so loud that, if Fox hadn’t made his room get soundproofed, they would’ve certainly been heard from outside as well.

Amidst the shouts there are also a few sobs, and it’s with a chocked one that Cody comes. His entire body tenses and arches, while his cock twitches, but Fox’s already relaxed his throat, he already knows what to expect and he doesn’t bat one eye when he begins to unload.

Wolffe doesn’t slow down his assault not one bit, not even when Cody begins to shake, oversensitive. It’s not like he can pull away, even if he wanted to.

With that pace, plus the fact that Cody’s clenching around him so tightly that it almost hurts, it doesn’t take long for Wolffe to come, getting his load up there to join up with the one Fox has already left before. He keeps pounding into him until it’s over; only then he stops, and as soon as he does Cody collapses over him, completely spent.

Wolffe and Fox exchange a look.

… Did they kill him or something?

No, his eyes flutter open, so he’s fine. Just tired. Still not entirely convinced, Fox waves a hand in front of him. “Hey, you ok there?”

Cody doesn’t utter a word, but he weakly nods, meaning that he’s understood what Fox has told him. Good. His body is shaking, both from the sudden cold and the tiredness, but at least he finds some solace when Wolffe rubs his arms to produce some warmth.

An exchanged gaze with Fox is enough for them to reach an agreement. “I’ll prepare a bath.”

By the time the bath is ready, Cody is at least able to move on his own, at least a little bit; his legs are still quite wobbly, so he has to lean on Wolffe in order to move, not that Wolffe minds, at all. He’s always found cute how Cody gets after a good couple of orgasms.

Fox’s tub is big enough to fit all three of them - one of the few perks of being stationed on Coruscant - so they manage to get cleaned up all at the same time, although they have to help Cody since he’s unable to do it on his own.

“How are you?” Fox asks as he rinses his hair, gently scratching his scalp while Wolffe massages his shoulders. Cody has his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation fully; he might fall asleep from one moment to another, but frankly he doesn’t care. The only thing keeping him awake is the fact that he doesn’t want to be a complete deadweight to the others, and also the burn of shame at the fact that, in the end, he didn’t manage to win the bet, thought at the moment his mind is so clouded that isn’t exactly his priority. Besides, if he doesn’t mention it, maybe the others will forget about it.

“Good,” he manages to mutter in reply despite his throat hurting like hell. They really got him screaming before, the shabuire. He must be pouting, because Fox leans in to kiss him, just a quick peck on his lips.

“C’mon now, let’s get you to bed.”

If there’s something that the bath managed to do, it’s to make Cody feel even more drowsy. The more time passes, the harder he’s finding it to keep his eyes open.

At least he’s not being teased for it; actually, both Wolffe and Fox are treating him with extreme care now, something that he’ll always be grateful for. No matter how hard they go at it - and he means all of them - at the end of their games they’re always nice to each other.

He softly groans when they help him onto the bed, and he wastes no time finding a comfortable position, pressed between the other two. Not that he minds it, of course: it’s nice feeling them so close; it’s reassuring.

Between the other two’s caresses and kisses, he finds himself drifting more and more to sleep… At least until Wolffe speaks up.

“You know…” he says, “You still lost the bet.” Damn it, they’ve remembered.

Cody mutters something unintelligible to both the others. He’s too tired to even speak, which prompts them to leave him alone for now.

“We’ll talk about it another time,” Fox interjects then, caressing Cody’s hair. “Rest now.”

By the way Cody falls asleep almost immediately, he must’ve taken that to heart. At that point, Fox turns towards Wolffe.

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Am I?” Wolffe immediately retorts. “I was just stating the facts!”

“Exactly!” Fox replies, though his annoyed expression soon turns into a smirk. “We’ll remind him when he least expects it.”

At those words, Wolffe mutters a small oh, then he lowers his gaze towards Cody, sleeping soundly unaware of their machinations. He chuckles.

“And you said I am the asshole.”

#clonecest #cloneshipping #codyfoxwolffe #commander cody #commander fox #commander wolffe #my fics #spicy tag

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kasienda · 4 years ago

Text

Right Behind You - Ch 2: Friends

Chapter 1

The silver limo pulled to a stop outside of Adrien’s building. His luxury oversized studio apartment was on the top floor. Adrien didn’t move from his seat, his eyes locked onto the white van parked across the street from the entrance. He couldn’t even come and go as Chat Noir as long as the media had him on stakeout. He wasn’t sure if they’d assume Chat was his lover, or if they’d piece together his identity, but neither possibility was remotely appealing.

He turned to Nino, who was seated beside him, popping the last chouquette into his mouth.

“You sure you want to be seen with me?” Adrien asked. “They might assume you’re my boyfriend.”

Nino shrugged, licking the crumbs off his fingers. “People have assumed far worse about me.” Nino turned to him with a grin. “We could make a show of it if you want?”

Adrien smiled in spite of himself. He couldn’t resist the boyish playful look on Nino’s face. “What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing major. We could hold hands! Just play it up, like we are together.”

Adrien laughed, feeling more than a bit tempted if only to turn the whole situation into a joke, but he didn’t want anyone else swept up in this scandal. Especially not Nino who already did so much for him. “I appreciate the thought, but I don’t want you or your family being harassed by reporters if it’s not even real.”

“We could handle it,” Nino insisted, his grin never fading.

“I’m not saying you couldn’t.” Though Adrien wasn’t sure if that was truly the case. Adrien knew that Nino wasn’t out with his family. He wasn’t going to force Nino to have that conversation before he was ready even if he did have the option of saying it was all for show. “I just… if you have to handle it, I want it to be for real.”

“Fine. Be that way,” Nino said, pouting.

“It almost seems like you want to be mistaken for my boyfriend,” Adrien teased.

Nino’s gaze turned towards the window. “If people think you’re taken maybe they’d be less likely to think they can get away with scamming you on the street.”

Adrien’s chest bloomed in warmth, and his lips stretched into another smile. He was never sure what he had done to earn Nino’s friendship, but he could no longer imagine what his life would be like without Nino’s warm, and often forceful, support.

Keep Reading on Ao3

Nino undid his seat belt, leaned forward, and clapped a hand onto Ezra’s shoulder. “Thanks Big G! Hope you have a good one!”

His bodyguard nodded acknowledgement, but didn’t smile. Ezra never smiled while on the clock. Adrien had no idea how he managed it.

Nino opened the door and exited the vehicle.

Adrien undid his own seatbelt. “Thank you, Ezra. You don’t need to stick around. I’m planning on hiding away all day. I’ll text you if that changes.”

The large man nodded, pointed his large index finger at Adrien’s chest, and signed an okay sign with raised eyebrows.

Adrien shrugged. “I’m… better than I was. I’ll be okay. Thanks for asking.”

Ezra pushed a knuckle to his own chin, flicking it upwards.

“I need to keep my chin up?” Adrien guessed.

The gruff man nodded. He still didn’t smile.

But Adrien did. “I promise I will try. See you tomorrow, Ezra.”

Then he exited the vehicle, and broke into a trot to catch up to Nino who was waiting at the top of the stairs in front of the double doors that led into the building. One short elevator ride later, they arrived at his front door.

The door swung open and they were greeted with the amazing smell of raspberry and flaky crust. Adrien kicked off his shoes, and glanced across the open floor plan towards the kitchen. Sure enough, Marinette was there, headphones in either ear, facing away from them as she wiped down the counter, which was dusted in flour.

When he had signed a lease, the elaborate space with marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, and an island prep space with a built in gas stove had all seemed remarkably excessive for him when he barely knew how to use a microwave. To this day, he ordered out more often than not. When he had first moved in four years prior, Marinette and Alya both refused to let the amazing set up go unused. And he was often spoiled with five star dinners from Alya, and baked perfection from Marinette. But Alya had left Paris for university, and Marinette had started coming around less and less often unless the whole gang had plans.

But she was here today and he was grateful.

Nino settled onto a high stool in front of the island, opposite Marinette.

“Marinette?” Adrien called loudly, hoping to be heard over whatever she was listening to.

She whirled around immediately, her blue eyes jumping up to his face. She tore the headphones out of her ears and threw herself at him. Her slender arms were quickly around his neck. He closed his eyes and basked in her comforting warmth against his chest.

“I came as soon as Nino texted me. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he assured her, letting his chin rest on her shoulder. “It’s really good to see you.”

She pulled away, and stared into his eyes. He felt like he was being measured, but he couldn’t help the soft smile that grew on his face watching her so intently focused before she pulled him into a hug again.

“It’s been too long,” she agreed. It hadn’t been that long. Maybe two or three months, but once upon a time he had been unable to go a week without her dropping by at least once. “How can I help?”

Adrien let her pull away. “Tell me what smells so good and tell me it’s ready to be devoured right now.” He and Nino had just polished off a box of chouquettes from her parent’s bakery, but today felt like the perfect day for total self indulgence.

She laughed. “What you’re smelling is a raspberry torte, but it has to refrigerate for at least six hours. Papa says it’s better if you leave it overnight, but I’m never patient enough for that. It’s for round two later this afternoon. I was going to start on a batch of snickerdoodles next. Should only take about thirty minutes before we can partake!”

“Can I help?” he asked.

She grinned. “Absolutely!”

“The usual cookie ingredients?”

She nodded, “And cinnamon! Oh and do you happen to have cream of tartar? I already took out butter earlier.”

“Yeah, I keep all your baking ingredients in stock. I’ve learned I miss out if I don’t!” He grinned as he handed her a mixing bowl, and a large wooden spoon.

Nino had buried his head in his arms resting on the counter. Adrien poked him as he passed by with baking soda in hand. “You know there’s an extra bed right there,” he said, gesturing past the living area filled with leather sofas and ottomans to the guest “bedroom”.

It wasn’t really a guest room, as it didn’t have any walls. But the lack of walls was the whole reason he had elected to go for the studio over the three bedroom flat. He never felt trapped when the whole living space was one giant room. Even the wall to the balcony was made entirely of glass giving the illusion that the room extended into the open air around the building, but it was higher than any of the surrounding buildings meaning no one could really get a good view inside unless he was standing right at the window. A necessary consideration for a part-time superhero.

“Too far away,” Nino grumbled into his forearms. “I’m fine right here.”

“Suit yourself.”

A cell phone rang, and Nino immediately bolted to a sitting position, pulling out his device from the pocket of his green hoodie. He grinned at it, flashing the screen towards Adrien.

Nathalie Sancoer was calling.

“Mlle. Sancoer, I was expecting your call!” Nino answered, his voice positively gleeful as he mimed towards Adrien’s pocket.

“M. Lahiffe,” was the dry response on the other end, loud enough that Adrien and Marinette could hear.

Adrien pulled up his missed call log. Four missed calls from Chloé, one from Kagami, another from Marinette, and six from Nathalie. He held up the device to Nino with a resigned sigh.

His friend fist pumped in silent victory. Adrien supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised to lose the bet. “Ms. Sancoer, give me just a moment.” Nino muted the call. “I’m going to head out to the balcony. I might be a while.”

Negotiations apparently took time. Adrien seriously didn’t know what he had ever done to deserve a friend like Nino. “It’s all yours!”

Nino left out the back, and Marinette turned puzzled eyes toward him. “What was that all about?”

“They’re negotiating over me,” he explained, as he fished out white and brown sugar from his cupboards.

“What,” she said, her voice flat.

Adrien chuckled. “Father wants to talk to me, but he is unwilling to call himself. He makes Nathalie call me, and I’m not taking or returning her calls. My father apparently doesn’t find that to be an acceptable excuse for her being unable to get through to me, so when that happens she calls Nino and bribes him to get me to call her back.”

“That is awful.”

Adrien retrieved a couple eggs from the refrigerator. “No, it’s good! He gets her to take away a photo shoot here or there, or frees up my schedule so I can hang out with you and the gang.”

“That is still terrible! Adrien! I knew your father was strict and controlling and insufferable in so many ways! But Nino having to serve as your union representative? That is a new low! How long have you had to bargain this way?”

He ignored the question. He didn’t know the answer. It had been going on long before Nino started making it easier. “It’s how I got to have more control over my studies without being disinherited. For reasons I don’t understand, Nathalie listens to Nino more than she does me. And father listens to Nathalie and no one else. These are the tools I have, and I’m not going to be ashamed of using them. Fancy physics degrees don’t pay for themselves after all.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “I never said you should be ashamed. I just… I wish none of it was necessary.”

He shrugged. “That makes two of us. We never planned to do this. She just called Nino once when she couldn’t get a hold of me. I never asked him to go to bat for me.”

“Nino’s just awesome like that.”

“He most definitely is!” Adrien agreed enthusiastically, placing a bag of flour and the cream of tartar on the counter next to Marinette’s mixing bowl. “So… is that everything you need?”

Her eyes scanned over the items, as she silently mouthed the ingredients while counting them off on her hands.

“Just missing salt,” she concluded.

“Salt. Of course.” He retrieved the condiment from the third cupboard to the right.

“Are you really okay?” she asked him as he handed her the last ingredient.

He shrugged. “I’ll be fine. I’m mostly just embarrassed.”

She frowned, her eyes shining with concern. “I imagine it hurts too though. To think you’re having a moment only to find someone is lying to you the whole time?”

“I only knew him for a day,” he insisted, but he couldn't meet her eyes.

”If you say so. I’ve managed to fall in love in a day before,” she admitted softly.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’ve done that before, too. It hasn’t panned out for me though. You?”

Her eyes avoided his, intent on scraping the butter off its paper wrapper and into the stainless steel bowl. “Not as of yet.”

Her sadness hit him in the chest. “We make quite the depressing pair, don’t we?”

She scowled, her lips pursed to the side of her face. “No! Not today! Today, we’re indulging ourselves in baked goods, and maybe Chloé will bring some good wine and we can get tipsy.”

He laughed. “I like your plan. How much sugar?” he asked, holding up the bag.

“Umm… 150 grams.”

And quickly they fell into a rhythm almost not needing words. It was strange to him how easy it was to follow Marinette’s line of thinking, but as they had gotten older, it had only gotten easier.

Now, what she was feeling? He had no idea. She was as much as mystery to him now as she had been their first year of college.

“Did you ever hear back from Dior?” he asked into the silence.

Her whole form slumped, and he wished he hadn’t brought it up.

“Not good news, I take it?” he asked as he added the last portion of flour into the mixing bowl.

She growled. “The worst part is they left me glowing feedback. Practical and fashionable at the same time, they said.” Her stirring took on a furious pace, and flour burst into the air between them. He chose not to comment. “They had no criticisms to offer except that it wasn’t what they were looking for. I just wish they would tell you what they were looking for so that I could design with that theme in mind.”

“I don’t think they want to give away to the competition what they’re thinking.”

She groaned. “That makes sense. I just… I think I could deliver what they wanted.”

“I could talk to my father if you wanted?”

She dropped the wooden spoon and jerked her head towards him. “Absolutely not! You will not owe that man any favors on my account.”

“I bet New York would still take you, if you reached out. They seemed really excited about the possibility of you on their team. And you seemed so excited with their design philosophy.”

Her eyes turned glassy, threatening tears. “You’re probably right,” she whispered. “They probably would still take me…”

He turned her away from the counter and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She trembled in his embrace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he told her softly.

She shook her head. “I-It’s not your fault,” she stammered through her tears. “I was… already a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off.

“I’m not pressuring you to leave Paris if you’re set against it. I would miss you if you were gone,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

She pulled away and offered him a watery smile. “I would miss you, too.”

The front door clicked open. Adrien didn’t spare it a glance, knowing it was likely Chloé. Kagami always knocked despite the fact that she had a key. His attention remained on Marinette.

She wiped her tears away. “Enough about me!” she exclaimed. “Today is supposed to be about cheering you up!”

