#the building was shifted to one side to accommodate a park

[dlyarchitecture]

[referrix]

I'd like to take a moment to talk about the season 8 Alfea refurb.

Season 8 sees not only the largest shift in art direction of any season of Winx, WoW included, it also sees a complete rebuild of Alfea, and while I do like some parts of the refurbishment, it does a couple of things that make me go “hmmmm.”

The biggest one of these is the destruction of the courtyard/quad's baby elephant paths*.

(*Misuse of the term "Baby Elephant paths" here, a Baby Elephant Path, also called a Desire path, is a path that is created by people continuously using what is often the shortest or easiest route regardless of whether or not it is a paved path, often causing dead grass and dirt tracks in lawns as they move across areas or through gardens. The term here is used in place of anything better, because the original Alfea courtyard layout contains paths that would likely be a closer match to the true Baby Elephant Paths if the courtyard wasn't pre-paved.)

In season 8 the 10 panels of grass are swapped out for 16 gardens arranged into a... well I suppose sea shell would be a good word. A dragonfly-wing clam-shell.

And it looks fantastic, but it also completely ruins the path finding of the courtyard.

Chucking it under a cut because it does go on a bit.

While each of the 8 dragonfly wings of this shell allow students to travel from the staircase of the central building outwards towards the two mirrored side buildings, and each wing is segmented into two, in order to allow a squiggly path to cross from one grass display next to the central stairs, around in a horse-shoe-like loop to the other grass display beside the central stairs.

Originally, the staircases that bridge the courtyard's level and the elevated platform in front of the central building are also affected by this renovation. Before season 8, there were 4 staircases.

The original central staircases were separated by a slim garden that rose along the incline like a pretty dividing rail, then two more staircases rose along the sides of the mirrored buildings. These outer staircases were separated by wide steps of grass. Good for sitting, laying, or feral student 'parkour.'

The grass panels that made up the courtyard were (and as of season 8, still are somewhat) surrounded on all four sides by wide paths that allow students to skirt along any of the building, fountain area or outer fence line without stepping on the grass.

Further, the original grass panels, though they did get upgrades like lights and small hedges as the series went on, were easy to walk over or lounge on them between classes, the season 8 grass sections have larger hedges, and a student would either have to put a bit of effort into jumping over them, or access the much smaller grass area through the open side along the squiggly path.

The path finding of the original court yard layout was also much more accommodating.

The original layout had two direct paths intersecting it, one from the front gate to the central building (actually to the wide fountain area where it would be easy to park a bus for students to (dis)embark for school trips,) and one from the central door of one mirrored building to the other across from it.

Further, it has three baby elephant type paths, that accommodate for paths that are likely to see a lot of foot traffic throughout the day.

One from the gate area to the central doors of the mirror building, one from the fountain area to the central doors of the mirrored building, and one from the front of the mirrored buildings (or the front of the covered walkways, not the tower door) to the front gate.

While the season 8 layout allows direct travel from the front gate to the fountain/central building, it has none of the other direct access pathways. The season 8 gardens would enforce circular travel around certain wedges or for the students to jump the hedges as they move from one building to another.

The season 8 gardens assume travel directions to and from the fountain.

So yes, it's pretty, but it's not really functional for a school. It's more the type of fancy garden you'd find at an estate or museum grounds. Something to wow visitors, not something for students to enjoy or use the space.

The court yard's main pathway is also a lot slimmer than the earlier seasons, which makes sense, since season 8 Alfea is overall, much smaller and shorter. But it Boggles me when I stop and really try to compare what that means, visually:

And that's just the courtyards in overlap. Season 8 Alfea's buildings could probably fit (if snuggly) within the season 1-7 courtyard without removing the season 8 courtyard. (The external garden areas (now with pools and gazebos) might not make it though...)

Speaking of the building:

In early seasons, the covered walkways possessed an arched ceiling hidden by facing, but below that it was possible to see a full length door. Basic slap-dash calculations suggest that Alfea's mirrored buildings sit at a height of up to 20 meters, not including the attic peaks on both sides (above the glass domes above the central doors, aka: stella's closet space.) because the space between the ground and the bottom of the balconies of the long windows that line the buildings is at least three-to-four times the height of the doors.

I previously put forward a theory that there were mezzanine levels, and split levels, within the building, but that it was fundamentally 5 floors (not including Stella's attic which would make it 6). And this didn't bother me all that much, we've seen that at least some classrooms have mezzanine walkways, and pretty high ceilings, we often see the high vaulted ceilings in the halls.

And it makes sense, because this is a school for fairies, and fairies fly. So of course they'd have enough room in a classroom to practice something while flying, of course you could fly down some of the halls without buzzing people on the ground, that makes sense with the context.

But season 8 Alfea? Is much, much shorter.

From the ground to the bottom of the balconies? Is two doors if that.

Meaning the height of the externally visible ground and second floor is not between six and nine meters, but four meters tops. Possibly closer to three.

More than that, where once there were three doors and two and a half banks of windows between the central doors and the tower doors that marked the ends of the walkway, there is now only two doors and two large windows on one side of the central doors, and one door and two large windows on the other.

Estimated length of season 8's walkway is around 16m from one end to the edge of the central door's area. My prior season 1 estimate has that same stretch at up to 30 meters.

The upper section and floors of the back towers are missing entirely to make the tower shorter than the main blue roof of the mirrored buildings. In addition the lower floors where the combat exam areas and magical reality chamber outer chambers are suspected to be, are slimmed down to the point I doubt there are any substantial rooms in them.

The front towers are missing external doors because they are now too narrow around.

I honestly don't know that the mirroed buildings are even wide enough, courtyard side to fence side, to hold more than one row of classrooms per floor, let alone two.

In early seasons, counts of students seen in wide shots, like the dining hall, counts of individual classes, and parties, often leave us around 50-70 students. I don't think I'm the only one who assumes that that's not an accurate count, that there's probably some day students (even though it's a boarding school) or seniors out on work experience, or just not everyone is in that one shot, and we're working with a medium that is given to copy-paste crowds, but generally, it feels like Alfea can fit an average student body of 70 and have wiggle room for more.

Season 8 Alfea makes me go "I don't think this place will fit an average body of 60 students."

Season 1 of Winx Club saw Alfea host not just the students but also the teachers of Alfea, Cloud Tower and Red Fountain at the same time during the Trix's siege. Lets assume the schools have a flatline average of students, that's still 150 at a minimum. 210 max if we assume there are no other students who come and go and throw off the numbers.

Plus the staff, which is at least 5 known teachers between Cloud Tower and Red Fountain, and at least 8 for Alfea. So Add in 13 Teachers.

Season 8 Alfea does not have the space, it cannot host that many people.

Maybe it could, maybe it's a more realistic building, maybe the internal structures make sense, but I've spent so long trying to wrap my brain around season 1-7 Alfea that I just... I can't with season 8 Alfea.

The Things about the Season 8 Alfea refurb I do like:

The glass dome on the mirrored buildings has a semi visible interior, which could be used as a green-house/sun room, where the earlier seasons it was just sort of there and high vaulted on the inside up to like, half way the large balcony windows. Like there doesn't look like there's anything in there from the outside, but it could be a good inside green space. or for hanging out washing on rainy days.

The big light under it is also pretty nice, kind of sunny/sunflower aesthetic.

I also love the detailing in the windows and doors, it's super cute and feels like a low-key fairy aesthetic next to basically flat green doors (I've been assuming the early season doors are at least partly green coloured glass paneling in the dorms)

The upside-down flower lights lining the external walkways are life giving, tbh. I need them.

[izgnanik-a]

MerMay GhostSoap 2

// MDNI // read at your own risk //

“They have me on an 8 hour shift surveying a fish tank!” Johnny muttered incredulously the moment he got back home.

His roommate, bless their soul who’d just gotten up for work, was brushing their teeth and humming in bored agreement.

“It’s nothing but darkness in there. And- and the water’s cold! What kind of fish survives cold water?”

His roommate shrugged, spitting into the sink.

“My whole shift, I couldn’t have my phone on me and there was seemingly no one else in the building but one other person at the door. And he and this other guy have it out for me.”

“Why would,” spit, “they have it out for you?” Slurp. Gargle. Spit. “They don’t even know you.”

“Exactly! But they all think that I’m not going to stick around.” Johnny muttered. “They keep saying I’m not going to last long, but I’ll show them.” He huffed in annoyance. “I’ll do it out of spite.”

“To be honest, the whole thing sounds sketchy anyways. They didn’t give you any information. Just put you in a room with a- fish tank?” His roommate furrowed their brow in confusion. “And said nothing else?”

Johnny shrugged.

“I’d quit.”

“They pay for breaks and accommodations. The only reason I’m getting paid cash right now because they said I’d last a week. So it’s standard to see if I stick.”

“Who says?”

“The guys who want me to quit. It’s happened before.”

“That’s fishy.” His roommate pointed at him.

Johnny pointed back. “Rent’s due.”

“I’ll take it.” They rolled their eyes. “But first sign of something illegal and you burn your bridges. I’m not living out of suitcases on the run because you decided to steal government property.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

x

Come night and Johnny was parking in the lot, past the gates, and coming up to the entrance he’d been guided through the day before. He swiped his keycard, given to him at the end of his shift, and stepped through the empty hall.

He wondered if he’d see someone else along the way, or if it’s be another dreary night. He also wondered if he could sneak his phone into the tank room.

“You.” Called a voice from behind MacTavish as he stepped into the break room. He turned, almost expecting to see nothing but a ghost calling to him. But instead, he was greeted by the friendly face of a stranger.

“Hello?” Johnny paused in the doorway. “Can I help you?”

“You’re the new overnight guard.” Said the man, more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah? Do I know you?”

The man held his hand out. “No. Kyle Garrick. I work the septic system and tank management.”

Johnny shook his hand, the first inviting person he’d met. “Johnny MacTavish.”

“To be honest, I didn’t think you’d come back another day.”

“Haven’t seen reason to turn it down.” Johnny said, moving to his locker, Kyle following, “Though everyone seems to have some bet on me leaving.”

“Don’t take it personal.” Garrick leaned against the lockers with his arms across his chest. “They’ve seen a line of people who didn’t make it past the first night.”

“Hard not to.” Johnny slung his lanyard around his neck as he finished putting his things away.

“Note to keep in mind: don’t keep the lanyard around your neck. It’s a choking hazard.”

Johnny furrowed his brow at Kyle. “A what?”

“It gets caught on things easily. Or worse.” The tone of his voice was eerie, but he refused to speak on it. Garrick showcased his lanyard strapped hanging from his side pocket, unclasped. “Keep it on you, but not around your neck.”

“Noted.” Johnny tucked it into his breast pocket and shut his locker. “Any reason why I’m watching the fish tank anyways? Is it the minister’s secret hobby or something?”

Garrick dropped his arms from his chest. “Not the minister’s. Shepherd’s.” He kept his voice low, as if there were eyes and ears all over. “Best to keep your head on a swivel, yeah?”

“Sure?” Johnny trailed off.

“I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Are you working tonight?”

“I’ve already finished. The tank should be a smidge cleaner. I don’t stay on site much, just clean it out twice a week.” Garrick put his fist out to bump. “Stay safe.”

Johnny met him half way, and watched him head down the hall he’d come up. With even more confusion in mind, he headed towards his hall.

He spotted the same guard from the night previous. “Quiet night?” Johnny snapped his finger guns at him.

The guard said nothing.

Johnny raised his brows and sighed, plucking out his lanyard from his pocket. “Hopefully the shift goes by quick.” He tried at conversation once more.

The guard pressed their keycard to the scanner as Johnny did, and the alarm blared as the steel doors came open.

Giving a mock salute, Johnny stepped inside and moved for the desk as he slung his lanyard around his neck. He glanced back as the door came closed.

As far as he could tell, the tank hadn’t changed one bit. It was still dark and cold, maybe even colder than before. Pressing his hands to the glass, he peered through the dark water. He knocked his knuckles against it, listen and looking for movement.

He shook his head, moving for the coffee maker on the desk and turned on the lamp. He wished there was a radio somewhere, or some form of entertainment besides the surveillance room. He opted to stay out of there, but did glance in there once or twice the previous night.

Coming to stand before the panel of CCTVs, he stared at the individually. One camera was situated outside the steel doors, another in the back corner facing the table. One watched him from the corner of the armored surveillance room, and another pointed directly behind the table and tank. There was a single camera that was new to him.

It was a small room with a short ledge following the wall, leaving a foot of space between the obstacle. Beyond the short ledge was nothing but a black void, within that void reflected the ceiling light, an eerie yellow color splashed onto the surface of stillness. A mesh net hung lazily over to keep the aquatic life from jumping out. The only entrance was a door with the faint, low quality words ‘EMPLOYEE ONLY’. No windows. No emergency exits.

The floors has a sheen of wetness to them, footprints left by its last occupant.

It was another room leading into the tank. It must’ve been a place above it, where Kyle could clean and empty it out. A place where only he had access to.

Johnny wondered if he would ever see what was inside of the tank. He wanted to know what Shepherd was so enthralled by to have so many people watching, waiting for something to happen.

x

Johnny's dinner consisted of a ham and cheese sandwich that was as bland as the night. Tasteless, he didn't even feel like wasting another second eating it. As far as he knew, there wasn't any vending machines on the premises, so he wasn't going to find luck getting another bite.

However, his mind began wandering. Wondering where the other side of the tank could possibly be. He wouldn't necessarily go inside the room, he was just curious, bored out of his mind. He knew going through the doors he'd come through wasn't an option without question.

The only other door in the area was a side door that looked more like a closet than an exit. He proceeded towards it, giving the door a tug harder than he meant to, and it practically fell off it's hinges. He grimaced, looking behind him as if someone were ready to scold him with a wooden spoon in hand.

There was no one. He was safe, for now.

Up ahead of him, past the small door, there was a long hall unlike the room or the building alone. The hall was dark beyond compare, orange bulbs sparsely lit the corridor. Thick piping bordered the wall alongside the tank, giving a gentle heavy hum as he stepped in. He felt the pit of his stomach deepen, an uncanny feeling dwelling in his body as he ventured forward.

He should turn back, right? He should.

He looked back to the sanction of the whitewashed room, and continued into the dark corridor. He moved slowly, hearing droplets of water dollop from the walls and ceiling to the floor like great crashing waves within the pin drop silence. Everything felt amplified — his fear, his mouth breathing, the drips of water, the pipes groaning at his right, and the darkness overcoming his vision as he came to the end of the corridor.

A darkened boiler room sat within.

A flickering light beckoned him to his right, up a skinny metal stairwell. He stared at the ‘EXIT’ sign as he clasped the railing, that dead fishy smell growing stronger here. He gave a nod to himself before peering around the corner of the stairwell, a dirty white door waiting up ahead. A dead bolt latched over.

He was psychotic. He needed this job. He needed to go back to just sitting in his chair and minding his business.

But the door.

The ‘EMPLOYEE ONLY’ door above the tank. He needed to know what Shepherd was having him watch.

“If it’s something illegal, burn my bridges. Move on.” He began chanting to himself as he stepped closer to the door, his heart was pounding in his chest. “First sign of illegal, burn my bridges, move on.” He reached for the latch before turning the knob. “First sign of illegal,” he shoved open the door, “burn my—“

Out before him sat the edge of the tank, the short ledge, and darkness below.

“Fucking hell.”

Captain Search Dog MacTavish was nothing but a drug dog, easily trained to find anything he wanted. Including hidden rooms.

Chalking the spring hinged door open with the latch extended, he felt a nervousness peering into the water below. Slowly he leaned down to press his hands into the ledge, palms soaked instantly, and stared down at his reflection. From above he could actually see that the tank had a reef of dark corals, a small foam of microscopic organisms floating and dipping below into the void.

Around the ledge, assumingly Garrick’s, there were temperature measuring tools, a metal cup, a bucket, gloves, and scrubbing tools. But none of them had been left in the water. Nothing was close enough to even touching the water, but the ledge was wet, and fish guts had been left on the ground beside his feet.

Johnny grimaced but looked back to the water to his reflection. He looked to his mussed hair and collar, running a hand through the remaining length before seeing his reflection ripple. He hadn’t touched the water, and he was sure he couldn’t see any fish. He furrowed his brow, leaning forward.

His image morphed into a paled portrait, sunken in by darkness. His eyes grew darker, wider. It was something of a nightmare that drew him closer. His lanyard touched the surface of the water, distorting him entirely, and before he could pull it — something grabbed hold of it. Something harsh and strong.

The tie snapped before he could fall forward into the bottomless pit, but like a frightened fish, he flopped away. He fell back over the short ledge against the wall, clutching the back of his neck where the lanyard had pressed harshly into his nape. Gasping, he pulled himself up against the wall.

That’s wasn’t normal. There was no fish that had snagged him, no mammalian creature; he inched himself forward carefully to the edge of the tank.

Just below the surface of the water — a face stared back at him.

Frozen in his own body, Johnny watched it slowly fade into the water until it became nothing. And maybe he could’ve shaken it off as a hallucination, maybe he was beyond starving and he was making up things.

He didn’t see a man in the tank.

His lanyard didn’t get snatched off his neck.

He wasn’t going back to that room, no reason at all, just because. No other reason.

x

Next chapter

fic masterlist

[sunevial]

The Torn Veil, City of Twilight

The Torn Veil is a city between spaces, a place that sits between the world of the living and the world of the dead. It’s always twilight, the sky split between the fading light of day and the twinkling stars, a crescent moon always overhead.

It’s not hard to get to the city, at least not in theory. There is a port, certainly, with boats laden with goods and people. There are roads leading into the city as well, always parked with caravans and cars and always beginning at a crossroads.

No one knows where the paths lead to. Everyone says it brought them from somewhere else, and every time they take the paths out, they are right back where they started. These paths can be consistent, but they can seem to pop out of nowhere most of the time… a slip between realities at dusk, a walk in a graveyard, perhaps simply going to the crossroads and touching the sign in the middle when the stars blink right. That’s why those who want to find the city reliably choose portals, doors, or waypoints… assuming they can be found, anyways.

The city seems to have no limit, growing and expanding and shifting to accommodate its population. Buildings stretch high into the sky, connected with small bridges, ropes, and magical wires bearing arcane carriages. Rooftops hold small gardens, rookeries for strange magical birds, open-air bars to grab a drink and watch the world float and fly on by.

The roads are lined with vendors, stalls, blankets spread out with trinkets and baubles of all shapes and sizes. Every which way you look, there are humans, and there are those who aren’t human, and perhaps there are things that were once human. Selkies and dryads barter with fiendish looking individuals, kitsune sip drinks with angels, and lesser gods slip through the marketplace mostly unnoticed.

However, present in equal measure are the more unusual inhabitants of the Torn Veil. Everywhere you look, there are ghosts and undead. They run the shops, they barter for wares, picking things up and interacting with the world as if they were alive. Ghosts can hug their loved ones, the reanimated undead have a sense of clarity to their mind, and vampires can buy a drink of blood for barely more than a cup of wine.

It’s a feature of the city. While the undead may not find their way back to life in this place, the Torn Veil gives them back a sense of normalcy. Families can reunite and make their peace, or they can continue existing side by side as long as needed, perhaps forever if that’s the case.

It’s a city of riches, a city of secrets, a city for both the living and the dead and for neither the living nor the dead, for the line between both is thin here… perhaps thinner than it should be.

[operatorsdiner]

The Night Shift: Entry 1.

It wasn't new for Alex to “open” but it was new having to get carpooled with the youngest member of their team. Dante’s pickup truck was surprisingly clean inside and even had accommodations for the passenger seat such as a little head pillow and some hand wipes. He sat in the driver's seat with his left hand on the wheel and the other turning the window crank with a cigarette placed between his lips. “You don't mind if I smoke right now, right?” He mumbled glancing over at Alex. For being a dickhead line cook, he was pretty polite to his coworkers off the clock. “It’s a little early, isn’t it?” Alex yawned as they glanced at the red blinking clock on the radio, 12:45 am with the top line of the five not appearing at all. Dante hummed as he removed the cigarette from his lips as he cranked the window back up. “Yeah, you’re right. My bad.” He shrugged as he slipped a cassette into the radio. Alex gave a nod of acknowledgment as they turned their head to look out the window. The trees of the forest that surrounded the road made it feel like they were driving in a circle with the moonlight peeking through the treetops mocking them. 

The sound of the Depeche Mode fills the car acting as background noise to the ride.  “Thanks for giving me a ride by the way. You were the last person I wanted to contact but I knew you were the most reliable.” The corner of Dante’s lips curled up a bit but ultimately kept his normal bitch face. “No worries. My shift isn’t till 12 so I have time to get some sleep.” He grumbled as he readjusted his glass. Alex rested their forehead against the cold glass as they kept their eyes outside. Of course, the one day they're already running late for work is the day their car breaks down. They already knew Dante would be up as he would have just gotten out of his last class for the semester of culinary school. Alex continued to stare out the window for the rest of the time until the truck took a slight right turn and pulled into the parking lot of their job. A fucking Waffle house. Not where they ever imagined someone like them working but life is a cruel prankster and it unfortunately made Alex its jester. Dante parked in front of the building and turned to Alex with an expecting look. Alex looked forward and crumbled in despair as they rubbed their faces in their hands. “Baylen is going to fucking chew me out,” they groaned in agony. Dante hummed and pulled out a cigarette as he opened the driver-side door with a loud creak. He slammed the door behind him as he walked over to the passenger side door and opened it for Alex. “I'll take Baylen's wrath for you, just go get your apron,” Alex sighed in defeat as they climbed out of the car and headed towards the building. 

