#white and silver armchairs

[starrylightbox]

Modern Living Room San Francisco Inspiration for a large, enclosed, modern formal living room renovation with green walls, no fireplace, and no television

[hypedfire]

Living Room Enclosed San Francisco

Large minimalist formal and enclosed carpeted living room photo with green walls, no fireplace and no tv

[thedreamsareripped]

Living Room - Modern Living Room

Inspiration for a large, enclosed, modern formal living room renovation with green walls, no fireplace, and no television

[kyomi-shi]

Living Room Open Huge contemporary formal and open concept living room idea with gray walls and a medium tone wood floor.

[dialmformaledictions]

San Francisco Modern Living Room

Living room - large modern formal and enclosed carpeted living room idea with green walls, no fireplace and no tv

[estimatey]

Miami Bedroom Huge transitional master light wood floor bedroom photo with beige walls and no fireplace

[fysanayairani]

Master Bedroom in Miami Huge transitional master light wood floor bedroom photo with beige walls and no fireplace

[princesschimchim1325]

Sing for us, darling~

Dan Feng and Yingxing want to hear the noises their wife makes as they pleasure her, to let it be known to the whole Xianzhou Luofu that she belongs to them.

(Or you get sandwiched between your horny husbands)

Warnings: 3rd POV, fem & afab reader, reader is an adult, reader got bomb pussy game, overstimulation, groping, double penetration in the same hole, creampie, vaginal fingering, Dan Feng has two cocks and a voyeur kink, Yingxing is 41 (reader wants to fuck those old men so bad), Dan Feng is a menace, Yingxing is a charming old man, they are both possessive and horny as hell, a surprise at the end. (Fūrén - wife, bǎobèi - treasure)

Word count : 1,904 words

This can be read in the same universe as my dragoness reader idea but can be read as a standalone.

This could also be read in the same universe as my mutual's @philistiniphagottini's "god-ish" smut fic.

Likes, Comments & Reblogs are welcome!

DO NOT REPOST, OR FEED TO AI 🚫🚫🚫

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Under the pale moon, the wind made the trees rustle and flowers sway. The cold breeze would make any passerby shiver, enough to make their teeth chatter.  Everyone had worn thicker coats and lit up their fireplaces to stay warm.

Everyone except for the lovers in the High Elder's residence. Said High Elder was lounging on an armchair, his face propped up by his fist and an ankle atop his knee, an air of haughtiness befitting of man his caliber and position. Dan Feng was facing the master’s bed, calculating ocean green eyes swept over the attractive forms of his spouses.

His husband, Yingxing, was sitting on the edge of the large bed, completely bare. His long silver hair lay loose and flowing behind his muscled back. Sitting on his lap, was a jewel far more precious than any stone found in the Luofu, their beloved wife. 

And what a sight she was.

Her back was pressed against Yingxing’s broad chest, her front facing Dan Feng. Her lovely face was scrunched in frustration, sighing as Yingxing kissed and lavished her shoulders with love bites and hickeys, his large and calloused hands groped her breasts. And what was one of the most erotic sights he has ever seen in his centuries of living, her greedy pussy swallowing Yingxing’s length and if he looked hard enough, he could see a bulge on her stomach as Yingxing stuffed her full. 

Their shared bedchamber was filled with the loud wet sounds of Yingxing open mouthed kisses and their wife’s lovely moans, or as he and Yingxing liked to call them, song. His own hard cocks were pressing painfully against his trousers but he paid it no mind. The erotic sight in front of him was far more important. 

“Enjoying the show, A-Feng?” His Yingxing inquired, a smirk on his handsome face. His large hands slid from her breasts, trailing down until they slipped under her thighs, only to suddenly spread them wider, jostling the woman on his lap and causing her to throw her head back and sobbed. 

“Indeed. Dare I say, your little ‘show’ is the most enjoyable production I ever had the pleasure of witnessing.” 

He rose from his seat as he answered, taking off his white blazer as he did. Perhaps their little game went on long enough, they started at nightfall and now the moon was already high in the sky. Their poor wife must be so pent up, being cockwarmed and teased by Yingxing, but being told she wasn’t allowed to cum.

As he neared his two beloveds, their wife gazed at him with glassy eyes, cheeks wet from tears of frustration. She shakily reached out to him with her left hand and he caught her midway, holding her smaller hand and leaning down to place a kiss on her palm. 

“A-Feng…A-Xing has been so mean to me..” she whined as Dan Feng kissed her neck, trailing up to her ear, just below her earlobe. 

“Hmm, is that so?” He hummed, smirking as she yelped when he bit down on a particularly sensitive patch of skin and licked it as a form of apology.

“Oh, fūrén, this was our dearest High Elder’s idea. I am merely doing my part in his script~” Yingxing laughed, placing an unapologetic kiss on her hair. 

The High Elder pulled away to take his long gloves and the rest of his imperial garbs off, piece by piece revealing a lean yet powerful build, with broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips. 

“...You scoundrels. How could you be so mean to your wife?” she complained, writhing on top of the Furnace master’s lap, unconsciously tightening in the process and causing the man to groan. 

“Desperate now, are we?” Yingxing hissed, hands gripping her thighs in a bruising hold to stop her from squirming. 

Dan Feng, finally bare, had taken his place between his wife’s spread legs and replaced Yingxing’s hands gripping her thighs with his own. His cocks standing proudly against his toned stomach. 

Yingxing’s left hand returned to groping her breast and tweaking her hardened nipple with his fingers, while his right hand trailed up to her smooth neck, caressing it before gently gripping her throat. 

Dan Feng rubbed both of his cocks against her puffy clit, using her and Yingxing’s combined wetness as lube before taking one of his hardness and lining it up her hole that was still stretched around Yingxing’s cock. 

Slowly, he filled her up, one cock rubbing against Yingxing’s and her spongy walls, his other cock was sliding between her puffy folds and clit. Dan Feng pulled his husband into a searing kiss over their wife’s shoulder, making a show of their tongues dancing. He could feel her tighten up at the sight of their display. 

Inch by inch, he slid into her wet heat, until he pressed up against her cervix alongside Yingxing. He pulled away from his husband only to kiss his wife next, equally as passionate. 

Their beloved wife was panting when he pulled away, a thin strand of saliva connecting their lips before it snapped. 

A few moments of silence before sounds of debauchery filled their shared bedroom. Each sensual roll of their hips had their darling wife keening, throwing her head back and bumping against Yingxing’s collarbone, tears of pleasure streaming down her lovely face. 

“Mmmph! A-Xing, ah! A-Feng! Too deep! Please, too deep!” She sobbed. How cute, yet she clung to them like they’re her lifelines. 

Their hips moved in sync, when one thrusts in, one pulls out and vice versa, making sure their wife is in the precipice of pleasure and overstimulation. Their cocks were alternating in slamming against her cervix, causing her to moan even louder. 

In her desperation to keep herself grounded, her hands found themselves digging into different parts of her husbands. One hand reached behind her to grasp and pull at Yingxing’s long silver locks, making him groan. The other reached behind Dan Feng to rake her sharp nails down his back, leaving thin scratches that are deep enough to bleed. Dan Feng threw his head back, moaning at the pleasure before hissing from the stinging pain.

Yingxing, never one to let his spouses one up him, let the hand groping her breast trail down her soft stomach before suddenly pressing down on the bulge caused by their cocks. 

“Ah! Yingxing, please!” How adorable, she was starting to slur her words a bit. 

Yingxing couldn’t help but chuckle, “Close, love?” 

Their poor darling, already so close while being lovingly fucked, their cocks overcrowding her poor cunt while their hands groped her breasts, the pudge of her hips, or pressing down on the bulge of her stomach in a dazed fascination of how well she’s taking both of their cocks. 

Their normally stoic and quiet wife reduced to an incoherent mess, moaning only their names. 

Both husbands groaned at the same time when they felt her tighten, impossibly tight. Dan Feng reached down to draw circles on her engorged clit, making her cry out even louder to the point he might get complaints in the morning even though his estate is built farther away from other citizens. 

“Mmph! Ah! A-Feng, A-Xing! Please, I’m going to–ah!” Before their darling wife could even finish her sentence, she came, or rather, she squirted right at Dan Feng’s abdomen. 

Her sudden orgasm triggered Yingxing’s own orgasm and she could feel herself being filled to the brim with the copious amount of his warm and thick cum. Dan Feng followed not too long after him. 

She hiccuped in pleasure as she’s filled again, this time by Dan Feng’s cum, warm and thick, and just as abundant as Yingxing’s. 

Once the cloud of pleasure had dissipated, she watched in mortification how her cum that splashed her husband, dripped down the planes of muscles his blessed body has. 

He didn’t even look mad, if anything, he looked downright pleased by the turn of events with his telling smile and the mirth present in his eyes. Behind her, she could feel the rumble of Yingxing’s barking laugh. 

“Oh, you did so well, darling. Look, you even made his other cock cum.” Yingxing cooed, nuzzling into her hair. 

She looked down and saw that Yingxing was right, Dan Feng’s neglected cock had cum as well, his spent dripping from her chest to her stomach. 

“Hmm, you took both of us well. How are you feeling, băobèi? Are you hurt?” Dan Feng kissed her forehead while checking her for any signs of harm. She could only shake her head in fondness. 

Dan Feng was the first to pull out, Yingxing following soon after him. She whimpered at the feeling of their cocks rubbing against her sensitive walls. 

Dan Feng watched in fascination how his and Yingxing’s combined cum dripped from their wife’s slightly gaping pussy, staining the bed and dripping onto the floor. 

Before anymore could drip out from her lewd hole, Dan Feng scooped the excess cum and fingered it back inside her, causing her to jolt and gasp

“Let’s not waste, shall we? It would be such a shame, no, fūrén?” He looked at her with such an infuriating look on his handsome face while his fingers played with his and Yingxing’s mixed cum inside her sore cunt. 

Yingxing’s large hands found their way to her breasts again, playing and groping her soft tits. All he gave her was a not-so apologetic kiss on the top of her hair.

“Ah! You-you scoundrels! Give this body of mine a break, won’t you?” their wife scowled but it broke into a pleasured moan when Dan Feng once again bit the sensitive part of her neck.

“Well, we did say we want you to sing, didn’t we, bǎobèi?”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Dan Heng shot out of his mattress, panting. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he tried to regulate his breathing, his heart beating so hard, it almost felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. 

He pressed his hand against his chest, his heart finally calming down. As he calmed down, he realized he had another problem, the hard on between his legs. Dan Heng groaned.

‘What the hell was that dream? No, that was too vivid to be something my mind conjured up. Was it a memory? If so, why the hell did I have a wet dream of Dan Feng and his spouses?’

He looked beside him, the woman sleeping next to him thankfully lay unaware of his dilemma. Her appearance had a striking resemblance to the woman in his dreams. He shook his head

He reached down to brush away the hair against her face, fingers slightly caressing her feathers. 

Well, whatever it was, he’ll deal with it tomorrow. 

••••••••••

Ren’s eyes opened, trying to adjust in the darkness of his room. He sat up before placing a hand on his face.

There was a moment of silence before the sounds of his hysterical laughter filled the room. 

“Of all the times, the memories of Yingxing decide to resurface now?” 

Ren laid in his bed again, facing the ceiling while his large and scarred hand dragged against his face, a smirk on his face. 

“Hah, I guess there is no escape for either of you. My bǎobèi, it won't be long until we're reunited...... And there is no place for you to hide, Yǐnyuè-jūn.”

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[michaeldirnt]

Enclosed Living Room (Denver)

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + dressing you

character: alastor warnings: 18+ for mature themes (no smut) minors do not interact, fem!reader, pet/master dynamic, toxic relationship (possessiveness; reader is nothing more than a silly little doll for alastor to play dress up with), implied size difference, a hint of blood words: 1.1k

Alastor is a creature of habit, a man of routine. He has his daily rituals, his rigorous schedules, his lists of tasks, all performed to perfection each and every day. 

And Alastor likes to begin his mornings in a very specific way. 

You know the procedure by now inside out, upside down, could recite it backwards, if he so desired you to. 

By the time he wakes you, he’s already laid out your outfit for the day; intimates, dress, socks, accessories, all spread in an immaculate flat lay on his seldom-used bedspread. 

You are always expected to adorn yourself with the garments he’s selected, to pull on each and every piece all on your own, fabrics lovingly caressing your exposed flesh as his gaze slithers after the material, leaving burning smudges on your skin.

But, of course, you can never do it all completely right—not like Master can. 

Because it always ends the same, this little morning sacrament: with Alastor fussing over you—straightening out a bow, smoothing out a wrinkle, tugging up a sock, readjusting a sleeve.

There is always something wrong he has to fix, to make perfect. 

And the finishing touch, the finishing touch is always for Master to add. 

A leather collar, as red as his eyes and adorned with a heart-shaped tag, his name in an elegant scrawl engraved in the platinum. He’s always so tender when he fastens it around your neck, after he has thoroughly approved of your dressing for the day, more tender than you’d ever thought him capable of; more tender than he ever is otherwise. 

It’s all just another way he claims you, degrades you, announces that you are his—his to decorate, his to desecrate, his to do whatever the fuck he wants with you. 

That pretty little silver heart that rests so daintily against your clavicle, that rises and falls and glitters with each of your gentle breaths, will never let you forget that. 

Today, as it is with most days, he has chosen a white colour palette. 

Sitting in his usual armchair with his legs crossed, folded hands resting in his lap, he watches as you undress in front of him, left vulnerable and raw to his gluttonous glare. It stings, his gaze razored and slitting into your skin, prickling as it rakes over your unprotected form, leaving you feeling hypersensitive, overexposed, like he’s stripped away some fundamental layer and left you barer than bare.

