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fawnandshadows · 2 years

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25 Days of Elriel — Day 13

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3k.

Gifting this one to my best @123moiaussi

It had been pure luck that she had run into Azriel, but somehow that’s always how it happened with them. Some higher power always seemed to be putting them in each other’s path. First, Feyre had started dating Rhysand, and Elain kept hoping to catch the eye of Rhysand's handsome brother. Whenever Rhys would visit Feyre, Elain would always stare at the door and will Azriel to walk though it, and 50% of the time he did with Cassian following behind him. They were the quiet siblings, so whenever their siblings were loud and shouting and brash Elain and Azriel would simply look at each other, have an unspoken conversation, and then walk away and have a real conversation. Far, far away from their noisey siblings. Azriel, of course, was never anything other than a gentleman. No matter how often Elain batted her eyelashes at him, or how coquettishly she smiled, Azriel was never anything but polite.

It made her want to pull her hair out.

The second time fate pushed them together was after Elain had gotten a job at Rosehall, the florist shop of her dreams. Magda, the shop owner, was Azriel’s mother. Elain had been put in charge of manning the front desk because they were expecting a tulip delivery. Nuala and Cerridwen were busy with the flowers in the back and getting all of the arrangements ready for an order, and Magda was out of town for a business seminar, so she asked Elain to accept the delivery. She preened at being trusted with such a responsibility and gladly accepted.

When she saw that Azriel’s tattooed, muscular arms were the ones carrying the tulips her ovaries almost exploded. They spent hours unpacking the delivery, which really shouldn’t have taken more than 45 minutes, and then he offered her dinner, and Elain was so certain it was a date. They had flirted. They had shared a dessert, and they had even shared a coffee. But he never called. He didn’t text. He didn’t even kiss her goodnight, despite the fact that she had snuck to the bathroom before they left the restaurant and used her mini-mouthwash and Chloe roller-ball perfume. Nothing. He surprised his mother with lunch two weeks later, gave Elain a polite smile, and avoided her completely.

And now she had run into him at her favorite coffee shop.

It was completely ordinary, and there likely wasn’t any cosmic interference, but that is not what Elain told herself as she walked up to say hello to him. She needed the encouragement of the entire universe to get enough courage to walk up to him.

Azriel was already standing by the counter, waiting for his order, when Elain walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. Just a small tap of the finger, but he turned around instantly, eyebrows raised in surprise as his hazel eyes locked onto her brown ones.

“Elain.” He said, his voice even and unreadable, and even his face was stoic.

“Hi.” She replied, a little breathless, and waved her hand.

He stared at her, blinked, and then softened his features into a smile. His hand hesitantly reached up to touch her elbow and delicately nudged her away from the crowd. Azriel looked handsome in his winter attire; a black wool jacket, a navy flannel, and jeans.

“Hi.” Azriel said. His hand still rested on her elbow, above her maroon pea coat, and she swore she could feel his warmth through the heavy layers separating them.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them sure of what to say.

“How are you?” Elain asked nervously, but a gentle smile graced her lips.

“I’ve been good,” Azriel said, leaning closer to her so she could hear him over the chattering crowd. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“You have?” Elain asked, her mouth dropping open just a bit.

“Yes, I wanted to apologize,” Azriel started and stopped as the barista set his to-go cup down. Azriel barely gave him a nod of acknowledgement. “For blowing you off.”

“Oh,” Elain replied and hung her head to hide her blush. “That’s alright. I understand.”

“No, I had an amazing time, it’s just that, well, Rhysand didn’t like it when I took his sister-in-law out for a date.”

Elain knew that this wasn’t the right thing to focus on, but she couldn’t help herself. She toed the fake wood floor of the coffee shop and asked, “You thought it was a date?” The dread hardening in her veins gave way to giddy bubbles.

“Dinner with a beautiful woman — someone that I had been thinking of for a long, long time — I would call that a date.”

“Me too,” Elain grinned up at him, her cheeks flushing under his stare. “You were thinking about me?”

Azriel simply nodded at her, his own face showcasing a silly grin, and Elain knew she had a matching one of her lips.

“I know that it is probably much too late,” Elain said as she nervously bit her lip and thumbed the sleeve of her lilac sweater. “But I was wondering if maybe you would be my date to Rhysand and Feyre’s New Year’s Eve party?”

A large brown, scarred hand came out to rest against her fidgeting fingers. Elain’s amber eyes peered up at him, her face mimicking the flush on his, and the little crows feet that appeared next to his eyes caused her heart to sputter.

His smile was almost as soft and gentle as his hands.

“I would love to.”

“It will be fun,” Elain added as she boldly took his coffee and brought it up to her lips. “To see Rhysands expression,” She took a sip of his coffee, black with sugar, and slowly started to walk away from him. As she approached the door she tossed a saucy grin over her shoulder and said, “Thanks for the coffee.”

He grinned so broadly it obscured his eyes.

Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight – when it’s exactly twelve o’clock that night

Elain was questioning every decision she had ever made in her entire life. When she had selected the dazzling, sparkly, dusk pink dress she was still dateless, and now she had an incredibly, unbelievably attractive gentleman who was on his way over and she was second, and third, and fourth guessing her choice in attire.

The gown was a wrap style that collected on her waist, very vintage inspired with a sweetheart neckline and thin spaghetti straps, and a slit formed along the length of her left leg, which curved ever so slightly, and flowed down to her ankles. The fabric was a soft pink that shimmered silver in the light. When she had purchased this gown for herself she did it with a confidence that had abandoned her.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, saw how the fabric draped against her body, highlighting all of her curves, and was about to swap it for a classic black dress when her doorbell rang. She was curvier than her sisters — her hips fuller and wider — and it definitely showed in this dress. Elain cringed and turned her light off before dashing down the stairs, barefoot, with her dress collected in one hand and her shoes, phone, and clutch held in the other.

“Hello,” Elain said breathlessly as she opened the door to reveal her date. “Would you like to come in?”

She was so incredibly grateful for running down the stairs since it covered the fact that he had stolen all of the breath from her lungs.

Azriel was the most beautiful man she had ever seen when he was in jeans and a t-shirt, but dressed in a tuxedo Azriel was unfairly sinful.

Elain had moved before he could answer and sat on the bench pressed against the wall to buckle her silver, strappy heels. Even though her eyes were fixated on the buckle of her shoes, she was very aware of Azriel’s tall, muscular frame slipping into her house.

“You look lovely.” Azriel said, a slight hitch in his voice which caused Elain to look up at him through her veil of golden curls. His cheeks were pink, his hands politely clasped in front of him, but she saw the little bob to his throat and the way his jaw muscles flexed.

“You,” Elain said as she sat up straighter, one shoe in place and the other dangled from her fingers. “Look very handsome, Azriel.”

His face turned scarlet and Elain didn’t try to suppress the grin that broke free on her face.

“Thank you.”

Elain quickly strapped her other heel, put her phone in her clutch, and unwittingly placed her hand on his arm when she stood. Her hand was nestled into the crevice created by the bend in his arm, which was solid and warm even through his layers, and his arm was bent in a way that put his hand on display.

“Beautiful.” Elain said breathlessly as she looked at his hand. His fingers flexed at the words. The scarred skin tightening around his hands.

“Thank you,” Azriel said, blushing harder than ever. He extended his free arm towards the door. “Shall we?”

Maybe I’m crazy to suppose — I’d ever be the one you chose

The party was cramped and crowded and the only saving grace was Azriel. She clung to him the entire night. They stayed off to the side of the room, walking along the edges and grazing the refreshments tables, and staying far, far away from the rest of the crowd.

Everyone was wearing their best dresses and suits, and Elain wondered how Rhysand knew so many impressive people.

Rhysand’s face when Azriel came into the party with Elain on his arm was priceless. His jaw dropped, his face paled a little, and Elain almost felt bad about blindsiding him. Any feelings of pity and sympathy were immediately swept away when Feyre squealed and hugged her sister and gushed about how she was waiting for this to happen. Feyre was stunning in a silver dress, one that was metallic and backless with a little cowl neck that draped against her bosom. Her light brown hair was done up in an elegant french twist.

Rhysand’s handsome face was sulky as he handed Feyre fifty dollars.

Azriel immediately grabbed some champagne flutes from a passing waiter while Elain marveled at her sister's house and the beautiful decorations that had been in place, and she vaguely wondered where all of their furniture went to clear enough space for a dance floor. The flowers that she, Nuala, Cerridwen, and Magna put together looked perfect: Long snow-white lilies, accented with greenery, and just a hint of baby's breath.

“The flowers are beautiful.” Azriel said, his hand placed against her lower back. His hand hot and heavy through the thin layer of her dress as he led her away from the crowd, but Elain abrupt pivoted, her back towards Azriel so he couldn’t see what she was doing. Eventually, she spun back around and presented Azriel with a small, flowering bulb.

“May I?” Elain asked and Azriel immediately agreed, even though he didn’t know what he was agreeing to. Bashfully, Elain slipped the little flower into his tuxedo jacket pocket as a makeshift boutonnier.

“Thank you.” Azriel said, the air between them turned thick and humid and heady. Azriel gazed down at her, enjoying the way her cheeks blushed under his gaze, and whatever he was about to say died on his lips as Cassian and Nesta approached them.

“Happy New Year, brother!” Cassian exclaimed as he pulled Azriel into a hug, and then he turned to Elain and let out a low, wolf-whistle. “Happy New Year, gorgeous.” Cassian said as he hugged Elain and planted an affectionate kiss on her cheek.

“Happy New Year.” Elain said with a self-conscious smile. She always felt self-conscious when she was standing next to her sisters, especially Nesta. Nesta was all elegant, long lines and sharp angles while Elain was shorter, rounder, and fuller.

Nesta went in for a hug and discreetly adjusted Elain’s top, pulling the fabric to cover more of breasts just for it to fall back where it was. A sound of disappointment came from Nesta’s throat, but she waved her hand with a smile. “Who cares,” Nesta said. “You’re among friends.”

Elain wanted to die from mortification.

Azriel, sensing something was wrong, broke away from his conversation with Cassian and pulled Elain into his side. Nesta, with her sharp eyes, noticed everything while Cassian didn’t so much as blink at the contact. In fact, he just kept talking about the new recipes he was coming up with for the restaurant.

Nesta studied them. Her black slip dress was form fitting and tight, and Elain knew that if she wore it then she would be getting side-eye all night. However, on Nesta it looked classic and fashionable. Nesta’s blue eyes went from the hand on Elain’s hip, to the flower tucked into Azriel’s jacket, and Elain even thought she saw Nesta sniff to see how mingled her perfume and his cologne were.

Elain snuggled into Azriel’s side, and placed her hand flat across his lower abdomen and silently thrilled over his hardened stomach and the way his muscles rippled under her hand. Azriel’s hand tightened on her hip in answer.

Nesta watched the entire exchange with a cat-like grin.

“Cass,” Nesta said and placed a hand on her boyfriend's shoulder. Cassian immediately stopped talking and looked at Nesta, his hand coming up to snake around her waist. Elain and Azriel watched as Nesta whispered in Cassian’s ear, her lips deliberately dragging against his ear, but they averted their eyes when Cassian’s grin turned feral. Nesta turned back to them and said, “We’ll catch you guys later.”

Nesta gave Elain a sly smile before shooting Azriel a warning look and disappeared into the crowd with Cassian.

Azriel gazed down at Elain, his eyes merry and bright as he asked her if she wanted to dance. Elain quickly nodded her head, so they finished their champagne, set the flutes down, and danced. They held each other closely as they swayed on the dance floor, not varying their dance at all as the songs played through, and eventually they migrated to the refreshments table. They stood there, grazing on the veggie platters and the sandwiches and the cookies when Graysen approached.

Elain had been telling Azriel that she had baked the madeleine's when she heard the clearing of a throat and looked up to see Graysen standing on the opposite side of the table. The cookie fell from her grip onto the plate with a dull thud.

“Nice to see you, Elain,” Graysen leered down his nose at her, his eyes landing on her breasts. Elain had never felt so indecently exposed and vulnerable in her life. “Although, it’s been a while since I’ve seen so much of you. Have you been baking again?”

“Yes,” Elain replied and set her plate down on the table. “This is Azriel,” She forced a polite smile on her face as she made introductions, but she noticed Azriel didn’t bother to hide his disgust as he glared at Graysen. “Azriel, this is Graysen. We used to go out.”

Azriel gave a small acknowledging nod of his head, and he protectively placed his hand on Elain’s shoulder — offering a place for her to twist her body so that Graysen wouldn’t be able to leer at her cleavage or her curves. Elain gladly accepted and turned her body into his, away from Graysen’s hideous and prying gaze.

“We were engaged, Elain.” Graysen said as he looked at the couple in distaste.

Don’t remind me, Elain thought, but she turned to Azriel and said, “It didn’t work out.”

“I wonder why,” Azriel said, his voice like quiet death as he stared Graysen down. “Elain’s the loveliest person I know.”

She felt her face flush and a smile bloom at the words, but it quickly faded at Graysen’s snort. Her ex-fiance was about to say something else, but was cut off by the sound of clinking glasses and Cassian’s booming voice saying that it was almost midnight.

Azriel took the opportunity to scurry her away, his breath hot on her ear as he whispered, “You are lovely, Elain. All of you.”

“Thank you.” She replied as she dreamily smiled up at him. They stopped in the middle of the crowd and her hands curled around his neck as the countdown began. “I think you’re lovely too.”

The crowd chanted around them.

Azriel lowered his head to hers, their noses bumping against each other.

Elain’s tongue poked out to wet her lips and her breath skittered along his skin.

Azriel’s hand tightened on her waist, which caused a hitch in Elain’s breath.

Elain pressed her lips into his, unable to wait for the new year.

Their lips moved. Soft and warm and lush against each others. Little sparks flew and crackled and popped at the contact, like someone had doused hundreds of fireworks in champagne bubbles and lit them against their lips.

Azriel’s hand fisted in her hair, angling her head to give him even more access, and his free hand landed on her full hip and gripped it. He marveled as his fingers sunk down into her soft flesh, and he brought their hips together. The length of him pressed into her and she groaned at the contact. Their kiss lasted long after everyone else had parted and starting cheering to bring in the new year.

What are you doing New Year, New Year’s Eve?

Later that night…

“Elain,” Azriel said, his fingers skimming the length of her exposed back. Right along the length of her dress. “I don’t have a condom, but,” He pressed his lips into Elain’s shoulders and basked in the shiver that ran along her spine. “I know where Rhysand keeps them,” He brought his head up and looked into her warm brown eyes. “If you would like me to get one. Or we could go back to the party. Or we could do whatever you are comfortable with.”

Elain looked up at him, her doe-eyes trusting him in a way that melted his heart. She ran the tip of her fingers up his neck and along his jaw, her thumb gliding over his plump, kiss-bruised lips.

“Get the condom,” She said with a smile, and then her thumb was replaced with her lips. Azriel was vaguely aware of the catching of a lock. “And I’ll be waiting for you to come back.”

…

To be Continued

tagging: @thefangirlofhp @tswaney17 @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @jujugirlfrombookstore @offtorivendell @swankii-art-teacher @courtofjurdan

#25 days of elriel #spinkles in midsize!elain #25DOE #elriel #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #elain x azriel #Azriel #Elain #pro elriel #pro elain #pro azriel

90 notes · View notes

thiserichann · 3 years

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cookies and cream - lee jeno

reader x jeno

genre: smut, strangers to fuck buddies, humor if you squint hard enough

word count: 4k-ish

warnings: recklessness (she met with a stranger online, don’t do it kids) excessive lying, 18+ scenes that includes: oral (f receiving) face riding, soft dom!jeno?

This is merely a work of fiction and is not meant to hurt the image of Jeno and NCT. Again, don’t be as reckless as OP. This was just a fantasy of mine that I’ve been dying to get out of my system.

Holy fuck.

That's the only word that you've managed to utter when you decided to check your messages that morning.

You got bored in the middle of the class and decided to sneak a peek on your phone to pass the time. The class is recorded anyways so you can always just go back to the parts of the lessons that you've missed.

But holy fuck.

You never expected to see THAT so early in the morning.

"Miss Y/N?"

You snapped back to reality and stopped malfunctioning for a second when somebody called your name. Everyone including your professor remained quiet and all eyes are on you.

"Oh. Sir what’s the question again?"

You answered nervously as you tried to review your notes and backtrack on what he is discussing a few moments ago.

"I see that you're distracted in the middle of my class again. Mind sharing what you're occupied with?"

"Uhm. I was watching KPOP fancams, sir."

"Fancams won't get you into law school, Miss Y/N. Phones off please."

You tucked your phone back to your pocket and never picked it up again since. The professor started blabbering again but no information is being retained on your head. It stayed that way at your other classes.

You wished you were looking at some KPOP fancams earlier. You’ve watched fancams at class before and got away with it unscathed.

Oh no. It was a goddamn dick pic.

A good one, too.

It was from a guy that you met in a kink site a few days ago. You created the account out of boredom and expected nothing to come out from it. It’s all the flirting and sexting without all the unnecessary commitment

It only took you a few minutes to set up an account. For some privacy, you made a random birthdate and a random nickname, because like hell would you share your real information to these people. You also picked a racy picture of a lady that looked a bit like you and passed it off as your own.

Within minutes, your inbox is flooded with messages. Most of them, however, are from men who are old enough to be your father.

Well, you were bored, so you entertained everyone and then went on back to your boring, vanilla life. A few political history and theory books later, you went back to see which ones messaged you on the site.

And that's where you've met him.

The most gorgeous piece of meat alive.

He seems like a nice guy. He introduced himself as LJ and your age aren’t that far off from each other. LJ is the only one who actually engaged in conversation besides "want to fuck?" or "are you horny?"

As soon as you started messaging back and forth, you scrolled on his profile to see what he looks like. The only thing is, his profile looked a whole lot like those high fashion male underwear photoshoots.

It was an array topless pictures (presumably his, you just can’t be bothered to check if it is actually his). It featured his sculpted abs and biceps, cropped up all the way to his full lips. Despite not seeing his whole face, you knew very well that he’s a hunk. To say you were intrigued is an understatement.

Since then, you've been talking back and forth through Snapchat (your secret one because you're not stupid) and sent him actual pictures of yourself, completely omitting the face. You took one from your bed, your bathtub, and probably every part of your house that you felt is sexy enough to be included on the pics.

You can't tell him if it's him or the repressed sexual urges finally manifesting itself after more than a year of not getting laid, but every text to and from him made your heart race. It was something that you looked forward to every hour everyday.

Hours went by that you totally forgot leaving him on read. You climbed up to your bed to rest your back to the headboard and opened your unread messages.

You: Hey svlr. School stuff.

He opened the chat and started typing right away.

LJ: Oh good. I thought I did something wrong to upset you.

You: Not at all. I loved the pic by the way. It literally knocked my socks off.

LJ: Just the socks?

You: You can take the rest of it off yourself ;)

You scoffed. The flirty banter has always been there ever since you started talking but nothing really came out of it.

LJ: If only I could :(

You: I know. Covid’s a bitch.

You set your phone aside for a second to go to the bathroom. On your way, you picked up some snacks at the fridge and sat back down to your bed, only to find your phone blowing up.

LJ: If you're down maybe we could meet

LJ: It's totally fine if you don't want to

LJ: I just made it weird, didn't I?

LJ: I'm so sorry I brought it up in the first place

LJ: I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable

LJ: Hello?

LJ: I'm really sorry

You: Chill. I'm right here

You: I just went to the bathroom

LJ: Oh

You: I'd be lying if I said I don't want to meet you as well

You: Well... I wouldn't write off the idea

You: But with the Covid

LJ: Thoughts?

You: I don't think it's a great idea

The screen says Seen right at the bottom but it took him a couple more minutes before finally replying.

LJ: I understand

LJ: But in case you change your mind, I'll leave the time and place up to you

LJ: I’ll take care of the rest

LJ: Deal?

You: I'll sleep on it.

You: Speaking of sleep, I gotta go. Morning class.

LJ: Okay. I guess this is good night then

You didn't, in fact, talk to him the day after.

You'd be lying if you said that you didn't want to see him and his abs in real life. But as someone who overthinks a lot, you just can't shake off the risk.

You: Good night. Talk to you tomorrow.

What if he's not really the guy in the pics? Or he’s psycho in real life? What if he's infected the virus?

You sighed.

Why must some global pandemic ruin your sex life?

You waited until the end of the day before you finally replied to LJ. The last thing that he texted was a brief good morning from earlier in the day and nothing else. He’s actually a pretty sweet guy, totally not worth ghosting, and you actually liked talking to him as a friend that you can share your sentiments with.

With your guilt finally eating you up, you took a break from your assigned readings and sat back at your bed to rest for the day. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a minute, thinking of something to say to him. It took you a few tries before finally hitting the send button.

You: So, I thought about it

LJ: And?

You: I need to know I can trust you

LJ: Okay. How?

You: I don’t know. Send me a proof that you’re real. Get tested?

You: Is that fine with you?

Within a split second, he sent his reply.

He actually did it.

You couldn’t believe it but he actually did it.

LJ: Consider it done.

He got tested for physical, including the virus test, and passed with flying colors. He even sent you a vid of him inside a medical clinic.

He just sent the uncensored results this morning where you can clearly see his real name.

Lee Jeno.

LJ.

Seems legit.

Well, the uncreative nickname shouldn’t matter now because the results meant only one thing.

You’re gonna have to push through with your promise.

You got ready around noon that day. You can’t remember the last time that you actually got ready to meet someone that’s not a delivery guy or a relative passing on something to your family.

As someone who overthinks a lot, you actually got everything covered. You picked a place near a restaurant to eat. The police station is just a few blocks away just in case something happens, and right in front of a library…

“Where’re are you off to?”

You raised your backpack to show to your mother.

“I’m off to the library. I needed to get these renewed. Maybe pick up a novel or two.”

She looks at you from head to toe, eyeing that incredibly loose hoodie, faded denim jeans, some worn out sneakers that looked like it’s supposed to be thrown away years ago and a medical mask that covers about ¾ of your bare face. It’s just your usual attire whenever you go out for errands.

She just nodded and went back to watching her favorite soap opera.

“It’s nice that you’re out of your room for once. Take some cookies from the kitchen so you’ll have something to eat in case you get hungry.”

… as an alibi to get away from your strict parents.

As soon as you left the door and made sure that you’re out of sight, you found the nearest public toilet and grabbed a whole other outfit from your backpack. The hoodie is replaced by a white, ruffled see-through blouse and you ditched the jeans for a tight skirt that’s at least four inches above your knees. You tousled your hair a little bit and put on some powder and tiny hint of lipstick before putting your facemask back on again.

It’s been a while since you’ve done an elaborate scheme like this. Your skills got a little bit rusty, but they always work.

Sometimes you wonder if you’re really meant to be lawyer or a criminal instead.

You stepped out of the toilet and blended right back into society.

Now all you have to do is find wherever the hell LJ is.

Jeno sat anxiously as he waited for you right inside the café. He’s on his fourth cup of coffee but it didn’t do anything to calm his nerves down (geez I wonder why).

You: I’m almost at the café.

He’s been staring at his phone the whole time. Once he received your message, which is a pic of you in the bathroom after the outfit change, he almost choked on his drink.

This message sent him on a panic as he turned his camera on to see how he looked. He did some minor adjustments to his hair and he wiped off his eyeglasses clean with the sleeves of his hoodie (which did nothing for him by the way) and then casually sat down and played it off cool like he hasn’t been waiting for you for over an hour.

On your perspective, you walked inside the café and looked around for LJ. Fortunately, there was only guy inside the café, twiddling with his phone on his hands and as he kept on peeking through the glass windows as if he’s looking for someone.

From afar, he actually looked really cute. His appearance, a shy, nerdy dude with glasses, looked way off from the fuckboy image that you expected him to have in reference to the messages that you’ve been getting from him.

It’s always the quiet ones that are kinky. You should know, you are one.

You walked over to his table and tapped his shoulders to get his attention.

He froze for a moment before he finally managed to turn around and face you.

“You’re actually here.”

“I know. I’m just as surprised as you are.”

tap tap tap tap

The room is so quiet that the only thing you can hear is the sound of your heels tapping against the tiled floor. You can say that that is one of your observable annoying habits tapping your foot on the floor when you're a nervous wreck.

Sighing in retaliation, you removed your hoodie, fanning yourself as you tried to relax and get comfy on the hotel couch (which should be comfortable enough since you paid a shit ton of money on that room), switching the TV on to get your mind off of things. The lackluster array of shitty sitcoms didn’t distract you at all, but it instead reminded you of the reasons why you’re in that room in the first place.

Having nothing to do to pass the time, you paced back and forth in the room, finally sitting down once you realized that it looks way worse than you just tapping your foot. You folded your arms right across your chest, looking at the watch from time to time but the hands of the clock seem to be moving slower the more you stare at it.

