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seventh-district · 7 months

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Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

#astarion x reader #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #my writing #man. this may be the quickest turnover/turnaround whateverthewordis on a fic that i've ever made happen #i usually sit on an idea and then a draft for ages before posting smthn. so given that it's only been a couple days #between the initial idea and the finished posted fic. wow. groundbreaking speeds for me #the power of hyperfixation (and love)#y'know. i've noticed a trend #why is it that nearly every time i write for a new character the first scenario i place them in involves crying #and having Reader hold/comfort them #i did it with Eddie i did it with Venti i'm doing it with Astarion. who's next. who's next in the Reverse Comfort lineup huh #idk why that's my go-to scenario it just is. maybe i do have a type. (characters that need to have a good cry in their beloved's arms)#or maybe perhaps it is i that needs the good cry and i am projecting. who knows. 'tis a mystery (it's both)#anyways i know this fic is a bit short but i just. had one little specific scene i wanted to write and that's it!#i do plan on making more for him though. i've already got another idea brewing in my brain #also sorry if 'honey' and 'love' aren't your go-to pet names. or if you wouldn't call him Star #my own style of speech heavily influences what i have Reader say in my fics and i can't help itttttt. everything i write is self-insert lma #*lmao (i’m on mobile rn i’m not retyping all of that just to add the last letter)#(yes i’m posting this from mobile cause i took a nap and overslept and missed the time i wanted to post this at. so now i am In A Rush #smthn smthn self imposed deadlines smthn smthn ‘i know the guy that made the rules and he’s a total pushover’ anyways it’s fine. post draft

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h0ttestgrlinm0urgu3 · 5 months

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Sean Anderson [journey 2] x fem! reader

submissive Sean☆

☆☆☆

WARNING 18+ smut

[ swearing, cursing, dirty talk if you squint, sub/dom dynamics, riding, ✋🏿job ]

you are responsible for what you read

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summary:

Sean gets in trouble and invites you over.

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a/n *could be better, I used to write on wattpad awhile ago so imma lil ass*

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it's around 10 pm when your boyfriend Sean texts you, not a hello, or a how are ya' babe, just a "come over". already knowing he got into something you threw on your jacket and headed over.

Sean's mom Liz never had problems with you coming over this late... fortinutly for you, the door was opened by Hank, shawns step dad.

' ain't happenin' ' he says, not even letting the door open fully before he started. 'you know what your little friend in there did?' his questioning sounding like a tired high school guidance counselor. responding by shaking your head no he continues 'he broke into a place, some satalite shit, oh my bad, stuff, and not only that' he says in a could you just belive it voice. ' he crashed that little dirt bike of his' finishing leaning back on the door crossing his arms with a smirk that could have been compared to a teen when they snitch on their older sibling. 'yea kristen said she'd seen the cops outside of the mcbrooms house. is he hurt?' you question not letting him into the fact that Sean told you what he was planning in advance 'nope' says Liz popping in the doorway,' but he got a nice swim,' she says, chuckling. 'go up there and check on him, will you?' she asks politely, moving Hank out of the way.

☆☆☆

knocking on the door before entering, you see shawn at his desk looking over some paper. 'what is that?' you questioned while placing your head on his shoulder reading the paper but having no clue what it said. ' i think its from grandpa ' he says not taking his attention off of it. ' has to be '

'you know what it says?' you question after placing a kiss on his check and going to sit on his bed. 'not yet but ill figure it out' he says taking a final look at the paper letting out a breath before placing it onto his desk and making his way over to his bed where your sitting with your back to the wall, he lays his head on you lap looking up to you with a grin 'i did it' he says proudly. 'yes you did baby' you laugh, leaning down for a kiss.

when you go to break it he pathetically trys to follow your lips. ' you also almost got arrested ' you say as you look down at his beautiful face taking it into your hands and squeezing his cheecks, giving him barley a peck of a kiss.

'you also crashed your bike' giving him another worthless peck. 'had a busy night' you finish before giving him an actual kiss letting his face go. 'yea i did' he says, giving you a shit eating grin.'wanna make it busier?" he says doing the weird eyebrow thing that his step dad always does that makes you tear up every time you see it. 'no busy boy, i think you've done enough for tonight.' you say laughing, which gives him the impression that you were joking.

popping up onto his knees and lifting his shirt up. causing you to laugh even more, you ask 'baby what are you doing?' making him stop his actions before his shirt is even all the way over his head 'getting busy' he says in a defeated tone not taking the shirt from over his face, but from the redness spreading across his cheast you could tell he was embaressed. ' aww ' you say as you match him getting on your knees sitting back on you feet as you take your acrylic nail from his adams apple, that was barley showing from under where the shirt lay, all the way down to the button of his jean.

he kept his arms up, letting out soft pants as he pushed the fabric of the shirt that still covered his face into his mouth.

leaving little kisses a top of where his jeans covered him from the world. 'this what you want, huh?' trailing your finger up his cheest and letting your hand grip his kneck when it got there. taking your other hand you pull the bottom of the shirt down just enough to see his face 'what you wanted a reward because you've had a busy day' you say in a slightly condecinding tone that he definitely catches abd lets out a whimper 'yes' in response.

'ive had a very busy day' nodding his head as to verify that he indeed had a long day. you can't help but find him so damn hot when he's embarrassed and horny. leaning back, you tell him to take his shirt off. quickly ridding himslef of his shirt you next tell him to remove his pants

'your gonna be my god boy right?'

