#he has this tiny little bump under his nose too and you can only see it really clearly on some side shots and idk it’s just the cutest thing

[woso-dreamzzz]

Tattoos III

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: He's teeny tiny like you

Sometimes, when Mumma is busy, Mami takes you out.

Last time, she took you to the park and you sat under a tree and she taught you how to sketch a leaf. It's important work and Mami is very good at drawing and you want to be good at drawing like her too.

Today though, after your drawing session in the park, Mami wants to get Bagheera a new toy so you head to the pet store to pick one out.

Mami lets you look at all the pets while she chooses a toy. You like doing that, standing on your very tippy toes to look at all the animals.

One in particular catches your eye.

It's on one of the lower shelves so you don't have to stretch too far.

It's a little thing. Teeny, tiny like you are.

It's got little legs and little toes and a little wet nose pressed up against the bars of his cage.

You stare at him, eyes wide in awe as he makes a little snuffling noise in greeting.

"Hi," You whisper," 'm Teeny."

He doesn't say anything back because he's an animal and animals can't talk but he does look you right in the eyes.

You back away from him slowly, not turning away until you bump into Mami. You tug on her hand and, automatically, she's passing over your pens and sketchpad.

You return to the little animal, sitting down in front of his cage.

You choose yellow because yellow is a happy colour and he makes you happy.

You scrawl a big yellow blob on your page.

He's got a very dark face and dark prickly things coming out of his body so you were make sure to draw those too.

You clumsily turn your page around to show the little creature.

"Tha's you," You say," Yellow 'cause you make me happy an' dark 'cause you've got dark on you."

He snuffles more at you and you giggle.

His little feet are very cute just like his little beady eyes and he doesn't move around at all. He stays where he is and just watches you.

"You ready to go, teeny?" Mami asks. She's got more than one cat toy under her arm even though she said you were getting only one for Bagheera.

You begrudgingly get up and shuffle closer to the little animal.

"Bye-Bye," You say.

When you turn back around to face Mami, she's frowning. She comes closer too, crouching so she can be at eye level with the little animal.

"That's a hedgehog," Mami says to you," Can you say that, teeny?"

"Hedge-hog," You sound out," Drew a picture." You show Mami your drawing. "Yellow 'cause he makes me happy."

"Oh, yeah?" Mami laughs," Why does he make you happy?"

"Teeny tiny like me!"

"Very teeny tiny!"

As you chatter on about how much you like him, Mami gets one of her weird thinking faces before she's hurrying you to the register and back to the car.

She puts Bagheera's new toys in the front and you wait for her to open your door to put you in your seat but she never does. She just swings you up onto her hip so she can move faster.

You go back to the pet store for some reason and Mami lets you scamper off to go see the teeny tiny hedgehog again while she talks to the man at the register.

There's a few more trips to the car where Mami carries some very big and heavy things. There's a very big cage that confuses you because Bagheera doesn't need a cage. You don't tell that to Mami though because she's Bagheera's Mami too and she knows what's best.

The car gets very full very quickly and Mami makes one last return to the pet store with you.

The man from the register has a little cardboard carry box waiting for you both. He smiles at you and pulls up two little bags.

"Do you want to choose one?" He asks and you look at Mami for guidance.

She nods and you hesitantly point to the sage green bag that has little hedgehogs sleeping so you can remind yourself of the teeny tiny hedgehog you met today.

"Thank you," Mami says as she picks up the little cardboard carry box.

She puts it in the front seat with her, buckling it in like it's a person before smiling at you.

"Ready to go home?"

"Gonna show Mumma my drawin'!"

It doesn't take long to get home. Mumma's typing away on her computer but she stops when she sees you, easily swinging you up into her lap as you babble about your drawing.

Mami comes and goes from the car, bringing everything she bought up and that catches Mumma's eye.

"Mapi," She says," What are you doing?"

"Er...Stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Ingrid," Mami says," Don't be mad."

Mumma stands, adjusting you so you're on her hip. "Mapi," She says," What. Have. You. Done."

"I'm teaching her responsibility!" Mami says," You'll see!"

"That doesn't answer my question."

Very gently, Mami sets the cardboard carrier on the kitchen table and opens it.

You gasp.

"Hedgehog!"

"Mapi!"

"She loves him!" Mami says," You didn't see them Ingrid! She loves him so much."

"Hello," You whisper so you don't scare him.

Mumma always tells you that you have to treat little animals carefully in case they get scared. You must always use gentle hands and a soft voice.

"Mapi are you crazy?! A hedgehog?! She's only little! Do you know how much effort this is going to be?"

"Ingrid, look at her!"

Somehow, with no one noticing, you're cradling the little hedgehog in your hands. He hasn't curled up like Ingrid thought he would. He's completely happy sitting in your tiny little palms as he sniffs at your skin.

She sighs. "You're responsible for him, Mapi. I mean it. You want to teach her responsibility then teach her. Food. Baths. Cleaning his cage. I mean it. You're in charge of him and you get Teeny to help you."

"I will!" Mapi insists," I promise! Don't take him away from her!"

"I have a heart, Mapi," Ingrid scoffs with an eye roll," He's perfect for her."

"Thank you!"

Mumma gently runs a hand through your hair. "Have you thought of a name, teeny? You're his mama now. You've got to choose a name."

"Er..."

He's teeny tiny like you but he can't be called Teeny because that's your name. It might get confusing. You think of someone else who is teeny, tiny.

"Pina!"

Mumma laughs. "He's a boy, teeny."

"Mr Pina!"

"I think," Mumma says," That's the perfect name."

#woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

[rosielovesf1]

adventures in baby-sitting | LN4

sorry can't talk, at a tea party

word count: 1.1k

warnings: so. much. fluff.

author's note: thank y'all so much for the love on my last post!! sharing stuff i write has always been difficult for me, so it means a ton. hope you enjoy this one!!

“Maybe we should’ve chosen the pink one.”

“Lando, my love.” The corner of y/n's eyes crinkled as she turned to face her boyfriend. He was turning over a small stuffed dog in his hands, fiddling with the soft fluff on its ears. “She’s four and loves animals. She’s going to be ecstatic.” 

He grunted and kept his gaze focused on the stuffed animal. 

“You’re so cute,” she couldn’t help but laugh at him, even in his distressed state. He finally looked up and met her eyes at the soft touch of her fingers under his chin. “Don’t be nervous, lovie.”

“Don’t laugh at me,” he whined, despite melting into her touch. “I’ve been less nervous to walk into big meetings. I don’t know why the thought of Maisie not liking me is making me shit myself.” 

“Because you have a huge heart, you’re kind and caring-” Lando’s eyes locked onto hers and softened, the fading daylight bringing out flecks of brown and green. “And happen to be intimidated by a four-year-old.” She kissed his nose playfully before he could pull away. 

“Now come on. She hates when people are late.” That got him moving, pulling her closer to him so he could squeeze her hand as they walked up her sister’s paved driveway. “Ready?” 

He nodded and she kissed his cheek before knocking on the door. It opened pretty much immediately, Lando sucking in a breath as the couple had to look down to see their host. Maisie stood in the entryway with a toothy grin on her face and her hair pulled up into two wispy pigtails. 

“Auntie y/n!” she squealed, launching herself forward to wrap her tiny arms around y/n's legs. 

“Hi, sweetpea.” y/n bent at the waist to hug her back. “I brought a friend with me, too! Oh-”

y/n's sentence was cut off as Maisie ducked behind her legs, peering up at Lando from between them. 

“Maisie, darling, remember that you only open the door with Mummy or Daddy,” y/n's sister, y/s/n, clucked affectionately at her daughter. 

Maisie didn’t look the least bit sorry from her hiding spot. 

“Hi, you guys,” y/s/n said, squeezing y/n into a hug before moving over to hug Lando. “Thank you so much for babysitting!”

“Anytime, y/s/n,” Lando smiled, his eyes darting curiously back and forth between y/s/n and Maisie. 

“Mais, Auntie y/n and Uncle Lando are going to stay with you tonight, okay?” y/s/n said, beckoning her daughter out from behind y/n's legs. Lando’s cheeks warmed at y/s/n's verbal confirmation of his place in their family. “Can you say hi to him?” 

Maisie waved shyly, still clinging to her mum. 

“Hi, Maisie!” Lando said, bending down to her level. y/n couldn’t help but giggle at the change in his tone of voice. “Your auntie and I brought you something.” 

He brought out the dog from behind his back, and Maisie’s eyes widened. She let out a squeal of delight and rushed forward, happily accepting the stuffed animal from Lando’s outstretched hands. 

Maisie hugged the dog tightly, tucking it under her arm. “She’s pink!”

y/n bumped Lando’s shoulder as he stood back up, saving her “I told you so” for later. 

“Lucky girl. Alright, I’ll be back by nine, and all of the emergency info is on the counter.” y/s/n beckoned them into the house and grabbed her purse from the table by the door. “Thank you both, again. Call if you need anything.” 

“Of course,” y/n said, running a hand over Maisie’s hair. “Say bye to Mummy!”

Maisie waved goodbye, the door shutting softly behind y/s/n after she blew her daughter a kiss, and all of a sudden the house was quiet. y/n waited one, two, three seconds and blew out a sigh of relief when it seemed that the risk of the little girl crying at the departure of her mum was low. 

Maisie looked up at them, seemingly taking a second to assess their presence. Her mind made up, she grabbed both of their hands, leading them over to a tiny table with two chairs and a pink teapot. “You sit here with doggie,” Lando was led to the chair on the left, and she placed her dog carefully in his lap. “And auntie goes here.” y/n sat down in the chair next to him, shifting to get comfortable in the toddler-sized seat. 

“This is Maisie’s tea party!” She exclaimed excitedly, dashing around to fill their cups from the teapot. She waited expectantly for them to drink and they both compiled, lifting the tiny cups to their lips. y/n winked at Lando over her cup, and he nudged her foot with his under the table. 

Their moment was interrupted by their host, who chastised Lando for not pointing his pinky out while holding his cup. Lando happily complied, and the trio enjoyed their tea party as the clock ticked closer to Maisie’s bedtime. 

After y/n and Lando had their fourth cups of tea, y/n set hers down and turned to face her little niece. “Hey goober. We gotta get to bed.” 

“Can doggie come to bed, too?” Maisie asked, sticking out her bottom lip at Lando. 

“Of course,” he replied, passing the stuffed animal over to her. 

“Okayyyy.” Maisie got up from her chair at the head of the table, one hand securely wrapped around her stuffed animal, and the other reaching up to grasp Lando’s. His eyebrows raised in surprise at y/n, and she grinned at him, mouthing “I think somebody likes you.”

Lando smiled down at the little girl and let her lead him over to her ocean themed room, complying with her request to be tucked in. He took extra care to make sure that the dog was securely tucked under the blankets as well. y/n just hung out in the doorway, her heart swelling at the sight of her boyfriend being so tender with her niece. 

As Lando said goodnight and y/n turned off the lights, Maisie mumbled out a sleepy “Good night, Uncle Lando.” 

“Good night, Maisie,” he called back, a wide smile breaking out across his face as he walked to stand behind y/n in the doorway.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “She called me Uncle.” 

“I did, love,” she smiled, turning her head to meet his eyes. “You’re so good with her.” 

The corners of his eyes crinkled at the compliment, and he moved so he was facing her. “Maybe Maisie needs a cousin,” he said with a cheesy grin. 

“Hmm, maybe.” She stood up on her tiptoes to brush her nose against his, before capturing his lips in a kiss. “It’d be fun to have another little one running around.”

“I can’t wait.”

@landonorris: sorry can’t talk, at a tea party 🫖

@y/nl/n: auntie duties 🫡

#f1 fanfic #f1 x y/n #mclaren f1 #f1 fic #lando norris x y/n #lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris x reader #f1 x reader

[moonstruckme]

Hello my darling

I have returned with another Peter Parker request🤭

Imagine Peter and reader are really good friends (they've known each other since they were little) and Peter just looks over at reader one day and realizes he's in love with her. It just hits him suddenly

Thank youuu

-🔮

Thanks for requesting lovely!

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 801 words

Peter whistles as you open the front door, craning his neck to look behind you at your half-decorated apartment. “First solo place,” he says, kicking off his shoes. “Not bad, not bad.” 

“For the rent? I think you mean to say excellent,” you correct him, moving into the kitchen. “You wish you had an apartment as sick as this, Parker.” 

Peter laughs, taking in the tiny kitchen, the fortunate south-facing windows spilling light across the space. “I just wish I had an apartment,” he agrees.

Your hum is half amusement, half apology. “I was about to have lunch,” you tell him, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Want something?”

“Sure,” Peter says, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” 

You laugh. “I’m having peanut butter with honey and banana, I know you don’t want in on that.” 

Peter wrinkles his nose. Your sweet tooth never ceases to amaze him. “Freak.” 

You turn on the stove, unphased by his disgust. “I can make you a grilled cheese,” you offer. 

He leans his elbows on the counter, raising his eyebrows at you. “You’re stocking cheese? You hate cheese.” 

“No way, I totally forgot.” You’re both sardonic and fond as you roll your eyes, ducking into the fridge and emerging a moment later with a slice of cheese. “I knew you’d be here and hungry eventually.” 

That’s more touching than it has any right to be. 

“Good forethought,” Peter says, casually as he can. “Yeah, grill me a cheese, sweetheart.” 

You nod, smoothing butter over two slices of bread in easy habit, placing one in the pan to sizzle and making the sandwich on top of it. While the cheese melts, you get started on your own monstrosity, reaching up into the cabinet for the peanut butter. The honey’s on a higher shelf, and you seem to consider it for a moment before gripping the fridge for balance and hauling yourself up onto the counter. 

“Whoa, don’t do that,” Peter says, hurrying into the kitchen to help.

“I’ve got it,” you argue, but you’re already precarious, leaning back to open the cabinet further and nearly slipping off the edge of the counter in your socks. Peter sets a hand on either side of your waist.

“No, what am I here for?” He encourages you off the ledge, waiting until you’ve got your feet under you before letting you go. 