The familiar ring of the front door grabbed the staff's attention as Alex entered with Dante trailing behind close with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. Familiar brown hair caused Alex's stomach to sink into their ass. Baylen had taken up the mantle of head chef due to Alex's tardiness. Baylen's head turned to greet the pair. “Hi, welcome to Waffle House take a se- YOU!” Baylen yelled as they realized who had entered the establishment. Thank god the restaurant was mostly empty. Alex visibly shrunk as Baylen raised their voice. Before Alex could respond Dante stepped in front of Alex to play mediator. “Heyyy, I did call. Why didn't you pick it up? Alex's car was ass so I had to drive ‘em,” He said with a grin. His slightly yellowed teeth seemed to have a sparkle to them as he charmed Baylen. Baylen frowned as they looked over Dante’s shoulder and glared at Alex. “Must have not heard the ring,” They grumbled as they turned around to continue working on the grill. Alex let out a sigh of relief as they walked past Dante and towards the back area to retrieve their apron. It seemed they were alone in the back as Enzo and Vesper worked on dishes together while making not-so-very-small talk. They both greeted Alex with a smile as they rushed to grab their apron. Vesper leaned against the sink and looked at the clock on the wall, “Wow an hour and fifteen minutes late? Who drove you this time since Adrian is already here?” They grin mischievously. Alex groaned as they rushed over to the clock-in station and punched in their card. “Dante,” They said as they tied their apron and rushed back to the front. Enzo peaked over the corner to the main seating area. “Oh shit, it is Dante.” He shook his arms off to remove the water and suds. Using his apron he walked around the counter and greeted Dante. Dante greeted Enzo with a smile as they did their normal greeting. Alex quickly walked over to the grill and politely took their spatula from Baylen as they immediately started cooking.

Baylen sighed and patted Alex's back as they began cooking. “It's not your fault. Just call next time,” Baylen said with a small smile as they walked away to begin wrapping silverware. “If it makes you feel better we've been pretty empty tonight. That's a pick-up order I was working on. Everyone is just getting paid to stand around tonight.” Baylen turned their attention to Dante. “Wanna switch shifts and just clock in now so you don't have to work with the day shift weirdos?” Dante lulled his head in Baylen’s direction then glanced at the clock. “Pfft sure why not? Just text the morning shift lead.” Baylen nodded as they wrote on a clipboard and looked up. “WREN AND ADRIAN WHEN I COME BACK THERE BETTER BE AT LEAST 3 ROLLS OF SILVERWARE DONE!” Baylen shouted as they turned and headed to the back room.

Alex sighed and hung their shoulders as they packaged the food for the order. 

Just another night on the job.

[writercole]

A Very Serious Matter

Summary: Charles got a little drunk and criticized her driving. Well...maybe it worked out for the best.

Words: 1352

Warnings: 18+ MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. Vaginal penetration, outdoor sex, vaginal fingering, alcohol use (mentions), French dirty talk with no translations

A/N: I've stopped asking where the tribbles come from and just follow them. I apologize for the amount of RPF coming your way but just think of it as a character that shares the same name and look as someone famous. You know...a face claim. Because trust me. I absolutely 100% know how delusional this is.

A/N 2: I'm sorry, @reels-and-wheels.

He wasn't going to get drunk. It wasn't in his plan. But the season was over, planning and testing hadn't begun, and he deserved to unwind. That's how she ended up driving his custom Ferrari down the streets of Monaco towards his apartment. The problem is that he wasn’t very happy about that.

“Cherie, slow down for the curve.”

“You’re not shifting right.”

“No, no, you’re too close.”

“Pull up closer.”

“Charles, if you don’t stop telling me how to drive, I’m going to leave your drunk ass here with your car and I’m going to walk home. To my place,” she stressed.

“You wouldn’t,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes for good measure.

She nodded silently and turned down a side street, popping the parking break and stepping out of the car.

“Where are you going?” Charles called before she shut the door.

She took satisfaction in shutting the door without responding, crossing in front of the car as she heard his door open. Footsteps rushed towards her as Charles called for her to stop.

“Oh, hold on, cherie,” he drawled as he caught her wrist and twirled her towards him. “You can’t walk away from me when you look so good trying to be angry with me.”

Her hands landed on his solid chest and the frustration that had been building since they left the party melted away. Warmth seeped through the silk dress she wore where his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, a sly grin on his flushed face as he looked down on her. She looked up at him through her lashes, pressing herself closer, biting her lip when she felt his hardness against her.

“When you look at me like that, it makes me want to take you right here, cherie,” he growled. His hands trailed down her side and gripped her hips tightly, grinding against her.

A soft whimper escaped her lips and he smirked, backing her up against the hood of his car.

“That sounds like you would like that,” he taunted. His lips met hers roughly and she kissed him back, whining when he pulled away and left her leaning against his prized sports car.

“Charles, the car,” she said breathlessly as he spun her around.

“Fuck the car,” he growled, his hands pushing down between her shoulder blades and trailing down her spine. She felt the hem of her dress lifting and his hands hooking in the simple thong she was wearing, pulling it down slowly. A yelp echoed in the alley as his teeth sank into the globe of her ass. “Step, darling,” he cooed once his hands had reached her ankles.

She complied, bracing herself on the hood of his Ferrari, the cool breeze a welcome contrast to the heat building with every brush of his fingers against her thighs. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him standing back up, his hands on his belt, desperately trying to get it unbuckled. His foot kicked her heels apart, exposing her to him fully.

“Hold on, cherie,” he commanded as he lined up the tip of his cock against her dripping hole. He bottomed himself out in one thrust, her cunt stretching to accommodate him easily as it had been made for him.

She moaned loudly, her fingers grasping for purchase against the smooth carbon fiber, doing everything she could to keep her weight off of the delicate material as Charles pounded into her ruthlessly. Fire burned in her veins, setting her nerves on fire as her release built with every thrust.

“Tu est une bonne fille,” he cooed behind her, his fingers digging into her hips for leverage. “Ma bonne petite putain.”

Her release hit out of nowhere, walls clenching around his cock and shouts bouncing off of the dark Monaco streets. Charles growled behind her and picked up his pace, his hips faltering before he came with a shout, his seed coating her walls, him continuing to fuck into her, pushing her into over-stimulation as she started to squirm under his touch.

His hands landed on the side of her and his weight folded on top of her back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath.

“Baby, you’re going to dent the hood,” she chuckled as more and more of his weight pressed down upon her.

“I don’t care,” he replied, but stood anyway, pulling his softening cock out with a hiss. He tugged her dress down with one hand, the other holding his pants up until he got her righted.

She turned and looked at him, flushed cheeks and disheveled hair, crooked grin as he fastened his belt again. “Where’s my underwear?” She asked.

“Oh, you don’t need them.”

“But I’m going to ruin your seat,” she protested.

“Cherie, I said it once, I’ll say it again. Fuck the car. I want to remember bending you over the hood of the second most precious thing in my world and filling you up before dropping you back in the passenger seat leaking me.”

“Passenger seat?” She laughed. “Charles, you’re still drunk. I’m driving home.”

“Hmm. I don’t think so,” he tutted as he stepped back into her space, his fingers trailing up her thigh once again. She suppressed a whimper and gripped his wrist before he could reach the apex of her leg. “I drive, I play with that pretty little pussy, and you make a mess of that dress, my hand, and my seat. I want anyone who gets into my car to smell you and know what I can do to you.”

She nodded enthusiastically and let him guide her to the passenger seat on weak legs, smiling when he dipped down to kiss her before closing the door. He slipped in to the driver seat and his hand automatically landed on her knee and trailed up, dipping under her dress and into her folds.

“Charles,” she whined as she squirmed in her seat.

His fingers skillfully rubbed her clit while he steered the car away from the curb, keeping to the low speed limit of the city streets as she writhed next to him, bucking her hips against his hand and chasing the pleasure of another release. Her juices coated his hand and he helped her to ride out her high before withdrawing his fingers and bringing them up to the low light flooding the car from the streetlights. He looked over with a smirk and opened his mouth, sucking his fingers clean with an obscene moan that made her walls clench around nothing.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost home,” he assured her as he dug in his pocket. “And you’ve done so good, cherie, so good for me. Leaving me little reminders everywhere.” A small strip of fabric dangled from his finger as he dropped his hand to the shifter, draping her thong over the stick.

“You can’t leave those there,” she protested halfheartedly.

“It’s my car, I can do whatever I want with it.”

“Those are my panties!”

“Yeah. And everyone else will know that my car will always be second to my girl’s pleasure. And I’ll remember the night that I couldn’t wait to get you home to be inside you, the night I had to fuck you over the hood of my car because I couldn’t hold myself back any longer.”

“Not the night that I parked on the side of the road and planned on walking back and leaving your drunk ass there?”

“No, the night that I knew that I’d do anything for the woman in the satin dress, including risking dents on the hood of my car to calm you down.”

“You..” She chuckled. “You are something else, Charles LeClerc.”

“You know you love it,” he replied with a cocky grin, pulling into the parking garage.

“I guess,” she sighed in mock annoyance.

“Well, if it’s just a guess, I guess I’ll have to take you inside and pleasure you until I convince you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Oh trust me, cherie,” he chuckled, “pleasure is a very serious matter.”

[namig42]

Oh nooooo, there's a third chapter up of my Wyllstarion fanfic, and now they're on a date? Nooo, don't go check it out and read it, that would be craaazyyyyy

Just One Yesterday (Ch. 3)

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Read it on Ao3!

Summary: Originally inspired by the lyric "anything you say can and will be held against you, so only say my name. It will be held against you," from Fall Out Boy's song "Just One Yesterday."

This is a modern AU where Wyll is a police officer and Astarion is a sex worker. Despite a problematic start, the two manage to find a connection and have it build in time into something more.

Note: There's a dance sequence in this chapter, and so if you'd like to listen to the song I had in mind, cue up "Where Did the Party Go" by Fall Out Boy! I'd start playing it when the band starts playing in the bar.

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Saturday night could not come soon enough for Wyll. After seeing Astarion in the state he was in yesterday, Wyll spent the whole day counting down the hours until dusk. He ran around the police station all day, filing paperwork and finalizing reports of his recent vigilante work, and as soon as his shift ended at five o’clock, he bolted out of the building and back to his apartment to change into civilian clothes and rush to the Elfsong.

Wyll’s apartment wasn’t much more than a small room with a kitchenette, a twin-sized bed with neutral colored sheets, one shoddy dresser, and a coat closet. There were books and superhero comics stacked on top of the dresser along with an alarm clock and a pile of dirty clothes tucked away in between the dresser and the bed frame. The bathroom barely fit the shower, sink, and toilet, but considering how little Wyll actually was home, he didn’t mind the cramped accommodations. His whole life happened to fit in this little room, and that was enough. He dashed into his apartment as soon as he drove up to the building, threw his uniform in a pile at the foot of his bed, grabbed a t-shirt and some faded black pants with an old pair of black dress shoes and his only bomber jacket, then ran out of his place as quick as he came.

As Wyll blazed through the city in his dingy car, he didn’t stop to think about the past week. He didn’t care about the people he had arrested and put away or the sense of guilt that loomed over him with each detainment. Tonight, he was going to push all those thoughts to the back of his mind and take the night for himself. He was not an officer this evening, just a guy looking forward to some pleasant company with a familiar face.

As he rounded the park, he began to slow down and scan the buildings for the Elfsong, but he was having trouble spotting the bar from the street. After rounding the block around the park twice and unsuccessfully looking for any visible sign of the place, Wyll decided to park his car along the street and search for the bar on foot. After checking down some of the narrow alleys that cars wouldn’t fit through, Wyll finally noticed a small crowd of people by an entrance, and sure enough, they were clogging up the Elfsong’s entrance. Wyll made his way through the people blocking the door and entered the building, immediately scouting for that silver head of hair.

The inside of the Elfsong was wide and long with a bar lining the back wall. There were plenty of tables filling the left side of the room, and to the far right, there was a large dance floor that was very sparse at the moment. There was only a bit of ambient music playing for the time being, but there was a stage set, meaning that there was a band to be expected at some point this evening.

As Wyll scanned the room, he spotted his target already at the far left end of the bar. Astarion sat with his back to the door and was slouched over the counter, deeply focused on whatever was in front of him. Wyll’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. He had been looking forward to this all week, and now finally, there was Astarion, just like he said he’d be. A big smile spread across Wyll’s face as he took a deep breath and made his way over to the bar. 

As he approached, Wyll took a look at Astarion’s outfit for this evening. He had on a different pair of fitting black pants and a fitted burgundy dress shirt that had the sleeves rolled to the elbows. That same leather jacket he always wore was sitting on the counter next to him. Wyll wondered if Astarion had any other coats, or if he just happened to be fond of that one in particular. He imagined Astarion as someone with a large closet, filled with all sorts of nice outfits that were perfectly tailored to his physique. Astarion couldn’t be like Wyll, someone with just a single coat and one nice pair of shoes to their name, could he?

As Wyll made his way to the bar, he thought of a charming, witty way to mark his presence, but hesitated the moment he saw Astarion’s face. The man was staring into a glass of red wine with that same distant look in his eyes that he had had last night on the street. His eyes were a thousand miles away as he mindlessly stared into and swirled his drink. Wyll silently took a seat next to him instead and spoke to the bartender first. “Excuse me, I’ll have whatever he’s having.” The sound of Wyll’s voice seemed to break Astarion from his trance. The light returned to his eyes as he looked over at his newfound barmate, and a tired smirk played at his lips. “So, you really are a fool.”

“Excuse me?” Wyll asked, smiling at the insult. He couldn’t contain his excitement upon seeing Astarion again, though it seemed that his companion wasn’t as excited to see him. Astarion buried his face in one of his hands and asked himself, “why did I think this would be a good idea?”

Wyll finally was able to get a better look at Astarion now that he was close, and he saw that the bruise under Astarion’s left eye was still a sickly yellow color, almost finished healing, but not quite. There were also some scratches along his cheek and his neck. “Are you alright?” Wyll asked, his concern evident on his face. Astarion scoffed and looked at Wyll with a callous smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Never better! Things have just been delightful!”

Wyll flinched a bit at the harsh tone of Astarion’s voice. The bartender quietly placed Wyll’s glass of wine in front of him and ran to the other side of the bar, silent as a shadow. Wyll immediately took a long drink from the wine, thankful for the bit of liquid courage. Astarion watched the young man’s reaction and sighed, turning back to his own glass. “I’m sorry. It’s just… been a long week at work.”

“Can I ask what happened?” Wyll asked timidly. Astarion exhaled a long breath, took a sip of his drink, and launched into his story. “To put it mildly, someone got into a bit of trouble last night and now my boss has decided to punish everyone for her mistake. I was already in his bad graces for…” he paused and glanced at Wyll, “something I did last week. I had already dealt with my own personalized punishment, but then Aurelia goes and gets herself into trouble, and then suddenly we’re all meant to suffer because she was being careless!” He spat out the words as if there was poison in them, and his hand flew up towards the end of his rant, nearly knocking his glass over in the process.

“Aurelia?” Wyll asked. The girl he arrested last night? Did he happen to take someone from Astarion’s group without even realizing it?

Astarion looked at Wyll with dawning horror. “Do you know her?” he asked, realizing he was a fool that let a name slip in his frustration. Wyll looked back with a similar, scared expression. He didn’t want to admit that he had been the one to personally arrest her. He didn’t want to scare Astarion away.

“There was someone arrested last night with that name. Dark hair, tan skin, a bit smaller in stature?”

Astarion sighed, “that indeed does sound like her. Well then…” Astarion made a move to stand up from his stool. “It’s been a pleasure Wyll, but I need to be going-” as Astarion tried to excuse himself, Wyll grabbed his wrist. Astarion froze in place and pulled his hand away from Wyll as if he had been burned. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” Wyll spoke softly, holding up his palms to show he meant no harm, “but please don’t go. I’m not working right now, I promise. We don’t need to talk about work. I’d really just like to share in your company tonight.”

“And when you go back to work?” Astarion asked, his face full of doubt and fear. “Do I need to worry about you making connections and looking for suspects?”

“No.” Wyll looked straight into Astarion’s eyes as he answered. He wanted Astarion to believe his word. Unless there was any kind of damning evidence, Wyll wanted nothing more than to turn the other cheek right now and not be an officer. Maybe he would have to make connections later down the line, but he’d do everything in his power to keep Astarion out of it.

Astarion stood there and looked straight into Wyll’s eyes. He could see the rookie’s sincerity and sighed, falling back onto his stool. “Do you promise?”

Wyll put one hand over his heart and raised his other hand. “I promise on my one good eye that there is nothing you can say this evening that will leave this bar.” Astarion snickered at how much of a hopelessly honorable man Wyll was and picked up his glass. He held it in front of him, waiting for Wyll to do the same. “Oh goody, someone I can finally spill all my deepest and darkest secrets to. Cheers to that, darling.” Wyll smiled and clinked his glass with Astarion’s. They both took a long sip, finishing off their drinks. The bartender came over and asked if they’d like another round, and Wyll ordered for the both of them. “Oh, such a prince~. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to worm your way into my bed tonight.” Wyll laughed and took another sip from the refilled glass. “I simply do my best to treat my company well.” Astarion scoffed and took a sip from his new drink too.

The two sat at the bar for a while, debating on who had the better tolerance for alcohol. Astarion insisted he did because of how much he partied when he was at university, but Wyll called Astarion an old man who was past his prime. Astarion gasped and feigned hurt, “you wound me, darling! How could you say something so awful to someone as beautiful as me?”

“I only said you can’t compare to me in terms of liquor. I never said your charms had suffered.” Wyll smiled and his face flushed a bit, but he was hoping to blame the wine. They each finished their glass and decided to order a whole bottle to share. They cleared the bottle in a matter of minutes and both of them started to feel the effects of the drink, but neither were done yet. A second bottle was ordered, and the night continued on. As their drinking slowed down a bit, they began to chat a bit more. Wyll asked if there were any stories Astarion had been reading, and Astarion began recounting a story he had just finished a few days ago titled Misery, going especially into detail about some of the gruesome scenes as he summarized the thriller for Wyll.

“I was truly agog at the psychological torture more than anything else in that book. It was fascinating.”

“Agog? What kind of a word is that? It makes you sound much older than I figured you to be.” Astarion had taken a sip from his wine when he finished speaking and choked at Wyll’s comment. Wyll laughed at Astarion’s minor spit take, while Astarion wiped his mouth and gave Wyll a displeased sneer.

“If you think that’s an impressive word, then that only tells me how much of a child you are.”

“How old even are you?” Wyll asked, trying to contain his laughter.

“Older than you, that’s all you need to know.” Astarion said, taking another sip of his drink. His pale complexion was now turning bright red from the blush that filled his cheeks. Wyll couldn’t help but notice Astarion’s ears turning red as well and how they stood out so drastically from the curls that perfectly coiffed his head. “Is your hair naturally that silver? Or did you simply turn gray earlier than most?”

Astarion slammed down his glass so hard it was a surprise the stem didn’t break in half. “Yes, it is and has always been this color. Is your eye naturally that white? Or are you a fool who simply traded it out because you became bored with the original?” His tone was incredibly loaded. Perhaps Wyll had cracked one too many jokes at Astarion’s expense.

“No, I lost it in the line of duty.” Wyll said nonchalantly, taking another drink. Astarion froze a bit at that response. “Ah, I see.” Astarion went silent, unsure of how to proceed with what could be an incredibly sensitive subject. “How did… could I ask what happened? Only if it’s something you don’t mind recounting, of course.”

Wyll took a moment to admire Astarion’s nervous demeanor. It was the first time he had seen Astarion look so timid, and it was adorable. Wyll couldn’t help but laugh heartily at Astarion’s discomfort. It was the hardest he had laughed in a long time. Astarion was surprised at the reaction, but seemed to relax a bit knowing that he hadn’t brought up a painful memory for the young man. After Wyll recovered from his laughing fit, he told Astarion the story of his first year on the force. He was a grunt that got called to help with a home invasion during that time, and while scoping the home for the intruders, one of the criminals attacked Wyll from behind and took him by surprise. They hit his head with something blunt and knocked Wyll forward, and that’s when Wyll’s face happened to land on a particularly pointed sculpture. His eye was stabbed and destroyed, but even with that pain, he still managed to get back up and knock out the intruders, detaining them and keeping the family safe. “I may have lost an eye, but at least now I have a riveting story!”

“God, you really are a hero,” Astarion said, almost disgusted. He was leaning his arm on the bar and resting his head on his hand as he listened to Wyll’s heroic tale. He held his wine glass from the top and swirled it around, only stopping to take a sip once Wyll was finished recounting his tale.

“Is there something wrong with that?” Wyll asked, bemused by what sounded like an underhanded compliment.

“Of course not, the world needs heroes and all that. I’ve just never met anyone that was actually worthy of the title.” Astarion took another sip, unaware of the praise he had just gifted Wyll. As Wyll turned to his own glass and smiled from the compliment, the music in the bar seemed to become much louder. Both the men turned towards the dance floor and saw that the band that was slotted to play tonight finally started their set, and the floor was full of fans huddling against the stage.

“Do you dance Wyll?” Astarion asked, almost yelling to be heard over the loud bassline. He leaned in close to Wyll, and the rookie was intensely aware of the other man’s presence over his shoulder.

“I know a thing or two, though I’m more familiar with ballroom dances than a mosh pit.” Wyll said with a cocky smirk. “Do you think you can keep up? You’re not too tired from the drink?”

“Please,” Astarion scoffed as he stood. He offered Wyll a hand. “I’ve done more than you could imagine in one evening and still had the energy to deal with babes like yourself.” Wyll laughed as he finished off his glass and took the hand offered to him. He stood and let Astarion lead him to the dance floor where the band was playing some pop punk music. Wyll tapped his foot to the beat and felt himself sway a bit to the rhythm, but he didn’t feel quite in his element with this style of music. Meanwhile, Wyll looked over to Astarion and watched the older gentleman gyrate his hips in a way that made Wyll blush.

Astarion’s movements were oddly graceful in the middle of the dancefloor where everyone else thrashed about. His movements were so soft and fluid, not unlike that of a burlesque performer. His shoulders rolled and made Wyll hyper aware of Astarion’s pronounced collar bone that was on display thanks to the many undone buttons of his dress shirt. His posture and the way he moved his arms was so beautifully regal yet promiscuous. Wyll couldn’t bring himself to watch for too long because he could feel himself gawking at how captivating Astarion moved. It seemed that Astarion wanted him to know who was the superior dancer though and grabbed Wyll’s hand to make a point. Wyll turned and watched Astarion continue to dance, holding his hand and dancing around Wyll in a way that made the young man feel paralyzed. It was like Astarion was a snake, circling around his prey and preparing to constrict them before devouring them whole.