Quarantine started almost a year ago and it's been very hard for you. Sexually. It's been almost a year since you've been touched by a man and you’re more than ready to jump on anyone’s dick at any this point,

Too bad that that dick is taking his sweet time in the bathroom.

tap tap tap tap

Your foot found its rhythm once again, only this time, you’re not nervous anymore. Your patience is wearing thin.

As if summoned by the constant tapping, the guy comes out of the bathroom, just casually drying himself while wearing nothing but the towel dangerously hanging on his waist and a boyish smile on his lips.

No biggie.

"Hey."

Suddenly, you’re not tapping anymore.

Head empty, just thoughts of a hot guy patting down a towel all over his toned body.

“I hope I didn’t make you wait for too long.”

He spoke, tossing aside the towel on his hands on the sofa, finally giving you a full view of him and all his glory.

You must admit, you’re skeptical at first. The guy that’s been sending you faceless thirst traps just days ago, telling you how he’d fuck you senseless looked a lot different from the guy who entered the hotel room just a moment ago.

He came in wearing those black oversized hoodies that did a great job in hiding his best features. His hair was a bit long for your taste, covering half of his face while the face mask hid the other.

But this man right here in front you, he’s Adonis.

You unconsciously bit your lower lip, earning a chuckle from the guy.

“I’m guessing that you’d like to start now?”

You nodded, the tension and awkwardness rendering you unable to speak.

He smiles as he takes the remote from you, turning off the television because the main show is about to start.

You started to tense up again, eyes wide as you realized that he’s now right beside you, wrapping his arms around you as soon as he sat down. He leans over, soft lips coming into contact with your exposed neck and shoulders, landing small pecks all over.

You sat there breathless as he slowly ran his fingers to the side of your thighs, tracing circles at it while giving small, reassuring kisses on your neck and shoulders. It’s as if he’s asking you for your consent, waiting for you to open up to him before he makes a move.

He got his answer when you turned around to face him, running your fingers into his cheeks before cupping his face, your lips finally touching his. He moved in the same pace as earlier, slow and calculating. You got a bit impatient once again, biting his lower lips gently to let him know that he can do more.

He grabbed you by the waist and successfully placed you on top of him. The kiss got even more sloppy as you ran your hands through nape, then into his soft locks. His hands travelled once again, finger running through legs again, stopping as soon as he reached the hem of your skirt, flipping it up to reveal the thin lace material that barely covered your core. You took that as initiative to remove the towel on his waist and grinded against his growing member, the friction and heat enough to earn a groan out of him.

He held your waist once again, firmly this time, halting your movement completely.

You broke away from the kiss, staring him in the eyes to read his face.

“Something wrong?”

“Hold tight.”

You were about to ask about what hold tight mean, but your arms cling unto him involuntarily as he lifts the both of you out of the sofa.

Jeno laid you gently in the bed, making sure not to break eye contact as he does so. He looked like he's about to eat you alive, which is enough to send flush to your cheeks.

“I would’ve loved to bend you over that sofa, but I think it’s just proper that our first time will be on the bed.”

"God. You're beautiful."

He then ran his fingers towards the thin fabric of your blouse, feeling every part of your torso like he's memorizing every detail of it. His hands then travelled in your chest, squeezing the swell of your breasts on each hand, fingers shaking as he does so. It felt like an artist admiring his delicate work of art.

He situated himself between your legs, taking a moment to admire you first before doing anything else.

He started to run his hand on your cleavage and stopped on the uppermost button of your blouse, taking his time to remove all of them and placing a kisses at the exposed skin. After all of the buttons are taken care of, you lifted your body up and slid off the fabric. Your black lacy bra finally made its appearance. You took the liberty of taking that off too, as slow and as you possibly can.

Jeno just stared at your body in awe, breathing heavily as his eyes scanned your naked glory.

"Gorgeous."

He said under this breath before leaning down to claim your lips once again. You're turned on by how much attention he's giving your body now. You're usually loud in bed but his gestures are making you bashful. You've never felt this beautiful before.

You can feel his hands trembling as it travels all over your body, his kisses getting even more needy. There was moans of satisfaction every time he would lick your lips. Jeno was kissing you like you were oxygen and he needed to breath.

His hands travelled south, running across your thigh and your now aching core. You're about to remove your skirt and underwear but he stopped your hands midway.

"Keep it."

He took your hands away from your skirt and placed them just above your head.

"Just sit there and relax baby. Let me treat you."

You did just like he told you and gave him full control of your body.

"Good girl."

His lips brushed your ears, whispering sweet nothings about how beautiful you are under him. His kisses then went down to your neck, using his tongue and teeth, marking everything he can get his mouth on with his saliva. Meanwhile, his hands finally touched you down there, massaging your still clothed wetness.

His middle and index finger felt your slit, moving it in swift motion in search for your clit.

"Oh my god. That's it."

You gasped as his fingers finally hit the right spot, tossing your head back as his fingers made circles at your bundle or nerves.

You opened your legs more, leaning on your arms on your back, head tossed back and eyes closed as you feel your impending orgasm.

He dipped his hand inside your underwear and collected some of your essence with his fingers. The mental picture of him licking his fingers deliciously is enough to get you off for weeks.

It didn't take long before he took your panties off and his ducked his head down. He opened your legs once again and licked one long stripe on your core, making sure to taste all of you. You sat there and watch as he hungrily takes all of you in his mouth, acting like your pussy is a full course meal and he's been starving for years.

Within moments, you've become a moaning, toe curled mess. You ran your fingers to his blonde hair, guiding him on how to move his tongue and fingers on you. At one point, he bit some of your sensitive skin, making you scream a string of curses under your breath.

"Stop stop stop."

You grab a fistful of his hair and he paused from what he was doing. You pushed him gently away from you, leaving him staring at you confusedly. The confusion didn't last long when you flipped your current position, you're now on top.

"Can I ride your face?"

At this point, you're bold and horny enough to use your words and ask him. He just nodded, sliding himself from underneath you and went back to eating you like a champ. You grabbed his hands and placed them across your chest, squeezing your breasts to send him a message. He was quick to pick up and followed suit, pinching your nipples right in between fingers while your ride his face to orgasm.

"Shit. I'm coming..."

You writhed from above him as you come undone. Your body felt cold all over. Your eyes are ringing, feeling dizzy as you almost passed out while you bucked your hips a few more times to milk your release.

You didn’t have time to recover when you heard your phone ringing from outside. Your legs felt a little shaky and you almost tumbled and hit your head in the wall if Jeno didn’t help you get up. You sat down on the floor, butt-ass naked as you frantically searched for your phone from under all of your stuff before you finally pressed the answer button.

“Yes mom?”

“Where have you been? Your father’s been looking for you at the library. He’s picking you up on your way home.”

You buried your head on the couch to shake off the buzzing feeling on your head. You placed a pillow on your body while you searched for your discarded clothes all over the hotel room.

“Oh yeah. I went to the café and got something to eat. Tell Dad I’ll meet him outside the library.”

“Okay sweetie. Can you pick up some groceries on your way back? I’ll text you the list.”

“Yeah mom. Bye.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as you started putting on the outfit that you wore when you left home.

“Where are you going?”

Jeno reluctantly got dressed as well, his shy demeanor came back as soon as he wore his glasses and fixed his hair.

“I got to go, Jeno. I’m sorry that I’m leaving in such a bad time…”

You went over to him and placed a sweet kiss on his lips.

“I promise to make it up to you next time, okay? I’d love to meet you again.”

You grabbed a paper bag from your backpack and handed it to him, waving as you bolted out the door.

After fixing his things, he sat down for a moment and took a quick peek inside the package that you left him.

It was a ziplock bag of full of cookies and a whole other treat.

You left him your two-piece lace lingerie.

To be continued.

#nct #nct dream #nct u #nct x reader #nct smut #nct jeno #nct hard hours #jeno #jeno scenarios #jeno au #jeno smut #lee jeno #jeno imagines #jeno x reader

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years

Text

Graduation surprise; BoRhap cast x reader

*Author’s note*

Hey ya’ll well I promised this fic when I posted the Queen prom fic so here it is. Now I know it’s not as long as the last one is but I felt like this didn’t need to be super long. Also as another special little fact for ya’ll I was gonna make this a Queen fic as well but then I decided to change it to a BoRhap CAST fic since I hadn’t done one of just them in awhile.

So to all seniors whether HS or college, the class of 2020 CONGRATULATIONS I know it’s not what you hoped it would be but still try to find celebration in this pandemic, you all achieved probably the greatest milestones in your life. So stay safe, stay healthy, stay sane, and be happy :) Lot’s of love from me my darlings!

Taglist:

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@queensdivas

@platawnic

@queendeakyy

@geek-and-proud

@kairosfreddie

_______________________________________________________________

Goddamn this year! Just when we think the new decade would be worth our wild, now we’ve got all this shit going on! First there was the threat of WW3, then the next month we’re dealing with wildfires in Australia, and finally to top it off why not add a global pandemic?!

The Coronavirus has literally been all over the news for months, and the fact that our government knew about it since late last year and didn’t warn us about it!? Then when they told us to be on lockdown, everyone starts hording toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and food that no one can buy said items for weeks on end.

But of course my main problem is the fact that I, along with so many other kids and adults around the world can’t participate in their own graduation ceremony. As a college student, I was just longing to finally participate in my final graduation ceremony ever. This was supposed to be my final chapter in school life and now because of this damn virus, that’s gone.

I mean yeah my diploma will be coming in the mail but I wanted my family to all be there to see me reach the end of my school life before I finally begin a new chapter. Plus my cousin’s friends said that they would come and see me and I’ve missed seeing those guys, I hadn’t seen them all since the Bohemian Rhapsody premiere.

I sat there in my old room of my house (cause since the University closed down back in March, all students had to leave the college campus and go home so that way we could reduce the spread of the virus. So I ended up moving back in with my parents) just finishing up my final paper for class.

That’s when my Zoom video chat blew up with my cousin’s profile pic. I grinned and clicked on the answer button and soon enough my cousin’s face took over my screen.

“Hey poppet.”

“Hey Gwil, how you holding up?” he let out a sigh.

“As best as I can. Though I should be asking you that, you are the one really dealing with this whole Coronavirus adjustment than I am. How’d you do on your classes?”

“For those that have said online classes are easier, they’re dirty rotten liars and completely incompetent.” He softly chuckled. “But thankfully I finished my last exam paper and submitted it just now.”

“Your dad look over it for you? Cause I know you’re a terrible editor.”

“Oi not all the time. Just when I’m lazy.” He hummed as he raised his brow at me. “But yes I did have dad review it for me. Cause before we got to submit the rough draft and my professor said I needed more analysis to my quotes on why I quoted that specific source. God I don’t know why I took that class to begin with?”

“Because you’re a criminology nut and you have been since you turned 16. God and I thought my horror movie tastes were bad.”

“Hey it’s good to be aware of shit like that!”

“Language missy!”

“Okay Cap.” I teased. He gave me his stern look which made me laugh as I fell to my side on the bed. “Oh by the way I saw that little dating app video you did.”

“And what did you think?”

“I liked it. Kinda makes me wish an app like that did exist in real life.”

“You not just pulling my leg on this?”

“No. Honest and swear to god you had me moved by your performance. Well next to you being Brian May of course.” He grinned. “I swear I still can’t get over when I first saw you in the full hair and makeup, I literally almost had a freakin panic attack.”

“And the fact that Brian was also there to witness that.”

“Oh god don’t even go there!” I groaned as I hid my face in embarrassment.

“So—now that you’re all done with school, what’s next for you?”

“Well any plans I had are put on hold till this whole crisis goes away. And I really thought 2020 was gonna be my year. This sucks!”

“I know poppet, I know. But believe me that it’s not just you whose affected by this. Everyone in the whole world is suffering exactly the same way you are.” I sighed solemnly.

“I know. I mean I should be feeling for you and the guys right now, I mean all of you are out of work till further notice. And all the restaurants that I love going to. Did you know that the little ice cream parlor you and I used to go to when we were kids shut down?”

“No!”

“Yeah, the owner couldn’t keep up the payments because hardly anyone was ordering from them anymore, even with online delivery. So she closed it down.”

“Damn, that sucks. I really loved going to that place with you. That was always our special little time together without the grownups around.” I nodded remembering all the fun times we had together in that little shop.

It was then someone suddenly popped into our conversation. The extra person now on my screen was none other than Joe Mazzello.

“Hey Gwil, mini-Lee!”

“Hello Joe.” Answered Gwil.

“Hey Joe been a long time.”

“How you two holding up?” he asked us.

“As best as we can, how about you? I’ve seen those Youtube videos you’ve been doing on your page.” Gwil said.

“You know those were jokes, especially that last one. I just wanted to get a laugh out of everyone, or have them hate me.”

“No one could hate you Joey.” I said with a smile.

“Aww thanks mini-Lee. How’s classes been?” I let out a groan as I once again flopped on my bed which made Joe laugh.

“I am just thankful that this is all over. At first I thought online classes would be easy but one of my professors was technology challenged. Another one would sometimes forget to do a lesson, and then of course blackboard could barely operate long enough for me to submit an assignment which caused some of them to be late.”

“Well like you said it’s over now.” Joe assured me.

“Oh hey I saw that Jurassic Park livestream you did.”

“Oh did you? How come I didn’t see you submit a question or just say hello? I’ve seen your Youtube page so I know your username by heart.”

“Cause I may or may not have also been working on a project. But chose the livestream over the project.”

“Nice going Joe, you’ve turned my cousin into a procrastinator.” Gwil complained.

“Hey at least she has Jurassic Park unlike you Gwilym Lee! Serious shame on you for not owning it! This is why mini-Lee is the coolest out of the two of you.” I snarked out a mock laugh as I stuck my tongue out.

“Ganging up against me okay I see how it is you two.”

“Oh come now cousin dear, we’re just messing around.”

“Messing around? If we’re messing with Gwil then I want a part of it.” Soon another picture came up and there lying on his side was Ben Hardy.

“Benjamin!” Joe screamed joyously.

“Hi Ben.” I sung out.

“Hey (y/n).” he waved at me with a wink. “Now going back to teasing Gwilym.”

“You guys are officially gonna be blocked right after this.” My cousin groaned. We all laughed when I told him.

“Again cousin, we’re teasing you. So Ben, what brings you here?”

“What can’t I pop in and say hello?” I giggled.

“I see nothing wrong with it. Oh hey get this; I finally got around to watching 6 Underground.”

“And what did you think of it?”

“The first 10 minutes were insane! And truthfully I never really understood Michael Bay films, but this one—definitely my favorite. I loved it Ben, really.”

“Well thank you (n/n). Thank you.”

“Never did I think I needed to see both you and Ryan Reynolds on screen together….”

“Whoa okay easy there (n/n)!” Joe interrupted me.

“Oi you get your mind out of the gutters! And you say it’s the fans that make what you say to the extreme.” I scowled him.

“Trust me, I’ve known him for over 10 years and he still doesn’t grow up.” Another voice stated and soon two more familiar faces popped up on screen, stuck in quarantine together in LA were Rami and Lucy. And then a split second later another face came on the screen, it was none other than Alan Leech.

“Hey, Rami, Lu-lu, Alan!” I cheered.

“Hey (y/n)!” the three of them said as they waved.

“God I feel like I’m getting spoiled, got the entire BoRhap family together for the first time in like—forever.”

“It’s crazy.” Alan said.

“Definitely.” Agreed Rami.

“Maybe when this whole thing blows over we should all get together some time in New York.” Offered Joe.

“I’m down with it.” Ben said.

“Me too.” Lucy agreed with a nod.

“Yeah, (n/n), Ben and I could fly out together.” Said Gwil.

“I’m down with that. Now that I’m done with school, I can do what I want now.”

“So guys now that we’re all here shall we begin?” Lucy said.

“Begin what? Gwil what’s going on?” I asked.

“Well (n/n), when this whole quarantine shutdown and school cancellations started affecting the class of 2020 we all felt bad that you couldn’t graduate the way you hoped you would.” Gwil said before Joe continued.

“So Gwil called all of us up via the Whatsapp chat, as well as our daily zoom calls. To gather us all together on your ‘last day’ of college.”

“To celebrate your own Virtual college graduation party!” Rami cheered. At that point everyone either threw confetti, blew on graduation blowers, or holding up signs that said CONGRATS 2020 GRADUATE!!!

I covered my mouth with my hands speechless and tried to hold back the tears.

“Ohh you guys.”

“Since you couldn’t have a college graduation party, we figure we’d bring the party to you. See not even this pandemic can stop us from celebrating our Mini-Lee’s ultimate milestone.” Ben said as he set down his congrats sign.

“And also expect some gifts within the next few weeks, depending on how the mailing services do with overseas gifts.” Alan said.

“Aww thanks you guys, you didn’t have to.”

“We know, but we wanted to. Let us spoil you even through this pandemic.” Said Joe.

“Thanks guys, this—really means a lot to me.” I wiped a hidden tear that strayed down the corner of my eye. They all awed at me that’s when Gwil lifted up a small graduation cake.

“I know, I know this’ll be ridiculous but just humor me will yah?” I smiled and nodded. He lit up the 2020 candles and held it just high enough for me to see the top part of the candles.

“CONGRATS (Y/N) LEE! CLASS OF 2020!!!” everyone proclaimed at once which made me smile and I blew out towards the screen. Gwil then blew out the candles for me as everyone else cheered and clapped.

“Thanks so much you guys. Really, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“We’re happy to do it (y/n). If it makes your day a little bit brighter in these dark times.” Rami said.

“It did Rami, it really did.”

“Well hope we can make this even better cause I’ve also got a part 2 to this little surprise. But in order for that to happen, everyone else has got to go otherwise you won’t really be able to see it as clearly.” Gwil said.

“Aww man.” I whined.

“No worries mini-Lee, your cousin added you to our BoRhap Whatsapp chat and I’ll send you a link to our zoom channel if you ever wanna chat with us again.” Joe said with a wink.

“Thanks Joe. And thanks everyone take care and stay safe.” They all waved and bid me goodbye with waves or blowing kisses at me and one by one they signed off till it was once again just Gwil and I.

All I could see across his bearded face was that cheeky grin he does whenever he’s trying to hide something.

“What are you grinning about?”

“Just the fact that I’ll be the best cousin once you see part 2 of your special surprise.”

“What did you do?”

“If I told you it won’t be a surprise now would it? Now let’s see, god I hope they get it.” He muttered the last part to himself. It took a few minutes till finally another screen popped up and standing there in his room was Adam Lambert. I fangirled in my seat and covered my mouth trying to contain my squeals.

“Hey girlfriend!” he greeted with a wave.

“Adam oh my god!”

“How’s it going?”

“It’s been going. Finally submitted my last paper. So I’m officially done with school forever.”

“Yaas Queen!” he snapped. “So how’s it feel to be a college graduate?”

“Well it’d be better if we weren’t in the middle of a pandemic.”

“Understandable, but hey you’ve worked hard for this so be proud of yourself no matter what’s going on in the world right now.” I nodded with a shrug. “And to celebrate your graduation, your cousin whipped up another little surprise for you.”

“Oh my god Gwil you didn’t!” I gasped. He merely raised a brow at me cheekily as he bit his lip back from a smile.

“Hey guys you there?!” Adam called out and soon enough two more screens came on and the picture revealed to be both Brian May and Roger Taylor. Brian sitting on his couch while Roger looked to be in his basement with his drumkit.

At this point, I had lost my shit. I was fangirling to the max at this rate but tried to calm down.

“Hi (y/n), congratulations of graduating.” Brian greeted me.

“Major achievement there love. Congrats.” Roger added.

“Oh my god…..Gwil this is—how……”

“I knew you’d love it (n/n). Plus I knew this would cheer you up after our last conversation we had last week. You really needed some cheering up.”

“So guys are we ready to do this?” asked Adam.

“I’m ready to go if you both are.” Said Brian as he took his Red Special and set it on his lap and Roger twirled his drumstick.

“(Y/n), this is for you love. Hopefully when this whole mess is over, you can finally go out there and reach your dream job. Till then we hope you enjoy this.” Roger said.

It was then both Roger and Brian began playing the tune for ‘we are the champions’ but as Adam began singing the song, it turns out that they were actually singing their new song, ‘You are the champions’ dedicated to the first responders worldwide.

But now they were playing it in my honor as a college graduate. As they continued to play the song, I allowed the tears to flow down my face as I laced my hand over my heart.

God—never did I think that through this pandemic would I be happy. From having to never see any of my friends I made in college again, to not having my whole family come to the house to celebrate, or going out to party with some of my friends. But this—right here and now, my cousin made it all up to me all the way from London.

At this point, I knew that I was officially the luckiest person in the world. All thanks to my favorite cousin, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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tearsofthemis · 4 years

Text

Tears of Themis : Chapter 1 “Social Snobbery” Part 6

[Previous Part] | [Masterlist] | [Next Part]

youtube

▌ Location- Break room

(By the time Zuo Ran ended his phone call, the break room was empty. He picked up the intermediate lawyer examination prep guide that was left on the coffee table, and flipped through the notes that she took in the pages.)

Zuo Ran: “To find a partner, huh…”

(Zuo Ran put down the book, and sent out a voice memo.)

Zuo Ran: “Zhai Xing, in regards to your suggestion that I find a partner to reduce my workload. Do you have any recommendations?”

(His message was read, and replied to instantly.)

Zhai Xing (voice memo): “Depends on what kind of person you’re looking for. If there’s no one in Themis that catches your eye, I can hire someone.”

(Zuo Ran paused to think about his reply.)

Zuo Ran: “I don’t have high demands, as long as they’re upright, persevering, and won't succumb to authority. In regards to qualifications they should be comparable to me- no, forget that, as long as they’re qualified, there’s no need for them to be like me in terms of ability or temperament. What I need is a mirror, not an imitator.” (Zuo Ran rarely sends texts, let alone so many at once. There was no response from Zhai Xing.)

Zuo Ran: “I guess she can’t think of anyone suitable…” (Zhai Xing’s reply came at last, as Zuo Ran prepared to head back to his office.)

Zhai Xing (voice memo): “You call this, ‘not demanding’?! Wake up, Zuo Ran! Those qualified to be your mirror are far and few!” (After hearing Zhai Xing’s outburst, Zuo Ran sighed. He drew his attention back to the spread of exam books on the coffee table, and brushed his finger over the cover.)

Zuo Ran: “Far and few… you say…”

~~~

▌ Location- Commerce Avenue

(On our way to QingPing restaurant, XinRan and I coincidentally met up with Xia Yan, a good friend of mine that I lost contact with eight years ago.)

MC: “XinRan said she hired a detective, it must be you!”

(A bio-engineering honors student from Capital University, abandoned his career path as a scientist, only to return as a budding detective?!)

Xia Yan: “Of course. I don’t understand why you’re so shocked, doing detective work is my lifelong passion. I’m finally able to fulfill my dreams!”

MC: “That, is unexpected to say the least…”

Xia Yan: “Then the lawyer that Miss. Xue was looking for, that must be you. It looks like you also fulfilled your goal of attending Stellis University’s law school.” (I was still reeling from the information overload, and I couldn’t pay attention to what Xia Yan was saying.)

Xue XinYan: “That’s right, it’s her. I didn’t know you guys knew each other.” (XinRan looked at us, but chose not to press any further.)

Xue XinRan: “Grandpa Fang lives on the second floor of the restaurant. He should be at home, let me call him down.” (XinRan went up and knocked on the door. I quickly composed myself, pulling my mind away from dwelling on our fateful encounter, but Xia Yan kept smiling, his eyes focused on me all the while.)

MC: “Why… do you keep looking at me?”

Xia Yan: “Even after so many years apart, you haven’t changed.”

MC: “That’s impossible, it’s been eight years, change is bound to happen. I mean, I’ve definitely grown taller.” Xia Yan: “But not in my eyes, you’ll always be my… Just like back when I was sixteen, exactly the same.” MC: “Must you speak so vaguely? Like you? Are you labeling me as a tomboy?”

Xia Yan: “No no...”

MC: “I was kidding, relax.”

(The restaurant door was opened by a man with snowy white hair. This must be Fang Yuan.)

Fang Yuan: “XinRan, I’ve already told you not to bother with the case. The health inspection team has already reached their verdict, there’s no point in investigating further.”

Xue XinRan: “Grandpa Fang, even if we must pay the settlement, we shouldn’t let those customers demand unrealistic charges. Look, I’ve found these two people that can help us.”

MC: “Hello, Mr. Fang. My name is-”

(I hesitated to finish my self introduction after I took in Fang Yuan’s exhausted state.)

MC: (Mr. Fang doesn’t look alright…)

~~~Investigation start!~~~

▌ [Examine Fang Yuan’s mouth]

AI:

“Ah, there, we can see his face clearer. But… Why are Grandpa Fang’s lips purple? According to the big data center, purple discoloration on the lips can be attributed to cardiovascular disease.”

[Select, “heart issues”]

MC: (Cyanosis present on the lip, should be a sign of his ailing heart condition.)

▌ [Examine Fang Yuan’s eyes]

MC: “He’s got pretty nasty dark circles. I bet he’s lost sleep over the incident in his restaurant.”