Yet to the untrained eye, he would appear only mildly interested, possibly even teetering on indifferent, but you know him better than that.

You are not the untrained eye—not anymore.

You know that the glowing in his gaze is brighter, bolder and more brilliant than normal as he sharply catalogues every action—pretty silk slipped off, dainty lace sliding on. 

You know that his pupils are abnormally large, having gnawed away at his irises in their attempt to consume the scene in front of him—a scene he’s witnessed a hundred times before; a scene he never tires of nonetheless. 

You know that his smile, usually sharp and stretched, is a little bit softer around the edges, a little bit sweeter as it seals hungry teeth behind curled lips.

His chest swells and deflates with calm, even breaths, his unblinking gaze holding yours for a moment—in, out, in, out—and you stand still as a statue, waiting.

Such a good little pet he’s got himself. 

He lets the moment linger for a little, basks in the exquisiteness of your obedience, allows that sweet suffocation of your compliance to grow until it’s nearly unbearable, until you’re struggling to keep stationary under his unrelenting stare, until the weight of it is crushing, compressing your ribs, flattening your lungs as you anticipate his approval.

Finally, he nods, and then, you begin.

First, the intimates; pure snow-white lace encrusted with tiny crystals, dainty material skimming your flesh in a faint caress, clinging to your supple curves as you fasten hooks and adjust waistbands. 

Next, an ivory milkmaid dress, complete with cinched puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, the corset top outlining the natural lines and bends of your torso, skirt flaring slightly at the hips and flowing into loose pleats around your thighs. Little white flowers detail the garment, embroidered in silk across the linen, blooming with each of your graceful inhales. 

Then, a pair of white thigh-high nylons to garnish the outfit, adorned with tiny white polkadots, sleek and sheer as they hug your legs. 

He doesn’t miss the ripple of chills that follow after his eyes as they glide up your body, trailing the curled knuckles hooked in the band of your stockings. Nor does he miss the delicate shiver that dances up your spine, or the tensing of your muscles as you linger in limbo beneath his stare, anticipating his next order.

No, he witnesses it all.

And he smirks, huffing out an airy snort, your frame flinching with the sound.

“Does my gaze make you uncomfortable, dear?”

“No, Sir, of course not,” you respond immediately; well-trained, obedient. 

“No? Then why has your body gone rigid beneath my eyes?” 

“I just—” you begin, faltering a little, a small frown on your face. 

Suddenly, he rises, stalking toward you calmly, both hands clasped behind his back. That infamous collar, held securely in his grasp, jingles with each of his steps, such a delicate sound for something so sinister. 

Stopping an inch or two from your face, your head snaps up, the motion instinctual, eyes wide and subservient—searching for guidance, awaiting your orders like the good little girl you are. 

A palm wreathes around your jaw, points of his claws pressing into your cheeks as he forces your head up further, revelling in the soft pained yelp that hitches in your throat, tangling on a gasp.

“Do you feel like a piece of meat, on display for your owner?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

Crimson searches your face, slow and scrutinizing, lids narrowing slightly as his smile sharpens.

“Nothing more than a pretty little prize to be paraded around on my arm, proudly and in public?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Leaning down, he grinds his forehead into your own, inhibiting your gaze from fleeing his, neck bent at an unnatural angle as he looms over you. He stares at you for a moment, scarlet so bright it hurts to look directly into, so brilliant you’re sure it’ll leave sunspots blotting your vision when you finally look away, but you don’t dare to blink. 

Slim fingers flex around your jaw, tightening, and his claws pierce your cheeks—shallow little pricks that’ll be unnoticeable in a few minutes, dots of blood rushing to fill the tiny dents. His tongue laves over each in a single, slow drag, wide and wet as it cleans the wounds and streaks his tastebuds with copper, sealing them with a thick salve of saliva before pulling away. 

“Good,” he finally murmurs, the word a puff of breath wafting across your face, warm and woodsy. “Because you are. And Master likes for his things to look presentable.” 

[beansprean]

My Familiar’s Ghost part 81

Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Wide shot, knees up, of vampire Guillermo and Nandor sitting on the couch in the library in front of the papered-over bay window. Nandor is wearing one of his usual outfits and Guillermo is wearing something new: a dark blue shirt with a pink floral pattern, a dark red sweater vest, brown cuords, and a string of pearls. Both are looking at the viewer and have clipboards in their hands, Guillermo's pen poised and ready on the paper and Nandor gesturing his in the air as he asks, 'So...what makes you the best candidate for our new familiar?'

2. Reverse shot of a single green armchair on a vague brown background. Sitting on it, legs crossed, is a southeast Asian woman in her 30s with shoulder length black hair and countless slash-like scars running up her arms, neck, and face. She is wearing a purple sweater with 3/4 sleeves, black leggings, and combat boots. She grimaces, looking upward, left arm waving vaguely as her right nervously fingers the arm of the chair, and says, 'Well, I survived three years with Gorgo the Murderer...'

3. Repeat, new candidate in the chair: a fat white man in his 30s with close cropped sandy blond hair and unsettling blue eyes, wearing a blue polo and brown chinos. His arms are covered in gorey tattoos depicting blood, buzzsaws, skulls, and fangs, plus one art nouveau portrait and black fang shapes above and below his mouth. He stares directly forward with a fixed grin, hands laced together over his chest, and declares, 'My former mistress always said I had a knack for dismemberment.'

4. Repeat, new candidate in the chair: a fat brown hispanic person in their 20s with hazel eyes, big glasses, and half bleach blonde half dark brown hair in a bowl cut. She is wearing a red flannel open over a TrueBlood tee shirt and jeans, nails painted teal, a silver hoop in each ear. They are leaning forward eagerly, fists clenched and eyes wide, babbling, 'You're the only familiar I've ever heard of who got turned! What's the turnaround for your familiars? Which one of you will turn me?!'

5. Repeat, new candidate in the chair: a small white woman in her 60s with gray-streaked auburn hair wearing a low-cut dark pink top tucked into a plaid knee-length skirt. Her long nails are painted a dark reddish brown to match her lipstick, and she also has on pantyhose and, inexplicably, a diamond ring on her left ring finger. She leans casually against the side of the chair, brown eyes roaming the ceiling, and announces, 'I've had so many masters by now... I'm really just looking for something more long-term...'

6a. Reverse shot back to Guillermo and Nandor on the couch. Nandor leans forward with a suggestive smirk, touching the butt of his pen coyly to his chin, and replies, 'That is good to hear... I trust your age will not prevent you from your duties?' Guillermo glares at him from the corner of his eye, grip shaking on his pen. 6b. Knees up in profile of Nandor and the milf candidate sitting across from each other, leaning forward with suggestive grins. One of her legs stretches forward to rub against his and she touches her chest demurely, replying, 'Honey, I can handle whatever you have for me-' Guillermo leans around Nandor to get between them and interrupts her, loudly shouting 'Next!!' 6c. Zoom in to shoulders up of Nandor, turned toward the viewer to curl his fingers in a wave as the milf leaves offscreen, muttering, 'Uh, well, thank you for your time.' Nandor glances over his shoulder with the smuggest of grins at Guillermo, who is absolutely seething behind him. Guillermo is surrounded by a ragged black aura, frowning as deeply as his boyish face allows, glowing orange eyes burning holes into the back of Nandor's head. /end ID

[vngelicc]

m e a n d y o u r m a m a

p a i r i n g : namjoon x reader

g e n r e : domestic boyfriend au.

t a g s : soft smut, drunk sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, breeding kink, flashbacks are in italics, y’all are rlly in love, mentions of future pregnancy, DOMESTIC, model!reader, teasing, IM SICK AT HOW SWEET THIS IS, drunk scene is where the baby is made LMAO

w o r d c o u n t : 3.6 k

s u m m a r y : you like to remember both what life before the little one was and after with your loving boyfriend namjoon.

“Just how did you two manage to find each other in such a big world, what stood out the most for you?”

– I can’t really put my finger on it, when we first met each other I admit it was all me in the beginning. I couldn’t stop staring at her and I think she thought I was a creep or a weirdo. “Oh would you look at that, Kim Namjoon from BTS is a weirdo,” or something like that. I didn’t approach her until the end of the night, right as she was leaving. It turned out we had a lot in common, other than the whole being invited to the same fashion show thing.

The camera shutters and flashes went off in every direction and the room was filled with chatters from the stylists on set. Despite getting the chills now and then you felt empowered and beautiful in the tiny backless night slip that seemed to ride up with every movement you made. (You know Namjoon is definitely enjoying the sight of you prancing around in such scandalous attire.)

Namjoon’s dressed to the nines, styled in a black and white striped suit, a watch worth over sixteen thousand, and his black hair styled in such a way you wanted to tangle your hands in it. “You’re both sensual beings,” the photographer had expressed before the shoot even began, and that he was right about.

Here you were, perched on Namjoon’s lap like his personal little arm candy to show off to the world. His hand rested over the small of your back, his other arm perched on the armchair whilst he lazily flicked his hand back to avoid getting any ashes on you or himself. “Look into the camera,” the photographer mumbled, “show me the art of sex you both embody.”

You stared into the camera with a sultry gaze, eyes half lidded and lips parted slightly. Namjoon couldn’t resist and right before the camera went off again he turned to look at you with eyes full of desire and lust. How could he not after all? Given that you were practically being offered on a silver platter to him dressed so scantily and pretty.

“How did you realize that she was the one?”

– It wasn’t hard at all, I often sat at home thinking about the future a lot with her, I slowly realized she was my home, my entire future included too. I think that the dealbreaker for me was when we finally decided to get matching tattoos of our name together, we went in separately because we wanted to surprise each other. She comes out smiling like a kid in a candy shop, and when I ask her why she shows me her ring finger, and right there I see my initials. I fell even more then and there. If it was even possible.

The hand on your grip gently guided you to a more comfortable position, ensuring that you were relaxed. You had a tiny smile on your lips as you stared deeply into his eyes. You hadn’t missed the way he subtly ran his hand over the expanse of your baby soft skin. His hand cheekily snuck a little squeeze here and there.

“Are you free after this shoot?” Namjoon grins in amusement, suppressing his laughter when he sees you roll your eyes at him. “What? Are you, or are you not?”

You give him a look, failing to hold back your smile as you fondly bring him down for a gentle peck. “I’ll have to see Mr Kim, we’ll have to discuss this with baby Kim, see what he thinks about it.”

Namjoon sighs in fake exasperation, “..I guess baby Kim can join us too then.” You playfully smack him in response.

“How in love would you say you are?”

– I would rather not be on this Earth if I couldn’t be with her, everyday I’m more and more thankful she came into my life. I don’t worry about it at night anymore, not when our little blessing is sleeping in the room next to ours. I think that I’m most definitely ready to settle down and enjoy life, well, our life to be exact. I think an image that’s recurring in my mind is of us walking down the beach with our kid, that’s how in love I am..

.

The world went absolutely berserk when Namjoon’s company had announced both his relationship and your pregnancy. For the sake of privacy your company didn’t offer much to the press, stating that anything in direct relation to your private life was to be revealed by you and you only. Something you deeply appreciated.

You dated quietly for several months, flying in and out to see each other with no one but your closest friends seeing the two of you together. Here and there you dropped some cryptic pictures with his hand in yours, a scenery photo from your date, and if you were feeling a bit bolder you posted a picture from the back of him walking straight ahead of you with your hand still in his.

Your fans were just dying to know who you were seeing, begging and pleading for more. You didn’t make an official statement until after the events of you discovering your pregnancy. Which like mentioned before was several months into your dating.

When you finally dropped the news of your pregnancy, you were about five months along already. It hadn’t been much but a simple picture collage on Instagram of your belly being surrounded by two ultrasound pictures. Namjoon’s hands were laid over yours with the caption being: “our tiny bundle of joy”.

The internet blew up, which was understandable because their favorite supermodel was both tied down and “somebody’s baby mama”. It felt a little cruel to leave them hanging so you explained in a more formal post on your Instagram. “I know lots of you are surprised ‘n stuff but I wanna let you guys know I’m doing okay and I’m happy with my on-going pregnancy! As you can see I’ve met someone very special to me and we’ve been together for a while now. I hope you will all continue to support me! xoxo”.

Namjoon was next after you since he had wanted you to be on-board when you both decided to reveal your relationship. He did the same, except posting a full blown picture of you sitting in the grass with the sunlight pouring down over your frame. He added a simple heart to it and let his company do the rest for him.

When the baby was born you had decided to add all those little moments captured on camera to a small video you decided to dedicate to your little one. Looking back on it now makes your heart swell with utter adoration and love for Namjoon. You realize that you’d go to hell and back for him, and he’d do the same for you.

.

After parties in LA are crazy, well the LA lifestyle was pretty wild on its own anyways. After attending your friend’s concert with Namjoon and some other friends of his, you two went off to the after party. It was pretty wild already, drinks were poured and people were sitting in small circles on the rooftop smoking weed and taking other stuff you were going to stay as far away from.

Namjoon and you were swaying together on the dancefloor, you had your arms wrapped around his shoulders loosely and his hands settled on your waist. You admit that maybe you had taken a few more shots than intended, same for Namjoon but the buzz was pleasant though and being with your boyfriend made it one hundred times better.

He had his forehead resting on yours, a closed-eye smile on his face as he listened to you sing along to the song playing in the background. “You’re off-key.” He teases.

“Do you want me to stop? Wait, do I sound that bad?” You pout at him and bring him down for gentle kisses, “You’re supposed to lie to me and say I sing better than anyone on this Earth.”

Namjoon’s eyes open and he kisses you a bit more intensely, “You sing better than anyone on this planet.” He murmurs against your lips.