Wyll was about to admit defeat, but then, as the chorus of the song turned to a new verse, Wyll thought to bring his own skills into this new style. He used the hand that Astarion was already holding and pulled the other man close, bringing the two of them into a traditional ballroom style position. Astarion was surprised and caught off guard as Wyll placed his hand on the other’s lower back. He held Astarion in place and led him, wanting to make sure that Astarion knew that he wasn’t the only one with fancy moves of his own.

Wyll moved his hips similarly to how Astarion had been earlier, going into a basic salsa style step that left Astarion moderately impressed. He smiled at Wyll as he swayed his own hips and let himself be led, and the rookie let his pride gleam from every pore of his body. Wyll hadn’t had the opportunity to wow Astarion the same way the older gentleman had impressed him time and time again with his wit and his charm. This dance was Wyll’s moment to shine.

He spun Astarion out as the pre-chorus played, then spun him in and leaned his head over his dance partner’s shoulder. “Are you agogged yet?” He spun Astarion out once more and pulled him back to their original position, this time even closer than before. Astarion laughed that beautiful laugh of his. “I must admit, I am impressed. You even managed to use your new vocabulary word, you clever boy.”

The two smiled at each other, though this time, Wyll was the one with the confidence that Astarion normally had in excess, and Astarion was the one with a soft grin that tugged at Wyll’s heartstrings. As they continued the basic step, Wyll held Astarion close. It was the first time that their bodies were pressed together that Wyll didn’t feel like something was off or that he was crossing a line. In a dance, it was still incredibly intimate and vulnerable, but Wyll felt a sense of ritual in the steps that led him to not feel so nervous. Plus, he had danced with so many people at cotillions and military balls that he had attended with his father when he was younger that he felt safe in this scenario, even when dancing with hips that swayed heavily and another man held so close against his center.

He had never held anyone this close before in a dance besides his past girlfriends, but there hadn’t ever been a feeling like this. Even when Astarion held him close in the shed just a week ago, this feeling hadn’t been there in the same regard. There was a warmth and giddiness that coursed shakily through Wyll’s whole body, but in a way that made him smile even wider. Maybe it was because Astarion was a handsome man, or because he charmed Wyll in ways that no one else ever could. Maybe it was simply because the more he learned about him, the more Wyll felt himself falling for the roguish man that he was holding so close right now. Whatever it was, Wyll wanted to savor this feeling for as long as it could last.

The song finally rang out and a new song started, one where the intimacy of salsa didn’t quite work. Wyll let Astarion go reluctantly, savoring the closeness of the other man’s face while he could still feel Astarion’s cool breath on his sweat-slicked skin. The two danced in front of each other for a while longer afterwards. Astarion still managed to show up Wyll when it came to individual performance, voguing and making plenty of eye contact as he performed his risque dance for his younger partner. Wyll couldn’t stop smiling like a school boy as he watched his captivating companion, moving to the music as best he could.

Though they were both beginning to feel a bit worse for wear after dancing for a few songs, neither of them wanted to be the first to admit that they needed to take a seat. Thankfully, the band took an intermission after about thirty minutes, and so the two men took the opportunity to sit down at one of the open tables on the other side of the room. Astarion flopped down on the bench first, his back to the table. “I knew you couldn’t keep up!” Wyll chided.

“Oh shut it,” Astarion said. Wyll flopped down next to him, sitting a bit too close by accident. He felt his side press against Astarion and moved away quickly and turned around to face the table properly. “Sorry,” Wyll said softly. Astarion leaned in a bit closer, pressing against Wyll again and surprising him. “Whatever for, love?” Astarion stayed close as he rested his arm on the table and his face on his hand. He gave Wyll a coy look that made Wyll’s face burn. Without the excuse of a dance, Wyll was back to feeling a bit nervous again. There was no performance to hide behind and excuse his nerves.

“Wherever did you learn to dance like that?” Astarion asked, leaning a touch closer to Wyll.

“I took plenty of dancing lessons as a boy. My father had plenty of social gatherings to attend, and I was expected to go as well and be a proper gentleman. Sometimes, my father relented how well I turned out, urging me to be a bit more devious.”

“Really~?” Astarion asked, intrigued. “Even your own father thought you were too much of a goody goody. What did he do to make you more rebellious?” “Well, he did try to get me to kiss a few girls when I was younger. I wasn’t much for it though.”

“When did you have your first kiss?” Astarion asked, fueled by the gossip that was Wyll’s life story.

“With my first girlfriend when I was about fifteen. The relationship didn’t last very long after that, but at least my father stopped arranging dates for me with his friends’ daughters.” Wyll smiled as Astarion laughed.

“Fifteen? Such a late bloomer! Poor little Wyll, too romantic for his own good.”

“I don’t regret that I waited so long. It was much better kissing someone I knew well enough rather than a complete stranger.”

“I won’t deny that,” Astarion said, his voice softening, “but still, it’s only a kiss. You didn’t want to have that experience sooner?”

“No,” Wyll said with a soft smile as he reminisced about simpler times. “I wanted to wait for the right person, and I think I did. The girl was a dear friend of mine, so even after the relationship fizzled out, we still remained good friends.” Astarion stared at the young romantic with a look Wyll couldn’t quite decipher. Was it… admiration? Envy? Awe? It left Wyll a bit flustered and he had to stare down at the table in front of him.

The two sat like that for a short while. As Wyll sat and looked at Astarion out of his peripheries, he couldn’t help but notice the bruising again. Before he could stop himself, he heard himself ask, “was that a work-related injury?” Astarion reached up and touched his face before scooting away from Wyll. “I thought we agreed on no discussions about work.” “So it was work-related?”

Astarion sighed, and reluctantly responded, “yes… but it’s fine, really.”

“How is a black eye fine?” Wyll asked incredulously.

“Because it’s none of your god damned business, that’s how!” Astarion gritted his teeth as he yelled. Wyll recoiled and saw Astarion immediately regret the outburst. He leaned away from the younger man even further and sighed. “Just please… let’s change the subject.”

“Alright… Well, you mentioned university earlier. What did you study back all those many long years ago?” Astarion gave Wyll a look of pleased annoyance. “Law, you brat.”

Wyll was surprised by that. Not that Astarion couldn’t have the presence to be a fine attorney, but it wasn’t as glamorous as Wyll had expected. Astarion saw the shocked look on Wyll’s face and scoffed. “What? What is so surprising about the fact I was a lawyer?”

It certainly made sense when Wyll considered their first interaction. The way Astarion worded his statements and was able to talk his way out of being arrested, he was smarter than Wyll gave him credit for. Having a background in law must’ve helped immensely with his line of work, especially for keeping him out of trouble.

Wyll finally responded, “I just never got that impression from you.” “Alright, well then what impression did I give you?”

That you’re charming and witty and the most beautiful person I’ve ever had the pleasure of spending time with.

“That you’re too glamorous to ever work a boring desk job,” Wyll said aloud instead. Astarion got a good laugh out of that one. That delightful giggle of his devolved quickly into a riot of laughter, one that had Wyll laughing along with him. After a long while, Astarion finally managed to breathe a bit, “well, I won’t deny that. I certainly wasn’t the best student, but I knew how to make up for it.” He gave a wink with that last bit.

“I’m sure you did,” Wyll said, slowing down his laughter as well. They sat for a moment, chatting a bit about life as an attorney, and Wyll so badly wanted to ask what happened and why he no longer was one. He resisted though, knowing that that would lead right back into talk about work, and he didn’t want to spoil the evening again.

The band started up again, but neither of the two had the energy left for a second round of dancing. Wyll leaned close to Astarion, nervous about how close the other man’s face was, and asked if he wanted to go outside for a bit of fresh air.

Astarion stood up and led the two of them into the alley just outside the bar. After exiting, they turned right and stood just a bit away from the crowd that clogged the front door still. Astarion leaned against the wall, the alcohol affecting his sense of balance ever so slightly. Wyll felt it too and decided to sit on the ground next to him, his knees bent and pulled close to rest his arms on. After a moment of fresh air, Astarion checked his phone for the time. It was just after one in the morning. “Shit,” Wyll heard Astarion swear under his breath.

“Is everything alright?”

Astarion put his phone back into his pocket and ran a hand through the side of his hair. He looked down at Wyll with a sad smile. “I’m afraid I have to end our evening here, darling.”

“What?” Wyll asked, standing up to meet Astarion’s gaze better. “But why?”

“It’s work-related.”

“Ah,” Wyll said, the disappointment evident on his face. He wanted to ask more, but didn’t want to pry and end up upsetting Astarion again. As he looked down at the ground, Astarion took Wyll’s hand in his, just like when they ended their first meeting. Wyll watched and savored the warm feeling that filled his body at the cool touch of Astarion’s skin.

“It’s been a delightful evening, Wyll. Thank you.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine, Astarion.” They stood quietly for a moment, their hands still interlocked. Wyll had had such a wonderful evening, he didn’t want it to end just yet, but he didn’t want Astarion to get hurt again because of him. He doesn’t know exactly what happened, but he had a strong feeling that Astarion got that bruise because of him after their first evening together. Was it because Astarion didn’t end up with any money that night because of Wyll? Was it because he almost got arrested? Maybe it was something else, but Wyll didn’t want to risk Astarion’s safety again because of his own selfish desire.

Still, he felt it would’ve been too empty to leave tonight with just a hand hold. With a soft voice, Wyll asked, “may I kiss you goodnight?”

Astarion looked at Wyll with a bit of surprise. He smiled softly before he finally responded, “you don’t have to ask, love… but I’m glad you did.” Wyll smiled and took a step forward, taking the hand that wasn’t in Astarion’s and using it to hold the paler gentleman’s face. Astarion placed his hand on Wyll’s lower back and pulled him a bit closer. Wyll remembers the sensation from their first encounter, but that had been something much more lust-filled. This touch, this kiss… it was better than anything he could’ve ever imagined.

He had only intended a small peck, but the kiss lasted for a while longer than that. Every time Wyll felt like he should pull away, that it was too much, he felt himself kissing a bit deeper, and Astarion reciprocated, pressing himself even closer to Wyll.

Everything about Astarion was intoxicating. His lips, his breath, his cologne that Wyll had been able to smell all night and finally realized what the scent was: brandy, mixed with something lighter and citrusy. Something like bergamot. There was another note that was a bit stronger and more mature as well, like rosemary. Wyll wanted to bury his face into the crook of Astarion’s shoulder and take in the scent, but that was too much, at least for now.

After a minute that felt like an eternity of bliss, Wyll finally pulled away reluctantly. The feeling in his stomach this time was not one of emptiness or fear. It felt like butterflies lighting up his innards.

“Can I see you again next week?” Wyll asked, still holding Astarion’s sharp jaw in his dark hands.

“I… I’m not sure if it would be the best idea…”

Wyll stared into Astarion’s red eyes with the softest puppy eyes he could muster. He hadn’t even intended to beg without words, but his eyes reflected his heart’s desire so viscerally. Astarion was not immune to Wyll’s sincerity or that warm brown eye of his. He sighed and closed his own eyes, then placed the hand that had been on Wyll’s back now on the hand that held his own fair face. “I will be here after dusk, just as before.” The smile that filled Wyll’s face was so wholesome. He had another chance to see Astarion again. He wanted so badly to kiss the other man again, but he managed to resist, knowing full well that he might not be able to stop himself if he started again.

Astarion patted Wyll’s chest as he took a step away. “Goodnight, Wyll.” He released Wyll’s hand and began to walk back towards the bar entrance.

“Goodnight.” Wyll said, watching the man of mystery walk back into the bar. Once Astarion disappeared, Wyll slowly made his way back to his car. He was smiling ear to ear, thinking again and again about the kiss and the feeling that still lingered on his lips. It was enchanting, like something out of one of his romance novels. A whole night spent drinking and dancing, and when the clock struck midnight, his lover disappeared. It really was a fairytale, and Astarion was his Cinderella.

Still, there was the worry for whatever business Astarion was wrapped up in, and how Wyll’s position jeopardized Astarion’s safety. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest play, but Wyll wanted to help Astarion out of his situation. He wanted Astarion to be able to live a life as he pleased, not one where he had to be at someone’s beck and call and worry at every turn about what he did. He needed to get his Cinderella away from whoever played the role of his evil stepmother.

As Wyll got to his car, he sat in the driver’s seat and realized that he was still too tipsy to be driving home. Tragically, he would have to make due with the driver’s seat tonight instead of his bed. Wyll lowered the seat back into a more comfortable position, closing his eyes and letting his mind drift to the memories of the fun night he had just spent with his new companion. Astarion’s smile, his laugh, the creases that lined the bottom his eyes, his cologne, all the little details his mind could conjure up in order to create a complete vision of the man he spent the whole night enchanted by.

He had to help Astarion. He had to do something. He needed to figure out what kind of business he was entangled in and find out how to break him free. First things first, he needed to find out more about this boss of his, and thankfully, he already had someone who he could hopefully get to talk.

---

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

[n-rnova]

A Short History of the Palace

The Alexander Palace was ordered by Catherine the Great for her grandson, the future Alexander I. She began to plan for the building when he was quite young and intended to present it to him when he became an adult. She enjoyed discussing his future palace with the young Alexander and invited him to draft his own ideas for it.

Giacomo Quarenghi was the architect of the palace. He was born in Bergamo, Italy in 1744 and died in St. Petersburg in 1817. Quarenghi came from a family of artists. He was originally trained as a painter and had exceptional drawing abilities. He travelled throughout Italy, England and France studying architecture. Quarenghi had been deeply influenced by the Palladian style he saw in his native region around Venice during his youth. He was also impressed by the latest trends in Neo-classical architecture being built in France and the earlier, chaste designs of the English architect, Indigo Jones. Catherine invited Quarenghi to Russia in 1779, when he was thirty.

Physically Quarenghi was short and ugly. He was ridiculed by his critics for his height and appearance. He was clumsy and had a strange booming voice. Quarenghi had 13 children, some of whom lived in Russia and others who stayed in Italy.

Immediately upon his arrival in Russia the Tsarina put Quarenghi to work and commissioned many designs from him throughout her reign. He was one of her favorite architects. He was a master draughtsman and produced splendid sepia plans for the palace for Catherine which still survive.

Originally the Alexander Palace was planned for St. Petersburg. The first designs, (above) which were intended for an urban environment, clearly show a more ornate facade and a complex interior plan. At some point Catherine decided to build Alexander's palace in Tsarskoe Selo and simplify the plan. These changes went through several stages as plans for the palace neared reality.

Catherine selected a spot near her own residence in the Catherine Palace for the building. The site was a low hill on the other side of the palace park. Moving the location of the palace from the city to Tsarskoe Selo changed many of design requirements for the building. In Petersburg the palace had been designed a year-round Imperial residence; in Tsarskoe Selo the palace would function as a summer home, to be used only a few months out of the year. These circumstances reduced the need for expensive interiors and embellishments intended to impress the public. The palace plans were also modified to fit the more relaxed atmosphere of a summer residence.

Following the practice of the times, in 1792 the Imperial Court placed an advertisement in the St. Petersburg newspapers requesting bids from private contractors to build the palace. The selected firm was placed under the supervision of the Russian architect Nilov, who had been given the assignment of translating Quarenghi's designs into reality. He worked with Minchacci, Rusco and others. 286,000 rubles was paid to the contractor in installments which was to be fully paid by autumn of 1794. The building of the palace presented a number of challenges related to the site. Underground rivers which passed beneath the surface of the site caused the building to shift as it was going up. Major cracks developed in the main vault of the Semi-Circular Hall which can still be seen today. The builders made a number of on-the-spot changes to the design to accommodate problems like this that emerged during construction. A large terrace was built outside the garden entrance of the building to support and reinforce the vaults of the central halls. The contractors who put up the building had made a fixed bid for the construction. Delays and increased building costs came out of potential profits and they were anxious to put up the building as quickly and with as few complications as possible.

The palace foundations are of stone, but elsewhere the Alexander Palace is almost entirely constructed of brick. Millions were required to build the palace and they were made in the immediate vicinity of the of Tsarskoe Selo from local clays. This was a subject of some concern for Catherine. She strictly ordered the protection of local forests for fear the builders would strip the trees around Tsarskoe Selo to fire their kilns and possibly ruin her vistas.

The original bid for the construction of the building did not include funds for the interior decoration. The firm constructing the building did not have responsibility for the interiors and this assignment was given to an international team of British, Russian and Italian craftsmen. But as the construction of the building progressed Catherine found herself pressed for funds, and continued scaling back the interior decoration of the palace. This was not seen as a serious problem, the Empress felt Alexander could make his own additions later according to his own tastes.

Some furniture for the palace was ordered new, but most of it was assembled from other palaces. For example, a number of things were brought from the seldom-used Tauride Palace. Catherine made other selections for Alexander's palaces from her own residences.

At first, the exterior of the palace was left as exposed brick. It took a number of years for the brickwork to dry out and final stuccoing and painting could not safely occur for some years. The "New Palace", as it was then called, was completed and presented to Alexander in June 1796. He and his wife moved in on June 12, 1796. The construction had taken almost four years. Catherine greeted the then sixteen-year-old boy and his new wife, Elizabeth of Baden, on the steps of the palace with bread and salt, traditional gifts of blessing for a new house. Alexander had but a short time to enjoy the palace before the death of his grandmother in November of the same year. This event significantly changed the circumstances of his life and he came under the control of his father, the new Emperor Paul I.

During Paul's reign the palace was stuccoed and painted. It seems that the building was painted yellow and white from the beginning, although the original color was deeper and more intense that the hue we see today.

Paul was unpopular with a wide segment of society and was assassinated in the Mikhailovski Castle in St. Petersburg. Some claim Alexander was implicated in the murder, who then succeeded his father on the Russian throne. During his reign Alexander preferred to live in the Catherine Palace over the Alexander Palace when he was in Tsarskoe Selo. This does not mean he neglected the Alexander Palace, which required a great deal of maintenance in this period. In 1809 600,000 rubles had to be allocated for repairs to the building and the building's contents were fully inventoried for the first time.

Alexander and his wife were childless and he decided to designate his second brother, the future Nickolas I, to succeed him. He offered the Alexander Palace to Nickolas and began the tradition of making the Alexander Palace the Heir's semi-official summer palace in Tsarskoe Selo.

The palace retains the indelible mark of Nicholas I and his times. Nicholas had a large and growing family. Although he has a reputation for being a harsh ruler, when outside of governmental affairs he was a sentimental, family oriented man. The Alexander Palace was his favorite residence and he doted on the building, its furnishings and grounds. Many of the changes made to the palace reflect Nicholas' attitude toward the palace as his private home. For example he had special kitchens built within he palace so he could order favorite fast foods when he wanted them. He even did some of the cooking himself. Nicholas personally planted flower beds and made the final decision regarding the placement of each painting and piece of furniture. After becoming Tsar Nicholas' continued to favor the Alexander Palace and stayed there often.

Nicholas chose the Alexander Palace for some of the important events of his reign, including the first telegraph transmission in Russia, which the Tsar made from the palace.

Following in the footsteps of his elder brother, Nicholas gave the use of the Alexander Palace to his eldest son and heir, the future Alexander II, on the occasion of his marriage. This lead to a complete redecoration and updating of the palace. Technical advancements in lighting, heating and cooking meant changes went beyond simply new fabrics, furniture and carpets. The palace was completely modernized and brought up-to-date in the mid 1840's. Later in life, after her husband had become Tsar and taken on a mistress, Alexander's wife, the Hessian Princess Maria Alexandrovna, decided to live in the Alexander Palace year-round. This presented problems because the palace had been built as a summer residence. It lacked the double-paned windows and double floors necessary to keep a building warm during frigid Russian winters. New heating systems were installed in the parts of the palace occupied by the Tsarina.

As Tsarevich the future Tsar Alexander III and his wife Maria were presented the use of the Alexander Palace at their marriage by his father. His mother continued to live in the palace and Alexander's use of it was limited until her death in the palace. In 1874 a part of the palace was remodelled for the honeymoon of Alexander II's only daughter, Maria, to Alfred, the son of Queen Victoria of England.

Alexander III's wife Maria Fyodorovna loved the Alexander Palace passionately. She adored the parties and elegance of Tsarskoe Selo over the austerity of her husband's own preference, Gatchina. Two of Maria and Alexander's sons, the future Nicholas II and his brother George, were born in the palace. As they grew older both boys continued to have apartments in the palace and used them whenever they were in Tsarskoe Selo.

When Nicholas ascended the throne in 1894 he and his new wife Alexandra decided to make the Alexander Palace their principal residence. As a result, Nicholas II and his wife made the most significant changes to the building since the reign of Catherine the Great. Extensive renovations were made to the building and new systems, such as electricity, telephones, washing machines, elevators and flush toilets, were installed. One whole wing of the palace was completely redone in a strikingly domestic and luxurious way. Nicholas and Alexandra's principal objectives were to create a comfortable and elegant family home.

Later changes to the palace in the reign of Nicholas II included the erection of the two finest Imperial Art Nouveau interiors in Russia and delightful rooms created for the Tsar's children.

At the time of the Russian Revolution and the exile of the Romanov family to Siberia it was decided to convert the Tsar's palace into a museum which documented the life of the Romanovs in the palace throughout the 19th century . Naturally, the strongest emphasis was placed on events in the reign of Nicholas II. Soon after the departure of the Romanovs for Tobolsk in August 1917 parts of the palace were opened to the public by it's first curator, Lukomskii. After the murder of the Romanovs in Yekaterinburg in July 1918 some of their personal possessions that hand followed them to Siberia were returned.