▌ [Examine Fang Yuan’s hand, select “bruising from IV”]

MC: (Did the countless IV drips leave behind such a deep bruise? A cardiac condition at Grandpa Fang’s age is serious and his health must have taken a big toll. I need to watch what I say when we interrogate him, it would be bad if we caused him emotional shock. It’s as XinRan said, Grandpa Fang is quite frail, and he looks tired. Considering the fact that he detests lawyers, I should hide my identity for now.)

AI: “It looks like you have come to your own conclusion, let’s finish this investigation.”

~~~Investigation end!~~~

MC: “I am PI Xia’s assistant, and this, is Mr. Xia Yan.” (Xia Yan did not react to my cover-up. Thankfully, he didn’t question it, either.)

Xia Yan: “Nice to meet you, Mr. Fang, my name is Xia Yan. My mother and father left this world when I was young, and if it weren’t for kindhearted people like yourself, there was no way I would’ve been able to attend university either. Ah, Miss Xue has informed me of your situation, and I admire what you have done out of the goodness of your heart. We’re here today because we would truly like to help. I sincerely ask for your permission to investigate your case, would that be alright?” (Perhaps it was Xia Yan’s convincing words, or his infectious and honest smile, that made Fang Yuan cave to his demand.)

Fang Yuan: “Let’s talk inside.” (As Mr.Fang let us inside, I purposely lagged behind so I could walk behind the group as any dutiful assistant would. Xia Yan leaned down and whispered by my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine as I blushed.)

Xia Yan: “You sure got into character quickly.”

MC: “I’m only pulling from the childhood experience of pretending to be your assistant when we played detective. It feels like muscle memory by now. But aren’t you curious as to why I chose to hide my identity?” Xia Yan: “Of course I am. But you have my trust, and that’s not something a little bit of time between us will change, right? I trust you.”

~~~

▌ Location- QingPing Restaurant

Xia Yan: “Mr, Fang, can you confirm that you were the one that accidentally mixed the powdered pesticide into the spring water?”

(Once we were seated in the restaurant, Xia Yan began questioning Mr. Fang. The questions that he asked were the exact same as the ones we asked XinRan back at the law firm.)

[Flashback]

Xue XinRan: “Grandpa Fang said that he was the one who sprinkled the pesticide powder, and his poor eyesight is to blame for mistaking the water source. He wasn’t paying attention…”

Zuo Ran: “He claims he wasn’t paying attention, but afterward is so sure that it was caused by his misoperation. That’s a logical fallacy...”

[Flashback ends]

Fang Yuan: “It was me. Sigh, I’m getting old, and can't see or move around like I used to. I wasn’t careful…”

Xia Yan: “On the day of the incident, when was the spring water delivered to the restaurant?”

Fang Yuan: “The spring water is sourced from YunXia Mountain, and is usually delivered everyday around 6 AM.” Xia Yan: “After the water delivery, was there always someone present in the restaurant?”

Fang Yuan: “No, the restaurant was empty from 6 AM to 8 AM. The helper and I went out to purchase produce for today’s service. The waiter, Xiao Zhao, arrived at 9 AM…” (Fang Yuan’s sentence was cut short by a coughing fit, turning his face bright red with effort as he hacked.)

XinRan: “Grandpa Fang, are you alright?”

Fang Yuan: “XinRan, help me upstairs. My chest hurts, and I would like to rest…”

MC: “Mr. Fang, is it serious? Do you need to go to the hospital?” Fang Yuan: “No, that won’t be necessary. It’s an old condition, and I’ll be alright once I lie down and rest. The restaurant encompasses the entire first floor, feel free to check what you need. I use that computer there for bookkeeping, there’s no password on it. If you need to use it, be my guest. Although, it’s been two weeks since the incident. The restaurant is cleaned daily, and any leftover food or ingredients have been thrown away. I don’t know if investigating will help, I’m afraid.”

(We watched XinRan help Fang Yuan up the stairs. The moment they were out of earshot, I turned and whispered to Xia Yan.)

MC: “Mr. Fang’s attitude back there was a little strange. Hopefully we can find clues that they missed. The sooner we can crack the case, the better. But he’s been pessimistic from the start, emphasizing that the restaurant isn’t worth looking into. The way he answered your question was barely satisfactory.

Xia Yan: “The way I see it, he isn’t fully willing to cooperate with us, the reason why we weren’t denied earlier is because he didn’t want to seem suspicious. On the other hand, food poisoning caused by ingestion of pesticide itself is suspicious as well. Since the majority of pesticides available on the market are harmless to humans, why would Mr. Fang purchase anything dangerous for use in a restaurant?” MC: “We don’t have an answer for that either…”

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[Previous Part] | [Masterlist] | [Next Part]

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《CREDIT》 Translator: @humi-and-co Editor: @hallowsivy 《未定事件簿》Tears of Themis is a 2020 Chinese otome game by 米哈游Mihoyo. All original credits go to 米哈游Mihoyo.

#tears of themis #tears of themis translations #tears of themis trans #otome #otome game #zuo ran #xia yan #夏彦 #左然 #未定事件簿

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chalantness · 4 years

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fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (1/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~9400 (part one) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: [ mafia au ] She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is.

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: This is less of a mafia story and more of a flirty, fluffy story in a "light" mafia setting, and it's loosely inspired by an edit by @kingslxyers - except it's modern day instead of the 1940's and likely won't be half as exciting as her little blurb, but I wanted to take a crack at it, anyway, because I've been on a mafia kick thanks to some of my most recent reads. There are more characters to be added as we go, but most of the major ones have already been introduced!

This will most likely be in 6 parts, though it might possibly drop to 5 or bump up to 7. I more or less have it planned out but I've already been changing things along the way with this first part so I thought I'd throw that possibility out there! I have a tentative goal of getting this done by the end of May or mid-June, but of course, there could be things to distract or delay me! I'll try to keep you darlings posted on my progress over on tumblr.

Again, I cannot stress enough how much this probably won't be the intense mafia au you've read elsewhere, but I decided I wanted to write it, anyway - and if flirting and family fluff and a dose of smut are your thing then you might enjoy this, too!

It’s been quite some time since Natasha has done wet work, but there are some things that need to be done right, the first time, and Natasha rarely ever makes a mistake.

Her uncle didn’t quite ask her to take care of it, but she knows that man like the back of her hand. Johann Schmidt is too prominent a name in New York to not draw attention if he turns up dead in the ditch of a construction site, and though most hits are meant to send a message—the bloodier, the better—there are certain problems that are best dealt with quietly, and Natasha is good at quiet. A toxicology report is practically nothing, not when the finest prosecutors in Manhattan have failed to get a single conviction off of evidence far more damning than a few chemicals found in a blood sample. But anyone with any common sense in the underworld will know exactly who’s behind the hit.

(There’s a reason they call her The Black Widow.)

Half an hour after watching Schmidt polish off every last drop of his laced tumbler of scotch, Natasha’s greeted by her father sitting behind the large oak desk she’s been meaning to replace. Technically, this office is still his, but considering she’s the one that spends the most time in here now, looking after the family’s restaurant – among other things – she wants to make the space feel a little less like a cigar lounge. This office looks exactly as she remembers it from when she was little and used to sit right there in that chair, reading atop her father’s knee while he took phone calls. Back then, she may not have understood the things he’d talk about – that he’d been threatening people and ordering hits while she could hear – but she knew that bad things were being done. That her father was dangerous. But to her, it didn’t quite matter. He’s still her father.

In fact, it made her appreciate him more, learning that he never shied away from the truth of what their family was – is – even with his own baby girl.

“Had a good night, darling?” he asks, smirking at her through the dark.

Natasha quirks her lips. “The best.” She slips out of her heels and kicks them away from the doorway, then rounds the desk, perching herself on the corner as she reaches over to switch on the lamp. “Is there any particular reason why you’re here lurking?”

If it was her Uncle Howard or even her cousin, Tony, she’d get a quip in response, something dry and witty. Aunt Maria would tease her about not needing a reason to visit her favorite niece. But Natasha’s parents, even when speaking vaguely and even when they are kidding around with her, are always terribly direct.

“The family will be meeting here in a few minutes,” her father announces as he leans back in the worn leather chair, fingers threaded together atop his stomach.

She arches an eyebrow. “To discuss what?”

Natasha already has a fairly clear idea of what would require a family meeting, though her father mimicking her with an arch of his own eyebrow gives her the confirmation she’d been looking for.

Joseph Rogers had been the head of the Four Families for as long as Natasha can remember, and they all knew of the firstborn son that he’d kept hidden away in honor of the one request that Sarah Rogers made when they went their separate ways. Something in itself that had already been unheard, since no one ever left the Families. Even if you were allowed to walk away, there was always the assumption that the Families would know your every move, just in case you became a liability. But Sarah Rogers seemed to have been the exception, and Joseph Rogers had done the impossible by keeping all traces of his first-born son tucked away from the Families. No one had even known of his name until he showed up alongside his half-siblings three days after Joseph Rogers had gone missing, and no one tried to challenge his place. Their resemblance is stunning.

Natasha doesn’t expect her father to elaborate, so it catches her off guard when he continues with: “Your uncle is concerned about Steve.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she retorts. Steve Rogers had attended a private boarding school all his life, until he enrolled in the army right after graduation, and he’d worked in private security for a few years since returning to New York.

He’s practically God’s righteous man, and him simply being here on the inside of the Families – let alone being the one that heads them – is something that has put everyone on edge. The easiest answer would be to get rid of him, except doing so would sever the alliance between the Four Families that has built them into the empire that they are. Her Uncle Howard is Joseph Rogers's best friend, which means that there’s no way any of the Families could lay a hand on Steve Rogers even if they wanted to. Not without it being directly against Howard Stark’s orders—and they all know that, even with Joseph Rogers’s son taking his place, Howard Stark is the real one in control of the Families.

“Howard wants you to act as his advisor,” her father adds, and she feels her lips part, her eyebrows raising. If she’d been anywhere else, in front of any other person, she wouldn’t have let her surprise slip into her expression so easily.

Considering that Clint Barton has remained the consigliere to the Rogers family, even with Steve as the head, she doubts that her uncle means for her to take his place.

“You mean, he wants me to keep an eye on him.” She narrows her eyes, holding her father’s stare through the dark. “If Uncle Howard doesn’t trust him—”

“He wouldn’t be free to meet up with his two detective friends for a steak dinner right now if Howard didn’t trust him,” he interrupts, pausing after to tilt his head in consideration. “Though, trust may be a strong word. But if your uncle had even an inkling of Steve Rogers being a rat, he’d have done something, even if he is Joseph’s boy.”

“Then what does he need from me?” Natasha asks, though the words are barely past her lips when the thought occurs to her. “He wants me to protect him.”

Her father smiles wryly. “Steve has a lot of eyes on him.”

“We all do.”

He nods at this. “Yes, but he doesn’t know the Families, doesn’t know this life, and he keeps the law as his company. And before you say that that’s his problem to deal with,” he adds, and Natasha rubs her lips together, suppressing a smirking. Her father reads her well, no matter how good of a poker face she has. “He’s in the Family now. He’s Joseph’s blood, and even if you don’t care for him, you’ll care for the attention he draws onto Wanda and Pietro. People aren’t happy they helped keep their brother a secret.”

Natasha knows this, of course. Never mind the fact that Wanda and Pietro grew up as mafia heirs, just like the rest of them, nor the fact that they wouldn’t be questioned at all – at least, not so blatantly – if Joseph Rogers hadn’t gone missing.

Throwing their names around is just another way people are trying to get to Steve Rogers, to get rid of Steve Rogers—and Natasha is willing to bet that keeping as much heat off of Wanda and Pietro as possible is why the man must be doing exactly as he’s advised, regardless of his own morals.

Maybe he won’t be so bad at this after all.

... ...

“Who else knew about this delivery?”

Clint Barton narrows his eyes ever so slightly in a gesture that Steve has determined as the man’s one, singular tell. Even then, it’s not much, and if Steve hadn’t had to spend hours upon hours at a time in the man’s company, giving him his full attention, Steve doubts it’s something that just anyone can pick up.

Of course, Steve doesn’t live his life among just anyone these days.

“It’s hard to say, but it wasn’t exactly kept on the down low,” Clint answers, and Steve blows out a breath, leaning back in his chair as he drains the last of his rum from his glass.

Steve doesn’t need the guy to add that there wasn’t a need to keep things quiet between the Families before now. Before Joseph Rogers went missing, and before Steve was suddenly thrust into his father’s place, after being kept from anything that had to do with the underworld for most of his life. It hadn’t even been until high school that Steve learned his father was even alive, let alone who the man actually was. Steve had never bought his mother’s explanation that scholarships were the reason she could afford to send him to one of the best private schools in the country, and, when he finally met his father after coming home from deployment, it made sense why his mother never hurt for money. It had been easy for Steve to deny their resemblance and to overlook their last names when Joseph Rogers was just an infamous face that made it into the papers.

Standing in the same room as him had been a different story.

“This may not be anything,” Clint says after a moment, and Steve catches his stare, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. Not once since he began advising Steve has Clint tried to downplay a situation, and Steve doesn’t believe the man would start now. He should feel stupid by putting so much trust in Clint, because that’s exactly the kind of thing that you’d think would get you killed in this life. Trust. At the same time, Steve is beginning to understand that that’s exactly what the underworld thrives off of: the trust that no one, not even your greatest rivals, would dare rat you out to the cops. Because among all of their gray, twisted morals, the code of silence is one of the most sacred of all.

“You think it’s just the cops breathing down everyone’s necks?”

Clint nods, lips twisting at the corner in a wry smile. “Not everything is about you, Rogers.”

Despite himself, Steve breathes out a laugh, shaking his head. It’s no secret that Steve’s got all eyes on him right now. He’d known, vaguely, that his father was a prominent figure in the underworld—but it wasn’t until the man disappeared and Steve had taken his place that he realized his father practically ran the underworld.

People don’t like that he stepped in instead of Pietro or Wanda, and Steve is inclined to agree. His half-siblings who’d been born into this life and raised among the Families would’ve been the logical choices, but they both asked him to head the Families, and so he did. Because no matter what Steve felt towards their father, he’d felt connected to Pietro and Wanda from the moment they met. They’d felt like family, and Steve decided that if this is what they wanted from him then he had no real choice but to comply.

After all, he’d gone his entire life without being touched by this world, while this was all they’d known. It’s about time he paid his dues, and it seems that the universe is inclined to agree. Steve could agree that tonight’s botched delivery might not have had anything to do with sending him a message, except it’s among several unusual and pretty damn bold incidents in the last few months since Steve came into the picture that’ve been directed at Rogers establishments, or at associates that almost exclusively work with their family. Steve may not have been born into this life, but he’s always been pretty damn good at recognizing a threat, especially one that’s directed at him.

“Alright, you two,” a voice interrupts, and Steve looks up as Wanda leans against the doorframe of the library, hugging it as she arches an eyebrow at them. “Time to eat.”

Clint’s expression softens at the edges, genuine light twinkling in his eyes. Other than his wife and kids, Wanda seems to be the only one that can draw that smile from him. The guy’s got a soft spot a mile wide for her.

Steve knows the feeling. His little sister has him wrapped around her finger like another one of her ornate rings.

“I thought I smelt vinaigrette,” Clint says as he stands, gulping down the rest of his rum before setting the glass back down on the table. Steve stands, too, and Clint simply nods at him before he heading out the door, dropping a kiss atop Wanda’s hair as he passes her.

Wanda leans off of the doorframe and glides into the room, and, almost on instinct now, Steve glances down to see which of her mother’s shawls Wanda has chosen. It was one of the few things Wanda and Pietro kept of their mother after she passed, and Wanda never fails to incorporate one of the colorful shawls into her outfit for the day—to keep a piece of her mother with her, she’d told him. Steve’s seen pictures of the woman around his father’s house – along with a few pictures of his mother, Sarah, too – and it’s easy to see how much Wanda and Pietro take after her. If he squints, though, he can see a little bit of their father in them, and it’s like seeing a little bit of him them, too.

“I already packed enough for Clint to take home to Laura and the kids, so you boys can clean out the rest.”

Steve chuckles. “We’ll try our best, but you usually make enough to feed a small army.” Wanda shrugs her shoulders cutely and Steve pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry we took so long. I was supposed to take care of dinner tonight.”

“I think you get a pass, all things considered,” Wanda reassures, glancing over at the emptied bottle of rum still sitting on the table. “Should we be worried?”

Steve’s lips twitch at the corner. “No more so than usual.”

Wanda just stares up at him for a moment, holding his gaze, and he can practically see the thoughts flitting behind those big, bright eyes of her. It reminds him of his mother a little bit, the way the woman would just look at him and know something was up. But whatever Wanda sees in his eyes, she must also sense that, at least to some extent he must be telling the truth, because her expression softens back into that smile of hers as she nods once, then takes his empty tumbler from her and sets it aside on the table.

“You had guests earlier,” Wanda adds as he offers her his arm, and Steve peers down at her as they leave the library.

The feigned nonchalance in her tone gives her away. “Bucky and Sam?” Steve guesses.

Wanda hums with a nod, tightening her hold on his arm ever so slightly. He thinks maybe she’ll give him the same speech that Clint does whenever the man catches either of their names light up on his phone—that having any relations with anyone in law, let alone being best friends with two of New York’s best detectives, isn’t doing him any favors. No one likes a rat, and even though Steve doesn’t even know how he feels about his role in any of this, he isn’t about to bust anyone out to the cops. Not when it puts Wanda and Pietro directly in the line of fire. As it is, the cops busting a handful of deliveries in the last few months is already causing talk, and it’s no secret that people blame Steve.

His sister glances up at him, blinking slowly. Steve lets out a sharp sigh. “If you want to say something, you can say it.”

“I’m just worried, is all.”

He’s not surprised. “I can handle it,” he promises.

But she shakes her head, rubs her lips together before amending, “I’m worried for them,” and, okay, this does surprise Steve a little. “If anyone gets enough of an excuse to suspect you of being a rat, they may not be able to take it out on you directly, but they certainly won’t hesitate to go after them instead.”

Steve nods once, feeling his jaw tighten. Yeah, he’s talked with Bucky and Sam about that very thing before, when he’d – vaguely – filled them in on what his father’s disappearance meant. Not only would continuing to be friends with Steve now that he’s fully involved in the Families put their lives in danger, but it’ll put their careers in danger, too. Sam says that people on the force might see it as an advantage to have some supposed in with the underworld to work for information; Steve hopes that’s enough to keep them from ruining their careers, but not enough to rile the Families up, either. It’s a dangerous line to walk, and honestly? He isn’t even sure if it’s possible.

But neither of them wants to cut Steve off, no matter how much he tries to convince them to do so—and a small, selfish part of him is a little relieved.

(He likes having a piece of his old life still with him, no matter how dangerous it may be.)

“Thank you for being worried,” Steve says, his voice barely above a whisper, and his sister smiles softly, eyes fluttering shut as he brushes a kiss to the middle of her forehead. “They can handle it, too.”

Wanda nods, loosening her hold on his arm as they reach the kitchen, and when she opens her eyes again, any trace of wariness has dissolved completely.

“Let’s eat.”

... ...

“An advisor?” Carol glances over at Maria, whose fingers have actually paused over the keys of her laptop to hold Carol’s stare before her gaze sifts over to Natasha, one eyebrow arching. “Considering I just spoke with Clint this morning, I’m fairly certain that Steve Rogers already has a consigliere.”

“I know,” Natasha says on an exhale, propping her heels onto her coffee table and crossing them at the ankles. Maria wrinkles her nose at this, but since they’re in Natasha’s apartment rather than her own, the woman just turns back to her screen and continues typing, though she’s still listening as Natasha continues with, “Trust me, I’ve tried to squeeze the real answer out, but my uncle is being particularly evasive about whatever he may be planning.” That’s possibly what bothers Natasha most about all of this. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is.

“Is it possible that this could just be about protecting him?” Carol asks, even though there’s still wariness in her tone, like she can’t quite believe in this possibility. Not entirely, at least. “Our father seems to be genuinely concerned that Steve might not be safe even from the Families, whether or not he’s blood.” Carol pauses as Natasha presses her lips together, smothering a laugh. Maria smirks. “Well,” Carol amends, lightly swirling her glass of wine around, “as concerned as Nicholas Fury can ever get.”

“Which is hardly at all, if it doesn’t have anything to do with the two of you,” Natasha points out.

Carol grins. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but Dad actually seemed… bothered after his meeting with Odin last night.” She glances over at Maria as her sister looks up from her screen again, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

“Hela has done quite a lot of complaining about that botched delivery the other night,” she adds, and Natasha breathes out a laugh, shaking her head. She’d heard about that, too, and her uncle hadn’t been surprised to hear Hela running her mouth about it even though the delivery had nothing to do with her family. It’s far from the first time this has happened, which would make it a pretty damn big stretch to assume that Steve Rogers had anything to do with this at all. But Hela has always loved stirring a little chaos in the underworld and Odin has never really put his foot down when it comes to his daughter, so Natasha isn’t surprised that the woman is making a big production out of this.

“Hela isn’t stupid,” Natasha reminds. “She may be dramatic, but not even she would be so blatant in challenging Steve Rogers.”

“No, but she’s never been good at being subtle, either,” Carol says. “She’s always thought that their family should be the one running the show. With Joseph Rogers missing and Steve Rogers stepping in instead of Wanda or Pietro, maybe she finally sees an opportunity.”

“She’d still have to go behind her father’s back to do anything,” Maria counters. “Joseph Rogers may be gone, but Odin wouldn’t stand a chance against Dad and Howard.”

Natasha rubs her lips together, considering this. For the most part, Hela has always been more talk than anything else. She doesn’t like to get her hands dirty – and she really doesn’t need to in order to get what she wants – but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like to get involved from time to time, which almost always results in a mess that someone else has to clean up before they have even more cops poking around. Still, if anyone is going to be reckless enough to start something between the Families, it would be Hela.

“But,” Maria adds, another smirk tugging at her lips as she looks over at Natasha, “whether Steve Rogers actually needs protecting isn’t the point.”

Natasha can’t help but laugh. “Is there another point I’m missing?”

“Maybe your uncle just wants you to be friends.”

Carol presses the rim of her glass to her lips, shoulders shaking with her urge to laugh, and Natasha feels herself smiling even as she narrows her eyes. “Maria.” The woman just blinks at her, smirk perfectly in place. “I think I have more than enough friends. Some of which I don’t even want.”

“Oh, I think you’ll want this one,” Maria retorts. Natasha suppresses a smile as she shakes her head, happening to glance out the window, but she feels herself pause as she catches sight of the street below.

There’s really no reason why a simple and rather bland black compact car parked along the opposite block should stand out to her. This is one of the most expensive apartment complexes in the city because of its advanced security system (rather ironically designed by her Uncle Howard’s most profitable legitimate businesses) and so any tenant that can afford the rent here can also afford an extra few thousand dollars for more than one spot in the garage to keep all of their luxury imported cars safe. Anyone that parks along the street wouldn’t be someone that lives in her building, but that’s hardly a reason for her to be suspicious when she notices the same car more than once.

Still, there’s something about this damn black car that she can’t quite shake.

... ...

“You know, I’m getting pretty damn tired of people telling me what I should and shouldn’t worry about,” Steve almost growls out, half-shoving his phone back into his jacket pocket. Behind the bar, Pietro glances over his shoulder with his eyebrows raised, surprise and amusement glinting in his stare. “Sorry,” Steve exhales, rubbing at his jaw.

“No, no. By all means, be pissed,” Pietro insists with a bit of a laugh, turning back to Steve and setting down a bottle of vermouth and another one of gin on the bar counter between them. “You know, for the longest time I was convinced Dad was invincible because he sure as hell acted like it. Nothing ever got under his skin.” His lips hitch into a grin “I know it’s what makes him good at being in charge—and you’ve definitely got that going for you, too. But I’ll admit I relate a little more to you when you sweat it out.”

Steve chuckles with a shake of his head. “I’m definitely not invincible. Not even close.”

“I don’t know,” Pietro says, pouring both the vermouth and gin into a pitcher and then stirring. “You’re holding it together pretty damn well.”

“For someone who doesn’t even know what the hell he’s doing? Yeah, I guess,” Steve quips, and he’s barely even joking. He doesn’t know how he’s getting by. Clint Barton helps a lot and so do Wanda and Pietro, but that doesn’t mean Steve feels as if he’s really getting a grasp on any of this. All he really does is handle one thing at a time.

“No, you’re doing pretty damn well, period. I would know, big brother,” Pietro insists, pouring the cocktail into the two glasses before nudging one over to Steve. “If you didn’t step in, I’d be in your shoes right now and I know for damn sure I wouldn’t be handling it the way you have and the way Dad always has. I’m too impulsive, too emotional. But you,” he says, tapping his glass against Steve’s, “are exactly the kind of person built to be in charge. You’re good at this, and you don’t have to believe me. I’m sure you don’t.” Pietro smirks at his brother, and Steve lets out another chuckle. “All the shit that’s happening right now isn’t because you’re here. It’s because Dad isn’t. Trust me.”