☆☆☆

cut to you sitting on his bed back against the wall, fully dressed with Sean only in his boxers sitting between your legs with his back to your cheest. his hands sit under your thighs as precouction since he can never seem to keep his hands to himself.

your nails drag up and down, from his happy trail to his cheast, before you let your hand rest on his buldge over his boxers. 'my busy baby must be so tired.' you start as you message him over his boxers. 'so worked up doing all this running around', grabbing his face with his other hand you turn his face to look at you before you kiss him.

pushing his neck higher to push more into the kiss. he starts to whimper, moving his hips against your hand.

pushing his face away from yours with an offended look you scoft at him.' was i not doing enough for you?hmm?' you say as you remove your hand from his dick. 'desperat ass bitch cant even wait and i was trying to be nice' you say as his eyes start to widen ' wait baby no.' Sean starts as you push him off of you. 'wait baby. thats not what i meant.' he says as he lets out a nervouse chuckle. 'baby please' he says to you as you grip the edge of his boxers before pulling them down. 'oh my god' he says, giving up his pleading as you rap your hand around the base of his dick. he was nice and hard leaking waiting for whatever you wanted to give him.

you climb into his lap, taking your hand from his dick you bring it to your mouth and lick your hand, palm to fingers, instantly bringing it down to the tip of his cock. he lets out the most beautiful groan with a 'fuck'. as he closed his eyes you add tighter pressure on his tip before dragging your hand to the base of his dick and back to the tip. you start off slow listening to his panting as his hands grip the sheets upder you. gradually speeding up your pace when his cock starts to leak you focous more of your attention on the tip.

he's a mess now opting to squeeze his hand over his mouth than to trust himself. sweat covered forhead, eyes tightly shut, Sean repeatedly brings his hand from his mouth wanting to speak, but every time, it meets with a pathetic whimper or a breathy moan.

finally finding his voice he squeezes his thighs together resisting any pleasure given to him 'please, god you gotta let me fuck you' he begged finally opening his eyes to take in the veiw.

letting out a moan followed by an 'oh fuck' as your hand falls to the base of his cock raising your hips so you were hovering over him. moving your panties to the side under your skirt swipping his dick up and down your pussy collecting the juices as you go before letting it rest under your entrance ' shawn baby ' taking your free hand to grab the one that was previously covering his mouth, bringing it to yours leaving gentel kisses on his palm. he lets out a breathy 'yes'.

releasing your weight and welcoming his cock inside you trying but failing at keeping in a moan at the delicious feeling of him stretching you. letting out a ' fuck' as your clit grazed his pelvis. once you were used to his size of his cock you brought the hand that was still holding his letting it rest on your thigh with the other one. he's breathing heavily as you bring one hand to his cheast using it to hold your weight and bringing your other to push his head to the side, pushing his face into the sheet under you. 'you consider this fucking me?" you tease as you slowly start to rotate your hips. despertaly trying to shake his head (yes of course) under your hand you move it letting his face up ' stay quiet for me baby' you say as your now free hand finds its home on Seans neck grasping as you start to ride his cock.

letting your head fall forward with a 'fuck', feeling him so deep inside you honestly made you forget what you came over for in the first place. with all his effort he snaps his hips to meet you as your ride him. 'fuck baby' leaning down to kiss his neck your throw your ass back riding him harder. 'im gonna come fuck' is all you can say before your pussy sqeezese his dick as you come Sean not folllowing to long after. as you both try to desperatly catch your breath you raise off of his cock letting the cum drip down onto him before you pull your panties back.

removing your clothes and cuddling up beside him pressing wet kisses all over his face.

a knock on the door breaks you both from your little world

'I guess ypur spending the night' says hank through the door.

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okay honest how was that... bc I feel like I could do better because I'm a whore and I love shit like this but also this might be all you get cause I'm also a ragging virgin 😭.

*not pre read by anyone but me*

so if Grammer or spelling is off... blame me. or don't. I'm not mad either way.

leave feedback or just shit you might wanna read.

~ Daisy Baby

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson x you #journey 2 the mysterious island #fnaf #sean anderson #smut #fnaf smut #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson x reader smut #first tumblr fic #josh hutcherson x female reader

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lilydalexf · 23 days

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This is so, so specific, so I understand if you can't find it, but there is a particular line that's been sticking in my head from a fic and it's driving me crazy. something along the lines of how every fight msr have is about "how to care for each other. every last one." anyone know it??

You're probably thinking of a Mulder/Scully line from still life by seek_its_opposite (@seek-its-opposite). It's a very good "Milagro" fic with the line: Every one of their fights is about how to care for one another, every last one.

#fic mystery #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #anon #asks

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jacqcrisis · 8 days

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I can't stop thinking about the rings on Hermes' fingers. I can't. Whats the story behind those? Did he start wearing them because Charon gave them to him as a job well done? The weirdest gift imaginable to your professional associate?

Did Hermes steal them to be a cheeky bastard and got them fitted and put them on for the jokes? Did he start wearing them apropos of nothing? Just happen to start accessorizing like his professional associate? Is it part of a shared uniform? Can we see the employee handbook?

Did Charon go out and get rings commissioned to look exactly like his for not one, but two of his partner in crimes' fingers, slide each lovingly onto Hermes' corresponding digits, and then gently hold his now bejeweled hands in his own to see how they match, knowing Hermes will now carry something of Charon with him when he leaves him for his dangerous work?

I'm just. Asking. Questions. But I swear to God, if we get Charon's portrait and he has a feather or an orange ribbon somewhere on his person, I will be inconsolable for days.

#charmes #hades game #hades 2 #charon hades #hermes hades #i dont even necessarily want answers to these questions #i enjoy that this ship is about piecing together a scattered puzzle and inferring something from it #they dont even need to be canon for me to go feral again #so long as they still just as weird about each other as the first game and the same kind of mystery surrounds their partnership #ill be so happy without my favorite boys being canon #but dear god if they are. if we get even a scrap of them being explicitly sweet to each other #i just AH ill be ripping and tearing at shit #im gunna write fic again i can feel it in me bones

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night-market-if · 8 months

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The Night Market Now Available on Steam and Itch.io

The Night Market is an interactive novel in which you awaken to a lantern filled world with no memory of how you got there. Desperate to get home, you must find the gate that leads back to your world, while navigating a foreign land, rife with political intrigue, arbitrary rules and secrets designed to keep you distracted. Nine barons rule the market , a place so vast that not even they can truly know its scope. But, one baron holds the key to your safe return home. Yet, no one has seen or heard from them in over a decade.