“Maybe if I could make you feel better I would feel better,” he told her, his lips quirking upwards in a sideways smile.

Marinette giggled. “That’s sweet. But I’m a bit of a lost cause at the moment. Maybe it would make me feel better to make you feel better!”

Chloé’s heels clicked definitely as she stepped into the tile floor of the kitchen.

“Are you two seriously arguing about who gets to make who feel better?” she growled out in exasperated greeting.

“Uh… maybe?” Marinette hedged, turning away from Adrien’s comfort and back towards the cookies in progress. She soon was rolling out little balls of dough and lining them up on a baking sheet.

Chloé shook her head, mumbling something under her breath. But she didn’t comment further on how ridiculous they were. Instead, she wrapped Adrien in a tight embrace. “Are you okay, Adri-kins?” she whispered.

He nodded into her shoulder. “I am with you here.”

She squeezed him harder. There had been a time when she would have scoffed at such a statement. But a random off topic tangential lesson on recognizing abusive relationships in tenth grade Literature, a fortune spent on intensive therapy, and time spent in self reflection, his oldest friend had become someone he could rely on again.

She pulled back, and scooped out a spoon of cookie dough from the bowl, and began licking it.

“Hey!” Marinette objected. “Those aren’t done yet!”

“I hate to break it to you, Dupain-Cheng, but they are better this way.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment as she dipped a cup in a sugar cinnamon mixture and then pressed the cup gently into each ball of dough.

Chloé turned to Adrien again. “So, what can you tell us? Who are we plotting revenge against?”

Adrien groaned. “No! No revenge.”

Chloé patted his shoulder consolingly. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to be a part of it at all. I’ll take care of it. I’m sure Tsurugi will help. You in Dupain-Cheng?”

Marinette cocked her head, her gaze considered the ceiling. “Yeah… I think I am.”

“Marinette!” he hissed.

“What?!” Marinette exclaimed. “Someone goes after my friend? After you? And you want me to just let it go?”

“Yesss!” Chloé grinned. “Welcome to the dark side, Dupain-Cheng.” She offered a fist, which Marinette reciprocated.

“No,” Adrien repeated firmly. Chloé remained unmoved while Marinette shifted more nervously from foot to foot. “I’m serious. No revenge! That won’t make this go away any faster. And it won’t make me feel any better.”

Chloé stared at him, her face a mask of stoicism. “Is it so bad that we want to protect you?”

“Chloé, please,” he begged. “Promise me. No revenge.”

Chloé pouted, glancing down at her nails. “You’re absolutely no fun.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, very aware that she had promised nothing. “Oh, I’m so sorry to ruin your day.”

Marinette threw her arms around him again. “We’re so sorry.”

“Speak for yourself,” Chloé said. “I have nothing to apologize for.”

Marinette and Adrien shared an eye roll, but a knock at the door suppressed any comeback from either of them.

Adrien shook his head. “I’m going to go remind Kagami for the thousandth time that she has a key.”

He swung the door open revealing Kagami in a deep red business suit. She always looked good in the color. He was more than a bit envious.

She stepped forward and they exchanged the formal la bise greetings before they stepped back into the entryway of his studio.

“Coming from the office?” he asked, as he took her coat and scarf.

“An interview. A potential psychologist to add to our founding team. She is somewhat an expert on assessment and screening for red flags that could be indicative of current or past trauma among children and adolescents.”

He grinned. “That’s fantastic! I know I’ve already said it a dozen times before, but I think this foundation for neglected and abused children you and Chloé have started is amazing. I just can’t help but wonder how much better off she and I would have been if someone had caught us earlier in our lives.” And maybe Kagami too, even if her situation could be classified slightly differently.

Kagami lips stretched into a fond smile. “I don’t know that you could be better than you are. You have so much integrity and resilience. I have always looked up to you.”

Adrien felt the heat burning to the back of his neck. He really needed to get better at taking compliments.

“I have always looked up to you, too, Kagami.”

She nodded in formal acknowledgement. “Before I forget, my mother wishes you good luck in light of your scandal, and offers the use of her PI if you want to check this guy out.”

He groaned. “Not you, too.”

She chuckled. “I told my mother you likely would not make use of her offer.”

“I’m sure that went over well,” he commented, his voice flat.

Kagami laughed. “She said you were foolish and naive to not go out of your way to protect your family legacy and honor from those that would besmirch it.”

“I wish I could say she was wrong, but it sounds like she has me pegged.”

“Would you two stop standing awkwardly in the doorway and come in?” Chloé called. She was sprawled elegantly across the corner of the black leather couch nursing another spoonful of cookie dough in one hand, and a glass of red wine in the other. Nino sat in the recliner, his red hat over his face. Adrien hoped he was actually asleep, but he had his doubts. Marinette remained in the kitchen, sliding her first sheet of cookies into the oven. He knew she would prepare a second before joining them in the living area.

Kagami took a seat on the opposite side of the couch of Chloé leaving the space between them for Adrien.

“Tsurugi! The suspense is killing me!” Chloé whined. “That report you just gave to Adrien was carefully neutral. How did it go?”

Kagami grinned. “I do enjoy giving you a hard time, but that was not my intention this time. I think it went really well.”

Chloé literally squealed and threw her hands up in a miniature victory dance without spilling any of her wine.

“You’re awfully excited,” Marinette commented with an amused grin. “Who were you interviewing?”

Chloé spun back towards the kitchen island where Marinette was dusting another twelve cookies in her cinnamon sugar mixture. “You don’t understand!” Chloé exclaimed. “This woman was amazing! It’s like she could have written our mission statement! She had so many ideas for how children in abusive situations could be identified earlier, for what type of education is needed for children to recognize harmful situations themselves. And she somehow projected this aura of such gentleness. She would be so approachable. And yet, it didn’t diminish her passion at all!”

“You fell in love didn’t you?” Adrien smirked at her.

She turned back to him, and held up two manicured fingernails a centimeter apart. “Only a little bit.” Her blue eyes immediately shifted to Kagami. “But that’s not why I want to hire her! She will be an asset in getting the foundation off the ground!”

Kagami nodded. “No, I agree with you. She’s a good fit. I would like to make her an offer.”

“Tsurugi!” Chloé whined. “Why haven’t you already done that? I already told you I wanted to hire her! She’s going to be snatched up so quickly!”

“No, you didn’t. You told me you wanted to date her,” Kagami countered matter of factly.

Chloé spluttered, and then blushed. Everyone else laughed, including Nino, which definitely meant he wasn’t asleep. Adrien would have to fix that. “Can we talk about something else please?” she begged.

As if the universe had heard her, a siren blared right outside the building. Chloé immediately bolted for the window. She pushed aside the curtain and peered down into the street below, her lips stretching into a smile as satisfied as the cat who had found the camembert.

“Chloé?” Adrien asked, his voice dripping with suspicion. “What did you do?”

“Mwah?” she asked, her painted nails flared out to her chest dramatically with complete innocence. “I only did my civic duty by reporting someone that looked exactly like the wanted poster down at the precinct this morning hanging out in a creepy unmarked van.”

“Chloé!” Marinette scolded, but she was grinning as she peaked through the drapes over Chloé’s shoulder. “That’s terrible!”

“Efficient,” Kagami disagreed.

“He was doing nothing wrong,” Adrien said.

“Nothing illegal, maybe,” Nino said, replacing his hat onto the top of his head, revealing his face once again.

“Did he really deserve to be arrested?” Adrien asked, but it was clear that he was the minority in this debate.

Chloé’s blue eyes pinned him in place. “Do you really want them to have you under surveillance like that? That kind of trash understands only one thing! Power.”

Adrien sighed. “No, but there were other ways to take care of it.”

Chloé shook her head. “Adrien, you are amazing, and I love you! But you are way too nice! It’s not like he’s a journalist speaking truth to power! It’s not like he’s going after some corrupt asshole that profits off the plights of others while not paying his taxes.”

“You’d sick righteous reporters on your parents like that?” Nino teased. He was clearly trying to deflect the subject. “Harsh.”

“Though not undeserved.” Kagami added. She and Nino exchanged a fist bump across the open expanse between the sofa and his lounge chair.

“Can it, both of you!” Chloé snapped, shooting a glare towards both of them from the window.

Nino chuckled. He rolled out of the recliner and took over Chloé’s vacated seat next to Adrien.

The oven timer went off, and Marinette scurried from the window back into the kitchen. “Who wants cookies?”

“Just bring a giant plate!” Chloé called back. “We’ll eat everything.”

Seconds later, there was a crash, and a scream from the kitchen. Adrien bolted to his feet and ran to her side, Kagami less than an arm length behind him.

Marinette’s hands wrapped protectively over her head, she was surrounded by broken glass.

Adrien tread carefully around the largest fragments to put a hand on her shoulder.

She peeked out from under her hands to him. “I’m okay,” she said.

“What happened?” Adrien asked.

“Just me being my usual clumsy self,” she said, her voice dripping with self deprecation.

Kagami handed him the broom and he immediately started sweeping up the glass, starting with the area closest to Marinette.

Marinette sighed, dropping her arms completely to her side. “I just was reaching for another wine glass, but I couldn’t quite reach it. In trying to urge it closer, I overdid it, and the two glasses went flying.”

Kagami tisked in disapproval. “Perhaps, next time you should just ask for help?”

Marinette nodded in agreement. ”Yes, I’m sorry for being stubbornly independent.” She turned her gaze back to Adrien. “And I’m sorry for breaking your glasses. I will replace them.”

Adrien shook his head. “Please don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re okay. And I do wish you let us help you when you need it.”

Marinette snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

He grinned. “Touché.”

Kagami held the dustpan and he swept the glass into the tray.

“Do you have a mop?” Kagami asked.

When he handed her the requested item, she leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Would you mind letting me do this part? I wanted to talk to Marinetted about something.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind helping.”

“I got this,” Kagami insisted.

He nodded, and turned back to Marinette who hadn’t moved since the glasses had fallen. “Are you okay?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m… I’ll be fine. You should get back to your party. Kagami and I can finish cleaning this up.”

It was obvious he was being dismissed. “Okay, well, let me know if either of you need help finding anything.”

Adrien let himself fall back onto the couch next to Nino. His head flopped back onto the couch, his gaze locked on the ceiling.

“Marinette okay?” Chloé asked. She had taken Nino’s former seat in the lounge chair.

“Just rattled, I think,” he reported. “They kicked me out. Kagami wanted to talk to Marinette about something.”

“Ooh!” Chloé leapt to her feet. “I think I want in on this conversation! Excuse me!”

Adrien sighed again.

“If all the revenge talk really bothers you, I will get them to stop,” Nino told him softly after a moment of silence.

Adrien smiled. “Thank you for the offer. I do appreciate that everyone is all protective. It’s really nice to have you all on my side. I just… I also want this to be over. Ideally, I never want to have to think about it again after I talk to my father.”

Nino nodded. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying. You do get why they want to go after this guy though, right?”

Adrien shrugged. “Maybe?” He understood it intellectually he supposed, but emotionally, revenge had never made sense to him.

“Imagine it was you mystery girl on that tabloid instead of you. Where you can look at the picture and she looks happier than you’ve seen her in a long time.”

“Is it really that rare to see me smile?” Adrien objected.

“Have you seen this pic?” Nino asked, whipping out his phone, swiping through his apps. “It is not just a smile!”

“Please don’t make me look at it,” Adrien begged, turning away from Nino’s phone, towards the kitchen.

Marinette giggled at something Kagami had just said, and Adrien found himself smiling fondly at the pair.

“Yeah, fine,” Nino continued. “But again, she looks amazingly happy, and you now know that the person who was kissing her was lying. That in fact, the whole image is a lie. And she’s hurting somewhere after the fact because of it. Wouldn’t you want to do something?”

“Yeah okay,” Adrien conceded. “I get your point. And for the record, that would be the case if it had been any of you.”

“Good! So, if you’re willing to stand up for others, why won’t you ever let us stand up for you?”

Adrien hadn’t really thought about it in those terms. Was he just being stubbornly independent? Thinking he should be able to manage everything himself? Or did he believe deep down that he wasn’t worthy of being defended.

He shook himself out of his thoughts. That was a therapy session for another day.

“How did the phone call with Nathalie go?” Adrien asked, intentionally changing the topic.

A grin bloomed across Nino’s face.“Pretty good for you, I think? We managed to get five am fittings until you complete your masters degree. She wouldn’t commit to an indefinite change.”

Adren didn’t know why Nino used the “we” pronoun in his summary. His friend was the one doing all the work in negotiating out a deal. If Nino wasn’t already running a successful DJ business, Adrien would have pushed his friend to become a lawyer.

“Nino, that’s literally a year or more. Thank you. When do I have to talk to my father?”

“Eleven tomorrow morning. At the mansion.”

Adrien breathed a sigh of relief. He may have wanted to do his fittings first thing, but it would be nice to have time to mentally prepare in the morning before seeing his father.

“You’re the best.” It felt like a weight had been lifted from Adrien’s shoulders. With an appointment on the books with his father and his friends all in the room, his phone would finally stop blowing up. He could almost pretend it was a normal day.

“Anything for my best bro,” Nino said, offering a fist bump. He yawned in the middle of it.

“You should get some rest,” Adrien suggested.

Golden eyes turned toward him with eyebrows raised. “You didn’t get any sleep last night either, mec. Want to follow your own advice?”

Adrien barked a laugh. “I would love to, but I don’t think my brain shut up long enough to let me yet. It’s better to be distracted by all of you until I’m bone-dead tired. But you got everyone here, so if you want to take a shift off, I’m good for a while.”

Nino started to nod when there was a knock at the door. He jumped up to answer it.

“Isn’t everyone here already?” Adrien called after him.

“Not everyone,” Nino reported and answered the door. Alya Césaire stood on the other side of the threshold, and Adrien grinned at her unexpected presence. Last he heard, Alya had been chasing some International drug cartel in Italy.

“Hey Al,” Nino greeted as he enveloped her in a warm hug.

Adrien smiled at how well they fit together. He still didn’t understand why they had broken up. He rose to his feet to greet her, but a squealing Marinette came running from the kitchen, tackling Alya the second Nino had pulled away.

“I didn’t know you were in town!” Marinette exclaimed, a huge grin lighting up her features.

“Yeah, I honestly didn’t think I’d have time to see anyone so I was trying to keep it hush hush, but then I saw that headline…” she trailed off, her hazel eyes landing on him with a sympathetic smile from over Marinette’s shoulder.

“Say no more! You are totally welcome to be an honorary member of the “protect Adrien Agreste squad!” Marinette squealed happily as she pulled away.

Alya swept him up in a hug next, with Marinette and Nino joining in from behind him. He let himself melt into their protective holds. Once upon a time, the four of them had been as thick as thieves, and he had missed their dynamic.

“I called Nino as soon as I saw,” Alya confessed as they broke apart. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you myself. I just figured you would be more comfortable hearing from him, but if you ever need to talk about anything, please reach out.”

Adrien’s gaze landed on Nino who was grimacing over Alya’s shoulder. “Liar! I knew there was no way you were up that early.”

Alya laughed, her sparkling eyes flicking back toward Nino. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was getting anyone in trouble.”

Nino waved away her apology.

Marientte quickly ushered them all inside and back to the leather sofas. Soon, the six of them all sat around the plate of snicker doodles and with glasses of wine in hand.

“Spill Césaire!” Chloé demanded.

“About?”

Chloé rolled her eyes. “Stop. I know you’ve already done your research on this bastard that landed Adri-kins in the tabloids, and have a half formed plan for vengeance. So tell us what you’ve discovered so we can get it on it.”

Alya set her glass of wine on the center coffee table with a sigh. “You don’t want to know.”