The museum in the Alexander Palace showcased the interiors as closely as possible to their state in August 1917. They appeared as if the Tsar and his family had just left and might return at any moment. The tragedy of the story of the Romanovs and the intimacy of the private rooms created a lasting impression on those who saw them, creating sympathy for the Tsar and his family and this ran counter to the intentions of the Soviet Government. In 1919, soon after the Bolshevik coup, a part of the palace was converted into a Children's Colony, but this experiment proved to be a disaster and these rooms were returned to the museum. Extensive restoration enabled these rooms to be reopened to the public. In the mid-1920's Nicholas' and Alexandra's historic rooms in the Winter Place, which had been open as a part of the museum there, were closed and their furnishings disbursed. Some items were transferred to the rooms of the Alexander Palace where they were merged into the collection.

The Alexander Palace museum proved to be one of the most popular museums in Russia and was a must see for all foreigners who made it to the new Soviet state. Unfortunately, the government had an indifferent, even hostile attitude toward the "Romanov Museum". Officials began to pilfer objects and furnishings from the palace for sale to foreigners and for the use of party officials. Later the secret police demanded the use of a part of the palace as their private resort. In order to prepare for this transition these rooms were emptied of their contents and the treasures sold off in stores for foreigners in Russia and by Hammer in the USA.

Throughout the 1930's there were frequent threats by the government to close the rest of the museum and sell off its treasures. Somehow, the museum workers and public managed to dissuade the government from this step and the museum operated right up until the beginning of World War II.

At the outset of Hitler's declaration of war on the Soviet Union in 1941 the Director of the Alexander Palace Museum, A. M. Kuchumov, received orders to evacuate around 300 objects from the path of advancing German troops. This was a tiny selection from a collection totalling tens of thousands of objects. Frantically, and with great courage and improvisation, the museum workers were able to pack and ship out of harm's way a significant part of the museums' collection. Sadly, thousands of precious treasures and items of extraordinary historical value were left behind.

When the Germans occupied the town they immediately looted the palaces. What they didn't cart away for use in their military quarters was shipped off to Germany and Spain, where many of the palace treasures remain to this day. The palace itself was converted into an SS hospital and was heavily protected by German troops. An SS monument and graveyard decorated with Nazi symbols was erected in the palace courtyard. The palace was heavily damaged during the war by shell fire and reckless abuse by the Germans and their Spanish allies during their occupation.

Still, considering the ordeal it had been through after the war the palace was discovered by returning museum workers to be in remarkable shape. It was the best preserved of all of the suburban palaces that had been behind German lines and was chosen to become the depot for works of art returning from Siberia to Leningrad. Ambitious plans were made for the restoration of the palace as it had been before the war. At this point the government, perhaps Stalin himself, made a critical decision about the future of the palace - it was not to be a Romanov museum. The palace was to be stripped and restored as a generic 19th century palace - any restoration that presented the private lives of the last Tsar and his family were forbidden. This restoration began and interiors which had survived the German occupation were brutally stripped and destroyed. Before this work was completed Stalin changed his mind and made another decision that the museum was to be closed altogether and the building presented to the Navy for their use.

The invaluable and unique collection of the palace was dispersed among many museums. Pieces went to Pavlovsk, the Catherine Palace, the Hermitage and elsewhere. Most personal items associated with the last Tsar and his family were simply locked up and placed in indefinite storage.

In the late 1980's Suzanne Massie and Bob Atchison, with the blessing of the former curator of the Alexander Palace, A. M. Kuchumov, who had made the restoration of the palace as a museum his life's goal, appealed to the press and the city of Leningrad for the reestablishment the Alexander Palace Museum. This intense and exhausting effort proved successful and a government decision was made to re-establish the museum. The only stipulation was the successful relocation of the naval institution occupying the building to an acceptable location.

Work continued to make the museum a reality. Several years of research on the palace under the direction of Kuchumov were financed by Bob Atchison. In 1994 the Alexander Palace website was established to help promote interest in the monument. The results of the research are shared with the public for free on the website.

[starszinhis3y3s]

im gonna kill this smack head y'all 🙃 like. im not even joking atp i am SO DONE i just want him to fuck off from planet earth and rot in the fucking orbit of fucking Jupiter

ykw imma just start putting my evidence on my blog too, since housing refuses to listen to me! or any poc suffering from a whitey. seriously 😐 ive talked to over a dozen ppl about it by now!!

i cant get more than 4 consecutive hrs sleep when hes here. he stays up at odd hrs just fucken tweaking out, vomiting from alcoholicism, or jacking off loudly in the bathroom. he barely works 2 days/week for MAYBE 4-5 hrs/shift, and my ass over here working 2 entire jobs. i am so sleep deprived i keep burning myself at 1 job, and sliding down steep ass muddy hills/getting hit by moving equipment in heavy machinery at the other!

he smokes meth INSIDE THE APT, and i keep gettin secondhand smoked cuz of it (not like i havent told him 5 million times to stop literally all of this behavior). not only that, but he keeps cinnamon here as well and uses it FREQUENTLY. when i am SO HEAVILY ALLERGIC TO CINNAMON and make SUCH A BIG DEAL ABOUT IT. legit ive had to go to the er twice, the urgent care 3 times, and ive gone thru both my EpiPens. i dont have a huge social life to begin with, and hes made it significantly smaller due to i have to be chewing like 3-6 benadryl each time i get poisoned. like...ive had to stop 99% my volunteer work AND my queer support group that I CO-FOUNDED. i also cant do my side hustle anymore, or even my art that is a huge fucking coping skill for me!

ive like legit yelled at him twice now, slammed a door 3 times, and HE got put into a fuggin safe room for 2 1/2 weeks *from* me 🤨 like wtf...he videos me constantly now, in PJ's bed head and with my explicit VERBAL NON CONSENT. i cant even express emotions to/about him anymore without him throwing in my face that he can and will make me homeless if i dont "stop treating him like this" because he "wont tolerate it"!! when he left for the safe house, he scattered tacks everywhere that i walk. ive found well over a dozen of them, by stepping on them and bleeding of course.

j knows im in this area cuz im running away/hiding from a man who knows my rough location and wants to kill me. and this meth head leaves the door unlocked and fully open constantly (only AFTER learning that tho), along with the common room windows (that face the parking lot/sidewalk. so. VERY PUBLIC, everyone walks past to get to the 2 bus stops).

and im trying so hard to move, but housing refuses to put me in an ADA room+unit. idk how they expect me to like, live, if i cant have reasonable accommodations. why is it so difficult to move me literally across the hall???? theres no one there, or in the one right next door, or in the ones in 1st floor building a or b, so whats the issue? im so serious about that well over a dozen poc have similar stories and experiences, including the behavioral infractions for self defense.

this is no where NEAR it, but i think imma smoke a fat ass blunt and nap off my anger😮‍💨😮‍💨

[internationalrealestatenews]

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[apricuscity]

Mayor Lowell Presents: Eckerman Arena!

Mayor Lowell is standing outside a huge domed arena with several buildings on either side of him. The camera pans out to reveal he’s standing on what appears to be a massive ship of sorts, almost a man-made island.

“Hello everyone! Mayor Lowell here with an exciting “Mayor Lowell Presents”! Today we’re here at the fabulous Eckerman Arena! Currently on our way to Apricus! What’s the Eckerman Arena you may ask? It’s state of the art! The first ever traveling Hecaball arena! See this baby has been under construction for quite some time but has been kept a secret!”

“People from all over the world have come together to work night and day on this beauty! She’s basically the size of a small island but boy can she move! We’re not even traveling at full speed right now and we’ll be in Apricus waters by the end of the day! Shall we take a look around?”

“The arena itself is the domed building behind me. It contains a regulation size Hecaball field but offers more seating than any other arena in existence.” Stepping inside and looking around. “Of course this entire project was named after Hecaball legend, Augustine Cornelius Eckerman. You can see the seating has been improved, we now offer something resembling recliners! They can lean back, heat up, have a foot rest, drink holders, and your own personal side table for your food!”

“We’ve got the usual press boxes, VIP boxes, everything you could think of. We even have specialized VIP boxes for very special folks from different nations! Speaking of different nations, check this out!”

The camera focuses on the field as it shifts a bit. Going from Apricus style to Nivis, to Crepusculum, to Fae, and back.

“Jolly good! This baby can cycle through home turf arenas for any participating teams! Everything can change in the blink of an eye! It’s really quite amazing! How about we head back outside for a bit?” Leaving the domed building and heading down a street of sorts.

“You see we’ve got several hotels. Suites for those very important folks, special accommodations for all of the Hecaball teams participating in the world cup, tons of incredibly nice hotel rooms for anyone that wants to stay here close to the action, and much more!”

“We’ve got restaurants from all over the world, time to sample some cuisine you never thought you’d have the chance to try! Tons of shops providing merch for every team, collectibles, and much more!”

“It’s almost like a miniature city isn’t it? Oh you wouldn’t believe how hard it was keeping this thing a secret! We’ll be using this to host the Hecaball world cup this year! There is no fee to walk around the vessel and check everything out but you will of course need to pay for any accommodations, food, merch, tickets to the world cup itself. Unless of course you’re one of the VIPs!”

“We’ll be in Apricus waters by the end of the day, I highly suggest coming by to check everything out! You’ll be able to travel by ferry from the upper, and lower docks to get out here, or by helicopter! Did I mention we’ve got a helipad on this thing? How cool is that!”

“Oh right, the vessel also plays host to a water park! You have free access to it if you stay in one of the hotels here! I’d like to thank everyone for tuning in! I’m Mayor Lowell, and this has been “Mayor Lowell Presents”!”

[minghaoyoudoin]

CIX reactions to you sitting in their lap during a bumpy car ride

genre: suggestive

requested: yes!!

a/n: thank you for this request, anon! I had wayyy too much fun writing it and I hope you enjoy reading!

bx

“Dude, cool it with the turns.” Byounggon said tightly, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. You adjusted in his lap as subtly as you could, your cheeks burning.

Seunghun offered an apologetic glance over his shoulder. “Sorry guys. They should really make cars with six seats, huh?”

Byounggon didn’t bother laughing at his friend’s joke, though the rest of the boys did. You were hyperaware of every place his body touched yours, each bump and pothole in the road somehow pressing you further into him.

When presented with your “seating” options for the two-hour-long road trip out of the city, none were wildly appealing. You loved each of your friends fiercely, but sitting on their lap wasn’t exactly how you’d planned to spend the long drive.

After ten minutes of bickering and five games of rock-paper-scissors, you and Byounggon had stared at one another in silence. And now, you were only fifteen minutes into the car ride and you felt ready to itch out of your skin.

Byounggon’s body was warm against yours, his hands resting awkwardly on the seat. You sat in silence most of the time, only contributing to the boys’ conversation when their terrible jokes became too much for you.

Seunghun took yet another turn without braking at all. Your body pitched to the side and you gasped, but Byounggon’s hands abruptly found your waist. His fingers dug into your hipbones as he steadied you, unintentionally pressing you further into his lap at the same time.

You exhaled shakily and turned your head to look at him. “Thanks,” you breathed.

Byounggon’s throat worked, his cheekbones stained with color. Were you affecting him as much as he was you? There was an incessant heat building in your stomach that you attempted to control with every breath.

Safe to say, it wasn’t working. Byounggon didn’t remove his hands from you this time, instead allowing them to relax on the tops of your thighs. The heat of them seeped through your jeans like the fabric wasn’t there at all.

Yeah, this was going to be a very long drive.

rest of the members under the cut!

seunghun

“Come on, hot stuff, I don’t bite.”

You scowled at Seunghun’s words and he giggled from his place in the backseat. You eyed the open door warily, then the rest of the boys who were waiting for you to get in. The drive would be uncomfortable, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. And after Seunghun’s goading, you were completely unwilling to lose.

You clambered into the car before you could psych yourself out of it. Seunghun opened his arms automatically to accommodate you, his hands casually linking across your stomach the moment you were settled. His arms weren’t much by way of a seatbelt, but they would have to do.

Seunghun pulled you back against his chest and laughed again at your affronted huff.

“Everyone good? Good.” Jinyoung didn’t wait for confirmation from your friend group before he shifted the car into drive. He whipped out of the parking lot with enough speed that you gasped. You unintentionally grabbed Seunghun’s thighs in an attempt to steady yourself at the same time his arms tightened around you.

Seunghun didn’t release you as Jinyoung merged into traffic. He launched into the usual bickering with the other boys almost immediately, each word he spoke vibrating into your back that was pressed against his chest.

You relaxed sooner than you thought you would. You leaned back against him, his chin resting gently on your shoulder. This position was far more intimate than you’d ever been with any of your friends, let alone Seunghun, and it affected you more than you expected.

Your heart galloped in your chest, beating so fiercely you worried he could feel it. Jinyoung ran over a pothole in the road and you inhaled sharply when the car jolted. That sensation took you by surprise, to be sure. You shifted in Seunghun’s lap at the uncomfortable heat building between your thighs and he stilled.

“What are you doing?” He whispered, quietly enough that he couldn’t be heard over the other boys’ conversation. You froze, embarrassment surging through you in a rush.

“Sorry—accident.”

The longer Seunghun considered his response, the more your anxiety grew. “You’re not… are you?” When you didn’t answer, he laughed gently. “No way.”

“Shut it, Hun.”

Seunghun’s hands slid over your hips and he lightly squeezed your waist. Another bump in the road pressed you further into his lap and you nearly groaned aloud.

Seunghun exhaled in your ear, raising pleasant chills on your neck. “This should be fun.”

yonghee

Yonghee whispered his tenth apology when the car drove over a speedbump in the road, pressing you firmly into his lap. You waved him off, trying and failing to appear casual.

In truth, you were going wild. You couldn’t seem to get a handle on the sensitivity between your legs, reacting to every sensation of Yonghee’s body against yours. He was impossibly warm and solid, his arms a comfortable brace around you as he attempted to keep you from flying across the car.

You weren’t thrilled at the idea of sitting on any of the boys' laps, but you were glad it was Yonghee. He was trying his best to be respectful, only touching you enough to keep you steady. Little did he know, that minimal contact was enough.

Your one-sided crush on him was having a field day today. It was easy enough to control your feelings when in a usual setting, but even with the other boys in the car you were struggling to keep your composure. If anything, the complete care with which Yonghee held you was only fuel to your fire.

“Are you okay?” Yonghee whispered. His voice was more strained than you expected and you turned your head to look at him. There were stars in his eyes, the mole beneath the left one close enough for you to kiss if you dared.

“Yeah… fine.”

Right, because that was convincing.

Yonghee inhaled deeply, never looking away from you as his arms tightened around your waist. You shifted on his lap again, only partly because of the way the hooligan driving—namely, Byounggon—drove over a pothole.

Heat rose in your cheeks at the sensation of Yonghee’s lap pressed firmly against your backside. He wasn’t… turned on, was he?

Judging by the way he subtly shifted against you in answer, he very much was.

You had only been in the car for half an hour. If you were already this affected, how were you going to make it through the rest of the drive?

You forced yourself to look forward again, a faint smile on your face. Maybe your crush wasn’t so unrequited, after all.

bae jinyoung

“If you keep doing that I’m going to lose my mind.”

You froze at the low sound of Jinyoung’s voice in your ear, no more than a strained whisper. Yonghee apologized from the front seat as he drove over another pothole, jostling you where you sat in Jinyoung’s lap. He exhaled heavily into your hair, his warm breath prickling your scalp.

“Doing what?” You whispered back.

Jinyoung didn’t answer. His arms around you loosened so his hands could rest on your thighs. He subtly splayed his fingers, squeezing lightly.

You released a shaky breath, aware that your cheeks were burning. Of all the boys you could have sat on during the drive, it only made sense for it to be your boyfriend. But apparently, you had made a grave mistake in doing this.

At this point, your skin was hypersensitive in every place Jinyoung touched you. His warmth seeped through your clothes, somehow as comforting as it was energizing.

Hyunsuk raised an eyebrow at you in your periphery as Jinyoung planted a soft kiss onto your shoulder. You rolled your eyes at your friend, trying your best to act unaffected by your boyfriend’s antics. It definitely didn’t work, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

This drive would be the death of you. The second you arrived at the Airbnb, you intended to steal Jinyoung away from the boys for at least an hour. That is, if you didn’t burst into flames first.

The car drove over a speedbump but you didn’t even process Yonghee’s apology anymore. Jinyoung’s fingers were lazily massaging your thighs, doing nothing to soothe the ache between them.

“You stop that,” you breathed, hardly daring to look at Jinyoung as you spoke. He laughed softly, the sound reverberating through your back. Your heart thudded unevenly in response.

Seunghun groaned dramatically from the front passenger seat. “There are thirty-eight minutes left until we get there. Then, for the love of god, please get a room.”

hyunsuk

Hyunsuk couldn’t seem to get ahold of himself. He squirmed at every bump and hole in the road, his movements only succeeding in pressing himself more firmly against you.

“Quit it, please.” You whispered, your voice low. The other boys were asleep, save Jinyoung, who was very pointedly watching the road as he drove. It was dark enough in the car that you couldn’t see Hyunsuk’s face well as you looked at him, his eyes reflecting the night sky through the window.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately. His hands were balled into fists on the seat in his effort not to touch you.

He didn’t need to apologize. In truth, you were just as affected as he was. You had been dancing around one another for months, each of you too afraid to voice your feelings aloud to the other. Of course the other boys would jump at the opportunity to make you sit in his lap during the long car ride back to the city.

You were definitely plotting Seunghun’s downfall for conspicuously shoving you into Hyunsuk’s lap.

You unintentionally shifted in Hyunsuk’s lap when the car drove over several low speedbumps in the road. The heat in your stomach rose into your cheeks and you resisted the urge to cover your face.

“How much longer?” Hyunsuk’s whisper was no more than a ghost of air moving. Apparently, he had reached the limit of his patience, as his hands at last moved from the seat to your hips. His touch was feather-light, his fingers barely curling around your hipbones as he held you to him.

“I don’t know,” you murmured back. God, the impulse to shift in his lap was enormous. “An hour?”

Hyunsuk exhaled shakily. You leaned back fully, your back pressed flush against his chest. His rapid heartbeat thudded against you, mirrored by your own.

“When we get back,” he whispered, his voice strained. “Please tell me you’ll finally let me take you to dinner.”

You laughed breathily, nervous when the low sound caused Yonghee to stir in his sleep beside you.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

if you made it this far, thank you for reading!! I'm so grateful for all of you sending requests/thoughts in my inbox, I love reading them! please like or reblog if you enjoyed it 😚

masterlist here :)

© minghaoyoudoin 2022 - all rights reserved. reposts/translations not allowed. I do not assume to know the personal lives of the idol(s) depicted in this fic, this is for entertainment purposes only!

[peachyysugaa]

scream

― youtuber!park sunghoon x streamer!gn!reader

it's hard to stream horror video games when your neighbor is always filming dangerous mukbangs and screaming.

genre: e2l, neighbors au, angst to fluff, humor

wc: 3.2k

warnings: horror game mentions, cw food and mentions of cooking live things (inspired by this youtuber), sunghoon's a jerk at first :<, one mention of underage drinking (don't follow mc's example pls fisnfkskf), a few swear words

part of my youtuber enhypen series, the last upload! feel free to read on its own! ♞──────────────────────────♞

"AAAGH!" and there it is. your brows furrow upon hearing your neighbor's cry. does he not understand how thin these walls are?! there's a reason only college students stay here! grimacing, you ignore it and move your mouse to look around the dark house.

"oh shoot, i wonder if he's behind me?" you say to your audience while watching your viewers fill the chat with your custom subscriber emojis. "i'm going to do it, everyone, just―"

"OHMYGODOHMYGOD WHYYY?!"

more like why couldn't you be quiet?! you close your eyes in frustration but attempt to keep a straight face for the people watching you. "sorry if you heard that, i guess someone's having a bad day?" you chuckle nervously as you turn around in the video game to see a black slender figure. "oh! whoa, okay, i'm just going to run over here."

you got out of the creepy house and made it to the back of it to see a piece of paper on the wall. "oh, here! okay, this is going to be my last piece unless―whoa!!" the jumpscare comes up, and you're left taken aback as the game over screen appears. laughing at your shocked self, you're filled with glee upon seeing the audience laugh or scream with you. "that was really fun, everyone. i got some homework to do though, so i'll see you all next time i stream! bye bye!" you wave goodbye to the camera and watch as the viewer number drops gradually. after a few minutes, you shut off your stream, place your headphones on its stand, and push back in your secret labs chair with a sigh. "why did i have to live next to a maniac...?" you grumble.

you got out of the creepy house and made it to the back of it to see a piece of paper on the wall. "oh, here! okay, this is going to be my last piece unless―whoa!!" the jumpscare comes up, and you're left taken aback as the game over screen appears. laughing at your shocked self, you're filled with glee upon seeing the audience laugh or scream with you. "that was really fun, everyone. i got some homework to do though, so i'll see you all next time i stream! bye bye!" you wave goodbye to the camera and watch as the viewer number drops gradually. after a few minutes, you shut off your stream, place your headphones on its stand, and push back in your secret labs chair with a sigh. "why did i have to live next to a maniac...?" you grumble.

as if on cue, another scream is heard from the other side of the wall. "EEE! oh my god, i'm going to do it, i'm going to do it!"

what on earth was this kid doing that he was screaming every weekend? you didn't even scream that much, and you played horror games for a living! your stomach growls as you're thinking this and as a living human being, you listen to it and get up to make ramyeon. however, even as you're making your dinner and even as you're trying to enjoy it with some show playing on the tv, of course, you have to be subjected to your neighbor's loud yells. once you're finished, you notice how oddly quiet it is and decide to give whoever this guy was a piece of your mind.

marching over with your keys in hand, you knock aggressively on apartment no. 505 until it opens. behind the door is a tall male with a face so well-proportioned you're thinking it's possible that some being above sculpted it themselves. his nose is accented with one mole on the side of his nose bridge and another a few centimeters under the opposite eye. "can i help you?" his rich voice asks with a slight sting to it.

you snap yourself out of it by blinking, incredulous that you almost forgot your mission just because he has a handsome face. "yea, you can help me by being quieter," you boldly state with your arms crossed in front of your chest. "you realize you're not the only one living in this complex, right? the walls are so thin, i can hear you screaming every time."

the male raises an eyebrow at you and scoffs to the side as if he can't believe what he's hearing. "can you just deal with it? some of us have to make a living."