The Night Market is just over 1 million words and has four distinct romances throughout your play through.

Full release now available for purchase on both Steam and Itch.io.

***A note for all mac users, I would suggest buying on itch.io. Steam can no longer test mac builds and I do not have a mac computer so I am unsure of the state of that build.

🪷✨🪷✨ If you want to support me 🪷 ✨🪷✨

Demo 🌿Steam🌿Itch.io🌿 Patreon 🌿Discord🌿FAQS

#the night market #steam relese #itch.io release #romance #interactive fiction #if fic #twine fic #twine game #if novel #angst #adventure #mystery

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chaotic-mystery · 6 months

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Dark Angel | J.M.

Joel Miller x afab!reader

summary: Joel's too soft on you and he finally let's you see the real him.

warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI! porn w a tiny speck of plot, implied age gap, unprotected p in v, vanilla sex gone bad, choking, spitting, oral (both m & f receiving) loads of pet names (you and Joel both refer to him as daddy, pet, baby girl, little girl, slut, stupid, etc etc) playing with rope, bound to the headboard, breath-play, begging x100, rough nasty sexy time, slight arguing, nipple play/smacking, possessive!Joel, face fucking, cum eating/play, swearing, dirty talk, no physical description of reader other than having hair Joel can grab a fistful of and yank. NO USE OF Y/N (let me know if I've missed any.)

| word count: 2.5k | notif blog | main masterlist |

Getting it through Joel’s thick head that you weren’t made of glass and he could be a little rough on you was a job cut out for you. He was always gentle, too gentle at times. Like one time, you had to beg him to spank you while you were on top riding his cock, and he fought you so hard on it. He was scared he was going to hurt you, his sweet baby. Joel always asked if what he was doing was okay, if you were in pain, and as always you had to respond upset at the fact you weren’t in a little bit of pain.

With the growing frustration of not getting handled how you wanted, you figure now was the best time for you to get your way, to see what he was hiding deep inside himself. As usual, Joel was on top of you between your legs with his arms on either side of your head to hold himself up, trying to get inside you just right so he didn’t have to contort your body so much. “God, baby I missed you so much.” He panted as he slid inside you, slowly thrusting and asked if it felt okay.

A grin grew across your lips and you wrap your arms around his neck, looking him deeply in his eyes. “Baby, would you maybe choke me? I like that, ya know. I think it’d feel go-”

“No, sweetheart, I-I don’t wanna hurt’cha. A pretty lil angel like you is into that kinda stuff?” Joel’s caught off guard but not enough to stop moving his hips back and forth.

“Yeah, honey. I like that, it’s easy…see, I’ll show you..” Your hand moves down to his neck, giving a tender squeeze, the thrill of maybe getting somewhere with him had rushed straight to between your thighs.

Joel groans in irritation, grabbing your wrist to pin it above your head.

“Baby, c’mon, don’t ruin what we got goin’ on right now. I’m sorry I just don’t wanna hurt you.” He protests and stops his hips from moving but doesn’t take himself out of you.

You roll your eyes at him and shake your head, groaning to cut him off.

“Joel, all I’m asking is for a little bit of a squeeze, not for you to take the air from my windpipe…you did it once before and you’ve never done it again. Why?”

An aggravated sigh falls from his lips and he sits up on the corner of the bed with his hand running along the nape of his neck. “Can we not talk about it, please?”

Why was he running away from talking about this? He wouldn’t even have a conversation about it without shutting down on you.

“Why, Joel? Why not? Stop running from this and just talk to me, I’m not made of glass you know.”

The room falls silent and you tug the thin grey sheet up under your arms, your eyes grazing over Joel’s naked back, his muscles flexing every few seconds.

“I did it once, I was a little rough with you, seeing how much you liked it…it scared me. It scared me knowing how much I liked seeing you whimper and cry, beggin’ me to stop spankin’ your ass because it hurt.”

Joel’s back tensed as he finished muttering his sentence.

This whole time he’s been burying who he really was inside, not wanting you to see how fucked up he really is.

“Jus’..unlocked a whole new way for me to imagine you. Absolutely hopeless and willing to do anything I say or want.”

Hopeless and willing to do anything.

Sitting up and pressing your chest against his back, you hooked your arm around his neck and hugged him, kissing the nape and crook of his neck slowly at first but it turned hungry and desperate in a matter of moments.

“Would you like that, Joel? Clawing at your body to get your cock inside me like a needy little slut?” The words purred against his soft skin made him groan in excitement.

He turned to you, cupping your face gently as he spoke calmly, “do you want me to show you that side of me, baby? I just need to know you won’t hate me afterwards, especially if I hurt you a little too much..”

With Joel’s thumb rubbing your cheek softly, you turn to kiss the inside of his palm.

“Joel, I could never hate you. Show me the real you, daddy.” The words poured from your lips and they were like beautiful string ballads to his ears.

“Are you 100% sure?”

You place your hand on his and nod softly.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything until you.”

Joel gave you a warm smile and without any hesitation, he grabbed your neck roughly and tossed you on your back, sinking into the sea of pillows and blankets.

With every harsh grab at your legs to get you right where he wanted you, he grunted lowly and soon enough he had that devilish smirk you once knew.

“Stay there, be a good pet for me.” A sloppy kiss was pressed to your cheek and Joel dips out of the bedroom, going downstairs for what felt like forever. You could feel your thighs collecting your sticky arousal and it takes every ounce of willpower you have not to touch your aching cunt.

He was back before you could act on your thoughts and in his hands was a bundle of rope, worn and tattered but still strong enough for what he needed it to do.

“D’ya know how many times I’ve thought about tying your ass up and just takin’ you however I wanted? Punishin’ you for that smart fuckin’ mouth you got on ya and the way you think you can talk to me sometimes, the way you wanna argue when you think you’re right and you aren’t.”

Joel’s hands carefully tie your wrists to the headboard and he pulls hard when he makes the knots, small groans escape from him as he does.