Chloé scoffed. “What do you mean? Of course I want to know!”

“He recently graduated university,” Alya reported. “Majored in theater and minored in physics.”

Huh. Adrien hadn’t expected that. Maybe the conman hadn’t feigned his interest in Adrien’s research after all. He frowned. Or maybe, he had been hired specifically because he had the expertise to feign interest.

Nino’s head fell onto Adrien’s shoulder. His golden eyes had finally fallen victim to Nino’s sleep deprivation. Adrien couldn’t help the fond smile that stretched across his face as he adjusted his arms to make his lean form a more comfortable pillow.

“He hasn’t landed a job in about six months,” Alya continued, “and apparently he has some crippling debt.”

“That doesn’t justify…” Marinette broke in.

Alya barreled over the interruption. “Medical debt. For his… kid sister.”

“Ugh! Just stop!” Chloé cut in. “You’re right! I don’t want to know if you’re just gonna make me feel sorry for this guy.”

Alya smirked. “The trashy tabloid that hired him, though?”

“Now we’re talking!” Chloé exclaimed gleefully. Even Kagmai leaned forward with her elbows on her knees to listen to Alya’s research.

Adrien let his own eyes fall closed and he leaned into Nino’s warmth only half listening to his friends as they plotted and schemed.

Soon he was dozing in and out, finding comfort in the familiar righteous voices that spiraled around him.

Alya wanted to sink this online tabloid that had a reputation for going after easy personal scandals of celebrities and regular people alike. Chloé had connections that could crash the server for a solid week. Kagami has strategies and clout to encourage divestment from the organization. And of course Marinette’s crafty mind worked to tie it all together in a plan so bizarre, it was worthy of Ladybug so it couldn’t be traced back to Adrien or any of them.

Despite his own misgivings, it felt really good to have them all so willing to pour in hours and resources to come to his defense. And if the tabloid couldn’t hurt anyone else, Adrien definitely could get on board.

“I’m so glad you’re all on my side,” Adrien interjected, sleepily after about an hour. These were four women you did not want to cross. “I’d never survive your combined wrath.”

Their laughter melted together in the best kind of harmony.

A second later his phone buzzed in his pocket. He slowly fished it out, careful not to disturb Nino who remained on his shoulder - still as a rock.

Marinette had sent him a picture. He opened it to reveal him and Nino curled up on his black leather couch seemingly asleep with the tagline “I slept with my best friend” scrawled across the bottom in elegant cursive. He flashed her a smile and she grinned back.

Thank you, he texted. I’m going to frame this.

yw. The two of you are too cute.

Before he could craft a response, all their phones went off at once, and Adrien’s contentment evaporated like liquid nitrogen on a laboratory floor. The simultaneous alert could only mean one thing.

Nino sat up, his thumb and forefinger rubbing at his eyes.

“Shit!” Chloe muttered. “It’s at the office.” She glanced at Kagami. “We have to go.”

Kagami gave a stoic nod and rose to her feet gracefully.

Alya was only a second behind her. “I should probably go, too. To make sure the twins stay out of trouble.”

Adrien nodded and waved her away with a smile understanding completely. Alya’s twin sisters running the Ladyblog were somehow more reckless than Alya had ever been.

Marinette didn’t even offer an excuse. She just gave him a hug, grabbed her purse, and ran out the door.

Nino stood as well, but he lingered. “You going to be okay, mec?”

Adrien nodded, grateful that his friends had learned over the years to make themselves scarce during an akuma attack. They believed he was contacting his bodyguard for added protection under his father’s orders. He wished he could tell them the truth.

And within a minute, Adrien stood alone in his lavish studio save for Plagg who came out of hiding the second the front door had closed behind Nino.

“Stupid akuma,” Adrien muttered under his breath. His friends would have stayed until two in the morning had the alert not gone off.

Adrien called for his transformation and stood on his own balcony with his eyes closed for a second, letting the chill breeze whip his hair around. A moment later he activated his baton and vaulted into the Parisian sky.

A hero’s work was never done.

…

Chapter 3: Akuma

#adrino #adrinino #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #friends to lovers #hurt/comfort #adrien agreste #nino lahiffe #Right Behind You #My Own Content #Ensemble scenes are SO HARD!#reblogs are love

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westallenfun · 4 years ago

Text

Two's Company (1/3)

Westallen secret santa gift

For: Lauren (@backtothestart02) (I hope you like this fic!)

From: Lina (@cheryls-blossomed)

A/N: A special thank you to my beta, Caroline (@ginandweas).

Inspired by Jane Austen’s Emma, and the blissfulness and hardship of tumbling into true love. On the eve of publication of the most important article of her professional career thus far, Iris West realizes that she is head over heels in love with her best friend, Barry Allen, but grapples with revealing her true feelings, for fear of completely ruining their friendship. But a weekend trip to Metropolis sets in motion a series of events, with romantic mishaps and conundrums abound, that may in fact force both Barry and Iris to face some long-awaited, romantic truths.

Rated: T (Warnings: Mild language)

Perhaps the most notable visual extravagance at wedding receptions is the abundance of balloons, flowers, and the chiffon backdrops, draped like curtains, framing the table whereon sat the wedding cake.

Iris is already trying to determine how she might steal away a few balloons, because really, nobody would miss them, and she had, after all, been the one sitting with the wedding planner for days on end, painstakingly selecting a theme for the reception and agonizing over every detail. Surely, after all her efforts, a few balloons going missing at the end of the party would be forgiven, if not unnoticeable. And she would be surreptitious about it too, seeing as how she would wait until the final guests, likely pleasantly drunk on champagne, rosé, and Prosecco, stumbled their way out of the Central City Gold Hotel.

“Nice work, West.” Iris looks up to see her heavily pregnant sister-in-law take a seat next to her, while cradling a rather magnificent sundae in her hands, spoon hanging precariously atop the hazelnut fudge.

“Thanks, but don’t you call my brother ‘West?’ Could get confusing,” Iris says, raising one eyebrow.

“Yeah, but I’m married to Wally. Have been for three years. And so, it doesn’t have the same effect with him anymore. That’s the troublesome thing about marriage.”

“Classic Linda Park logic,” Iris murmurs, before once again focusing on the balloons. They are all the same shade of ivory, which made them particularly functional. For gift-giving purposes, that is. Gift-giving, Iris knows, is all about the presentation.

“No, but seriously, Iris. I’m impressed. Joe and Cecile deserve the best, and this is, honestly, the best.”

“Thanks, Linda. Dad deserves a perfect wedding day. As does Cecile. To be honest, I didn’t expect it to come together as beautifully as it did, but I’m still praying we see this thing to the end without any hiccups. We’ve got…” Iris taps the screen of her phone to check the time, “About three hours, at least, left.”

“And it’s probably especially important to you. You know, because you played matchmaker for Joe and Cecile,” Linda says, while spooning a generous amount of ice cream, topped with fudge and sprinkles and coconut flakes, into her mouth. Iris’s brow furrows,

“I did not ‘match-make’ my dad and Cecile. We’ve been over this Linda…” Linda begins to interrupt, but Iris shakes her head, “I know you seem to think that because I introduced my dad to Cecile that somehow this is my doing, but that’s untrue. To be honest, I didn’t expect them to hit it off so well, let alone date and get married within a year of my introducing them.” Cecile owns an interior design shop, which Iris had visited when she was helping Barry decorate his new apartment— a memory which immediately brings a smile to Iris’s face, for she fondly recalls Barry frantically searching eBay for a bed and a couch, and the way she had persuaded him that that was a terrible idea and instead found her way to Cecile’s trendy furniture boutique, which was also quite affordable. Cecile was so friendly and sweet, and Iris remembered her father struggling to date again, as it had been nearly a decade and a half since her mother had passed away, and so when she had thrown Barry a housewarming party, Iris figured that there was no harm in inviting Cecile, who had become friends with both Barry and Iris after hours spent together at the boutique, and introducing her to her dad. That had been a year ago. Now, they are at Joe West and Cecile Horton’s wedding reception.

“Well, we can debate semantics, but you definitely match-maked Wally and me. You can’t deny that,” Linda says, matter-of-factly, before eating another scoop of her sundae.

“I wouldn’t call it match-making. More like I have a sense for people that I know well and then introduce them, thinking that they may potentially like each other.”

“You set Wally and I up on a blind date six years ago, and now we’re married and have twins on the way. I would say there’s a diabolical matchmaking side to you. Don’t tell me you don’t feel accomplished every time you successfully match-make a couple.”

“Linda, I’ve only successfully match-maked— to use your word, which I still find objectionable, by the way— two couples. One was my brother and you. And you’re my best friend. The other was my dad and Cecile. That’s hardly a track record of successful matchmaking.”

“But it could be. Think about it. This could be a lucrative side hustle.”

“As if I would have time for a match-making side hustle, even if that was something I was interested in doing. I finally got my news site up and running, and The Citizen needs all hands on deck and then some. Besides, a matchmaking business is an exploitative way to make money.”

“Mmm, maybe,” Linda seems to ponder this, momentarily, before changing topics, abruptly, “Speaking of which, I’m your best friend now? Thought that was a privilege exclusively afforded to Barry,” Iris has heard this before and rolls her eyes, exasperated,

“My friendship with Barry is different. You know that.”

“Actually I don’t know that. But I would love to be enlightened about that.” Linda’s response is far too smug for Iris’s liking, but before she can retort, she hears a familiar voice behind her, a voice that unquestionably wraps Iris in a cocoon of warmth, so that she feels instantly home,

“I heard my name.” And although she cannot see him yet, she knows he’s smiling.

“Was wondering where you were, Allen. It’s a rare sight that you and Iris would be separated at any point, when in the same vicinity.” Barry chuckles at Linda’s quip, settling into the chair on Iris’s right and brushing away a few plastic flowers that had come undone from the upholstery. Iris glances up at him, smiling widely, which he’s reciprocating in equal measure. He sets a plate, containing a chocolate fudge brownie topped with mint chocolate chip ice cream, in front of her. Iris’s eyes widen, as she glances from the plate to Barry; her face alight with unadulterated joy.

“My hero,” she gasps, squeezing his hand and then truly taking in the scrumptious display of gooey chocolate and ice cream goodness.

“Always,” he whispers, gazing at her, affectionately, before continuing, “I was wrangling the last brownie from old Mrs. Rogers, who apparently wanted to share it between herself and her cat. Although I don’t know,” Barry pauses for a moment, glancing around the reception hall, “if her cat is even here. Doubtful. Regardless, it took a great deal of speed, stealth, and possibly defying Newton’s first law of physics, because I could have sworn that I willed the brownie in my direction without even touching it, to retrieve this dessert.”

“Don’t lie, Bear,” Iris says, her eyes sparkling with laughter, as she eagerly grabs her dessert fork, “Mrs. Rogers would never argue with you, if you wanted that brownie. She loves you.”

“Yeah, it was just my regular, old charm. And by charm, I mean, because I tutor her grandson, Matt, in chemistry.” (Linda snorts at that.) “Still, I think defying Newton’s first law makes for a better story. But nobody was getting this brownie except for you, Iris. You know, we wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t for you. I mean, just look at this place. It looks fantastic,” he raves, gesturing towards the décor, “The work you put into this is amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Thank you, Barry.” She’s touched, not just because Barry managed to negotiate the last brownie from poor, old Mrs. Rogers with his rather endearing, tripping-over-his-feet-type charm, but also because he is being, as usual, so disarmingly complimentary of her. Barry never expects her to be amazing; he just thinks she’s amazing always, even when she’s at her lowest or when she is mistaken, and when Iris reflects deeply on that, it overwhelms her. It forces her to dwell on feelings untold; on how, whenever she sees him, she can’t help but smile, almost as if by instinct.

But she can’t think about it. She won’t think about it.

“Before you got here, Barry. I was telling Iris how she should really get into a matchmaking side hustle,” Linda says, forcing Iris to focus on the conversation taking place and not on… well, a place where she refuses to go. A place which she cannot explore.

“Matchmaking?” Barry leans back, resting his arm on the back of Iris’s chair. “I don’t think that’s even remotely close to anything Iris-like.” Iris is acutely aware of how close his arm is to the bare skin of her upper back, but she ignores this. Or tries to.

“Exactly. And so I was telling Linda how that’s an awful idea, and how I am pretty sure a matchmaking business, where I have zero actual knowledge about strangers’ interpersonal relationships, could be fraudulent. I can’t possibly claim to be an expert. I mean, no guarantees, right? Seems like a colossal waste of people’s money,” Iris remarks, still trying not to think about Barry’s arm on her chair, right near her back. And how (she thinks she had just imagined it but, no, it was real) he had seemingly shifted his arm, so his fingers are now grazing her skin; his touch is feather-light, equally comforting as it is emboldening.

“That could be the genius of it, though. Enough people want to pay money for a matchmaker, even if it’s probably not going to be any more successful than a dating app. Throw in some good, old Cosmopolitan level astrology knowledge for marketing purposes. And there you have it. A potentially incredibly lucrative endeavor. Maybe I should start it myself,” Linda says, while still enjoying her sundae.

“Why waste money on a matchmaker? Sometimes something incredible is right in front of you, and you just have to tell yourself it’s time to throw caution to the wind. A matchmaker can’t tell you that, only you can know that,” Barry sounds wistful when he says this, and Iris turns to him, abruptly, studying his expression. He’s looking straight ahead, but his gaze is demonstrable of clear desire, and upon hearing such longing in his voice, her stomach drops. Because that’s the face of someone in love. That’s the sound of someone in love. That’s the sound of someone who’s found their someone. But who could her Barry have found? When did he find someone?

Iris is contemplating this, her stomach churning with her every thought, when the conversation shifts to pregnancy, as Linda comments how she’s always hungry and moody thanks to,

“…These two whom Wally impregnated me with.” To which Barry laughs, his fingers still softly grazing Iris’s back, while Iris forces herself to smile along and even joke that Linda had talked her ear off about how much she wanted babies and how maybe she shouldn’t have gotten so ahead of herself. But Iris’s mind is still on Barry potentially having found someone. She knows she should be happy, monumentally happy, because Barry is happy, so she cannot fathom why she feels like she’s about to vomit. Suddenly, she has no appetite for her brownie and ice cream, but she eats to evade suspicion, because Barry would surely know something is wrong if she fails to eat her dessert. But from the way he’s carefully watching her, maybe he does know something is wrong already, and Iris wishes, not for the first time, that they did not know each other’s every fidget and expression, signaling a mood shift, so well.

When the wedding reception is over and after Iris has said goodbye to every guest and promised her father and Cecile that she would be at their house the next day for their family dinner, she manages to take three ivory balloons with her to her car, without a single guest noticing. The decorator who had stayed to help her wrap up tells her that she can take any number of balloons that she would like. Or, perhaps more practically, however many would fit in her car.

More accurately, perhaps, Iris thinks she had not been noticed by anyone, when she’d successfully managed to fit all three balloons in her car two nights ago. She’s standing on line at CC Jitters, the local hub for Central City citizens to get their morning coffee and pastry fix, and holding a basket, which contains baked goods, a carefully wrapped red scarf, and a small, navy blue bag. Tied onto the handle of the basket are the three balloons, still inflated.

“For the boyfriend?”

Iris turns to meet the friendly disposition of a blonde woman she’s never met before. Startled for a moment, Iris realizes, that the stranger is referring to her basket, and she smiles, shaking her head,

“No, for a friend.” Although, given her thoughts lately, friend seems far too simple a word. She feels like she’s perjuring herself by saying friend, but best friend who I’ve known since childhood and with whom I think I might have feelings for, but who is possibly in love with someone else seems far too complicated, especially when Iris is not ready to admit this to herself, let alone to a stranger whom she meets for the first time on the queue for coffee.