Maybe for the first time all day, Steve feels most of the tension start to ebb from his body. He gives his brother a smile. “If you say so,” he tells Pietro, and as they take a gulp of their drinks, Steve takes a moment to glance around the restaurant. The placed is closed between lunch and dinner the way it has since their grandparents opened it, or so Wanda has told him – and despite the fact that it’d started off as another small, legitimate business to front operations for the Families, it’s become a popular spot to eat at in the city. The hundreds of tourists that come each day have no idea what kinds of things that have happened inside these walls, and, until a few months ago, neither did Steve.

He tries to imagine (and not for the first time) what it would’ve been like if his mom had chosen to stay with his dad all these years. If she would’ve been involved in the businesses the way Wanda and Pietro are. If Steve would’ve come close to being the same man he is now, even if he’d been raised in the lifestyle. Steve used to be convinced that he wouldn’t have been, but then he thinks of Pietro and Wanda and hesitates. He expected his opinion to change about them, even a little, after he’d learned the truth—but it didn’t. Everything he came to love about them when they started seeing each other are still easy for him to see now, even after knowing what they’ve been involved in.

Which puts him in one hell of a hard spot. He’s not sure if he has what it takes to be involved with the Families, but now that he’s around Wanda and Pietro all the time, and even being around Clint and his family, Steve is pretty damn sure he doesn’t have what it takes to turn against the Families, either.

It’s not something he had ever genuinely contemplated after his father told him the truth, but considering he’d already known a lot about the Families and their repertoire of operations and crimes thanks to Sam and Bucky, it should’ve been easy to want to put a stop to it all. He could’ve had the perfect opportunity on the inside as the head.

But he can’t do it. He can’t, and he’s not quite sure what that says about him as a person, but he’s fairly certain he doesn’t want to find out.

The chime of the door front door pulls Steve from his thoughts, and he glances down at his watch (they’re still a half hour away from opening their doors for dinner) before looking over his shoulder as Wanda glides into the room.

And she’s not alone.

He’s met Natasha Romanoff before, and though it had been quick—he’d met Howard Stark for lunch, and his niece was wrapping up in his office and walking out the door when Steve had arrived—it’d been enough for Steve to remember. After his meeting that day, he had every reason to be preoccupied with anything other than the image of the woman with endless green eyes and lips as vibrant as the curls of hair that’d been swept over her shoulder. The smile she’d given him had been small and polite, but something in the way her gaze had flitted over him had lingered in his thoughts even hours later – and, as he sets his drink down and stands from his barstool, he feels that same weight in her stare as those bright eyes traces over him again. This time, her gaze is slower, so much so that it feels almost like a palpable touch as it slides over him.

“Ma’am,” Steve greets, holding his hand out as Wanda and Natasha near, and those long eyelashes of hers flutter ever so slightly as she meets his stare.

“Hi,” she replies, sliding her hand into his in a shake. “Well, hi again, I suppose.”

Beside them, Wanda furrows her eyebrows ever so slightly, glancing between them with this little smile. “Oh? You two have met already?”

“Briefly.” Natasha’s eyes flits to Wanda’s as she pulls her hand back, but then she’s peering back up at Steve, her lips tugging at the corners into a smile. “But I figured a proper introduction was in order considering we’ll be spending quite a bit of time together.”

“Right,” Steve says. “Howard did mention you would be offering your assistance, though I’ll admit I was a little skeptical about how much was offered rather than ordered.”

Wanda blinks at him, both eyebrows raised, and Steve is only concerned about coming off the wrong way for a fleeting second before Natasha tips her head back and laughs. Steve feels his smile widen at the sound of it, and then she tilts her head at him, her lips tugging at the corner in a smirk. “And here I thought all the rumors of you being a stuffy old man might hold some truth,” she says, her eyes glinting. Beside her, Wanda grins into her hand. “But don’t worry. I’m certain Uncle Howard was mostly joking.”

This time, Steve is the one that laughs – and for the first time in days, he feels some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Oh, I’m sure he meant every word he said.”

“It seems like you’re already starting to learn the ropes around here. Maybe you won’t be needing me as much as my uncle thinks. Of course,” she says, stepping around him, and Steve turns to watch as she picks his drink off of the bar and glances over her shoulder at him, “I will still be taking that dinner invitation you were about to offer.”

Wanda giggles as she shakes her head at Natasha, gliding over to the bar to take the stool next to hers, and, over their heads, Pietro flashes his teeth in a grin.

Steve walks up to the bar, setting his forearm on the counter. Natasha holds his stare, bringing the rim of his cocktail glass up to her lips to take a sip, and Steve feels his own lips tugging into a smirk. “Are you going to be trouble, Romanoff?”

She quirks an eyebrow. “If you’re expecting anything but trouble by now, Rogers, you might be in the wrong business.”

... ...

When her uncle asked her to check in on Steve Rogers every now and then to see how he’s handling things, she’s fairly certain he didn’t intend for her to end up alone with him in the office of one of the Rogers’ restaurants and making their way through a bottle of wine—but really, it shouldn’t be a surprise.

Natasha’s always been a little infamous for improvising.

“Not that I think you’re lying, Rogers, but I’m having a hard time picturing you as a scrawny little kid when you’ve got all of this going on,” Natasha admits, waving her hand at where Steve is standing at the small bar in the corner of the office, pouring a little more wine into their glasses. He glances over his shoulder at her, his eyes tracing over her body as she lounges back in the leather wingback chair, her ankles crossed and her heels propped up on one corner of the desk. She’s not drunk just yet, but it certainly feels a little bit like she is as Steve turns to her with that crooked, almost boyish smile of his and hands her another glass of wine, clinking their drinks together and holding her stare as he takes a sip. He doesn’t shy away from her stare, but it doesn’t feel combative the way she’s used to when someone looks her in the eyes and it’s refreshing.

He takes another sip of wine, longer this time, as he sits himself on the edge of the desk. “I’m told looks can be deceiving.”

Natasha breathes out a laugh. “I may have heard that once or twice before.” His lips twitch, but she can see it in his eyes that something is distracting him, even just a little. She studies his stare for a moment, and again, he doesn’t break their gaze. “Does that have anything to do with why you seem a little distracted right now?”

Steve’s lips quirk at the corners. “You’re definitely as good at reading people as they say.”

“And you’re good at dodging questions,” she counters lightly, tilting her head. “It’s okay if you don’t trust me quite yet. I’d say that makes you better at this than you think.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he asks, though Natasha can tell he’s mostly talking out loud than anything else, so she takes a sip of wine and watches him stare up at the ceiling for a moment. “Clint tells me I shouldn’t trust just anyone, either, and yet I’m supposed to trust him. I do trust him. And the Families? Everything they do is built on trust.” He pauses, shaking his head again before meeting Natasha’s stare once more. “I guess it’s hard for me to figure out what the truth is.”

She smiles softly. “Truth is a matter of circumstance. That’s something you should figure out how to accept if you plan on making it out of here in one piece.”

He swallows lightly, and for a fleeting second, she thinks his gaze flits down to her lips. “That’s a tough way to live,” he notes, his voice quiet.

She hums. He’s certainly not wrong. “It’s a good way not to die, though,” she says, and Steve breathes out another chuckle.

“Well, that’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?” he asks, watching her as she takes another sip of her wine. Natasha feels her skin tingling ever so slightly as her pulse thrums, and she’s not entirely sure it’s simply because of all the alcohol she’s been drinking. “So, what about us?” he asks. “What’s our truth right now?”

Natasha licks her lips, relishing in the way Steve’s eyes follow the motion. “What do you want it to be?”

He breathes out another chuckle as he shakes his head, glancing away, but only for a moment. Then those bright blue eyes are on her again, glinting with something she can’t quite place, and she’s not sure if she’s impressed or irritated that she’s having a hard time reading him right now. “Howard said you were going to advise me, but I’ve already got Clint for that.” Steve’s gaze flicks over her, his lips hitching at the corner. “Why don’t we start with friends?” he asks, and Natasha can’t quite help the laugh that slips out.

Maybe your uncle just wants you to be friends.

Natasha hopes like hell that Maria doesn’t ever find out about this little conversation, or she’ll never shut up about it.

“Oh, you’re definitely in the wrong business, Rogers,” she says, and he just lifts his glass up, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly until she relents and clinks her wine against his. “Okay,” she concedes. “We can start with friends, especially since my uncle expects me to spend quite a lot of time with you for the foreseeable future. Though, between you and me, friend,” she adds, earning a smirk from Steve and a small, amused shake of his head, “I still haven’t pieced together why my uncle is so insistent to begin with.”

Steve nods as he considers this. “I’ve been turning that over in my head, too. I have to say, I can’t imagine a reason Howard would have for wanting to put his only niece into the crossfire by sticking you with me. But then again, I don’t know the man that well, either.”

“Maybe not, but you shouldn’t underestimate your own instincts,” she advises, and then sighs, shaking her head. “But you’re right. I can’t piece together a solid reason, either, other than the fact that your father and my uncle were incredibly close. It’s very possible he just wants to offer Joseph’s son help that he can truly trust, but…”

She trails off, glancing up to meet his stare. He nods again, seeming to pick up on her hesitation. While that answer is certainly possible, it doesn’t seem likely. Not entirely.

“Would there be any reason I should be worried?” Steve asks almost haltingly, like he’s not entirely sure what he’s even asking to begin with, or maybe he’s just not sure how to phrase it. “I know my father is either respected or feared by everyone, and Clint insists that I shouldn’t be too worried about all the shit happening coming back to bite me in the ass, but—I don’t know,” he admits with an exhale. “I can’t really shake the feeling that maybe he’s right. Maybe all of this might actually have to do with Dad instead.”

Natasha takes another sip of her wine as she lets this sink in. It’s a pretty damn good thing to consider, especially since Joseph Rogers is still missing.

She thinks about her conversation with Carol and Maria, about Carol’s words about the possibility that Uncle Howard might genuinely have a reason to be concerned about Steve’s safety, and she catches Steve’s gaze. “Clint’s told you about Hela?” she asks, though she already knows the answer. Steve nods. Hela hasn’t exactly been quiet in how much she dislikes that Steve Rogers has taken over the Families. “If you ask me about anyone that could genuinely have it out for you among the Families, she’d be the only one. She wasn’t exactly your father’s biggest fan, either. If something happened to make it that way, it was kept on the down low from everyone, but I’ve always thought that maybe Hela had a reason for being so pissed at your father. That maybe she must’ve stepped out of line. Well,” she amends with a quirk of her lips, “more so than usual.”

Steve gives her a small grin, nodding. “I thought maybe that could be true, too. Maybe that’s worth investigating a little further.”

“Just do so quietly, and thoroughly,” Natasha stresses, even though she has a feeling Steve would’ve done so to begin with. “If you find something worth confronting her about, you’ll have to be damn sure that what you know is right. Don’t give Odin and Frigga a leg to stand on to defend her or a reason challenge you.”

“And make sure the rest of the Families have every reason to back me up over them?”

His grin widens as those eyes stare back at her, darkening ever so slightly, and she feels her pulse pick up a little faster. “If you’re always going to be this quick of a study then this is going to be fun,” she tells him, and when he laughs, she swears she can almost feel its touch across her skin.

She can’t remember the last time she felt this kind of thrill.

... ...

“I still don’t think I’m doing this right.”

Wanda looks up from her cutting board and lets out a laugh as she sets her knife down and reaches over. “Start in here first,” she tells him, scooping the crumbling pizza dough back into the mixing bowl. “When you get it to stop crumbling, you can knead it on the counter again. And don’t forget to use a little flour if it’s sticking to your skin,” she adds, taking his hands and flipping them over to sprinkle flour into his palms. Steve breathes out a chuckle and nods, and Wanda takes a moment to watch as he goes back to kneading the dough. “You’ll get the hang of this,” she tells him, and he knows by the soft smile on her face that she’s talking about more than just making a pizza.

“Yeah?” he asks. Wanda nods, giving him a smile before she goes back to chopping the herbs. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Wanda repeats, her voice firmer this time. “You have no idea how much you take after our father. It’s like you were made for it, just like him.”

“Or so I’ve been told,” Steve says with an exhale, squeezing the dough a little harder as he rolls it together in the bowl. When he hears Wanda’s knife pause, however, he glances over and finds himself pausing as well as Wanda looks at him, her forehead creased with concern as she rubs her lips together. He knows what she’s about to say – it’s something both she and Pietro have already said before – so he reaches over and smudges two flour-covered fingers across her cheek, smiling when she lets out a soft squeal and wrinkles her nose, batting his hand away. “If you offer to take my place again, I’ll start to think you’re trying to get rid of me, which is pretty damn upsetting.”

She giggles softly, plucking a pinch of flour from the bowl and tossing it at him. He laughs. “I’d never want that,” she says, and the very edges of her smile fade ever so slightly as she seems to consider her next words. “I know this isn’t your first choice, but I love that I get to see more of you now. I love that you’re here.”

He smiles, and this time, she doesn’t seem to mind his floury hands at all when he pulls her close, draping an arm around her as she wraps hers around his waist in a hug.

“I do, too,” he says against her hair, and she tips her head back to smile up at him, lips parting to say something in return, but they both pause when they hear the front door being unlocked, two voices floating in from the front of the brownstone.

Sam and Bucky.

Wanda’s gaze flits to the entryway, hesitant, but then he gives her a gentle squeeze and she peers up at him with a small smile.

Sam and Bucky’s voices grow louder as they step into the kitchen, but then they both pause when they see Wanda, their bodies stiffening ever so slightly, and Steve hates that he can feel Wanda cling onto him just a little bit tighter as if to brace herself. “Hey,” Steve greets, pulling Sam’s attention off of Wanda, and his friend gives him this wry sort of smile as he echoes his greeting. It takes Bucky a moment longer for his eyes to leave Wanda, but Steve is relieved that there isn’t apprehension in his stare. It seems as though Bucky is just taking a moment to take her in, and since his sister doesn’t seem wary just yet, Steve lets it slide. “Looking for a free meal?” he asks with a smirk.

Sam grins as he tosses his keys onto the island counter. “Always,” he says, his gaze shifting back to Wanda. “Is that garlic you’ve got roasting in the oven?”

Wanda’s smile brightens just a little bit more as she unwinds herself from around Steve. “Of course. Is there any other way to make pizza sauce?” she asks, one eyebrow arched as she picks up her knife again. “Are you two any good in the kitchen?”

Bucky steps further into the kitchen, coming to stand opposite of where Wanda has spread out on the kitchen island. “Not really,” he admits, but Wanda still pushes over the second, smaller cutting board where she’s placed the blocks of mozzarella and cheddar cheese, and Bucky’s lips twitch into a grin as he picks up the grate. “You know, Steve,” he says, still holding Wanda’s gaze, “I wasn’t really sure I saw the resemblance between you and your half-siblings before, but now it’s pretty damn clear that you’re related.”

Wanda breathes out a laugh as she shakes her head, and Steve smiles, feeling some of his hesitation dissipate.

“You,” Wanda says to Sam, and Steve rubs his lips together to stifle a laugh when Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. “If you two are joining us for dinner, we’ll need more than just one pizza.” She grabs another mixing bowl from one of the cabinets underneath and hands it to him, her eyes twinkling. “Do you know how to make the dough?”

A grin tugs at the corner of Sam’s lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

Wanda exhales a laugh as she turns back to the cutting board, but Steve knows his sister, so he knows that she’s not quite done just yet. “Might I suggest that next time you boys plan to visit, you should check to make sure my brother isn’t already preoccupied,” she advises, glancing up and quirking an eyebrow as she catches Bucky’s gaze. “He might have company far less understanding than me, especially since you’ve come to report that all of your leads have come up empty-handed in your search for our father.”

Steve feels Sam and Bucky turn their attention on him, but he looks at his sister instead, offering a wry smile as he reaches for her.

“Don’t feel too bad,” Wanda says softly as she lets him pull her into a hug. “You did well at hiding it. I’m just much better at finding things out.”

Despite everything, Steve manages a chuckle. “Dad always did call you his little witch, somehow seeing right into everyone’s heads,” he muses, reaching up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. Wanda squeezes him a little harder. “I didn’t want to say anything because I knew it was a long shot,” he tells her, even though he can see it in her eyes that she must have figured this out for herself. Still, she nods, exhaling a shaky breath. “But, since I was the only one that had police ties, I thought it was worth a try.”

“It was,” Wanda reassures.

“It still is,” Bucky adds, and both Steve and Wanda turn to look at him. Bucky nods, his jaw setting in a stubborn way that Steve has seen dozens and dozens of times before. “We’ll still keep looking on our end,” he promises, his gaze shifting from Steve to Wanda as her offers a wry smile. “Your dad’s just damn good at covering his tracks.”

“It’s kept him alive all this time.” Wanda gives a small shrug. “I just hope that’s still true now, wherever he may be.”

“It is,” Steve insists, brushing a kiss to her temple. She looks up at him. “Nothing in the world can keep him away from his princess for too long.”

She lets out a soft laugh, giving Steve another squeeze before releasing him with a shaky exhale. “Come on,” she says, glancing around at the three of them. “At this rate, we won’t be done with dinner until midnight.”

... ...

“One day when I’m sent to retrieve you from your office this late at night, I’ll be pleasantly surprised that you won’t be here,” a voice greets her with a slight drawl, and Natasha feels a smirk tug at her lips, looking up from her laptop as Tony strolls through the door. He tilts his head, peering at her from over the top of his aviators before pulling them off completely, folding them up and tucking them into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I know Dad asked you to take over because this place was a shit show before you whipped everyone into shape—which, kudos to that, by the way. The club’s doing great. But you know you don’t have to keep managing this dump anymore.”

Natasha hums, leaning back in her chair as Tony comes to stand on the other side of the desk. “What if I like this dump?” she asks, one eyebrow arched.

Her cousin scoffs. “Yeah, because it’s always been your dream to manage a gentlemen’s club.”

Natasha rubs her lips together, trying in vain not to smile. Because Tony isn’t wrong, exactly. Natasha may not do a lot of dirty work; none of them do, in fact, because the higher up in the Families you are, the less you actually have to put your ass on the line for. Especially if you truly are family. Her Uncle Howard likes to give the cops as little chance as possible to find hard evidence tying any of them to any actual crimes. Still, Natasha likes to keep busy, and she thinks her uncle knew that when he asked her to come in and clean up the club. The capo he had in charge before did enough to float under the radar, but considering how prestigious this establishment is and how many their members come from old money, the club was capable of bringing in a hell of a bigger profit than it’d seen in the last few years, and her uncle didn’t want miss out.

It’s been enough to keep Natasha occupied for a few months, but now that the staff is in order and the management has been almost entire replaced, there’s really no reason for her to still come in as often or stay as late as she does.

She knows her uncle will let her take over another business if she asks, or she can step back completely if that’s what she wants instead.

It’s her call. It always has been, but for once, Natasha doesn’t already have her next step in mind.

“Seriously, I can’t imagine having to come here every day knowing you could run into Anton or Ivan at any moment,” Tony says, and though Natasha knows his shudder is more for theatrics, she also knows the contempt in his voice is genuine.

Natasha shares the sentiment. Anton Vanko had been hired onto Stark Industries when it was barely a start-up and has been friends with her Uncle Howard ever since. The man is a brilliant scientist, that much is certain, but there’s always been something about him that’s felt off. That was something that might not have been all that concerning given the world the Starks were part of, only Anton Vanko didn’t come from that world, which Aunt Maria likes to remind everyone whenever the subject comes up. She’s never liked him, and honestly? Natasha isn’t entirely sure if her Uncle Howard likes him, either, but the man was crucial in launching Stark Industries and hasn’t given her Uncle Howard a reason to cut their ties, so everyone has let it be for now. Though, that may not be the case for much longer if his son continues being so damn reckless.

Ivan is sloppy and has a big ego and an even bigger temper. He doesn’t care much for keeping a low profile, even from the cops, and though his father is the reason he hasn’t been kicked out yet, Natasha knows her uncle’s patience is running thin.

“They’re just about as entitled and obnoxious than most of the other men that come here,” she points out. She’s not defending either of them (fuck, not even a little) but Tony has always been rather overprotective of her and she has to remind him every now and then that she can handle herself. “Although, they’ve done quite a bit of talking lately.”

“About how much they dislike your latest boy toy? Yeah, so I’ve heard,” Tony says. Natasha narrows her eyes. “Sorry, do you prefer partner?”

“Friend.”

Tony hums. “No, I’m pretty sure you don’t have any of those.”

Natasha feels herself smiling as she rolls her eyes. “Was there a point to this intrusion of yours?”

He laughs, but a light knock cuts him off before he can answer, and Natasha turns to find her mother standing in the doorway. “We sent him in here to retrieve you for dinner,” she explains, one eyebrow arched, and Natasha breathes out a laugh. It wouldn’t be the first or even fiftieth time Natasha’s been a little late to dinner. She’s always gotten caught up in things, even when she was little, and she can’t even begin to count how many times her mother or father has come to get her just like this so they can drag her to the dinner table. Even now, unless they know she has work to take care of, the family will wait on her if she’s late to their weekly dinner (and she usually is).

“Did you and Dad finally get tired of finding me for yourself?” Natasha jokes as her mother walks over to the desk.

Her lips curve into a small smirk. “I was giving your uncle a chance to sneak his granddaughter a few snacks before dinner,” she says, turning a pointed gaze onto Tony, and Natasha lets out a chuckle as Tony groans, darting out of the office as he calls out for Morgan. “You need to sleep more,” her mother chides, touching Natasha’s cheek.

Natasha tilts her head. “Are you saying I look tired?”

“I’m saying you are tired, because I can tell these things.” Her mother reaches over to close Natasha’s laptop and then gestures for Natasha to get up, and Natasha scoffs out a laugh, shooting her mother a look as she stands. Her mother rolls her eyes. “I know you save your work often, so don’t pretend that I ruined anything. Besides, you should have been done working hours ago, and you haven’t returned any of my texts since this afternoon,” she adds, and there’s something in her voice that makes Natasha pause.

Natasha isn’t particularly quick to reply, but considering how suddenly things can come up, no one else in the family is all that compulsive about it, either.

Her parents have pointed it out to her times before, but it’d always been in a dry attempt at a joke, or sometimes to chide her. It’d never once sounded like this. Like it’d been something for them to worry about.

“I’ve been here all day,” Natasha points out. If her mother wanted to, she could track Natasha’s location since Aunt Maria insisted on it from the whole family, just in case. Her mother nods, but there’s something in her eyes that Natasha can’t quite place that makes her hesitate. “Did I miss something important?” she asks, reaching for her phone.

“Not particularly,” her mother promises, snatching Natasha’s phone from the desk before Natasha can, and Natasha shoots her mother a look.

She doesn’t have a chance to respond, though, because a moment later, Tony reappears in the doorway with exasperation tugging at his expression as he points a thumb over his shoulder. “Can we get this show on the road? Because if Morgan gets a sugar high from all the chocolate Dad’s slipping her, you’ll be putting her to bed, Aunt Melina.”

Natasha smirks as her mother breathes out a chuckle, nudging Natasha forward, and Natasha catches her glancing back into the office before shutting the door behind them.

#romanogers #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #chanty writes #kingslxyers #mafia 'verse

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verai-marcel · 4 years

Text

The Light That You Shine (RDR2 Fanfic, John Marston x F!Reader, Chapter 3 of 6, 18+)

Tags, Warnings, & Notes in Chapter 1. | Chapter 2

AO3 Link is here.

Chapter 3 - Gravity

Word Count: 2130

You were absolutely humming and dancing around your shop the next day. The date had gone brilliantly; the two of you talked about the town and how much it had changed in so little time; he hadn’t been back for a year, and you hadn’t been back for two years, only having returned a week ago. He talked about living in the big city, but was vague about where he lived. You were surprised that he’d drive all the way over here to see you.

“40 minutes ain’t that far,” he had said. To you, the 20 minutes to your aunt’s place was an eternity. But you also hated driving. Or being in cars in general. Part of the reason you picked the place you lived was because just about everything you needed was within walking distance.

He had bought you dinner last night at your favorite little burger place. You had decided that if he was going to get to know you, then you might as well be up front about your eating habits. As you happily devoured your double burger cooked with onions and mustard mixed into the patties, you had looked over to see him watching you, a grin on his face.

“What?” you had asked, your mouth stuffed with burger.

“I love a woman who enjoys her food.”

You had nearly choked. Instead, you had taken a sip of your neopolitan shake and continued to eat, ignoring the heat suffusing your cheeks.

Tonight, he said he was going to let you pick the restaurant again, since you were paying. You had argued that since you had picked when he was paying, it was only fair that he picked this time.

But he was savvy; he told you that you’d know the area better than he did; he trusted your judgement.

So tonight was going to be the flip side of your food habits; a vegetarian place. It was a small place that specialized in veggie bowls with a grain of some kind. You wondered how he would handle it. You knew some guys were picky about this sort of thing, and while you had a fleeting thought that it might not be fair to judge someone based on their eating habits, you also knew that you wouldn’t have fun with someone who wasn’t as adventurous as you were.