He leans back down close to your face as he holds himself up above your body. You can feel his hard cock against the inside of your thigh and all you can think about is how you need him inside you before you explode.

“I know I’m gonna enjoy every single second of this sweet girl… just like I know you will too.” Joel grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back so you have no choice but to look him in the eye and he grins at your slight pain, kissing your forehead before he trails down your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin to elicit whimpers from you.

Joel’s mouth finds your left nipple and like a magnet he takes the hard bud in his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue against it roughly. Your eyes watch him the entire time and your brows furrow in such pleasure, meanwhile Joel’s are peacefully shut as he’s groaning against the pillowy flesh of your tits as he swirled his tongue around your overly sensitive nipple like it's a toy.

Fuck. You were his toy until he was done with you.

“J-Joel-please I need you baby, please.” You were lifting your hips up in his direction to try and get any sort of friction you can against his cock.

Joel’s eyes shoot open and his strong hand snatches your jaw tightly, your nipple popping from his mouth as he squints at you.

“You need daddy’s cock in you that bad, sweetheart?” He coos at you, shaking your jaw a little.

With furrowed brows you nod eagerly at him, muttering yes over and over again.

A glimmer in Joel’s eyes makes your heart race even more than it was, you could practically feel it in your throat.

“Beg for it, little girl.”

Whimpers fly from your parted lips as you muster enough energy to beg him, your wrists tugging harshly at the restraints.

“Please, fuck me-ah-I need you, I need you to fill up my tight pussy and have your way with me until you’re done using me, daddy.”

You swear Joel’s brown eyes shift to pitch black as you whine more and squirm.

“Mmmm, you make it hard to say no to you.”

Joel reaches down and takes two of his thick fingers and forcefully rushes them inside your dripping entrance, looking for your g-spot he was no stranger to.

His eyes fall heavy as he watches your face flush with ecstasy, your mind seeing stars and planets and everything else he was keeping you from for so long.

You were stuttering and moaning for him to go faster and instead, he replaced his fingers with his cock, hitting that spongey piece of flesh harshly.

Your back arched off the bed and he chuckled at you, wrapping his arm around you to hold you against him. Your top half draped over his arm and his mouth finds your nipple once more, lapping at it while he pounds into you.

“Fuck baby-ugh- you feel so good wrapped around my cock like that, stretchin’ your tight little hole out. Tell me who this pussy belongs to, honey. Go on…say it.” He growls and bites your nipple, his groans vibrating on your skin.

“I-it belongs to you, daddy. Fuck- this is your pussy I swear, no one’s ever fucked me the way you have, never. I’m all yours daddy, always.” You could hardly get all your words out before Joel laid you back down, grabbing your hips to lift you up a tad and ram his cock right into you.

With the bed frame bumping the wall, it only made him want to go harder and faster to see if he could put a hole in the spot it was hitting.

“No one is ever gonna fuck you again, you got that? You are mine. Once I’m done with you, you won’t be able to even think about anything else, just worried about the next time my dick will be buried in this sweet little pussy that belongs to me.”

No one had ever been this possessive with you before. Joel had his moments of the occasional man looking at you and him threatening to beat the guy up, but it didn’t even come close to this.

“Daddy I’m-ooh, ssshit-I love y-”

You were cut off by Joel’s hand letting go of your hip and gripping your neck roughly, squeezing so hard you had to stop talking to focus on breathing correctly. His hips pound against the back of your thighs as he squeezes tighter, chuckling lowly as he could see the air slipping further and further from your lungs, the vein in your forehead protruding the harder he applies pressure.

“My sweet little slut, beg me for your life.” As Joel’s eyes look into yours, the corner of his pink lips curl into a sly grin, what a sick fuck.

The tightness on your windpipe made it damn near impossible to choke out the words he wanted to hear, the sobs he was impatiently waiting on.

With tears in your eyes you were so fucked out and unable to glue words together that there was not a syllable coming from your windpipe, just raspy squeaks and moans.

“Didn’t think you could, stupid little girl. Look at’cha. So willing to get this old man to do whatever he wants, don’t even care if you fuckin’ pass out.” A harsh slap to your nipple with Joel’s freehand was enough to make you gasp deeply, your lungs puffing up again.

The burning ball of pressure was deep inside your stomach and you wanted to come so badly, to scream his name so loud everyone would know who was fucking you.

“Fuck baby, you squeeze me so good, makes me wanna come inside ya. Would you want that, honey? Full of my cum to the brim and make you carry my babies?” Joel’s balls smack against you and his groans almost cover the sound but it's still faint and noticeable.

You stopped struggling to get your arms free and your legs wrap around Joel’s waist as you start to shake and come all over him. You sob as your orgasm makes you feel so animalistic, like you can’t control yourself.

All Joel does is go harder, forcing you to feel everything inside and out. His hands run all over your body while his cock rams into you. He’s amazed by you, so enamored the way you sob and shake and beg for him to stop.

“What’s that baby girl? You want me to stop?” He rhetorically asks before slipping out of your pussy with a groan and his tongue latching onto your clit instantly. He sucks your clit into his mouth and moans as he shakes his head from side to side.

“Joooel! Ple-ase please please st-top!” You cry out, your throbbing clit so telling you’re about to come again. Joel licks your clit mercilessly before spitting on it and comes back to your lips, his beard coated in your sweet slick.

Wet kisses of slick and spit cover your mouth and tongue and you can’t get enough. You lick inside his mouth and all over his tongue, getting every last bit of you from him.

“Open your mouth.” He murmurs on your puffy lips and gets off you, standing on the side of the bed, grabbing the top of your head forcefully to turn your face towards him.

“Fill that smart ass mouth with my cock, since you always wanna run it. Well now I’m gonna fill it.” His hands on his hips await you to put his cock in your mouth without hands and the growl Joel lets out when he feels your lips wrap around him.

You moan on him and move back and forth causing his knees to lock and move closer towards you, slightly fucking your face.