"news flash, dude, that's all of us! the only people who would be willing to live in this place are college students! listen, i stream horror games for my work, and i don't even scream as loud as you," you retort and point your index finger from you to him. "so i think you should learn how to keep your volume down."

"and why haven't i heard these complaints from anyone else?" he tries to debate back.

"maybe because they're just quietly tolerating you. as for me, i can't anymore, so take this as your first warning, room 505." you turn around quickly with a huff and speed to your apartment next door.

as you're above to close the door, you hear him shout back at you. "my name's park sunghoon, room 506. remember it, because i'm going to make your life a living hell."

"l/n y/n, park sunghoon. we'll see about that." with that, you both simultaneously shut your doors with a slam that causes the walls to shudder a bit.

oh, he kept his promise alright. from stare-downs in the hallway, to bringing weird live animals in the elevator at the same time you're in there, to snarky remarks at the entrance that almost always lead to fights, park sunghoon has definitely made your life hell. to make matters worse, his screaming got even louder. you're sure that's a violation of some rule, right? wrong, the management for the building doesn't care all too much, as long as he's not doing anything illegal and nobody else has complained. you get what you paid for is the right saying here.

you were not having it. as a streamer and college student, weekends are your days with the freest time, and he took that from you. you found out that he was not just a college student but a youtuber, one that filmed dangerous mukbangs with live animals that he would then cook and eat, and because of that, he had also chosen to film on weekends. that was exactly why you had always encountered his screaming on days you were streaming, and now, tired of how petty he was, you decided to just cram your weekdays with school and streaming.

at first, it was fine, but as your days became packed with more studying on the weekends at the library to avoid sunghoon, you grew tired: tired of the crammed weekdays and for god's sake, tired of living your life running away. taking out a bottle of peach soju that your upperclassman dancer friend had snuck for you, you pop it open and make your way to the balcony that you barely used.

as you take a swig of the alcoholic beverage, you prop yourself onto the railing and gaze at the buildings before you, their lights blinding you from the stars of the night sky. maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's your low energy state, but something compels you to scream. "i'm so tired!!" you yell out to the skyline. letting out a sigh, you plop down into the spare plastic chair and go for another drink.

"drinking your worries away? that's not going to solve anything," a male voice speaks up. your eyes catch sight of sunghoon, who has slid open his own balcony door. he's dressed in a casual beige hoodie and sweats as if he had spent the day just relaxing.

"as if you care," you mumble with your lips pressed against the green glass. "you're literally at the root of all my problems."

he scoffs at your statement. "this again? look, i'm getting tired of you placing all this blame on me when i'm—"

"are you so sure about that?" you calmly and sternly interrupt. the alcohol really has unlocked your usually inhibited thoughts. "why did i move my streaming days onto the weekdays when i normally spend them studying? because your screaming on the weekends always got picked up by my mic. why do i get 4 hours of sleep every day and study all night at the library on weekends?" it's like when sunghoon had taken a stick to prod at you, the floodgates burst open. you weren't stopping until you gave him a piece of your mind. "because i have to cram my streaming schedule and studying schedule to accommodate to your filming one. maybe i am blaming you, but i've tried my best to do my job all while studying and having to deal with an asshole like yourself who's so inconsiderate that he can't even do one thing for his neighbor who's practically dying to adjust their lifestyle because of someone else's."

your neighbor goes silent after that, choosing to just sigh and go back inside his apartment. you relish in the silence that comes after he shuts the door and down the rest of your bottle before heading back inside yourself. strangely after that incident, you heard less and less of sunghoon on the weekend and thus were able to return to your normal schedule. even while passing by him, he kept his mouth shut and would just nod a cordial hello. you guess what you said that night really got through to him.

and he proves that because after about three weekends, you hear a knock on your door. upon opening it, you're surprised to see sunghoon behind it, his hands behind his back as he shifts side to side. "oh, hello sunghoon," you greet him awkwardly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"hey y/n," he returns. the youtuber stops fidgeting for a moment and bows after gathering up some courage. "listen, i just want to say i'm sorry." he looks up at your face, searching for some sign of hatred and he thankfully finds none, so he continues. "i didn't realize how much of an asshole i was until you said that. i was just thinking about myself and not about you or anybody else. i hope i was able to prove it to you these past three weeks, and i promise i won't go back to my old habits."

your silence is not so reassuring, so sunghoon nervously lifts his head to peek at your face to find an astonished expression. you stammer a little bit and hold the doorframe to keep yourself in place. "u-uh... gosh, i don't know what to say, sunghoon," you stutter. then, you notice another neighbor exiting the elevator, looking at the two of you strangely since sunghoon is still lowering his head. "oh! you can stand up straight now! please."

he does as you say, smiling sheepishly, and you notice how much better he looks smiling than the usual smirks he had sent you before. "apology accepted, sunghoon."

"r-really?"

you nod. "i mean, you really have proven yourself lately, so i don't see why i shouldn't."

"great!" his smile grows wider, making you blush and look anywhere but his face. "then i have a surprise for you to start over." you shoot him a confused look that he disregards out of boyish excitement. "close up, come over to my place for a few."

"o-okay, give me a moment, i'll be right over," you say as he rushes back to his apartment. you hurriedly grab your keys and look in the mirror next to your door to smooth out your hair before you're scolding yourself for caring about looks when he literally just saw you. closing the door, you lock up, head over to room 505, and knock.

"it's open," his voice calls from inside, and with that, you push the door open to find the living space of your own apartment, except totally flipped. to your left is a small living room, complete with a two-seater couch, a tv stand, and a tv. whereas to your right, there was a dining room fit for two, the kitchen right behind it before a hallway leads to the single bedroom and bathroom. you're too busy taking in this opposite room that you don't notice the fish tank on the round table full of live fish. "come over here," he says with an enthusiastic grin.

"yah, park sunghoon. what in the world is this?" you say flabbergasted.

"i'm showing you what i do for a living and cooking you a fresh meal," is all he has to say as you grimace and reluctantly move towards him. "this is my second time cooking it, so it should go a lot better."

"and what exactly is... it?"

"mudfish, way less than what i usually have for mukbangs though." you know, you had completely forgotten what the guy did on youtube since his handsome face distracted you for a handful of moments, but now reality had set in for you: he was going to do this live in front of you.

if you're uncomfortable with cooking live fresh food, please skip to the next italicized line!

"i swear to god, park sunghoon, if you do anything stupid, consider this restart invalid. you'll be hearing from my lawyer," you unsuccessfully warn him as you watch him put on some gloves and grab a cup of salt.

"relax, you're with me. i'm practically a pro," he tries reassuring you, but then he sprinkles the salt inside the tank. the fish start splashing around violently, causing you to let out a small yelp as some splashes of water get on you. "yaaah, this is way better than last time!"

"is this what you do every weekend?!" you shout at a low volume and cover your eyes with your hands.

"you can look now, it's fine," sunghoon says, pointing at the fish. you peek through the gaps between your fingers to see that the fish have stopped moving. sunghoon smirks as you take your hands away from your face. "see? i'm a pro."

coating and deep frying starts here!

he starts to coat them one by one in egg and flour and lays them down on a baking pan lined with paper. you watch as he handles each one delicately with concentration. "do you want me to start the oil?" you offer.

"oh! that would be great, thanks! the wok is already on the stove, just turn it on," he explains. you find the wok exactly where he had told you and turn on the gas stove accordingly, as if you've been here hundreds of times before, but in reality, you just have the same appliances. by the time the oil has been heated to the right temperature, sunghoon has already finished coating the fish. the two of you work together to place each one in the oil, listening to them sizzle and pop.

"we make a good team," sunghoon comments once every fish has started frying. you take care of the tongs and move them around when appropriate. "you should come by and guest star in one of my videos."

"if it's anything like today's, no thank you," you politely reject.

"what if... i invite you to eat after i cook?" he shoots his shot again. rolling your eyes playfully, you see that the fish are all thoroughly fried and turn off the fire. with his own tongs, sunghoon puts the fish on the plate as you go off to prepare two bowls of rice. the small dining room table gets cleaned up, so the two of you can start your meal. "okay, your answer?"

"depends on how good this mudfish is," you reply, holding up a fried fish with your chopsticks. he follows suit, and you two cheer your meals together.

"i'll eat well," the both of you say in harmony. finally, you take a bite of the crispy fish and hum in satisfaction, your eyes widening.

"mm! it's really good!" you compliment as he takes joy in your pleased expression.

"i'll take that as a yes to my question then?"

"hoon, i'll come over whenever you want me to," you exaggerate.

"deal," he accepts quickly so that you can't take it back. and that's how your first meal went with park sunghoon. soon enough, one meal turned into two, to five, to ten, until you're basically spending a lot of time with the youtuber. pretty much every weekend, you and sunghoon set it up so that you would cook and eat together in the afternoon so that you would have the rest of the evening to stream.

at some point, you find out that his major is biology, which is similar to your own in biochemistry, so your time with sunghoon extends to studying together and eventually gaming. one of you is always at the other's place and vice versa like you couldn't be without each other for a single moment.

you're eating takoyaki with said boy in your apartment this time, staring at his well-proportioned facial features as you chew slowly and think. he catches your unwavering gaze and chuckles. "is there something on my face, y/n?"

"i'm just thinking," you vaguely reply.

"about the thing on my face?" you shake your head at this. "then what is it? i know i'm really handsome and all, but you literally see me all the time."

"that's exactly my point!" you cry out as if you hit eureka, shocking him in the process. "we're together all the time. we were literally enemies at first, and now it's like we're dating! what is this, some kind of shitty fanfiction?" yes

"well, do you want us to date?" luckily, you had just swallowed the last bit of your takoyaki ball because that could've made you choke. instead, you suddenly start coughing, and he pushes your water towards you.

the coldness of the water does nothing to help your rising temperature as you take big gulps of it. "wh-what kind of question is that?" you ask, patting your mouth dry with a nearby tissue.

"a serious one," he answers nonchalantly. "because i like you." stream dreamcatcher BEcause

"huh? since when?" you're practically in disbelief. no way sunghoon liked you back. you had just discovered your own feelings not too long ago when you had tucked him in after an intense study session and he whispered your name. ever since then, you got butterflies in your stomach around him, and not because he made it a mukbang. (but you wouldn't put it past him?)

the male rubs the back of his neck. "it's been a while. i just know that i like you."

"st-stop saying that!" you wave your hands in front of your face frantically to hide the redness you know that has spread all over.

"oh? or what, room 506?" he gets up from his seat across from you to prop his elbows on the table, getting a closer look at your cute, embarrassed appearance as he rests his head on his hands. "make me," he prods some more.

reminiscent of the first time you cooked together, you peeked through your fingers to witness his adorable grin waiting for you. as if wanting you to seal the deal, he closes his eyes and smiles with just his lips. you shyly reach out to grab his cheeks, taking a moment to brush the fringe out of his eyes so you can adore the moles that dotted his face, and slowly bring your own lips towards his to press them together in a kiss.

it's short but sweet, and soon you're pulling away and finding your fingers more interesting. sunghoon's eyes flutter open and fondly gazed at you. "be mine?" he speaks up.

"if you stop making my heart scream, then yeah," you mumble, stealing a glance at his smug smile. he laughs, stands up, and walks over to your side of the table. turning your chair around as if you weighed nothing, he places his hands on the table behind you, engaging you in between his long limbs.

"sweetheart, that's the whole point," he says, leaning down to chase your lips and kiss you until your heart can't take it anymore. you're both screaming on the inside as your hearts keep pounding in your chests, but at least this time it's from your pure feelings towards each other.

a/n: omg this is the last of captured on camera EEE thank you all so so much for being here with me on this journey of my first one-shot series <3 this really shows my growth as a writer, and i'm so glad i could share it with y'all! i hope you all look forward to my next one-shot series~

taglist: @cha-raena @imjustme-things @misoiishi @rikitaiyaki @fiantomartell

[kithtaehyung]

Room 3 | PJM

summary: it’s just another normal day for you at the wellness center until it suddenly isn’t.  note: standalone for now! part 2 is semi-written but no solid plans atm. note 2 (june 7th, 2021): this will be revamped in the future! i really enjoyed this premise so i won’t get rid of it completely.  pairing: idol!jimin x massage therapist!reader  genre: fluff  word count: 9,188

-

-

Thirteen. 

The sidewalk underneath your feet has thirteen cracks in the little square you stand in.  Sliding a small rock into one of them provides you with something to do until you hear the squeaking, screeching brakes of a bus struggling to a stop in front of you.  

You adjust the strap on your shoulder as the doors open with a hydraulic hiss, and you give the driver a small smile before finding a place to stand.  There aren’t many people commuting today, so it’s a pleasant surprise that you get to sit down for a change. 

It was just another day in your life.  You got up this morning and did your routine, listened to your wake up music on repeat, and checked that you had your wallet, phone, keys, and earphones before heading down to the bus stop.  The very same earphones are still on as you now have your library on shuffle, and you hum along to the “na na na’s” of the current tune. 

Living in Seoul for about a year now, you were pretty settled in.  The people were accommodating, the quality of life was much better than where you were before, and you felt like you could live here for the rest of your days.  It was insanely tough at first, but the initial culture shock and feeling of loneliness lessened as you made friends and befriended coworkers.  You don’t have many people close to you here, but you can count on the ones that are.  

You turn your head to gaze out the windows.  Shimmering glass buildings tower over you, shops and street signs whiz by, and people look like they’re walking in slow motion as you follow them with your eyes.  Blips of pastels and bold colors mingle together and you look down to observe your own monochrome uniform.  For the place you worked at, you didn’t expect the clothes to look luxurious, but they’re actually designed very well.  And they’re soft.  

That’s enough for you.    

Your stop is next, so you hook your arm around the nearest pole to prep.  The steel has a coldness that seeps into your sleeve, but your only thought is wondering what you should eat for lunch.  

-

Why do you feel so tense? 

The sign right above you emits a sense of relaxation, but there’s a tightness in your shoulders.  Odd.  You lock your phone with one hand and grip the strap of your pack with the other before taking a deep breath.  You count down from three before letting it out.  

The hiss of your exhale mingles with the standard sounds of the city, and you concentrate on the flow of life both inside your body and the environment around you.  You did this often when you felt out of place, and it served to recalibrate you and your thoughts.  Storing your phone away, you make your way inside the frosted glass doors. 

Working at one of Seoul’s prestigious wellness centers was definitely something you were proud of.  If there was one thing you’ve wanted for years, it was for a way for you to massage yourself.  Everyone seemed to love your massages, but no one knew how to massage you.  That is, until you came here.  You’ve never experienced people knowing exactly where you were hurting and effectively working out all of those kinks during one session.  It was magical.   

What is even more magical is the fact that you joined the ranks of those same angels from above.  You love them, and they love you.

“Good morning! I hate you!” 

Well.

“Morning, Yoon,” you respond lowly as you take your earphones out and store them. “Love you, too.” As you walk around front reception, Yoon smiles at you and comments, 

“No, really, I think you legitimately repulse me now.”

You shoot her a look of pure terror. “What the hell did I do?”

“Nothing,” she sighs, dropping her eyes to the papers in front of her.  

In a state of panic, your mind speeds through any events that happened since the last time you saw her.  Did you accidentally ignore her once?  Look at her funny?  Yoon was big on body language. 

You didn’t realize you were still staring at her until she tapped the glass counter between you two.  “Hey, I’m sorry. I know you’re nervous. I just thought jokes would help.” 

What? 

“I’m not nervous, just tense for some reason.  Although, you definitely made it worse,” you admit, “I might need to take a longer break today and somehow get Jay to rub my shoulders.  Maybe I can bribe him with samgy--” 

“--Uhh, forget him; have you even checked your client list for this week?  I’ll do anything if you switch your schedule with me.” 

Double-what?

“Okay, now you’re just being weird,” you chuckle, “But also, no, I haven’t checked yet.  It’s Monday!”   

In a sing-song manner, Yoon warns, “You better check your schedule before I snatch it...”

You laugh again and wave her off, but her words only mess with your head.  As you make your way to the back room, you fidget and check your phone for any notifications you missed between when you exited the bus and now.  You don’t know what you expected: still nothing.  

As if you feel the weight of eyes on you, you glance up and notice some people are giving you looks.  

What in the hell is going on?  It’s 7am on a Monday and therefore way too early for people to be this upset with you.  Yoon may have said she was joking, but by the looks of everyone else...

A hand claps onto your shoulder, causing you to yelp and feel like you rocket right into the ceiling.  Only the hearty laugh beside you clues you in on who you were getting revenge on later. 

“Geez, someone’s not looking forward to today.” 

“You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Jay,” you seeth, hands rubbing your temples as you struggle to steady your heart rate. “Also, what’s so special about today?  Yoon was being strange just a second ago, too.”  

Your coworker looks at you like you have seven heads. “Okay, first off: if I had the amount of adrenaline in your body right now, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all.  And second: you didn’t check your schedule yet?” 

They didn’t know it, but they were going to be the death of you. 

“No, I ha--It’s a Mon--you know what, I’m going to check now; you guys are killing me.” You leave Jay in a rush and race to the employee lounge.  The anxiousness in your chest is bubbling over.  

Jay’s on your heels, whispering loudly, “I can spoil it right now if you want!” 

You respond in a low voice, “Don’t you have a client to see?” 

“Nope!” 

You round the corner and see the back room door is already open, so you power through and head straight for the docking table on the other side.  Everyone working here has a personal tablet, and you unplug yours from the charging port.  Pressing through the menus as quickly as the tablet allows, you feel a thin layer of sweat on your skin.  Touch ID.  Login.  Main Menu.  Scheduling.  Weekly Outlook.  Confidentiality Prompt.

Shit. 

Confidentiality Prompts are for the therapists that have huge clients scheduled.  They’re put in place for celebrities and business executives to have guaranteed privacy.  

With a start, you wonder why the hell Yoon wanted your schedule.  Everyone here is wary of high-profile people.  It’s a whole different experience since they basically hold your life in their hands in each session.  You recall a horror story that happened when you first started working there, and still don’t know where that employee ended up.  

Your only problem is that you’ve never had to deal with this before.  Jay, Yoon, and a bunch of the veterans have, but this is going to be your first. 

“Damn, yours is longer than mine was,” Jay observes before you squeeze your tablet to your chest.  “That looks intense.” 

“Umm, snoopy much?” You shift your body away from him and speed read through the very long, very wordy window.  When you hit Accept, another window pops up that you have to read through.  This one is even more fine print. You suddenly realize something and dart your eyes up.  “Wait, you got one, too?” 

Jay nods and looks away, and he actually looks nervous.  “Yeah, we all got them this time.” 

Now that is alarming.  This client must be something else. 

Window after window comes up and you wonder if you should probably read these in earnest.  It’s starting to genuinely scare you.  

If this is that big of a deal… 

You banish that thought from your mind as soon as it appears.  Elephants would have to fall from the sky before you believe someone from that group is booking you here.   

You hit Accept before you realize you didn’t actually read and instead mindlessly scrolled through the prompts.  As the screen buffers, you bite your lip.

The screen goes back to normal and presents your schedule for today.  Your coworkers are living their normal lives, putting their stuff in their lockers and getting materials ready for various sessions.  Jay is being completely normal as he can’t stop laughing at your expression.  

And your life is anything but normal anymore because elephants are dropping from the clouds and the words Monday, 8am, Park Jimin are staring you right in the face. 

-

“You mean to tell me that you cleared your morning schedule just to see my reaction?” 

Jay laughs in earnest. “Yes, and it was so worth it.” 

You are failing to stop bouncing your leg as you wait at one of the tables in the employee lounge.  There’s a cup of coffee in front of you, but you already know you aren’t going to drink a drop of it.  You are about to be in close quarters with the equivalent of a royal family member, so coffee breath is out of the question. 

Suddenly self-conscious, you ask, “Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?” 

“I actually do.  Let me grab it.” 

As your friend gets up, you scrutinize the table in front of you to avoid peoples’ lingering stares.  How everyone somehow knew your upcoming client before you did was a mystery, but you don’t really care enough at the moment to find out.   

Jay hands you what you asked for and you thank him before heading to the bathroom to freshen up.  After you brush your teeth like a madman, you check your face for discrepancies and sigh at your choice of almost no makeup today.  

You can’t help but wonder if the thirteen cracks in the sidewalk are laughing at you at this very moment.  

Checking your smart watch, you realize you have either the longest or shortest 30 minutes of your life left before your appointment with Jimin.  

You huff out a laugh at how ridiculous that sounds.  You refuse to believe this is real until you physically see him in the room.  Confidentiality forms or not, the name Park Jimin or not, you still can’t wrap your head around the situation. 

Speaking of the forms, you assume that they were printed out for company records as soon as you submitted yours to sign.  You decide to head back to the front desk after throwing Jay his spare toothbrush, to which he responds with pure disgust. 

-

It was like Yoon was waiting for you because as soon as you open the glass doors, she’s  hounding you, “So what did you do in a past life?  Did you save an emperor?  Rescue a prophet?” 

“I don’t know about a past life, but I did save a turtle when I was five.”  You tap your fingers on the reception desk and stare at the orchids on the counter.  “Or at least I thought I did.  I probably just made his life harder.  Can I see a copy of the forms I signed?” 

“I’m gonna go with the saved prophet.  Which one was it?” 

“Yoon,” you beg, desperate as you glance at the abstract clock above her and see that you have 20 minutes left.  A mere 20 minutes until he is supposed to arrive to check-in.

“Okay, okay!  Hold on,” she chuckles and rolls her chair away from you and towards the printer.  “By the way, if I wasn’t the one checking him in, I would’ve hijacked your entire day already.”  

Her words are garbled since you are laser-focused on rubbing an orchid petal between your fingers.  Its soft and supple touch is calming you, and just for a second, you are able to clear your thoughts.  

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when Yoon hands you the forms.  The paper is still warm as you thank her and head towards the doors. 

“Oh, wait,” Yoon calls behind you, and you turn to see her grabbing another small stack of papers.  When she extends them over the counter, she explains, “I was waiting until you saw your schedule to hand these over.  Read through them carefully.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, even more anxious than before. 