“You can’t be my permanent solution, though,” you laugh, taking the honey from him when he passes it down to you. “I’ll have to figure it out eventually.” 

“Then you should have thought ahead and picked a place without high shelves,” Peter chides, taking over grilled cheese duties while you cut up your banana. “Now you’ll just have to call me over anytime you want something. It’s the only way.” 

You shoot him a look that’s clearly intended to be mean, but you can’t manage it, the corners of your lips twitching mutinously. Peter bumps you with his hip to let you know he sees, and your smile comes out in full force, squishing your eyes and showing off the dimple in your one cheek. Even your nose gets in on the action, wrinkling slightly at the bridge when you let out a little laugh. 

That laugh echoes in your tiny kitchen, and something happens in Peter’s chest. His heart twinges. It almost hurts, but there’s an odd pleasantness to it. His body feels too small for this hugeness, this incandescent, aching fondness that feels like it should be visibly glowing inside him. 

You bend over your work, and Peter’s struck with the loveliness of you. You’ve always been pretty—Peter’s not blind, he’s noticed it over the years—but this is different. You’re…he feels different.

“Whoa,” your voice is soft, chiding but not really as you nudge him aside, taking a spatula from beside the stove and flipping his sandwich. “Jesus, Pete, I’d have thought you’d be more practiced at this. Too used to me doing it for you?”

Peter blinks down at the pan. The slice of bread you’ve flipped over is nearly black. 

“Hey.” You look up at him, eyes wide and wavering between bemusement and concern. Pretty. Peter can just barely see the faint remains of your summer freckles under each eye, faded after months spent indoors. They’ll come back in the spring, just like they have every year since you were kids. Like you’re synched with the flowering trees. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Not really. He feels like he’s been hit by a truck. “Yeah, uh, you want me to grab us something to drink?”

“Sure. Water’s in the fridge, I’ll get cups.” 

Peter digs through your fridge until he gets to the water, emerging to find you crawling back up onto the counter, reaching for cups on the top shelf. 

“Jesus Christ.”

#tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x fem!reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter parker x self insert #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker fanfic #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter parker drabble #tasm!peter parker scenario #tasm!peter parker oneshot #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm peter parker #the amazing spiderman #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter friends to lovers

[sinsandsweetness]

I love your writing sooo much, was wondering if you could write a hyperfeminine reader × daryl one shot or sum like that!

ok apologies, this is actually Rick & Daryl x reader 🤭 if you have something slightly more specific for just Daryl I’m sure I can write it too💗

“I feel ridiculous.” Daryl grumbles, scrunching his nose as you place the white sheet mask over his face. The cold wet serum taking him by surprise as you use the pads of your manicured fingers to shape it to his skin. Smoothing out the little bumps and ridges.

“Well you look adorable.”

You hear Rick snort a laugh from the dresser, where he’s folding laundry neatly into their respective drawers.

“What?” You ask. Curious as to what could possibly be so funny.

“Oh- nothin, baby. He just needs some cucumbers on his eyes, then it’d be like a real spa.” Rick jokes, turning back around to fold another shirt.

“Hmm…” You turn back to Daryl, placing both palms on his chest. He must see the glimmer of idea in your eye and decides to shut it down real quick.

“No. No cucumber.”

“But-“

“No.”

“Ok. Fine.” Your brows furrow into a playful scowl at the man in front of you. He does look a little funny. White sheet mask clinging to his cheeks, only able to see his pretty lips and those ocean eyes.

You’re sitting on top of him. Thighs straddling his waist. Wearing a low cut tank top that cups your breast so delicately. Perky nipples peaking through the thin fabric. And when he lowers his gaze, he’s met with your tiny cotton panties. White ones with these little red hearts all over them. It is laundry day after all. And you’re panties are so perfectly pressed up against the bulge growing hard in his jeans. His hands are on your hips, rubbing mindless little circles onto your skin with his thumbs. And the feeling of your soft skin under his touch, really isn’t helping his situation.

“It’s too slimy.” He complains, one hand coming up to pick at the corner.

“Mkay… we can take it off if you really don’t like it. But just let me rub all this stuff in. Give you a little massage,” you explain, peeling the mask off his face by the corner and tossing it in the bin near the bed.

His skin is glistening wet as you take your fingertips, gently massaging the serum into his skin.

“You really gotta moisturize more. You’re already getting frown lines, D.” Your index finger traces the crease between his eyes.

Daryl can’t help the look he shoots towards Rick, who has to bite back his own smile at your amusing commentary.

Daryl sighs and shakes his head with a smirk. Gosh you two couldn’t be more opposite. Him, dressed in all black and leather. Rough and quiet and even a little mean at times. But you… well you’re perfect. To him at least. To anyone really. Not only with the way you look. Always prim and proper. Frills and bows adorning your flirty sundresses and mini skirts. But the way you act too, regardless of all the shitty situations you and everyone else has been through. You remain bright and kind and soft and sweet and there’s no one else who’d say any different. And there’s definitely no one else who he’d let baby him the way you do. The way you coddle him and cling to him non stop. The fact that you’re giving him an at home “spa treatment”… that alone is enough to prove how much he likes you. How much he adores you. If it were anyone else, he’d tell them to fuck right off. But not you. Not his perfect, pretty princess. The only one who can make him melt into putty the second you get your hands on him.

You can feel his hips slowly gyrating underneath you. A distracted and mindless attempt to catch the littlest bit more friction against you. His cock twitches as his blown pupils linger on the swell of your breasts.

“D,” you scold, eyes going wide and displaying your bashfulness. Though Daryl doesn’t seem to care. Eyes darting up to meet yours as he pulls his lip between his teeth. Biting back his smile at getting caught.

“Sorry,” his gaze shifts to the man behind you; An unspoken invitation.

Soon enough, you feel Ricks knee dip into the mattress, planting himself behind you both, and pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder. Hands resting right above Daryl’s on your waist.

“You two almost done over here?” His kisses move up to your neck while Daryl’s hands make their way to your ass, pulling gently and forcing you to start rocking back and forth.

You let out a sigh, tipping your head back and basking in the attention from both men.

“Think we could probably take a break…” you breath out, pleasant tingles starting to erupt down your spine at their combined touches.

Daryl pulls at the band of your underwear, the elastic snapping back against your skin, making you jolt foreword with a gasp.

Both him and Rick let out a huff of amusement. Pulling on the thong yet again. Getting their hint across as clear as day.

“Why don’t you take these off and let us give you a real massage, huh?”

#rick x reader x daryl #hyperfeminine reader #hyperfeminine reader x rick #hyperfeminine reader x Daryl #Daryl x reader #Rick x reader #daryl x y/n #Daryl x you #rick x y/n #Rick x you #Rick grimes x reader #Daryl Dixon x reader #reader insert #rickyl x reader #rickyl daydream #T’s daydreams <3

[cosmal]

So Pretty | Steve Harrington

minors dni pls

summary :: steve is determined to get his shy girlfriend to see how pretty she is when cums.

warnings/tags :: female!reader, smut, swearing, fingering

“Steve.” It’s more of a statement than a question. You push your head back against his shoulder and squirm.

His hands are warm on your thighs when he squeezes the flesh there to keep you still, craning his neck so his mouth is behind your ear. “What’s up, baby?”

You only keen, pushing your hips further into the mattress, grazing his crotch with the back of your ass.

“You want me to take these off, huh?” He punctuates his question with a snap of the pretty lace of your underwear. A dark red set, traced in white trimming and tiny bow. The matching bra long forgotten, thrown across the room.

You’re sat at the edge of his mattress, between his thighs. He’s propped up on one arm, the weight he’s bearing from the both of you seems to not affect him. Arm flexing, a mass of muscle straining under his skin.

His other arm is wrapped around your torso, tracing the skin above your navel before he pushes firmly into the bump of your belly. He’s positioned his floor-length mirror at the end of the bed so you have a perfect view of you all spread out against his chest. You’re only down to your underwear, you feel so bare and you selfishly love it.

He runs his hand down your clothed centre, fingers spreading in a V over your folds, the damp spot at the bottom between them. He then moves his middle finger the push into the wet material, prodding gently at your hole through the cotton. Tracing up, up, up, the movement so feather light it has your skin breaking out into goosebumps.

"Please." You whine, hooking your head into the junction of his neck, turned to face him. Your face warm where it settles against his bare shoulder.

He hums, bringing your knees together and up towards your chest so he can slide your underwear off. He throws them with as much care as he did the rest of your clothes, landing somewhere you can't see.

He smacks the side of your thigh gently so you lay your legs back down, using his big palms to spread them back open so they lay flat against his own. Sitting the both of you up so he can have both hands free.

He uses his two thumbs to spread you open, your hole quivers over nothing and glistens under the downcast of his light. He coos before he says, "So, so pretty."

He spreads some of your slick up through your folds, smearing it over your clit and across the skin between your thighs. You keen at the lewd noises he makes when he swirls around your clit again.

"What do you want, baby?" He asks, smug because he knows exactly what you want. But, he doesn't love anything more than when he can get you to say it. Make you say something so dirty with those pretty lips.

When you don't answer, obviously either too distracted or shy to say something, he threads his fingers through the hair at the back of your neck and bares your throat gently. You look up at him, eyes glassy, thick eyelashes covering the top half of them. Droopy, but still pretty all the same.

He kisses at your throat, wet sounds left in their wake when he pulls away after each one. He rests his lips over your pulse point and sucks, teeth grazing over your skin when he feels he bullied it enough and you gasp.

"Want my fingers?" He nudges the spot with his nose.

"Mhm." Is all you can manage to say.

"Words, baby."

"Fingers, please." You murmur and when kisses you again you find your words more, "Please, Steve. Fuck me with your fingers."

He nods, moving his hand to palm at your tits. Fingers pinching to toy with your beaded nipple. "Such lovely manners."

He places his other hand to his lips, wetting his first two fingers with his mouth. Moving them down to just above your clit, "How could I ever say no?"

His attention is quick when he rubs a few circles around your clit. Then sliding them to prod at your entrance. He pushes them in, happy when he finds little resistance. You're definitely relaxed that's for sure.

You push further back into him and he hisses this time when you graze his cock that's growing harder in his pants. He curls them almost cruelly and grins when you begin to moan louder now. Pants and little whines flowing past your wet lips, swollen where you've been biting too hard to hold back the pretty moans he loves too much.

You move your feet up to hook around the backs of his calves so he can reach deeper into you. He places his large hand against your thigh to keep it held up.

"Fuck, Steve." You pant, hands gripping into the sheets beside his legs. You turn your head into his neck and he slows.

"Look at yourself," He says when you slam your eyes shut. You shake your head against his neck and he grabs at your jaw, cheeks squished between his fingers. He turns your head, firm but not rough, and you look at yourself in the mirror.

His fingers are almost a wet blur where they plunge in and out of your clenching hole. His thighs flex where they're settled atop the white sheets, pinned down by your own shaking ones. His other hand squeezes at your flesh, hard enough to know you'll be reminded of it in the morning.

You looked fucked out as ever, eyebrows raised and pinched, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Your hair is stuck to your forehead from the line of sweat you've worked up.

Steve looks just as worked up as you. His own look almost mirrors your own, though he still looks firm. Nose pressed into your hairline where he murmurs, "You look so pretty, don't you?"

And when you only nod again, "Say it for me."

"Say what?" You're surprised you can form words, mind too focused on where his fingers don't even falter. Working faster when he adds a third.

"Say you're pretty."

"Steve." You whine and you watch him frown in the mirror.

His fingers slow and you almost jump, "Okay. I-I'm- I'm pretty."

He works up again and your tits bounce when you push into him. Hiccuping when he hits that certain spot that has you clenching around his fingers.

"Fuck, you sound so good," He grunts, his other hand joining in to bully your clit. Hands trying to find purchase against your wet skin. It's almost an impossible task. "Gonna cum?" He asks when he notices you're holding your breath.

You nod.

"Watch yourself cum, baby."

His fingers push in and out, curling and scissoring when he feels you tense, legs starting to shake. You watch yourself in the reflection as your orgasm takes over. Mouth agape as you whine out, hand gripping Steve's arm as he rides you through it.

He keeps going even when you've stopped shaking and you have to squirm back so he pulls out, fingers relentless in their motions, "S'too much."

He pulls out and wipes his hand against the sheets. You're sure to scold him for that later. He pats your leg and you relax against him, boneless under his hold.

"You okay?" He hums, running his hand up and down your bare side.

You peek through your eyelashes at him in the mirror's reflection and smile. Teeth bared, all lovesick and panty. "Better than okay."

Steve groans, "God, you're so fucking pretty when you cum," He chuckles, sitting you up so he can spin you in his hold, laying you down in the bed against the plush mound of pillows. "Now you know, huh?"

"Not as pretty as you when you do it." You pull him down into you, planting a firm kiss against his lips.

He slots his thigh between your legs and you hiss when his knee grazes your centre, still sensitive. "I don't think so." He smiles, planting another peck, "You do this thing sometimes, where you close your eyes and your nose jumps and god, it's so cute."

"Okay, okay."

He lays down next to you and you sit up on your haunches, your legs still shaky when they settle down on your bum. You palm the prominent tent growing in his trousers, "I wanna see you cum, then."

"Don't tease me, bub." He whines.

"'M'not. C'mon, pull those pants down." You grin, ever so eager.

He smiles, "Okay, but not promising you anything as pretty as you."

You giggle, "I'm gonna prove you so wrong."