“Well, they’re lucky. You clearly put so much work into that. No friend has ever given me a gift like that. Actually nobody’s given me a gift that thoughtful before,” the stranger continues, before visibly cringing, “I’m sorry, I’m oversharing. I’m Patty, by the way.”

“I’m…”

“Iris!” There it is again, that feeling of home settling upon her shoulders, like a velvet cloak, shielding her, protecting her. Barry is walking towards her, holding two mugs of coffee, and when he stops before her, he presses his lips to her forehead briefly, a typical form of greeting between the both of them. But if he could hear the way her heart hammers against her chest whenever she feels the soft brush of his lips on her skin, then surely the ruse would be up. He would know how she feels, and so Iris is grateful, not for the first time, that her heartbeat is inaudible to anyone but her.

“Hey Bear, that for me?” she asks, nodding at one of the two mugs.

“Yep. One Americano with an extra shot. Got here earlier and figured we could beat the line,” Barry grins, and he’s looking at her as if she’s the sun, and it’s almost too intense, perhaps because of all of those pesky feelings that she’s been feeling lately, so Iris breaks their gaze, remembering herself as well and turning back towards Patty.

“Patty, this is my friend, Barry. Barry… Patty. We just met on the line.” Barry nods politely, as Patty says,

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Barry responds. “New around here?”

“Is it that obvious? I’m just about to start at CCU as a grad student. And so I’m trying to get used to the city. I’m originally from Midway.”

“Yeah, understandable,” Iris smiles. “Takes awhile to get used to a new place, but CC Jitters is the best, so you’ll never be wanting for good coffee, that’s for sure.” Patty laughs, then,

“Well, I’m glad for that. Anyways, I won’t keep you two. Thank you, Iris, for just chatting with me.”

“Of course.” The three exchange polite goodbyes, and Barry and Iris make a beeline for their favorite booth in the farthest corner from the entrance to the coffee shop; a rather secluded, cozy spot that Iris had first started occupying, when she was a journalism student at Central City University. Barry had been a chemistry major, and they met up every morning for breakfast and would come to study nearly every weekend, armed with cookies, coffee, and blankets. Iris remembers long afternoons spent in this booth, her feet propped up on Barry’s lap, his hands massaging her calves, as they studied in companionable silence.

It was in this booth that Iris had written article after article for The Central Brief, CCU’s university-wide newspaper, including her famed paper on the state of land rights of women, globally, that had won her the Scholastic Student of Journalism Prize and had given her the chance to speak in The Hague at an international conference on human rights. As Iris agonized over her field research, including research accumulated from summers of backpacking, Barry, while studying for his Protein Crystallography final, had been effusive in his support for her. He was constantly breaking from his studies to be her sounding board, should she need one, despite her reminding him time and again that he ought to concentrate on his own finals and not on her. He never listened, though, not that it in any way affected his marks. And so sure was he that her work would be honored that he’d planned a party, months in advance, before she had heard back from the National Committee for Excellence in Student Journalism and before she had been invited to The Hague.

Indeed, it was Barry who had remarked then that Iris ought to consider starting her own news media site after university, stating that she already had the credentials to draw in a large audience and investors.

“How are you feeling? About the exposé, I mean. Today’s the big day and all,” Barry says, as they settle into the booth, referring to what Iris considers to potentially be the most groundbreaking piece of journalism of her career thus far, namely an article exposing the rot of the biotechnology company, McCulloch Technologies. Its CEO, Joseph Carver, has been using the corporation as a front for a highly dangerous and illegal weapons trafficking scheme. The exposé, which is due to be published later today, will be a highly contentious article, no doubt, but Iris had long since decided that she will not rest until she sees justice through and the thousands of innocent people, caught in the crosshairs of Carver’s inhumane crimes, are safe.

“Okay. I’m trying not to think about it, honestly,” Iris replies, and Barry takes her hand for a moment,

“Hey, I get it. It’s hard not to be anxious, especially given the magnitude of the article and the far-reaching consequences it’s going to have. But I am so proud of you. And you should be proud of yourself as well,” he says, running his thumb over her knuckles slowly, before releasing her hand. Iris smiles softly, deeply touched by Barry’s faith in her,

“Thanks, Bear.”

“Of course,” he says, before gesturing towards the gift basket, “So, are you going to tell me who the basket is for?” Iris adopts a playful expression, then.

“Hmmm, it’s for this friend of mine who just submitted his dissertation for his DSc.”

“How did you know I submitted today? I told you my deadline was next week, which it is,” Barry states, apparently incredulous that Iris could have known that he had submitted his paper this morning.

“I have my ways. And by that I mean you drooling on my couch last week and mumbling, half-asleep, that you are definitely submitting your dissertation on Tuesday. Well, today’s Tuesday, Bear,” Iris teases, chuckling at the memory of Barry entering her apartment last week in need of caffeine, which culminated with him staying the night, when he fell asleep on her sofa.

“I really can’t keep anything from you,” Barry sighs in mock frustration. “Although I really wouldn’t want to, anyways.”

“Good. And think about it, now you have this nice surprise.” Barry takes the basket from Iris’s hands, admiring her handiwork, before giving her a sly smile,

“Well, I guess I know why you took those balloons from the reception on Saturday.”

Okay, so apparently she had not gone completely unnoticed. One guest had noticed her attempt to fit three inflated balloons into her car. Unsurprising, she now reflected, given who that guest happened to be.

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Iris. I may not be able to keep anything from you, but you definitely cannot keep anything from me either.” Are you sure about, Iris thinks momentarily, before banishing the thought immediately. For she will not dwell on those feelings again, not when she stands to lose too much if they start consuming her. When Iris looks up again, Barry is looking through the basket, marveling at the baked cake lollipops and banana bread and brownies (Iris can only bake sweets, and she would never subject Barry to her cooking, although he claims it’s not as bad as she seems to think it is), before he takes the red scarf from the basket. “Iris…” he whispers, her name like a prayer on his lips, and there goes her heartbeat again, pounding against her chest. “You knitted this.” And she knows that he already knows that she did, but it’s the way he’s looking at her now, like there are not any words currently discovered to express to her how much this means to him. She gives him a comforting smile, hoping to diffuse some of the intensity of the emotions that are radiating off of Barry.

“Open the rest,” she encourages, and he’s now holding the small, navy blue bag, and removing a velvet box from it. Encased in the box is a watch, which she’d been saving up for, because all of his watches are for some reason broken, and she can hear his gasp, nearly inaudible, and then he’s looking at her, solemnly, gravely.

“Iris… I don’t know what to say. I don’t… thank you,” he says, his tone soft and tender.

“Of course, Bear. I’m so proud of you, and I don’t think this simple gift basket really can quantify how proud I am of you.”

“It’s not… it’s amazing. You’re amazing,” he says, and there it is again. How definitive it is to him that she’s amazing. And perhaps she forgives herself a little for her feelings then, for how can she not feel as she does when he says things like this to her every single day. He’s already wrapping the scarf on his neck and remarking how comfortable and warm it is. “I couldn’t get better knitted scarves at the store. I’m pretty sure you’re a superhero. You can literally do anything.” She listens to him wax on about her many, unbelievable talents, which she’s sure only he seems to think she possesses, before shaking her head, affectionately,

“The scarf looks good on you. Red is your color.”

“Always has been,” he jokes, although the emotion is still evident in his voice. “Come here,” he says then, reaching his arm towards her. She leaves her side of the booth to come over to his, and the moment she’s at his side, he wraps his arms around her, burying his nose in her hair, breathing deeply. She has one arm around his back, the other clutching his sweater, and her head is tucked into the crook of his neck, and Iris is sure that now he must be able to feel how rapidly her heart is beating. She’s cloaked in warmth and in comfort, and all she can think of is home. And all she can feel is love. The kind of tumbling, head over heels into a field of daisies type of love that Iris’s college friend, Cynthia Reynolds (now a hotshot litigator who works in BigLaw and who also is the Citizen’s unofficial legal counsel), claims is simply mushy, fairy-tale nonsense that couldn’t possibly exist outside of movies. Iris had laughed then, telling Cynthia that maybe she shouldn’t be so cynical. Cynthia had been unmoved, steadfast instead in her sentiment that people can fall in love, but that kind of ‘I want to go gallivanting in a forest somewhere and run towards you in a field, as if this is some damn terrible romantic drama’ love does not and cannot actually exist in real life.

Well, Iris is feeling that mushy, fairy-tale type of love now (a fact which shocks her, despite the fact that she’s very aware of her growing pesky feelings), while wrapped up in Barry’s arms, so clearly, Cynthia had gotten it wrong. Oh fuck.

There are approximately fifteen different photos, capturing different angles of the McCulloch Technologies building, sitting on Iris’s desk when she walks into The Citizen that morning, after saying goodbye to Barry at Jitters, and all Iris can think about is the fact that she’s in love with her best friend. And as if her life could not be more complicated in that very moment, Barry is potentially in love with someone else.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

She cannot think about her feelings nor Barry being in love with some mystery human being right now, though, for she’s on the verge of publishing the explosive piece on Joseph Carver, who has been using his internationally successful technology company to peddle a highly intricate and complex hub-and-spoke conspiracy involving arms trafficking. He had managed to slither under the radar of inquiring agencies by acquiring different sorts of obscure technology, including ballistic software and parts that are often used to construct robots for laser guidance, under the guise of developing cutting-edge bio-technology. When Iris’s source had informed her that Carver’s labs were combining methane and ammonia, she knew that there was an underbelly of weapons-related criminality within the globally recognizable technology company, and armed with her pen, pepper spray, and sheer gumption, she and her photojournalist, Kamilla Hwang, had obtained press passes to Carver’s unveiling of robotic limbs. While there, Iris had asked janitors, low-level software engineers, and other personnel about why Carver’s labs were having methane and ammonia react with oxygen and how this in any way ameliorates existing biomedical technology. Iris and Kamilla eventually obtained access to a private press tour of Carver’s labs, where they noticed how jittery the staff had been, and after Iris had slipped her card to some of the employees, she had found herself, three days later, with nearly fifteen whistleblowers willing to come forward about nefarious activities in the labs.

As it turned out, Carver’s labs had been trying to create and had indeed succeeded in creating a gun that releases hydrocyanic acid, which they are currently selling on the black market. This is the latest of extraordinarily dangerous weapons that Carver sells both domestically and internationally. Indeed, several politicians are in cahoots with Carver; Carver having made them rich men, in exchange for avoiding Congressional inquiries into McCulloch Tech.

Now, Iris stands poised to publish the most explosive exposé of her career thus far, and the thought is both exhilarating and terrifying.

She studies Kamilla’s photos of the McCulloch Tech building, now having to decide which one would accompany the headline that is due to go up right before noon. One photo stood apart among the rest: a shot of McCulloch Tech at night, illuminated by the lights of the city, but with only one floor of the building, the top floor, indicating any activity: the lights of the top floor were on, and the rest of the building was largely camouflaged by the night sky. That top floor contained the only working laboratory at headquarters and is where hydrocyanic acid is processed. This is the photo, Iris thinks, just as she hears a commotion at the door and sees her newest hire, Allegra Garcia, forcefully wrangle open the door, rather dramatically, before slamming it shut.

“Hey, boss,” Allegra says. “We have got to get that door fixed. I’m telling you; it’s trying to kill me every time I arrive.” Iris chuckles fondly at Allegra’s dramatics,

“You’re the only one who seems to be constantly battling the door, Allegra. There are four other people who work here who seem to have no trouble getting in and out of the office.”

“Well, I don’t know, but this door has had it out for me since I began working here. And so… oh! Are those the photos? How much time have we got until noon…?” Allegra pauses momentarily, as she taps her phone, which she was holding in one hand, “Forty minutes. Fantastic.” Iris smiles, watching Allegra race up to her desk, excitedly. Two of the reasons that she had hired Allegra was for her enthusiasm about reporting and for her passion for ethical journalistic integrity, both of which she demonstrated every day on the job.

“This is the one I want to use to accompany the article,” Iris explains, while pushing the photograph towards Allegra, whose eyes widen when she sees the photo.

“Yeah, this is incredible. I know Kamilla must have camped out awhile to get this shot,” she exclaims, before looking up at Iris, “We’re really gonna do this, boss. We’re gonna expose Carver and who knows? You might win a Pulitzer from this.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have to publish the exposé first, and our legal team has been sending me messages since this morning about how she is obligated to warn us about frivolous defamation suits that Carver might file in the immediate aftermath. But the truth is more important. Let Carver sue us; if he does, he’s going to lose anyways.” Although, to be completely accurate, the Citizen’s unofficial legal team, comprising of one Cynthia Reynolds, whose texts to Iris consisted of, “Carver is definitely going to sue you for defamation, so I’ve got to warn you of that, but screw that guy. Publish and destroy him once and for all,” were certainly more emboldening than averting. Iris is also quite certain that that is technically not sound legal advice, in the least.

The door opens again, and in walks Kamilla, joined by the two other reporters at The Central City Citizen, Kara Danvers and James Olsen. They’re all chatting animatedly about the exposé and the explosive ripple effects its publication might have.

“He’s an absolute monster,” Kara tells James, no doubt referring to Carver. “I mean, hydrocyanic acid? The sheer inhumaneness of his crimes just to fill his coffers…”

“Evil folks will do absolutely anything to satisfy their greed, including murdering people,” James observes, and Iris knows this is perhaps a fundamental truth of which every investigative journalist must be aware. Kamilla walks up to Iris’s desk and grins when she sees Iris scanning the chosen photo onto her computer,

“That’s the one, isn’t it? When I captured it, I knew I had gotten it. It took me, I think, nearly five hours of camping out, and it was 2:45 AM yesterday when I finally had managed to take that photo.”

“It’s incredible, Kamilla,” Iris praises. “All your photos are great, but this one is fantastic. It captures exactly what we need to accompany the article.” When Iris had taken this on by herself, she had been wary about putting any of her reporters in danger, but Kamilla had insisted that she accompany Iris in order to take photographs. In hindsight, Iris is incredibly grateful to have had Kamilla by her side through it all, for her calm, steady demeanor was vital amidst the insanity of taking on Joseph Carver. Kara and James, who have caught up to the others, both make approving noises, congratulating Kamilla on her photography, as Iris continues to work to format the article.

When she is satisfied with the formatting, she taps her phone, seeing that there is roughly twenty minutes remaining until the deadline, and while her reporters are chattering excitedly, the door opens once more, and Iris is greeted by the sight of Wally carrying two champagne bottles in one hand and precariously balancing a few glasses in his other hand. On his heels is Barry, who is carrying a large white box with the words ‘Zulma’s Pastries’ emblazoned on the top, and Iris is flooded with that fairy-tale, gallivanting in a field of daisies feeling again, to which she now finds she is already getting accustomed, which is a somewhat terrifying thought.

While Iris has some idea as to why both of them are in her office, she is also aware that Dr. Wally West is supposed to be at work at Central City Hospital, and Barry is supposed to be meeting the Dean of Graduate Studies at CCU about a potential professorship.

“What are you two doing here?” Iris asks, smiling nonetheless, for she is touched that they likely took time out of their busy days to celebrate the publication of the exposé. She had not mentioned the details of the publication to them, in an effort to protect her sources, but Linda had let it slip to Wally that Iris is publishing the article on Tuesday at the wedding on Saturday, and Barry… well, Barry knows everything about Iris, just the way she knows everything about him, so his appearance in her office twenty minutes before she is meant to publish the most important exposé of her professional career is even less surprising than Wally’s.