A small smile forms as you push your forehead against his, “Are you drunk right now Joon? You telling me these things cause you know it’s what I wanna hear?” You tease softly. He shrugs in response and you laugh again and throw your head back. The world around you spins from how dazed you are at the moment.

Namjoon follows and leans down to trail kisses up the column of your neck, “You singing isn’t the only thing going on in my mind right now baby,” he mumbles, “I could think of a couple other things we could be doing instead of being here.”

You hum in response, “What kind of things were you thinking of?” You lick your lips. He doesn’t reply, not verbally at least, he slots his lips against yours with more intensity than the small lazy kisses he has been exchanging with you this past hour.

A soft little moan escapes your lips and you wrap your arms tighter around his neck. He pulls you in so you’re both pressed up against each other and whatnot. Through his jeans you can feel the outline of his cock press against your thigh, hot and throbbing which in turn makes you whine quietly into his mouth. Namjoon hikes one of your legs around his hip so he can press right up against your clothed pussy.

You start grinding sensually against him, unknowingly moving to the beat of the music playing in the background. Namjoon groans softly against your lips and pulls back to stare into your eyes with a half-lidded expression. “C’mon, let’s get the fuck outta here.” He tugs you in by your ass.

You nod eagerly and stumble after him as he takes you through the large crowd of people. You’re in no state to drive and neither is he so you two catch a ride with a friend you see who also happens to be leaving the party too. The whole ride back to your home is spent exchanging heated kisses in the backseat of your friend’s car.

When you get there Namjoon hoists you up in his arms and carries you in. You tangle your hands in his soft hair and tug him closer for a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he kicks the front door open and enters. “C’mon baby,” you mumble pawing at his shirt as you try to take it off, “need you so bad.”

Namjoon groans in response and sets you down, hurriedly tossing his shirt off and then going for the back of your pretty little dress you got on. The hallway becomes a mess leading to the bedroom where Namjoon has you pinned on the bed, hands searching through the drawer for a condom. You’re whining and pleading for him to hurry, wrapping your legs around his waist as you pull from the kiss, “Forget about it baby.”

“You sure?” He dryly replies, swallowing in obvious excitement.

“Mmhmm.” You nod, “Just need you in me,” you breathily whisper and reach down to grip his hard cock, “c’mon baby, put it in.” You moan softly as you rub his cock up and down your wet slit, “You feel how wet I am for you?”

Namjoon shivers at your husky soft tone, his eyes drop down to where your hand is stroking his cock as you tease yourself with the mushroom tip. A bead of precum drips from the tip and adds to the mess of slick your pussy has made. He moans loudly and reaches down to grip his cock himself and push up against you until the head catches at your opening.

“You’re driving me fuckin crazy baby, I’m gonna fuck you so good. Gonna have you shaking and gushin’ for me, pretty little pussy boutta cream all over my cock and make a fuckin mess.” He slurs out and presses in, pushing to the hilt until his pelvis is pressed close to yours.

A loud moan escapes your lips as you throw your head back on the pillow and grip the sheets. His words only seem to fuel the desire pooling in your belly causing you to grind up against him in an effort to chase your pleasure. Namjoon places both hands on either side of you, using it as leverage to hold himself above you while his hips begin to slowly roll into yours.

Your pussy is so slicked up you can hear every time he pushes his cock in and out. With a choke up whimper you reach between you two and rub your clit in slow circles to match with the speed of his thrusts. Namjoon buries his face in your neck and ends up mouthing at the skin there while he loses himself to the pleasure and rhythm of his thrusts.

“Fuck you feel so good babe,” he moans, “gripping me so nicely, wanna watch my cum drip from your pussy, love making a mess outta you.” He whispers into your ear, his hands slither down to grab your asscheeks and he holds onto them tightly while passionately fucking into your throbbing cunt.

A wobbly little cry bubbles out of your throat at the change of pace, he drives his cock into you passionately with his thrusts jostling you up the bed with how hard he’s going. Your bleary eyes open, the room around you is all blurred out from your tears and how tipsy you feel from the drinks earlier. You feel like you’re spinning in ecstasy, pleasure blooming pleasantly all throughout your body.

A blissful smile forms on your face as you hike your legs up higher around his body, “Mmm, right there Joonie I can feel you so deep in me… ‘s so good,'' you slur out, “gonna cum.” Your breath hitches.

Namjoon moans a little louder as he pulls back from your hickey littered neck to stare down at you, “Yeah? You gonna cum all over my cock baby? C’mon baby, wanna see your pretty face when you cum,” he leans down to slot his lips with yours in a messy little kiss, “you’re so fuckin gorgeous babe.” He whispers like it’s a top secret no one must know.

“L-Love you so much,” you hiccup softly, “so, so, much.”

Namjoon whispers his own set of ‘I love yous’ whilst he fucks away at your cunt. His cock bumps into your g-spot over and over again, it makes your legs shake from the strong pleasure. Your orgasm draws nearer and nearer until you suddenly stiffen and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Namjoon..!” You cry out, hugging his body closely to you as you shake through your orgasm.

He groans in response and bucks up into you for a few more minutes until he’s coming too. He cums with a low moan of your name, head already dropped down on your chest. You end up laying there lazily trying to catch your breath and stay awake. A wave of drowsiness hits you out of nowhere, you try to blink the sleepiness away but every second that ticks by you’re closer to knocking out.

“Mmm so sleepy.” You softly whisper as you let your arms fall back on the bed and lay there motionlessly.

Namjoon hums in response as he lays his head on your bare tits, “Me too.” He mumbles out, eyes already closed in bliss.

“Les sleep,” you slur out softly and wrap your arms around his head, “so.. Sleepy.” You whisper the last part out before sleep takes over and you’re left in the dark.

.

“... ‘Would you look at that Haru, daddy’s finally getting around to build your crib. After ordering and leaving it in the closet for months.’ You tease softly, holding the camera up as you try to get it to focus on Namjoon who’s sitting in the middle of the room reading a book of instructions with a look of utter confusion on his face.

‘You need help there?’ You laugh softly.

Namjoon looks up at you with his eyes lighting up with joy when he sees both you and your swelling baby bump, ‘You come in here to make fun of me or what?’ He chuckles as he sets the booklet down and holds his hand out to you.

‘No, dropped by to ask for the car keys cause I’m hungry–no, we’re hungry.’ You correct as you rub your belly and step closer.

Namjoon gently pulls you in and nuzzles his face against your tummy, ‘I left the keys in the room by the bed, what’re you gonna get?’ He says as he lays soft kisses over your shirt.

‘A burger or something.’ You reply and angle the camera downwards so you can capture him kissing your tummy, ‘You wanna come? That way you can take a break n stuff since this crib stuff is hard.’ You laugh.

‘Haha, very funny.’ Namjoon rolls his eyes with a chuckle.

‘Love youuuuu.’ You coo as you begin walking away, capturing his own ‘I love you’ just in time before you walk out the door…”

.

Namjoon and you were both wrapped up in bed lazily making out with the TV on in the background. You were SUPPOSED to be watching the new Scream movie that came out but Namjoon had other plans. With him kissing up on you like that it reminded you how rare sex was between the two of you ever since Haru was born. It was like the kid had a sixth sense and knew when you guys were trying to get into the mood and stuff.

You’re surprised he hasn’t started crying through the monitors by now, but you rather not jinx it just yet. You’re both buried under the warm covers which obscures both you and your noises. Namjoon takes it slow, rocking his hips back and forth against yours. His cock fills you to the brim and brings nothing but a pleasant ache and pleasure. This is exactly what you were missing, the intimacy.

Given the circumstances around Haru’s conception you and Namjoon went back to using condoms because you were not about to risk anything (not that you didn’t miss him going bare, which he did a lot during the pregnancy). Soft moans and pleased little sighs left the both of you, between the two of you there were quiet squelching noises that your sopping pussy made from how slicked up you were down there.

“Shit.” Namjoon curses under his breath as he ducks down to hide his face in your neck.

He keeps the same pace up, making sure to hit those sensitive spots that send spiraling in pleasure. Your moans rise a bit in volume but he’s quick to hush you with his lips, not wanting to wake up the baby in fears of ending the one time you can fuck early. Namjoon pants softly and pulls back, reaching down to hike your thigh around his hip to go in deeper.

“Fuck you make me wanna give you another baby.” He groans out, “Gonna look so beautiful, full of our baby,” his eyes close and he shudders in pleasure like he’s thinking about it.

You let out a tiny mewl in response, pussy tightening around his cock at the thought of him knocking you up with another baby, “You’re not playing fair.” You softly pout.

Namjoon breathily chuckles but it dissolves into a moan when you squeeze around his cock again, “Can’t help it, you look too goddamn sexy.” He purrs and rocks into you faster.

The bed frame gently creaks from the increase in speed, you end up whining at the change and quivering, “Right there,” you bury your face in his neck and hold on, “mmm..mm.” He grunts quietly and keeps hitting that spot where you like it, he reaches down to flick his thumb over your clit in time with his thrusts.

Your head falls back and you let out a loud long moan, shivering for a few seconds before going limp as your pussy convulses around his cock. He hisses softly and lets himself fall on you as he rocks into you slowly, trying to stave off his own orgasm but failing miserably because you feel so good.

He throbs and a quiet moan escapes his lips, cum filling the condom (he secretly wishes it was you he was filling up. “Shit.” He lifts himself off of you and rolls on to his back, “Can’t believe we actually got to finish this time.” He chuckles.

You sleepily hum, curling up and closing your eyes, “..I know right..” You mumble softly, already on the verge of falling asleep since you know, that’s the parent life for you now.

Namjoon yawns quietly and leans over to smooch you gently, “Night baby.”

“....Night.” You whisper softly.

.

“Is this..?”

“Yes.”

“..Holy shit, you’re serious. Fuck baby.”

“Are you not happy..?”

“Of course I am baby, I’m excited to have this baby with you. I love you more than life itself, I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with you, only if you’ll have me of course.”

“Of course I will you big dummy, why wouldn’t I?”

“I love you two so much..”

“I love you too.”

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama

[multifandomgirl08]

Tu me promets (Daniel's POV) - D.R. #3

Sugar Daddy!Daniel Ricciardo x Fem!Reader

Summary: He was sorry, for not calling, for sleeping with you, and then running as if you meant nothing to him.

Warning(s): Implied sexual content

A/N: As per pole results this will get published first. The Reader's POV will be up next week. The title translates to you promise me. Points to anyone who can spot the Gossip Girl reference from season 6.

Words: 3.3k

Previous Part ← Reader POV The Arrangement Masterlist

Daniel knew he was being a coward, not texting you back after you had gotten home, not calling you for two months. It was a lot for him to process all while being back in Formula 1 driving for AlphaTauri. It wasn’t Red Bull but Christian and Helmut through it would be a good stepping stone for him after last year.

Yet here he was showing up at your apartment building to try to talk to you. He was pretty sure that you would slam the door in his face before he was even able to get a word out. He waved at the security guard before going up the elevator to your floor.

He knocked once he was at your door. He didn’t have to, he did have a key to your apartment but he wouldn’t do that. He may have bought the apartment but it was your space and he wasn’t just going to let himself in after not talking to you.

It took a few moments for the door to open. There was something punishing in that silence of waiting. It wasn’t long before you stood in front of him in his pink Enchanté jumper, black shorts, and thigh-high socks. The bouquet of white Japanese Camellia flowers that were in his hands suddenly felt heavy, like it was weighing down his arm.

“Can I come in?” He asked.

You eventually let him through the door not saying anything. Daniel couldn’t help but take in the apartment after not having been here for a while. It was very well lived in, you had candles, books, and photos set up all around. This had become home for you. He saw a throw from Hermés over the back of the armchair he helped you pick out. He knew he was the only one to sit on it.

There was a container of takeaway on the glass and silver coffee table, and you were watching Gossip Girl on the TV.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted. He was sorry, for not calling, for sleeping with you, and then running as if you meant nothing to him. It was wrong and you deserved better, not just from him but in general.

He tried to hand you the flowers but you wouldn’t take them from him. His eyes fell on an empty vase by one of the windows that looked like a handbag. He walked over in small steps and placed the flowers in there, just happy for them to be out of his hands.

He walked closer to you but kept the distance between you, leaning against the back of the cream couch, his legs folded on top of one another.

“Look,” He started to say. He could feel your eyes on him, running up and down what he was wearing probably tuning out his words just to not seem rude or something. “I know I shouldn’t have left the morning after. I just…”

Come on mate, out with it. She won’t hear you out all damn day. He thought to himself.

“It was a lot for me, to know how I felt and then do that. Be with you.” It was the only thing he felt he could say. It was his truth. He never expected that he would get a chance to be with you or that you would even want him like that.

“So, what does that mean?” It was fair of you to ask him that. What did that mean?

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly. “I pay you… to spend time with me, in gifts, and clothes, and all this other stuff.”

He hated bringing up the money. Money bought him things, it wasn’t meant to be used on people.

“I won’t pay you to sleep with me. It’s not right.” He blurted out. Daniel had always tried to be a nice guy, and he just couldn’t use you like that.

“Who says that you’d be paying me to sleep with you?” You asked as if there was nothing wrong with that. He can’t do that to you. He can’t treat you like you mean nothing to him. “Maybe I just want to.”

Daniel can’t help but shut his eyes at those words. “But you shouldn’t.”

“What I mean is… I can’t keep doing this because of the money.” It was never about the money when it came to you. Yes, he liked buying you things and spending money on you. But there was more in it for him. “I care too much for you now, for it to be about the money.”

“Can you think about our relationship for a second… without the money.” You asked him.

Think about their “relationship” without the money. Their whole arrangement started because of money.

“What are you talking about?” He asked.

"What would we do while you were in town? And I don't mean the shopping." Your question puzzled him a little.

Without the money? He thought. That wasn’t shopping?