#steve harrington #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabbles #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x female reader smut

[andkisses]

♡ physical touch | txt ♡

ot5!txt headcanon: the types of touch/physical intimacy you share

♡ ot5 x gn!reader | wc. 1.1k  ♡ genres/tropes: fluff!  ♡ mentions of/warnings: use of pet names, and ofc physical touch  ♡ a/n: bulletpoint format + small drabble, a little something for every member <3 soobin’s first and the rest below the cut ^^  ♡ masterlist ♡

✧･ﾟ: *soobin | piggyback rides

always whines when you ask, but secretly obsessed with being able to hold you and take you anywhere

will 100% knock you into things and act like it was an accident

“sorry babe, u know how clumsy i am” 

you roll your eyes, but hold him closer all the same, squeezing your arms around his neck

“soobin be careful,” you mutter, face buried in his shoulder, and soobin can’t help but smile as he carries you piggyback style down the beach. you’d complained only once–a short and simple “my feet hurt.” and that was all it took for him. why should you suffer when he knows a perfect solution? he knelt down, offering a single, “would this make it better?” already knowing your response, savoring how it felt to have you jump on. sure, he goofs around with the occasional “oh no watch out i’m falling!” fakes and bumping into things, but he’s silently sworn to keep you safe, here and anywhere else. with your head resting on his shoulder, arms around his neck, and his hands tucked safely and securely beneath your thighs, holding you close to him–soobin is perfectly content. he gently knocks his head into yours, a small laugh escaping his lips. “anything you say, dear.”

✧･ﾟ: *yeonjun | neck nuzzles

whenever he’s down or having a bad day or simple needs to hold you

you’re there, and yeonjun’s crawling on top to lay on you like your own personal weighted blanket

he’ll nuzzle into the crook of your neck, his hair tickling the underside of your chin

but the way he shives slightly under your touch as you comb through his hair is payment enough

yeonjun looks up at you with a blank face, tired with the day, but even as he tries his best, seeing you melts away his fear and angst. you’re his healing, and he’s so happy you’re his. yeonjun’s smile blooms even wider as you cup his cheeks gently between your hands. “oh, jjunie,” you coo, and yeonjun blushes at how easily, how quickly he turns to putty in your hands. but he loves it anyway, the warmth that floods his body when you give him your attention. he really would do anything for you. “c’mere,” you whisper, an invitation. yeonjun props himself up, crawling forward to envelope you in a large hug, his arms strong against your back and his nose tucked into the crook of your neck. he shivers a little when you start to comb your fingers through the hair on the back of his head. this, he’s sure, is paradise.

✧･ﾟ: *beomgyu | slow dancing

any time. any place. with or without music. beomgyu just loves to hold you close and sway to whatever

in the kitchen when you’re baking and you’ve just set the timer along with the radio

outside in the rain when you’ve both forgotten umbrellas and he can get once dance in, singling whatever song you like

if he can hold you close in the most classically romantic fashion, he will

the clock is surely past midnight; outside has quieted down as much as the city can. the lights are all off, safe for the one light in the kitchen. it casts a broken yet warm glow to everywhere it can reach. beomgyu doesn’t care, though, he’s too busy reveling in having you in his arms once again. every time is like magic, something he wished for long ago that’s only now true. he rocks you back and forth around the tiny living room, his hand in yours and on your hip, keeping you safe. beomgyu can feel your warmth, smell your perfume, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. he loves the weight of your body pressing into his, using his strength to hold the both of you. a some point, the two of you stopped dancing, ending up in one spot. he’s convinced you’re asleep as he sways you gently, but he’s certain, if he can stay in this joy forever, he’ll stand here for eternity.

✧･ﾟ: *taehyun - bridal carry

gym rat muscle big idk what u call it but it isn’t just for sure

taehyun like to put his well earned muscles to work

it could be wrestling you and pinning you down to cover you in kisses and giggles

or, his personal favorite, scooping you up and carrying you wherever you request

the laughter that falls from your lips is his favorite sound, taehyun decides, as he scoops you up into his arms and holds you close to his chest. one arm firm behind your back, the other beneath you knee, he grins as you throw your hands around his neck and laugh into him. “where to?” he asks, as if you actually have somewhere to go on a lazy saturday evening. you shake your head. “uh, back to where i was?” taehyun fakes a pout–he wouldn’t get to hold you so close for very long if he just put you down. so he nods, and goes, “a small trip then,” and proceeds to hold and swing and walk you around the apartment and in every room. your bubbly laughter as he swoops and dips you, like your own personal roller coaster, keeps him going. when he finally gets back to the couch, he sits down, you still in his arms. you reward him with a kiss–sweet and tender, and it’s all taehyun needs.

✧･ﾟ: *kai -  tiptoe kiss on the stairs

we get it. he knows it u know: he’s tall

so he isn’t used to being the tall person in a kiss

which is why, whenever he can orchestrate it to happen

he’ll race down the stairs ahead of you and stop, turning around with a pout and wink

stairs. his favorite. kai races ahead of your laughter, wind rushing through his hair as he basically skips to the bottom of a record-breaking five steps. you’re caught up in your giggles behind him, holding onto the railing. when kai turns around, the most obnoxiously fake wink on his face, you laugh even harder. you’re careful to make it down the steps, laughter still bubbling up, until you stop on the step just before the end. it gives you enough height on him that kai has to look up–and he thinks you look like an angel, with the moonlight and street lamps behind you. his arms wrap around your waist to keep you steady–and to pull you closer–as you lean down to kiss him. it always ends with him twirling you around fairytale style. it’s the least he can do to thank you for these indulgences.

#kdiarynet #kwritersworld #kflixnet #k-labels #txt headcanons #txt fluff #enhypen #txt #headcanons #all

[talesofesther]

honey-like

Eddie Munson x Reader

This story belongs to the Moonstruck universe

Summary: Eddie will never have enough of your kisses, luckily for him, you're just as addicted.

A/N: Challenge for ya, tell me who's more in love with who here. A sweet anon requested this. <3

Masterlist

"What do you want for dinner?" Eddie asked, his raspy voice resonating through his trailer while he sat on the kitchen counter, eyes trained on the little notebook in his hands and tongue poking out of his mouth as he wrote.

"Uh, I don't know Eds," you walked out of the bathroom, towel in your hands as you finished drying your hair. As it has recently become tradition, you were spending the weekend at Eddie's home, "we can order something if you'd like."

"Pizza?" He glanced up, pointing his pen at you. His brown curls were pulled up in a loose bun — made by you, after Eddie was almost tearing up in frustration because it was too hot and he couldn't get his hair up himself — and he wore his red flannel over faded black sweatpants.

Eddie smiled something shy, dark gentle eyes crinkling on the sides when you didn't answer, and just gazed at him with what you could only assume was adoration, given his red cheeks.

You chuckled, shaking your head and avoiding his eyes; "pizza sounds perfect."

"Come here, princess." Eddie threw aside his notes with the grocery list, extending both hands to you.

Letting go of your towel, you walked up to him, standing between his knees with your arms locked around his shoulders.

With a gentleness he kept only for you, Eddie pushed damp hair strands behind your ears, "beautiful," he breathed, hooded eyes roaming over every inch of your face.

You leaned in, bumping your nose with his before pulling back in a tease that had him groaning, "look who's talking."

Eddie snorted, making the dimples appear on his cheeks, the shape of his smile shining under the cheap yellow lights of the trailer.

"You're making going to the market without you really hard, you know that?" Eddie pouted exaggeratedly, raising an eyebrow at you, "'m gonna miss you."

Bringing your hands up, you squished his cheeks, making his lips all the more plumper. "You remind me of a puppy with separation anxiety sometimes." The frown on his brows made you giggle, "I'm tired today, baby, and you'll be back in no time. I'll be here waiting, always."

There was some kind of soulmate shit with you, there had to be, with the way Eddie felt drawn to you. He encircled his arms around your waist, your heart was beating against his and it still didn't feel close enough. He leaned in slowly, his top lip grazing yours first, not knowing where your breathing started or his ended. The gentle pull of your hands on the hair at the nape of his neck finally had him kissing you, all shy and pretty still. You caught his lower lip between yours and suddenly Eddie was in space; surrounded by a galaxy of stars as he tasted you, sweet as honey.

Breathing felt like a punishment when it forced Eddie to stop kissing you. He took barely a puff of air through his lips, before cupping your cheek with one hand and leaving several pecks at the corner of your lips and to your cheeks, until you were both smiling too hard.

"Oh," you pulled back to look at Eddie, "see if you can find a litter box for Ozzy, we'll need one for the van, maybe a tiny leash too." You pointed out, straightening the lapel of his flannel.

"A- a what? For the van, princess?" Eddie stammered, his lips parted in a confused frown as he tilted his head.

"A litter box for Ozzy, for when we go traveling," you said, as if it was the most obvious thing.

Eddie's hands landed on your waist, his thumbs sneaking under your shirt and grazing the skin of your belly. "You… wanna take the cat, on our trip?" He asked slowly, raising his eyebrows.

As if on cue, the black ball of fur jumped up on the counter, rubbing himself on Eddie's back and purring loudly like he wanted in on the conversation.

You ran a hand over the cat's back, stroking the soft fur; "of course I do, we're not gonna leave him alone, your uncle is barely home." Some unruly curls had broken free from Eddie's bun, you twirled one of them on your fingers with your free hand.

He chuckled, sounding warm and pretty, guitar-scarred fingertips tracing the bare curve of your spine; "alright, where do you wanna go?"

"Well, first of all, I really wanna see the Washington zoo, then a few parks, museums," you listed, biting the inside of your cheek in thought, "oh there's the arts one in Indianapolis," you snapped your fingers, excited smile on your lips.

Eddie was only looking at you, chocolate brown eyes almost completely black with his blown pupils. He was smiling all soft and dreamy.

You dropped your hands to his thighs and squeezed, "and what do you wanna see, pretty boy?"

Eddie hummed, "for me, it's whatever," he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, leaning in again, "you know, as long as I'm with you and all."

It had you giggling, heat coming up your neck and to your cheeks, "charmer, charmer," your lips brushed his as you spoke and he stole another kiss.

You pulled away before he got too into it, leaving a pouty Eddie chasing for you. "Go before the market closes, I'll order the pizza," you booped his nose.

Eddie hopped down from the counter, taking hold of your hand before you turned away, "one more for good luck?"

"You're impossible," you chuckled, hands closing around his flannel and pulling his lips to yours.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Eddie’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @science--hoes @cherrypieyourface @tssf-imagines @astream-ofconsciousness @fentyreligion @fantasylovestoryme @justabeautiful-letdown @crazyrapunzel @yessica41 @dancing-hillary @bakugouswh0r3 @jakebasement @zervopoulouu @forverdaydreamer-blog @fromthedt @oeuryale

@mcueveryday @witchbinchstories @call-me-magpie @loveshineslikethesky @luvmybbies @tvserie-s-world @agirlsguidetolove @hallothankmas @sweetpeapod @forsaken-letters @hazydespair @fangirling-4-ever @electric-cabaret @ollyoxenfrees @twinkofmydreams @paola-carter @masterlistmanic @xceafh @andraimeide @esoltis280 @eddielives1986 @totallynotkaibiased @just-love-reading

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #strangerthingsedit #stranger things #eddie munson x you #imagine #fanfic #fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddiemunsonedit #joseph quinn #stranger things x reader #st #my story

[sluttyten]

UNHOLY - Chapter Sixteen

full masterlist || UNHOLY chapter index

summary: Renjun led you, WinWin, and Mark away from the House, brought you to a portal, but you couldn’t even imagine where it will lead to, and what exactly you will find on the other side.

length: 17,340 words

tags: a few things, but the only one that’s really important is tw vomit (at just one small point) and angst, which there’s a decent amount of this chapter

<-previous || next–>

Swimming through the icy cold black waters of this portal fountain takes more out of you than you could have imagined. Only the presence of WinWin at your side, his hand in yours, keeps you moving onward, moving down into the colder and darker abyss. This water feels deeper than the portal into Purgatory had. Your lungs scream for air, but you can’t see the light of the surface rising towards you yet.

WinWin’s arm slides around your waist instead of just holding your hand. 

Maybe he was right.

Maybe this has all been a trap.

Maybe you’re swimming into nothing, down into the abyss that you had hoped to save yourselves and Yuta and Ten from. Would it be so bad, you wonder? To just open your mouth and let the black water in? To keep sinking? 

You’re so tired.

WinWin’s arm hooks around your middle, his legs kick and bump against yours as he continues swimming. You weakly try to keep going, but what’s the point when all that is ahead of you and behind you and on either side of you is blackness. There’s no sign of Mark or Renjun. There’s nothing. The water is thick and black, a struggle to swim through even if you’d been full of energy.

It makes no difference whether your eyes are open or closed, so you close them. You kick your legs, and hope WinWin is still swimming down. Or is it up at this point? You can’t even tell. You feel so waterlogged that gravity has no meaning. 

You feel WinWin kicking his legs more frantically, swimming forward with a renewed sense of desperation, and you wonder if he’s running out of air as well. Are these the last surges of energy before he gives up too?

You’re startled out of your existential dread when your head breaks the surface. 

There’s only time to gasp, expelling water, sucking in a tiny breath, before you’re pushed back under. 

WinWin’s arm tightens around you, fingers slipping on your skin as he attempts to drag you back towards the surface. You open your eyes, feeling the sting of briny water, and you realize why you hadn’t seen the surface approaching. 

Waves roll overhead, pushing you and WinWin down beneath the water again, buffeting you back from the shore as he attempts to swim for it. Dark sand and pebbles roll beneath your toes, a gray sky of roiling black clouds flashes with lightning above the surface before everything fades to black again. Only when the lightning flashes can you see anything at all, but the fact that there’s a surface world to see reinvigorates you to try.

Now you grasp WinWin, swimming with him again for the surface only to be buffeted down again. And again. Your lungs sear with the need for air again, but WinWin grabs your hand, swimming with you along the pebbly bottom of this sea, aiming for the slope up towards the shoreline, hoping that if you just stick to the bottom that it will be easier to make it to the surface. You keep your eyes forward and upward, watching for any lull in the waves, any sign that the stormy sea could be calming even a little bit.

WinWin’s fingers dig into your wrist, jerking you forward, trying to get you to swim faster. You understand the urgency of the situation. Your lungs ache with the need to breathe, and you know that you’ve only got moments before your instinct to breathe overwhelms your sense to not drown. 

You can feel the storm waves beating down above you, the force of them sending you crashing more than once down against the pebbles, getting a nose full of sand at one point, but still you and WinWin struggle onward.