“I can’t believe you thought we weren’t going to come and crash this… pathetic party, quite frankly,” Wally says, frowning as he takes in the Citizen office, which while buzzing with the excitement of determined reporters, is not exactly set up for any sort of impending celebration. “You have nothing here to celebrate, Iris. No food, no drinks, nothing.”

“We haven’t even published, and we have no idea of the repercussions of a piece like this, Wally. I think our sheer grit as reporters is celebratory enough.”

“We knew you were going to say that,” Barry chuckles, placing the box on a desk adjacent to Iris’s, and then helping Wally with the champagne glasses. “But Linda and I wanted this to be a surprise. We managed to get Wally to help, which is good…”

“Linda’s not feeling well,” Wally cuts in. “She was having awful morning sickness, and I told her I didn’t want to go and that Barry could do the heavy-lifting, but she threatened me and sent me away with two of our best champagne bottles.” Iris begins to protest, but Wally continues on, “And honestly, Iris, before you say anything, I’d rather get an earful from you about leaving Linda at home for this— and by the way, she’s feeling much better, thanks to the fact that I’ve finally perfected the art of making a ginger and mint smoothie— than defy her orders.”

“Glad to see your theatrics are still in top form,” Iris deadpans, before turning to Barry, pointedly, “Thank you, Barry. You and Linda really didn’t have to do all of this. I haven’t even published it yet.”

“Excuse me, I helped!” Wally interjects, and Barry is laughing now as Iris reaches up to give him a quick hug, which he returns immediately. As they break apart, Barry’s hand lingers on her arm.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “I wanted this to be a surprise and that’s why I didn’t mention earlier coming by later on. And I knew you could have used a distraction this morning from thinking about the exposé.”

“I did need a distraction,” Iris smiles, still keenly aware of his fingers slowly brushing against her arm, gently, tenderly.

“I imagine you did. But to reiterate what I said earlier this morning, I’m so proud of you. So, so proud of you.” He cups her face with one hand, gently caressing his thumb against her cheek, and he’s gazing at her with so much emotion in his eyes, and she knows that the same intensity that had radiated off of him when she’d gifted him the basket earlier this day is emanating from him now, and she cannot help but wonder if he feels what she feels, because in these moments, she’s sure he must be.

Wally clears his throat loudly, while pouring out the champagne, and both Barry and Iris break away from each other quickly. When Iris looks up at Wally, he’s giving her that same look Linda had given her at the wedding reception on Saturday, when she had clarified that her friendship with Barry was different. Unwilling to entertain the idea that Wally and Linda have discussed her feelings for Barry, she turns to her reporters, who were already opening Barry’s box of sweets.

“Brownies!” Kara yelps, eyeing the chocolate chip, fudge brownies and quickly grabbing paper plates from the Citizen’s supply cupboard.

“Thank you, Barry! We really needed this,” James agrees, while Kamilla and Allegra join their colleagues in helping themselves to the scrumptious sweets and expressing their gratitude.

“We’re not going to get any work done today, but it’s fine. Thanks, Bear,” Iris laughs, as Barry hands her a glass of champagne. They clink their glasses together, before sipping their respective drinks.

“The Citizen can use a break. Especially you,” Barry says after a few moments, giving Iris a pointed look. “You’ve had countless sleepless nights over the research for this, and now it’s ready for the public to read. You deserve a whole week long break, at least.”

“The news doesn’t stop for me to catch up on sleep, unfortunately. I have three upcoming potential stories, including the ways in which exam software companies have violated the privacy of examinees.”

“Sounds like you’re about to become the hero of every university student everywhere. I can’t believe the vagueness of some of those disclaimers that exam software companies put out, as if students have any choice but to use them, when they have examinations online.”

“Yeah, exactly. And if nobody holds their feet to the fire, they think that they can get away with anything. That’s why I’ve got to do it.”

“Iris West saves the world yet again. That should be a headline. Maybe I should pitch it to Central City Picture News. Think Scott Evans would run a headline on his biggest rival?”

“Scott would definitely do it, if it brings CCPN good business. Besides, our rivalry is more friendly than anything else. That said, ‘Iris West Saves the World Yet Again’ sounds more like I’m saving the world with superpowers, not the power of a pen and a public audience. I think you might be overselling me just a little bit.”

“Absolutely not,” Barry says, affronted. “Iris West is my hero, and she always has been, so I think you’re underestimating her. She’s a total superhero.”

“Doubtful.”

“Don’t try to tell me that you’re not a superhero, Iris. You’re definitely not going to win this argument.”

“Fine, I’ll level with you. Because you know what they say, right? Every superhero has her own hero? Well, if I am a superhero, then I have a confession to make: my hero happens to be this guy I know… superheroes need strength to be invincible, right? So yeah, this guy is my constant strength. Maybe you know him? Name’s Barry Allen?” Barry blushes furiously at that, ducking his head bashfully, and Iris thinks, Success! She knows she’s rendered him flustered, and he’s so adorably handsome, as he fidgets with his hands, as if searching for something to hold. But even despite his flustered state, he remembers the ongoing debate, and he manages a,

“Alright, alright. You win, Iris.” Iris smiles at him, radiantly and triumphantly, just as Wally makes his way over to them, holding a champagne glass of his own, and he’s got a rather sheepish look on his face, which immediately makes Iris suspicious.

“I know that face, Wall. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Not every expression of mine means something,” Wally says, immediately defensive. “Although, I do have to ask you a small favor. But really, it’s not a favor, because it’s actually going to be great for you. So it’s technically a favor, but a favor that you’ll enjoy.”

“Of course you think so. What is it?” Iris asks, tiredly, knowing immediately that she probably was not going to enjoy this favor as much as Wally seems to think.

“Okay, so you know Cecile’s godson, Eddie Thawne? He couldn’t come to the wedding, because he was away on an emergency business trip?”

“Yeah, I know Eddie,” Iris responds, confused as to what he had to do with whatever Wally was asking of her. Eddie Thawne was the son of Cecile’s best friend, a wealthy hotelier, and he’d been friendly enough in the few interactions that Iris had had with him, but she could not claim to know him all that well.

“Right, so he’s hosting this gala in Metropolis for dad and Cecile this Saturday. It’s very last minute, found out last night, actually… and well, I’d told dad I was going to go, because you know, one of us should go, right? Technically, both of us should, but dad didn’t want to trouble you, because you’ve been so busy with work, and it’s not a big deal. In fact, I think dad didn’t want you to know, because he thought you might get the wrong idea and think that this gala was going to upstage all the work you put in for the actual wedding and reception, which I kept insisting to him you wouldn’t think at all. And I don’t want to leave Linda, even for the weekend. She keeps telling me she’ll be fine, and I know she’s not due for another two months, but I’m not comfortable going.”

“So, you want me to go,” Iris says, knowing exactly what her brother was asking of her. On the one hand, traveling to Metropolis for the weekend for a gala made Iris nervous, because she did not want to leave Central City for at least a week after the McCulloch Tech article was published, but on the other hand, Wally could not be expected to attend, and it would be wrong if both of them missed a gala that was being held for their dad and Cecile.

Wally is apparently under the impression that Iris might need some more coaxing, so he puts his champagne glass down and reaches into his coat pocket, brandishing four plane tickets.

“Here, the flight tickets are on me. Eddie is putting people up in rooms at his family’s hotel, and he apparently booked four rooms between the two of us, so we could each bring some guests. With Linda and I not going, you’ll have at least three rooms to fill.”

“It’s fine, Wally. I’ll go. You’re right; we should go for dad and Cecile, and you honestly cannot and should not go. I just have to find people who can take a trip with me, last minute…” Iris knows whom she would want to invite, and so she turns to Barry, immediately. “Look, Bear, I know it’s short notice, but…”

“Yeah, I’ll come,” Barry agrees quickly, before she can even finish posing the question, and Iris notices that he has a slightly agitated expression, which worries her. His hand clenches the edge of her desk, rather forcefully, and so she places her own hand over his, reassuringly, and this seems to relax him, at least momentarily, as she can feel some of the tension in his muscles evaporate slowly. He smiles, then, perhaps trying to mask his sudden agitation, “My weekend’s free, and we were just talking about how you could use a break, Iris. This’ll be good, as it’s a vacation of sorts.”

“Thanks, Barry. I’ll also ask Cynthia; she could always use a break, and Bear, why don’t you invite someone?”

“I’ll ask Cisco.” Iris glances up at Barry, and they both share a knowing look: they had been trying to get Cynthia and Barry’s old college roommate and engineering genius extraordinaire, Cisco Ramon, to meet for ages (So much for swearing off match-making, Iris thinks then), but they had not had the chance to introduce the two of them yet. This trip might just provide the long-awaited golden opportunity.

“Perfect,” Wally says, considerably relieved, but before Iris can respond, she finds herself surrounded by her fellow reporters who are telling her that it’s just before noon. She nods, waiting until everyone is gathered around her, and Barry’s arm comes around her shoulders, providing her with both comfort and strength. And while a sudden, rather dignified silence, perhaps to mark the solemnity of this publication, descends upon the Citizen, Iris can feel the soundless excitement of Kamilla and of Allegra and of Kara and of James, as she publishes the exposé on the Citizen’s website.

Thus, late that Friday afternoon, Iris finds herself boarding a plane with Barry, Cynthia, and Cisco, in tow, and she’s only half paying attention to Cisco’s exuberance in describing his latest inventive feat at S.T.A.R. Labs, the product technology company he works for, because Barry is acting… odd. He has been acting odd since he had accepted her invitation to come along to Metropolis, and she cannot fathom what it is about this trip that has him so on edge. He is fidgeting so much, and every time he notices that she notices, he gives her a forced smile, as if to divert her suspicions away from his agitation, but that only serves to increase her worries. Whatever is bothering him so much is something that he apparently is unwilling to share with her.

“…It’s insane. I mean, if we get this right, we will be revolutionizing tablet computers and robotic interpreters,” Cisco is saying, and Iris is sure that if Cisco is put to the task, he and his team certainly would get it done, for she had witnessed his genius first hand before, when, during a birthday party for his best friend, Caitlin Snow, a few years back, the power had blown and there had been no backup generator, and Cisco had managed to create a temporary power source seemingly out of thin air. Iris is sure that there were numerous devices at Cisco’s disposal, and he’d had the aid of Caitlin’s then boyfriend now husband, Ronnie, also an engineer, but it was the sheer ingenuity of Cisco’s engineering ability and the sheer determination to get this done and to ensure Caitlin had the party that she deserved that was so impressive.

“If anyone can get it done, though, it’s Cisco Ramon,” Iris voices her thoughts, and Cisco smiles proudly,

“Thanks, Iris. It’s definitely going to be a lot of work, but I definitely think we’re headed in the right direction. Hopefully.”

“Hmmm, it all sounds impressive, but what are the patenting ramifications that come with such a unique project. Surely, you’re worried about somebody trying to build upon your product once it’s out in the market. How stringent is your patent going to be?” Cynthia, ever the cynic, adds, eyeing Cisco.

“I don’t want to hog all the spotlight, honestly. We want other people and companies to be able to build on our findings and develop even better tech. There’ll be a patent, but it’s not going to be exclusive.”

“You’re way too nice.”

“I’m just here to improve tech. Being nice isn’t a crime, I hope,” Cisco laughs, and Cynthia shakes her head fondly, clearly believing Cisco to be naive, but apparently endeared to his naiveté nonetheless. Cisco and Cynthia, still playfully arguing about the stringency of a future patent, take their seats in the middle row, and Iris and Barry, the latter who is still distracted, sit by the window across the aisle.

“Bear, what’s going on?” Iris sighs, finally, turning to him, once they’ve taken their seats. Barry looks up at her, startled and guilty, and immediately starts deflecting,

“Nothing. I’m fine, Iris, really. I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit out of it. Just… I don’t know, I’m fine.” Iris can tell that he’s not going to be forthcoming with her, no matter how persistent she is, but she is not ready to drop the issue entirely.

“I’m not going to press you, but you know that if something is bothering you, I’m always here, if you want to talk. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that. Of course I do,” Barry says, his voice tender. “And I’m the luckiest guy in the world for it. I’m sorry that I’ve been out of it the last couple of days, I just… I don’t want you to worry about me. That’s the last thing I want.” Iris can tell he’s struggling between telling her and being evasive, so she takes his hand in her own, their fingers interlocking almost instinctively. She squeezes his hand, as his thumb brushes against her knuckles.

“I’m going to worry, because it’s you, and so I can’t not worry, but I don’t want you to tell me anything when you’re not ready to.” Barry’s free hand comes to cup her chin, as he brings her closer to him, and she basks in the warmth of his hand against her skin. When his lips meet her forehead, she closes her eyes and relishes in his lingering kiss, and she knows… she knows that she’s unequivocally in love with him, and she’s sure that she has been for quite some time, and all she wants to do is lift her face and coax his lips to hers, but she can’t. She knows that she can’t. She can’t ruin their equilibrium, because if she were to admit her feelings and lose Barry’s friendship completely… that is a possibility that she cannot risk.

“I know how deeply you care. And I love you for it,” he whispers against her forehead. And I love you for it.

He’s told her he loves her so many times over the two decades that they’ve known one another, and she knows that he means it platonically, as he always has, but that doesn’t stop her from imagining that he loves her in the same way that she loves him.

And when Barry falls asleep, after the plane takes off, and drops his head, so it rests comfortably on her shoulder, his face turned into the crook of her neck, so that she can feel his steady breaths fanning against her skin, Iris leans her head against his, and she thinks that this is what true tranquility feels like.

And I love you for it.

#westallen #westallen secret santa #submission

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quickspinner · 4 years ago

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Sprint Fic Challenge 1 - Puppy Eyes

So this whole challenge idea was kind of a whim that we all decided to go for, and I hope everyone is enjoying it as much as I am! I’m always fascinated to see how different people interpret prompts and what different ficlets result!

Challenge Rules:

The group picks a prompt. Members choosing to participate will write for that prompt in up to three 15 minute sprints. No writing outside the sprints until you have completed all three! After the 3 sprints are complete, you have 24 hours to edit (which can include some new writing to smooth transitions, etc). After those 24 hours, post what you’ve got, either just to the disco or publicly if you like.

Prompt:

"Has anyone ever told you just how adorable you are? Because you really are."

Dedicated to @verfound

This couldn’t be happening, Marinette thought. It just...could not be happening.

Except of course it was happening, because Luka was many things, but at his heart he was a Couffaine, and chaos ran in his blood.

Today chaos was a fluffy white puppy licking Luka’s face with a big pink tongue.

Luka turned soft, awestruck eyes at Marinette.

“No,” she said immediately.

“Marinette,” he—whined. Did he really just whine? Luka? “Please? Look at this!” He held the little puppy up against his cheek. “How can you say no to those eyes?”

“Luka, we can’t just take the first puppy we see!” Marinette sighed, though a smile was tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Let’s at least meet some of the others, okay?”

Luka pouted. “Fine, but my mind is made up. I just know it.”

But his paws, Marinette wanted to protest. He’ll be huge with paws like that! And he was so fluffy...that was a lot of fur to take care of. And his little ears flopped over, which meant a higher risk of ear infections. Not to mention the challenges of keeping white fur clean…and despite Marinette’s best efforts, seventy-five percent of Luka’s wardrobe was still black!

Luka obviously cared about none of these concerns as he turned the pup so he was nose to nose with it again. “Has anyone ever told you just how adorable you are? Because you really are. You are so adorable. And your new mommy knows it too. I have excellent taste.” He kissed the little puppy on the nose, and Marinette knew it was a done deal. This was a battle she was definitely going to lose. Why had she let him single this one out for a one-on-one when it wasn’t even remotely what they were looking for? Damn her stupid husband and his sticky heart, that got instantly attached to the most random things...and people…

And puppies, apparently.