"Dinner, and we'd go out to hang out with my friends, maybe watch a movie or something." He finally managed to get out.

Come to think of it he had never met your friends, he never tried to insert himself into your life thinking that there was no way that he would fit. Always busy with his career, media obligations, and his friends. It was easier for him to try to find a way to pull you into his world, without inserting himself into yours.

"What am I to you Daniel? What do you call me in all your notes?" You asked. It was like there was an odd shift in the room. Everything felt slower, almost hazy with how dark it felt in the apartment.

"You... you're my girl." He struggled to get the words out. He had only said those words out loud once, before that, it was always either writing them down on paper or in a text message. Saying it now felt strange on his tongue. 

"Why do you call me that?" You drew out of him.

As you walked closer Daniel couldn’t help but swallow down his breath. His hands felt hot like he had just gotten out of the car after an intense session on the track.

"Because you’re mine." He whispered, "I like spoiling what's mine." He still didn’t know what that meant for the two of them. Calling you his was one thing, but he knew that he had no ownership of you whatsoever.

Feeling the press of your body against his chest made him nervous. All he wanted was to get out of the hoodie that he was wearing. It would make him less hot, and make it easier for him to breathe. He felt you moving his hands to your hips, just laying them over the soft fabric of your shorts.

"It's okay, Daniel." You whispered brushing their noses together. "You can have me." The invitation felt too good to be true.

It was too easy to pull you to the couch and let himself get lost in the feeling of your lips. Two months without it. You were a drug in the best way, the best high he could ever get. How had he let himself believe that he could live without the feeling of you in his arms and the taste of your lips on his?

Coherent thoughts and feelings didn’t matter while he held you to his chest.

“You’re perfect for me,” He praised you letting his lips trail over your neck. You were trouble and he knew that he was done for.

At some point in the evening, both of you had moved to the bedroom. He was leaning back against the headboard, letting his eyes wander around the room taking in the contrast of soft creams and dark black accent pieces. A phone charger and a few jewelry pieces cluttered the nightstand to his left.

His fingers fiddled with the silver Tiffany bracelet that you were wearing, letting himself get lost in the feeling of your skin against his, seeing your hair a mess, and light bruises start to show on your neck.

"Can you promise me something?" You asked him.

He gave you a slight nod. He wasn’t sure what he could promise you. A wonderful life, a diamond ring one day? Okay, maybe he was getting ahead of himself by thinking about a diamond ring.

"If we keep doing this," You said, pointing at the two of you. "Promise me that you know it's not about the money."

So it hadn’t been about the money for her? He couldn’t help but question. He still paid for things for you, food, clothes, even if he was the one who was picking things out to give to you. Money was the thing that held them together. 

"But isn't that why this all started for you," He asked. "Because of the money."

"Yes, when I was in school." You said. School. Right. You had been in college when you met. How could he forget? "But I'm out of college now, I can find a job.”

Find a job? He didn’t like the sound of that. That would mean that if they kept this, even if it was in some small way he would have to work around not just his schedule but yours as well. There was no way.

“Maybe even take over paying the rent on this place." You continued.

Pay rent. He didn’t pay rent on this place. He had bought it. He always saw it as an investment, he put down the 5 million on it, and if this hadn’t worked out he could always rent it out to someone. It wasn’t like he needed the extra income.

"I don't pay rent on it." He admitted, scratching at the back of his neck. "I bought it."

He looked over at you to see that you were a little shocked at his confession. Maybe he should have told you that when he had gotten you the place.

"What about you?" You asked changing the subject. "What started all this for you?"

That was a hard question to answer without going into too much detail. Everything in his career felt like it was falling apart and in some ways his life as well.

"I needed a change, something to make me feel like I was worth something. A priority if you will." That felt like the easy way to explain it. He hadn’t felt like he made himself a priority in a long time. Being with you made him feel like he was worth something. It was always time and energy well spent. You made him feel like he was worth everything after just a few hours together.

He felt you move closer to him in the sheets, sitting on his lap as your bare thighs brushed against each other. Your hair pooled around your face a bit as he tried to stop himself from pulling you closer. You may have just been wearing only his hoodie in bed but he could only control himself so much.

"You are worth so much." You said to him. He felt you lean closer to him. Touching your foreheads together. "All the money in the world can't compare."

God, that was cheesy. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing even if he tried.

Daniel let himself enjoy the feeling of you against him. The supple feel of your hands on his skin, the way your hair was just slightly brushing over his arm. Small things he hadn’t let himself enjoy before.

"I think that if we keep doing this," He started to say. He was slow to pull back from you. A the same time he wanted to cherish feeling you against him. "You need to know that it'll be more for me than it was."

He was making this choice for you. He couldn’t do this if you wanted to keep it casual. He needed it to be all or nothing. Full relationship. He couldn’t live with just having pieces and moments with you anymore.

"I understand." You said as he felt your fingers running over the skin close to his collarbone.

"No, like, I have feelings for you. Real feelings. And I can't do this if you don't feel anything for me in return." He stopped your hand where it was. 

He wasn’t willing to say the words I love you. He didn’t want you to shut him down if you heard them, he couldn’t handle it.

"I do have feelings for you, but I never thought that you would let me get close enough to see if there was more than attraction." Wait? What? He thought… it wasn’t just him then. He didn’t have to treat this like it was only based on what he felt for you.

“When did it become more for you? Italy? Meeting Scotty and my friends?” He couldn’t help but wonder. Why had you fallen for him if it wasn’t to do with the money? 

When you brought up the story of him insisting on walking closer to the curb on the street he couldn’t help but feel a light blush make his cheeks warm. He was just being a gentleman. Doing what he thought he should since it was late at night and they were in New York. He didn’t want you walking close to the sidewalk in case something happened. Who knew what could happen if you did?

“That’s when I knew it was more, I knew that I couldn’t make you give me more, so I let you give me what you could, until Monaco.” He appreciated that for a while she had been understanding of the fact that he didn’t want to just jump into something. “By then I was sick of waiting. I needed more… So I took it.”

Hearing that being in Monaco made you want more had made him see that it was more gradual for you than it was for him. He had been apprehensive to share his feelings for you, but now that he knew that you felt something for him, he wanted to be with you more than ever.

"I guess that means that we're both in this." You half asked.

"This means," He said, quickly flipping you onto your back. He made sure to rest his arms against the mattress to keep most of his weight off you. You let out a loud laugh. "That since you’re mine, I get to keep taking care of you."

You were quick to lock your legs around his back while he lightly trailed his lips over your neck.

"Know what that means?" He whispered, nudging your neck with his nose before moving up your neck. You felt perfect underneath him.

"There is... no way... I'm letting you... get a job." He admitted between moving to the other side of your neck lightly digging his teeth into the skin. Nope, not happening ever. You were his and he didn’t want you working if he could help it. Damn the fact that you paid for your schooling.

Daniel had let his eyes pear over to the window to see that it had grown dark at some point. Between the talking, the couch, and ending up in your bed. You had turned the lights off and Daniel had settled in against one of the pillows that you had on your bed. He had felt you move closer to him in bed, he turned over onto his side instead of his normal sleeping position on his stomach.

“Don’t worry, babe.” He put his arm around your waist, muttering into your hair before kissing your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It was a promise that he intended to keep. He let the sound of your breathing settle him to sleep. It had been the first time since Monaco that he had been able to fall asleep without the sound of a podcast or music filling his ears.

The feeling of the sun in Daniel’s face had woken him up. He was under a thick duvet, his pillow crushed in his arms, and a warm body settled against his side. Daniel was careful to roll over in bed. He knew that this wasn’t his bedroom on the farm in Perth, his bedroom in his Monaco apartment, or the house in LA. However, waking up here didn’t seem out of place.

He looked over to the other side of the bed, past messed-up white sheets, and saw strands of hair gracefully falling over a pillow. You were still asleep, turned towards him.

He didn’t want to leave the bed, but he thought maybe it would be nice if he at least made you a cup of coffee. He pulled himself out from under the warm sheets, letting the cold air of your apartment hit his chest.

As he moved through the apartment he couldn’t help but rub his eyes. He looked through some of the books that were on your shelves, pictures of you with your friends that he didn’t recognize at parties and out at dinner.

Eventually, he makes his way to the kitchen, looking through cabinets and opening drawers before finding the coffee mug you always use. His eyes fall on the built-in coffee maker and he can’t help but think that it looks complicated. Buttons and screen. Are there instructions lying around somewhere?

“How do you work this damn thing?” He asks no one. He’s on his last try using the machine before giving up and just using Uber Eats to order Starbucks or something. He’s washed the mug and it’s still dripping wet when he hears what can only be your feet against the light hardwood floors.

He looks up seeing you and can’t help but smile. You look gorgeous in the pink dress that you’re wearing. He places the cup down trying to avoid one of the bigger puddles of water by the sink that is facing the living room.

“How's my girl this morning?” He asks. As you get closer Daniel can’t help but reach for you. Now that he can touch you as much as he wants, he’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He leans down to press a light kiss on your cheek.

“Pretty good.” He can feel the smile in your words.

Everything after that feels easy, like the whole time he’s known you this is what the relationship has been like. He can’t help but stand there for a few moments, in awe of being here with you. He pulls his hand away from your cheeks, looking down at you as you peek up at him through your eyelashes.

“I know I bought the place, but can you please show me how to use this thing?” He says gesturing to the coffee maker.

You laugh pulling away from him just a bit before kissing his cheek. He can’t help the smile that creeps through. God, does this feel right. He watches as you roam around the kitchen making both of you coffee. The little sound of you humming to yourself, as he takes in the thought of being able to enjoy this all the time, not just when he lets himself indulge in his selfish whims.

As he’s watching you, he’s surprised to see you pull out oat milk from the fridge and put it into what he can only assume is his cup of coffee.

You quickly give it to him and all he can say is, “Thanks, babe,” Taking the cup from you.

He lets himself pull you to the couch needing to feel you close. It’s always been easy to talk to you, never having to miss a beat with anything that either of you brings up. Movies, music, anything. It just flows for both of you. He’s holding his coffee cup in one hand while the other is running over your skin, making little invisible patterns that he’s not paying attention to.

He can’t believe that some part of him thought it would be right to leave and run from this. It felt right, talking to you that night by the bar. From the moment he met you, he knew that he was done for.

SD!Danny Ric Series: @hc-dutch, @taylorslovesswifties13, @thatsusbitch, @laneyspaulding19, @basicallyric, @divya14, @zafetycar, @brekkers-whore, @cixrosie, @taytaylala12

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: things had gone from weird to worse in a matter of seconds. it'd seemed all your secrets had decided to reveal themselves to Wally without so much as considering how you'd feel about it. you'd guessed that was the price you'd had to pay for your choice to share yourself with a member of Split River High's Afterlife Support Group.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.10

You were six, sitting on your sister Aurora's lap in a hospital room. Monitors beeped—long intervals, pitched notes—and, below that, your great-aunt's rattled breathing. Everything stank of disinfectant.

Ginny lay in the bed; pruned and pale, translucent skin hanging from her bones. She was just past seventy, but had aged several decades in the two weeks since the symptoms had started. Now, she looked like the skeletons your neighbors strung up for Halloween. Ghastly. Small.

Dead.

Mommy dozed in the armchair across from you, her head at an awkward angle, mouth ajar, one hand rested on her swollen belly. For days, she'd subsisted on nothing but good ol' fashioned Celtic stubbornness, running herself into the ground to undo whatever had put Ginny in the hospital. Nothing worked. Potions, pastes, blood spells, smudging rituals; it didn't matter what Mommy and Nanna did, Ginny's doctor insisted her condition was deteriorating.

It was so strange, you thought, that Ginny didn't just tell them herself. After all, she was able to stand in front of you without assistance and seemed much healthier than she had even moments ago.

She'd been asleep, silvery and thin and wheezy, and then her eyes had popped open and she'd gotten to her feet with the grace of a ballerina. Auburn hair in fluffy curls, pinned neatly away from her face; lips bright, Victory red, and skin peachy.

She was as pretty as a picture in a church bell skirt and smart, collared blouse, the colors much more suited to her than the starch white of the hospital gown. The pendant of her necklace was now one of a pair dangling from her earlobes, silver circles glinting in the sterile light.

"Are you better?" You asked her, marveling at her loveliness.

Ginny crouched to meet you at your level and placed her hand on yours, green eyes bright as emeralds in the sun. She smiled, "Don't tell mummy. This will be our little secret." She addressed Aurora next, "I'll be back as soon as I can, pet."

Aurora nodded, solemn, and you both watched Ginny greet a young man in similarly outdated dress as he entered the room. You didn't know who he was, but Aurora must've because she offered him a watery smile, eyes glistening.

"Where's Ginny going?" You asked her.

She shushed you, murmuring, "You can't tell mom, okay?"

Annoyed, "I won't." You weren't 3, you knew how to keep a secret. You'd kept plenty for your new friend Hana. Like her crush on the crayon stealer, Simon Elroy, or how she always took two milks at recess instead of one.

"She's saying hello to Grandpa Jack." Aurora told you, but you sensed there was a lot more to it than that. You gave her your best glare. She rolled her eyes, "They're probably going to try and find out what's wrong with her."

But, "She's better, dummy," you said, craning your neck to watch her swan out of the room with a man who'd died before you were born.

Aurora sighed the way she did whenever she thought you said something stupid and pressed her hand to your cheek, forcing you to look at the bed.

You gasped, astonished that, there, under the layers of quilts your Nanna had brought, was Ginny; breath rattling, monitors beeping, white as a china doll and asleep.

That was how you learned that Traveling meant something different to your family.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

One second you were clung to Wally like a limpet, the next you'd vanished into thin air. Snapped out of existence like you'd never been there at all. Frantic, Wally looked left, right, to the back of the stage, and then spun around to face the rows of seats.