 Again, you break the surface, feet somewhat steady on the pebbled seabottom. A wave crashes over you causing your knees to buckle. You force yourself to your feet again. Another wave. You crawl forward, receiving a slap over the head from a mountain of water. You drag yourself through the foam piling on the edge of the shore, washing through the stones which roll, slick with seawater and moss and slime, but this time, the wave only washes over you. This time you can gasp for breath and breathe in the air. This time you haul yourself forward, and collapse facedown on the shore.

“I’m–” Beside you, WinWin’s voice is a rasp, coughing up and gagging on saltwater forcing its way out of his lungs. He tries again, “I’m never fucking doing that again.”

“Agreed,” answers a voice from a few feet away.

You lift your head. 

The storm rages on overhead, lightning illuminating the shore. Renjun is spread out on his back, embracing a faceful of rain. He turns his head to look at you. “I’m glad you could join us. That was brutal.”

“Where’s Mark?” You ask. You can’t bring yourself to sit up or do more than lift your head. 

“Over here.” 

His voice comes from your other side. You don’t have it in you to turn your head that way. You don’t even have the strength to keep your head up. You drop your cheek back to the pebbly sand beach. Your whole body aches. Your shoulder throbs. There’s a pounding headache growing. Your cheek burns from the saltwater and the grit that have touched the slash on your cheek from that branch earlier. 

The pebble sand crunches, and you feel Mark’s hand on your shoulder, his touch gentle as he carefully turns you over. You blink as the rain peppers your face, but there is Mark above you, blurry again for the second time in the last half an hour. 

“Baby,” he says affectionately, stroking your hair. “You’re safe now.”

Mark shifts, sitting down on the wet stones, and he lifts your head into his lap. You want to close your eyes and sleep, but Mark touches his cool fingers to the side of your throbbing head, pressing in a way that makes it feel even worse. You squeeze your eyes shut, startled a little when his skin brushes your lips. Then you feel the wet heat, taste the metallic tinge leaking over your lips, and you realize what’s happening.

“Drink. You need it.” Mark curls around you, ignoring the other two as they pull themselves up off the ground. 

You hate the taste of blood, but you can’t deny that you can feel it taking effect as soon as you first swallow down a bit of it. The pain lessens, strength returning, the scratch on your cheek knits itself back together. You push his wrist away after you’ve had your fill, now utterly disgusted by the taste of the blood on your tongue.

Mark softly kisses your forehead. “Better?”

You nod. “Better. Thank you, Mark.” You sit up, brushing away the sand that sticks to you, and as Mark moves away to go check on Renjun, you take a look around. 

The stormy sea extends far into the distance ahead of you. Behind you, a steep cliff rises into the sky, a narrow, winding stair cuts up the face of the stone, leading up to the top of the cliff, tufts of grass and chunks of white and pink flowers peek over the cliff’s edge. There’s a small hint of something, and as you blink through the rain trying to see it, you can’t quite make out what’s up there, other than a shadowy indication that there is some sort of structure up there. But there’s no real sign of what type of sanctuary Renjun has brought you to.

“Where are we?” You ask, pushing up onto your feet. 

WinWin groans, lifting himself off the ground, slowly rising onto his feet. He stares up at the cliff. Mark comes to stand on your other side, and Renjun steps up beside him as well.

“We’re still in Purgatory,” Renjun explains, “But they won’t be able to find us here. We’re safe.” He sighs heavily and points up at the winding stairway up the cliff face. “But we still have to climb up there.” 

Even after drinking the healing blood from Mark, your body is aching and tired. The prospect of climbing all that way sounds dreadful. 

“Do we have to?” WinWin staggers, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Unless you want to live on this beach,” Renjun says, “Yes, we have to. There’s someone up there that wants to see us. He’s eager to meet everyone.”

You, Mark, and WinWin exchange confused looks, but in typical fashion, Renjun doesn’t elaborate. He walks away toward the base of the cliff. 

“We are safe here, aren’t we?” WinWin mutters out the side of his mouth. Mark shrugs. 

“There’s only one way to find out.” You pick your way carefully over the beaten pebbles at the sea’s edge to the bigger rocks where the beach butts up against the cliff’s base. You call back at them, “Come on!” 

You choose not to think about how long and grueling this climb up to the top of the cliff is going to be. You’ll just take it one step at a time, following behind Renjun with slow progress as all of you are tired and sore at this point. The only relief in all of this is that there is a handrail fixed to the cliff’s face, making it slightly easier to haul yourself up step-by-step. You can’t look down either, terrified as the ground falls away and the cliff slopes steeply down to the rocks below. 

Only once do you look down and that’s only to look backwards, checking to make sure that Mark and WinWin are behind you. You’re surprised to find that they are, but more than that, Mark is carrying WinWin on his back. WinWin’s arms are around Mark’s shoulders, his legs around Mark’s waist, his cheek resting against the top of Mark’s head. To Mark’s credit, he doesn’t seem too burdened at all, but that could just be a perk to his vampire strength.

 You’re all panting, drawing in ragged breaths, calves and thighs burning from the climb when at last your party emerges at the top. 

Mark collapses to his knees, dumping WinWin off onto the soft green grass that covers the ground up here, and WinWin, without complaint, spreads out like he’s on the softest bed. Renjun stands with his hands on his hips, face lifted to the rain which has tapered to a gentle mist. You want to do what all three of them are doing, but instead you look out at your surroundings.

 You stand on top of an island in the midst of an endless sea. Strange gulls wheel on the wind above the island. In the distance there is sunlight shining on a blue sea, but here the air is bitterly cold and damp with teeth, cutting through your wet clothes. The steely gray sea batters against the shore beneath you, splashing high up the face of the cliff to your right where you can see huge monolithic rocks rising from the water; they must have once been a part of the cliff before weather and time cast them down into the sea. 

Closer at hand, there is something much more amazing.

A lone lighthouse sits here atop the island. And it’s not just a lighthouse. It’s more of a house that happens to have a lighthouse sticking out of it, the top of it nearly disappearing in the clouds. The house itself is gleaming white, polished and clean. It is a fine house, not nearly as large as the House you’d just left, but it’s more than large enough to house you and your companions, and certainly much larger than anything you’d expected to find here. A nicely paved path winds from where you stand, through the gate of a white picket fence, to the front steps of the house.

The gate in the fence is already partially open, moving slightly in the breeze. Flowers line the pathway; beautiful flowers like you’ve never seen in vibrant colors that stand out even in the muted light from the storm. It looks inviting, but there’s no one here to invite you in.

“So where’s our host?” Mark asks from his spot kneeling on the ground. He rolls his shoulders, shaking out his arms. “Who is it?”

Renjun glances over at you. “Don’t freak out.”

That makes WinWin roll over onto his stomach. “Why would we freak out?”

“Well,” Renjun wrings his hands together. “He is a Watcher.”

You’ve never seen WinWin move so fast, even with his injury. One second he’s lying on the ground, and in the next he’s right in front of Renjun, his hand tight around the other’s throat. 

Renjun coughs, hands struggling at WinWin’s fingers. 

“I– said– don’t–” Renjun chokes out, feet kicking in the air as WinWin lifts him. 

“What excuse could you possibly have?” WinWin growls, eyes flashing yellow in the gray light of the storm. “How could you have brought us here? Brought her here, claiming this would be a safe place for her? What explanation is there?”

“A simple one,” states a calm voice, startling all of you.

A man stands several feet away, leaning on the fence. His hair is wind-tousled, long and loose around his face. Just looking at him, you can’t quite determine his age. He’s older than you, that’s certain, but his face is unlined and full of a youthful glow; his eyes betray him, deep and worn with age, like he’s seen everything since the beginning of time. But he offers up a smile. 

“I’m glad you all could make it. The storm had me a bit worried, and of course, the unexpected change in plans leading to a more rushed arrival meant I didn’t have much time to make arrangements,” the man says, a shine in his eyes. He stands up straight, reaching forward to swing the gate open further. He looks over the three of you, his gaze landing on WinWin. “You need not worry, my boy. She will be safe here. All of you are welcome and safe here in my home. That means you have to let go of him.”

With a slight frown, WinWin releases Renjun, who gasps as his feet touch down again; he scrambles away, putting a few feet of distance between himself and the werewolf. WinWin ignores Renjun, automatically moving closer to you, his arm brushing against yours. “All of us?”

The man nods again, offering an even brighter smile. “Of course. I’m grateful to have you all here.” 

“Excuse me,” Mark says, finally pushing up from his spot kneeling on the ground. “But why do you care? Why are we here? Who are you?”

Your gracious host steps aside, swinging the gate fully open now. “Would you like to come inside? We could discuss all of this much more comfortably inside, out of the elements.”

Renjun walks through the gate, passing by the man and heading straight for the house. None of the three of you move, watching him go, watching your host still watching you. 

“Why should we trust you?” WinWin asks.

“Trust is a big thing for you, isn’t it?” The man says, and he lifts a hand from the fence to comb his hair back from where the wind keeps blowing it in front of his eyes. “I can’t blame you, of course. Having been raised as a lone wolf, of course you’re going to be protective when you’ve finally found your pack as an adult.” His gaze hones in on you. “When you find someone truly worth protecting, why would you be able to trust anyone who might put her in harm’s way.”

WinWin growls, stepping in front of you to hide you from the man’s sight. You peer around WinWin, not wanting to look away from the strangely calm and warm aura the man gives off. He grins, sending a wink your way, and there’s something almost feline about the way that he holds himself in that moment – a certain pride and amusement at the situation that you swear only cats can embody. 

Mark shifts beside you, and the man’s gaze returns to him.

“To answer your questions, young man, you are here because I’ve invited you here. I’m bringing you under my wing of protection, into my home, where you will be shielded from the ever-Watchful eyes of my brother Watchers.” His gaze cuts suddenly back to WinWin when he says, “And you can trust me not to betray you to them because I have been hiding here from them for a few decades now. If anything, I should be worrying that it is you I cannot trust.”

You can tell from the tense set of WinWin’s shoulders that he doesn’t like having that accusation thrown at him. You twist your hand in the back of his shirt, and you rest your cheek against his arm. He relaxes only slightly.

The man shrugs. “I’m not really worried. Any enchantments or tracking or bugging they might have somehow placed on you would have been washed away in the sea and negated by the other shields put around this island.” 

From his words alone, you can tell that he must be powerful if he can hide himself and this entire island from the Watchers. But now that you look closer at him, as you truly focus on the man leaning against the fence, you realize that you can feel the power emanating from him. This isn’t just a Watcher that Renjun has brought you to. He must be a high-level Watcher, like those who have immense power rivaling or perhaps even surpassing the High Watcher himself. 

“Like I said before,” the man continues, “you’re safe here. I haven’t held the same beliefs as my brothers for many, many years.  My brothers favor humans, thinking very little of the supernatural beings.  I find God’s other creations delightful, wonderful companions for the most part. Werewolves, demons, and vampires.” His gaze flicks towards Mark, settling on him and the scrapes that are still healing from the scuffle with the creatures in the garden of the Watchers. “I know my brothers don’t feel the same.”

“I appreciate that, sir.” Mark dips his head, staring down at his feet. “But you still haven’t answered why you care enough to offer us protection. And we still don’t know who you are.”

He smiles warmly once again, gesturing back towards his house. The front door is open, Renjun having disappeared inside. “Once again, I welcome you to come inside where we can talk about it.” He looks from Mark to you, then says, “The storm doesn’t quite look like it’s clearing up any time soon, and the three of you already look soaked to the bone. I’ve got warm showers, fresh clothes, and a kitchen table waiting to be filled with food fit for guests.” 

WinWin sighs as a sharp breeze blows up the cliff’s face, whipping and biting at your backs. He shivers, and you remember that his clothing, in addition to being soaking wet, has large gaping holes in it from when you went supernova in the garden. WinWin says, “Let’s just go inside. You trust Renjun, Renjun trusts him. I guess we’re all just in one big fucking trust circle.” He reaches down to take your hand, and you quickly tangle your fingers with his to offer a reassuring squeeze. WinWin glances over to check your face, then he says, “Also, I’m starving, and a warm shower sounds amazing.”

Your host laughs. 

The sound rings on the wind, and for a moment you swear a distant ray of sunlight spans the ocean to warm your back. His eyes shine with a glint that almost strikes you as familiar. He turns on his heel and walks along the paved path toward his front porch. 

You slip your free hand into Mark’s, holding tight to both him and WinWin as you walk along behind your host. 

The man is very handsome. He cuts a tall, imposing figure. Dark hair peppered with a hint of silver at the temples reaches down towards his shoulders in a well-kept manner. He holds himself very properly – very straight posture with his shoulders back, his gait even to the point where he could be floating over the path. He climbs the couple steps up onto his porch, and then strides right through the front door.

The porch curves along half the length of the front of the house and then around the corner. There are chairs, small tables, plants, and you notice a bird’s nest nestled in one of the rafters of the porch roof. A set of windchimes makes soft, soothing music at the corner of the porch, and for a moment you can picture yourself sitting here, watching the sun cross the sky, enjoying the breeze and maybe a nice cup of tea. Relaxing. 

“Coming?” Mark asks, tugging lightly at your hand. He’s already got one foot over the threshold of the house. WinWin has released your hand, and taken it upon himself to step around Mark, entering the house before either of you so he can stand right in the entryway and look around in surprise at the place.

You step closer to Mark, looping your arm around his, and together you step inside.

Immediately you’re in the body of the lighthouse. The walls rise in a hexagonal shape, a set of stairs hanging tight to the odd-shaped walls up to the next floor and then one more above it. You tip your head back to admire the stained glass colors stretching across the opening to the floor above you as a few stray beams of sunlight make their way through the house’s windows. To your right, an archway leads into a sitting room. A fire crackles in the fireplace, artwork lines the walls. There’s a piano, a few sofas, and something that burns with a scent and a staticky feeling that you can only define as magic. 

Mark tugs at your hand, bringing your attention around, and this time you look through the matching archway on your left. This one leads into the kitchen. A large, open kitchen that could fit two dozen people comfortably. A long kitchen table stretches the length of the room. Another fireplace burns here. Dried herbs and flowers hang from a rack suspended from the ceiling. Pots and pans gleam on the long countertop that lines the back wall. There are plenty more windows here, though several are shuttered against the weather. 