-

Your heart jumps into your throat when you see what Yoon handed over.  You don’t even remember the walk to the back lounge and to one of the secluded tables; all you can focus on are the papers in front of you.  They look like they were written on and scanned before being sent over to the wellness center.   

It’s Jimin’s handwriting.  

You’ve seen his penmanship before.  There is no mistaking the neat, determined strokes.  Even the way he checked the boxes and circled the pain points on diagrams proves very... well, him.  Any other uncertainty dissolves after you see his birthday filled in, as well.  

This is really happening.

You gently slam the papers on the table and hunch over to commit the information to memory.  Months and months of schooling have sharpened this ability of yours, and you are determined to imagine this as just another client you have to memorize.  

Light to medium pressure.  Avoid anything above light pressure around the spinal area and lower back.  Shoulders, calves, and feet are pain points.  Facial area priority.   

A trip to the countryside right at this very moment sounds like a fantastic idea.  

Jay plops into the seat in front of you, and that thought bubble bursts.  “This color on your face suits you.  Reminds me of what’s-his-name, Edward.” 

“How much time do I have,” you question, not even acknowledging him.  

“Seven minutes.” 

“Of course,” you mutter before standing, the irony not lost on you.  “I’ll go prep now.” 

You don’t see Jay waving you off.  “If you survive, I’ll see you on the other side!” 

A laugh escapes you.  Personally, your only goal is to make it through five minutes.  If you pass away after that, you would have no regrets. 

-

You stand behind the reception doors with your tablet to your chest, staring at the wall across the way.  The subtle wallpaper pattern is a great choice for this place, you decide. 

Indescribable anxiousness and fear aside, you have a job to do.  As long as you keep your outside actions professional, your inner turmoil can be whatever the hell it wants.  You’ve been in this profession long enough and you know you’re ready to do this.  You’ve seen the whole spectrum of human emotion in this line of work.  No matter how well of a job you do, there are still people that are never happy.  As long as you focus on keeping the client’s wellness and health in mind, you keep your consciousness clear.   

Then again, you haven’t had to deal with a client like Park Jimin before, let alone a high executive or well-known actress.  

A muffled “Good morning and welcome” reaches your ears and you push yourself off the wall.  The frosted glass only allows you to see so much, but you can make out a few guys standing in the front area.  Two are taller and only wearing dark clothes, and the other is a bit shorter.  The latter is looking to be wearing a beanie, light colored top, and dark pants.

You can’t hear anyone talking other than Yoon, but suddenly the shorter one makes his way to your doors.  

It’s him.  You’re absolutely sure. 

Steeling your resolve, you pull your side open.  With a smile, you look straight at your client’s sunglasses-and-mask-clad face and greet him just like you would anyone else, “Good morning and welcome.  Am I speaking to Mr. Park?”

He stills for a second before he nods. 

“Nice to meet you.  We’ll be in Room 3.”

-

Jimin bows to you slightly and whispers a thank you, and you follow him to your room.  Your heart is rattling nonstop as you note the height difference between the two of you.  It isn’t as bad as you thought it was.  

The door to Room 3 is already open, and when Jimin enters you stop at the entrance.  

You lied earlier.  None of this feels real.  He’s physically in the room, and you still don’t think this is happening.

You let Jimin put his bag down on the corner chair before gliding into the formal greeting, “Since this is our first session, please let me know if there’s anything you need.  I did go over your forms, but if there was something that wasn’t specified, feel free to ask.  I want to make sure all of your needs are met today.” 

“Your name?” 

You falter. “What?”  Did he just... 

Jimin takes off his sunglasses, and you feel all oxygen leave your body.  He’s still wearing a mask, but you can see that his eyes are creased just a tad.  “It wasn’t specified on the forms.  Your name?” 

A part of you just chalks this up to being standard Jimin behavior, but the other part of you wonders if he really didn’t know whom he was getting a massage from.  Did Yoon not tell him?  Check-in is supposed to confirm your specialist. 

You also note that his voice is infinitely softer in person.  TV and recordings did not do this man justice.  

Keeping it professional is all you must do.  You tell him your name, apologizing for not introducing yourself already.  It’s also on your tablet, so you show him while you talk. 

Jimin leans forward to read it and smiles again. “Ah.  Pretty.” 

Are your five minutes up?  Can you pass away now?  He’s a mere six feet away from you but it feels like his presence is engulfing you. 

All that escapes you is a tiny thank you.  “So, mhm,” you clear your throat and yell at yourself to get it together, “Go ahead and undress down to your comfort level and lie down on the bed with the sheet on top of you.  That remote there is connected to my tablet, so just take it off the charger and bring it to the bed. You can press the green button whenever you’re ready.” 

Jimin looks towards the console table next to him and sees the white remote.  It’s docked in a sleek charging port and stands out against the light wood.  He nods, and you give him one last smile before reaching out and closing the door.

-

The only words your brain can process at the moment are not work appropriate, so you just go on autopilot to the employee lounge.  You expected Jay or even Yoon to be chomping at your heels as soon as you left Jimin by himself, but neither of them are around.  That was completely fine: employees aren’t allowed to divulge anything that goes on in client sessions unless it’s dangerous to either of you. 

You help yourself to a cup of water and down it before pouring another.  The fruit flavor for today is strawberry, and you watch the fruit and ice swirl around as you stir the big glass container.  There are pastries and assorted breakfast foods calling your name in the clear cabinet next to you, but you refuse.  Your adrenaline is hindering your appetite.  

People are still giving you daggers for stares, but after seeing Jimin in person you really can’t blame them.  Even when you couldn’t even see his face, you felt his presence.  His aura filled up that entire room and he only spoke around ten words.  It would be a lie to say that you aren’t intimidated.  You can already count the number of times you almost bolted out of the room on two hands.  But you made yourself proud: as long as you keep your outer actions calm, you can get through this.  Your voice was fairly level for someone whose heart was bouncing out of their ribcage.  In the end, you want to make him feel comfortable and safe.  Emotions cannot exist right now.

Self-deprecation comes into play as you wonder if this is a huge mistake and if Jimin is already out the door to find a better therapist.  

Oh, well.  At least he said your name was pretty. 

Your doubts are casted aside as your tablet dings.  

Jimin’s ready for you. 

-

When you enter the room, you can see that your client followed your instructions completely.  You glance at the corner chair and see that he even folded his clothes and set his jewelry neatly on the thin, long table.  Since Jimin can’t see you from his position, you allow a warm smile to grace your features.  

You close the door as softly as you can.  The way the room is designed, the clients lie down so that their head is opposite the doorway.  It takes you a few steps until you reach the head of the bed.  You gingerly take the remote from where Jimin placed it next to his neck and turn around to redock it, and start to dim the lights with your tablet.  Per standard, you ask, “Mr. Park, is this okay, or would you like the lights lower?” 

His voice is projecting straight towards the floor, but it still sounds so light, “This is good, but please, call me Jimin.”  

That’s definitely not what you expected, but you are touched.  You nod before realizing that he still can’t see you.  “Do you have a music preference for today?”

“Whatever you prefer is fine.”  

Jimin is being so agreeable that your nerves start to dissipate.  You were expecting him to at least be a little particular at some things, but he is being really easy to work with.  The atmosphere starts to feel safe enough for you to joke, “Well, it does depend on my mood, so for now I’ll play Standard Spa Chord Progression, No. 5 instead of No. 3.” 

The small chuckle you hear melts your heart.  “Ah, is that the one with the harp?” 

“No, that’s Spa Concerto, No. 4. We don’t have that one in our library, but I think it’s terrible anyways.” 

Jimin’s head lifts from the table in an earnest laugh, and you can’t help but laugh with him.  It’s infectious.  

You select a random song on your tablet, and you weren’t lying when you said it was standard.  The song is less of a song and more like a bunch of reverberating chords in slow succession.  That’s one thing you noticed about this place: modern tech but very outdated music.  Get with the times!  At least have some nice piano covers to choose from. 

“Not having Spa Concerto, No. 4 may be a deal-breaker for me,” Jimin comments, a hint of a smile in his voice.  

You’re still tapping on your tablet to get to his file, and you make your way back to the door.  There’s a clear slot on each room’s door to hold employee tablets, and as soon as you store yours, you can finally start.  “I don’t blame you, even though I think it’s awful, that one still topped the char--Oh, shit!”   

You aren’t watching where you’re going, so you don’t see the shoes in your path.  It’s so dim in the room and his shoes match the floor color but none of that matters because right now you are falling and you are falling fast.  Your first instinct is to grab the table, but that would risk pulling the blanket off of Jimin and you would rather die than do that to him. 

So, floor it is.

Your hand not holding the tablet breaks some of the fall, but your face definitely makes contact with the ground.  You can feel the slight burn on your nose and hand, and a sharp lingering pain follows.  

Okay, now can you pass away.  Someone from the heavens can come claim you now.    

Drowning in shame, you don’t help yourself off the floor right away.  Not only were you breaking your rule and joking around, you also weren’t paying attention and now possibly ruined Park Jimin’s shoes.  

You’ll look up good resigning practices later tonight.  You have enough money saved up to make it a couple months without a job, you reckon.  

When you finally lift yourself off the floor, you turn around and see Jimin pushed up on the table.  His whole upper body is bare and twisted towards you, and this is the first time you see his entire face.  It’s more beautiful in person, you conclude, even though it conveys nothing but concern right now.  “Are you okay?” 

You nod furiously and stand up completely. Your voice is shaky as you apologize, “I am so sorry.  One moment.” Before checking yourself, you check your personal tablet.  To say it was worth more than you isn’t that far of a reach.  No scratches, though. Praise be.

“Don’t apologize… Did you trip on my shoes?”

Embarrassment washes over you as you nod, not looking at Jimin.  Placing your tablet gingerly on the console table, you dust your uniform down and inspect your hands and feel your nose.  Luckily, there’s no blood, only slight rug burns.  If there was blood, you would have to postpone the appointment until you effectively sanitized.  With what you have, you just need to go wash up.  

Jimin is still watching you intently, which makes your face burn even more.  What a mess.  He’s probably second-guessing this whole thing.  

You bow, feeling tears at the corners of your eyes.  “Mr. Park, I am so sorry.” 

“Jimin.” 

“I’ll just need to clean my hands and then I promise we will start as soon as I get back.  I know your time is valuable so I’ll make up for the minutes we lost.” 

“I… Okay.  Thank you.” 

You make your way out of the room, still courteous enough to shut the door quietly.  Rushing to the nearest sink, a small sob leaves your throat as you wring your hands under the water.  Life is kind to you at this moment because no one is around.  You would never live it down if someone saw you coming out of Jimin’s room crying.  

After splashing water on your face and drying it, you take out a cotton pad from one of the glass containers on the counter.  You press it onto your eyes, decreasing the evidence of your current state.  

So much for making Jimin feel safe and comfortable.  You’ve only made it awkward.   

-

With a deep breath, you enter the room.  

Jimin turns his head and puts it in the crook of his arm to look back at you.  “Are you sure you’re okay?  I’m sorry I couldn’t help you…”  

You go over to his shoes and move them under the chair, wincing when you see visible tears on them.  Guess you’re withdrawing a chunk of your savings to pay Park Jimin for damages.  

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you state firmly, but soften, “But I’m really sorry about the shoes; I may have torn them.  I can pay you back.” 

You hear sheets shuffling, and when you face him, Jimin’s fully on one elbow and turned towards you.  “No, please, don’t worry about those.  I should’ve put them out of the way.  I feel bad.”   

“It’s definitely my fault,” you countered, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Jimin uses your name, which stops you in your tracks.  “Everything’s okay, I promise.”

You should feel many different things, like pride in getting to see this man in person, or happiness from him actually addressing you by name.  But all you can think about in this moment is how disappointing you’ve been to another human being, and you sigh.  

You nod, but still plan to pay him back.  You know enough about designer brands to know those aren’t cheap, and they’re shoes you’ve seen him wearing a lot in photos.  

“It’s okay to lie back down,” you say softly, unmoving.  

Jimin searches your face one more time before settling back face-down on the table.  

It’s a normal day at work, you tell yourself.  Go through your routine.  

Launching yourself into action, you move to the far end of the console table.  Grabbing a bottle you’ve clutched so many times before that its label is wearing down, you uncap it and oil your hands and wrists.  You also unstopper a bottle of lavender oil and pour a few drops into the nearby bamboo diffuser and start it.  

You make your way to the head of the table and grab a rolling stool from a corner of the room.  The wheels on your chair don’t make any noise, which you fixed up yourself.  This day isn’t any different - it’s still silently gliding on the carpet.  Plopping your devastated self onto the cushion, you scoot towards Jimin’s head.  You’re about to place your hands onto his bare shoulders to start, but you whisper,

“It’s also okay if you want to cancel and reschedule with someone else, Mister--Um, Jimin.” 

You can’t believe you just gave Park Jimin a way out of a whole 60 minutes with you.  Where did this conviction and restraint come from?  Is this going to be the regret of your entire lifetime? 

After a long silence, Jimin answers with his face in the headrest, “If you call me Mister Jimin again, then I will.”

You huff out a laugh at his unexpected answer, and your shoulders finally relax.  It seems like he’s still fine after everything that’s happened, and you thank any deity you can think of for this second chance.  

-

Light to medium pressure.  Avoid anything above light pressure around the spinal area and lower back.  Shoulders, calves, and feet are pain points.  Facial area priority. 

You aren’t a fan of light pressure, but you understand why people prefer it.  Not everyone can handle the deep tissue or harder pressure massages. 

Jimin’s shoulders are incredibly tense, though, so you feel bad that you’re limited in what you can do.  You allow some medium pressure to the worst spots, and when you approach the insides of his shoulder blades you lessen the intensity.  

Gliding your fingers back to the ridge between his neck and shoulders, you feel that his right is still tight.  You use your left elbow to work that knot, careful to press even lighter than you would with your hands. 

Jimin grunts, and you still. “Is that too much?”

“No, I like that.”

You keep that in mind as your hands travel over the rest of his upper back area.  From time to time, you reapply the oil to allow for less friction.  It lets your fingers slide deftly across muscles and quickly work any troublesome areas, which Jimin has a lot of.

It makes sense: you can’t even imagine the amount of pressure all of the boys were constantly dealing with.  There was a lull in their activity recently, so you knew something was in the works.  Between recording songs, shooting music videos, fulfilling their brand contracts, and whatever else they do, you’re surprised you don’t feel more knots under Jimin’s skin. 

The soft chords of the next song float around the room, and you lose yourself in your movements.  You can’t see his face, which makes it a lot easier.  You worked through his whole upper body, neck, and upper arms area so naturally that you were admiring his wrist tattoo before remembering who you were massaging.    

For the seven hundredth time that day, you cannot believe this is happening.  You really hope Jimin does feel safe here despite your whirlwind of thoughts.  Have you kept it professional enough?  Neutral enough?  He seemed to be fine with your joking earlier, and he didn’t seem upset about the shoes in the least.  

But still… Maybe he was just tolerating you because it’s the same situation for him, different place and day.  Putting yourself in his shoes, you would feel pity for you trying your best to accommodate him.  The pressure over everyone everywhere you go had to be exhausting.  It couldn’t ever be normal.  

Your shoulders suddenly slump under the weight of what you feel for him.  

And Jimin seems to notice.  “Really, it’s okay about the shoes.  Those were getting pretty worn anyways.” 

You still.  Of course he thought you were still fussing over the shoes and not over his life.  His unending consideration was like a burning hearth: it made you feel so warm.

“Okay,” you respond softly, “I understand.” 

“Good.  If you worry about them again, I’m walking out barefoot,” Jimin says sternly, even though you know he’s kidding.  “And don’t test me, I’ve done it before.” 

Your words leave you before you think.  “I don’t believe you.” 

“Oh?” 

Jimin puts his hands on the table and you yelp, “Okay, okay, stop!” 

He laughs and plops his arms back down flat.  You lament as you still can see how his muscles bulge in your mind.  

You shake your head and sigh before rolling to his left and softly taking his arm.  His skin is so soft you don’t even need the oil, you notice.  You work his forearm before moving down to his wrist and fingers.  Thinking about Jimin’s threat, you are pretty curious.  “Be honest: did that really happen?” 

“It didn’t,” he responds immediately, “But I thought about it once.  My shoes were killing my feet so I thought about walking without them until I found a shoe store.” 

It sounds so childish to you that you chuckle.  “Where was this,” you ask, completely intrigued now.

“Ah, I honestly can’t remember.  I think somewhere in Europe.”

“...Did you just pick an entire continent because you couldn’t remember?”

“...There’s seven continents and one of them is Antarctica!  Picking one out of six is easy.”

This man is something else. You finally finish off his right side, and you gingerly set his arm down on the table.  With a mental pat on the back, you get ready for the next part of the routine.  In your softest therapist voice, you instruct, “Okay, go ahead and turn over and slide down until your head is on the table.”

Jimin obeys right away, shifting over and moving down.  The white sheet slips down his body a bit, and you diligently pull it up until it’s covering everything up to his neck.  During this, you feel rather than see his eyes on you, so you don’t dare yourself to look. 

You go back to your plethora of containers to re-oil, and roll your chair to the foot of the table. All that time, Jimin thankfully has his eyes closed. 

You were equal parts dreading and looking forward to this part of the massage since his face was going to be visible.  This way, you can’t escape the reality of the situation.  

But you decided to follow the flow of the conversation.  You learned the subtle nuances of human communication throughout your experiences: when people wanted to talk or stay quiet, if they were liking the conversation or not, etc. Jimin seems to be fine with talking despite your assumption that he was going to be quiet for the most part.  It has definitely made this easier for you, though. 

“I want to visit all seven continents one day,” you decide to admit. 

“I do, too,” Jimin responds, eyes still closed. “How many do you have left?”

You start on his feet, working along the smooth skin. 

“Uhh, well,” you whisper, “A good chunk. I’ve only been here and back where I’m from, and I just moved here around a year ago.”

After you tell Jimin where you were before, he sounds amazed, “You seem like you’ve lived here for so long. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He’s definitely being nice.  You are just now getting decent at the language and customs, but there is still a lot you have to learn.

“But, I do want to start traveling again for a specific reason,” you divulge, sighing to yourself as you think yet again about your lofty dreams.

“Which reason is that,” Jimin asks, and you somehow know his eyes are open now. 

Your own eyes betray you as you connect your gaze with his. “I want to experience different techniques in person.” You don’t know he can feel the fire behind your eyes. “There’s no better teacher than experience, at least to me. I know I’m good at what I do currently, but there’s so much out there that I want to learn and get better at.”

You debate whether to keep going or not.  Jimin’s eyes are alight with curiosity, so you take that as your cue. It’s surreal that you get to talk about your dream with him of all people, so you strive to make it count. “Take music, for example: everyone agrees that music is healing, therapeutic.  But, there’s so many genres, so many ways to create it.  I see massage as the same way: therapeutic, but many different ways to make people feel better.” 

Jimin is silent as he tears his gaze from you to look at the ceiling. You concentrate on his ankles, working them as delicately but effectively as you can.  A part of you wants to keep talking, but you don’t want to push it. You may have said too much as it is.

The next song has soft chimes to accompany the rippling chords.  Lavender wafts through the air and quells your nerves.  You continue to Jimin’s lower legs and glide your fingers along the flow of his muscles.  When you feel a break or disturbance, you stop and tend to it until you feel it’s balanced.  After his lower legs are done, you move on to his thighs.  You feel tightness all over, and you apply medium pressure to these areas because of how much muscle they contain.  

Jimin’s legs are a work of art on the outside, but so chaotic on the inside.  The chakra highways are disjointed, and you have worked through so many kinks in the roads.  If you imagine yourself as someone walking down a path, you are stopping every 10 steps to smooth over a pothole or breakdown a hill in the way.  You can’t see how this person can even walk, let alone perform on stage like this.  All of them never cease to amaze you.   

“Where would you start?”

Jimin’s sudden inquiry throws you.  You swear he was silent for a good ten minutes.  “What?” 

His eyes are glued to the ceiling still.  “Which places do you want to visit?  Like, where would you go to learn?” 

“Well…”  You are almost too stunned to speak.  He has been thinking about what you said this whole time?  Aren’t there plenty of more important things he needs to be thinking about right now?  “There’s this technique called amma that originates in Japan, and there’s an American technique called esalen that I want to learn, too.  I think that one is from California.”  

On a high from Park Jimin’s interest in your life, you ramble about a few more, your voice getting more animated the more you talk about different things.  It can’t be helped; you’ve been passionate about traveling and learning for so long.  You’ve just never been able to really try it since money was part of the equation.  Or more so out of the equation.  In addition, you didn’t really get to talk about it with anybody.  No one’s actually asked.  But somehow, Jimin did.  

When you realize you actually stopped massaging his thigh, you look up in horror to apologize, “Oh, I am so sorry - I didn’t mean to stop.” 

Jimin’s head is turned to the side, his hair falling into his eyes.  The smile gracing his face is soft.  “It’s okay,” he assures you, “I feel much better already anyways.” 

Your cheeks flush before he even stops talking.  “That’s good,” you whisper, “We’re almost done so I would hope so.” 

“What!” Jimin’s eyes dart to the clock on the table.  It’s already 8:50am.   

That saddens you a lot more than it should. 

“On second thought: I feel tense in my hand, I think you need to go back and redo it.  Here.”  He’s extending his right hand towards you as if to shake hands, and you laugh.  

“Nice try, Jimin,” you say, “But I do need to work on your face for the last part.  Close your eyes for me, please.” 

He stares at you for a second before obeying.  The smile from earlier makes a return.  

You roll your chair back to the head of the bed and plop down.  Jimin’s face is angelic even upside-down, and you pray to the heavens that you massage it perfectly.  

When you start, you quip, “See?  You’re so happy we’re almost done.” 

“No, no!” Jimin laughs.  “That’s not it.  You just called me Jimin - it was nice.”  

“Oh.”  You swear steam is billowing from your head.  How can he affect you so intensely?  And how were you keeping yourself together?  