When he showed up at 6PM again, just as you were wrapping up your work, he walked inside and looked around, marveling at your work. You had taken today to decorate the shop, put up signs, and make sure everything was beautiful and presentable. When you started, you weren’t sure you were going to be ready in time for your Saturday grand opening, but with John’s help the other day, you had a bit of time to spare.

“Place looks real nice,” he commented as he leaned closer to one of the display benches. You watched as he leaned in and sniffed the peony blossom, closing his eyes. It was such a contrast to how he looked. His biker boots were worn and scuffed, and a green plaid flannel wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp, looking black as if he had just gotten out of the shower. He wore ripped black jeans and a black button down sleeveless shirt that showed off his muscles perfectly.

“So, where we goin’ tonight?” he asked.

You grinned.

***

To your surprise, he didn’t complain; he only nodded and went with you, walking the three blocks to The Green Grill. You helped him order, and he didn’t try to mansplain or anything of the sort. He was just a down-to-earth, humble guy, and you could feel yourself falling for him more, even though it was only the second date.

Dinner. The second dinner.

Afterwards, like a gentleman, he walked you back to your place, holding your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. He had wrapped his flannel around your shoulders when you had shivered.

“That wasn’t too bad,” John said as the two of you reached your place. “Better than what I was expectin’.”

“And what were you expecting?”

“I dunno, goat food, I guess.”

You laughed at his answer. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t hate it,” you teased. Then you looked at him for a few moments. “You’re not just saying that to be nice, are you?”

He pulled you close. “I ain’t a nice man. But I’m always honest.” He cupped your cheek as he spoke, making sure he had eye contact with you so you knew his words were true.

Your heart beat stuttered at how close he was.

“Can I see you again?” he murmured, his raspy voice sending electric tingles down your spine.

“Of course,” you breathed. “If you want, you could come to my grand opening tomorrow morning.”

He suddenly looked a little sad. “I can’t, I have work.”

You nodded. “That’s alright. So do I,” you said, one side of your lips quirking up in a joking grin.

“Dammit, you’re so cute.”

He tipped your chin up with his forefinger and slowly leaned in. You gravitated towards him, closing your eyes as he closed his.

John’s small moan of pleasure as his lips met yours shot a zing of desire through your body. He stepped forward, pressing you up against the glass door as he kissed you more, his body covering yours, his hand gripping your hip and pulling you against him.

Then he pulled away, leaving you both breathless, pupils dilated with desire.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” he said, even though his face clearly said he wasn’t sorry.

“No, it’s fine, you.. That was nice,” you finished lamely.

He softly smiled at you before he took your hand, raised it to his mouth, and kissed the back of your knuckles. “I’ll call you when I’m free. I promise.”

You nodded, surprised by his touching gesture. He caressed your face delicately with his fingertips. “You get some rest. You got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.” He kissed your forehead. “See you later, sweetheart.”

As he walked away, you realized, with the pounding of your heart, that he could have easily continued to make out with you some more and you would not have stopped him. Instead, he hadn’t even given you the option to ask for more; he had stepped away to let you rest.

You went into your shop and turned in for the night, but couldn’t stop thinking of stormy grey eyes and a wry smile.

***

“That was barely enough to cover the work it took to get those cars,” John grumbled as he stuffed his cash into his wallet. Dutch had come by, dropped off the envelopes of money for the gang, and had taken off, claiming he had more work to find for them.

Arthur shrugged, but his face showed creases of worry on his forehead. “Dutch said it’s gettin’ harder to sell these days.”

“Then maybe we should find regular jobs.”

Arthur stopped walking and turned to John, who had continued to walk to his bike.

“What?” John asked when he finally noticed that Arthur wasn’t next to him.

Deep in thought, Arthur looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “This ain’t the way we was. We used to ride around for fun, took on jobs that helped others. Now, well, now we just use our bikes because they’re good for gettin’ away from the cops.”

They were both silent. They knew that the others had part time work, or worked a series of gigs to make money besides their work with the gang. For John and Arthur, the gang was all they had. Dutch was all they had, for the longest time. They were two orphans with a charismatic man for an adopted father who was changing more and more by the day.

Perhaps the silence was to mourn the loss of the life they had. But it hung in the air like a hangman’s noose, threatening to cut off their air.

John took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “I’m goin’ for a ride.”

Arthur just nodded. “I’m gonna make a couple of deliveries,” he said as he walked towards the Sprinter van.

John knew what those deliveries were. He didn’t have to like it, but the pay provided for them, so he said nothing. He knew Arthur felt the same.

Hopping onto his bike, John took off to let his mind wander, letting himself ride with no destination in mind.

He found himself in a familiar town, on a familiar street, near a familiar storefront.

***

It had been a few days since you had seen John. He had called you at least once a day, asking you how your day was, asking how you were feeling. You didn’t ask when he could come see you; you didn’t want to seem clingy. He hadn’t said anything about when he’d be coming back; you assumed it was work that was keeping him away, and you understood that.

He had yet to call you tonight, as you sat at your work bench, putting your tools away.

Someone knocked on your door.

You saw a couple of older men in biker jackets, holding their helmets under their arms. Coming up to the door, you hesitated to open it after seeing their stern expressions.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed for the night,” you said through the glass.

“You new around here?” the taller of the two men asked gruffly.

You furrowed your eyebrows. Technically you grew up here, but then you left two years ago. “What do you want?” you asked, ignoring his question.

“Insurance funds. To protect your shop against vandalism.”

“I already pay insurance,” you said, ignoring the fact that this was clearly an extortion attempt.

“This is different. Call it a special insurance.”

“I’m calling the cops,” you said, pulling out your phone to call 911.

“Hey now, no need for that,” the shorter man said. “If you don’t think you need it, we’ll be on our way.” He nudged the other man with his elbow and together they walked off.

You looked at the back of their jackets; in large letters, ODB written across the top, with a green skull inside of a four-leaf clover below it. The letters MC were on the right of the symbol.

A biker gang.

You quickly googled ODB MC, to find that it was the O’Driscoll Boys Motorcycle Club, and they had recently started moving north. They had members known for extortion and money laundering, but the club itself had never been shut down, since it was the members and not the actual organization that did any of the crimes, or so the news said.

Shit. You wanted no part of this.

You called the police station to report the incident. Afterwards, as you attempted to put your phone back into your pocket, you realized you were shaking.

“John…” you mumbled, knowing that you could just call him if you wanted to hear his voice. How had he become the first name you thought of?

In your head, you heard his voice saying your name.

Then you heard a knock on the glass and turned around.

“John!”

You ran to the door and unlocked it quickly, throwing it open.

He looked at you, his eyes taking in your state in a heartbeat. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You crumpled to the ground and started shaking again.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he coaxed, kneeling down and holding you in his arms. He rubbed your back soothingly. “I got you.”

***

You told him about the men, about the symbols on their jackets. John’s expression turned dark as you told him everything.

“They won’t quit, they’ll keep comin’ back. It ain’t safe for you here all alone.”

“I called the cops, they said they’ll put some extra patrols around here for a while.”

John let out a snort. “They’ll just wait’em out, then they’ll come back.” He suddenly gripped your shoulders. “You have any problems, you call me, you hear?”

You nodded. “Okay, John. But you’re 40 minutes away, I don’t expect you to just come riding in if I call you.”

John hung his head. “I know. But I’ll try to be here as often as I can. Alright?”

The conviction on his expression was touching, but you were a practical person. Unless he moved to your town, you were mostly on your own.

“Why don’t you stay with your aunt and uncle for a while?”

The thought had crossed your mind, but you had dismissed it pretty quickly. “I don’t want to trouble them…”

He shook you slightly. “This is your life we’re talkin’ about here! Troublin’ someone is the least of your worries!”

You nodded. “Okay, okay. I’ll call them.”

-------------------

Chapter 4

#biker au #john marston #john x reader #rdr2 fanfic #writing #fanfic #eventual smut #modern au

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yandere-deredere · 5 years

Text

food fantasy: peking duck

a/n: to make up for the fact that i wrote more abt red wine, i wrote another thing for our favourite duck daddy warning: excessive cuteness word count: 1168 pairing: peking duck x gender neutral! master attendant! reader summary: When both you and his children go missing, Peking Duck couldn’t help but worry.

Peking Duck had a big problem.

Usually, he spent his days smoking tobacco out of his pipe, minding his own business and trying to keep the children in line. Maybe, sometimes, the monotony was broken by a task or a favor he had to do but, most of the time, people left him to his own devices.

Well, most people did.

See, oftentimes, like his small line of little ducklings, you also trailed after him, your bright smile and warm cheeks just as adorable as his little children. You’d babble about anything that crossed your mind or about things that you were worried about, trusting him as if he wasn’t some dark monster.

It warmed his heart and he enjoyed having you around. In fact, he wouldn’t hesitate to even go so far as to say that he loved you. He loved how kind you were, how thoughtful and clever and sweet you were, how determined you had to be to see your dream come true.

Peking Duck was happy to be someone you deemed worthy of your time and affections.

That was beside the point. The problem he currently had was that his usual queue of followers was nowhere to be found. It wouldn’t have been so odd if it had just been you because, obviously, as an owner of a restaurant, you couldn’t exactly afford to always be by his side.

Sometimes you had to accompany an expedition (though, usually, you brought him along for that) or maybe you had to gather some materials (though you also usually brought him for that too…) or perhaps you had to make a delivery? (though he accompanied you for those as well…)

Slowly, he came to the realization that, like his children, he really was practically attached to you all the time. The excuses he made for you crumbled and his panic seemed to increase. If that was the case, then where were you?

More importantly, where were you and where were his children? He was hesitant to accept the fact that you never left his side, that was true. However, there was no doubt about it, his children never had anything else to do but follow him.

Now, both of you had disappeared? It was worrying to say the least.

Peking Duck’s mission as of that moment was to find you. After finding you, without question, you would obviously help him find his missing children.

He had already looked in the kitchens of the restaurant and in the airship and even around the house. At this point, his search felt futile and everyone he encountered either hadn’t seen you that day either or were just too busy to notice if you had come by.

“Ah, Black Tea.” Peking Duck could only feel relief at the sight of the reliable food soul “Surely, you must know where our Master Attendant has hidden? I’ve been searching for them all day.”

Black Tea raised a slender eyebrow “They’ve been doing paperwork all day.”

Peking Duck internally cursed. Of course, he hadn’t thought of that. You avoided paperwork like the plague and you hated being stuck in your stuffy office so it hadn’t even crossed his mind to check there. He thanked the beverage before quickly making his way to your office.

When he walked up to the door, it was already slightly ajar so all he really had to do was give it a gentle push. He peeked in, worried expression obvious on his face. Immediately, that expression fell and was replaced with one of absolute adoration.

You had put a couch in the office that could pull into a mattress for days where you were too tired to walk back to your room after a long day of paperwork (or for days where you wanted to take a nap and procrastinate).

He didn’t know what your excuse for today was but he couldn’t care less. You were sprawled across the mattress, thin blanket barely wrapping around your legs. You had probably tossed and turned in your sleep because your shirt rode up, revealing your soft stomach. Your face looked cute, peaceful.

Sprinkled around you were his naughty children, all sleeping just like you were.

He walked into the room and sighed though he didn’t know if it was a sigh of relief or a sigh of disbelief. Peking Duck had run around the entire compound, looking for all of you like a duck without a head. Apparently, his searching was all in vain because you had been in one place the entire time.

As he approached the makeshift bed, you let out a soft meek grumble before turning your entire body to one side, your back facing him. Some of the children were rustled and they complained with a small quiet quack. Still, you remained asleep.

Gently, he lifted his children, one after the other, into his arms, moving them so your body curled around their small little clustered group. They settled almost immediately, each one of them comfortable around you. Then, just as gently, he pulled your shirt down and smoothed your hair.

A feeling he couldn’t quite label squirmed around in his chest, making his stomach churn and his heart beat twice as fast. Something about you so vulnerable, so soft and so open, made him feel so… mushy.

Before any second thoughts could appear, Peking Duck settled himself down onto the mattress, pressing his body against yours, his arm curling around your stomach to pull you closer to him. You were warm with sleep and you felt perfect right against him.

His eyes fluttered closed, ready to take a nap just like you had.

Before he could, you squirmed, suddenly bolting upright and looking at him with wide eyes. He sighed, this time assuredly with disbelief. Just as he was about to get the rest he deserved too...

“Pe-Peking Duck!” You had stuttered out, your cheeks adorably pink as the children squawked with protests. They, like their father, didn’t seem to enjoy the fact that you were sitting up and moving away.

Instead of addressing what was obviously your silent concern, he shook his head and lifted his arm as if to motion you to lay back down “Don’t be too far from me, come a little closer.”

You tilted your head to the side, considering his words for just one second. Before you could protest, he was already pulling you down, pressing your body flush against his once again, his arm wrapping much more securely around your midriff.

The children barely complained. They too just shifted around, pressing their cute feathered bodies against you as if they wanted to be close to you, just like their father.

Softly, his voice deep, Peking Duck whispered into your ear “Never stray from me again.”

You shivered, your arm moving to hug his. Slowly, you nodded and that was all the assurance he needed before he tucked his head into the crook of your shoulder and closed his eyes.

#peking duck #food fantasy #peking duck x reader #food fantasy x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #600+#900+

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zerot0all · 5 years

Text

Like Fine Wine | M

.CHANI.

“Stop that!” You hiss for the hundredth time but his eyes not once wavered. His smile grew wider the more annoyed you became.

“I said, stop that.” Again, you tried to make him realize his actions but he seemed unbothered.

“Stop what?” He replied on a short giggle, he went to cross his arms across his chest and sit back on the chair. The paper work in front of you seemed to pile higher the longer he remained seated. Slamming your pen down and looking as angry as ever , you took a deep breath.

“You’ve been watching me for the past ten minutes,” You say as calmly as ever , even though your office door was closed and it was clearly lunch time , a nervous tick always came alive when he was around.

“Took you ten minutes to notice I was admiring you?” His deep voice always resonated with you on such a physical level , at times you weren’t aware how much he affected you - till you got home completely flustered. You rolled your eyes at his words, ignoring his fresh linen scent and his doe eyes. He was young ... but he was the one lodged deep within your soul.

“Chani, shouldn’t you be off with your little friends ? Thank you for the coffee ... delivery boy but I think it’s time for you to go now.” Your voice seemed light , professional , giving off a strong character. The secret was ... you were burning up and you wanted to scream. Something about the way he looks at you, the way his head tilts when you talk makes your skin radiate with goosebumps. The way his eyes become round as he analyzes everything you say, almost as if he’s transfixed in your aura makes you almost choke on your own words.

Chani was the delivery boy your company hired for lunch breaks and coffee runs... working in business marking for the local news kept you busy , so he made it his daily mission to always get you your americano.

His little crush ... started almost instantly. You on the other hand ... just recently saw him for who he is. His generosity, caring heart and his will to please you has opened your eyes tremendously. His physical features were a plus , even if he was adorable as hell and younger... something about the way he continued trying to flirt with you even after finding out your age was shocking.

“Are you ever going to let me take you out?” He bravely stated. He leaned into your desk , both elbows holding him in place as his chin rested on his palm. You blinked back your surprise, he’s hinted at it before but never has he actually full out asked you. You jaw hung slack , unable to form words.

“B-But,” you stutter , watching as he casually licked his lips.

“But nothing ... I like you. I think you’re beautiful and smart and... so freaking gorgeous.” He finishes in awe of your beauty as his shy self steps in. He drops his face , embarrassed in his confident attitude but you couldn’t help but smile at his innocence. It wouldn’t be bad ... would it? To give this guy a chance ... a chance you want so badly.

“Okay.”

“O-Okay? Like... like , you’ll go out with me?” His eyes grew , his smile following too. You nodded , going back to your paper work as if this wasn’t driving you crazy.

“Friday night sound good?” He went on to gather further information, taking his phone out quickly. You snatched it and imputed your number , humming a quick response. The smile which spread on his face made you do a double take. He looked so pure ... and yet, the thought that soon took over was , you wondered how he might taste? Hey, it’s been a while for you , so this should be fun, right ?

🗝🗝🗝

That was Tuesday... and now, it was Friday. Plan was to meet around seven at his favorite restaurant, so that gave you about two hours to get ready and maybe freak out a bit.

Time rolled by faster than anticipated, before you knew it ... you were being seated at a beautiful Japanese restaurant.

Chani sat in front of you, smiling like always. The flowers he got for you sat at your side in the small, intimate booth. First few minutes were taken up by ordering drinks and some appetizers but your mind rang with questions. How can Chani afford the place ... your company barely pays him. It wasn’t till after dinner , when you both got more rounds of drinks that he confessed his father owned the restaurant . Again, your mouth hung open. The news throwing you off completely.

“Yeah, I’m pretty well off... actually, my dad doesn’t know I have a job , he thinks I’m off being dumb with my friends.” He casually jokes, taking a quick sip of his alcoholic beverage. You then lift a brow.

“Why did you get a job then?” You play with the straw of your fruity drink, tilting your head as you watch him expertly. His eyes find your hand then trail up your arm to land gracefully on your neck then chest. He lingers there for a bit , taking in the roundness of your swells as he goes for another sip. Realization dawns on him , chuckling softly he avoids your eyes.

“I ... uh, my uncle is actually your boss.” He says on a nervous laugh as he averts his eyes towards the crowed restaurant. All the while , you’re trying your best not to choke on your drink. What the fuck??

“Ha yeah... I saw you at a company party a while ago and well ,” he paused , finally meeting your eyes.

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” His tone turned serious. His smile falling as his plump lips land in a pout, watching you as a shit storm takes over your features. You’re shocked. Confused. Weirded out a bit but not enough to feel gross. It’s cute. Adorable even but still ... WHAT THE FUCK!

“And trust me , I’ve tried. After a while it became tiring, so I let myself go with the flow of things. Getting the job on a whim was stupid of me but i couldn’t help it... I wanted to get to know you.” His confession seemed to ease your thoughts. Maybe you weren’t the crazy one in this case. Maybe wanting him was just as wrong as his newly found obsession with you? Maybe. Just maybe.

Instead of blowing up on him ... you giggled. Taking in the moment, Chani quickly followed. Then something clicked.

“Wait ... you tried to forget me ? How?” Not sure where the question came from but you went with it , letting the alcohol take over your soul. Chani cocked his head as his cheeks turned a little pink.

“Oh come on, don’t get shy now... you’re a little stalker , might as well lay it all out for me.” You teased, finishing your drink and sitting back against the chill wooden booth. Chani lifted a brow , amused in your actions but something seemed to switch on in his being. A sudden dark aura took over , his eyes became hooded as his lips formed a smirk you’ve never seen before.

“The way any man tries to forget a woman ... by sleeping with plenty others.” His words slashed right through your resolution, the innocence in which you held him up so high on that pedestal came crashing down.

“After a few , it didn’t seem to work. I kept seeing your face at every moment. No matter the outcome , my mind went straight to you.” You could tell the confession was draining him. He would ball his fist tightly , watching you take deep breaths ... deep shaky breaths.

“You were thinking of me when you were deep inside someone else?” Your voice shook a bit , swallowing the heated tension that which grew between the two of you. Chani licked his bottom lip, leaning more into the table to get your attention. You did the same , following his actions and approaching him. The alcohol that rested on his lips seemed to tease you, wanting to lick him clean.

“I saw you while I was fucking them. Everything about you manifested into the body that would lay beneath me ... as they squirmed in pleasure , all I ever wanted was you.” His eyes fell large again, growing with sadness as he thought back to those sad, helpless moments.

“Well I’m here, aren’t I ?” You whispered , cocking a brow at him. Realizing the fire you just lit ... you didn’t regret it. Chani smiled , his eyes once again trailed from your lips down to your chest , which heaved with desire.

It didn’t take long before you both were breaking down the door to your apartment, tearing each others clothing like animals with a hunger so carnal only one thing could subdue it.

“Your lips... so soft,” Chani breathed deeply into a kiss , his hands were a mess , going to hold your face to keep you near his mouth , and also dropping down to grip your skin. You had miraculously made it to your room without falling ... pushing Chani onto your bed roughly. His boxers remained on him still, the piece of clothing doing little to nothing for the bulge which grew beneath it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful y/n.” He whispered as he watched you strip what was left ... your bra and panties. His eyes enlarged the moment your breast spilled from their confinement’s, but his awe came from the way your skin looked bare. Crawling ontop of him, naked and completely open was a new level for him. His naughty dreams coming true right before his eyes was blinding , he breathed deeply as you began to grind down on his length. The fact that he was still a layer away from touching what he has dreamed of for so long made him moan softly beneath you.

“What do you want baby boy?” You sensually spoke , leaning down to catch his lips in a heated kiss. Chani hissed sharply into your mouth as you pinned his hands to the mattress and continued to rock on top of him, letting his clothed dick rub you. Friction was weak because you wanted to real thing but a little teasing never hurt anyone ... right ?

“Fuck... I want to be inside you ! Please , let me,” He groaned while his eyes closed in pain the longer you teased him. But beneath you, caught between your folds was a soaked strip of boxer which held back the thickening member. It twitched , flexing to free itself and touch you. Chani remained at your mercy , letting you pin him down and watch as his face contorts in desire. You didn’t take long before you were pulling his boxers clean off and going to him with your mouth. He watched in amazement as your tongue darted out to lick the tip, the engorged head swollen with need to have you. So you did ... taking another lick but this one longer. Going down to where his shaft met his balls , your tongue flicked the center then glided upward towards the leaking top. In one breath you took him whole , letting his cock meet the back of your throat instantly.

Chani gasped then threw his head back in ecstasy as you showed him just how talented you were. Between the noises your mouth was making , slurping and sucking , you couldn’t help but listen to him. His panting... deep heavy breaths of dispare wishing to explode down your throat seemed nonexisting. You continued to take his length , savoring him just the way you wanted ... he tasted of lustful need , a manly scent which entered your nose exclusively to make you moan in response.

He also began cursing you, your oral talents , your tongue technology which has caused him such pleasures. Silent prayers escaped his lips the deeper you took him into your mouth , your throat becoming accustomed to his cock.

“Fucking amazing.” He moaned into the open air, his mouth slack with each passing second needing his release sooner than later.

Before you knew it , he was hunched over, almost sitting up, his fingers tangled in your hair as you consumed his member , letting the hot white ropes of cum slip down your throat. His climax was intense , but the session wasn’t over yet.

Licking your lips clean of his mess , you went back to straddle him. His shaft fitting snug back again between your soaked folds. Your essence covered his cock, bringing the wary thing back to life. Chani took deep breaths as his hands lazily found your thighs , massaging you tenderly as you watched him gain some sort of strength back. His chest rose , as did yours. Sudden moans erupted from deep within you as you then felt his manhood flex. Chani was ready as his hands began to crawl higher. Finding your hips , he gripped your flesh , making you rock on top again, causing you to close your eyes in bliss as you stroked him with your cunt and he rubbed your clit with the tip.

“I’ve been missing out, haven’t I ?” Chani smirks as he watches you lift your hips just a little , letting his length find your dripping core.

“Are you going to take advantage of this Chani ? You gona want me to ride you whenever , and let you fuck me till I’m screaming your name?” You teased , bringing his hands up skillfully from your hips, up your abdomen to land on your perky breast. His large hands took over , clamping down on them making you hiss just as you began to sink down onto him. Chani froze , letting the moment wash over him as he felt your walls hug him.

“F-Fuck,” He groaned in pleasure as you began to ride him. His hands went back to your hips, guiding you to grind down as he tried to thrust up into you. Every once in a while, you would tighten your walls around him on purpose , loving the way he would throw his head back in ecstasy, eyes shut tightly as he murmured your name over and over.

Seconds turned to minutes , and soon the hour rounded near. Chani was lasting , young men have such a stamina , it made you crave him in so many other ways. You began to whisper his name , chanting softly as your hands went to his chest to steady yourself. Finding a faster tempo , a rougher one that had you shaking. Chani, knowing your time was close , sent a hand up to your throat. Wrapping his fingers around your delicate neck, he gripped suddenly, making your eyes roll in a sick pleasure.

“Yes... y-yes to everything. I’ll do whatever you want .. fuck... just let me be with you. Please.” His plead seemed distinct yet deeply rooted into your mind. His wants and needs have suddenly become yours ... the realization seeming dense the more he thrusted into you. All sorts of worries crossed your mind ...

He’s young.

He comes from money ...

He’s your bosses nephew...

GOLD DIGGER would seem appropriate for others to call you. But that’s not what this is.

This is different... all you knew about him was the few years off he was from you and that’s it !

“Y/n, I’m so close ... I can’t hold back. Please , answer me.” His voice strained the more you bounced on him, your thighs began to shake as your walls tighten their grip on him like a vise. Your abdomen constricted, coiling with a heated tension which needed to erupt soon.

“Answer me baby... please , d-don’t let this be a one night thing. I want to do so much more with you.” Chani finally finished saying just as he brought you down to his lips. Taking you in a surprise passionate lip lock as you both came undone. Your body spasmed on top as he held on to you, swallowing your moans as he laid still, letting his seed coat your walls perfectly.