“Such a pretty baby while you suck on me like that- fuck, sweet girl.” Joel sucks in air through his teeth as his cock twitches, his hips dip slightly and before you can pull away, Joel’s coming in your mouth. The slightly salty liquid pooled in your mouth as Joel jerked himself off until every last drop was gone. He bends down slowly and closes your mouth for you, pressing your jaw up so you can’t open it.

“Swallow it all like the good girl I know you can be for daddy.” He gets close enough to lick what little was dribbling from the corner of your lips and with watery eyes you look at him and swallow hard.

Joel’s hand pulls down your jaw slightly and you smirk as you stick out your tongue to show it's all gone. His tongue finds yours once more and you moan in each other's mouth, so drunk on lust and love.

“You’ve been holding all of that back from me?” You joke and Joel’s head drops with a chuckle.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller #chaotic-mystery #joel miller fic #joel smut #daddy joel #joel miller x afab!reader #joel x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #the last of us #hbo the last of us #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller pedro pascal

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drawnfamiliarfaces · 1 month

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i... wrote a smol fic (っ´▽`*)っ

also!!!!! If you haven't seen it - shoutout to first ever published fic in Ninja Showdown/My Immortal Soul tags - Lustrous Red by @missadmyre !!!

#ninja showdown #my immortal soul #first ninja x chase young #rc9gn first ninja #first ninja #rc9gn #chase young #xiaolin showdown #randy cunningham 9th grade ninja #rc9gn plop plop #well i say smol fic.... but those 4k words felt very long.#i did say i was going to direct my energy into writing >.> and now look at me ive gone insane #no actually dont look at me im just gonna go cry over my 20k words of rough drafts for like dozen ideas that are now going #to haunt my every waking moment like JESUS i woke up today and literally wrote out 1k words of an idea for a modern au for those two TToTT #its literally an au where its a meet cute turned meet violent and first is randy's sorta dad and chase wants to adopt omi #not to mention a different AU where its an epic mystery adventure AAAAAAA someone heeeelppppp meeeee #also. its been a month but im still staring so intently at missadmyre's fic hoping for another crumb. like thank you sm for the food!!!!#ive literally been rereading it several times after i went insane about it on my main blog and im still slurping at it like a starved perso #Ive been collecting my ideas like a dragon but after reading that fic i was like: I WANT TO READ MORE FICS ABOUT THEM #but i dont wanna be a whiny baby&beg others and be annoying about it. So i put on my big person pants and was like f it WE R WRITINg NOW #so i dont care how bad my writing will be. we gonna be balling on those ideas and YES it doesnt make sense im just v rambly rn

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winedarkthoughts · 4 days

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house of addams (1)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4.3k

— 🍄 summary: hired to look into the mysterious deaths, disappearances, and disturbances in the small town of Farrow's End, you soon meet a certain gang of oddballs who help you connect the dots. and NO, you are NOT taking a liking to them.

— ☕ content warnings: private investigator!reader, cozy small town mystery/addams family vibes, botanist!yoongi, magical absurdity, bookshop owner!namjoon, barista!jin

— 🕸️ a/n: first chapter! directly influenced by this fic on ao3 by tinyratthief, which is loosely based on the addams family.

series m.list/schedule → next chapter

chpt. 1: new digs

september 16, 2004

If this job has taught you one thing, it’s that the laws of truth can and will be bent by anyone with enough concentrated effort. People come to you to find very specific truths; birth parents, cheating spouses, the details of shady business deals.

But if this job has taught you one thing, it's that the truth will also reveal itself to anyone with enough concentrated effort.

Though, there's always a handful of cases that force you to delve deep into things you’d rather leave buried. Like the person in Oregon who didn't show up in any photographs. Or the small town in Maryland with the strange, centuries-old secret society.

You’ve seen sides of human nature that have left you cynical, distrusting. Some have called you “dead inside,” but you’re not here to brag. Naturally, you are excellent at your job.

And when the Mayor of Farrow’s End, a sleepy town with enough missing persons cases to warrant a Netflix documentary, contacted you about a possible case, you accepted almost instantly.

Even her first correspondence and initial offer were strange. She stated a preference to discuss the finer details in person and in person only, which to you immediately suggested that the entire investigation would be a matter of confidentiality.

You were proven right when you met with her a week later. And while being proven right is usually one of your favorite things, you didn’t exactly expect this.

The offer: investigative services regarding (but not limited to) local missing persons/homicides, ecological disturbances, environmental chemical imbalances. etc.

In exchange for: monthly salary, rent support, covered business expenses.

And above all, everything must remain off the books.

The salary along with the rent support is very generous considering what you're used to, but you don’t tell the Mayor that. You do inform her that, while you wear many hats, you are not an ecologist, nor a chemist.

Mayor Summerbee, a middle-aged Asian woman with a sweet smile and even warmer eyes, informs you that you will have access to the local University’s college of natural sciences. She gives you the contact information for one Min Yoongi, a botanist who works in the school's research department.

Then she gives you the contact information for one Kim Taehyung, the town coroner and pathologist. Apparently, both of them will be available for consultation.

She is eager, maybe even desperate, smiling at you with an urgent sheen in her eyes.

When you accept her offer, shaking her hand with your usual firm grip, she seems to exhale in relief.

You move to Farrow’s End by the end of the week. It’s not as if you have much to move, just a trunkful of books and a handful of duffel bags. You’ve always moved around for work, and even if you didn’t, staying in one place for too long makes you nervous.

Your bags hit the pavement beside your boots as you survey your new home. It's a small, quaint house. The paint is faded but the architectural structure is sturdy. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, living room. The whole place is in a slight state of disrepair, but you can't complain.

You spend the next day cleaning and unpacking, which doesn't take long since you leave most of your books in the trunk. You're exploring the town by the end of the afternoon.

The town square, though full of shops and businesses, is nearly barren. A few civilians putter around, their faces weathered and reflective of the gloom in the air. They stare at you as you pass by, a cocktail of curiosity and slight suspicion.