His jaw dropped, blood draining from his face. You stood at the top of the center aisle, shirt no longer rucked up the way Wally had made it; hair as tidy as it had been before he'd run his fingers through it; skin no longer sporting the perfect blush he'd coaxed to the surface.

Even from where he stood, Wally could see that your eyes burned a nebula of colors, the way they had when Wally caught up to you outside the school earlier. As soon as he'd registered it—proof that something magical had just transpired—they dimmed to their normal hue, just as the man behind you, Mr. Anderson, Wally identified, demanded, "What are you doing in here?"

He seemed angry, more so than the time Wally had watched him chew out a group of boys in the locker room showers for smoking weed. Mr. Anderson grabbed you by the arm and hauled you out of the theater like you'd been trespassing.

Wally charged up the aisle, thoughts of how you could fucking teleport taking a back seat to the desire to shove Mr. Anderson to the ground for assuming he had the right to touch you like that. The connection between you and Wally bittered, shrieked, fear and fury swirling together to pump through Wally's veins.

Oh hell no.

"I'm sorry," You apologized. Mr. Anderson released you, causing you to stumble from the momentum he'd used to force you into the hallway. "I won't let it happen again."

In an ill-fated attempt to wedge himself between you and Mr. Anderson, Wally checked the man's shoulder with his own, but little happened. Mr. Anderson had repositioned himself, almost like he'd anticipated the action, and the intention waned into a light graze. One that had no impact on the man, but that caused Wally to trip into the wall.

Mr. Anderson escorted you through the school toward your locker, gravely explaining that you'd overstayed your welcome by an hour and a half; the Wednesday team practices and club activities already packed up and gone.

Glancing outside, Wally was shocked to see the sky was dark. Apparently, making out with you was the equivalent of pressing a giant PAUSE button on the fourth dimension. He was sure no more than twenty minutes had passed since you'd jumped into his arms and kissed him within an inch of his sanity.

Teleportation and time manipulation? Wally gaped, images of his favorite comic book heroes swarming his mind. Holy shit, you were an X-Man. He had big fat feelings for a Mutant prodigy. Was he the Cyclops to your Marvel Girl?

Needing to do something to ensure Mr. Anderson wouldn't try to grab you again, Wally inserted himself between you and him. A move that appeared to influence Mr. Anderson to maintain the space Wally enforced with his presence.

Good, Wally thought, cracking his knuckles, because while he had no problem trying to beat his way into the living world to knock a few of Mr. Anderson's teeth out, he knew that would take a lot more than noble intention to pull off.

He loathed feeling helpless. Back in the day, he'd stood up for the kids who got bullied, had done his best to fend off the misguided idiots who'd used their post-puberty size for evil. Trouble was that now he couldn't do more than make a light flicker by concentrating really, really hard.

Don't be fooled: Dawn made it look easy, but it wasn't.

Finally reaching your locker, Mr. Anderson reiterated, "What were you doing in there?" His demeanor all wrong. Wally knew enough about the guy to know that, usually, he was a cool kind of dorky. Relatable. However, something had obviously possessed him because he was acting like you'd discovered his hidden collection of porn mags.

Wally didn't like it. He wanted Mr. Anderson to fuck off and leave you alone more than he'd wanted anything for a long time. Retaining his position between you and Mr. Anderson, chin up, hands balled into fists at his sides, Wally willed Mr. Anderson away.

You began, "I was just—" when Wally gritted out, stare fixed on the man's haggard face, "You don't owe this dickhead an explanation, baby."

But you spoke over him, "Mathilda asked me to look for something she'd forgotten in there yesterday. She's in the Mean Girl's Musical?" You supplied, and, jeez, you were quick on your feet.

Mr. Anderson was unimpressed, "For two hours?"

"No! No. I was studying in the library when she texted me."

Wally began to wonder how many yarns you'd had to spin for it to come so easily. Part of him was uncomfortable with the notion that it seemed like second nature to you, while another, bigger, part of him seared the way lemon juice stings a papercut.

He recognized it was self-preservation. A lifetime of harboring a massive secret that, okay, might not get you carted off in a straitjacket these days, but definitely wouldn't make it easy for you to go through life normally. He'd seen people ostracized for less. Like Katelynn who, a week before her death, had been spurned by her scene kid friends because she'd admitted to being a fan of Hilary Duff.

"Do you have to get anything from the library, then?" Mr. Anderson wanted to know, the V between his brows deepening when his phone buzzed in his blazer pocket. The third time in the short minutes since he'd found you.

"No." You said, cowed, even though you shouldn't be. He'd been the one whose conduct had been inappropriate. He should be begging for your forgiveness, not making you feel terrible like it was his job. "I swear, I won't let it happen again."

Wally's blood boiled.

"See that it doesn't." Mr. Anderson warned. His phone buzzed again. "Get your things and go home."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Anderson unpocketed and checked his phone as another call lit up the screen. Private, the caller ID claimed.

"You'll have to use the main entrance." He said, already backing away, "Everything else is locked up." Then he leveled you with a dark look of authority, "I assume you can make your own way out?"

Wally could feel the tension in your muscles, could hear your heart stutter behind your ribs. His fingers twitched, itching to bust the man's head right off his shoulders. And, damn, when had he last felt such violent inclinations? Even against those prima donna bullies, the rage hadn't distended into anything remotely close to this.

"Yeah, I..." You cleared your throat, "Yes."

Mr. Anderson retreated and took the next call that came through, his bark of, "Give me a minute," resonating through the empty hallway as he disappeared around the corner.

As soon as he was out of sight, Wally spun on his heel to face you. You shrunk against your locker, arms folded around your middle and eyes faraway, chewing the inside of your bottom lip as you lost yourself in thought.

Wally moved into your bubble, the connection between you calmed, and smoothed his hands down your waist; one into the back pocket of your jeans, the other gliding back up and into your hair.

He pulled you gently against him, tucked your head under his chin and asked, "You good, pretty girl?"

He felt you nod into his chest, "Yeah. That was just every shade of weird imaginable. Something was off about him." You leaned away just enough to gaze up at Wally. "He's usually so...friendly."

Wally pressed a kiss to the top of your head, "I don't want you to stick around, babe. I don't trust that dude not to do something stupid if he finds you again."

"For real?" You sounded stunned, "Him?"

"Honestly? Yeah. He was giving off serious Bundy vibes. You didn't do anything wrong and he acted like you'd cold-cocked his mama." Wally glared in the direction Mr. Anderson had gone, concluding, "Maybe he's the reason Maddie's blood was splattered all over the boiler room."

"Jesus, Wally, it wasn't a Fear Street massacre." You shunned the idea, disentangling yourself from him to open your locker. After a moment of reflection, "Do you really think he's capable?"

As you grabbed your backpack and started to shove what you needed into it, Wally leaned on the locker beside yours, shrugging, "Like I said, Bundy vibes. And I can't stop him if he decides to come back with a machete, so please," he implored, "Get your stuff and let's go."

Thankfully, you took his advice without further argument. Pulled on your leather jacket, slung your backpack over one shoulder, and held your hand out for Wally to take as if it was something you did all the time.

Champagne-fizz burst in Wally's chest as he accepted the invitation, lacing your fingers together and setting a leisurely but purposeful pace toward the atrium.

"So," He began, "You lie like that often?"

Shame bled into your features as you cast your gaze to the ground. You didn't look at him when you said, "Only when I have to."

"Do you have to do it a lot?"

"More than I'd like, yeah." You shrugged, audibly unhappy about the fact. "Trust me, it's not that I want to. But my family has a strict No One Can Know policy when it comes to our..." You lifted your free hand and air-quoted, "gifts."

Wally bumped into your side sportively. He took a beat to consider his question before he asked it, unsure if he was ready to hear anything other than what he wanted to. "Do you feel like you have to lie to me?"

You stopped and drew Wally back the two steps he'd taken ahead. Looking him square in the eye, you promised, "I'm not going to lie to you, Wally. About anything. Ever." Once he nodded to accept he understood, you moved along, "And anyway, you're now in on the one thing I have to lie about. So, unless I'm under a Fidelius Charm, I honestly don't have anything else to hide."

"A what charm?"

"Do we not have Harry Potter in the library?" You asked as if to no one in particular.

"Oh man, yeah. Rhonda got really into those books for awhile." Wally sloped toward you to stage-whisper by your ear, "She's a total nerd for them. Says she's a Slytherin." Wally straightened and snickered, "Whatever that means. She'd kill me if she ever found out I told you."

You drew an X over your heart, "I won't tell a soul," before you released Wally's hand to push the door to the atrium open with both of yours.

As he followed you down the ramp toward the front entrance, Wally was unable to ignore the elephant in the room any longer, "When were you going to tell me you could teleport?"

It startled a laugh out of you, the kind that starts with a snort. A wave of fondness washed over Wally and he grinned stupidly at you, all teeth and soft eyes.

"I can't." You corrected. Rather, "I can, uhm, project...astrally."

Whoa. You were officially the coolest person Wally had ever known.

A barrage of questions threatened to spill out of him, ranging from reasonable to unhinged. And who could blame him? Normal people couldn't leave their bodies at will and surf the cosmos!

"Astral projection is real?" He asked in as even a tone as he could manage.

"Being a ghost is real." You countered bluntly.

And, "Touché." He conceded, "But you can't blame a guy for being surprised when something out of the Twilight Zone can happen in real life."

You seesawed your head, lips adopting a playful smile. God, you were beautiful. "Fair." You said, winking at Wally who was then forced to swallow the need to pick you up and pin you to the nearest wall with his mouth.

The air was crisp when you both exited the school. He walked you to the picnic tables near the bus stop, resting on the end of a tabletop and pulling you between his legs. Like this, you were pressed flush against him, body fitted so perfectly into his.

The connection rumbled and flared, erupting volcano-hot, piloting Wally's actions. He slid his hands from your waist down to squeeze the pert swell of your ass, and dragged your hips against his.

You gasped, delicate, and let your head fall to the side to expose the column of your neck. Wally took advantage. Brushed his dry lips from your collar to the hinge of your jaw, little darts of tongue and drags of teeth.

"Fuck, baby, you don't know what you do to me," He groaned, his dick fattening in his sweatpants. And he sure as shit meant it. The connection between you was driving him crazy, keeping teenage boy hormones in check an impossible battle.

He rolled his hips, chasing the friction, using the leverage he had with his hands in your back pockets to drag you into his lap. He rearranged himself on the table, slid back to sit more comfortably, and encouraged you to rut against him.

Wally kissed you like it was the last time, like this was the only chance he'd ever have to do it. Slow, deep, slick. The sounds you made, fuck, wanton and needy; moans and gasps and punched-out sighs.

And then, because, of fucking course 'and then'—your phone buzzed right in Wally's palm. Long, sequential blitzes of vibration. A phone call.

You groaned in annoyance, taking your phone when Wally graciously handed it to you, and answered.

"Hey," You greeted, head on Wally's shoulder and body still.

His mama had raised a gentleman, he reminded himself and curled his long arms around you in a loose embrace, repeating football stats in his mind to cool his erection.

"Yeah," You were saying, "Yeah, I know, but I got caught up in the...Well, mom's a big girl, I'm sure she can find someone else to shake the floorboards this one time."

Wally tried to give you an inquiring look but the angle was too awkward, so instead he filed that tidbit away for later, above astral projection but below In Betweens. And, shit, that's right, you were both supposed to discuss your fritzy ghost powers, not dry hump on school property. Oops.

You growled, climbing off of Wally altogether and hopping to the ground, pacing as you expressed with sarcasm and sass, "Why don't you get your new husband to do it, or are we still keeping him in the dark about the family business?"

Wally barely made out the, "Could you stop being such a selfish little brat for o—" before you hung up on who Wally surmised was your sister. With your back to him, he couldn't tell how you felt about the exchange, but from the tension in your shoulders and how forcibly measured your breathing had become, he thought it was safe to assume not great.

"You guys don't get along?" He ventured.

On a last, heavy breath, you twirled back around, "Actually, we get along really well." You sucked your teeth, "It's our mom's choice of occupation that puts us at each other's throats." Wally knew what was coming, couldn't soften the disappointment. "I gotta go." You said regretfully.

He plastered on a smirk, aiming for levity but sounding too dismayed to stick the landing, "You'd think the universe didn't want us to help Maddie."

In what Wally could only describe as a fit of absolutely fucking not, you strode right up to him, slung your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hot, middle-finger-to-the-sky kiss.

"Fuck the universe," You said when you parted, breathless, perfect, his, "I'll come in early tomorrow. Like, seven-thirty-early. Can you meet me in the parking lot?"

Repeating his words from earlier, "Anything for you, pretty girl," Wally vowed, grinning at the prospect of cuddling up somewhere intimate with you in the morning.

Although his thoughts weren't wholly innocent, he recognized within himself the genuine desire to do anything to be near you, for however long you'd give him. Whether that was two minutes or two hours, Wally would be grateful.

"Great," You smiled, bright against the dark autumn evening, "I'll see you then."

A final, sweet stamp of your lips to Wally's cheek and you went on your way, Wally having to watch as you stepped over the boundary of the school grounds and into a world where he couldn't follow.

"Can't wait," He uttered and the connection between you both quieted completely.

💀___________________________

PART NINE - PART ELEVEN

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[winedarkthoughts]

house of addams (7)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 7.3k

— 🍄 summary: you’re invited for a night at the Addams house.

— ☕ content warnings: mentions of (mutual) stalking and taking photos without consent, smoking, weapons + firearms

— 🕸️ a/n: ok listen, i am a sucker for tropes.