Through heavy breathing and wet sounds , he remained inside your warm cunt. Enjoying the way you would continue to caress his length , even after orgasm. You fell unto his chest , a smile evident on your features. Chani turned slightly , making you both lay on your side, giving him the perfect excuse to look deep into your eyes. His shy smile played on his lips , his rosy cheeks and glossy face was a sign of a good time. His arms not once let you go, cuddling you closer... but what shocked him was your will to enjoy it.

To enjoy him.

“Yes Chani ... yes to everything.”

__________________

[MS]

This was supposed to be a short one shot but like ... that didn’t seem to happen. I was inspired, low key binged on a lot of Chani content last night. So enjoy 💞

#sf9 #sf9 fanfic #sf9 smut #sf9 chani #sf9 fanfiction #sf9 one shots #sf9 scenarios #sf9 imagines #sf9 kang chanhee #kang chanhee #kang chani #sf9 fanfic smut #sf9 fantasy #sf9 drabbles

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nyanmitsus · 4 years

Text

[RF4] the importance of keeping cool

title: the importance of keeping cool rating: g fandom: rune factory 4 pairing: doug/dylas additional tags: n/a read on ao3

They weren’t always quiet like this.

In the middle of summer, there was nothing to do but sweat. As high up as Selphia was, it still got unbearably hot, and if Dylas had to spend one more minute listening to Porcoline’s commentary about it, he thought he was going to go crazy. He’d excused himself from lunch and headed down to the lake, and he was pleasantly surprised to find no one there.

Well, maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise. Today was one of those days where a trip to Autumn Road wasn’t too outrageous of an idea; Dylas supposed that most people decided to head out that way instead. Maybe he would have, too, if he’d thought of it earlier in the day. For now, he was content to sit by the lake and wait for a fish to bite.

At some point, Doug had joined him, with nothing more to say but hey. He sat down next to Dylas and stayed sitting up for all of ten minutes before he shed his coat and flopped down into the grass. And it was quiet—save for the lapping of the lake against the shore—which was both a blessing and a curse. It was easier for Dylas to not have to think about what to say for a little while, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Doug was thinking about.

Not like it actually mattered to Dylas. It was probably just something they’d end up fighting over, anyway.

...Right? Right.

The first time either of them spoke was when the sun was beginning to paint the sky dusty blues and pinks. Dylas’s bucket of fish was only half-full; it seemed like not even those under the water could stand the heat, but he made a promise to Porco to at least come back with something.

“I feel like an ice cream cone,” Doug said, and Dylas was entirely too focused on the charming lilt of his voice than what he was actually saying. “Except, like, in a puddle on the ground. A melted ice cream cone.”

Dylas looked away from the water, examining Doug from head to toe. Still completely intact, even with the shed coat and discarded boots. “You’re not melted, rice brain.”

Doug laughed. “Rice brain? What kinda insult is that?”

“The kind for you,” Dylas said. “Your brain’s only as big as a grain of rice.”

Doug rolled his eyes, and Dylas turned back to the water.

Times like these were when Dylas really didn’t know whether he and Doug liked each other or hated each other. They spent so much time hurling insults at each other, but Dylas almost felt like he trusted Doug more than anyone else in this town, despite everything that had happened before. He knew that if he told Doug something secret, Doug would carry it to his grave. Likewise, he’d do the same for Doug.

But it was just too hard to read that damn dwarf! Sometimes Dylas would catch flashes of expressions across Doug’s face that didn’t seem intentional, but he just didn’t understand him. He talked so much about girls and being bored and wondering what he was going to eat next, but Dylas was always left wondering if any of those things actually interested Doug past a surface-level sort of interest. And if Doug didn’t care much about those things, then what did he care about?

Dylas didn’t even know how to approach a subject like that. He’d learned from Lest that there are some things you can’t just ask outright, and that definitely seemed like what Lest was talking about. But Lest was impossibly good at figuring things like that out—it’d taken Dylas nearly a whole season to even recognize that he and Doug were kind of friends.

He shook his head. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to think about stuff like that. He had fish to catch, anyway, even though it felt like nothing had bitten in the past half hour.

He decided to give himself ten more minutes: it was way too hot, still, to wait for ten more minutes, but whether or not he caught something, he was going home. And when those ten minutes were up, he kept his word, standing and collecting his bucket and his fishing rod.

“We’re leaving,” Dylas said, lightly kicking Doug in the side. “Get up, or I’ll leave you here.”

Doug was quick to collect himself, tossing his coat over his shoulder. “Felt like I was laying there for hours. Want me to carry that?”

“I’ve got it. And you were laying there for hours.”

The sun hung even lower in the sky by the time they reached the restaurant, but only because they stopped to talk to Lest on the way back. It seemed like the heat didn’t bother him, even though he’d been working all day. He was telling them all about how he and Dolce were running deliveries all day for someone named Eliza. Somehow, Doug had gotten hold of the bucket during the conversation, and he held it with both hands in front of him, swaying back and forth.

They said goodbye to the prince and resumed their walk back to the restaurant. The same sort of silence from the lake fell over them again. Doug was smiling, though; he didn’t look bored or like he was searching for something to say. Was he really content just taking a walk with Dylas?

No one was inside the restaurant when they arrived—aside from Arthur, maybe—and Doug set down the bucket in the kitchen as instructed. He lingered for a moment, looking like he had something to say.

“You can stay for a little,” Dylas blurted. “Until the sun goes down. So it’s not as hot when you go back.”

Doug raised an eyebrow, like it was completely outrageous that Dylas would extend any sort of kindness towards him, but he nodded. “Works for me.”

“I just don’t want to hear you whining about how hot it was.”

“I don’t whine! You’re way more of a whiner than me!”

“Am not! Did you hear me complain at all about the heat?”

Doug thought about it, just for a few seconds. “Well, no, but you looked so damn miserable hauling that bucket back here that you were practically whining. It was all in the eyes.”

“The hell you lookin’ at my eyes for?”

Doug stammered, but then it was silent again. He didn’t look at Dylas. Instead, he was looking somewhere off to the side, probably trying to come up with some sort of explanation. The thought of there being any sort of explanation made Dylas feel all kinds of strange. It’d be easier to accept that it was just some weird offhanded remark. Maybe it was just a dwarf thing. Or maybe it was something else.

No matter what it was, Dylas didn’t want to know, and the more time Doug had to think about it, the closer an answer came. So Dylas decided to talk about the first thing that came to mind.

“Porco makes ice cream in the summer,” Dylas said, like it wasn’t a fact Doug knew well. “You want one?”

Dylas could almost see Doug’s train of thought crash and burn at the mere mention of ice cream. The topic of Dylas’s eyes was completely abandoned, and they were back to their usual back-and-forth about whatever Doug had to start mouthing off about. It seemed like he’d done a lot of thinking while he was staring at the clouds earlier, and Dylas was half-sure that Doug was just spouting hot air rather than trying to pick a fight.

Still, this felt normal, and normal was something Dylas could handle.

(It was so hot that the ice cream started to melt when they’d barely started eating it. Dylas decided that it must have been the very same heat that warmed his cheeks whenever he thought about staring into Doug’s eyes—or rather, glancing to the side and catching Doug staring at him. He wondered how many of those moments he’d missed in the time they knew each other. He wondered if he’d catch them now that he was paying attention. He wondered if Doug felt the same heat, the same blush, the same feeling in his stomach like there were a bunch of wasps trapped in there instead of the butterflies he’d read about in books and heard about in songs.)

Dylas was sure he’d wiped the same empty table about six times over.

It’d been a few days since he’d had that whole conversation with Doug, but things with him seemed to be normal. They didn’t talk about Dylas’s eyes again, and Dylas wasn’t even sure if that whole thing crossed Doug’s mind nearly as much as it crossed his.

Maybe it was just a ridiculous thing to focus on. If Doug wasn’t thinking about it, then there was no reason for Dylas to be focusing on it either. Right now, anyway, Dylas had to focus on wiping the table for the seventh time. He could see his reflection in it already, but if he looked too bored, Porcoline would surely give him something else to do, and that something else had enormous potential to be something ridiculous. Or just plain unappealing, like going out to pick berries or flowers when it was twice as hot as the day he’d gone fishing.

Arthur walked in from the other room while Dylas was in the middle of his eighth table-wiping, and it was the most activity the entire place had seen for the past hour. Porcoline even stopped his singing to say hello.

“Are you hungry?” Porcoline asked. “You keep yourself cooped up in there all day and all night! You must be hungry.”

“No, I’m alright,” Arthur said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s quite hot today, though. I was wondering if it was cooler on this side of the building.”

Porcoline shook his head. “I can’t say it is. But! What I can say is that you should one-hundred percent stick around for a hot minute, as my darling Dylas has to go on a Porcomission starting right now!”

That seemed to perk Arthur up. He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Dylas, what sort of mission are you going on?”

“Not one I was aware of,” Dylas said, tossing his rag over his shoulder and meeting the two at the counter. “What do you want?”

Porcoline spun around in much too big of a circle than was actually necessary, retrieving a basket that sat by the window. It looked rather delicate, and its contents were covered by a red and white checkered cloth. Knowing Porcoline, it was some sort of care package.

“I’ve prepared the most special soup in the entire world! Or at least this side of the world. You must take this to Blossom, okay?” Porcoline asked, with an unusual sort of seriousness. “Arthur has no problem covering for you until you get back. And if she offers you money, do not take it.”

Dylas wasn’t sure when Arthur volunteered himself for something like that, and by the look on the blond’s face, he didn’t know either. But Dylas knew he was more willing to take a walk in the heat than Arthur was, anyway, so he took the basket and started on his way.

The air felt hot even when Dylas breathed. It was no surprise that not many were willing to head all the way to the restaurant for a bite to eat. The path to the general store was pretty empty, save for a few tourists sitting with their feet in the river. Amber was around, too, looking like she was about three minutes away from wilting.

It was somewhat cooler when Dylas stepped inside the store. Doug was fiddling with something behind the counter, but it must not have been very important. He was staring off into space, and he didn’t even realize Dylas was standing there until Dylas cleared his throat.

“Hey!” Doug greeted him without half as much of his usual energy, looking like he was about to die of boredom. He probably was. “Why are you here?”

“None of your business,” Dylas said. “I have a delivery. It’s not for you.”

“Fine, don’t save me from the icy grip of death. Granny Blossom’s upstairs.” Doug came out from around the counter, and Dylas stepped back. “I’m not gonna hit ya. I just wanna take a peek.”

“No.”

“What? Why not?!”

“You’ll mess it up, you stupid dwarf! Porco said it was special!”

“I won’t mess it up!” Doug huffed. “Alright, keep your secrets. See if I care!”

At some point during all of that, Dylas had ended up looking at the ground. But when he looked up, Doug was staring straight into his eyes. He looked hurt. Like Dylas had wronged him far greater than refusing to let him look into the basket.

It hardly lasted a second, and Doug’s eyes flitted away towards the stairs, where Blossom was slowly descending.

“I thought I heard some commotion down here,” she said, a smile growing on her face. “You’re looking well today, Dylas. What brings you all this way?”

“I-It’s not that far,” Dylas said. He held the basket out in front of him. “Porco told me to bring this to you.”

He wasn’t sure why someone would need soup on such a hot day, but as he passed it to her, he felt her icy hands touch his, and it all made sense. She pushed aside the cloth, and inside, there was a jar of soup, two pieces of bread, and two different types of onigiri. Porcoline must have taken Doug into consideration, too.

“Oh, my! This is so lovely.” Blossom smiled and stretched out her hand. Dylas took it as a sign to lean down a bit so she could touch his cheek. “Aren’t you such a sweet boy?”

Doug snickered off to the side, and Dylas shot a glare at him.

“There’s something here for you too, Doug,” Blossom said, placing the basket on the table. “See, your friend cares about you just as much as you care about him.”

Doug laughed a little louder at that. “Me? Care about that guy?! I’d rather die!”

Dylas never in a million years thought hearing something like that from Doug would hurt, but it did, and he was pretty sure it showed on his face with the way that Doug’s expression changed to something unreadable. Concern? Regret? Dylas didn’t know and didn’t care, and he said his goodbyes and walked all the way back to the restaurant before he punched something.

Or more like some one. Really, he wanted to punch Doug. He also didn’t want to punch Doug at the same time, because he wanted to do something else, too, but punching was the thing that Dylas felt like he could actually do.Something like asking what Doug meant by preferring death over admitting whether or not he cared about Dylas was completely out of the question—Dylas already knew right now that he wouldn’t be able to do that even if he went back right now, fueled by adrenaline.

The restaurant was still as empty as it was when Dylas left. Margaret was there now, too, and her, Porcoline, and Arthur were all crowded around the counter. Their conversation stopped when Dylas walked in.

“Welcome back! Did she absolutely love it?” Porcoline asked.

“Yeah, she was happy,” Dylas said.

“Did Doug absolutely love the goodies I snuck in there for him? How was Doug?”

“He was awful, as usual.” Dylas rolled his eyes. “I can’t deal with him.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Margaret said, touching a gentle hand to Dylas’s shoulder. “He’s not horrible! I know you know that.”

“Whatever.”

Dylas picked up his rag again. He was sure that the table was due for its ninth scrub now that he’d left it for a little while. Porcoline started up some weird conversation about something Dylas didn’t understand, and Arthur excused himself shortly after that got started. Margaret started tuning one of her instruments, only half-listening to Porcoline’s monologuing.

Business didn’t pick up again until the evening, and even then there were no more than five customers. It was a good enough distraction, though. Dylas had managed to get his mind off of Doug for almost the entire rest of the evening.

(He didn’t think about him until he was starting to fall asleep. His bedroom was way too hot, even with the window open, so he had no choice but to think about it. The look in Doug’s eyes was what got to him. Was that what Doug meant about it all being in the eyes? Doug hadn’t said anything else, but after thinking about it so much, Dylas felt like he could get a good idea of what was going through his head just by looking into his eyes. And as he fell asleep, he ended up committing each silver tone in those eyes to memory.)

“Today’s the Firefly Festival!”

Porcoline’s voice rang out through the entire restaurant. It didn’t really need to, considering Dylas was about five feet away from him, but if he needed to make sure every nook and cranny of the building heard him, then he was going to do it to the best of his ability.

“And?” Dylas asked, a bit flatly.

He didn’t know what the Firefly Festival had to do with him, unless Porcoline just thought he was daft and was making sure he knew it was today. Dylas was pretty good at keeping track of festivals, though, and Porcoline knew that, so it must have been something else.

Dylas was fond of festivals, but on this one, he usually watched the fireflies by himself. He didn’t have anyone special to watch them with, and it was somewhat nicer to find a quiet spot where he could sit and watch them fly around without the pressure of talking to someone else about it. It was probably a dreadful way of spending such a romantic holiday, but really, who was he supposed to spend it with? Doug?

...The thought sent chills down Dylas’s spine, and he wasn’t sure if they were bad chills or good chills.

“Hello? Aren’t you excited?” Porcoline asked, his face falling a bit.

Dylas shrugged. He couldn’t meet Porcoline’s eyes like this. “It happens every year.”

“Yes! Every year we get to see those scrumptious little lightning bugs, and every year I am so very excited!” Porcoline crossed his arms. “What’s got you being such a sourpuss?”

Now that was a good stopping point. Dylas trusted Porcoline well enough, but he really did not want to get into whatever was going on with Doug. Not with Porcoline or anyone—besides, if it was like one of their usual fights, it’d clear itself up in a few days, and neither of them would even remember it by next week.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So there is something,” Arthur said, and Dylas nearly jumped out of his skin. When did he even get here?

“Who asked you?!” Dylas took a step back, nearly bumping into Margaret.

She thwacked him quickly on the back of his head. “You need to get yourself sorted out, Dylas. It’s not like you to get like this.”

“I have a wonderful idea!” Porcoline said. “You can clear your head by helping Arthur today! Wouldn’t that be a treat, Arthur? You’ve got a nice, strong boy to do all the heavy lifting for you.”

Dylas never actually agreed, but Arthur swept him up faster than he could protest to it. They met up with Lest along the way, and the three of them were off to Dragon Lake in no time—which appeared to have gotten a facelift since the last time Dylas was there, and that was hardly more than a week ago.

“You don’t have to stay for the actual festival if you’d prefer not to,” Arthur said. “I just need you beforehand, so if you’ve got any business to take care of after that, then please feel free.”

The way Arthur looked at him made Dylas feel like he knew a lot more than he let on. And while Arthur’s gaze was sharp and knowing, Lest’s eyes were wide and asked a million questions. The two looked at each other, and Lest seemed to understand whatever Arthur did. When did these two get so close?!

“You can do it, Dylas!” Lest said. “I believe in you!”

“Weirdo,” Dylas scoffed, but Lest smiled, and it almost made him feel better.

Evening came quicker than Dylas thought it would, the fireflies settling into the venue just as he finished preparing the last booth that Arthur had given him to work on. The area was more flooded with tourists, too, most choosing to sit by the lake or in front of the small stage Arthur and Lest (more Lest than Arthur, really) had spent all day on. Margaret was currently setting up to sing; it was no surprise that dozens and dozens of men were sat waiting for her. It made Dylas bristle a bit.

Regardless of what Arthur had said about leaving, Dylas figured he could stay for a little while. There were so many unfamiliar faces that he didn’t expect someone he actually knew to find him very easily, which, of course, made it a little easier for Dylas to relax.

Margaret’s song began, and the fireflies were drawn to her voice. The lanterns they’d set up earlier were rendered almost useless with how much light the bugs gave off. In the distance, standing near the stage, Arthur seemed quite pleased.

“I caught one!”

Somehow, Doug was in front of Dylas now, cupping a firefly in his hands. He grinned, holding it up to Dylas’s face. The firefly stood in Doug’s hands for a moment, almost as if it were staring at Dylas, before it flew away and joined the rest.

“What do you want?” Dylas asked flatly.

“Can I stand here with you?” Doug asked. “It’s kinda lame to watch these all by yourself.”

Dylas didn’t say anything. He just nodded, chest tight, and Doug stood much closer to him than he probably usually would have. Maybe it was the crowd. Maybe it wasn’t.

Margaret continued to sing, and when Doug got bored of standing still, he started to catch whichever firefly flew too close. He let Dylas hold one of them. Things almost felt normal, and Dylas felt stupid for expecting this fight to be any different than their usual. Saying sorry was tough for both of them, anyway, so it was probably best that they didn’t try.

Still, Dylas felt like there was something missing. Doug’s voice didn’t carry the life it usually did. Dylas couldn’t find it within himself to argue like they usually did. Nothing was the same at all, now that Dylas really thought about it, and it was weird and scary and Dylas didn’t want to lose what they’d built together, even if it was a careless little thing with a foundation of bickering and secret gifts and making sure the world knew they hated each other.

Dylas didn’t hate Doug. He never had.

Margaret’s song finished, and they were quiet, still, in the interim. Dylas had a million words to say that wouldn’t come out right even if he wrote them down and read them off. Doug looked like he had something to say too, but knowing him, he wouldn’t say it anytime soon.

Arthur was on the stage next, thanking everyone for coming and starting something about a beach beauty contest.

“That’s my cue to leave,” Dylas said.

“I’ll see you home,” Doug said, a little too quickly. “I mean, you’ll probably get lost or something in the dark. And I can see better in the dark. Duh.”

Dylas decided to just start walking, and if Doug followed, then he followed. The crowd was a little thinner now that it was later, but not by much, and Dylas instinctively kept checking behind him to make sure they didn’t get separated.

He nearly ran into Porcoline during one of these checks. The man put his hands on Dylas’s shoulders to steady him.

“Oho? Leaving early?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Have fun, you two. Not too much fun.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Dylas snapped.

“Oh, nothing! Au revoir!”

Porcoline was away in a whirl, and Dylas felt like maybe something was up there, but Arthur was starting to announce the participants of whatever stupid contest he made up, and Dylas continued on. There were still people milling around just outside of the lake area, and Doug grabbed on to his sleeve at some point to make sure they’d stay together.

The crowd didn’t thin until they’d gotten past the castle square. He felt like he could breathe a little easier on the east side of Selphia, even if each breath was full of the flowery fragrance of Illuminata’s shop. The fireflies seemed even more plentiful with no one around.

They were halfway across one of the bridges when Doug finally spoke up.

“I wanted to apologize. Kinda,” he said, leaning against the railing.

“You wanted to kinda apologize?”

“I’m bad at this sort of thing, okay?” Doug looked away, staring at a point in the water. “Sorry for what I said.”

Dylas was silent—he didn’t expect an actual apology, especially since Doug said it would only be a kinda apology. The dwarf seemed sincere, though, even with his crossed arms, even with how he fiddled with a button on his coat. He took a breath, like he was going to say something, but he closed his mouth.

He looked at Dylas, then looked away, then looked at him again and said, “Actually, I-I care about you way too much. So I kinda lied when I said that thing before.”

Dylas’s breath caught in his throat. “Y-You…”

“Granny Blossom said it’s best if I just say what I feel. Just to you. So I’m gonna say it.” He breathed in, breathed out, uncrossed his arms. “I like you. You don’t have to say it back.”

“I-Idiot!” was the first thing that came to Dylas’s mind. Doug flinched, and he added, “Wait. Sorry. I…”

Doug shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. I just needed to tell you. Don’t worry about—”

“No, I called you an idiot ‘cause you…” Dylas shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Did you think I wouldn’t say it back?”

Doug’s eyes widened. In the glow of the fireflies, his cheeks were pink. “Well, yeah, we kinda have that rivalry going on.”

“I’m not a good talker,” Dylas said, “so you’re gonna have to keep dealing with that. But I li-li-li—Dammit! This is so hard!”

“Don’t force it like that! It’s fine, I getcha.” Doug grinned, clapping Dylas on the shoulder. “Cool! I didn’t think we’d be on the same page. I’m gonna kiss you now. I mean—can I do that? Do you want to—”

Doug’s lips were warm and kind of soft and Dylas had to tilt Doug’s face up so they could kiss properly. Dylas was way better at this—at kissing, at showing what he felt—than talking, and he was glad Doug was used to that by now. At some point during the kiss, Doug wrapped his arms around Dylas’s neck, and they parted for a moment before another long kiss.

A galaxy of fireflies surrounded them, and their moment felt like forever. Even when they parted for good, Dylas just wanted to stay close, to touch Doug’s face and brush away the fireflies that landed in his hair. Doug was whispering a whole bunch of things, but Dylas could only focus on how each high and low sounded like music, and if Dylas could capture it on paper, he’d want to play it for the whole country.

It was much cooler at night. Standing so close to someone seemed like it’d be too hot of an activity for summer, but it was quite comfortable like this.

The world only resumed when they heard Lest’s voice in the castle square, and they both figured out it’d be better to get out of there before the crowds followed.

(They walked hand-in-hand the rest of the way to the restaurant. There was ice cream in the freezer, and it was much easier to talk to Doug now that everything was pretty clear between them. They talked for hours, about the fireflies, about the feelings they’d been holding back, about everything, and the next time they kissed, Doug tasted like vanilla, and all of it made Dylas feel like things were going to be fine between the two of them for a very long time.)

The minute Dylas came down the stairs the next morning, Porcoline asked, “No Doug?”

Dylas felt like he was going to die right then and there. “No,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Why would Doug be here?”

Porocline batted his eyelashes. “It was such an innocent question.”

“Not when you say it.”

“But you did leave the festival with him, did you not?” Arthur asked. “During the main event. I’ve got very sharp eyes.”

“Just because I left with him doesn’t mean he came here!” Dylas huffed. “How the hell would you know that anyway?”

“Well, it was a guess.” Arthur took a sip of his tea. “Thank you for confirming it, though.”

Margaret finally looked up from tuning her harp. “We’re so happy for you guys! Porco’s been waiting for this for weeks. You seem like you’re a lot happier, too.”

Dylas scowled. “I didn’t even say anything about what happened! You’re all the worst!”

“Oh, do tell us!” Porcoline urged. “I’ll make a delectable carrot stew if you tell us every single detail.”

In the end, Dylas didn’t tell them much. He cut his losses and kept it simple: he and Doug were a thing now, and that was that. If he said any more, then Porcoline would tell everyone, and he’d rather have the short and simple version be spread across the town by noon.

(Doug showed up to hide in the restaurant’s upstairs at around one o’clock. Something or other about getting way too much attention about the whole thing, and Dylas joined him when the usual lunch crowd came in with more questions than Dylas had answers. He joined Doug in sitting on his bedroom floor, and Doug took his hand, and he was perfectly content waiting there until everyone’s excitement died down. The summer sun shone through the window, and Doug let his head fall against Dylas’s shoulder.)

(With Doug, the heat didn’t feel so bad.)