The next thing you notice is the posters. They're everywhere, on the crumbling brick walls, stuck on lampposts, taped to the windows, all displaying a variety of subjects. Events at the University, local night markets, antiques for sale.

But there are a few that stick out. THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE LAKE! Sign the petition to restrict land access →

HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? You're not alone, contact a psychic today!

BEWARE! DO NOT FEED LOCAL WILDLIFE.

Though, what's more strange to you is what you don't see. There are barely any missing person posters, and the few that you do see appear to have been ripped away.

Work begins now, you think to yourself as you snap some photos of several posters, flapping in the cold wind.

You pop into the general store to pick up some essentials, and the store clerk immediately recognizes that you're not a local.

He asks where you're from, you reply with the standard answer: a city not too far but not too close. He asks what you're doing here, you reply with the standard answer: you're a journalist. You add in the suggestion that you're working with the University about a story, and he doesn't question any further.

You're not sure if it's because he takes the hint or because he loses interest.

During the drive home, you notice something looming in the distance. Atop the highest hill is a dark house, with spires and towers rising from the tops of spindly trees. Even from here, you can see that the architecture is old and ornate, almost ancient in a hypnotic way. You're fairly certain you can see a murder of crows circling above.

An unusual feeling hangs around the house, like there's some kind of aura surrounding it. Welcoming some, yet blocking others.

Very strange indeed.

You spend the rest of the night huddled next to the fireplace, using the flickering orange light to skim over newspaper clippings.

No, the house does not have a heating system. But you don't mind too much, you have plenty of wood and warm clothes.

Five missing and three dead in the last year. Local law enforcement has done everything they could with what they had to work with, which apparently wasn't much. Scattered locations, no visible connection between the victims, and an alarming lack of evidence.

Eyelids heavy, you leave the papers scattered across the floor and head to bed, already looking forward to tomorrow's first coffee.

september 17, 2004

The University appears to be just as old as the rest of the town. Original wood, aged stone, curved iron accents. The brick walkway is slick with morning rain, and the sky is swirling with fog.

Perfect weather, it makes you ready to get to work.

The directory stated that Min Yoongi would be in Montgomery Hall, the natural sciences building, either in the greenhouse or in one of the labs, according to the TA you talked to earlier on the phone.

It takes some wandering, but what you like about this place is that people don't seem to notice your presence as much as they do in town. Out there, you're an easily identifiable outsider. Here, you're just another passerby with a purpose.

You find him in one of the lab rooms, tucked into a little nook that's encased with plastic sheeting, dotted with beads of moisture. The small space is crowded with greenery, big pots of tall plants with fanning leaves, draping vines from wall planters, seedlings in little trays.

Through the condensation dripping down the plastic walls, you can see that he's spraying the plants down with water, wearing a classic white coat.

You're indulging in your bad habit again. Your footsteps are notoriously quiet (you've been told), and you (apparently) have a tendency to sneak up on people and observe them for several minutes before they notice that you are there.

But it's a skill you delight in.

The man is of average height, thin, black hair, delicate features. You notice that the soles of his boots are caked with mud, and his skin is dewy from the humidifiers pumping moisture into the room.

"You already know my opinion on this," you hear him say, muffled by the spray of the water.

For a moment, you think he's talking to you, that he's rejecting your case before you've even presented it to him. But he isn't facing you, and his tone is decidedly casual, like he's talking to an old friend.

"It's bad for the others, anyway," he continues. "Don't wiggle your trigger hairs at me like that."

A pause, the water flow stops. Then a sigh of defeat.

"Fine, one puff. Then you quit pouting, got it?"

There's the sound of shuffling, then the fwick of a lighter being ignited.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step forward to peer through the slit in the plastic sheeting.

There's a Venus fly trap on one of the shelves, and between the jaws of one of the trap mouths, is a lit cigarette.

The man's head piques up when you enter his field of vision. Eyes widening, he looks like a cat that's been caught off guard.

He looks between you and the plant several times. You're fairly certain you see the tip of the cigarette glow ember, as if the plant were actually inhaling.

The man snatches the cigarette away and crushes it beneath the wet sole of his boot.

"Nasty habit," he finally says with a nervous chuckle. An awkward, straight-mouthed smile crosses his face, making his cheeks puff out slightly.

"Min Yoongi?" you ask.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds politely.

"I'm ______," you say, holding out a hand to shake.

He shuffles forward, his cold slim fingers meeting yours.

"Ah, the mayor mentioned that you'd be around."

That throws you a bit, because from what you've gathered about this case, you assumed that the mayor didn't want to be associated with it.

"Yes, would you mind filling me in on some of the ecological disturbances that have been going on in town?"

It's as if the question sends ants crawling down his spine. His neutral smile dissipates into an anxious twitch of his lips. He turns the hose back on and resumes spritzing the plants.

"What do you want to know?" he asks, a new tension in his voice.

Odd.

"Well," you start, "The mayor tells me that locals have been complaining about strange mushrooms invading their yards, increased acidity in their soil. Would you know anything about that?"

His eyebrows are knitted as he dampens the leaves of a spiraling fern.

"Mushrooms are really just the fruit of fungi, they bloom like flowers when the conditions are just right. Moisture, shade, an abundance of organic material, stuff like that. When it comes to the acidity, there's a variety of factors. All the rainfall recently leads to leaching, and the increased use of fertilizers causes nitrification. It's pretty standard."

You raise an eyebrow. He's deflecting.

"People have been saying that these mushrooms have been particularly hard to get rid of."

Yoongi 's brows furrow as if he's thinking hard.

"Fungi are tricky like that. We don't know much about them, really. They're their own class of life form. It could be a particularly stubborn strain."

"There's also been some unusual plant growth, creeping vines or the like. Very resistant to herbicides, apparently."

He pauses, considers it.

"Hmm," he mutters, the nozzle of the hose going lax in his hand.