With the resolve of a thousand emperors, maybe including one you probably did save in a past life, you steady your hands on his temples.  Rubbing in delicate circles, you start the last segment.  

Face massages are your favorite.  Even the smallest movements are invigorating, and you feel very refreshed after one.      

“When I come back, Spa Concerto, No. 4 better be available.” 

You smile.  There’s no way Jimin will be back, but you appreciate his friendly nature.  

“It’s not even all that great, but I’ll let them know,” you play along. “I’m more of a piano person, though. There’s a lot of piano covers saved in my phone that are way better.” 

Jimin’s eyes flash open at the same time he proclaims, “Ah, I love piano covers!  Especially on rainy days.”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, “I can listen to those all the time.”

Your heart drops like a stone as you glance at the clock and see your time is up.  The hour absolutely flew by.  Dropping your eyes back onto Jimin’s face, you take your hands off his cheeks and say, “Okay, that’s the end of our session today.” You get up to dry your hands and lower arms with a cloth while going over the last steps, “I’ll leave you to get dressed, and I’ll come back to the room to give you water and some stretch and wellness recommendations moving forward. Just press the green button on the remote when you’re ready, like last time.”

When you turn back to him, Jimin’s fully propped up with his hands behind him. The blanket over him is draped across his body, just enough to cover his ribs.  He’s smiling right at you as he speaks, “Thank you.  You’re really good.” 

You bow in thanks, face lighting up like wildfire. “You were great, too,” you comment in return, immediately cringing inside. “I’ll be back when you’re ready for me.”

-

Right after you leave clients is when you start filling out their evaluation and wellness recommendations on your tablet.  You just worked on them, so the memories are fresh.  The forms are a mix of multiple choice and fill-in, and you recommend some specific stretches and deeper pressure for Jimin. 

This time, Jay is in the employee lounge when you come in to wait.  His legs uncross and he pops up from one of the modern loveseats that are just as firm as they look.  “She’s alive!” 

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the flush in your cheeks.  “I’m here, but barely,” you chuckle, your tablet dangling in your hand by your side, “I still can’t believe that actually happened.”

Jay leans in so that no one can hear what he has to say, which makes you suspicious since there’s no one around you.  In a low voice, he reveals, “Yoon and I made a bet.” 

“Wonderful,” you drawl, “I’m gonna walk away now.”  You can already tell this is one-hundred percent not in your favor.

“No, wait!” His whisper is loud. He bounces after you to the water and food station. While you fix yourself a cup, he continues, “Yoon thinks you’ll get done with the appointment unscathed, but I think you’ll come out of it with a problem.” 

Jay’s words remind you like alarm bells.  

You need to pay Jimin for damages.  

“Oh, shit, I need to get something,” you say in a rush, grabbing your tablet off the food station and scurrying to the locker room.  In the wellness center, the employee lounge is in the back, and the locker room is in the back of the lounge.  You think you still have time before Jimin is ready. 

There’s a notebook you keep in your bag along with a pencil case.  Tearing a sheet from the notebook, you write down what you think is a good estimate for the shoes.  Before you write anything else, you pause.  

You only skimmed through the confidentiality prompts, but you do remember a section about personal information.  Therapists aren’t allowed to give out their personal information unless specifically asked, and there has to be solid intent behind the client asking.  Jimin didn’t need to ask you for yours; he just said not to worry about it. 

After a good thirty seconds of your pen lingering above the paper, your tablet chimes.  

A split second decision has you crumpling the paper and chucking it in your bag.  You tear out a new sheet and tuck it with the pen under your tablet as you head back to Room 3.

-

You get to the room with a paper cup of water you grabbed on the way, and since you have things in both hands it’s a bit difficult getting the door open.  You try the handle but it only jiggles a bit.  One more try has you pushing the door right as the handle gives, and it works.

Jimin goes to you immediately when he sees your hands full, and you almost reel back from having him so close.  Which should be odd, since you were literally just with him for a full hour, and he was not fully clothed.  In the end, his presence alone is enough to affect you no matter the situation. 

You extend the cup to him and he grabs it with a small thank you.  

“I filled out your evaluation and it should be printed at the front already.  Make sure to drink more water after you leave,” you say with a smile, your chest heavy.  This was most likely the last interaction you would ever have with him. 

Jimin nods, his mask covering his smile but not his eyes.  He doesn’t say anything more. 

You almost leave it at that, but something in you doesn’t want this moment to end, so you take your chance. “And, umm,” you stutter as you fumble with the pen and paper.  You just lay your tablet on the massage table to free your hand, and click the pen open.  “How much should I pay you,” you ask, your gaze ironically on the very shoes you tripped over earlier. 

Jimin sets his cup down on the console table before taking the paper and pen from your hands.  You watch him write something - a price in Won most likely - as you explain, “I’m a big believer of making things right, so please let me pay for your shoes.  I should’ve seen them on the ground.”

He folds the paper and hands it back to you with the pen.  “If you insist.  But don’t check this until you get home.” 

“What, why?”  Your eyes dart to his face. 

Jimin stares at you before responding, “Nothing bad. It just might shock you.” 

Immediately, your gaze lowers.  If you tell anyone how your day went today, you would think they were weird if they believed you. If you tell anyone why you’re suddenly broke come this Wednesday, they would be lying if they just went with it.  “Okay, I won’t,” you assure him, and you’re telling the truth.  You are equal parts surprised and nervous that he’s allowing you to pay him back. 

With a deep breath, you give Jimin your best soft smile.  Your heart is hurting as you send him off, “Well, it was a pleasure.  Have a great rest of your day, Jimin.  Until next time.”  You catch yourself in a sea of emotion as your words die on your tongue.  The boys have schedules on schedules, so the likelihood of him stepping foot inside this wellness center again is minuscule at best.    

If anything, you’re grateful that you get to address him by name, and you succeeded in making this as smooth and safe as possible for him.  At the expense of a scraped nose and hand, but rather you than him.  

Jimin hoists his bag on his shoulder, the water cup you gave him already in the trash bin.  He walks right up to you and stands there, and you swear both of you can hear your heart beating.  One of his hands comes up to his masked face, and he speaks softly as he advises, “Ointment will help your nose if it still hurts.” 

Warmth blooms in your chest and cascades all the way to your fingertips.  Mirroring him, you bring a hand up to your nose and nod.  Your words tumble out, “Oh, yes, you’re right.  I can check if we have any in the back.”  

Satisfied, Jimin nods.  “Until next time,” he offers, his eyes creased and warm. 

You smile again and bow slightly.  He puts on his shades before heading out the door frame and into the hall, and you feel emptiness in his wake.  The world is fuzzy around your vision and you are trying so hard to commit everything that just happened to memory.  

Until the doors to front reception close, you watch Jimin’s retreating back.  When the frosted doors close shut, you close your own door to Room 3 and lean against the wooden frame.  The scrap of paper is creased in your hand as you clutch it to your hammering chest.  

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself.  It takes a good minute for you to compose yourself before pushing off the door and getting the room stripped and ready for the next session.  The whole time, you replay everything in your head.  

Jimin was just as nice as you have seen him through the lens of cameras.  If that was the case, all of them had to be the same way.  You are proud to like these wonderful people.  

You’re so happy you got to actually spend all this time with him, but that just magnifies the sadness you feel when it’s over. 

-

The room is done and cleaned up, and you go through the rest of the day on autopilot.  Not even Jay’s constant teasing could free you from your euphoria-numbed state.  The only thing that throws you back into focus is Yoon, and it happens at the very end of the work day.  

You push open the doors to front reception, and smile big at your friend behind the counter.  She’s beaming right back at you, and she puts her chin in her hand and shakes her head. 

“That must’ve been one hell of a message,” she says through a barely contained smile.  

Your hand flies to your forehead and you nod.  “I can’t believe that happened, Yoon.  I mean, it was really him.  Opportunity of a lifetime… I just hope he enjoyed the whole thing.” 

“You could say that,” she chuckles, “Enough to book you again, at least.” 

What?

“He did?” Your breath leaves you in a rush.  “If you’re joking with me, I’ll--” 

“--He did.  It’s not for a long time, but he asked for you specifically.”  Yoon gathers papers in her hand and starts to organize them in the containers behind her.  “You really piss me off, you know that?” 

“Love you, too,” you whisper, your head completely above the clouds.  You grab your phone and start checking your schedule from the wellness center app you have installed.  Grabbing the door handle, you absentmindedly wave back to Yoon and call out, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

The sun emits a golden glow at this hour, and the glass buildings along the street bask in its shine.  You head towards your bus stop while skimming your calendar for Jimin’s next appointment, but you’re already four months out and see nothing.  Not losing hope, you keep going and see a booking six months in advance.  Your heartbeat skips as you click on the appointment, and almost skids to a halt when you see his name written down.

-

As soon as you enter your small apartment, you head straight to your bed and drop your bag on the comforter.  Your whole body bounces as you plop yourself down next, and you stare straight at the ceiling.  

Your life is still normal, right?  Sure, you were able to spend an entire hour with Park Jimin, but that didn’t mean you aren’t still completely and utterly average.  

You close your eyes and go back to Room 3.  The scent of lavender fills your nostrils and you can still see his number tattoo as plain as day as you massage his wrist.  

In all honesty, it still feels like a fever dream.  That was someone else’s life you were able to live, someone else there with Jimin and you just decided to hitch along for the ride.  

But that was real, and so is the amount of money you still need to withdraw from your bank account.  

With a sigh, you reach into your bag and take out the piece of paper.  You were dreading this moment all day since he left.  Unfolding it, you prepare for the worst. 

But all you can do is stare.  

Jimin didn’t write down a price at all. 

Your name is at the top, and the rest is as follows:

Save your money for traveling and learning new things, not on me. I can’t wait to see what you’ve learned when we meet again.

-

-

a/n: thank you for reading! if you guys have any comments or feedback, please feel free to let me know!

[nerdzzone]

Only For A Moment: October + November [part one]

Summary: A series of shorter one shots from Chris and Whitney’s life together throughout the pandemic. Some happy times, some harder times, some fluff and some things a little more sexy - they work through it all as they try to get settled in their new and blossoming relationship.

Chris Evans x OFC

18+

Part of the Once Bitten/More Hearts series

Only For A Moment: September

Note: I was originally going to post this as one longer one shot, but I’ve split it into two. I haven’t finished writing the last part of the series yet and I’ve had a really bad and busy week so I haven’t had much time to work on it. It’s planned out, I just need to write it, but posting November as two parts gives me more time to finish it.

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented on this story. The support has been amazing!

-----

October 2020

"Hey," I greeted Chris as I poked my head around the door of his office. "Are you busy? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

He put down the script he was reading - something for a project he'd be starting as soon as the pandemic allowed - and nodded his head.

"Sure, what's up?"

I moved into the room, feeling strangely nervous about what I was about to ask.

"How would you feel," I started. "About me going to New York for a weekend for work?"

He raised his eyebrows, seemingly surprised by my inquiry and I rushed to assure him a bit more.

"They sent all the protocols that would be followed along with the job offer and it seems like it would be as safe as it possibly could be these days and I would drive up, not fly, so that would cut down on the chance of exposure a bit too," I assured him. "But I know that there's always a risk at the moment and it affects you and Gray too so I won't go if you're at all concerned."

Chris was smiling by the time I finished my long explanation and I felt a glimmer of hope that he wouldn't shoot down the idea immediately. I missed working and while Chris at least had 'A Starting Point' to focus on and various scripts to read through, I'd been completely out of work for months and I was ready to get back into it.

"Whitney, you don't need to convince me," he assured me. "I trust you. If you think it's safe and you want to do it then go for it."

"Okay, thank you," I let out a breath of relief. "I really do want to do it. I miss working."

"I know what you mean," he agreed. "What's the project?"

I couldn't hold back my grin as I answered that question.

"I get to go hang out with your friends," I informed him. "It's a promo shoot for Sebastian and Mackie's new show."

"Aw, man! That's great," Chris laughed. "Would you mind if I tagged along? I won't get in the way, I'll stay out of the photo shoot, but it would be nice to have a change of scenery."

"You wouldn't be allowed to come to the photo shoot at all," I warned him. "That was part of the protocol - no guests - and I don't know how many places are open there right now, there might not be much for you to do."

"I can keep myself entertained," he shrugged before flashing me a smirk. "We can leave Grayson with my mom, it'll be nice to have an adults only weekend."

"That would be nice," I agreed, matching his smirk as I followed his train of thought. We did fairly well making sure we got some quality time together, but we had to be quiet and quick and we always had the threat of Grayson interrupting in the back of our minds. "It's just a one day shoot so we'd have the Sunday together too."

"That's great," Chris grinned. "It'll be nice to get away."

"It will," I agreed, walking around his desk to lean down and capture his lips in a kiss. "Our first romantic getaway."

He slid his arm around my hips to keep me close as he smiled up at me.

"I can't wait."

-

November 2020

Leaving Grayson was harder than I anticipated. Considering I used to leave him with Chris every other week, I thought leaving him for a weekend would be easy, but I was a weepy mess. I held it together in front of Grayson so that he didn't get upset too - even though he was completely unbothered as he skipped off into Lisa's house - but once we got in the car, I let a few tears slip.

Of course, Chris teased me about it, but there was something in the way that he slipped his hand in mine and squeezed it reassuringly that told me he was feeling it too. We’d all adjusted to our new normal and Chris and I had really embraced having Gray by our side all the time so while two days was not a ridiculous amount of time to be apart, it felt like a momentous occasion. However, after giving ourselves a few minutes to wallow in the sadness, we agreed to do our best to push those feelings aside. We deserved a weekend away. No matter how much we loved him, parenting twenty-four/seven for almost ten months was hard work especially while trying to build our new relationship.

By the time we arrived in Manhattan in the early evening, our melancholy mood had shifted. The drive, spent playing silly little car games like ‘I Spy’ and singing cheesy duets, had put us in a wonderful mood and kicked off our weekend nicely. It was a fairly long drive though so I let Chris check in while I scampered off to use the restroom in the lobby. He had the keys by the time I found him again and when we got up the room, I was shocked. It was a fancy hotel - Marvel did tend to be quite generous when it came to accommodations - but it wasn't until we walked into the room that I realized we had the penthouse suite.

"Holy shit," I gasped, looking around at the luxurious space and amazing view out over Central Park. "This has to be a mistake, there's no way Marvel would pay for this!"

"No, they wouldn't," Chris smirked as he dropped our bags and moved over to the bottle of champagne that was already chilling in an ice bucket. "But I would."

"What?" I giggled. "What are you talking about? We already had a reservation booked in my name."

"Yeah, and I upgraded it," he grinned. "I just paid the difference between the room Marvel booked and this one."

He popped the champagne and poured it for us before coming to join me at the window and handing me a glass.

"You didn't have to do that, Chris. This is a pretty nice hotel, I'm sure whatever room they booked would have been fine."

"Oh yeah, it would have been fine," he shrugged. "But fine isn't what I'm aiming for this weekend and since we can't do much outside of this hotel anyway, the least I can do is make sure we have a good room."

I was looking forward to getting back to work, but suddenly I wished that I didn't have to as the idea of a romantic weekend hidden away in our gorgeous suite seemed like the best thing in the world. But, I knew we wouldn't have come without an excuse, so I tried to focus on being grateful for the time that we did have together.

Slipping my arm around his waist and stretching up on my toes, I pulled him in for a kiss, trying to convey my gratitude and excitement for the weekend.

"Well, I can think of several things we can do in this room that will keep us very busy," I teased once our lips parted again. "We better get started now or we might run out of time..."

Chris chuckled as he took a sip of his champagne, but shook his head.

"Not yet, Winnie," he denied me, despite his raspy voice. "Why don't you take that champagne and run yourself a nice bath while I order us some room service?"

I felt a frown slide onto my face and I would have been embarrassed at my childish pout had I not been so confused about him turning me down.

"Why?" I asked. "I would have thought you'd be raring to go now that we can finally enjoy ourselves with no interruptions..."

"I am but I want to enjoy it,” Chris informed me, leaning down to nip at my neck before letting his lips hover next to my ear. "I want you relaxed and well-fed so I can take my time while I make you scream my name over and over and over."

His low voice sent shivers down my spine as his plan for the night sent a wave of arousal through me. My mouth suddenly felt dry and my brain forgot how to make words as I choked out an 'okay' and took myself off to the bathroom to do as he'd instructed.

-

When I wandered out into the living room area of our suite almost forty-five minutes later, I was thoroughly relaxed. Wrapped in a very fluffy white bathrobe that was at least two sizes too big for me, I announced my entrance with a contented sigh. Chris looked up at the sound and let out a laugh.

"What?" I giggled, striking a pose as I had a good idea what he found amusing. "They only had one size."

"You look adorable," he grinned at me. "C'mere, let me top up your drink."

I did as he asked, walking over to where he was sitting and noticed the cart full of food that was next to him. He'd ordered my favourite - mac 'n' cheese - and I felt a rush of love for him when I saw it. A lot of people had teased me over the years, insisting that it was more of a child's dish - something not refined enough for an adult’s palate - but it had always been one of my top choices and I was touched that he'd remembered.

He'd ordered a steak for himself and we both eagerly tucked into our meals, eating until we were almost painfully full and just barely saving enough room for the peanut butter cheesecake that he'd ordered for dessert. That was another favourite of mine and I got a stern warning from Chris - as I moaned through every mouthful - that I needed to control myself until we'd had a chance to digest our large meal. I bit back a smirk, almost tempted to continue my noises of pleasure just to antagonize him, but I reluctantly decided to behave.

After we ate, we curled up on the couch with something meaningless on the TV as we recovered from the large meal. We were half-watching it, half just basking in the contentment of our full stomachs until Chris eventually decided that we'd waited long enough.

My feet were draped over his lap as we lounged and I felt his hands slowly move from lazy stroking the tops of my feet to higher up my ankle. At first, I didn't pay much attention as I mindlessly scrolled through my phone, but as his hand trailed higher up my leg, his intentions became more clear. I fought to keep a straight face as I continued to ignore him even as his hand slid up to my knee. He kept it there for a few moments, rubbing his thumb against my skin, but he quickly lost his patience as I continued playing it cool. Letting out a soft growl, he returned his hands to my feet and with a swift tug, he moved me down the couch.

"Chris!" I giggled as my head slipped from the arm of the couch onto the cushion where my bum had been moments before. "What are you doing?"

"You were ignoring me," he smirked. "So, I took matters into my own hands."

"Maybe I was reading something important," I teased. "You're so rude."

He pulled again, moving my hips up onto his lap.

"I'm rude? We're on a romantic getaway and you're starin’ at your phone."

"Well, maybe you weren't being very interesting."

He chuckled at that, but shook his head.

"You're such a brat," he scolded. "Maybe I should just flip you over and teach you a lesson."

He moved a hand down and pinched my bum to emphasize his point and I gasped as a wave of intrigue flooded through me. Using the back of the couch for leverage, I pulled myself up until I was sitting on his lap, but the positioning was a bit awkward so I shifted and straddled him instead.

"I'm not sure if a spanking from you would be much of a punishment..."

My words made his eyes darken as his hands rubbed up and down my thighs.

"Oh, really?" He questioned and I nodded with a smile. "Well, that is very interesting information to have."

"I'm surprised you haven't brought it up before," I teased. "Since you're such an ass man."

"Shut up," Chris chuckled before forcing me to do so by pressing my lips against his.

It started off as a sweet, playful kiss, but the mood of anticipation between us quickly transitioned it into something more.

His hands moved from my thighs up to my hips as I let mine slide behind him - one rubbing the soft hairs on his neck as the other held the back of his head, keeping it firmly against my own. Our lips parted, letting our tongues bump and glide against each other and I felt a fire started to burn inside of me already.

Our position and the fact that I was wearing nothing, but a bathrobe meant that there was nothing between us other than Chris' jeans. I was pressed bare against him which became apparent when he used his firm grip to pull me even closer towards him. A gasp fell from my lips at the friction the denim caused and Chris pulled back to grin at me.

"Does that feel good?" He pressed my hips forward again as he asked the question and my eyes fluttered shut as I nodded. "Then keep going."

He titled his chin to capture my lips in another kiss as he loosened his grip on me, but his instructions had been clear. Taking matters into my own hands, I started rocking my hips slowly against his enjoying the sparks I felt every time I rubbed against him. I could feel him harden, the bulge underneath me growing bigger with every pass of my hips, and the feeling had me moaning into his mouth. I almost stood up - I almost pulled myself off of his lap and dragged him to the bedroom as my body craved him and wanted him inside me - but I remembered what he'd said. He wanted to wait, to take it slow and savour the experience so, with a smirk to myself, I continued my actions with the knowledge of his growing arousal only adding to my pleasure.

As if Chris could read my mind or feel my misguided sense of control, he tightened his grip again and pressed me even harder against him. I moaned at the sensation, pulling my mouth from his as my head fell backwards. I tried to find something to focus on, something to help me regain a morsel of self-control, but nothing in the room could distract from the pressure that was building quickly as the rough material dragged against my clit. A part of me was embarrassed to be rubbing myself against him like this, but with each thrust of my hips, a much bigger part of me grew too desperate to care.

Taking advantage of my exposed neck, Chris latched his lips onto the skin, nipping and sucking gently before tracing kisses up until his mouth was beside my ear.

"You're almost there, aren't you?" His voice was low and the way my fingers dug into the back of his neck was all the answer I could muster as his hands forced my body to keep up the steady rhythm. "I bet you're almost soakin’ right through my pants. You're so needy. Go on, Winnie, take what you want."

A whimper fell from my lips as his words sent shivers down my spine. My movements, supported by his hands, became even more frantic as I felt my release building to a peak and after a few more shifts against him, I let out a strangled moan as I crashed over the edge.

Chris continued his mumbled words of encouragement as his hands continued to force me to move until I melted against him and let my head flop onto his shoulder. My breath against his neck drew goosebumps up on his skin and I placed a soft kiss on them as I fought to control my breathing.

"How're you feeling?"

I sighed softly in response to Chris' question, fighting to make my brain function enough to form words.