They were supposed to get an older dog, something around four years old, out of the puppy stage. Something smallish, calm and laid back like Luka, that would sleep on Marinette’s feet while she sketched and hop up to lick Luka’s face when he got lost in his guitar, and remind them both to stop and eat and get out a little bit. Something active enough that they’d enjoy walking him around town, but that wouldn’t mind just relaxing on days when they didn’t feel like running around.

And instead, Luka fell in love with a little white fluffball only a few months old, that Marinette was certain had to be at least part Great Pyrenees, and all her careful planning was moot.

“How much is that doggy in the window,” Luka sang, wiggling the little pup back and forth. “The one with the giant blue eyes. How much is that doggy in the window? We need this sweet pup in our lives.” The puppy panted happily, neither pleased nor displeased by the serenade. He licked Luka’s nose again and Marinette couldn’t help melting a little when Luka giggled. “Aw, you’re just the cutest thing. Well.” He leaned a little closer. “Second cutest, let’s be honest.” He glanced at Marinette over the pup’s head and winked.

Marinette put her hands over her face. “This is a disaster,” she moaned.

“It’s not a disaster,” Luka protested, laughing as he set the puppy in his lap. “It’s destiny.”

“It’s you,” Marinette said accusingly, pointing at him. “You and your...your...Couffaineness.”

“Guilty,” Luka shrugged, and then grinned. “And you’re a Couffaine too now, you realize.”

Marinette sighed and threw herself down on the floor next to him. She pouted, but put her hand out for the white puppy to sniff and politely lick. He was awfully cute. She sighed.

“I suppose we can tell them we want to do a home visit. We should make sure he gets along with the...others. And that he can handle your music.”

Luka’s grin faded slightly. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

Marinette looked up at him and Luka shrugged. “I think he might be deaf,” he admitted.

Marinette drew back slightly in surprise. “The paperwork didn’t say anything about it.”

Luka shrugged again. “They have a lot of animals to look after. They might not have noticed yet. I’m not even really sure, it’s just…” He looked down, stroking the puppy’s head. “I just have a feeling.”

Marinette pressed her lips together. Luka was so intuitive, he couldn’t always explain why he reached the conclusions he did, but he was usually right. Careful to move where the puppy couldn’t see her, she snapped her fingers behind its head. The puppy didn’t move or react,only laid his chin on Luka’s knee.

Hardly conclusive evidence, but…

“Well, even if he can’t hear it, he needs a name. We have to call him something,” she muttered, and Luka’s grin returned full force. She gave him a warning look.

“I’m open to suggestions,” was all he said, but his delight was obvious as he picked the pup up and cuddled the little furball against his chest.

“Bach,” Marinette said after a moment of thought, and then groaned, putting a hand over her eyes.

“I like it, but why?” Luka laughed, reaching over to pull her hand away and twine his fingers through hers.

“I was trying to think of something musical,” she sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “And I thought of that movie Beethoven with all the big dogs and then Bach popped in my head and—well…” Luka waited, and she shrugged. “Dogs bark. Bark, Bach. Ugh, just kill me,” she moaned, pulling her hand back so she could cover her face again.

Luka laughed uproariously—and Bach didn’t seem to mind at all. “Oh, darning,” he chuckled when he could finally stop laughing enough to get his breath. “Chat’s rubbing off on you.”

“I know,” Marinette whined. “I’ll never hear the end of it when he finds out. It’s not like we can keep the giant fuzzball a secret.”

“Aw, Marinette,” Luka smiled, and then he leaned over and plopped Bach in Marinette’s arms. “Come on. It’s not that bad.”

“I had a plan,” Marinette insisted, but she couldn’t help nuzzling her face against the soft white puppy fur. “How are we going to take a giant like this on tour?” she grumbled.

“He’s not giant yet,” Luka pointed out. “And if Jagged can manage with Fang, I think we can handle Bach, even if he does turn out a little bigger than we planned.”

“A little bigger,” Marinette snorted...but she really couldn’t argue with that. And he really was cute. And pretty laid back, for a puppy. He’d had a burst of energy when they first let him into the room and then had settled right into Luka’s lap to be petted.

Marinette glanced behind herself at the closed door. “Tikki? Sass? You want to come meet him?” The pup perked up at the emergence of the brightly colored little beings, and turned his head to follow as they zipped around him. He wiggled out of Marinette’s arms and pranced, wagging, and running alongside Sass as the snake kwami zipped across the room and back. But he didn’t react as if they were some kind of fascinating flying chew toy, which was a good sign.

She couldn’t help one more whine, one more tug at her hair, at the destruction of all her plans, but Luka reached out and gently caught her wrist, tugging her over into his lap. He put his arms around her and nuzzled her jaw. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I promise, we’ll make it work. Even if it wasn’t the plan.”

Marinette sighed, but also smiled. “I know. We always do.” She giggled as the kwamis zipped back into her purse, and then laughed when Bach barreled into her, snuffling around for his new friends. “All right, all right, furball,” she muttered, cupping his muzzle and lifting his nose away from her purse. “I guess we’re gonna have to learn doggy sign language, huh?” she said, leaning down nose to nose with Bach. He stuck his big pink tongue out and licked her enthusiastically. Marinette yelped and pulled away, wiping at her face.

“Watch it, buddy,” Luka laughed, reaching around her to ruffle Bach’s ears. “Those are my kisses. That is non-negotiable.” As if to prove it, he tipped Marinette’s chin up and kissed her softly. “Come on,” he said, nudging her to prompt her off his lap so he could stand. “Let’s go tell the nice lady that, provided the home visit works out, we’re taking this one off her hands.”

Marinette pouted. “The collar I made is never going to fit him,” she grumbled as she got to her feet.

#quickspins #sprint fic challenge #lukanette #established relationship #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #quickfic #promptfic #lbsc shenanigans #quicksprints #bach the deaf dog

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princessanneftw · 5 years ago

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Princess Anne’s organisations ➔ Save the Children Fund

Princess Anne began her work with the Save the Children Fund on 15 August 1970 - her 20th birthday - when she accepted their offer to become their new President. She immediately wanted to see the kind of work the Fund were doing on the ground, and so embarked on her first overseas trip with the Fund to their Centre in Nairobi, which was filmed by the BBC’s Blue Peter team. This was the first in a long line of trips which would see her travel to some of the most remote, poverty-stricken, and dangerous places around the world, and which saw a colossal growth for the charity.

While the majority of her engagements for the Fund are in the UK, it is on foreign tours that she gets involved with the Fund’s most important work and witnesses at first hand how the money she helps raise is used. These extensive tours for which she became famous for, beginning in the 1980s, were when people really began to sit up and take notice.

Visiting Nepal in 1981, the Princess spent ten days visiting the SCF’s four projects in the foothills and valleys of the Himalayas, which provide basic health care for mothers and children and are run by the locals, having been educated in modern health practices by the Fund workers. Around 300 children attended the clinics daily, trekking long distances to do so. To visit one clinic, Anne had a strenuous four-hour walk through the mountains, proving her stamina.

In 1982, Anne undertook her most extensive tour with the Fund yet, which was to be a major turning point for the Fund. It took her to Swaziland, Zimbabwe, Malawi, Kenya, Somalia, Djibouti, North Yemen and Beirut. Covering 14,000 miles in three weeks by air, road and boat, she was met with poverty, starvation and disease. She visited immunization centres in places where typhoid and polio were rife, camps with tens of thousands of starving refugees, and children who were on the brink of death.

She was advised to abandon the tour halfway through when continuing hostilities between Ethiopia and Somalia had begun to reach breaking point, and the Foreign Office deemed it too dangerous. “Damn them, I’m going on” was her response. If that wasn’t enough, she rejected further warnings that she should cancel her visit to Beirut when, the day before her arrival, 62 people had been killed by a bomb close to the point where she would be travelling. It only gave her further determination. The duration of her visit to the capital, where civil war had killed hundreds, was extended by several hours which she spent touring refugee camps, medical centres and some of the worst hit areas.

Throughout the tour, the press - who had only tagged along to try and get a scoop because Mark Phillips hadn’t gone with her - were admittedly shocked and impressed by where she went, what she saw and what she did. It was a first for a member of the Royal family. Startling, shocking pictures of human suffering, highlighted by her visit, were sent around the world, alerting a previously unaware public to the plight of the impoverished, disease-ridden conditions under which vast numbers of Africans were living - and dying, thus pointing the way to a massive relief effort. The Fund organisers were delighted with the impact of the tour, and it also gave great hope to those working for the children on the ground.

In 1984, she embarked on a ten-day tour of Morocco, Gambia and Upper Volta (now Burkina Faso), which she described herself as the most harrowing trip she’s ever made. When asked if she would ever consider a full-time career with the Fund, she said: “I have actually thought about it, but I think really I would only last about a year. What I saw, for instance, in Upper Volta made me realise I would not have the stamina to do it for much longer than that.”

What she saw was thousands of children who faced death within weeks. Life was in the hands of the weather: if the rains don’t come, the people starve. At the hospital in Gorom Gorom, she saw children with spindly legs and pot bellies through lack of food. Those too weak to move lay on rush mats, covered with flies. She brushed the swarming insects from one child’s face, but it was a futile task. “You have to stay remote,” she said, “or you’d just crack.”

There were no frills attached to these tours. Anne stayed in the refugee camps with the Fund workers. When asked about things like washing, her lady-in-waiting, the Hon. Shân Legge-Bourke, who often accompanied her, said: “We just stand under the shower with our clothes on - if there is a shower. But a bucket will do.” Anne neither expected nor received any special treatment for her Royal status. She slept in the same huts, was bitten by the same bed bugs - “little ‘friends’ who shared my sleeping bag” as she called them - and ate the same food.

Mark Bowden, who coordinated the African campaign, said: “There is a communal kitchen where the local staff prepare food that is either tinned, dried or heavily dominated by the only meat available - goat. There is goat stew, goat spaghetti bolonaise, goat everything you can think of... [Anne] is the most marvellous person who makes the most difficult conditions fun. Her presence gives everyone an enormous boost.”

Her position gave her immediate access to presidents and other government heads who might never have been persuaded to discuss their country’s problems. Here, she demonstrated a knowledge acquired from her experience: the need for village food banks, water schemes, locally trained health workers.

On a trip to India, Fund workers had been trying to negotiate the building of a new nutritional centre for which they were being asked to pay £200,000 for. The day after Anne arrived, it was reduced to £40,000. A donation of £750,000 from the Townswomen’s Guild, of which she is patron, was used to build other health centres. She managed to secure a further £70,000 which was used to finance long-term relief projects in Bangladesh.

In Uganda, the Fund had been trying without success for months to obtain permission to go to a certain area. When Anne visited the country, she spoke to the President personally and within days, permission was given. “That is the sort of help she can give to us which no one else can do,” said Nicholas Hinton, the Director General of the Fund at the time.

When she wasn’t on a tour, she utilized her engagements in Britain to further the cause wherever she could. When she addressed a conference of freight hauliers in Brighton, she obtained donations of services from a worldwide courier company who promised to deliver medicines to any SCF project anywhere in the world free of charge. She extracted a sizeable donation from the delegates she addressed at a meeting of the Inland Revenue Staff Federstion. When Michael Parkinson invited her on to his chat show in Australia, she only agreed after a donation of £6000 was sent to the Fund.

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She has since made further visits to Tanzania, Mozambique, Zambia, Sudan, Uganda and Somalia. Her extensive work with the Fund has been recognised worldwide, so much so that in 1990, she was nominated by President Kaunda of Zambia for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Most recently, Anne has travelled to Bangladesh, Sierra Leone, South Africa, Mozambique, Ethiopia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina. In addition to her trips overseas, she regularly meets fundraisers and volunteers, and visits SCF shops around the UK. She also attends and speaks at many of their special events every year.

In 2016, after serving as their president for 46 years, Anne became Patron of Save the Children, taking on the role from the Queen. Accepting her new role, she said:

"I am proud of my long association with Save the Children, and I am honoured to succeed Her Majesty as its Patron. It is an organisation that embodies a spirit of compassion, openness and excellence. Its values are an inspiration; its achievements, a source of hope for millions of children. From significantly reducing malnutrition in some of the poorest parts of Bangladesh to sheltering, feeding and vaccinating the young people affected by the devastating winds and rain of typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines and ensuring children in the UK leave primary school reading competently and able to fulfil their potential, their efforts to ensure that every child survives to live a happy, healthy life are outstanding.”

#this has been sitting in my drafts for months #finally finished it #this is only a glimpse into the work shes done with them over nearly 50 years #princess anne #princess royal #save the children #scf #british royal family #brf #organisations #charity #patronage

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licenselesswriter · 4 years ago

Text

Ten Duel Commandments CH8

Your last chance to negotiate

Monday, May 11, 2020

Farkle looks at his phone one last time before throwing it away. He was incredible annoyed by the reaction everyone was having to Lucas and Maya. He wasn't able to process why people wanted them as an item so bad when on the other side of the coin was her best 'friend' feeling like crap because of all the mess Lucas put them on, and nobody but him gives a crap about that.

Farkle takes a deep breath, sits on his bed, and looks at the floor. No, this wasn't Lucas's fault, he thought to himself. Even when he didn't want to admit it, Zay has been right from the beginning. It wasn't Lucas's fault. He was not in the wrong for falling in love with Maya. Hell, if he was honest with himself, he also falls for the blonde beauty when they were kids, but as soon as Riley enters his line of vision, he knew that there was no coming back from him.

That thought makes him realize one of the truths of the world, not everything revolves around the people you love and the fact that he made a circle around what he considers the truth and fairness makes him lose the argument because as soon as he did that, he denies every other point of view. Even if he thought he was right, deep inside, he knew he wasn't.

Now everything was fucked up, really fucked up. Riley took the first step, making her own grown phase away from everyone, maybe even forgetting Maya and Lucas for being deceptive with her.

Maya and Lucas were thriving on their relationship, a happy couple, enjoying the free world now that everything was in the open and with no one to judge them. And by the looks on their Instagram accounts, nor Shawn or Mary were remotely mad about them hiding everything from everyone.

Isadora probably had the grown spurt that most hurt him. Yes, he understands that he never was the perfect boyfriend, but not even a few months to mourn him? He has been feeling like a complete piece of shit for two months, and she was moving at alarming speed from him, and honestly, making him worry about her new friendship with Billy Ross.

Farkle gets up from his bed and walks to his bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror, and it terrifies him that he couldn't recognize himself.

For some reason, he finally was able to see the effects of all this mess on him, the dark circles under his eyes, the clear signs of dehydration, how opaque his hair was now.

He even lost some weight that doesn't help his already thin physique.

He looks at his reflection one more time, and this time the questions were others.

What happened to the gentle genius that always did all in his reach to protect his friends? At what moment he turned into this bitter young man who lied to himself, thinking that he was doing all of these things only to see her best friend happy?

His face was there, on the mirror, but his essence was gone.

"You might need help this time Farkle," he says to his reflection on the mirror.

But before that, a shower, that he clearly needs it.

And a round of well-deserved apologies.

"I'm gonna say I'm surprised, but I'm not," Isadora says before sitting in front of Farkle, taking a good detail on his looks, his faces, his eyes, and his expression, evident signs of depression, but that was something that she would keep to herself unless asked for.

"I'm surprised you wanted to see me. After all, we didn't part ways in the best terms," Farkle replies.

"Farkle, please," Isadora says, sitting in front of him, "You know I loved you, even now, I love you, not as a romantic partner, but as a person, for what you give and the experiences you share with me" she adds.

"So, not even as a friend?" Farkle asks.

"Farkle, we broke up less than three months ago," Isadora answers, "You need some time to heal, I need some time to heal, it's a process, not because we have a higher IQ means we are gonna be back to normal, to being friends," she explains.