“Also,” you continue, trying to further engage his curiosity. “There's been several cases of strange root rot?”

You add a questioning tone to your voice, gauging his reaction. Apparently, he hasn’t heard about it, because he looks up at you with the same question in his eyes.

“Root rot? In household plants?” he asks.

“No, in residencies.”

Yoongi stares at you for a moment, and you can tell he’s intrigued.

“I would benefit a lot from your knowledge, if I could just bring you a few samples, maybe go out and do some fieldwork—”

“You wouldn’t like working with me,” Yoongi interrupts. “I’m very…particular.”

You have a feeling the word is meant as a substitute for something else.

“Wonderful, so am I,” you reply, digging one of the many notebooks out of your bag. Flipping to the calendar, you click open your open your pen and start scribbling.

“Mornings are best, get the most out of the daylight. Make sure to bring your equipment and something to write on, and a camera if you have one.”

“Wait, I just don’t know if I’m going to be much use to you,” Yoongi says a little nervously, sticking his hands in his pockets.

You pause your scribbling to look at him. He’s pale in the fluorescent light, but not just physically. He has pale mannerisms and pale expressions, the countenance of a person that doesn’t feel as if they belong.

You know the feeling well.

“Coffee is always on me. How do you like it?” you say instead.

“Does Wednesday work?”

september 18, 2004

Three dead and five missing in less than six months. First, Michael Bradley, aged forty-two. Cause of death: chronic poisoning/exposure to toxic chemicals. He was found in his garage surrounded by household cleaners and herbicides. Apparently he’d been trying to get rid of the same strange mushrooms in his yard.

For now, all you have to work with is what they’ve published in the newspapers, and it seems that all that's come out of it is a public service announcement warning homeowners to be careful around toxic chemicals. His wife, Mary Bradley, hasn't commented on the circumstances of her husband’s death. And no one else has inquired any further into the matter.

Until today, obviously. Mrs. Bradley didn't answer her phone, and when you knocked on her door earlier this morning, she seemed less than pleased.

You opened with the standard introduction: I'm a journalist working on a story, would you mind consenting to an interview? Mrs. Bradley narrowed her eyes and scanned you up and down with barely concealed suspicion.

She asked what a journalist would find interesting about a common, accidental death in a small town. Apparently, the citizens of Farrow's End are very perceptive to outsiders.

You mentioned that fact that although Bradley's death appeared accidental, it's not common for people to die at the hands of household chemicals from prolonged exposure. Chronic poisoning is rarely without symptoms, why didn't he go to hospital?

She didn't have anything to say to that. You asked if she'd be comfortable divulging some of the details of his death, maybe even giving you access to the autopsy report. But she just grimaced at the mention, insisting that she had nothing to say about the matter and that you should leave right away.

She slammed the door in your face, but luckily it wasn't the first time people have resisted your questions. Unfortunately, a significant part of your job involves being a pain in the ass.

You linger in the front yard, where it's impossible not to notice the gnarled tree stumps and large rings of mushrooms scattered across the lawn.

You're not a mycologist by any means, but even you can tell that these mushrooms are strange. They seem to be multicolored, red and orange and brown, changing depending on the light like a hologram, but without any of the shine. They aren't bulb-shaped like many other mushrooms, but twist in tendrils this way and that, stretching.

And a smell hangs about them. You can't really describe it, something like damp and musk and old meat. Standing there, breathing them in, for too long makes your head spin.

And the trees, or rather, what's left of them. Nothing but stumps now, but you can tell that they were old when they were cut down. There's that same multi-colored effect to them, except it runs in veins throughout the tree's bark, spiraling into the rings.

You'll have to ask Yoongi about it.

Curiosity nips at you like a non-venomous snake even after you're home. It's not deadly, but it sure as hell is annoying.

What kind of disease infects fungi and trees? Why would the mayor care about privately investigating such a thing? And a thousand other questions.

You shove your boots on and enter back into the chill. You remember seeing a bookstore in town.

The Magic Shop: Books and Oddities

The front window glows with warm light, crowded with displayed volumes and curiosities (a stuffed raven, a jar of yellowing teeth, insects encased in amber).

The door swings open with the ring of a bell. Someone calls out "Welcome in," in a deep-velvet voice.

The smell of parchment and aged leather envelopes you like a familiar hug. You can't help pausing in the doorway and inhaling deeply. No matter what city you're in, places like this always feel like home.

It's everything that a bookstore should be: crowded, mysterious, and slightly dusty. The shelves are tightly grouped and arranged like a labyrinth few are privy to, and stacks—no, towers—of books occupy every corner.

You enter into the space, feet padding on the braided rugs, eyes drinking in the details. There are labels on the shelves, haphazardly spaced. They start normal enough: gardening, self-help, adventure.

But then you realize that they branch off into even more labels, or rather sub-labels. There's nocturnal gardening, gardening under the influence, Faerie gardens and goblin gardens. Each labeled sub-genre branches into even more specific sub-categories, creating a seemingly endless array of subjects.

You could explore this place for hours. In fact, you intend to over the course of your stay in Farrow's End.

You spend an indeterminate amount of time exploring all the labels and categories. The shelves twist this way and that, creating little nooks where the occasional armchair is tucked into.

Eventually, you come to a more open area with a wide-sprawling desk. The man sitting behind it is tall and tan, glasses perched on his nose, with short chestnut hair that shifts golden in the candlelight.

He's deeply focused on the book in his hands: A Comprehensive Guide to Navigating Parallel Universes and Pocket Dimensions.

Typically, you hate to bother people in a bookstore, especially if they're already reading. It's supposed to be a space for quiet reflection, for self-exploration and uninterrupted browsing. But you still have a job to do, and it's clear that you won't be able to navigate the complicated system yourself. At least, not in a concise period of time.

So you square your shoulders and prepare yourself to address the (handsome, you notice) man at the counter.

"Excuse me," you begin in a hushed voice.

The man's head whips up, as if he completely forgot there was another person here.