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 7: the dinner party

october 30, 2004

The gates of the Addams house greet you with open iron rails, swinging open, just like before, without any kind of assistance. It only makes you hesitate for a moment, because you figure you're in for more of a shock once you get inside.

The Addams house looms tall and intimidating from atop the hill. The sun has nearly completed its descent past the treetops into the darkening wilderness, and the windows of the house are aglow with warm light. It makes it look more like a place fit for habitation.

The image of all of them cozied up at the dinner table, ready to share a meal together like a little family, pops into your mind. But it is very quickly shooed away, because it hurts a little to think of happy families.

A few old lamposts illuminate your way up the path. When you get a little closer, you can see shadows moving through the dirty glass windows.

Even in the darkness, you can see the overgrown weeds and crumbling stone that makes up the exterior of the house, and it makes you even more curious to see what it looks like inside.

Standing on the front landing, you check your watch. Five fifty-five p.m. The invitation said six sharp, so you figure it won't hurt to arrive a few minutes early.

The iron knocker is in the image of a black cat's head, with a mouse dangling by its tail as the handle. You grasp the mouse and rap it against the door three times.

A few moments pass before the old wood is creaking open.

You're half expecting the door to open by itself like the gate, but no. Jungkook stands there, dressed in a dark pinstripe suit with his hair in slick curls. The warm lamplight crawls across his face, but his strange paleness still startles you a little.

"Good evening," he greets you, opening the door wider to beckon you inside.

You're glad you're dressed adequately. The formal dress code was a little intimidating. You opted for slacks, a white button-up, tie, leather vest (even with a silver pocket watch chain for extra flare), and an oversized suit jacket. All with the leather coat you purchased at the bookshop thrown overtop to combat the cold.

Wearing a dress isn't ideal in any situation other than for looks, especially when you're carrying items that are meant to remain concealed, so you opted for a more practical outfit.

You're expecting the inside of the house to be just as decrepit as the outside, but this isn't the case. The long, elegant hallway is lined with framed oil paintings and sconces holding lit candles, flickering in the slight draft, an air that feels a little ghostly.

You follow Jungkook into a large foyer with polished floors and a tall domed ceiling overhead. A grand staircase that branches in two directions leads up to the balconied second floor.

You can't help stopping for a moment to admire the grandeur of the place. Every curve, every corner, is embellished with carved wood or shining brass accents. It isn't even dusty, let alone decrepit.

"Come," Jungkook says softly. "He's waiting for you in the lounge."

He leads you through more labyrinthine hallways, all aglow with candlelight, gesturing you through an oak door.

The room inside is dimly lit with soft lamps, a fully-stocked bar tucked into one corner, the remaining walls lined with full bookshelves. There's plenty of seating options, from plush-looking armchairs to curving sofas.

"I'll see where he's gone off to. Wait here, please," Jungkook blurts out, sounding nervous, and closes the door without waiting for a reply.

You take the opportunity to look around a bit.

Lush ferns decorate almost every potential empty space, probably thanks to Yoongi. There's a table in the center of the circle of seating options, crowded with appetizers. Oysters on the half shell, perfectly pink shrimp and cocktail sauce, chunks of fresh salmon with lemon wedges, all resting on giant slabs of ice.

You walk over to the ledge of the bar, examining all the fancy bottles and crystal decanters. Some of them have little tags hanging from their glass necks, labelling them. Blackberry vodka, silver rum, 0.3% cyanide, hemlock syrup.

It's just as you're ducking your head under to examine the hidden shelves behind the bar counter when a light voice interjects,

"Nosy little thing, aren't you?"

You turn to find the head of the house himself standing there in the doorway, though you didn't hear it open or him enter.

You've never seen him this close before. And what a vision he is. Dressed in all black, skin showing through the deep cut V in his shirt, hair slicked back, and a grin that's just as slick to match.

"Yes," you quip back, unapologetic. "I've made a career out of it."

His smile only widens, as if to say I'm well aware.

"Drink?"

"Please," you reply.

His smile, which is much brighter and lighthearted than you anticipated, remains as he crosses the room and stands behind the bar.

"Any preference?" he asks.

"Whatever you recommend," you answer, plopping down on the velvet green Chesterfield sofa, digging in your bag for your notes. At this point, it's less of a bag and more of a giant mess of papers and folders and photographs held together by a few pieces of straining fabric.

Hoseok plucks a perfect sphere of ice out of a silver dish, dropping it into a martini shaker. He grabs the decanter of blackberry vodka, and a few other bottles and mixers.

"Very thorough, aren't you?" he asks as he pours shots and drizzles into the shaker.

"That's right," you respond, spreading out the near-endless stream of documents according to the map in your head.

You can hear the clack of the shaker, the sound of its contents being poured. A moment later, a martini glass filled with near pitch-dark liquid, garnished with a blackberry, is placed by your side.

"Thank you," you say, grabbing the glass and taking a sip. There's the hint of flavored vodka, a berry tartness, and some other taste that you can't quite name.

Hoseok sinks down in the chair across from you with a matching glass in his hand, crossing one slim leg over the other.

"So," he begins, and you don't have to look at him to feel his eyes scanning you up and down. "You're the one she settled on to sort out this mess."

You pause your obsessive shuffling.

"She?"

In the middle of taking a sip from his drink, he looks at you like he's a little confused.

"The mayor? She is the one who hired you, isn't she?" he asks.

"Yes," you admit. "What of it?"

A slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"I admire your suspicion, ______," Hoseok says, and hearing your name from his mouth is strangely thrilling. "But you must trust me when I say that me and my family have done nothing to cause the deaths and disappearances, at least to our knowledge."

"Then you better start telling me what you know," you reply sharply, fixing him with a strict gaze, and he doesn't break it.

"That is why you invited me here, isn't it?" you ask. "To tell me what you know?"

Hoseok considers it for a moment.

"Of sorts, yes," he replies, cryptidly.

You suppress the slight annoyance that wants to creep into your expression, focusing back on your documents. Spreading out a map littered with red circles and connecting lines, you point to one of the marked indicators.

"This is the Addams House, correct?" you ask, instinctively using your interrogation voice without realizing it.

It makes Hoseok chuckle internally.

"Correct," he replies cooly.

"And these," you point to several of the red circles. "Are the last known locations of the five missing persons. Remarkably close, hmm?"

"Come now, ______," Hoseok says in a playfully chiding voice. "Location may be suggestive, but it isn't incriminating."

"I never said it was," you bite back. "I'm merely suggesting that this house, as well as the surrounding area, displays some very strange qualities. And I can't leave any stone unturned."

Hoseok nods, almost appreciatively.

“I’d expect nothing less,” he says, smiling that same radiant smile.

“You’ve done your job well, haven’t you?” he inquires, setting his glass down and rising from his seat, beginning to circle around the couch.

“I should hope so,” you reply a little hesitantly.

He passes by the bar and picks up the discarded martini shaker, fiddling with it, the ice inside clanking.

“How far-reaching are your investigative powers, I wonder?” he says.

He’s at your right-hand side, and suddenly he tosses the shaker halfway across the room in a perfect arc. It lands in the small sink at the bar counter with a loud clang.

Your head whips toward the sound, focus ripped away from the sea of papers.

When you look back at him, he’s adjusting his jacket lapels, sauntering back over to his seat.

“Far enough to get the job done, I suppose," you reply, trying to uphold a neutral yet strict tone of voice.

"Hmm," Hoseok says, raising a brow. "Far enough to constitute stalking?"

The back of your neck prickles.

"What makes you say that?" you ask, though both of you know well enough that you're playing dumb.

"Ever heard the expression "walls have ears?" Well, trees have eyes, and they've told me all about you."

He's back in his seat, but you still feel like he's circling around you. Not many people make you nervous, let alone intimidate you, but Hoseok is apparently one of the exceptions.

"You should know that I am very protective over my family," he says, the tone of his voice dipping a little deeper. "Naturally, I keep an eye on them."

With that, he reaches into his inside jacket and pulls out several files. Flipping open to specific pages, he throws them down on the coffee table between the two of you with a papery slap!

Staring up at you are several photos, and it takes you a second to recognize them as ones from your own camera.

Jimin, walking to class, his hand frozen in time while brushing through his hair. Taehyung, hands in his coat pockets, meandering through town on his way to the police station. Jin, leaning against the garden wall, cradling a coffee cup in his hands.

It takes you another few seconds to realize that the file is from the pile of folders you brought with you. He must've slipped it from you when he tossed the shaker into the sink, a diversion to make you turn your head.

A crooked grin, slick voice, and sticky fingers apparently.

"I admire the dedication even more than the suspicion," Hoseok says, reaching into his jacket again, but this time he pulls out a silver cigarette case.

He holds it towards you with a questioning tilt of his head, offering you one, but you shake your head. He takes one out, puts it to his lips and lights it with the flick of a lighter.

It doesn't smell like tobacco though, more like cloves and pennyroyal buds.

"Technically," you begin. "Stalking includes inducing fear in the victim; intimidation, threats, and the like."

The subtext is clear: good luck taking me to court for this.

A smile breaks out on his face.

"No harm done," he says. "They were quite flattered, actually."

You don't really know what to do with that statement. It must show on your face, because Hoseok smirks with an exhale of fragrant smoke.

"Don't worry about it, detective," he says, sounding amused. "We're all sinners here. What's a little felony charge here and there?"

You watch the ghosts of smoke twist from the end of the cigarette between his slim fingers. Something about the way the smoke moves is unusual, like it doesn't quite obey the laws of physics that normal smoke would.

"In fact," he says, reaching into his other jacket pocket. "I must admit that I'm a little guilty myself."

He takes out another folder, opens it, and lets it fall on the table. It's a mass of photos, and they're all of you. Sitting in the cafe through the window, walking through town, collecting samples at in the woods.

Now you know where that I'm being watched feeling was coming from. If you were normal, you might've been creeped out by it. But this isn't the first time you've been trailed and you doubt it will be the last.

"I'm curious, though," he starts. "What exactly made them worthy of stalking in the first place?"

You look down at the spread of appetizers like you're contemplating reaching for one. You're not going to mention how you've been trying to distract yourself from what you saw at the lake, or the fact that you find all the inhabitants of the Addams House to be a little too compelling.

"I knew that all of them were cagey if not outright lying about living here, and given this place's reputation, I found it necessary to dig deeper," you answer in a leveled voice.

"And you figured that this place might be connected to the disturbances?" Hoseok replies, though it doesn't sound like a question.

You set him with a firm gaze.

"I never ignore patterns."

He stares right back.

"Words? Yes. Actions? Sometimes. But never patterns."

He's really staring at you, like he's trying to find the answer to some unspoken question in his head. The look in his eyes is somewhere between inquisitive and impressed, maybe even—

"I think you have darker thoughts than you realize, detective," he says. The smoke tendrils from his last drag hang, mesmerizing, between the two of you.

"If you truly want to know what's strange about this place, I can show you."

He's leaning forward slightly in his chair, and but before you even have time to think about what that means, the loud clang of a bell is sounding through the air.

"Ah," Hoseok says, taking one last puff from his cigarette before stubbing it out in the crystal ashtray on the coffee table. "That's Jin calling us to dinner."

He rises to a stand and straightens his jacket lapels.

"Once you're done with your cocktail, we'll head into the dining room."

You haphazardly gather your notes, down the rest of your drink, and follow him out of the room.

He leads you through the ornate hallways, quickly darkening with the setting of the sun. The sound of clinking dishes and pleasant chatter grows steadily louder.

When you emerge into what you presume is the kitchen, you're almost struck speechless.

It's a humongous, grand, high-ceilinged room, and nearly everything is in shades of green and gold. The dark marble floors are flecked with gold veins, the dark wood cupboards and drawers are fixed with gold handles, even the smell in the air has a rich, golden warmth to it.

The countertops are a deep jade quartz, and the floor to ceiling stained glass windows are in patterns of emerald and amber. More plants decorate the space, though these are taller and more lush.

The huge stove is crowded with copper pots and pans, all sizzling and bubbling and hissing with their savory aroma.

There's someone standing over the stove, wearing a crisp white button-up and black apron, a small saucepan in one hand, swirling sauce on a plate in fancy shapes. There's a whole line of plates before him, making him look like a master chef plating up a dish for a hoard of diners.

"Oh, hello _______," the man says cheerfully when he notices you, and you realize that it's Jin (though you guessed as much from his ridiculously broad shoulders).

The next second he's squirting something into a different pan, sending up a surge of sweet-smelling flames, though he doesn't even turn his head from you.

"Hello," you manage to greet him, captivated by how he expertly juggles everything. There's sauteing vegetables, sizzling meats, a bubbling broth, not to mention something that you can't see in the oven.

The sound of shattering glass sounds from the next room.

Hoseok suppresses an eye roll.

"Please excuse me, detective," he says, sounding like a slightly annoyed parent. "If you wouldn't mind lingering in the kitchen while I sort this out. Jin so likes the company."

Jin flicks a spurt of hot oil over one shoulder, missing Hoseok by an inch, but he only bursts into laughter while sliding out of the room.

Jin doesn't seem to mind as you curiously look around the gigantic room, he just continues his work in comfortable silence.

That's a common theme with Jin. He's charismatic and perfectly capable of carrying a conversation, but he appears to enjoy your company despite how quiet and reserved you are. He merely glances your way every few moments, like he's reassuring himself that you're still there.

You like how he doesn't push you for conversation. It seems like he enjoys observing you just as much as you enjoy observing your surroundings (though you do enjoy observing him when he's not looking).

"Very impressive," you can't help but say as you watch him out of the corner of your eye.

"Thank you," he replies happily, and then adds playfully, "Feel free to mention that at the table."