"Wonderful," I purred into his ear after taking a moment to compose myself. "But I'm really dying to have you inside me..."

Without another word, Chris used his grip on my hips to lift me off his lap and onto my feet. My legs felt shaky from the strength of my recent orgasm, but they held me up as I stared down at Chris, a bit stunned by the fast movement. He looked up at me for a brief moment before raising an eyebrow and nodding his head towards our bedroom.

"Do you need me to carry you?" He questioned, his tone laced with sarcasm as he clearly noticed the quiver in my legs. "Or can you walk?"

I giggled and playfully rolled my eyes, but turned towards the bedroom. Trying to regain some semblance of power in the situation, I undid the robe that was still tied around my waist and let it fall to the floor. The action left me completely naked as I walked away and I heard a growl of approval from Chris followed by the sound of him jumping to his feet behind me. I scampered off with him hot on my heels, but he caught me in his grasp when I was a few feet past our bedroom door.

He easily lifted me off the ground and I let out a squeal as he tossed me onto the bed.

"Wow," I giggled as I flopped onto my back, leaning up on my elbows to look at him. "That was a graceful landing, real sexy."

Chris smirked as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"You're always sexy," he insisted, moving to the bed and crawling over me. "I can't get enough of you."

Before I could respond, his mouth was back on mine. I smiled against his lips and took a moment to run my hands over his toned muscles, but quickly moved them down to the belt on his jeans as I was eager to get things moving. Almost immediately, he pulled away with that damn smirk still on his face.

"Not so fast," he warned. "I said we were going to take our time."

"We already did," I whined. "Please, Chris, I want you so bad."

He dipped his head and kissed along my jaw until his lips hovered by my ear.

"And you'll have me," he assured me. "Eventually."

I let out a groan of frustration, but as he trailed his kisses lower until they reached my chest, the groan became one of pleasure. A hand slid up my side until it was level with his head and while his mouth captured one nipple, his fingers pinched the other. I gasped and arched my back up towards him, desperate to be as close to him as possible.

His actions started off soft. His fingers and lips worked in a gentle, almost teasing way that had me almost ready to whine for more, but just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, he increased the pressure. His fingers pinched and tweaked one as he nipped the other and the sensation had my hips pressing up against him almost of their own volition. He chuckled as I lifted a leg to hook it over his hip, pulling him down in an attempt to find any friction as he moved to rest his chin between my breasts.

"You're so impatient," he teased. "I'm not gonna fuck you yet."

His voice was thick and rough from his own aroused state and it only made me more desperate.

"Please, Chris..." I whined. "Why not?"

Chris let his teeth graze against my skin briefly before moving further down my body, my question apparently going unanswered. He kissed his way over my stomach, an affectionate smile appearing on his face as he watched the muscles under his mouth quiver and twitch from his actions. It appeared he was intent on taking his sweet time and I really was about to start begging again when he finally settled between my thighs, pulling my legs to rest over his shoulders.

A snarky comment about him taking so long was on the tip of my tongue, but any attitude I was feeling disappeared as he pressed his tongue against me, licking upwards until he settled against my clit. I couldn't hold back the moans and gasps that poured from my lips from the sensation and for a moment, I worried I was being too loud. However, from the way Chris' fingers dug into my ass to lift me higher against his mouth, he seemed to find it encouraging.

He was focused and determined, his lazy mood from moments earlier seemingly gone and I wasn't complaining as I was already practically dripping on to the bed with need. He knew my body almost better than I did and the way his lips were locked on just the right spot, sucking with just the right pressure was driving me wild.

In a few mere minutes, I was already teetering on the edge, but when I gasped out a warning to Chris, he instantly pulled away.

I lifted my head as I let out a growl and scowled down at him - the cocky smirk on his face only adding to my annoyance.

"What the hell, Chris," I huffed. "Keep going!"

He kissed my thigh as I felt an almost painful ache between my legs.

"Patience, Winnie," he warned me. "You need a lesson in patience."

The overwhelming feeling I felt in response to that comment was frustration, but there was a hint of intrigue as well. I was at his mercy, being teased and toyed with until he decided otherwise and I'd be lying if that knowledge didn't turn me on even more.

"Do you-" I gasped as he blew against the wet place his mouth had been moments before. "Do you want me to beg?"

"It wouldn't hurt," he grinned. "But there is something appealing about the thought of seeing how long I can keep you like this..."

That idea filled me with dread. As enticing as my helplessness in this scenario was, the thought of it lasting more than a few minutes seemed painfully cruel.

"No, please don't," I pleaded. "Please touch me, Chris. Please, please. I need it so bad."

He groaned, letting his forehead rest against my thigh for a moment before looking up to meet my eyes.

"The way you say my name when you're like this drives me crazy."

He moved his hand to flick his thumb over my clit and his name fell from my lips again as a desperate whimper. That seemed to be all he needed to hear as he quickly attached his mouth back to that sweet spot.

Instantly, my hands shot to grip his head as mine fell back against the pillows. He held down my hips that were pushing up towards him, desperate to increase the friction, but it didn't matter. I was so close already, so worked up from his previous actions, that it took no time at all for the pressure he'd built up inside me to boil over as I finally found my release.

As always, he coaxed me through it, only moving back when he was sure my orgasm had faded. By the time it was done, my chest was heaving and Chris dragged himself off the bed, giving me a moment to catch my breath as he rid himself of his jeans and boxers. I smiled at the sight, but I was in a daze. My whole body felt like jelly from the two amazing orgasms I'd just received, but that didn't stop me from the moment of clarity that hit just as he was climbing back over me.

"Wait! Condom."

Chris cursed under his breath before hopping off the bed and quickly rifling through his bag. He found one - which I knew he would as I'd reminded him several times to pack them so we wouldn’t be caught without them in a moment like this - and returned to the bed.

"Hurry," I panted. "I need you."

A quiet growl rumbled from Chris' chest as he quickly tore open the condom wrapper and put it on. I was still sensitive from our previous activities, but as soon as he was on top of me again, I was pressing up towards him. He filled me with an almost insatiable need and it seemed his patience was also thin after being so hard for so long as he slid inside me with impressive speed.

I groaned from the sensation of him filling me so quickly, but any discomfort quickly shifted into pleasure as he rocked his hips against mine. My fingers dug into his shoulders as my legs wrapped around his waist pulling him closer as he quickly established a steady rhythm. As much as he wanted to take his time, his restraint was clearly waning as he kept up a vigorous pace. My over sensitive state and his purposefully angled thrusts, hitting all the right nerves with just the right pressure, had me writing beneath him as I basked in the sensation.

Chris was always rather vocal, but as his moans, grunts and whispers of filthy commentary grew louder and more unrestrained it became clear that he was also edging closer and closer to his peak. His hips snapped with more ferocity and all I could do was hold onto him tightly, giving him all the control and riding the waves of pleasure he was causing.

“I’m close,” he groaned, his voice strained as his breath hit my neck.

Unable to form words, I made a noise that I hoped would convey my agreement and his movements seemed to become even more pointed and more deliberate. With every thrust, he made sure to rub against every sensitive spot inside me and moments later, I felt my release hit me. It felt like every muscle in my body tensed as I quivered and clenched around him, a sound leaving my mouth that was so lustful and unrestrained that I could hardly believe it was coming from me. He gasped out a moan of his own from the sensation of me coming around him and quickened his pace through my orgasm until eventually he stilled, the sound of his pleasure echoing through my ears.

Once we had both recovered, Chris rolled off of me, pulling the condom off and disposing of it in the garbage can next to the bed before he settled on his back, chest heaving from exertion.

I let out a happy sigh as I curled into his side and his arm wrapped around me, pulling me close.

"That was amazing," I smiled, placing a kiss against his chest.

He chuckled, squeezing me even tighter as he answered.

"See? Patience. It makes everything better."

I nipped at the skin underneath my mouth.

"Shut up."

He leaned down to place a kiss on the top of my head and I smiled.

"I love you," he practically whispered in the darkness. "I'm so glad we get this weekend together."

"Me too," I agreed. "I love you too."

He squeezed me closer again as we laid there curled up in each other, basking in our post-orgasmic glow.

No one had ever made me feel the way that Chris did. I’d never felt as safe with anyone, I’d never felt so able to let my guard down, and the physical aspect of our relationship clearly benefited greatly from the closeness that we shared. It was an amazing feeling to know that we were so in tune with each other and that there was so much room to explore the things that made us feel good and, despite being fully satisfied for the time being, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to other things I would be interested in delving into as I drifted off to sleep.

-

November [part two]

Tags:  @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10 @partypoison00 @theladybiers @sidepieces @firoozehmoon @patzammit @sparkledfirecracker @mytbel0st @chvntelle-99 @mjey12

[hopeamarsu]

Of potions and myths - Chapter 3

William “Ironhead” Miller x f!reader

Word count 3,1k

Warnings: There is a visit to the police station and the officer isn’t the most accommodation but no words are changed. Other than that, I think none

A/N: I realize not a lot happens here, but I’m working my way to reveal more of this world, their connection and adding a dash of magical au in here somewhere.  

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

Will insists on driving you to the precinct first, to file the complaint about the man from the previous night before heading out to meet his pack. You almost want to protest, the need and itch to solve the riddle of the connection and the pull between you much larger, but one look into his eyes tells you he will not budge. So with a sigh and a kiss, you untangle yourself from his embrace and slip into your bedroom to dress for the day. 

When you come back to the kitchen, Will has already cleaned up your cups and your coffee maker and he takes your hand as you walk outside. The air is warmer now, the morning chill defeated as you step to the curb and back into his truck. The brush against your seatbelt seems almost unconscious as the blond man starts the truck and navigates into the morning traffic. 

The drive is accompanied by shy glances and soft smiles and you speak of unimportant things, getting to know one another. Favorite bands, random titbits about food and restaurants you’ve recently tried, stuff that on the surface level seems shallow but reveal a lot of each of you as you trade questions and stories. As he pulls up behind the police station, Will almost takes your hand into his, remembering the tendrils at the last moment. It might not be best to flaunt them around until you get a better understanding, he thinks, so he guides you inside with his hand hovering beside your elbow. 

You don’t notice it, but as soon as you step in, the man scans the exits and weak spots within the lobby and moves his body to best cover you as you walk to the counter. As you tell the officer manning the desk you want to report a crime, he cages you between him and the counter, one hand on your back and the other leaning over the wooden desk. Will might look relaxed and his posture easy, but he is anything but. The thrum in his chest has changed its tone and he can feel the wolf pace around as it tracks for any potential threats. 

The report is thankfully done quickly, smoothed over by Will’s convenient flip of his wallet and credentials when the officer looks up and down at you with disinterest as you explain your issue. You wrinkle your nose in annoyance when he does it, but let it pass as it gets the officer moving, pulling up documents for you to fill. Your information is jotted down, the account of the date and parties involved and you give a description of the potion (corroborated by Will) and as soon as your signature dries on the paper, the Captain whisks you outside.

“That was fast,” He comments as he guides you back to his truck, his hand radiating heat over your body. There is a non-committal hum from your pursed lips. You do not elaborate it further, but he catches the tone of it anyway. “Sweetheart, what is it?” Will grips your hand, forcing you to stop before you can step inside the car. He gently turns you around so you are face to face again. 

His blue eyes are darker again, though not in arousal. There’s worry, apprehension and something else swimming in the depths and your heart squeezes a little as you catalogue them. Hesitantly Will lets go of your arm and the spot feels cold immediately. From the corner of your eye, you see the tendrils disappear from where he touched you. “Did I do something wrong there?” 

You are quick to shake your head. “No, no! Absolutely not. It’s just… You know I was hesitant to do this in the first place and it’s because I knew this was going to happen. They would not believe me until you showed your credentials from Delta and it annoys me. Not you, the idea that just because I’m a mundane, I’m not to be believed. Like I don’t know a potion when I smell one. Just because I don’t have a neat little ID card that states I’m born into it, but have had to work my way through research to understand the intricacies. Might as well call me hysterical, you know?” 

Will tugs you in immediately, strong arms wrapping around to envelop you in a hug. Hands run up and down your body as he curses under his breath. He should’ve known not to hijack the situation, he should’ve let you handle this particular battle but he didn’t. The need to make it all go away fast got away from him. Something fierce bleeds through from his mind to yours and you gasp involuntary as it shatters your shields. The power of it knocks the wind out of you and your knees buckle. 

“Shit!” The curse is louder this time and Will reaches out behind you to open the door to the truck and he helps you sit down. “What happened, sweetheart?” His hands run across your face, your temple and your shoulders, worry etched into his features. But it's a different type of worry now, not like before when he was worried about what had happened in the precinct. This worry comes from somewhere deeper inside him, something more primal, and it rattles you as it bounces against your feeble shields, breaking them down further. 

“I’m okay, I’m… alright. I promise,” you whisper, your voice hoarse as you gasp for air. “I can just, I can just feel your emotions. And they are loud and powerful.” Will curses again and all of the emotions vanish in a flash as his own shields slam shut. You take a shuddering breath, lifting your eyes to look at him. His eyes flash between beautiful blue and intense red as he tries to get himself under control. 

“We need to go and see the elders now. If you can feel my emotions and they affect you like this, it’s not…” Will struggles for words, trying to piece it all together as he helps you get more settled on the seat. A water bottle is pushed into your hands and he urges you to sip from it. “This connection we feel, it’s growing and changing, becoming more powerful.” He finally finishes, scratching the back of his neck. 

You nod weakly but remain silent, trying to gather your bearings as you grip the bottle tight. He holds your gaze, finding something that eases his worries, and Will jumps behind the wheel. He easily navigates out of the inner city, his hand brushing periodically at yours on the seat between you as he zig-zags the streets until the truck is on the freeway and he can grasp it in his palm. 

You have a million questions running in your mind, trying to make some sort of mental list to ask the elders while building up the shields once more. You feel nervous, untethered and all over the place, wishing you had a better grip at your emotions. The analytical side of your brain is excited for the oncoming flood of information but the rest of you is scared you’ll be turned away once you reach his pack. 

As you feel your shields slowly settle and become a little stable again, you send out a small prayer to whomever is listening that even if you are turned away, Will’s pack won’t turn on him. It’s been less than 24 hours of knowing him but you don’t want to see him hurt, ever. The gnarly feeling twists your gut and you think for a second to ask him to stop and leave you by the side of the road. The second the thought hits, another follows that tells you that he would never agree to it. It calms you a little and you twist on your seat to fully look at him.

He truly looks gorgeous, you muse. His large frame looks at home behind the wheel, the grey Henley accentuating his muscles tantalizingly. As your eyes drift lower, you take in the comfortable-looking jeans hiding powerful thighs and the black watch on his hand before you focus on his tattoos, wanting to trace them closely and learn all their secrets. All of his secrets really and make them yours too. It’s a sobering thought that you will guard whatever secret he lets you in on with your life if needed.  

“We’re almost there. Just a few minutes more.” Will turns to look at you, eyes flashing red again and this time you latch onto it. You remember it happening previously at the precinct and yesterday at the pub. “Will, your eyes…” 

“My inner wolf, he knows we’re close to the pack and wants out.” He offers while turning the truck from asphalt to gravel as he guides it towards a parking place, filled with trucks and bikes and cars of all sizes. He kills the engine and takes both of your hands to his. “I promise I’ll explain them in better detail later, but I need to warn…”

Will doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before the front door of his truck is wretched open and something large crowds it. 

“William Arthur Miller! Where the fuck have you been? You better explain yourself!” A male voice booms and you can only watch as the man is dragged out of the seat by his shirt and a smaller, leaner version of him embraces him tightly. Two other men appear in front of the truck as well, moving closer to the couple and soon you watch all four men embracing together. 

Carefully you step out of the truck too, leaning against it as you witness the men that are oblivious to the world for that moment. It’s endearing, the love that they have for one another, so clear in the gentle touches and noses burrowing into each other's skin to confirm that they are really all here.  

It takes some time for the group hug to disperse, allowing you to study the minute movements and shifts and build up your own strength for what’s to come. But once they do separate, suddenly three pairs of eyes look at you curiously. You see two sets flash yellow and one bright electric blue as the men study you, but the colors are quickly hidden when they realize you are not a wolf yourself. 

“Will, who is this?” The same voice speaks up again, the man looking at you with doubt in his eyes. The electric blue flashes in and out of his eyes and you wonder what it means and curse yourself for focusing more on other things than wolves. You can feel tension rise in the air as the men close ranks, form a sort of a wall in front of you and the truck, blocking all exits.  

“Sweetheart, I would like you to meet my brothers. Ben,” Will feels the tension too and shifts to stand next to you and points at the man who has spoken. Ben’s eyebrows rise at the term of endearment but he only tips his head in acknowledgement as the man beside him nudges his ribs. “Frankie,”  He nods towards the man next to Ben who is wearing a baseball cap and a grey T-shirt. Next to him, a shorter man with inquisitive eyes and salt-and-pepper curly hair steps forward and holds out his hand.

“Santiago, but you may call me Pope. And you are?”  You grasp his hand, the firm and dry handshake, something you expect from a man who holds himself like a soldier. You introduce yourself, nodding to Ben and Frankie before dropping Pope’s hand. Will’s large hand comes to rest at the curve of your hip.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call or text last night, but something came up.” Will looks down at you, softness creeping up his features as he speaks. You answer him with a tiny smile and he squeezes your hip.   

Ben is about to open his mouth, maybe to throw a joke or a barb but a quick grip of his wrist from Frankie stops him. He flashes his eyes at the younger man who snaps his mouth shut immediately. Santiago takes one look at the closeness between your and Will’s bodies and he nods, his eyes flashing yellow as he narrows them before adopting a neutral look quickly. 

“Understandable. Maybe we could take this into a more calm place and we can talk?” It’s phrased as a question but you feel like it's more a command as the others all nod quickly and begin walking along the path leading away from the parking lot. Will guides you in front of him, taking up position right behind you and not letting his hand fall. 

Up the path, you see several houses, most of them built so that the backyard leads into the forest surrounding you. After a few minutes of walking, you stop and turn to face one of the houses. It’s beautiful, full of warm wood tones and a beautiful garden. “Santi’s wife works as our healer, hence the full yard. There’s more in the back,” Will whispers in your ear, chuckling low at your interested look. “I’ll introduce you later, I think you and Yovanna would get along well.” 

The inside of the house smells of herbs, cooking and love and it feels so homey that it makes your chest ache. You wish to soak all the scents and feelings deep into your bones, bask in the glow and allow it to centre you. This feels like everything you’ve ever wanted and you never want to leave the foyer, but that is not in the cards just yet. With a small tug Will guides you to the living room, gesturing you to sit down on the loveseat. Ben takes up the armchair and Frankie plops down on the couch, followed by Pope. 

The energy in the room changes once more, becoming more charged as the men study you again. You brace yourself, upping your shields and unconsciously lean towards Will as you wait for someone to talk.

To your surprise, it’s Will. He speaks calmly, explaining what transpired in the pub and you see the men sit up straighter as they realize what could’ve happened had their brother not interfered. He then tells his brothers about the pull he felt as he took you home and how he was unable to leave the street, his need of protecting you outweighing everything. You watch Pope’s eyebrows raise in surprise as Will describes the warmth and the hunger he felt, still feels, as you are close. 

Frankie rises up from his seat and mumbles something about making a call and you know that the elders will come here, soon. Your hands find Wills and you squeeze it between yours, drawing strength from your connection. As your skin touches his, the tendrils appear, dancing on your skins though they are more muted now and Ben gasps. 

“Holy shit! What the fuck is that?!” 

“That’s what we need to find out, Benny. All we know so far is that we are drawn to one another like magnets, these appear when we touch and as of this morning we can feel each other's emotions. They don’t affect me as much yet, but there is definitely potential for it to incapacitate.”

Pope remains silent, his eyes flitting between yours, your intertwined hands and Will. “What are you?” He questions finally, just as Frankie returns to the living room. Before you can answer, the man slaps Pope’s head. “You can’t go around just asking that, cabrón, you know that.”

“Well, this isn’t anything I’ve ever seen before. Either you are something very powerful and do this on purpose, or something nefarious is at play here,” Pope offers. Dark eyes study you, the tension in the room growing as seconds tick by. Your eyes move from his to Ben’s and to Frankie before you turn your head to look at Will. He gives you the tiniest of nods and you roll your shoulders before looking at Pope again.  

“I was raised as a mundane, but I’ve been studying potions and spells for a long time. I work as a researcher at the museum's antique artefacts and extracts department. I know the basics but I promise you, any power that I possess is tiny compared to practising witches.” 

You speak calmly, wanting to diffuse any malice before it takes root. You glance at Will again, your eyes betraying you as they are filled with worry and fear. He smiles reassuringly and cups the back of your neck, kissing you fast, unafraid. 

It’s a possessive move as he devours your mouth, not caring an inch that his brothers are in the same room as you are. He pulls you in closer so that you are leaning towards his chest, hands on his pectorals and neck as he continues kissing you. You know the tendrils make another appearance as someone, maybe Frankie, gasps softly but you are lost to the kiss and in Will.

A cough finally separates you from one another but his large hand on your cheek doesn’t allow you to move far. “It’s going to be alright, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmurs to your lips before straightening himself to look at the other occupants of the room. There’s steel in his eyes, challenging any of his brothers to start anything, but none of them do. You watch intently as the men eye one another, the bond they share crackling in the room. Benny is the first to rip his gaze off, followed shortly by Frankie and Pope.   

“Ironhead, we always have your back, you know that.” Frankie finally speaks in a calm tone as he takes the lead and diffuses the situation. “But .. You glow when you kiss. Literally glow in gold and silver. How is this happening?” He glances at Ben and Pope, both nodding in surprised agreement.

A knock on the door shuts up any explanation you want to give and all four men rise to their feet quickly. Following their example, you lift yourself up too and Will tucks you under his arm. 

You can feel his emotions rush in his veins, mixing with yours but you are prepared this time and as they brush you, you embrace them and do not fight. You can feel your shields opening up minutely, the calming effect spreading through both of you as the connection sings in approval. You turn to face the door as Pope opens it. 

The elders are here.

*

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