"Yes?" He says in that same deep voice, friendly and eager. "Do you need help finding something?" It sounds like he can't quite believe the fact. This place must not get many customers.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

His face lights up as if nothing would delight him more.

"Do you have anything on unusual mushrooms?" you ask.

The man sets down his book and slips out from behind the desk. "Hmm..." he mumbles to himself, expertly weaving between the shelves while you hurry to catch up.

"Let's see here..." he says, passing a wall draped with vines from a hanging planter, like the ones in Yoongi's lab, you notice.

"Fungi," he mutters, fingertips ghosting over the shelves. The sections under Fungi are vast and wide-ranging. Poisons & Antidotes, Moss & Lichens, Carnivorous, Aberrations.

He pauses at that last one, eyes flitting between the volumes.

"Anything specific?" he asks.

You debate on how much to disclose, but with the several cases of strange fungi in people's yards, it's probably common small town knowledge by now.

"Anything about an unusual fungus with...tendrils?" You can't help the hesitation, you're not sure if it's a common feature among mushrooms.

Apparently, it's not as unusual as you thought, because the man only nods and shifts his attention to one of the lower shelves. His slim fingers finally land on an old cloth-bound book with a red toadstool on the spine. There's no title on the cover, but the man seems to be familiar with it.

"Here you go," he says, handing it to you. "I think you'll find what you're looking for in this one."

He says it with the confidence of someone who's read every book in the building front to back. A very specific part of your brain tells you that this fact is almost certainly true.

"Thank you very much," you say, turning the book over in your hands.

"My pleasure," he replies, and means it.

"How much?"

He guides you back to the counter and rings it up for a very good price.

You're itching to ask questions, but you're not sure where to start.

The man places the book into a brown paper bag printed with Magic Shop Books and Oddities and hands it to you with a warm smile.

You lose your nerve and take the bag in silence. Then, as if he could smell the fragmented thoughts darting around in your skull, he says, "Be careful in the woods."

You look at him. There's the same friendly smile, but now with a hint of good-natured curiosity.

"If you're going mushroom hunting, I mean," he adds.

You stare at him for perhaps too long.

"Thanks," you say, dropping a generous tip into the jar next to the register.

"Hope to see you again," he calls out as you exit through the front door.

A moth to flame, bees to honey. Insert: you to coffee shops with perfect ambient lighting. You spot it just as you're leaving the narrow alley that leads to the bookshop.

Turning the corner onto a cobblestone walkway, you catch sight of the cafe windows, slick with the recent rain. But from what you can see through the glass, it looks like a warm, cozy place.

Glancing at the front door, you notice an OPEN sign, even though it's quite late. You're opening the door and stepping inside before you're even conscious of it.

The interior reflects the same aged aesthetic as the exterior, dark wood and brick and brass accents. But the kitchen area houses clean chrome appliances, and there are shelves stacked with white dishes behind them. Golden light warms a glass case fully stocked with a manner of pastries, breads, and other nibbles, all of which still seem to be steaming hot.

You immediately decide that you like this place.

"Good evening," a pleasant voice calls, though you can't yet identify the speaker.

The smell of steam and freshly-ground coffee beans becomes richer as you approach the counter. You can hear someone puttering around in the back room.

You glance at the menu's wide selection, and when you look back at the counter, a man is standing right in front of you.

You don't scare easily, but it's enough to make you jump a little.

"What can I get you?" the man asks cheerfully. He's tall and slim, wearing a white button-up and black slacks under an apron. Brown hair, dark eyes, and a full smiling mouth.

You order a coffee and a pastry.

"What time do you close?" you ask, wanting to sit down and enjoy the atmosphere but also not wanting to be the asshole that settles in just before closing.

"On Wednesdays we close at noon, otherwise we're open twenty-four hours," he replies, sounding delighted by rather than annoyed by the fact.

A twenty-four hour coffee shop? You really like this place.

He must see your eyebrows raise in surprise, because then he proudly adds, "Only one in town."

Pleasantly surprised, you look around the shop to assess the seating options. There are booths tucked along the walls, a few tables and chairs, and a few plush-looking armchairs near the windows.

"Please, have a seat and make yourself at home. I enjoy the company," the man says as he makes your drink.

You take him up on it, settling into one of the chairs by the frosted glass of the window. It's then that you take a closer look at the book the shop owner recommended.

A fraying cloth-bound cover, a red toadstool instead of a title. Inside, a table of contents. First, a bit of basic mycology, which you greatly benefit from. Immediately after, a range of mutations, circumstances, and environmental factors that caused the direct disturbance to said mycology.

You get lost in it quite easily, sipping your drink (which is expertly brewed) and nibbling your pastry (which is almost too delicious for words). You know that you'll be spending a considerable amount of time here throughout your stay in Farrow's End.

The book cites several case studies, all suggesting that a new strain of fungus is not only spreading rapidly, but infecting all other strains it has access to.

You read on, only momentarily distracted by the occasional customers that enter into the establishment. Like the group of students, most likely from the University, who order a large batch of espresso to-go. Or the old man who orders a sandwich and black coffee and sits outside despite the late-night chill.

You don't realize it, but you read on until the early morning. The first few faint, pale rays of sunlight stretch across your current page through the window, and you jerk to attention when you realize what time it is.

Not that you have somewhere in particular to be today. But you've always liked to get a jump on things early on in the investigation. And you have better luck getting interviews during the day.

You had no idea that time was passing so quickly. This place seems to have an air of particular tranquility, the kind that only a handful of coffee shops are able to achieve. It's the feeling of finding a quiet place after being overstimulated for hours.

You take your dishes to the counter, drop a tip into the jar, and step into the morning chill.

Exhaustion sets in on the journey home, and you crash moments after your head hits the pillow.

The dreams start that night.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! love to hear any of ur thoughts 👉👈

NEXT CHAPTER RELEASE: 05/08/24

#bts ot7 #ot7 x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts mystery #bts x fem!reader #bts series #bts f #bts fic #bts angst #bts fluff

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