#rune factory 4 #doug dylas #doug rf4 #dylas rf4 #mezzosaka xpost

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bangtanfancamp · 5 years

Text

Boyfriend Jimin

I have wanted to write this for AGES!!! Jimin is the sweetest boy. Please enjoy, all my soft stans and hard stans alike- we all need a little fluffy Jimin love in our lives. ✨

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masterlist

Jimin x reader

2k words

Fluff, implied smut? But not really ? (He’s an affectionate boy)

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Can you imagine being loved by Jimin? The boy with so much bright, effervescent, contagious joy that the entire solar system spins around him? All you’d ever want to do was sit and bask in the light of it- and watch as the sun rays in his smile illuminate every dark corner in the room and brighten every corner of your heart.

The adoration he’d shower you in….

For being HIS precious person

For being HIS girl

For just existing at all-

He’d just be in awe of you. All the time. Jimin would be in love with the fact that you were even breathing. He’d be enamored with waking up beside you on sunlit mornings. His eyes soft with sleep, he’d press close to you, still buried beneath mountains of duvet and cotton. He’d watch every exchange of oxygen your lungs made, lost in wonder at how every piece of you fit together.

His sweet mouth would blow at your bangs that had become wavy in sleep and giggle breathily to himself when your eyelashes fluttered because of him. You’d scrunch your face into the pillow to escape, and he’d only laugh more.

You’d be stirred awake by the most joyous sound God ever made and slowly peak one eye open to catch him all ready beaming at you, his face radiating more light than the sun...

To be met with that much infectious life as soon as you woke up? What glory. What a wonder. Your smile would blossom into this massive gorgeous thing you couldn’t keep hidden if you tried. Not around him. Never around him. Joy would be your currency and you’d be millionaires every day.

“Jagiya, you’re awake”-would slip from his mouth as he leans down to softly brush his nose against yours.

“I missed you.”

He’d bury himself into the curve of you, pressing soft kisses to every corner of your face as you giggled wildly, squirming and hiding under the sheets.

“But I’ve been right here all night!” you’d protest. But you’d know exactly what he means. Even the time sleeping is too long away from him. He’d finally snatch your waist up and pull you into him, giving you no way to escape and you wouldn’t want to anyway….then you’d kiss him first. His eyebrows would shoot up in shock, jaw slack as he teased you before playfully attacking back with kisses of his own- silly and light before they become deep and sweet. You'd would crawl on top of him at 8am, squish his cheeks together and kiss him. Kiss him for all he’s worth and just savor him. Sink into it and enjoy it and bite his lip just to taste his smile as he laughs.

Jimin is the boy who isn’t afraid to start dancing in a shop or on a sidewalk when he hears the opening bars of his favorite song. It would be so completely over top but so incredibly good that wouldn’t be able to deny him. You’d laugh and shake your head at him, impossibly in love with your boy. You’d sink into the pull of his fingertips when he swings you close to dance with him in the middle of the mall food court.

Foreheads pressed together

Hips swaying in time

Cheeks pressing your eyes shut as your smiles grow too wide for your faces to contain.

Jimin is the boy who runs off ahead of you. Excited about everything. Pulling you across the world by your hand and insisting that you try food he can’t stop raving about. When he finally gets to take you to his favorite restaurant, he’d pick up a piece of the food he hasn’t shut up about to feed you, letting the tips of his fingers drag over your lips when he pulls away-leaving you dizzy in the best way.

He’d get scared in movies and jump out of his seat, clutching at your sweater. You’d fail at stuffing down your laughter as the people around you knock your seats to hush you both. You’d press a kiss into his hair as he hides in your shoulder and afterward, when you meet up with friends, he’d deny any of it happened, bribing your silence with your favorite dessert.

He’d insist you try on clothes he knows would look good on you even when you’re tired of shopping and ready to go home. You’d resist, and he’d push you by your shoulders into the fitting room, standing proudly and blocking the door if you tried to get out. “Trust me, this will look amazing on you,” he’d promise, as you huffed behind the door.

He’d only leave his spot once you’d chucked your jeans and T-shirt out to him, him laughing wildly as you whined about not being able to escape. You’d grumble your way into it, muttering how it wasn’t your style and did he even know you at all, until you slipped it on and realized he’d never let you live down how right he was.

You’d roll your eyes and unlock the stall, bracing yourself for smugness but instead, you’d be greeted with silence and wonder. Jimin’s features bathed in stunned admiration as you walked out in the dress. “That looks- you’re...I mean...beautiful….”

The press of his hands to your waist is delicate but insistent. His eyes are overcome with pride and awe and reverence. “How do you even exist?” he’d whisper, a darkness rolling over his pristine angelic features until the store attendant threatens to make you leave if he makes out with you in the store. You’re both mortified until she walks away.

You’d both fall into laughter so hard that you almost strain something and you whip back into your old clothes and leave arm in arm before anyone else can see you.

Jimin is the boy who surprises you ALL THE TIME. He’s so full of so much love that he can barely contain that he can’t bear to waste another second not expressing that to you. He never overthinks things. He just goes. And that’s how he loves you-

Instinctually without hesitation. He sees something you’d like and instantly buys it. He goes back for the dress you left behind and leaves it on your bed for you to find when you get home.

He figures out how to build that Pinterest project you’ve had your eye on and he makes a Saturday project out of the two of you putting it together- which goes great until he gets frustrated, and you end up cheering him up with a splatter ridden paint fight and the best new memory.

You text him about craving that one smoothie at that one place you went to a week ago, and your doorbell rings five minutes later with a doordash delivery and a sloppy sweet note.

When you mention things being tense with your mom, he pulls out your music box that plays “my only sunshine”, the song she used to sing to you, to remind you that she always loves you and tells you to take her for tea because he knows you aren’t okay when things aren’t well with her.

After a morning of frustration and miscommunication, Jimin shows up with strawberries, Nutella and daisies even though he wasn’t in the wrong and kisses you until there’s no tension left in your body.

His smile is sweet. His affection is endless.

He doesn’t know how to be around you and not touch you. Jimin has to be tethered to you somehow. Chin on your shoulder as he stands behind you. Pinkies intertwined as you walk with friends. Cheek on your belly while you watch tv. Fingers in your hair when you’re worried. His love is very tactile. It’s in constant need of being expressed. It’s always given in sweet childlike innocence

Until it’s not. Until it’s heady and insistent and urgent. Until your sweet Jimin taps into that other piece of him that makes women unravel when he’s on stage, that ferocity that undoes your jeans with only a look when he’s completely across the room. The part that makes your skin glisten with sweat, makes bed linens stick to your skin, ruins your hair and makes you gasp for air. The part that feels ruthless and animalistic that you want nothing more than to submit to. The part of him filled with unparalleled power and sharpness and savagery and grace.

the part that makes you hunger for things you didn’t know you had a taste for. The part of Jimin that makes you fall apart with just a look and you truly don’t mind if you never get put back together. Jimin is the kind of man who makes love to you. He doesn’t just get things done...And he doesn’t just coddle you with sweetness...Jimin makes love to you like a godd***n man.

He wrecks your blowout and speckles your hips with bruises shaped like his fingertips.

He uses his tongue and lips to worship the curve where your throat meets your collarbone and kisses down the slope of your ribs. Everything about his face, his eyes, his hands, his hips is dominant and insistent, demanding. He is so much stronger he looks, but never shows it off until you’re here. And it fills you with awe...because you know just how controlled he is. How much he’s already overwhelming you and He might still be holding back.

Mercy.

He is in control. He is masculine and sculpted and firm and delicious. He can do whatever he wants to you. But his words are never vulgar even if his actions are. His words are breathless, Loving, Firm, even if his touch is demanding.

Jimin is a natural performer through and through and he knows love needs dynamics just like music

It needs nuance

It needs space

It needs breath….

Jimin is the type to hover over your skin, lips just out of reach, just to breathe over you. He’d slowly mark your skin- pressing the evidence of his presence so deeply into your bloodstream that he fuses with your DNA and blooms purple on your skin just to pull back panting, locking eyes with you with a gaze so predatory your heart crashes out of your chest. Jimin is passion personified and it’s completely consistent with the way he loves- overwhelming and intense.

As everything begins to still, he wraps you into arms that press you to him, press you to earth because otherwise you just might float away. His voice would be earthy and deep,a timbre only used when he’s fully serious and something sacred has happened. His hold would be protective. An alpha embracing his queen. His breathing would quiet and you’d be pulled into slumber so restful and so deep that even your bones would feel at ease. And tension would be a myth that you’ve heard of but never felt.

You’d wake up the next morning all over again to your playful, complex, lovely Jimin. He’d be prattling on about adopting a kitten now, and you’d never dream of telling him no because the happiness etched into every feature of his cracks your heart wide open and makes you want to give him everything he could ever ask for. You go with him to the shelter and watch in awe as he connects so easily with people. Every kitten falls deeply in love with him until he finds the sweet one you both take home.

He’ll be so excited but be so grieved by the ones he has to leave behind so you distract his winsome soul so it won’t ache, busying him with the joy you’re bringing home. You’ll watch with admiration as they play and bond on the living room floor. Later, he’ll notice that you’ve gone quiet- you’d never admit it, but you feel a jealousy for his attention creeping in when he only cuddles her during the movie, but Jimin knows you all too well. He’d kiss your forehead with a giggle he doesn’t explain trapped behind his lips and shift to find a position to love on you both.

That’s what loving Jimin is….

Can you imagine it?

____________________

Thanks for popping by! Gosh, I hope you liked that. Have a freaking awesome day ✨

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neverlcnd · 5 years

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five times kissed jeje

send me five times kissed for a drabble about five times our muses kissed.

i. cheol had never thought of himself as brave, not really. he was a little impulsive from time to time, leading him to act in a reckless manner, but that was fueled by his inner angst rather than courage. taemin, on the other hand, was braver than anyone else he knew, always unapologetically so, and it made him want to live like that, too. maybe a little. and so he’d been brave to ask him out, to hold his hand while they walked to their favorite restaurant together, brave for insisting on paying ( i asked you, you have to let me! ) for the meal and brave for meeting his eyes every time without turning beet red —but rather soft pink—. he’d been brave the entire night, but he didn’t think he would be able to keep up for long, not when they were already reaching their apartment door and his brain was currently unable to operate, his hands clammy and a million thoughts racing through his mind. “ taemin hyung, wait. ” he pulled him by his hand, making him stop, standing in front of him. “ is it okay if i kiss you? ” this was the bravest he’d ever been, he thought, while leaning down to reach him, barely even touching him, feeling equally embarrassed and in love when he finally did, softly, kiss him.

ii. looking at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help the shy smile that spread across his face, while it hadn’t been his first choice, the two demons he shared his living space with were insistent enough that he’d agreed on going as an angel for their halloween celebration… thing, whatever it was, and he had to admit they’d been right: he looked good, the highlighter on his cheekbones made him pretty, the white of his clothes gave him a relaxed look that usually wouldn’t have been his thing, but it worked, and he liked it. the fact that taemin was wearing a devil costume, like couples would do, well, that was just an added bonus. cause the thing was, they weren’t a couple, didn’t call themselves boyfriends, cheol made sure to not ask about what the younger had done on his latest night out, they weren’t together. and yet, they kissed, every now and then, they cuddled on the couch in front of a very annoyed suyeong, they held hands when no one was watching them, and cheol was starting to get used to the longing feeling he’d get stuck on his chest every time he looked at the blonde. right now, as he left the bathroom and saw him by himself on the couch, slightly secluded from the rest of his friends, it was too much, his feelings too big, and so he did the only thing he could: sat —not next to him, not below— atop of him, tangling his fingers on soft silky hair, kissed him a little bit, and then some more. “ minnie-hyung, don’t we look good? ” he spoke, all soft. for him only. they did, he knew. “ you and i, we’re so good. and you… you’re so good to me. ” iii. he’d never been an art person, would always stick by scientific names you could memorize, formulas you could relearn every time, which turned to be a disadvantage with a group of friends like his: he never understood hikari’s weird alternative videos, didn’t get suyeong’s paintings most of the times, wasn’t a fan of nate’s weird contemporary dances and bosung’s loud raps. yet, one of them stood out the most, bright and lovely below a stage light, taemin’s art could have easily brought him to tears. his deliveries were always perfect, each emotion he could feel emanating from him like his character’s pain was his own, and he loved it, loved it and was so proud he felt like he could burst. didn’t matter how cliché it was, he was always there —nevermind his thousand millions quizzes and exams—, on his performance nights, with a single flower of thirty of them, all for his favorite, most talented boy. “ min-ah! ” making his way through a crowd of people wasn’t the easiest task, but he’d do it a million times for taemin. “ minnnie, you did so well! ” the flowers, now secured on his boyfriends hands, weren’t a worry anymore, so he held him by the cheeks, a little rough but full of love, to kiss him once, twice. “ i’m so proud of you, i might cry. ”iv.so maybe he’d called his boyfriend the most stupid human being on earth a couple times, he wasn’t gonna deny it, but if he was being honest, the younger had taught him a lot. not the kind of stuff you would learn on a classroom, but by taemin’s side he’d learned about himself, about his way to relate to others, what he liked and what he didn’t like, about trust and respect and love, oh had that boy taught him love. he loved him so much it burnt a little, but laying there in his bed, spent and relaxed, still slightly out of breath, their fingers intertwined and equal love shining in their eyes, he realized he would never mind the burn. “ i love you, you know. ” he kissed him softly, chastely, not willing to go for a second round. “ you don’t have to say it back, i just…. couldn’t keep it in anymore. ” and he didn’t have to, really, he could say it a thousand times, and it’d be fine, cause he loved him without expecting anything back, other than being allowed to bask in his light, in the way he shined. v. “ hi… baby, hey… ” he mumbled, still dazed by sleep. a quick look at the clock on his bedside table told him he’d have to be up in two hours, an early weekday as most ones were, but he still received the warmth of the new body between his sheets contently. “ d’you have fun? ” if taemin had only gotten home, it probably meant that he had. “ i’m happy you’re here, with me. ” he hugged him tightly, by the waist, and kissed him slow, languidly. their breaths were probably a gross mix of morning breath and alcohol, but he didn’t care, just like he didn’t mind being woken up. “ sleep well, minnie-hyung. ”

#voy a pretender que i didn't bully you into sending me this #also te acuerdas cuando cheolmin era nuestro english thread #back at it #singvlcrity #anyway me dejé llevar but is it my fault that i only care about these two boys #no it's not #yoo cheol.#taemin & cheol.#also i didn't proof read!

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the-colony-roleplay · 6 years

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Juliana Casiano | Forty; Elite

House: Calyset Status: Uninfected Elite Specification: Lab Researcher and Science Teacher Alignment: New Wave Reformist

History

Juliana and her brother were complete opposites. He was skipping school, partying, and getting in fights while Juliana was studying, sleeping, or organizing one of her many extra curricular activities. In most houses Juliana would have been the golden child, the source of her parent’s pride, but in her household it was her brother. In her parents’ eyes he was the one living life to the fullest and the one that would eventually take over the family business. It wasn’t until he started being extremely irresponsible with the family’s delicate inventory, that their parents realized he had a problem. Growing up, Juliana didn’t really understand why there always seemed to be hushed voices around her parents restaurant and why there was a room she wasn’t allowed in but delivery drivers were allowed to come and go as they pleased. Soon, she became aware that the reason for those things was that her parents were one of the largest distributors of illegal drugs in Queens. Learning this about her parents only made Juliana commit to her studies more as she desperately wanted to be different than her parents and knew someone like her brother was bound to get wrapped up in it all. Looking back, she wished she hadn’t left her brother to deal with it: their parents, the business, the drugs, and eventually his addiction. But at time, Juliana couldn’t predict the consequences of her actions and was simply doing what she thought was best.

Juliana’s intense commitment to her academics and clubs initially paid off well as she graduated valedictorian of her private Catholic school and was heavily awarded scholarships to NYU. In the summer before going to college, Juliana decided to work at her parent’s restaurant to pay for the few things her scholarships wouldn’t cover. There she met a young man who worked with the more illegal side of things. At first she had no interest in someone as irresponsible as him but as June turned into July, Juliana realized that she missed out on being carefree. All through school, she only cared about making good grades and having the perfect college application, never caring about parties or drugs or boys. When Rodrigo, the young man, asked if she wanted to go to a Fourth of July fireworks show with him she refused to think about the possible consequences and agreed to go. As they made love underneath the fireworks, for the first time in her life she let the worries melt away. However, her new carefree attitude was short lived when her pregnancy test turned out positive a week before she is supposed to move into the NYU dorms. To Juliana’s surprise, Rodrigo really seemed to step up to the plate. He bought an apartment for them both and fully furnished the nursery, promising to take care of both Juliana and their baby together. And of course, she fell for it.

Rodrigo went back to the life of crime and drugs and Juliana quickly failed out of online school as juggling motherhood and grades good enough to uphold her scholarships was more than she could handle. However, it wasn’t all bad, Juliana loved her son, Christopher, more than anything in the world. It wasn’t until Rodrigo got sent to prison that she realized that both of them were not setting very good examples for their son. With Christopher being in elementary school, Juliana got a job as a teachers assistant and went back to college.

She managed to get her PhD in Chemistry and start her job working as a pharmaceutical scientist for a private company called Asclepius Pharmaceuticals where she created new compounds and medicines to help treat diseases. One of those diseases happened to be one that Juliana’s brother suffered from and many other people around the world suffered from. While technology had taken off and treatment of autoimmune diseases such as HIV and AIDS was so far progressed that it was barely a problem, the disease of addiction was still rampant with stigma, leaving very little progress on the medical sides of things. Juliana had seen her brother fight for his sobriety time after time and was determined to find a cure. In 2156, Juliana found a cure for addiction with a simple injection that needed to be administered once a year. Her employers were ecstatic but knew it needed to go through years of trials before it could be released to the public. Juliana was too excitable to wait for her cure to go through trials before she helped her loved one and decided to administer her brother the injection. Within days, he no longer craved drugs or alcohol of any kind and did not experience any withdrawals. Unfortunately, the world went up in flames the next year along with Juliana’s cure to addiction.

New York City was one of the many cities along the coast that faced flooding. When debris fell from the sky and struck the Chrysler building, everyone assumed it was a terrorist attack. The whole city never forgot the terror that their ancestors faced with the attack on the World Trade Center. Juliana who had just arrived at work, frantically tried to get ahold of Christopher as the city shook with impact and parts of buildings dropped from the sky. As soon as the power went out, Juliana knew she was going to have a hard time finding any of her loved ones. She ran out onto the streets and tried to make her way to her son’s apartment but was confronted by water up to her hips. Juliana along with many others were swept away by the current only stopping when being slammed up against a heavy object. After ten minutes of weaning in and out of consciousness, getting thrown around the currents, Juliana was pulled from the water by a Good Samaritan. She had nine broken ribs and shattered her wrist. Juliana didn’t completely come to until about a week later when she woke up in some kind of temporary infirmary. She later learned she was at some kind of mass emergency shelter at the Yankee Stadium. When she awoke, she had a hard time moving and breathing but was able to ask about her son and her brother. Somehow, someway, they were alive and safe.

The three of them stayed together, living at the temporary shelter at the Yankee Stadium. In the beginning, rescue teams would find four to six survivors a day but as the weeks went on that number significantly decreased. There was no more government, only those who were fit for leadership. After about six months of living in the Stadium and an entire month of no successful rescues, Leadership decided it was time to move to a more stable shelter. Everyone was informed that they would be moved to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology where everyone would get a proper bed instead of a cot. Juliana was very optimistic about the move since Christopher was beginning to suffer from migraines which she assumed was from lack of sleep.

Juliana Today

When they first arrived at the colony, everything was great. However, Christopher’s migraines only progressed and her brother started to suffer extreme withdrawals from her injections. Juliana offered to help the colony create pain medication for those who were suffering, as long as they provided her with the supplies. The colony was happy to oblige and Juliana began to work for them, helping people with all illnesses including her son and her brother. Juliana’s brother suddenly died within weeks of showing withdrawal symptoms. She became riddled with guilt and threw herself into her work. Juliana was terrified her son’s fate would be the same but then all of a sudden he was fine. No more migraines, no more shaky skin. He was back to the same 17 year old boy he was before the headaches started. One day Christopher was training with some guys, when one of them accidentally hit him too hard. Christopher had always been a bit of a hot head but what happened next was unexplainable. The boy felt rage rise within him and then suddenly the metal structure in the training grounds became undone and pierced the boy who had hit him right through the chest. Juliana was pulled out of work and questioned by the leaders of the colony. No one had ever seen that happen before. There had been rumors of people developing particular abilities but nothing anyone actually believed, at least until then. Christopher was subjected to weeks of all kinds of testing and Juliana wasn’t allowed to visit him, as they believed him to be deadly. She only got to see him through a one sided window in which she observed the effects of her treatments. She worked tirelessly to try to find a cure or a treatment, anything to subside his abilities, but she found nothing. Juliana knew they were never going to stop testing him, he had become their lab rat and she had become a weapon. So she faked his death to release him into the wasteland, where he would at least have a chance at life.

Over the next few years she worked with the leaders of what formed into the first official colony and the NWRF. She became close to them and did their doings because she knew one day she would use it against them. When the NWRF asked her if she would like to go to Colony 22 to be a lab researcher and be someone they could trust during their overthrow, she agreed, insisting that the move could be good for her and her grief. Of course, she was hesitant on the fact that she would have to move away from her son in the wastelands. They had no contact since before that day but she had always hoped he would find his way back to her. Ultimately, Juliana knew the only safe way she would ever get to see her son again was if she took down the NWRF and freed the infected from their oppression.

Juliana has now been at Colony 22 for over a year. She is the star example of an uninfected reformist lab researcher who they take very much pride in, all while she is secretly working to overthrow them. Juliana is still riddled with guilt and anger and oftentimes finds it consuming her from the inside-out. Some days she finds even the smallest things intolerable, but others she finds herself frolicking in the lie that she has built. The woman is in a constant moral tug-of-war that she is quickly growing tired of. She is just hoping something comes to a head soon in the rebellion and will do anything to push that along.

If Juliana is not working or training or sleeping, you can usually find her in the chapel silently praying for her son’s safety in the wastelands or in the pub with a glass of red wine after working all day. Although Juliana appears to the public to be a disciplined and polite woman, behind close doors Juliana has a fire within her that only few get to see.

CLOSED

#zoe saldana #zoe saldana fc #literate rp #bio rp #sci fi rp #mature rp #juliana casiano #calyset #elite #closed

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mileycfan4eva33 · 4 years

Text

Fandom: SVU

Title: Covenant From The Heart

Chapter 1: Violent Moment

P O V: Amanda Rollins

(A/N: Noah, Jessie, Billie do not exist in this fic. I own nothing except my ideas and original characters. All others belong to Wolf Entertainment and NBC.)

Saturday, June 2020

Christopher Street, New York, NY

"I hope you don't mind

I hope you don't mind

That I put down in words

how wonderful life is while you're in this world."

The radio plays as I sit inside the back of the Covenant House Van across from my Captain Olivia Benson, along with two trained Crisis Counselors from Covenant House, New York. Andrea O'Sullivan and Robert "Bobby J" Rodriquez. "Thanks for coming again with me, Amanda."

My smile is tight as I look back at Olivia there is a sadness in her eyes as we turn towards each other. "You're welcome, Liv, did Kat give any reason as to why she couldn't make it tonight?" "her mom has to work a double, and they couldn't find a babysitter last minute on a Saturday."

"Yeah, I hear that could be hard." Olivia sips her coffee, trying to keep warm. "I never mind helping Captain. Covenant House is such an amazing place Olivia, I'm always happy to volunteer for whatever they need."

"Thank you, detective Rollins we try. It isn't easy when we have 20,494 youth who are homeless." Andy's statement sends tremors down my spine. I try to hide the fact that I am shivering, as a cop, I knew those statistics. The number of homeless children in the United States is at its highest in more than a decade.

I can even break down the statistics that roughly 800,000 children are reported missing each year in the United States that's 2,000 kids who go missing every day in the USA. There are 115 child stranger abduction cases, LGBTQ youth represent as much as 40% of the homeless youth population. Between 1.6-2.8 million youth runaway each year in the United States. Children can begin running as young as ages 10-14. The youngest are the most at-risk for the dangers of street life.

Too many people take the attitude of Children who runaway make their own decisions to go. Let them be, they've made their personal choice and must deal with the consequences. If they want to come home, they will. That is so wrong because once these kids hit the streets, they have hours of reaching an inner-city before they become targets for these pimps. Once the pimps get their hands on these kids, they no longer have a choice. They are property of those pimps, and these monsters would take a bullet before they lose their 'product.' It is estimated that many young people, especially girls, begin engaging in survival sex within 48 hours of leaving home. Sex for food and a place to stay can quickly escalate into formalized prostitution.

I've seen what happens to those kids after becoming branded; they learn quickly to harden themselves and trust no one. The treacherous environment in which they must learn to survive is heartbreaking. They do not always outwardly present as sympathetic victims. They also frequently suffer from short–term and long–term psychological effects such as depression, self-hatred, and feelings of hopelessness. These child victims also need specialized services that are not widely available given they often have illnesses, drug addictions, physical and sexual trauma, lack of viable family and community ties, and total dependence—physical and psychological—on their abusers.