Farkle looks down, "I know, I know, it's just, my brain hasn't been working like it used to do," he justifies himself.

"I know," Isadora replies, "You still have troubles handling emotions, not like I used to had, but your moral compass is making it really hard for you," she explains.

"Should I guess that you know why I ask you to meet me?" Farkle asks.

"I know why you ask me to meet you, and the answer is no," Isadora replies before turning to the waitress, "Please, one Iced Coffee to go," she says to the waitress.

"Can I ask why?" Farkle asks.

"Because Iced Coffee it's delicious?" Isadora asks back, avoiding his question.

"So it's like this now?" Farkle asks this time.

"Farkle, why I, someone who has nothing to do with your problem, do something to help?" she asks, "I get it, we used to be friends, we used to be partners, and we used to be boyfriend and girlfriend," she adds, "But let's not forget that we broke up because it was too obvious to me that you never stopped loving Riley, and that to you, Riley's happiness is the most important thing in the world," she continues, "But you're in this mess because you refused to listen to anything that is not involved with Riley's happiness, and you need to learn how to take responsibility about your own decisions," Isadora adds.

"I took you for granted for so damn long," Farkle says, defeated.

"You did, but I also thought that I would be able to beat Riley in your mind and in your heart, and I failed miserably," she argues back, "The secret of life, Farkle," Isadora says, getting her Iced Coffee before giving Farkle a five-dollar bill, "You will never conquer a heart that already has been conquered," she says, getting up, only to put a soft kiss on Farkle's cheek.

Tuesday, May 12, 2020

Lucas was nervous.

For the first time in seven months, Farkle was the one reaching to him to talk, and he knew exactly about what he wanted to talk about. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about his relationship with Maya. After all, he was the first one to oppose to him having an interest in any other girl besides Riley, and even when he wanted his friend back, for no reason he could give, he would change anything he's been experiencing today.

"I honestly didn't believe you would want to meet with me after 7 months of radio silence," Farkle says from Lucas back.

"That's because you did the radio silence. I never wanted to stop talking to you," Lucas replies.

"I don't want to sound ungrateful, but I think I'm ready to hear your side if you don't mind," Farkle says, walking around the bench and sitting next to the Texan.

"Are you sure about that?" Lucas asks, "Because if I tell you my side, you might not like it," he adds.

"How can you know that?" Farkle asks.

"Because Riley has always been your priority," Lucas answers with a short laugh, "And that clearly gives you a biased mindset," he adds.

Farkle laughs, "So, everything comes to me being able to handle the truth?" he asks, "What if I promise to not be biased?" he asks.

Lucas chuckles again, "If you can promise that, then I don't have a leg to stand about denying you my side," he says.

Farkle looks at Lucas for a few seconds and chuckles, "You know I can't have my opinion biased. After all, everyone seems to think I'm in love with Riley, and how a man in love can't have his opinion biased?" he teased him, "But for the benefit of this conversation, I will try my best," he adds.

"Good enough for me," Lucas replies, "So, I should start with the beginning, and that was, probably, when I sneak into Riley's room, looking for Maya to inform everyone of my decision," he says.

"You can skip to the meat of the story. This relationship between you and Maya made clear to me that you picked her that day, and Riley just urn into your pitty case," Farkle says in a snarky tone.

"Can we do the Q&A at the end?" Lucas asks, "Also, lose the tone, not necessary, and not wanted at all," he states before taking a deep breath, "For me, it all started around two and half years ago, almost a year from Riley and me breaking up," he says.

Farkle covers his ears, "God, you were right, I don't want to hear this," he says, fastly getting up from the bench.

Lucas chuckles and gets up with him and gently sits him back, "If you want the truth, I'm gonna tell you, but if you go now, you will never know my side, and maybe we might not rekindle," he threats Farkle.

"You're threatening me?" Farkle asks.

"I'm giving you a spoiler, Farkle," Lucas replies, making sure his friend understands how serious he was.

"Fine, fine, let's do it your way," Farkle agrees, desperately rubbing his hands on his thighs.

"Calm down, I'm gonna tell you a love story, not a Stephen King story," Lucas says, trying to calm Farkle, "As I was saying, Riley was on her discovery period, and if I was honest, me too," he says, remembering those days, "And I discover that my feelings for Riley had been gone for months before us breaking up because as soon as she started going out with other guys, I honestly didn't care," he adds.

"Wow, and I thought I was an awful boyfriend," Farkle comments.

"Big difference, I never lied to any of my partners, Farkle, never lied," Lucas defends himself, "So, Riley started going out with guys, you started going out with Isadora more often, and well, Zay and I start going out a lot. Like full 'the boys are back in town' style, and, I'm sorry if this stings, but you two kinda abandon Maya," he states.

"We would never abandon Maya," Farkle tries to justify himself.

"No, you did, and I'm not blaming you for something. It's just that you didn't have enough time for Maya, and that where Zay and I get into the scene. You two were M.I.A., so she started going out with us a lot," he explains, "And once Vanessa came here to New York for winter break, that gave me the opportunity because I didn't see anything wrong with that, I mean, you were with Isadora, Riley was with what's-his-face, Zay was with Vanessa, and Maya wasn't with Josh anymore," he explains.

"So this is a 'La ocasión hace al ladrón' situation?" Farkle asks, feeling a bit annoyed by the story.

"First of all, I'm not a thief. Second, maybe," Lucas replies, "Anyways, we start to spend a lot of time together, going out as friends, because let's remember that before anything, we are friends," Lucas states, "And honestly, all that time I spend with Maya, made my feelings resurface into a more clear me," he continues, "and one day, I just simply kiss her. And against all odds, she kissed me back," he says, remembering that night.

"That can't be all the story," Farkle says in a sordid tone, doubting his friend's words.

"What you want me to say, Farkle?" Lucas asks his friend, a bit tired of him.

"Come on, you're telling that she got you only with a kiss?" Farkle asks back, implying something far from PG-13.

"Careful with your words, Farkle," Lucas warns him.

"Come on, you're seventeen, Maya's sixteen, and you're telling me she only kissed you? Tell me the truth, did she spread her legs for you, pretty boy?" Farkle questions him with the same tone he had before.

In complete shock, Lucas gets up from the bench, and in a flash, he slaps Farkle as hard as he was able, "I warned you, Farkle," he says, glaring at him, doing his best to keep his Texas-self buried.

"Why I'm not surprised that your underdeveloped brain's first resource is violence?" Farkle says, keep pushing Lucas buttons.

"That the card you want to play?" Lucas asks him, not believing what he was hearing.

"What you gonna do? Slap me again?" Farkle says, looking at Lucas with anger in his eyes.

"Your funeral," Lucas says, getting closer to him, making Farkle cover his face, "Why I'm not surprised that you are already defeated?" Lucas asks, "I might be a thief, or a liar, or whatever you want to call me, but at least I have balls," he says, grabbing his own bulge, "Never show your face in front of me again, Farkle, unless you want to apologize," he adds before walking away from him.

Once Lucas was not visible to him, Farkle spends a few minutes trying to control his emotions, only to fail and start crying, "You stupid imbecile, why you had to talk," he says to himself, hiding his face in his knees.

Lucas was getting closer to the Starbucks Isadora ask him to be, only to see her and Zay running towards him, "Hey, hey, calm down, I'm just a little late," Lucas jokes before watching them look at him, worried, "Ok, I'm getting worried, what's going on?" he asks.

"What happened with Farkle?" Zay asks him.

"What?" Lucas says, faking ignorance.

"Don't play dumb, something happened, we know," Isadora intervenes.

"Nothing happened, we talk, he didn't understand my point of view, that's all," Lucas lies to them.

"And?" Zay asks.

"And I left, that's all," Lucas lie again.

"Please, don't insult our intelligence. What happened? The truth now," Isadora asks.

Knowing that they would not stop pestering him until he confesses, he agreed to do it, "Fine, I slapped him, but he deserves it," he justifies himself.

"God, what he say?" Zay asks.

"Please, we came here to have a chat because Isadora asks us, can we please leave it?" Lucas begs them to drop the subject.

"I kissed Sarah, and I'm probably bisexual, but I can be on other specters too, done, tell us what you did, the whole story," Isadora says, surprising both boys.

"You what?" Zay asks Isadora this time.

"I think she said that she kissed Sarah," Lucas says to Zay.

"I'm not done with you, so don't push it," Zay replies to Lucas, "Are you for real?" he then asks Isadora.

Isadora, knowing that Zay wouldn't let her continue her interrogatory to Lucas until she tells him the whole story, sits on the steps of the house where they intercept Lucas, "I mean, it was for science," she says.

"Please tell me you didn't tell her that," Lucas says before Zay.

"What? No, of course, I didn't say that to her," Isadora defends herself.

"So?" Zay asks.

"It was nice," Isadora says, blushing a tiny bit, "But, if I'm honest, it's not like I'm not attracted to men. I mean, Lucas still looks incredibly appealing to me," Isadora answers.

"Bullshit, Lucas is hot to everyone," Zay jokes.

"Dude," Lucas says, judging his best friend.

"He's not wrong. Didn't Alex mention how most of your teammates ship you with Brandon?" Isadora asks Lucas.

Lucas just stays silent.

"Don't answer that," Zay says to Lucas, "It's been more than proved that if Lucas was gay, I would be his baby daddy," Zay answers in a severe tone, "And don't you dare to Chandler me," Zay warns Lucas.

"Dude, you keep giving me material to do it," Lucas replies, "Also, not the point of this conversation," Lucas says before looking at Isadora, "So, how you feel about that?" he asks her.

Isadora shows a tiny smile, "Honestly, I feel kinda happy?" she says in doubt, "I mean, the more I know about me, the better," she adds.

Lucas looks at Zay, "True," he says.

Both Lucas and Isadora look at Zay, who was a bit troubled, "Are you ok?" Isadora asks.

Lucas just chuckles, "Just let him be. He's on his universe giving you and Sarah a ship name, nobody asks," he says.

"Ship names are important, Lukey," Zay replies, "So, what are you gonna do about it?" he asks.

"Honestly?" Isadora says in doubt, "No idea," she adds, "For the first time in years, I don't know what to do," she continues.

"Don't worry, it's ok," Lucas says, sitting next to Isadora, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Whatever happens, you know you have us," Zay comments with a warm smile.

"Thank you," Isadora says, feeling happy.

"We are your friends. We have your back," Lucas says.

"Celebratory donuts?" Zay asks Isadora.

"That would be good," she replies.

"Let's go. We're buying," Lucas says, walking away from them.

"We still want to know the whole Farkle thing," Isadora says.

"Dammit," Lucas curses.

I don’t even feel bad for making Farkle the bad guy on this.

#Lucaya #Lucas x Maya #Lucaya Fanfic #GMW Fanfic #Ten Duel Commandments

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ceescedasticity · 4 years ago

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Jin Guangyao’s hoarding problem, version 2, part 2

This isn’t so much “not a fic” as a “tell-don’t-show” fic. Not sure there’s a word for that.

(This next section starts out very dark, but just remember: in a more canon timeline, every one of these add-ins died in agony!)

Tingshan He (per novel canon) is a minor sect; its leader He Su speaks against Jin Guangshan's appointment as Chief Cultivator, and for some reason the appropriate response to this is considered to be arresting the entire sixty- or seventy-person on fabricated charges of conspiring to kill Jin Guangshan and giving them to Xue Yang to be turned into animated corpses. (What the hell.) He Su tries to negotiate for mercy for the elders and children; when none is forthcoming, he calls Jin Guangyao That One Insult, and then Xue Yang cuts his tongue out and throws him in a cage of corpses in front of his screaming family. Jin Guangyao in canon is like "…I'll leave you to it," and goes back to one of his innumerable other tasks. May or may not be the same tongue Xue Yang serves later.

(Also, novel-verse, and I am still not over this, this is before Xue Yang wipes out Yueyang Chang. He's still the person who was willing to kill dozens of people over a finger, but we'll never know if he would have actually done it without this example of 'respond to insult by eradicating sect'. Anyway. This is drama-verse Xue Yang, who found his influences and made his choices a long time ago.)

Here, Jin Guangyao goes to put up some silencing talismans between this outer part of the Dizang and the inner part where his high-value prisoners are. He doesn't want to subject Wen Qing to listening to all that — he might someday, if he needs to prove a point, but that's all the more reason not to do it randomly. Besides, Wei Wuxian can't even sit up but he might still come up with something stupid to do if he heard too much screaming, since apparently he's so very concerned about random collateral damage.

He has a thought. He comes back. He tells Xue Yang to hold off on killing any of them for a bit, he wants to do a finer check.

Jin Guangyao picks out a few members of Tingshan He.

He Lei is a cousin of He Su's, and currently the youngest surviving disciple at ten. Hasn't spoken since her parents died in front of her.

He Jian is her older sister. She is twelve. Has a Jin brand on her cheek; missed her parents' deaths while passed out.

He Zhi is their older brother. He is fourteen. He doesn't have a functional tongue anymore. Was technically present when his parents died, but very distracted; also got his face clawed up a bit.

He Gangfen is in his sixties, and has been responsible for training Tingshan He's beginner disciples almost since there has been a Tingshan He. He sees almost all of them killed horribly before Jin Guangyao makes him an offer.

He can save these last three disciples. All he has to do is — voluntarily — give up his golden core. —And convince Wen Qing to do the surgery.

Wei Wuxian's agreement isn't necessary, obviously.

It's not a pleasant conversation.

He Gangfen is so far past caring about Wens or the Yiling Laozu it doesn't even come up. Wen Qing points out there is absolutely nothing guaranteeing Jin Guangyao will keep the kids alive past the surgery — that "saving" them might even mean killing them quickly. He Gangfen says there's everything guaranteeing they'll die horribly now if he refuses, so please. Please.

Wei Wuxian, who has been staring at the ceiling trying to pretend this conversation isn't happening across the room, has a moment of insight and blurts out his conclusion. There is something — not a guarantee, but there is a benefit for Jin Guangyao in letting the children live.

Because what's he going to do as is, if Wei Wuxian or Wen Qing start outright defying him? Kill them? Oh no. Terrible. Hurt Jiang Yanli and deal with Jiang Cheng's reaction? Maybe threaten to do experiments on Wen Ning oh wait. The children would be accessible, disposable hostages.

Which is better than what He Gangfen was hoping for honestly, that might even be long-term, so please.

Being in this situation with accessible, disposable hostages is not remotely appealing, but. But.

Wei Wuxian tells Wen Qing he won't ask her to do this but if she wants his consent she has it.

The surgery is a success.

(Jin Guangyao is polite enough to remove He Gangfen from Wen Qing's workroom before administering the coup de grace. He Gangfen thanks Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian first.)

The kids… well. Jin Guangyao had more criteria than just age — that was important, but he wouldn't have gone through with the idea if they hadn't met other requirements.

Not too proud to beg.

Not already trying to swear revenge.

Naive enough not to be instantly suspicious when he asked them if they'd like a chance to save their little/big brother/sister. (They don't know about He Gangfen, much less about their broader purpose as hostages. They think he couldn't come up with any easier way of obtaining menial servants for the Dizang.)

Not more scared of Wen Ning than Xue Yang. (You have to be an idiot to be more scared of Wen Ning than Xue Yang, but a number of people still manage it. Shocking.)

It doesn't hurt that the oldest one, the boy, can't talk.

The older two for sure should be able to remember Sunshot, and all of them should know the blood-curdling stories of the Yiling Laozu (they had better, Jin Sect spent money making sure those stories grew), but exposure to Xue Yang makes even that less frightening. They're cautious, and Wen Qing in particular is trying not to let them close, but — connection is happening.

All according to plan.