Someone clears their throat. 

Your host stands across from you, standing perfectly in the center of the space, over the heart of a compass rose inlay as part of the pattern of the wooden floor. Renjun stands there too, admiring a painting on the wall beneath the stairs. WinWin faces him too, just a few feet ahead of you. 

“Welcome,” the man says, spreading his arms wide. “Bedrooms and showers are upstairs on the left.” He lifts his hand indicating the left wing of the house. “Take your pick of the bedrooms. The bathrooms, I apologize, are detached from the bedrooms and there are only two of them.” 

You remember the home you lived in growing up with your mother and your father. Well, your step-father, you suppose. That’s going to take some getting used to, thinking of him that way. Even after the initial partially false news that Yuta and Ten had given you about your partial demonic heritage, you’d still believed the man who raised you to be your biological father. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he might not actually be, not until the other bombshell they’d dropped on you not even twenty-four hours ago. 

Anyway, you were letting yourself get sidetracked. Your host made the two-bathroom situation sound like something to actually be sorry about, but in the house you’d grown up in, you and your parents had shared just a single bathroom. Your first apartment back home when you’d moved out and gotten a roommate had only had one bathroom, the one after that when you lived alone until you disappeared to Hell City had only one bathroom. The apartment in Hell City had only one. Up until you’d arrived at the House of the Watchers, the idea of having more than one bathroom had been almost foreign to you. Having two bathrooms in this house is certainly no problem, not to you. 

“Towels, toiletries, clothing. Whatever you need,” the man is saying, “Just wish for it, and it shall appear.” He smiles, and his eyes crinkle in the corners. 

Mark looks over at you, squeezing your hand in his like he wants your attention, but in that moment your host is still speaking, saying, “After you’ve all showered, warmed up and dried off, I’ll be down here in the kitchen, and you’re welcome to rejoin me for a warm breakfast and the answers to your many questions.” 

With an incline of his head, you’re all dismissed. 

Renjun dashes up the spiral stair, vanishing with the sound of a closing door before your foot has even touched the bottom step. Mark and WinWin trail you up the stairs, and you stop once you reach the landing. The hallway that stretches into the left wing of the house is open, showing a blank stretch of hall with eight doors leading off of it, and it dead ends at a window that looks out over the sea. Seven of the doors stand open, but the one closest to where you stand is closed with the sound of running water behind it. 

On the opposite side of the landing, the way into the right wing is closed. A pair of double doors bar the way, but if you had to guess, you would say that your host’s bedroom lies in that direction. 

WinWin brushes right by you, heading for the second bathroom. “Let’s get showered,” he says, “I want some answers.” 

“So do I.” Mark follows right behind WinWin, and of course, so do you. All three of you lock yourselves into the bathroom. 

The whole room is a sterile white. Rectangular white tiles line the walls, small white tiles cover the floor. A white tub, white sink, a white corner of the bathroom that acts as a shower, a white-edged full-length mirror sits across from the tub and the shower, and there’s a white toilet, white towels, white curtains over the frosted glass of the window. To a certain degree, it reminds you of the green bathroom in the House of the Watchers. Though that could just be the heavy reliance on the antique fixtures and ancient plumbing. The pipes shudder and groan when WinWin reaches over to turn on the water of the shower. The water pours from the shower head but also from a hidden shower head up at the ceiling that you’d missed before. The spray splatters against the tile floor, and you notice that the floor does at least slightly slope towards a drain in the corner so the water doesn’t go everywhere. 

WinWin pulls his burnt clothes off, kicking them over into the corner near the door. He steps under the shower’s spray as soon as steam begins to rise, and he moans softly at the massaging heat of the water. 

Without any clothes or anything else to shield him, you can at last see his leg. The right ankle is swollen, his calf is bruised and bleeding slightly with visible claw and teeth marks ranging as high as his upper thigh. 

“WinWin,” you gasp, walking over to him without any regard for the clothes you’re wearing as the shower begins to soak right through you. “Your leg!”

He nods. “I know.”

“Well, doesn’t it hurt?” You ask, sinking down to touch lightly, taking a closer look at the injury. “This looks like you need some medical attention.”

“Stop,” he groans softly, touching your shoulder. “I don’t think there are any doctors here. And the second best option, the one that healed up you and Renjun, is as likely to kill me as heal me.” He looks behind you to Mark. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get it clean, get something to eat, and maybe our new pal will have some magic Watcher remedy to fix their fucked-up monsters’ bites.” 

Mark snorts a little laugh, and you turn to look at him, watching him as he starts to strip too. His shirt hits the floor, his thumbs tuck into the waistband of his pants. A whistle from him draws your eyes up to Mark’s face. “Eyes up here, sweetheart. Unless you plan to stay on your knees for us like a good girl.” 

WinWin groans. “No. Not right now.” He reaches down, tucking his hands beneath your armpits to haul you up to your feet. You open your mouth to protest, but WinWin’s already pulling your shirt over your head, and that silences you. “We have more important things to be doing that the two of you fucking around in the shower. I’m sure we’ll have time for that later, and I’d love to join in then, but right now we’re showering. Just showering.”

Your shirt comes off, and you push away his hands when he reaches for your pants. “I’ve got it. I’m not a child. I can undress myself.” 

Mark whistles again as you bend over to push your pants down, and you and WinWin both turn to glare at him. He holds his hands up in surrender and looks away from your bare ass. “I’m sorry, I was just… We just really marked you up a lot more than I thought. Are you just that soft, babe? Bruise like a sweet little peach?” 

That’s when you take a look down at yourself, and take a long look at your reflection in the full body mirror. 

From your throat down to mid thigh, your skin is patterned with hickeys, bite marks, light bruising and scratches. You knew you got a bit carried away with them before you fell asleep, but you didn’t remember all this. It was like each of them had been trying his best to stake his claim on you. You’re not sure who exactly won. 

WinWin’s fingers brush lightly over a bruise on your throat. “Maybe he’ll have some magical Watcher remedy for this too.” 

When Mark joins the both of you under the steaming shower, you notice that he doesn’t have any lingering injuries or remnants of last night. He looks perfect, and you have to force yourself to look only at his face or risk distraction. WinWin is helpful in managing to stay on track. For the most part, each of you focuses on yourselves as you scrub away the grime of the Watchers’ garden, the salt of the sea, the blood and sweat from the fight, but every now and then you can’t fight the urge to just reach over and slide a few fingers down Mark’s spine as soap bubbles draw a path. You can’t help it that the warm water and the finally standing still are making you sleepy so you take a moment to lean your head against WinWin. 

“Not right now,” WinWin says gently, petting your head. “We’ve gotta get back downstairs.”

You have many things you want in that moment. You want to sleep. You want to lose yourself again in the touches of these two men. You want to march downstairs and demand answers from your host and from Renjun. You want to be back in the House of the Watchers, either breaking your boyfriends out of the dungeons or supporting them through the trial. You want for all of this to be over, for none of it to have happened. You want to wake up from this nightmare, to find yourself back in the apartment in Hell City, tucked safe and sound between Yuta and Ten with no idea that Watchers exist, with no idea that you’re anything other than a little more than human. 

WinWin finishes showering first, and he is the first to put into use the version of manifesting that exists here. He manifests clothes for himself, for Mark, for you. 

The bathroom across the hall is empty when the three of you emerge, and you can hear Renjun’s voice downstairs, echoing from the kitchen. The house is so quiet that you can hear the crashing of the waves on the shore beneath the cliff. Mark takes the lead down the stairs, and you hang back with WinWin, studying the slow way that he navigates down the stairs, taking care not to put too much weight on his right leg. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs to you. “It doesn’t hurt all that badly. It’ll be fine, princess. I'm sure this guy has got some sort of fix-it for me, okay?”

You sigh at him. “I'm banning the use of the word ‘fine’ between us all, okay? I don’t think any of us know how to use it.”

That brings a smile to WinWin’s face, and Mark turns at the bottom of the stairs to look up at you. “What about: you’re looking fine today, babe. Does that work?” Mark asks, trying his best to wink at you, except it’s almost more of a blink. It’s cute though, so you laugh. 

You find Renjun and your host seated at that long table in the kitchen. They’re seated at the far end, with the older man at the head of the table, both of them eating a selection of fruits, breads, and other light breakfast foods. A steaming carafe of coffee sits on the table, and WinWin reaches for it as soon as he’s seated, taking the seat on the left hand of your host while Renjun’s already sitting on his right hand side. 

Mark slips in beside Renjun, and you take the seat beside WinWin. Your foot nudges against Mark’s ankle beneath the table, and he glances up at you from beneath his eyelashes with a faint smile, and then his ankles close around one of yours, holding you there even as your host begins to strike up conversation. 

“Do you feel better?” He asks kindly. “I could expand the house to add more showers, if that would be more convenient? I didn’t mean to put a rush on you, or intend that you should all three have to shower together.” His warm gaze settles on you before moving in turn to Mark and WinWin. 

“That’s okay, sir,” Mark says. “We don’t mind.”

The man cocks his head slightly to the side, but if he has any thoughts in particular about that, he keeps them to himself. “Anyway,” he says, clapping his hands together. “I believe you had some questions for me. And now that we’re all settled, I have some answers for you. Please, eat while I talk.”

You are rather hungry. Your dinner last night was interrupted by Mark, and you’d certainly worked up an appetite since then. So sitting here now, you reach for a little bit of everything, just needing to fill up. WinWin does the same, grabbing large helpings of the available options. Mark simply sits back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as he observes your host. 

“Are you finally going to tell us who you are, sir?” Mark puts the question forth. 

At the head of the table, your host nods. “Of course.” 

You wait for a moment as he shifts to get more comfortable in his seat, and then he folds his hands on his stomach, and begins speaking. 

“This lighthouse has been around for many, many years. Before Purgatory was established, the pathways between Earth and Heaven went straight there. There was no confusion, no way of being lost. But when my father created Purgatory for my brothers and I, he added this new step, a layover for souls on their journey to Heaven. Because of the added step, there was confusion initially, souls were lost, and some still wander the dark corners of Purgatory, searching for their way to Heaven. For the benefit of loss prevention, the lighthouses were built; a series of lighthouses throughout Purgatory to guide new souls on the way to Heaven, to find the lost souls and redirect them on the correct path. These lighthouses are the light at the end of the tunnel that humans talk about, though occasionally there are some souls who catch a glimpse of it before their time. 

“Some of my brothers were given swaths of land in Purgatory. The rich fields, mountainside views, each of us gifted a lighthouse and territory to control to assist our High Watcher in his rule. I think, truly, it was a way of keeping my brothers and I apart, a way to perhaps limit our search for knowledge. We, the first generation of Watchers, have always been believed to be more powerful together than apart, so separating us was a good decision by the High Watcher when he feared a coup. We were scattered, only ever together when he summoned us to the House.

“Over the millennia, the lighthouses became less useful until now when they are nearly obsolete. My brothers have found other ways of directing the souls to Heaven, and thus, have retired several of the lighthouses. This one is retired, which made it much easier to move and hide this island without the notice of my father, the High Watcher, or any of my brothers. No one cares to visit an empty, obsolete old structure, and by the time any of them thought to come look for me, neither I nor my lighthouse was where it ought to have been.”

He looks proud of himself, and once again, you get the sense of looking at a cat. The pleased tilt of his smile, the way his eyes flick around the table to each of your faces. 

“This is all a great history lesson,” WinWin says around a mouthful of cream bread. “But it’s not really answering our question.”

“Patience,” your host chastises. “I knew that I had to hide myself and my island because I knew that one day, I would need a safe haven to hide the things dear to me. For some things, by the time I went to collect them, I was too early, for others too late. There’s no better way to bring a powerful man down than making him feel powerless by finding that the one he longs to protect has already been taken away by the time he arrives. Moments, hours too late.”

He stares down at his hands folded on his stomach, and you feel the weight sinking into your own stomach.  

You know exactly what he means, how he feels. 

It’s how you’d felt when your parents were killed. Like, if maybe you’d come home earlier, or if you hadn’t been out, then maybe you could have done something. 

It’s how you felt about Yuta and Ten, knowing that maybe if you’d mastered your powers more, then when Hansol had come for them in Hell City, maybe you could’ve stayed to fight instead of Ten making you flee. Instead you’d sat powerless and scared in your apartment while they were taken away. And even when you’d found them again, you still had no power to get them out. Look at you now. You don’t even know what’s happening to them. 

As if Mark can sense how you’re feeling in the moment, he leans forward. His hand brushes your knee beneath the table, and he catches your eye, silently offering reassurance and his hand to hold if you need it. 

Your host continues. “Several years after I withdrew to this place, I was contacted by an old friend. One of my younger brothers, whom I had personally trained in his youth, whom I consider myself closest to of all of my brothers, reached out to me with a tale so wild, I at first didn’t believe it. He’d fallen in love with an elf, one of the servants at the House. She’d run away, back to Earth, and he’d followed. They’d had a child together, one of the rare half-Watcher children. He assured me they were safe, that he was being clever and careful, feeding false leads to the rest of the team that was searching for her and the missing elves. But even he knew the risk, and he made me vow, that if ever anything happened to him and his wife, that I would keep an eye on their son.”

He turns his face to Renjun. “Of course, as soon as I heard what happened to Renjun’s parents, to my dear brother and his wife, my first thought was to bring the poor child here. To raise him in the safety and secrecy of my island. But then I thought better of it; if I snuck him away, they would certainly come looking for him. Renjun was an anomaly to be studied, someone they were deeply curious about, and the High Watcher wasn’t likely to let someone like him so easily slip away. So I kept a close eye on him, as did the kin of his mother. I checked in through the years, and slowly, as I realized that he found the House not so much a home as a prison, I made myself known to him. I brought him here to see the life I could offer him away from the House of the Watchers.”

“I didn’t accept,” Renjun interrupts, turning his head from his substitute father. From his uncle, perhaps? “It’s nice here, of course. But at the time, I was like, fourteen. The House was a prison, and I hated it there, but I also knew that I liked being around the other elves. I liked that I could learn the secrets and the ways of the Watchers while also secretly learning elf magic during the hours I secreted away in the back of the kitchen. So despite the tempting invitation to come here, I knew that for the time being, I would be better off at the House.”