Your eyes scan over the variety of coffee contraptions, no doubt because of Jin the cafe owner. Then you reach the refrigerator, black with gold handles, but instead of plastic magnets there are little antique picture frames with photos of all if the house's inhabitants. Because of course even the fridge has to align with the aesthetic.

"Looking for something?" Jin quips, clearly amused.

It's then that you wonder what exactly you'd find inside the fridge. Jin knows you've been watching him. Does he know what you suspect he is?

"What would I possibly be looking for?" you reply nonchalantly.

Jin lets out a chuckle that would dissolve even the thickest tension.

"If you're looking for blood bags and raw meat, you won't find them here."

He says it so jokingly, that you start to think maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe is he just some normal man with normal tendencies, the only reason for his nocturnal lifestyle attributed to him owning a 24 hour coffee shop.

Maybe you don't have to imagine him standing among a rack of blood bags at the local hospital, stealing them for his own benefit while leaving others without the vital resource.

Because if that's the case, then you have no reason to suspect he has anything to do with the deaths and disappearances. Maybe you could even—

"I don't keep them in that fridge," he says.

Your amused expression drops.

The timer on the oven beeps.

"Almost ready. If you wouldn't mind moving into the dining room and taking your seat," Jin says, focusing back on plating each dish.

You take the hint, leaving him in his element.

Another grand room, but with much higher ceilings, almost like a dark cathedral. There are the same stained glass windows and marble floors, and a massive crystal chandelier lit by tapering candles hangs overhead, though you have no idea how anyone could get so high up in order to light them.

Though the thing that demands the most attention is the long table in the center of the room. More dripping candles, some more like piles of wax with a lit wick, and bouquets of dried flowers serve as centerpieces. A black lace tablecloth, glinting silverware, dishes with images of crows and insects.

You don't even notice the people standing around the table until a small projectile is hurtling past you. Head whipping around, you see Jimin standing there with a slingshot held up to his face, and that face painted with a smirk.

From the way he's looking at you, it's not outrageous to assume that he was aiming at you. That is, until you hear a crash from behind you.

"Hey! Don't hit my azaleas!"

You immediately recognize the voice as Yoongi's, but your eyes are locked on Jimin. This is the first time you've seen him without a mask.

Uncovered by a hat, his silver hair falls across his forehead, and his eyes, unobscured by sunglasses, shine a strange blue-gray.

Something about his face is dangerous, it makes you want to see how close you can get before that danger becomes a real threat.

"You missed," you say, even though the smirk on his face is not one that belongs to someone who's missed their shot.

He just smiles on, and his teeth are sharp. Unnaturally sharp, as if every tooth beyond the front two have been filed down to fine points.

"If I wanted to hit you, I would've hit you," Jimin replies.

Hoseok approaches the two of you, ready to unleash another lethal roll of his eyes. He holds out his hand, and Jimin gives up the slingshot with a little huff.

"We have a no weapons at the table policy," Hoseok explains as Jimin pushes past him. You move to follow, but Hoseok stops you too.

"I'm afraid we also have a no recording devices at the table policy," he says with a knowing look.

You stare at him in slight disbelief, but he appears to be serious.

You want them to trust you, if only for the sake of the investigation. If they know something, you can't seem like a threat.

So you start to empty your pockets.

There's the microcassette recorder in your coat pocket, the digital recorder in your pants pocket, the flash drive recorder in your other pants pocket, the pen recorder in your inner jacket pocket.

You make a show of straightening your clothes before trying to slide past him, but he blocks you again with a raise of an eyebrow.

How the fuck...? Ugh, fine. You suppose you can actually be trustworthy instead of just pretending to be.

You take out the spare digital recorder in your left jacket pocket, the mini microphone in your shirt pocket, the flashlight with the secret button clipped to your belt. And the fake lapel pin. And the video camera in your bag. And the smaller backup camera in the hidden pocket inside your bag.

When you look up, you see that everyone in the room has stopped to watch you, all with expressions of slight shock.

Remembering one last thing, you hold up a finger, fishing out the micro nine pistol from the holster at the back of your waistband, setting it down at the top of the pile of contraband. As well as the extra magazine.

There’s a moment of stunned silence, and you think that maybe you shouldn’t have revealed the fact that you usually bring your gun to unfamiliar situations. But then you hear Jimin chuckle.

“Well,” he says from across the room with nothing but amusement in his tone. “It’s definitely a party now.”

Now that everyone is properly de-weaponed and de-deviced, everyone moves to take a seat, with Hoseok at one head of the table and Yoongi at the other in a tall peacock chair.

Your place is between Jimin and Taehyung, with Jungkook and Namjoon sitting across the table.

You should’ve guessed that Namjoon would be here, live here. As a P.I., you’re kicking yourself that you didn’t guess as much earlier.

Jin is still in the kitchen, dishes clanking. And what you perceive as awkward silence hangs in the air. To them, it simply feels like impatience being soothed.

You wait, wait for one of them to acknowledge the situation. Why have you been invited here?

“Did you enjoy the appetizers, _____?” Jimin asks.

You sneak a glance at him. He’s dressed in a silk shirt that billows around his form, his pale hair now pushed back from his forehead, transforming his face from relatively innocent to dangerously attractive. He watches you eagerly, waiting for your reply. He caught all of the seafood himself, after all.

You just nod in response, but Jimin flashes you a pleased smile all the same.

“We weren’t allowed to have any, of course,” Taehyung remarks, giving Hoseok a pointed look.

“Guests eat first, Taehyung, you know that,” he replies swiftly, but from the little grin on both their faces, it’s clear they’re only teasing.

You wonder how often they have guests in a place like this.

Another silence falls, you sneaking glances at everyone around the table. Except when you dare glance at Hoseok, he’s already looking. He must sense your discomfort, because then he’s saying, “My apologies, detective. We haven’t had proper introductions yet.”

He starts with the person to his left.

“This is Taehyung, our resident coroner. He runs the morgue downstairs.”

This is the first time you’ve made eye contact with Taehyung since you arrived in the house, and he doesn’t seem like the same man you met in the morgue. This man is at ease in his own home, a man who isn’t bound by professional constraints. He’s looking at you now less like a private investigator and more like a stranger that he doesn’t want to remain a stranger.

You’re not sure which you prefer.

“This is Jimin, he’s currently studying chemistry and marine biology at the university.”

Jimin meets your gaze when you glance at him, cocking his head back slightly and flashing a hint of those sharp teeth again.

“Yoongi, our genius little green thumb. He’s the one who keeps the place nice and lush,” Hoseok gushes, and Yoongi gives a little wave and straight-lipped smile, blushing only slightly.

“Namjoon, our favorite bookworm. And brilliant scholar! About to publish his third book.” Namjoon nods his head towards you with a small smile.

“And this is Jungkook, the youngest problem in the bunch,” Hoseok says, gesturing towards the young man in the pinstripe suit. Jungkook acknowledges you still somewhat nervously.

“Forgotten someone?” A voice calls.

Jin saunters into the room, having abandoned his apron for a lace jacket with sewn-on fabric flowers. He takes the empty seat to Hoseok’s right, straightening his hair. But it doesn’t like he’s been slaving in the kitchen this whole time at all. Not one stain on his clothes, not one dew drop of sweat.

“Could never forget you, darling,” Hoseok replies. “And this is Jin, our lovely chef who keeps us all so well fed.”

Jin gives a tiny little bow in your direction, along with one of his charming smiles.

There’s another pause, as if they’re waiting for you to say something. All you can think of is that they already know you, there’s no need for you to introduce yourself. So you say the first adjacent thing to come to your head:

“Glad to have met all of you.”

And you barely notice it, already looking down at your empty plate, but they simultaneously stifle the flutter in their gut.

“Alright,” Jin announces, clapping his hands together. “Let’s eat!”

Everyone but you, in near perfect synchronicity, grabs the silver cloche set before each of their table settings, and places it over their plate. Jimin gestures for you to do the same, so you obey.

When you remove it again, after everyone else does the same, the former empty plate is suddenly full. A thick and creamy soup, speckled with spices, steaming in a bread bowl crusted with garlic and herbs.

And of course no one bats an eye at the casual error in the law of physics, too busy passing around a bowl of greens to garnish and a bottle of red wine to fill their glasses. You don’t object when Taehyung holds the bottle over your own glass with a questioning raise of his eyebrow.

And by God, is it delicious. The cream base of the soup melts perfectly with hints of herbs and the peppery bite of truffle shavings. And of course, the best part is being able to break off a bit of flavored bread and dip it into the pot of gold before you.

“This is delicious,” you can’t help but blurt out, saying it like an aggressively objective fact.

“Thank you,” Jin replies, smiling wide like a child that was just complimented on their most recent art project. Except you can’t display a bowl of soup on the fridge, but you would if you could.

“Yoongi helped me forage the mushrooms,” Jin adds.

Mushrooms? Now that you think of it, the soup does have a distinct earthy taste.

“Do you forage often?” you ask, looking at Yoongi.

“Not as often as I’d like,” he replies.

“Why is that?” you ask, and a small smile tugs at Yoongi’s mouth. There’s a shared chuckle from around the table.

“What?” you blurt out, almost certain that they are making fun of you or know something that you don’t, probably both.

“You’re doing your interrogator voice,” Jimin says, but it doesn’t sound malicious, more like…endeared?

A look around the table, and everyone’s face matches the tone of his voice. He says it as if the two of you have known each other for years, as if you’re friends. It puts a strange, almost sickly feeling in your stomach. You set down your spoon.

Soon the air is filled with pleasant dinner-time chatter. They keep trying to bring you into the conversation, like you’re somehow one of them. But you’re here to get a job done.

It becomes exceedingly more difficult to concentrate solely on the case when the main course comes out. Again, due only to the covering and uncovering of your plates with the silver cloches, the remains of your soup disappearing.

A choice cut steak, generously seasoned, drizzled with a red wine sauce, a heap of garlic and herb mashed potatoes, and more mushrooms grilled to tenderness. You’re not normally fond of mushrooms, but these are surprisingly flavorful in a way you wouldn’t expect from a vegetable, let alone a fungus.

“They’re Pepperwood caps,” Jin says, as if reading your thoughts. “Yoongi grows them on the grounds.”

In all your research, you’ve never heard of Pepperwood caps.

“Hoseok isn’t eating them,” you say pointedly. “Neither is Jungkook,” you continue. There are no Pepperwood caps on either of their plates. Instead, a small pile of white capped mushrooms with brown spots.

“To my knowledge, those are Deadly Dapperlings, yes?”

They all look at each other.

“You don’t miss anything, do you detective?” Hoseok says with a little grin.

Your research on fungi has made you a novice at recognizing the lethal ones.

“Jungkook and I find that the poisonous ones have a particularly robust flavor,” Hoseok continues.

You watch him as he says it, waiting for him to elaborate, but he never does. So you return your attention to your perfectly cooked steak.

“I imagine you’re curious about what precisely the fuck we all are,” Jin interjects the silence, and your fork stops halfway to your mouth.

“Really all that needs to be said is that whatever you’ve already deduced is probably true.” He has his hands clasped together, his shirtsleeve riding up to expose the crescent-shaped bite mark on the inside of his wrist. He smiles when he notices you staring.

“Don’t worry,” he says, sounding amused. “I can be trusted around exposed neck flesh.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“So there’ll be no biting over the course of the evening?” you quip, only half joking.

Jin maintains his level gaze.

“Only if you want it desperately,” he replies.

You mold your face into a hard mask of indifference before you say something stupid.

“I must admit,” Taehyung begins. “I'm a little older than I look."

You stare at him like you’re trying to read a book. It’s true, he doesn’t look a day over thirty.

Jimin clears his throat.

"I'm not exactly...from here," he says, and when you look at him you swear you see something shift underneath his shirt.

The man in the peacock chair shifts.

"I'm a little more tuned into nature than most people," Yoongi adds. It’s only then that you notice that the dried flowers in their vases are leaning towards him like he’s the sun.

Jungkook is fidgeting in his chair, avoiding your gaze. But you can gather as much from the pallor of his skin and the deep-set dark circles under his eyes, both of which become clearer and easier to see the more times you look at him.

He has a ghostly air about him, like a whisper in the wind.

You look at Namjoon, and he smiles with a shrug.

"I just run a bookshop," he says.

A shared laugh sounds around the table. Namjoon rolls his eyes.

"Okay, maybe I've made a few blood pacts, but I'm a folklorist for Christ's sake!"

You genuinely can’t tell if he’s joking, but you suppose it doesn’t matter. Though, judging by what you’ve seen tonight, he’s probably telling nothing but the truth.

Finally, you turn to Hoseok.

“I’m…not all there,” he says, and you wait patiently for more.

He scratches the back of his head, looking like he’s trying to find the right words.

“You can see me sitting here, but it’s only half of me. You can touch me and hear my voice, but it’s not actually me. I need to be…contained.”

Now you’re staring at him in confusion.

“You ever read The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?” Namjoon asks.

Before you can answer, another loud clang of the bell is sounding. Everyone else merely looks at the clock, but you flinch violently at the skull-rattling volume of the noise.

Jin wipes the corner of his mouth with his cloth napkin and pushes his chair back. Everyone else does the same, covering their now empty plates with the silver cloches.

Hoseok rises to a stand.

“Would you like to join us for coffee and cocktails in the library? Dessert should be ready shortly,” Hoseok says, though it doesn’t sound much like question when he heads down the hallway without waiting for an answer. And apparently it didn’t sound like a question to anyone else either, because Jimin and Taehyung are soon pulling you up from your chair and leading you out of the room, with Jimin even wrapping one arm around yours as Taehyung presses himself to your side.

The library is a dark room, no less grand than the rest of the house, with the same candlelit chandelier and sconces. Floor to ceiling bookshelves wrap themselves around the entirety of the room, complete with a wooden ladder on a sliding rail. There’s a roaring fire in the fireplace, and plenty of leather chairs and couches gathered around it.