(There is something Jin Guangyao has not planned for: Do you know who's not very scary at all even without Xue Yang for comparison? Who is also a prisoner of the inner Dizang, inasmuch as he's hardly ever allowed to leave, at least? Who is also doing a lot of menial chores, and who might end up providing guidance for someone else doing them? Who never had much power to act with cruelty or kindess, before, and who's seen a lot more cruelty than kindness, but who lately has spent a lot of time listening to Wen Qing and Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian? Who certainly wouldn't say no to a boy almost his age respecting him and wanting to spend time in his company?)

(Mo Xuanyu, that's who.)

Wei Wuxian meanwhile is experiencing mixed feelings about his new previously-owned golden core. He feels better. He feels much better. He can tell he'll feel better yet when he's healed more, which is happening, now. He also— Well, he's hoping even more that Jiang Cheng never finds out about the transfer, now, and he wouldn't have thought that was possible. It feels less strange and more his every day, but when he thinks about it— Well. It's upsetting.

So he hopes Jiang Cheng never finds out. He hopes Jiang Cheng can forget him, now. Maybe Jiang Cheng can be happy now. He knows that last one's a long shot, but he can hope.

(Jiang Cheng is… well, he'd not worse off than the usual universe, exactly. Jiang Yanli is alive! Just — he had to face her, with everyone saying he's the one who killed Wei Wuxian and he sort of was, and with his having left her lying there when she wasn't actually dead, and she didn't say anything that sounds like a recrimination but what must she be thinking. She must be so disappointed in him, she's just too kind to say anything. And he doesn't have the distraction of obsessing over Jin Ling, since Jin Ling is still with his mother.)

(As for Jiang Yanli… Jin Guangyao is not, in fact, trying to ensure she's seen as fragile and mad with grief, and not taken seriously, and that she's afraid to push back too much because they might take Jin Ling away, or Jiang Cheng might overreach trying to back her up. She's not on Jin Guangyao's agenda at all at the moment. It's just that very few people in Jinlintai have ever taken her very seriously, least of all the Sect Leader, and 'mad with grief' seems like a reasonable explanation for her turning up in Nightless City so most people are believing it with no extra effort necessary, and Madam Jin thinks she's terribly fragile and wants to protect her, and of course Jin Ling's welfare is everyone's highest priority so if it would be better for him to be elsewhere, well, that's an option. And Jiang Cheng would back her up in a heartbeat, of course he would, but Jiang Cheng is… well, Jiang Yanli thinks he's at least as mad with grief as she is, and she's not sure he'd be careful enough, if it came to any kind of confrontation.)

(Jin Guangyao is, really and genuinely, uninvolved with the incident wherein a Jin disciple attempts to treat Jiang Yanli's 'madness' with musical cultivation and succeeds only in causing heart palpitations. Well, he's involved inasmuch as the disciple's musical cultivation was based almost entirely on spying on Jin Guangyao, but he's unaware of that until the situation blows up. Happily everything is blamed on the disciple's lack of skill and hubris for attempting such a delicate feat as musical cultivation with no proper training. Since it's not like even the adulterated music is supposed to cause heart palpitations, it probably was lack of skill. And it's very embarrassing for Madam Jin, who decided to let an amateur try rather than ask Jin Guangyao, who would have been happy to help.)

(The most important consequence of that incident is how the cultivation world spends a while gossiping about the complexity and difficulty and potential dangers of musical cultivation, so a few months later, when Jin Guangyao proposes Nie Huaisang could play a little of the Song of Clarity, and Nie Huaisang says he's flattered by San-ge's confidence but he's much too poor a student for that. The trip to the Blade Hall doesn't go smoothly by any stretch of the imagination, but as many disciples come back as don't and they do get the sealing done, so… as well as could be expected, maybe.)

(It doesn't make much of a difference in the timeline of Nie Mingjue's decline. It makes a bigger difference in Nie Huaisang's emotional stability and interpersonal support network.)

(Back to the Dizang.)

As anticipated, as soon as Wei Wuxian is well enough to move around/work, he's ordered to work on reconstructing the Stygian Tiger Seal. As a safety precaution, any time Wei Wuxian has his hands on the half-Seal, at least one the Hes will be moved to some unknown location — usually He Lei, as He Jian and He Zhi both have enough facial scarring that people would be likely to take note of them, but He Lei doesn't even talk so Jin Guangyao can just leave her with the scullery drudges for a day or so, or even send her to Moling. So, using the half-Seal to immediately blast out isn't an option. Refusing isn't an option.

But that's okay, though. Wei Wuxian has a plan. He is going to reconstruct the Seal — with safety features this time. No one said not to do that. The whole process is so intuitive and hard to pin down not even Xue Yang can really tell what he's doing. And he is still depressed and mad about the whole situation so that shouldn't give anything away.

(Xue Yang suspects he's up to something of the sort… but telling Jin Guangyao would spoil the game. And CQL-verse he doesn't have any pressing revenge to get to at this point; might as well do some fun adversarial collaboration! In between sneaking out and making trouble just to keep anyone from getting complacent.)

Wen Qing doesn't have anything much to do at the moment. She decides to see if she can get Wen Ning a little more movement back in his facial muscles. If he can move all his fingers, there's no reason he shouldn't be able to move his face.

Mo Xuanyu sneaks a bunch of bamboo slips out of the supplies of the disciples guarding the outer Dizang so He Zhi has something to write notes on.

Jin Guangyao is only getting busier, really.

***

(Up next are Nie Mingjue’s last breakdown and JGY’s marriage, but I still can’t decide on the order.)

#jgy's hoarding problem tellfic #things i'm not writing

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diyunho · 5 years ago

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The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 3

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Same day, later in the evening

“What are you doing, Pumpkin?” The Joker crawls next to you although he has an idea about why you look upset.

You’re on your tummy scribbling on a piece of paper and he can tell you are concentrating hard while working on the current project: writing down your name. Only got the first three letters then the rest went blank.

“I….I can’t think…” you intensely stare at the blue pen in between your fingers.

“Of course you can!” J reaches over so he can guide your arm since it’s clear you need help. “There you go… done. Now try to copy it bellow, alright?”

“Hm?”

“Try again Princess,” he taps on the sheet and watches Y/N struggling to imitate the word. “Well done!” The King of Gotham praises. “Wanna give it a shot with a few more simple words?”

“Mmmm…” you debate. “OK?...”

You analyze The Joker’s movements as he depicts four letter words, one of them getting your attention in particular.

“Love?” you smile, happy you deciphered the meaning.

“Yes, a basic…”

“Love?” you scoot over, more and more excited and it clicks for your boyfriend.

“It’s just an example for you to exercise and relearn how to write, understand? It doesn’t mean anything!”

You giggle and touch his nose with yours.

“Love!”

“No Pumpkin! I don’t love you, how did you get such atrocity from my note??!! It has no hidden meaning! I barely, from very afar, remotely, not even similar to love, sort of like you and that’s it!”

You snicker and quickly slide to grab the yellow teddy bear, whispering in its ear:

“Love.”

“Aren’t you listening Princess?? Don’t start fake rumors!!”

Still…Y/N lives on her own little planet and her damaged brain grasped a wonderful concept despite The Clown vehemently dismissing his actions.

“Serves me right for being supportive,” he grumbles and resorts to diversion, the best weapon against your new found logic.

“Wanna read to me?” he points at the pile of children’s books resting on the nightstand: they are the best to use in your present circumstance.

“… … Read?... ” you ask, confused.

“Here,” J picks a random publication and gives it to you.

Might as well fully take advantage.

“Spoil me!” he buries his cheeks in your cleavage, guiding your free hand towards his green locks.

You never figured out how he doesn’t suffocate with his face glued to your skin; sometimes he sleeps like that for hours. Must be a special talent.

“The … ummm… the…. The duck…” you read the first page and massage his scalp, frowning at the words you can’t make sense of. “Cross… … crossed?...”

“Yeah,” The Joker’s mumbled voice agrees.

“… the… g-glass…” you stutter at the sentence.

“Grass,” J corrects you.

“Hm?...”

“Grass Pumpkin, not glass.”

“Ummm… grass…” you continue to read the best way you can and he rectifies your errors until no more sounds emerge: The King is softly purring, a clear indication he’s dreaming.

You toss the book on the floor, fed up with the difficult task of organizing your thoughts; pampering him is better. You slowly tilt his head backwards so you can kiss him: The Joker frowns in his daze and you pinch his butt, chuckling.

“What is it?” he opens one eye and you pull down on his boxers. “Princess, we had sex an hour ago. Do you think I run on batteries?” the complaint is fast to follow.

... … … Batteries?... …

You jump from the bed and stump to the closet, fumbling around for a couple of minutes before returning to a puzzled Clown.

You stretch the elastic of his underwear, dropping two batteries you snatched from the flashlight inside.

“How… how long do we w-wait?” you innocently ask.

The Joker bites his lip, attempting to contain himself yet he can’t: he bursts out laughing at your quirky solution while dragging you on top of him.

“You’re the funniest and smartest person I know, Pumpkin!” he cracks up, actually convinced he’s telling the truth. “Who’s my clever girl, huh?”

He’s talking about a girl again…What girl?...

Y/N peeks behind her and J reminds his baffled half:

“For God’s sake, Princess! I’m talking about you; you’re my girl! Can you get my phone?” he gestures at his mobile ringing by your pillow.

You give the cell to J, ignoring his conversation with Frost: you keep kissing him with the sole purpose of getting undivided affection.

“I guess Adam is here to pick up the cars you damaged,” he finally ends his chat. “Let’s go supervise the process. Don’t be disappointed, Pumpkin, we’ll have fun later. It’s your fault for destroying my collection!”

****************

The Joker watches his crew sweeping the concrete in the garage: broken glass, pieces of metal and debris scattered on the pavement after his vehicles were hauled inside huge trucks in order to be transported to Adam’s workshop for repairs.

“Thanks a lot, Y/N!” he growls, frustrated.

“Y-you’re welcome,” you serenely reply without a care in the universe.

“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me, Princess!” he huffs at your indifference.

“Love,” you confess to the fluffy toy squished in your embrace.

“I heard that and it’s an aberration! Why do you keep persisting with this nonsense?! I’m literally stating the opposite!” J admonishes but who’s listening to him?

Not Y/N.

“Nolan is texting me,” he changes subject. “He wants me to meet him at his warehouse to inspect the boxes of ammo for the deal. Will you accompany me?”

“Hm?”

“Car ride?” The King of Gotham simplifies his request.

“U-hum!” you nod, preparing to enter the purple Lamborghini which luckily wasn’t in the garage when you smashed J’s cars.

“Frost, if you see me parked up the street in the driving alley, don’t come investigate, got it? This woman’s been pestering me for extracurricular activities, might not make it inside the mansion.”

“Of course, sir!” Jonny finds it wise to consent to his boss’s rambling.

“Tell everyone: if the Lamborghini’s rockin’, don’t come knockin’!”

**************

You’re sitting on J’s lap, completely blocking the arrangements happening at the table: you’re more preoccupied with your game than whatever it is they are negotiating about.

“What are you playing, Y/N?” Nolan curiously inquires because your thumbs are surely moving at a crazy speed on your cell’s screen.

“Hm?” you stop and gaze his way.

“What are you playing?” the man repeats.

“Mmmmm… Tetrixx Bricks.”

“What level are you on?” Nolan leans over, his eyes getting big at the revelation. “Holy shit, Y/N! How did you make it this far??! I’ve been striving to pass level 98 for a month!”

“She’s smart, that’s how!” your boyfriend sassily underlines.

“Do you think that you can help me?” the guy slides his phone in front of you.

“I’m sorry, is this a gaming party or a business matter?!” The Joker scoffs.

“Well, we’re pretty much done: we accepted the terms, we just have to move the merchandise in the morning.”

You are already matching the colorful blocks on Nolan’s game, his face ecstatic when the obnoxious song announces with great fanfare: “Level Up!”

“Holy cow!!!!” he shouts and you return his phone. “Thank you!”

“Hey Y/N,” one of the mobster’s henchmen dares to voice his demand. “Would you help me too? I’m stuck on level 76.”

“I’m dead on 105,” another goon mumbles under his breath, stepping in the line forming to your left.

J would normally cut off this useless waste of his precious time yet he can’t deny the gratification building up in his heart: heavens knows how it feels to be trapped inside your own mind and his girl has definitely battled unimaginable odds to be where she’s at right now.

Living with cognitive impairment is not easy, but she’s still here and it beats the alternative.

“Good job, Pumpkin!” The Clown boasts at the long string of cell phones parading through your fingers while you aid Nolan’s team leveling up on Tetrixx Bricks.

And somehow his hands are holding you tighter, not even bored with the random outcome of his meeting.

**************

You escaped on the terrace for a break and J is discussing the last details with your host: tomorrow you have a routine checkup, thus he has to wrap it up soon.

“Out of my way, half-wit!” Derek aka Nolan’s oldest son pushes you. Would he have done it if you were the same individual from almost a year ago? Nope. Apparently he believes he’s entitled to take advantage of Y/N since she’s alone outside.

“Why did Mister Joker bring you anyway?” he lights up a cigarette, annoyed. “Stupid monosyllabic bitch!” he ogles your summer dress, swiftly lifting it. “Are you wearing diapers?” he chuckles as you walk backwards, trying to process what he’s throwing at you. “Come on, show me!” he approaches and carefully scouts the premises to ensure you two don’t have company.

Perhaps the neurons in your brain are overcharged for the moment; nevertheless, they warn of imminent altercation: the dude’s a total douchebag.

“Are you shy?” Derek grins. “C’mon, lemme see!! Oooohh…fuuuuck…” he bends over in pain when your knee unexpectedly kicks him in the crotch: you used all your strength and he drops down, curling up in a ball. “God…dammit!” Derek shrieks at the defense he didn’t anticipate.

“I…I’m not wearing diapers!” you stammer and because he landed on the edge of the pool you roll him in the water also.

The loud splash makes The Joker wave at you, glad he eventually found you: he’s been searching around the warehouse for the last 5 minutes.

“There you are! Quit playing around, Pumpkin; we have a swimming pool at home!”

You rush by his side eager to bail before the asshole pops up from the bottom of the pond.

“Sushi for dinner?” J suggests and Y/N is not the type of individual to reject one of her favorite dishes.

“I…I love sushi,” you smile elbowing him. “Love.”

“Don’t start with me again!” The King barks at your obvious hint.

*************

“Are you eating the last piece?” he glares at your salmon roll.

“No,” you offer the treat to him. “You…you need it more,” Y/N verbalizes her concern regarding his well-being.

“Can’t disagree, Pumpkin. You exhausted me you naughty girl,” J pretends to be super tired. “What can I do? Princess wants, Princess gets,” he inhales, resigned.

You’re not focusing on his whining: frankly, your intellect has been challenged enough for today. You cuddle in his arms while he chews on his food and watch TV without paying attention to the movie.

“Don’t forget tomorrow morning you have your doctor’s appointment,” J mentions. “I have to stay and wait for the guns I purchased from Nolan; you’ll have to manage without me. I’ll send an escort, deal?”

“U-hum.”

“Don’t yawn, Pumpkin. I’m the one that should yawn,” The Joker scratches his thigh. “This move sucks,” he pouts and turns off the TV. “I have a better idea,” he chooses a kid’s book from the stack. “Read to me.”

You open the textbook and although your brain is overwhelmed, you still make an effort for his sake.

“Mmm… Rainy… sky… Skies?...”

“Yup,” he turns on his side and nuzzles in your hair.

“Float over…hmm… t-town…”, your voice echoes in the room, soothing a worn out Joker.

Strange he can’t properly rest unless you read to him: after all J barely, from very afar, remotely, not even similar to love, sort of likes you.