“But the invitation would never be revoked, I made that clear.” Your host says, “I developed a secret means of contact with him, to establish an emergency line, essentially, so if he were ever in great need, I would know, so that I could open the portal between the House and here, or so I could arrive to help him.”

“Mirrors,” Renjun grins at you. “He taught me the mirror magic. We can move through them, or we can see each other through them and communicate.” 

The man nods. “I can teach you, too, if you’d like.”

You would. It would be nice to have two means of escape — teleportation or mirror magic. 

Mark drums his fingers on the table. “You know, this is all nice, but I feel like we still —”

Your host holds up his hand, silencing Mark effectively. “I knew that protecting Renjun was the best I could do with what I’ve been given in this world and in the one you come from. Like I mentioned earlier, I created this safe little bubble of an island so I could protect the ones dear to me, and I’d missed my chance. I arrived too late, unable to protect anyone. Too many times in my long life have I developed relationships with my brothers, with mortal humans, mortal supernaturals, even with the immortals of Earth, and time and time again I have seen them wither, fading and passing from that world into whatever awaits them in the beyond. I have had many names given to me over the course of my life. Appearing to mortals, I have been an angel, a god, a monster, a man. I have been called Michael, the archangel. I have been Shangdi, Taevaisa, Bochica, Vishnu, Thoth, and many more. To some, I have been simply known as The Father. Renjun has known me as Ira, and you may call me that as well.”

Ira looks around at the four of you. Renjun picks slowly at his plate, WinWin is still digging into the meal, but Mark is looking right back at Ira, watching him closely.

“I still don’t understand why you cared enough to allow Renjun to bring us here,” Mark says. “Him, that makes sense. You know him, you care for him. But we’re strangers.” 

“Haven’t you been listening?” Ira says, smiling brightly still. “I built this place to protect those dear to me, and too many times I was too late to bring them here under my protection. I wasn’t about to let that happen again, not when my own daughter’s life was on the line.”

Every pair of eyes in the room snaps towards you.

Ira’s smile has faded for once, a serious expression on his face as he looks at you and says, “She’s my daughter. Of course I care.”

When Yuta and Ten had revealed to you that your real father was a Watcher, you had accepted that fact but only in a surface level type of way. You accepted it like a piece of history, something from long ago that was irrelevant to the present. You hadn’t thought too much about that man that your mother had once had a relationship with, the one who had contributed genetic material but nothing more. You had ceased to imagine him still existing.

Except now you’re in this moment and so is your father. 

And all you have to say is this: “I didn’t know you were still alive.”

Mark laughs, but immediately clamps down on the sound.

Ira – your father – cocks his head to the side a bit as he watches you now. “As I said, I’ve been in hiding for several years. After they learned of the relationship between your mother and I, of the miracle that you are, my brothers at the House of the Watchers weren’t only looking for you, dear. I’ve been perfecting the safety of this island for a long time, but never have I spent more time and dedication on protecting this bubble of Purgatory since you were born. It belongs solely to me now, separate from the rest of this plane. They don’t even know I exist here, and that’s exactly how I wanted it so that someday I could bring you here to keep you safe from them.”

True safety. This is what Renjun had promised earlier when he said it was somewhere safer where the Watchers wouldn’t find you.

Thinking of that reminds you solely of the fact that this is yet another thing that Renjun likely knew of this whole time, that he’s neglected to tell you. And, additionally, your father could check in on a boy that was not a direct relative of his, but you were his daughter, and up until this moment you hadn’t even known that he was even alive. Not the slightest hint. Had he ever cared how you were?

Either Ira can read minds or he can just read your expression. His gentle smile returns. “Don’t worry, my dear, I’ve been Watching you your whole life. Keeping you safe when your mother couldn’t. She didn’t know that there was a slight loophole in all of the protections she laid over you, in those contracts and all that mess. She tried so hard to hide you, even from me, but I found my way around it. You were invisible to every supernatural being but her and me. I visited you a few times.”

“You did?” 

He nods. “I can change my shape, disguise myself in a variety of ways.” 

WinWin drapes his arm over your shoulders. “If you’ve been watching over her for her whole life, then why didn’t you step in when you realized she was in danger.”

“I wanted to, but I knew that doing so could harm her more than help her.” Ira leans his elbows against the table, staring down at the woodgrain for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is soft enough that a rumble of thunder from outside wipes away his first words, but he repeats them for you, “I was deeply upset to hear what happened to your mother, my dear. I planned to bring you and her both here, if at all possible, but she never wanted much to do with me. I wish that nothing of the sort had ever befallen her; that you had never had to know the pain of that loss. I knew that her protections on you would remain in place so long as you were innocent and oblivious to this life, so I left you alone. I still checked in on you, disguised as a bird or a cat, as I had when you were younger. For years, things were fine. You went about your human life. I kept you safe when I sensed danger.

“I didn’t sense those demons, however. They stole you right out of your life, and I couldn’t find you any longer, and I knew that the protections that your mother and I had placed over you had worn off.” He lifts his head, gaze flicking back and forth between you, Mark, and WinWin. “I paid Renjun a visit. If you ever made an appearance in the House, he needed to notify me. He came to me as soon as my brothers took those demons of yours into custody. He got word to me again when you showed up a few days ago with a vampire and a werewolf in tow. My ability to keep you from danger obviously vanished along with those other protections.” 

You take Mark’s hand beneath the table. “None of them are a danger. Not Mark or WinWin, and not Yuta or Ten. They’re all that has kept me safe over these past few months.” You cover WinWin’s hand on your shoulder with your hand. “You haven’t ever actually been a part of my life, so how could you even begin to understand?”

Your father clears his throat. “I know I’ve been an absent father. I’ve never been a father before, so I’m not sure where to really start, but I’d like to start here. I want to understand, dear daughter. I’m offering you a Home, a safe-haven where I will show and tell you everything you wish to know. Your friends can stay here. Let this be your new home. Let me know you. I want to be a father who can make a good life for his daughter.”

Well, how can you argue with that?

“There’s only one problem with that.” You lean back in your seat, folding your arms across your chest. “My boyfriends are still trapped in their cells in the dungeons of the House of the Watchers, likely being sentenced to their deaths today if we don’t save them. The happiness of your daughter, Father, relies on their lives being protected.”

He nods slowly, looking into your eyes. “Is that all it takes?”

Yes. The survival of Yuta and Ten does affect your happiness. In fact, your happiness hinges on it almost exclusively. 

Your father grins, straightening up from the table. He snaps his fingers. “That can be arranged, dear daughter. But you’ve had a busy morning of escape and other perils, there’s no reason we need to rush into anything right now. The comforts of my home await. Warm beds, and this breakfast as well.” He pushes away from the table, chair legs scraping against the floor, and he stands and leaves the room without another word.

“You dad is weird,” Mark mumbles. 

WinWin makes a sound of agreement. 

You look right at Renjun where he still sits in his seat, fidgeting a bit uncomfortably. He swallows when he meets your gaze. “Anything else you’re hiding from me, Renjun? I’m a little tired of the people around me lying to me about my own life. First, Yuta and Ten don’t tell me that they knew that I was a half-Watcher half-demon. Then I realize that you also knew, but didn’t tell me. And now I have to find out that you not only knew with certainty who I was from the first moment we met, but you also knew that my father was alive and that he could protect me? Could probably protect Yuta and Ten too?”

“Calm down,” WinWin says, curling his hand around your wrist. 

Your fingertips are burning.

You curl your hand into a fist, extinguishing the flames against your palm, though your fingernails continue biting into the softness of your palm. 

“I’m sorry,” Renjun apologizes with a sulky tone. “I couldn’t tell you! I didn’t know how you would react, and he wanted to tell you himself! None of this was the plan originally.”

“Well, what was the plan then?” Mark asks, twisting in his chair to look at Renjun beside him. “What exactly happened that you suddenly decided that we had to escape this morning? What did you find out?”

Renjun shrinks into his seat, curling his knees up towards his chest, and he lifts a hand up to nibble nervously at his nails. Mark reaches over, grabbing his wrist and dragging his fingers away from his teeth. 

“Talk, Renjun.”

“I don’t really know. I was sneaking around the halls, keeping an ear out, watching the Watchers to make sure that none of them were coming for you guys, okay?” He keeps fidgeting. “I heard some of them talking about a security breach, that some ward somewhere in the House or on the grounds of the estate may have been triggered. They weren’t exactly sure what it meant either, but they knew that they were going to tighten the watch on you guys. And then one of them said something about how they definitely weren’t going to let any of you leave, even after the trial. Apparently there were plans in motion already to make it seem like Mark and WinWin had committed some crime, so they would be held for trial also. And, of course,” he says while looking right at you, “They were planning to make you a prisoner of the House too so they could learn more about you. Maybe they were planning to use you to lure Ira out of hiding too. I don’t really know.

“It just all sounded bad, and I knew if they were tightening security on the three of you, then there wasn’t going to be much of a chance to get you out of there at all. Already Ira and I had planned to get you out of there after the trial because we just had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good, but with the way that those Watchers were talking, I didn’t feel like we could cut it that close. I couldn’t risk you staying through the trial and being actually imprisoned there with no chance of escape.”

Again, you can feel your flames tingling just beneath your skin.

You’re angry and upset and you want to burst into tears and flames at the same time. You’re not sure if it’s Renjun or the Watchers or Ira or maybe even your mother that you’re so angry with at this point. If your mother would have just been open and honest with you through your life, would any of this have happened? Maybe she would still be alive, but it was her secrets that killed her in the end, wasn’t it? Hiding you from all the people who wanted to get at you and your unknown powers. 

“How are we going to know about the trial now, though?” Mark asks. “Or does Ira have some plan to burst into the House and stop it?”

Renjun shrugs, staring down at the table with wide eyes. “I don’t know what he’s planning.”

All you know is that if Ira doesn’t come to you with a plan within the next few hours, detailing to you exactly how he’s going to maintain your happiness by ensuring the survival of your boyfriends beyond today, you’re going back to the House yourself. You don’t know how you’re going to get there, or what exactly you’re going to do once you get back there. You don’t care if you have to go alone, though you have an inkling that there are at least two individuals in this house that won’t let you go back by yourself. 

Breakfast continues. WinWin devours half of the food on the table. You pick at the food that you’ve put on your plate, in addition to the food that WinWin and Mark keep filling your plate with. In between bites, you glare at Renjun until he slinks out of the room. 

You’re not quite sure what to do with yourself once your plates are cleared. Ira had told you to make yourself comfortable in his home, but how are you supposed to be able to relax without knowing what’s going on back at the House of the Watchers?

“Why don’t we look around outside?” Mark suggests. “I’m sure there’s more to see of the island than just that bit of beach and the stairs up here.”

You’re sure he’s right.

Still sitting at the table, WinWin winces silently in pain as he stretches his leg out in front of him. Mark just watches you, as if he’s worried that you’re going to explode into flame and go rocketing off into the sky, in search of the House of the Watchers on some distant horizon. 

“Or we could go to bed,” WinWin suggests as he start to stand, but he sits heavily back into his seat with an exclaimed, “Fuck!” WinWin hisses, reaching down to roll up the leg of his pants. “What the hell is on those monsters’ teeth? Shit.” The injury to his leg looks even worse than it had in the shower. The bite on his calf and the claw marks are turning black and swollen. His ankle is also bruised to high hell. 

“Maybe we should ask Ira if he knows what to do?” You push up from your seat. “WinWin, that looks serious. I don’t think you can brush it off as being just fine anymore. It’s definitely gotten worse.” 

WinWin grimaces and nods, leaning back in his seat. “I’ll just stay right here. Please, go. Go search for Ira.” 

The fact that he gives up so easily, that he closes his eyes and grits his teeth without making another attempt to stand or brush off your worries, well, it all worries you even more. He’s in pain, and you don’t know how to fix him.

You don’t have any clue where your host could have gone. He hasn’t made a sound since he left the kitchen, and now you don’t even know where Renjun disappeared to. 

Mark follows behind you as you step out of the kitchen. The sitting room across the entry is empty, though there is a door out onto the wrap-around porch that is open, the gauzy curtains flutter in the breeze. Mark checks, but there’s no one out there either. 

“Ira!” You call up the stairs. “Renjun?”

You’re slightly surprised when Renjun appears almost immediately, leaning over the railing of the next floor. “What?”

“Do you know where Ira went? I think WinWin needs medicine or something. His injuries from those monsters in the garden are getting worse.” You glance over towards the kitchen where you can still see WinWin sitting at the table. “Or do you happen to know a cure?”

Renjun shakes his head, lifting his arm almost absentmindedly to cross his chest and brush his fingers over the bite mark you remember was left on his shoulder. “I think it’s something to do with their venom. Mine hasn’t healed up yet either, despite Mark’s blood.”

Mark hisses behind you as Renjun pulls aside the collar of his shirt to reveal a bite mark that is similarly black and swollen. 

“Yeah, I’d say both of you need some fucking medical attention. And, don’t take this the wrong way, but I can smell those wounds all the way from here. Rancid.”

You spin on Mark, immediately reaching for his shirt, tugging at the collar.

“Excuse me!” Mark laughs, grabbing your wrists, wrestling a little with you. “What are you doing?”

“They didn’t get you anywhere, right?” You try to get a peek beneath his shirt as if you hadn’t just seen him entirely nude half an hour ago, free of any bitemarks from the monsters. “Mark, you’re not hurt too, are you?”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Stop freaking out. I’m–.” He cuts himself off before he can say the word fine, a small smile quirking the corners of his lips up. “I’m not hurt, baby.” Mark looks up at Renjun again. “Do you know where Ira went?”

Renjun pulls his shirt back over the wound. “He’s probably in his study. Up here.”

You climb the stairs, Mark as close as your shadow. Renjun’s already walking around the circular landing toward the closed doors. He only pauses for a moment to knock on the doors before he turns the handle and pushes one door open. Inside is a small entryway before another set of closed double doors, but Renjun doesn’t walk towards those doors, instead he leads the way to a set of stairs to the side of the doors. The stairs rise up, curving gently with the curvature of the lighthouse tower’s walls.