"Amanda, do you want some coffee?" "no, thanks, Liv, I'm good." "Sure you are; that's why I can see those goosebumps on your arms, Rollins." Olivia's left-hand grazes across my left arm, which she has now caused to go stiff in fear. Olivia's touch, smile Liv has no idea how she effects me.

Every hair is standing at attention, my heart racing, face flushed. My brain stutters to find words to respond to Olivia. It should be simple to say those words to tell Olivia how I feel; this is 2020, not 1990. I shouldn't be afraid of rejection to tell someone I have a deep crush on that I have a crush. I've told more than a half of a dozen women in my past that I liked them. I am not ashamed to identify as a lesbian.

Which brings me to question why I haven't confided in anyone I have worked with over the past nine years. Swallow Amanda, just swallow and relax. Olivia has no idea how you feel; she isn't asking you to spill how you feel. She's asking you for a drink stop freaking out you'll look like a fool.

"No, I'm good save the coffee for the kids, they need it more than I do. I'm okay."

"Detective Rollins we have more than enough." that's a lie I know before it even escapes Andy's lips she's just being nice to us since it's rare for cops to volunteer to do ride a long's, the department does not sanction them. 1PP truthfully goes out of their way to discourage us from doing them because they are so dangerous because these pimps could recognize one of us and blow our covers in the future. Sometimes I think they fear we will become too sympathetic with a homeless kid because God forbid NYPD cops be human and understand what life on the streets is actually like; we might let these kids go when indeed we are forced to pick them up for simply trying to stay alive.

Saturday nights are one of the busiest nights in New York City, especially for the homeless population in our impact zones. Turning down Bleeker Street, which is alive with nightclubs blaring music. Flashing neon signs obnoxiously calling out $2 dance bars—other signs signaling their bars, clubs, stores. Panhandlers line every corner, many with bloodshot eyes, sniffling noses, and scanning the crowd from our blackened windows. I can see swindlers working in pairs trying to rob the tourists who unsuspectingly stroll among them the glittering, neon buildings. Many are walking with cell phones out, looking for directions.

Olivia and I both exchange a look knowing half of them will be robbed. There's so much we both want to say but don't. Drug deals go down in plain sight to the untrained eye. It would be easily missed, in between the blaring lights and smells of Colombian bakeries, beauty salons, Mexican restaurants, and bars like the Gentlemen's Club advertising beautiful female dancers. People along this stretch of road hand out business cards emblazoned with half-naked women or fruits and flowers all that advertise "Free Delivery" and typically list the hours of operation between 10:30 a.m. and 2:30 a.m. It's a cover, of course, the cards are marketing tools of brothels that have set up shop inside private homes and apartments.

As the hour is growing later, the tourists are fading away; the clubs are starting to shut down, and the other Christopher Street, the one never mentioned in magazines, or featured on the nightly news and morning talk shows comes alive. This is our Christopher Street teens strutted past in the dark, often stopping to air kiss, catcall, or sometimes brawl.

Young LGBTQ youth in platform thigh-high boots, buttocks-revealing denim shorts, red-pleather boleros with matching caps and tops of the backless, sleeveless, or even frontless variety, those on the nightly parade here do anything but hide. They compete for best outfit, /best moves in nightly dance battles that rage beside the Hudson River to the sound of a boombox on the pier at the end of the street.

The teens are beautiful, but the night-life here is ugly, violent, and scary; the teens themselves often fight turning violent. Customers drunk throw glasses, bottles, or try to take the girls, ripping hair out, beating them. Not every person working is trying to cause problems; of course, there are many just trying to get by to pay rent that now topples over $3,000. I can barely afford my apartment in Brooklyn with my salary.

Cops are lining every street, but we are not here as cops Olivia and I are riding with the covenant house team to help them reach the kids whoa re too afraid to find Covenant House or don't know that help exists. We are reaching to find kids who need food, warmth, and shelter. We provide sandwiches, beverages, ears to the kids if they are ready to tell their stories.

In the van we provide education about sex, pregnancies, STD prevention, we give them condoms. We let them cry, scream, ask questions, or sit in silence; we let the kids choose what they need when they need it. Many have never been given a choice of anything in their lives. We gain the kids' trust and, when ready, we will get them to our crisis shelters, where they're given love and support to permanently stay off the streets. Some stay only a few days and decide they aren't ready to give up the life they know. They have to be willing to be drug-free and make other commitments to stay at Covenant House. Some, however, remain with Covenant House and complete the whole program.

Frequently it takes multiple interactions before the kids will trust those of us on the outreach team enough to accept our offers of help they've simply been burned by adults too many times in their lives.

"So Captain Benson, my boss tells me you've been coming on these rides along's since you joined SVU in 1999. Any specific reasons?"

Andy's question perks my interests in the nine years I have known Olivia; I have never known the answer to this question myself. For the first six years, when I went on these outreach trips, I never knew she went along. I only found out three years ago when we were paired together by accident on a night when they had more volunteers than vans. I never asked myself for fear of having to answer the same question back; it's a part of my past. I have kept hidden for many years. I have no intention of starting to share that story now.

"I was on the job about two months with Special Vics when we came across the case of a fourteen-year-old girl who we had to arrest for selling drugs to her classmates, sometimes in exchange for sexual favors. The whole Squad called her Spoiled Sally because she came from the upper west side, went to a private school. She had all the advantages of a rich kid, yet she chose to squander her life by selling drugs."

"You thought there was more to her story though, Olivia, didn't you?"

"You know me well, Amanda." Olivia has no idea how well I know her how I have spent my whole adult life, and most of my teens years studying her career trying to be half the cop she is. Olivia has no idea that I listen to every conversation hoping to gather a new detail I didn't know already. I know her favorite, color, movie, TV show, her worst fears, her dreams. I know which ice cream flavor she likes best, her favorite spot for ice cream, who her favorite baseball team is, and which sport she hates the most. I know Olivia uses vanilla body lotion but hates vanilla ice cream.

My body shivers despite being June. The temperature is dropping fast the later it gets. "I did think there was more, so I started investigating further. Interviewing her friends, teachers, classmates. Came to learn Sally transferred schools six times over the last year, she had moved from city to city since she was six years old."

Olivia bites her lower lip as she laughs slightly "Amanda you'll love this part, my boss told me to drop it, or he would transfer me, I couldn't drop it, I defied his orders and kept digging. I matched her picture into enhanced facial recognizing came to discover our Spoiled little Sally was Marcella Marginals, a kidnapped girl from Mexico who vanished at age six when her family was on vacation over there. They let go of her hands for two minutes, and she was snatched. Marcella was smuggled into different cities by different men. Who caged her up like an animal beat her raped her, sold her from family to family."

"This last family was an elderly couple who never had kids of their own; the man who sold her to them kept weekly checks on her forced her to sell drugs for him. Raped her weekly to keep her in-line raped the wife weekly to keep the parents quite. When we went to collect Marcella, the bastard was there raping the wife, the husband an 82-year-old man who could barely move was tied to the chair. A battle broke out between the police and the pimp, Marcella was shot in the battle, by my gun. I was devastated. I felt as if it was my fault if I had left it alone, as my boss told me. Marcella would be alive no matter how hard her life was, at least she drew breath. Because of me, that sweet girl was dead."

"All my co-workers kept telling me it wasn't my fault; it was just part of the job. I had to accept it as God's plan. I couldn't though, I mean, how did God see that to be fair? How could any God justify a fourteen-year-old girl being raped, beaten suffering every day as okay?"

"So I headed to my favorite bar to get there I had to pass the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, I wasn't raised in any dominant religion growing up, but I felt drawn to it. I felt like I needed to talk to God, to let him know how angry I was at him."

"At first, all I could do was sit there, staring at the candles, the altar, tears running down my face. I have no idea how long I sat there for; till I felt the gentle touch of Sister Mary Rose McGeady, she sat by me and listened to me. Then she said something to me that has stayed with me my whole life; she replied ours is not to ask God why; ours is simply to close our eyes and listen to our hearts, and believe God always has a reason why. It's hard at times, but I made a promise to God to listen; he has to lead me to my calling to help kids on the street, his kids."

"As you know at the time, Sister McGeady was the president of Covenant House from 1990-2003. She took me to the house and showed me the center; I spoke to counselors, volunteers, and the kids themselves. I fell in love with the mission, with the kids the staff. I knew I had to try to make a difference."

"I started doing the outreach van around 12 years ago, at first, it was just because it was always so short-staffed, not many people volunteer to do something so dangerous. Then it became another passion for me."

I reach over and take Olivia's hand "you know Marcella's death wasn't your fault, Liv. No more than Easter's was mine."

"I know Amanda, up here, I know that." She points to her head, "But in here." Olivia's hand moves to her heart. "that takes reminding I am sorry I couldn't comfort you after telling you about Easter, I should have held you talked to you instead of getting up and walking away. The memories of that day hit me so hard; I think I am moving on, and then I am hit with a wave of guilt so intense it takes my breath away."

"Liv, it's okay. I needed my Captain than you did what I needed. You gave me time to cry, scream you stayed in the room, so I knew you were there, but you gave me privacy. No one can take someone else to pain away. But having you in that room brought me comfort."

Olivia smiles at me as Bobby J speaks "You two should come Tuesday for our annual Sleep-out for Covenant House, we have a line-up of stars who are performing and over 1,000 people who have signed up to raise money for our kids by sleeping out."

"Yeah, sounds good, Amanda?" "I'm in for sure."

"So Miss southern sweet tea, what is your story? I know you got one." My body tenses at his suggestion I feel all eyes on me my heart races as my stomach twists. How am I suppose to get out of this one? "Don't be bashful to spill your game." Bobby J nudges me as I fight to keep my nausea from spilling out onto the van's floor. If Olivia knew the truth, she would never look at me the same ever again.

"Help me!" Loud, intense screams ricochet off the buildings in the side-street where we are parked; a young girl comes racing out of the cover of darkness shadow. So fast her legs stumble, but she doesn't allow herself to fall; she can't she's running for her life. Those skinny legs barely hold her body up, yet she hurls herself forward, never glancing back. I can hear her heavy breathing as she approaches "not here." she points to two streets over. Eyes glance at us. I see the pain and fear "My man he's watching he'll see me get in, I'm dead then, he'll know where to find me."

She's gone in a flash, hurling her skinny body down the side streets in a race for her life, dodging into different avenues. The van squeals to life as our driver Michelle steps on the gas, the girl's arms pump flying as she dodges cars, people she isn't quitting or playing. It's pitch black out here now except the glow of a few broken street lights.

Michelle flips off our headlights as we reach the street the girl wanted us to, we sit in silence the radio shut off now. Our heartbeats are the only sounds slowly. I get out my legs a little shaky from being crouched in a van for hours. Olivia follows me closely behind as seconds tick into minutes both of us praying her man as she called him didn't find her, which we know damn well means her pimp. Rustling has us both turning around I spot her first she comes running full speed towards us, fooling her pimp she had run around the block twice; New York blocks ain't no joke either, they are long.

This girl is in eight-inch heels her feet must hurt so bad I feel tears well up I can barely walk in those types of heels nerve mind run. The girl is only twenty- yards away from us. I can see the depth of fear in her cyan blue eyes. An ocean deep of pain she is so close to safety just within feet of being saved Olivia and I are both tense ready to grab her up. The squeals of tires alert us to a sense of danger; I don't think twice I take off "Rollins!" Olivia yells as I pump my legs harder than they have ever been pumped before. Hoping that this girl can see it in my eyes that she can trust me, she can reach better days if she reaches out, allows me to take her hands. Gets in this van with me, I can help her find the sunshine behind these rainy days. Sometimes one person can make a difference. I close my eyes every day I pray I can be that person.

My hands reach the girl at the very last second my lungs are screaming in pain, I can barely breathe my muscles are straining with every-step. "Grab my hands, don't let go no matter what I got you." My arms wrap around the girl's frail body as my feet make a sudden turn burning my heels. I pull her body racing to the van as doors fly open. "Rollins, get down!" Olivia screams as a hail of bullets rain down on us I push the girl into the van slam the door and bang on it. Michelle takes off my legs give out as I crash to the ground Olivia is returning fire. I can't breathe or think my legs are twitching in pain I can feel my blood filling my mouth as I start to cough.

I can't seem to focus on anything. Every breath is harder to inhale and exhale. "Amanda, it's Olivia we've got to move, they took off, but they'll be back we just cost them a major investment. Can you move at all?"

Olivia's arms lift me pain stabs me at every angle it's mild though so after a few breaths I can put pressure on my legs she doesn't let go of my arm though pulling me along with her as we race to meet the van a few blocks over. Sweat pours down my body as my stomach cramps I feel flushed. I'm losing blood I can feel how weak I am, but I have no idea where or how serious it is. "Amanda that was stupid as hell, we are off-duty you know the department does not cover any injury you get, any action you take as a citizen which means you face the same charges they face. No union rep to cover for you."

"Yeah, I know Liv, and it also means I don't have to play by the rules."

"Amanda, it doesn't mean you get to risk your life."

"It's mine to risk Olivia, and if you ain't willing to risk your life, why are you out here?"

"Uh! Why are all the bad-asses so damn stubborn!"

"That's what makes us hot."

"Yeah, I know that's why the bad-asses like you are always the one who looks the most fuckable."

My ears ring did Olivia Benson just say she wanted to what with me? I stop moving physically, yet my Vertigo didn't get the message. I can't speak all I can do is stare at Olivia, watch her long legs so muscular her statuesque frame so lean and beautiful, long dark hair loosely held back with a decorative clip. Her appearance takes my breath away. She smiles as she slowly moves us towards the van.

All I can do is picture her lying on top of me on her bed as she places her mouth over my clit. A direct hit, her gorgeous lips closing around it and lapping at it with her tongue. Her hands hold my hips as I try to buck against her face; she is a master at getting me off like this. I can feel an orgasm building in my walls, I can feel the heat rising as I writhe under her face, and just as she is about to push me over the edge, she inserts a single slender finger inside as she does I feel the first wave of fire rising and spreading through me. I come hard onto her hand as she rapidly pumps two fingers in and out while she sucks on my clit.

"Amanda, move!" My head peaks up from the daydream of Olivia, and I making love seconds too late as the car comes speeding towards us headlights as bright as the Georgia summer sun. Michelle rushes towards us, Andy and Bobby J throw open the doors. "Get in!" Olivia's hands push my body into the van's. I feel Andy and Bobby grab me pulling my limp body up as Olivia screams at Michelle. to"Go."

Wait, where is Olivia going? Why didn't she get in with me? Gunfire fills the air as I try to stand but am thrown back against the wall hard as Michelle takes off, tires squealing. "Calvin!" I hear Olivia's scream as my head slams into the floor, sending me crashing into a world of blackness. All I can do is pray; God keep Olivia safe.

A/N: For More information on how you can help Covenant House and Homeless Youth visit their website

Our Youth deserve a kinder, better world than the one we have today. Let us commit to building this world together. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13643440/1/Covenant-From-The-Heart

#svu #Rolivia #AmandaRollins #OliviaBenson #HomelessKids #Youth #LGBTQ #Fanfiction

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

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Some Restaurant Owners Want to Close. The Problem Is, It’s Not That Simple.

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Confronted with growing losses from the pandemic, restaurant owners face personal ruin

This is Eater Voices, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it to [email protected].

Earlier this month, Washington Gov. Jay Inslee announced a four-phase approach to reopening our state’s economy. For restaurants in Seattle, this means a couple more weeks of to-go and delivery only, followed by an undetermined number of weeks at 50 percent capacity, then 75 percent capacity, and so on until full service is allowed.

Similar announcements are being made throughout the country. While we can debate their logic and safety, what isn’t being addressed is what will happen for the number of small, independent restaurants that won’t be able to make it that long or have already closed permanently. These closures will not only shape the culture and community of the cities they inhabited, but also the lives of their owners, who could face personal financial devastation as a result of closing their businesses.

This isn’t fair.

When I started hearing about a potential global pandemic and began to see mandatory restaurant closures in China and Italy, I knew exactly what many of these restaurant owners must be feeling. As a two-time (now ex-) restaurant owner, I can still feel the visceral dread in my stomach of what one weekend’s lost sales would mean for our bank account — to say nothing of being closed for weeks, or even months. As I watched the situation unfold, I felt an immense amount of guilt for how grateful I was to no longer own a restaurant, but I was resolute in my commitment to help owners get support in any way that I could. In addition to brainstorming solutions for the restaurant group I now work for, I was thankful to be asked to join the advisory board for Seattle Restaurants United, a coalition of small, independent restaurants in the Seattle Area.

But it wasn’t until I was on a Zoom call for that advisory board, discussing how we could help restaurants pay (or avoid paying) their bills in the upcoming weeks and months so that they won’t have to close forever, that a board member pointed out what should have been obvious to me much earlier on: Some of these restaurants owners want to close, but can’t. Tired of living on razor-thin profit margins for years, they simply cannot accept being thrown into further debt that they could possibly never escape. They don’t want to pivot to delivery or takeout or whatever model we agree is the best. Some of them cannot reconcile reopening their restaurants with the knowledge that they could be putting themselves or their employees at risk. They want out.

The problem is, it’s not that simple. What very few people realize is that when restaurant owners open their businesses, many of them forfeit their exit plan. They collateralize anything they have to get a little more cash. Margins are so thin that they end up putting up their houses, their cars, anything for a lease or a loan, and sign personal guarantees for all contracts. In some cases, walking away can mean personal financial ruin.

And so right now, in this time of chaos and terror, our local, state, and federal governments must do what is right and pass legislation releasing these small business owners from their business liabilities, namely their commercial leases, SBA business loans, and any past-due sales or business taxes.

I say this having lived through something similar myself, twice. Having narrowly avoided the same issues so many restaurants face right now, I am in the unique position of knowing not only how much they truly need our government’s help, but also why.

Restaurateurs are seen as cowboy entrepreneurs with glimmers in our eyes who have no one to blame but ourselves when we fail.

Over the past decade I opened, operated, and sold two successful restaurants with my husband. When people ask about it, I usually give them the nice version: We had a beautiful dream that we made happen with equal parts hard work, perseverance, and faith, and then eventually our priorities changed, we decided to sell, and we’ve lived happily ever after. It’s what people generally want to hear and it’s much easier than telling the truth.

Telling the truth would mean talking about the pit that lived full time in my stomach, churning over how we would pay for this week’s payroll, or this month’s sales tax, or rent, or a broken sink. It would mean talking about how I cried in my office after an employee called me a bitch for requiring that he know our wine list, screaming profanities at me as he left the building. It would mean talking about how I felt like I never got to see my kid.

My feelings sound like complaints, because they are, and I can tell you from experience that no one wants to hear a restaurant owner complain. There is a special disdain reserved for dreamers who complain about their dream. Restaurateurs are seen as cowboy entrepreneurs with glimmers in our eyes who have no one to blame but ourselves when we fail. After all, this was my choice, and everyone knows restaurants are hard. I knew that going in, didn’t I?

Even now, writing this, I feel shame for admitting how much I struggled. The fear I felt constantly is a secret that we restaurant owners keep hidden. In public, we share it with each other through subtle glances and knowing smirks. In private, we text each other that we don’t know how much longer we can keep it up. We all know better than to say it out loud and potentially invite the ire of the public or even worse, somehow give the words the power and make it all worse (restaurant owners can be very superstitious).

Let me be clear: Restaurant owners love what they do. There is no other reason to do it; they certainly don’t do it for the money. Their restaurants are most likely the loves of their lives, and fear and anxiety simply come with the job. If anything, the fact that they live with so much discomfort and yet still wake up and go to work every day is a testament to how much they love their restaurants.

But sometimes, love isn’t enough. About a year into opening our second restaurant, Mean Sandwich, I found myself sitting on my couch at home in the middle of a beautiful day, having what I thought was a heart attack. It was our one day off, the day we were supposed to use to relax and spend time with our 3-year-old daughter, doing crafts and going on walks. Instead, as I felt my chest get tighter, I laid down and yelled to my husband, “Babe, it’s happening again. It feels like I’m going to die.”

It was a panic attack, one of many I had during that year. I felt trapped in our restaurant, which wasn’t making enough money to support our family despite its outward success, and on whose income we relied to pay the mountain of debt we had signed on for in order to open it. We had maxed out all of our personal credit cards because we still couldn’t afford to pay both of our salaries, as well as our business cards to pay for improvements to our little restaurant’s backyard. Our business lease was iron tight and personally guaranteed by both of us. We had taken out an SBA loan to open the restaurant, and the monthly payments were nearly as much as our rent. We had no savings whatsoever, so closing the restaurant almost definitely meant having to declare bankruptcy and immediately move in with my parents. It had also taken a toll on our personal life; sometimes it felt like the only things holding our marriage together were inertia and denial. I could feel the noose around my neck tightening every day, and the tighter it got, the less energy I had to find a solution. So I drank and cried and panicked.

My story has a good ending: Eventually, like we had with our first restaurant, Thirty Acres, we put Mean Sandwich up for sale and found a buyer, through a friend, who wanted to keep it alive. I cried when we finally sold it, but they were tears of pure relief and gratitude. We had escaped by the skin of our teeth, neither unscathed nor debt-free, but we got out, and I could barely believe it. Although I still grapple with how to move beyond the shame of the mistakes I made, we are better every single day.

Restaurant owners do not deserve to go bankrupt over this. Faced with that as their only option, some will choose a more dire one.

But while I may relate to what restaurant owners are experiencing during this nightmare, I also recognize the ways that we are different. You see, I got myself in my predicament with our restaurant. I chose to open it and I chose when I was done, and thankfully, it worked out for me.

These restaurants aren’t closed because their owners fucked up. Most of them were doing everything right; they were working harder and under more pressure than any of us can possibly imagine. Before they saw their sales start to dwindle and were told to shut down by the state, they were paying their bills and their employees, often providing health care and sick pay, creating places for their communities to congregate, and everything in between. They do not deserve to go bankrupt over this, and trust me when I say that faced with that as their only option, some will choose a more dire one. We can’t let that happen.

Instead, these restaurant owners deserve to be told this wasn’t their fault. And then, if they want one, they should be given a way out.

What would that look like? First, restaurant owners must be released from being held personally liable for their commercial leases if they have been impacted by COVID-19. While these leases represent private contracts in which the local government does not usually have the authority to intervene, this pandemic clearly represents an abnormal circumstance for which exceptions must be made. We’re already seeing this in the form of proposed bills such as New York City’s 1932-2020 (which the city council passed last Wednesday) and California’s SB 939. Both bills prevent landlords from holding commercial tenants personally liable in the event that they have to close due to COVID-19’s economic impact. They are a good start, and we need to see this type of legislation nationwide.

Small-restaurant owners cannot be expected to pay for these leases for the entirety of their terms or even until the landlord is able find another tenant, whenever that is. Even those owners fortunate (or wise) enough to have “good guy guarantees,” which release them from having to pay out the entire lease term as long as certain conditions are met, are still usually beholden to paying landlords a minimum of three to six months of rent in addition to any rent they are behind on.

Second, in addition to their current offer to defer loan and interest payments for six months, the Small Business Administration must forgive all existing business debt for restaurants that decide to close. There is no reason a restaurant owner should face bankruptcy when those loans are supposed to be secured by the SBA.

And last, federal grants should be provided to restaurants that are unable to open — without concern for how likely they are to reopen — so that they can pay any employees they have been unable to pay for past work as well as pay for any unpaid sales or business taxes. To naysayers who might say this is too far-reaching, I would point out that just as it is unfair that restaurants were told to close indefinitely without any imposed fixed expense relief, it would also be unfair to let restaurants close without ensuring support for the rest of the ecosystem that relies on them. Now is the time to consider holistic approaches to the problem, rather than solutions that simply shift the problem onto others.

These restaurant owners haven’t done anything wrong. They stepped up and closed their doors for the safety of their communities and it ruined them. It isn’t fair that we leave them to deal with cleaning up the mess on their own. But they don’t need a handout, or your pity. What they need instead is a large-scale solution tailored to the restaurant industry. They are hard-working and creative entrepreneurs; give them an inch, they will make it into a mile.

But for those who are done, who don’t have any energy left to pivot, who are facing down months of bills and debt while they wait for a workable solution that may never come, we need to offer an escape hatch. Trust me: They will figure out what to do next.

Alex Pemoulié is a Seattle-based writer and the director of finance for Sea Creatures restaurant group. She previously owned and operated two restaurants, Thirty Acres and Mean Sandwich, with her husband.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2LEmYLo https://ift.tt/3cIT1FV

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Confronted with growing losses from the pandemic, restaurant owners face personal ruin

This isn’t fair.

Restaurateurs are seen as cowboy entrepreneurs with glimmers in our eyes who have no one to blame but ourselves when we fail.

Restaurant owners do not deserve to go bankrupt over this. Faced with that as their only option, some will choose a more dire one.

Instead, these restaurant owners deserve to be told this wasn’t their fault. And then, if they want one, they should be given a way out.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2LEmYLo via Blogger https://ift.tt/2z8xWWP

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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