Jimin lets you go when the door is shut securely behind you.

“Who wants a drink?” Jin asks, heading over to the bar cart in the corner, but you’re more drawn to the tea set on the low table by the fireplace. It’s all black and gold, with little images of ravens on the cups and saucers.

You pour yourself a cup with cream and sugar, taking a languid sip and relishing in its perfect richness.

Jin distributes the drinks as he prepares them without having to ask anyone what they want. A glass of white wine for Taehyung, something sparkling and slightly radioactive looking for Jimin, that same blackberry concoction for Hoseok, hot toddies for Namjoon and Jungkook, and a glass of some citrusy cordial for Yoongi. When you get a closer look at his glass you notice that Jin even took the time to carve a little jack-o-lantern face into half a tangerine as a garnish.

Jin makes himself the dirtiest martini you've ever seen, with only half the glass with liquid in it, the top half being a copious pile of olives.

“So, detective,” Hoseok says, leaning against one of the bookshelves. “How can we be of service?”

Your eyebrows raise.

“You want to help?” you ask, still incredulous. Because to be honest, you’re not quite sure what the purpose of this evening is supposed to be. To intimidate you? Confuse you? Judging by the fact that you stalked them because they fell under your radar of suspicion. You figured that if they were going to offer to help they could’ve done it with an email.

“Of course,” Taehyung says from his seat on one of the couches. “The last thing I want is more bodies on my autopsy table due to deaths that could’ve been avoided.”

“And something is harming the wildlife,” Yoongi adds.

You set down your cup and saucer, digging in your bag to start spreading papers all around you.

“What’s the deal with the mayor?” you ask.

“She's...unpopular with the general population," Namjoon offers. "A little too different."

"She won the election, didn't she?" you counter.

"By the skin of her teeth," Jimin replies. "Minority vote kicked in at the last second. And a lot of people aren't happy about it."

"Different, huh?" you say. The implication is clear.

"Or at least, her ancestors were, and I think her daughter is too. Tends to run in the family, stuff like that," Taehyung adds.

"She looks out for those like us," Yoongi says. "When she can, that is. It's gotten a little harder these days."

"Why is that?" you ask.

Yoongi shrugs.

"That's just how it goes. Some times are harder than others."

"Is that why the mayor wanted everything off the record? Why there's hardly been any media coverage?" you ask.

"That's what I'm guessing," Yoongi replies.

"She's paying me out of pocket," you inform them.

"That doesn't surprise me much," Namjoon adds. "She's always been too generous for her own good. I imagine she cares more about this strange case than most of her colleagues."

"So she knows about all of your…proclivities? That’s why she sent me your way?” you ask.

“I’d be surprised if she didn’t,” Yoongi replies. “Normal people tend to think we’re weirdos, but those who are like us know when they’re looking in a mirror.”

"What about the paper?" you ask.

Their expressions cloud with confusion.

“Uh, what about it?”

Ah, have you finally breached the topic of something they want to hide?

“Several people have claimed to have negative experiences with the press, but the main publishers have barely commented on any of the cases.”

“Oh, you mean the Periscope Press,” Taehyung supplies.

Hmm, maybe they don’t have anything to hide after all. But that doesn’t mean you trust them yet.

“It’s an underground newspaper, independently published, geared towards folks like us. Though it’s mostly full of garbage these days, we don’t have a subscription,” Taehyung explains.

“We can get you copies of the last few editions, though,” Jungkook adds, startling you a little since you haven’t heard him speak much tonight. He suddenly looks down at his shoes like he just realized the fact too.

“If you want,” he says, this time in nearly a whisper.

“That would be great, thank you,” you reply graciously, though he continues to avoid your gaze.

“So, detective,” Hoseok begins, and with the drink his voice is a touch more gravelly. “What’s your next move?”

They’re all looking at you now, curious and waiting.

You look down at your notes and fight the urge to clench your fist, because to honest, you’re not sure.

“I’m sure our little sleuth has a plan,” Jimin quips from his place sprawled out across one of the couches.

“I’d like to get access to Bradley’s reports and records, and wear down Mrs. Bradley if at all possible,” you begin, forming a list in your head. “I’d like to continue fieldwork around the woods and the lake, maybe see if anyone at the university can do some tests on those unusual mushrooms. I’ll be continuing my rounds around town to see if any civilians have anything to offer. Hopefully I can get some more information on the ones still missing.”

“And the lake?” Jimin asks.

You don’t want to talk about the lake. Thinking about it puts a sinking feeling in your gut, the stench of hot poisoned salt water filling your nose.

You don’t want to talk about what you saw. In your line of work, simply seeing isn’t enough. All that matters is hard evidence. So that’s what you’re gonna get.

Downing the dregs of your coffee cup, you start to gather up your notes.

“You’re leaving?” Jimin says, sounding wounded. “Before dessert?”

“I’m afraid there’s some things I wanted to get done tonight,” you say, ready to retreat back into your hole and dive back into the distraction of your work, where there aren’t several pairs of sultry dark eyes watching your every move.

“I suppose it is getting late,” Hoseok says. Though he doesn’t mention that many of them either don’t need to sleep or simply prefer to be active into the darkest hours of the morning.

“Let us send you home with some goodies, hm?” Hoseok nods to his housemates.

Jin cuts you slice of blue velvet cake, packing it up in a little bento box container.

You object at first, saying you don’t want to take a container as nice as this one, but Jin just retorts with a wink, saying that you’ll just have to come back sometime to return it.

Yoongi takes some cuttings from one of the dining room table centerpieces, adding some clippings from plants around the house as fillers, and wraps the bouquet in brown paper tied neatly with a bow. He hands it to you with a shy expression.

Namjoon gifts you a small stack of books, bound together by a leather strap, with The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at the top of the pile. He gives you a smile when you notice.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Jungkook says when they lead you through the dark halls to the front door, which you didn’t expect.

He carries your gifts as the two of you travers first the cobblestone path and then the small hill down to where you parked your car.

“Sorry we’re so strange. And vague. I imagine it’s frustrating,” he says suddenly.

The walk up to this point has been completely silent, so the sound of his voice startles you just a bit.

“Yes, you’re all very weird,” you say, and Jungkook’s face sinks.

“If any of you ever change I’ll be very disappointed,” you finish, and that puts a full smile on his face, full enough that you can see the bunny-like jut of his front teeth.

A few moments of silence, the wind singing a low song.

“You’re very cynical, you know,” he says.

That makes you look at him, but his face is that same neutral expression, dark eyes wide like a young doe’s. He says it like a simple observation, not with the judgmental you’re used to hearing.

“Am I?” you reply, unable to choke back the little sarcastic bite to your tone.

He nods.

“You think no one could ever believe you just for the sake of believing you. You think you need to prove yourself.”

You stare at him, long and hard enough to miss the fact that the two of you have reached your car.

He opens the door for you, and you’re glad that you’re heading to the safety of your home because all these kind gestures are starting to make you feel weird.

After you start the engine, Jungkook leans down to look at you through the open window.

“Try not to worry about the case so much,” he says softly. “Trust your instincts, you’ll figure it out.”

There’s a moment of silence where you stare at him some more, wondering how a man who’s been so quiet and shy for the duration of the evening can shock you dumb with just a handful of words.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you manage after a while. “And thank the others for a lovely meal.”

He nods and smiles, backing up to let you drive off down the hill.

Back at home, you make a fresh pot of coffee and tuck into that slice of cake while you draft an email to the mayor detailing your most recent findings.

Then you look through all the books you have on mushrooms, even go to the internet, but you find absolutely nothing on Pepperwood caps. To the rest of the world, they don’t exist.

You fall asleep with The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde lying open in your hand.

~~~

a/n: thanks for your patience! :)

[noira-l]

𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

⋆ ★ '𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞' - 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

chapter summary: Satoru had a dream about how he grew old with you. It was the wildest dream he had.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader

warnings: fluff, nice, soothing fluff.

author's note: "Even if it's just in your wildest dreams" huh?

"Here again?"

Satoru walked out onto the patio. It was indeed early morning, the sun was just emerging from over the horizon, drenching everything in its orange rays. Green fields and meadows stretched out into the infinite.

"You know very well that I can't sleep that much anymore." You were sitting with a book, in a small armchair, covered by a woollen blanket.

"Go back to bed, at least to cuddle." he put his hand on your shoulder, you were quite chilly.

"I'll finish this chapter, okay?" you put your hand on his palm in a reassuring gesture. Your wedding ring was shining silver.

"You can finish in bed, you're pretty cold." his hands stroked your shoulders. His touch actually infused you with warmth. You glanced up at him.

You had grown older. Your face showed a few scars, wrinkles and signs of a long life. Your mouth was slightly dry, your hair with grey streaks, but your eyes remained the same, still looking at him with kindness and warmth.

My friend, my partner, my lover.

"But the view is so pretty…" your eyes wandered to the rising sun.

"It's prettier than me?" he joked. You laughed sincerely.

"No." A wide, loving smile.

"Well then…" With an efficient movement he slid his hands under you, taking you from your chair and lifted you in his arms bridal style. Blanket flew down. You didn't even protest. It shook you as you crossed the threshold.

"Not the age, sorcerer?" you giggled as he carried you upstairs. He stumbled over the threshold, of course you have to use that.

"No, you're just heavy." he smiled, you scoffed.

"You're the one who just doesn't have the strength."

"Please, I'm the strongest."

He put you on the bed, covered you with a duvet. You opened the book, took your glasses from the bedside table and put them on your nose.

"Not the age, hmm?" he mocked your poor eyesight.

"Shut up." you mended your duvet, his retch was loud.

You made room for him beside you, opening one arm so he could comfortably lay his head on your chest. You were in a semi-sitting position, his arm wrapped around your body. You stroked his back with one hand, the other holding the book. Satoru felt that he was slowly falling asleep, your stroking was really calming. Pleasant heartbeat put him into an unimaginable peace. The whole amosphere was so soothing. So calming..

.

.

.

Satoru woke up to the sight of you, cuddled up to him. You were lying sideways, your face against his chest, legs entwined together. He opened his eyes fully. Your breathing was steady and calm, your face was young and sleepy.

"Good morning…" you muttered, voice a little dry.

"Morning" he stroked your hair. It was like an instinct for him.

"How did you sleep?" that question was murmured, you still had your cheek pressed against his torso.

"I had the weirdest dream of my life."

"Did you again dream about Megumi summoning a teddy bear and you chasing him around the school?"

He muttered, silencing his laughter.

"No, this one was really weird." A moment of silence "Are you using me again?" he continued to stroke your hair, his hand slowly going lower and lower with each stroke.

"Mhm." you nodded "You're exceptionally comfortable today." his smile only grow.

"I should start charging a fee for that" you laughed in amazement.

"You wouldn't pay out." you hugged more of him "The number of mornings I've woken up with your ass on me is definitely outnumbered."

A knock on the door sounded, it swung open.

"'Mom, did you happen to see my new shoes? I can't find them in the wardrobe." Tsumiki stood on the threshold of your bedroom, ready to leave. You looked at the white-haired.

"Did you oversleep again?" face expressed displeasure.

"You overslept too, and I'm not late yet." you sighed and looked at the girl.

"Sure, sunshine, we'll look for them now." you smiled, getting up briskly from the bed and grabbing Tsumiki's hand.

Satoru sat on the edge of the bed, unable to get his strange dream out of his head. He slowly adjusted his sensitive eyes to the daylight.

He never dreamed of dying of old age. It seemed totally boring to him. He wanted to die in battle, on the battlefield. As the strongest should. He wanted to have a challenge in the process, to have fun while he devised a plan to defeat his opponent. He didn't care what happened after he died. His body is worth nothing after death anyway. What would matter to him would be the moment when he could finally say, that he had died without regrets. Oh, but he had so many of them..

So why did he dream of such a prospect?

He never thought of you in such terms. He hadn't considered your reaction to his death. Would you have been angry or sad? Would you have burned everything to the ground? Would you have immediately come to terms with his loss. Would you cry after him? As strange as it seemed to him, he probably knew the answer to that question. But he wasn't completely sure of that answer.

Could he say that what he saw was satisfying to him?

He did not fully know the answer to this. It was so strange for him.

So strange and enjoyable in a way. That was so abstract.

"You overslept again." Megumi entered the room, also ready to leave. The boy wasn't happy about having to cook breakfast today, not to mention the fact that Gojo was also supposed to pick him up after classes, which would probably end up being late again. Gojo snapped out of his thoughts.

"Ay~~ someone grumpy today. Don't be afraid Megumi, I will manage to comfort you after you come back from school." his cheerful voice was driving black-haired boy to annoyance.

"Please don't do that."

"We'll go for an ice cream in the park the wetaher is perfect for that, what do ya think?" his smile so bright, so joyful, the boy thought he was going puke.

"It's too early for that." Megumi crossed his arms. It was only the beginning of spring.

"Don't be like that, you're definitely going to be won over by all those sweet flavours~"

The boy wrinkled his nose and sighed.

"I told you it was too early for that. I don't want to catch a cold." Gojo was pounting.

"Why so out of humour in the morning, hmm?" He quickly lay down on his stomach on the bed, supporting his chin with one hand and glancing at the boy.

"I had to make breakfast because of you and you overslept again."

"She overslept too, and I'm not late yet" Gojo continued, he rose from the bed and started walking towards the wardrobe.

"What a terrible excuse." scowled Megumi following the white-haired with his eyes.

"Now now Megumi, respect my privacy and don't peep at me~" he opened the wardrobe door, smiling, and taking one clean shirt from it.

Megumi growled heavily slamming the door behind him.

Satoru will rethink this dream at another time.

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tl: @kalopsia-flaneur