“Ira?” Renjun calls as he climbs. 

You hang back a few feet. Mark’s fingertips rest against your lower back as you tread up the narrow stairs. 

You can smell once again the scent that you first caught in the sitting room. Whatever it is that burns and gives off the feel of static. Some sort of magic. There’s a muted buzzing and drone of a voice – or possibly even multiple voices – up above your head. You watch Renjun’s feet as he walks around the curve of the stairs, vanishing from sight as he reaches the top of the stairs, this area that must be Ira’s study.

You feel like a bubble pops across your skin, and suddenly you can hear once more. Ira’s voice and Renjun’s. Peculiar light fills your vision as you and Mark finally ascend the last few stairs into the study, and you see where the source of the light comes from. All of the windows around the room are like those at the House; each window has a different view to somewhere else out there in the world, some sunny, some just as overcast as the true sky outside this lighthouse. The stairs continue again on the other side of the room, rising up to the room at the top of the lighthouse, but your focus is drawn to the center of the room, to Ira standing at a desk covered with piles of papers. 

Renjun’s standing close to him, speaking in a lowered voice, his shirt collar pulled to the side again. Ira’s prodding at the wound with his fingertips, examining the injury so intently that he barely spares a glance for you and Mark. 

“Foul beasts,” Ira mutters, shaking his head as Renjun moans in pain. “We should have banished them to hell eons ago. They attack more brothers and servants than intruders. It’s an easy enough cure.” He finally looks up to you and Mark. “Where is the other boy?”

You stand as tall as you can, chin tilted, your eyes sharp as you address your father. “His name is WinWin. Not boy.” 

“WinWin isn’t much of a name either.” He steps away from Renjun, brushing his hands off on his pants. “Well, where is he?”

“In the kitchen. His injuries are more intense than Renjun’s. He can’t stand anymore.” You stare at him, looking at his face, surprised to find that now that you know the truth you can see some of your own features reflected on his face. You had always thought that you looked a lot like your mother, but that was possibly only because your dad hadn’t truly been your father; he’d held no physical similarities to you, so now faced with the man who you actually share them with, it’s staring you right in the face.

Ira nods. “Good. I must put together the cure in the kitchen anyway. It’s better he’s already there. Come along, children.”

You bristle a bit at that, and even more as he brushes by you, hurrying down the steps. Mark presses himself against the wall to avoid Ira knocking into him. Renjun grimaces, tugging his shirt back over his shoulder, keeping his hand there as if the weight of his hand against the bite makes any difference. He moves slowly back towards you at the top of the stairs. 

“I am sorry,” he says earnestly. “About not telling you about Ira. About any of it. I didn’t feel it was my place to tell you the truth about your parents. Especially since I knew how much Ira wanted to be the one to tell you he was your father. It would’ve been weird to hear from me, right?”

You look at him, at this half-elven young man. His eyes gleam silver as he looks at you right now, shifting quickly to brown when he hisses in pain, pulling his hand away from his shoulder. You’ve trusted him since the moment you met him, and even with him withholding the truth of your parentage from you, you still trust him entirely. And, if everything they’ve told you is true now, then Renjun stands as one of the only relatives you’ve got left in the world – all the realms that it encompasses. 

Renjun starts to walk past you to the stairs, which Mark has already begun to descend ahead of him. You quickly fall in step behind Renjun to say, “So, you’re like my cousin, right? If your father is my father’s brother?”

That makes Renjun stumble a little, but he glances back at you. “Yeah, something like that.  I – I didn’t even think of that.” He laughs a little then says, “It’s been a long time since I’ve actually had any family. I guess I never really considered that Ira is kinda my uncle. My mother was an only child, so I don’t have any relatives left among the elves. But, yeah, I guess you’re my cousin. And we’re both some of the most rare half-breeds the Watchers have ever known.” He laughs again, a little louder as the pair of you reach the bottom of the stairs, exiting out onto the landing. 

Ira is already down in the kitchen, examining WinWin’s leg. His pants leg is torn up to his upper thigh, and you can see now that it’s not only his wound that is black and swollen, not just his ankle that’s bruised. Veins and poisoned blood climb his leg, little dark lightning bolts buried in his skin, reaching all the way up to his thigh. WinWin is panting, his eyes flickering back and forth between human brown and wolf yellow. 

“Shit.” Renjun walks into the room, collapsing down into the chair opposite WinWin. “Mine doesn’t look that bad.”

Ira shakes his head, murmuring something quietly over WinWin’s leg. You feel that burst of static, a faint scent of something unidentifiable on the air. A faint glow coats WinWin’s leg from his toes up to his hip. Ira straightens, rising to his feet. “That should stabilize him while I put together the cure. I would assume that drinking the vampire’s blood, Renjun, is what has helped slow the venom in your system.”

You move over to sit beside WinWin, touching your hand to his forehead. He’s glistening with sweat, fire-hot to the touch. He sighs when you lay your fingers to his skin, and when Mark comes over to lay his cool palm against WinWin’s heated skin, WinWin actually whimpers. “That feels so nice,” he says, leaning into Mark. “I feel like I’m on fire. And not in the good way.” His feverish gaze flicks up to yours, and there’s the ghost of a smile.

With a light pat to his cheek, you say, “You must not be feeling too bad if your mind can go there right now.” You’d tried your best to contain your flames when you were with WinWin during his rut, and especially during the activities of yesterday since you didn’t want to endanger Mark. But there had been a time or two when you’d gone awash in flame during his rut, particularly once Yuta had joined in. He knew the heat of your flames, and if he wanted to consider feeling them the good kind of way, then that was his right.

Ira stands at the fireplace, and it takes you a moment to realize that there’s a cauldron boiling there over the flames, and that your father is summoning things into his hands from the open door of the pantry you hadn’t previously noticed. He tosses ingredients into the pot, murmuring more words that make the hair on your arms and the back of your neck stand on end, that fill the air with that odd scent. You’re familiar with the sulphuric smell of demon magic, but this Watcher magic Ira’s practicing is like nothing you’d smelled before.

WinWin takes your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. He squeezes your fingers with a grunt of pain. “It still hurts.” 

Mark says something in a tongue you don’t know, and WinWin glares up at him. Whatever he’s just said, clearly it’s a language they both know, but neither of them decide to translate it for anyone else in the room.

The glow on his leg pulses and throbs. Renjun grunts on the other side of the table as well.

“Ira–” You say sharply as you take a look down at WinWin’s leg. A fresh tendril of darkness unfurls above WinWin’s knee, crawling upwards slowly. “I thought you said your spell was supposed to stabilize him. Why is it spreading again already?”

The Watcher at the fireplace spins around, striding over to you quickly. Mark puts both of his hands on WinWin’s face as new beads of sweat spring to WinWin’s forehead, attempting to cool him down even a little bit. Ira crouches down once more holding his hands above WinWin’s leg, murmuring and casting a new layer of glowing light over the first. 

The cauldron in the fireplace bubbles and boils, giving off an herbal, medicinal aroma. As part of the mixture splashes over the side into the flames below, Ira stands once more to return to it, still adding in ingredients. He glances back over his shoulder to find you watching. 

“Daughter, can you do me a favor?” His hair, so neat earlier, now flutters around his face, though bits of it stick to his forehead as he sweats before the fire. “There’s one ingredient I need that I appear to not have in stock. I need you to go out the back door,” he points over to the corner beside the pantry, to a door that leads outside. “Head down the stairs at the cliff’s edge, and in the cove ask the sea for three strands of sea silk.”

“What?” You frown. He wants you to leave WinWin right now? WinWin clutches your hand tighter. 

Ira sighs. “I don’t have time to repeat myself. Ask the sea for three strands of sea silk. Go.”

“Go,” Mark repeats your father’s command. “I’ll stay right here. I’ll make sure WinWin’s fever stays down. Go.”

You feel a wave of panic as you hurry to the door Ira indicated. You throw it open and step out onto the windy face of the island. The tall grass back here ripples and waves like the sea below, but you run through it, facing the fine misting rain that falls. The ground here slopes towards the sea, but you find that it too ends in a cliff, and after a moment’s searching, you find a set of stairs here that leads downwards. 

This set of stairs isn’t nearly as long as the ones you’d had to climb just earlier this morning, but it also doesn’t have a railing, the steps are cut naturally into the cliff’s face, slick from the rain, forcing you to slow somewhat. You descend as quickly as you can into the cove below. Another pebbly shore awaits you, boulders jutting out of the water, and the cliff curves in a crescent around this small inlet, protecting it from the vast stormy sea outside the safety of the natural barrier.

As your feet at last meet the shifting pebbles, you stumble towards the sea’s edge where foaming waves roll onto shore, washing between the small stones. Moss and slime coat the beach here, the occasional seashell, bones of small sea creatures and half-rotted logs. This part of the island isn’t nearly as charming as the lighthouse above, but you face the unpleasantness as you wade into the water, making it only a few feet out before you trip over something beneath the surface, and you fall to your knees. The water rises to your chest, lapping against your chin as the waves pass.

You feel a little bit foolish as you close your eyes, bowing your head over the foaming seawater, asking, “I require three strands of sea silk. Please.” Is that how you’re supposed to phrase it? You’ve never had to ask the sea for anything before. How polite are you supposed to sound? Is there a particular way you’re meant to address the sea? Again, you repeat, “Ira sent me for three strands of sea silk.”

The wind whistles around the cove, echoing in a strange way that hauntingly sounds like laughter, and as it picks up, blowing your hair back over your shoulders, it almost sounds like a song. 

You open your eyes, looking out to the sea visible through the arms of the cliff surrounding this cove. In the distance you see something splash in the water, something dark and big. You send a prayer to whoever may be listening that there aren’t hungry sharks in this sea of Purgatory. 

A wave rolls past you, pushing at your shoulders, and nearly tipping you backwards in the water. You shift, trying to find your feet, but the pebbles beneath the water roll and sink around your feet, closing in, making it nearly impossible to find your footing. You look up again, trying to spot where the dark splashing animal might be, and to your horror you see a flicker of a fin sharply cutting through the water.

You gasp, trying to reach beneath the water without submerging your face, trying to dig the pebbles away from where they keep sinking in, swallowing your feet. 

Another wave rolls by you, pushing at your shoulders. The wind whistles eerily again. Seawater splashes you in the face, and as you splutter, blinking to get the saltwater out of your stinging eyes, you hear another splash. 

You open your eyes, braving the sting.

A face floats in the water, just beneath the surface. Dark eyes watch you, sharp teeth appearing as the face’s lips spread in a predatory smile. 

“Oh, Minnie, leave her alone!” A chiming voice sings from the shore behind you.

You don’t dare to take your eyes off the face in the water, even as she emerges. Her eyes shimmer, her shockingly pale hair clinging to her cheeks and shoulders as she stands in the water, looking behind you. “You ruin all my fun, unnie. We never get visitors anymore, and I just want to play.” 

The girl – because that’s what she is – swims around you, and you see the dark flick of a finned tail, navy scales blending almost seamlessly into the dark water of the cove. She passes by you, making for the shore. 

At last you turn around. 

A woman is lounging on the beach behind you, propped up on one of the boulders close to the cliff’s base. Unlike the girl who has just scared the shit out of you, this woman doesn’t have a tail, though her two legs do appear to have a red scale pattern that fades the longer you look at her. Her long black hair falls straight over her shoulders, clinging to her chest. Her lips are bloodred, eyes sharp, and when she lifts a hand to point at the other girl, you see her nails are talon-sharp and dark red to match her lips. 

“Minnie, she’s asking for our help. She says Ira sent her, so don’t be a bitch.” A crown of seashells sits on top of her head. 

The navy-tailed Minnie pulls herself from the water, dragging herself over the pebbles, and as soon as the edge of her tailfin is clear of the water, she immediately begins to transform. Her fin becomes feet, her tail splitting into legs, and she rises on sure legs to approach the boulder where the other waits for her. Part of you feels you should look away from her nudity, because neither of them has a lick of clothing on them, but watching as her tail fully transforms into two legs, covered in navy scales that fade until her legs – and those of the other woman — only possess the faint sheen of a scale pattern on otherwise tanned skin.

“Seulgi, you’re just no fun.” Minnie says as she joins the other on the boulder, perching herself right on the edge of it so they can look at you. Her heavy-lidded eyes blink down at you, and then she cocks her head to the side with a smirk. “Well, aren’t you going to come out of the water too?”

As soon as she says it, you realize that the pebbles are sliding away from your legs, that you can move them again, that you can rise to your feet.

Just as you do that, you feel the water shift behind you again, and you don’t even have to look to know that another one of them has just emerged from the water behind you. You put yourself firmly on shore before you dare to look back over your shoulder. Another woman, pale and beautiful, with small sea stars adorning her hair, the color of which is bright as autumn leaves as it  falls in gentle waves down to her hips. She follows you out of the sea. Iridescent scales that seem to change color with every move slowly fade from her skin as she makes for the other two women.

“We heard your request, girl,” this third addition says. “A request from Ira, you say?” She slides onto the same boulder as the other two, fitting herself alongside the red-scaled Seulgi. She glances at the other two. “What do you think this means?”

Minnie sighs, rolling her head back on her shoulders. “How should we know, Sunmi?”

The orange-haired one, Sunmi, you suppose, rolls her eyes at Minnie. “This means, dear sister, that Ira’s daughter has finally come to visit.”

Minnie gasps, whipping her head around to look at you. Seulgi just gives you a long, sweeping look, as if trying to see if Sunmi’s words could be true, as if comparing you to your father up on the cliff. Sunmi smiles warmly at you, definitely the warmest of the three sitting before you. 

“We’ve known Ira for a long time, girl,” Sunmi says. “He brought us here from Earth for safety when the sailors of the world decided to hunt my sisters and I for sport. They were tired of our games and songs, didn’t like how we sang them into the sea with us.” Minnie smiles her sharp-toothed smile. “Ira’s one of the good ones, where some of his brothers would have speared us through with a lightning bolt and offered our burnt corpses up to the sailors. We like your father. Liked your mother too when we caught glimpses of her. He’s been so excited about you since you were born, you know.”

Seulgi grins at that. “Even more excited over the last few months, thinking that maybe you’d come visit soon.”

“And especially this last week or so,” Minnie chimes in. “I heard that cute elf is up there too.” She looks longingly up at the cliff, tilting her nose into the wind, inhaling. “Did you bring anyone else fun with you, girl?” Her eyes shimmer darkly when she lowers her gaze to you. 

You fold your arms across your chest. “Ira sent me to fetch three strands of sea silk. Can you help me with that?” 

Seulgi twirls a section of hair around her finger. “And what do we get for helping you, little one? We won’t do it for free.”

There’s a pang in your chest, a dash of panic. WinWin is up there, the venom of the Watchers’ monsters eating through him. Renjun too. You don’t have time for the games of these sirens. 

“You get Ira’s thanks.” You quickly say, wondering how many minutes you’ve been gone, how much further the venom has spread in WinWin. 

Minnie’s sharp teeth flash again. “That’s not enough. I want the pretty elf boy. He was so charming when he first came to visit Ira. All silver and smiles.” She runs her fingers through her pale blonde hair, braiding it in sections so quickly you can barely follow her movements. You’re tempted to spit out that she would be helping her pretty elf boy if she would just help you find three sea silk strands. 

Sunmi stands on the rock, stepping down from the boulder into the pebbles. “Stop teasing her, you two. Can’t you see that look in her eyes. You’re going to scare Ira’s daughter off and then he’ll be very irate with us.” She twists her hair around, draping it all over one shoulder, but it’s so long and thick that it manages to still cover her up almost modestly. “We’ll help you, child.”

You startle a bit when the siren approaches you, holding her hand out. You don’t understand for a moment what Sunmi is doing, until the wind blows around the cove again, whistling peculiarly, and something thin and dark flutters between Sunmi’s fingers.

A single strand of long, long, long fiery hair. 

“A strand of sea silk, better known as siren hair.” Sunmi takes your hand with her free hand, coiling the strand of her hair into your palm. “We don’t give these out willy-nilly, but for Ira…. I don’t know what spell he needs it for, but I assume if he’s just gotten you back and sent you down here to deal with those two–” She flicks a quick look over her shoulder at her sisters. “--Well, he must be in dire need. Good luck to him. Good luck to you, too, child.”

Seulgi appears a second later, wrapping herself around Sunmi to drop a long straight black hair into your palm too. You quickly pinch it between your fingers before it can flutter away in the breeze. She tucks her chin over Sunmi’s shoulder, watching you with her sharp gaze. “If you’re going to be here for a wild, little one, you’re welcome to come down to the cove anytime. We do so miss playing with others. Bring your friends, if you like.”

She takes Sunmi’s hand, twirling around you, dragging the other siren with her as they dash into the waves and plunge beneath the dark surface, vanishing with a flick of a fin each. And that leaves Minnie. 

She stretches out on that boulder as if she’s sunning herself despite the fact that the clouds overhead appear even more dense than before. Her pale hair fans out around her on the rock, exposing herself to the sky and the cliffs and the sea. And you. She smiles with all her teeth, and you’re not sure if she means it to be inviting or threatening, either way, you keep a little bit of distance.

“Oh, come now, girl.” She rolls her eyes and holds a hand up. You can see the pale silken strand of hair fluttering from between her thumb and forefinger, rippling in the breeze off the sea. “If my sisters gave you a strand each, of course I’ll give you one too. I can’t have them outdoing me. And besides,” she sits up quick as a flash, her dark eyes narrowing, as she says, “I want you to put a good word in for me with the elf boy.”

Somehow you don’t think she’s Renjun’s type. Not that you really know what his type is, but it’s probably not the kind of woman who looks like she would just as soon eat him as kiss him. You quickly take the strand of hair from her, squeezing it into your palm with the other two. 

“Thank you.” You glance over her once before you remember that you’re wasting time down here, and you walk for the steps cut into the cliff’s face. Behind you she sighs, flopping back across the boulder, humming into the wind in a way that echoes around the cove, sweeping across the water. You’re a few steps up when you think of something, and you lean over the edge, looking down at her on the rock. “Minnie?”

Her eyes flash open. “Yes?”

“Did you three really meet my mother?” You ask, clutching those three strands of hair to your chest. Your heart aches, wondering when and why and where these sirens saw your mother. 

She once more shows you all her jagged teeth. “Demons and water don’t often mix, but when Ira was attempting to woo your mother, he brought her on a boat to sail the seas of Earth, Purgatory, to glimpse the gates of Heaven among the stars. Your father can be quite the romantic when he tries. Usually we’re the ones seducing men, but when my sisters and I watched from the water as your father wooed your mother, we were the ones seduced. Your mother was a more difficult prize to win than we were though.” Minnie laughs. “She was brave and strong, fierce enough that if she hadn’t been born a demon, I’d have loved to have seen her as a siren.”

Minnie laughs and begins humming again, the sound following you as you climb the rest of the stairs. As soon as you reach the waving grass at the top of the cliff, you run towards the house once again. You don’t move your hand from where it’s clenched into a fist over your heart, even as you stumble up the back steps, as you throw open the door into the kitchen again, you don’t for a moment loosen your tight hold on those three silken strands from the sirens.

You pause as you burst through the door.

WinWin is spread out on the table now, the leg of his pants entirely torn off as you look at the swollen, darkened mass of his leg. Mark sits on his chest, hands on his face, pinning WinWin to the table as he bucks up, jolting and groaning, crying out from the pain. Renjun sits still in the seat where you left him, the shirt he’s wearing torn open to expose his shoulder and the vicious, ugly dark zigzags of venom stretching from his shoulder towards his heart. His pupils are wide, the silver iris of one eye nearly blending into the white, while the dark brown of his other eye makes that eye look almost entirely dark. 

Ira is still sweating and muttering over the cauldron.

His voice saying your name is the only thing that snaps you out of your daze. He holds out a hand, beckoning to you.

“Here,” you say, hurrying towards him. “The strands from the sirens.”

You pass the orange, blonde, and black hairs to your father. He barely glances at them before they’re tossed into the boiling mixture. He doesn’t take his eyes off of it as he stirs with a long stick. From the corner of his mouth he asks, “They didn’t give you too much trouble, did they?”

“Minnie scared the shit out of me. Seulgi and Sunmi are nice though. They were all excited to see me.” You turn to look again at the table. “How much longer until the cure is ready?”

WinWin’s whole body jolts, nearly knocking Mark off of him. His head tips off the edge of the table, and you realize that you can only see the whites of his eyes. 

“Ira?” You twist back around to your father. He’s muttering again, and the boiling surface of the cauldron begins to take on a luminescence, a sweet smell rising to blend with his particular scent of magic.

“Fuck!” Mark cries as WinWin’s entire body jumps, this time dislodging Mark onto the floor. 

You look around just in time to see WinWin turn over and vomit black onto Ira’s nice kitchen floor. 

Mark sits frozen on the floor, staring in horror.

Ira pushes you out of the way, the blazing cauldron held in his hands as he moves towards the table. The first thing he does is drop the cauldron in the chair he’d occupied during breakfast. The second, he flips WinWin fully onto his stomach, pounding a hand against his back while WinWin continues making these horrible retching, choking noises. Third, he looks over at Renjun. 

“Get a cup, boy. Drink up.” 

Renjun immediately takes one of the cups that had been knocked onto the floor at some point during one of WinWin’s convulsions. 

You stand, rooted to the spot, watching as Renjun plunges the cup into Ira’s concoction. Renjun downs it in one go, like the strangest shot you’ve ever seen. He dips the cup into the cure again, passing it over to Ira. “Give it to him,” Renjun says, “Before it’s too late.”

Ira pounds his hand on WinWin’s back again, before turning him over.

You cover your hands with your mouth, sinking down into a crouch, unable to watch as Ira pours the cure into WinWin’s mouth. You hear the sound of a hand hitting flesh, the sound of WinWin attempting to cough, choking on the cure. A quick peek reveals your father with his hand covering WinWin’s mouth, pinching his nose, forcing him to swallow it. 

“Pour some on his leg too,” Ira says to no one in particular. Renjun dips the cup once more into the potion, and you watch as he walks down the table, dumping the contents of the cup along the length of WinWin’s leg. “Put some on your shoulder too, just in case.”

Renjun doesn’t even bother with the cup now. Removed from the heat of the fireplace, the concoction in the cauldron is already congealing – more paste than liquid now – so Renjun dips his hand in, smearing it over the bite mark and the jagged lines of spreading venom which already look to be receding. 

WinWin gasps as Ira removes his hand from his mouth, and you jump to your feet, throwing yourself over to his side. Mark gets to his feet as well, pressing his shoulder against yours as you both lean over WinWin. His eyes are closed, but he’s breathing. A black streak from the vomit is dried on his cheek, smeared a bit on his lips. 

“Look,” Mark says softly, and he points to WinWin’s leg.

Beneath the spread of the cure-paste across his leg, you can see the lines of venom fading from his skin. There are still scratches and bites, but they even look better, half-healed almost. You wonder if they’re going to leave scars. The worst bite is at his calf where it looks like that beast he fought nearly tore the calf muscle entirely away. But you see now that even that is somewhat knitted back together, scabbing beneath the paste.

Renjun sighs, slumping down into his seat, lifting his hand to his shoulder which is once more smooth, pale skin. “Lucky you’ve got sirens for neighbors, then, Ira.”

Ira grins, lifting the cauldron from the seat to carry it over to the countertop beside the fireplace where he’s already manifested a row of containers. You watch as he begins dividing the cure-paste into the containers, and when he catches you looking, he explains, “I figure I might as well save it. Who knows when or if we’ll need it again. Your boy might need more doses, judging by the bad looks of some of those bites. Lucky he survived the monster that attacked him. Not many do escape the beasts of Purgatory.”

“Lucky?” WinWin coughs, cracking open an eye and craning his head to try and see your father. “Not feeling too lucky right now.”

You make a sound somewhere in the realm between a yelp and a cry of joy. You throw yourself on top of WinWin, wrapping your arms around him, burning your face into his neck even as he hugs you bone-crushingly tight and tucks his face into your hair. “So lucky. I was scared you were going to die.”

“You’re the lucky one, princess. Lucky I fucking love you so much,” WinWin groans into your hair. “I’ve almost died like three times just since waking up this morning. Don’t let go.” He squeezes tighter as if you were at all planning on letting go.

He groans when you press your hand to his belly, when you pinch at his barely healed, exposed thigh. “I didn’t ask you to almost die. Remember in the shower when you tried telling us that you were fine? This is exactly why I’m banning that word from our lexicon. You almost died, dumbass, you weren’t fine.” You lift your head to look down at him. WinWin grins. 

You want to kiss that smug look right off his face. You would kiss him if it weren’t for the way that his breath definitely smelled like a horrible mix between vomit and the contents of the cure. 

“Lovely as this is, daughter, I do have news.” Ira returns to sit in the seat at the head of the table. He folds his hands over his stomach. “Good news, bad news. A plan to go along with both. What would you like to hear?”

That makes you sit up, pulling WinWin up with you. Mark steps up, wrapping an arm around WinWin’s waist, helping pull him from the table into a chair while you stand there and stare at your father. He had news already? Good news and bad news? 

“I still have contacts at the House,” he explains. “Naturally, with your concerns and with your happiness being based on the survival of your demons, I needed to connect with my resources there. I needed to inquire about what was happening in the wake of your departure, and with your demons’ trial. So, which would you like first? The good or the bad?”

WinWin groans as Mark gets him settled into a seat. You collapse into the one closest to your father, across from Renjun who is staring pale-faced at your father. WinWin reaches over to hold your hand, and you feel Mark’s presence as he stands firmly behind your chair. All four men in the room wait for you to speak, to make a decision. 

Your stomach twists in tight knots. He says he has bad news, and you can’t even begin to imagine – you don’t want to imagine what horrors that bad news might contain, though your mind is only too ready to supply you with possible scenarios. As for good news, you truly can’t even imagine what good news he could possibly have. You absolutely can’t let your mind go there, can’t afford to hope only to have it taken away by the bad news. Which do you want first? Disappointment? Hope?

“Bad news. I want to hear the bad.” You figure it’s better to get it over with first, right?

Ira nods. Mark’s hands tighten on the back of your chair until the wood creaks under his touch. WinWin holds your fingers, his grip safe and warm, comforting.

“I suppose I should rephrase my question,” Ira says. “There’s news, more news, and some news that is both good and bad news.”

Your belly feels like it’s full of molten fire, ready to eat its way out of you at any second now. Can’t he just speak? Can’t he just say what he means instead of torturing you this way?

“Ira.” Mark growls. “Just tell us.”

The Watcher nods, holding your gaze as he says, “So, the trial for your demons has been canceled.”

Your heart plummets into that molten lava pool that was formerly your stomach. Canceled? Did the High Watcher decide that without you there to attend he would just find them automatically guilty even without the trial? You’ve known all along of course that he wasn’t likely to come to a verdict of not-guilty, but you thought he would at least give them the show of a trial. Some semblance of a justice system. Or maybe the High Watcher was doing this just to punish you, sending them right into the abyss to punish you for escaping.

“Don’t look like that, my dear,” your father says, leaning forward with a hand extending across the table to you. You just look at it, making no move to accept his offered hand, but he doesn’t bother withdrawing it. “That was just news. Neither good or bad, really.” It feels bad, but you keep that thought to yourself, awaiting his next words. “The trial was canceled because it seems that Renjun was right to get you out of there last night. It was a night, or well, I suppose it was morning actually, for people to go missing from right under the nose of the High Watcher. It seems, my dear, that your sneaky demons also somehow escaped last night.”

Your heart is consumed in the fire of your belly.

WinWin yelps a little as your flames burst from your skin, burning at his hand around yours. Mark springs back as well. 

Your father grins, his eyes reflecting your flames.

“They escaped?” You say, your voice half-swallowed by the crackling of your flames. “What do you mean they escaped?”

Ira laughs. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. I’ve never seen anyone break out of those cells down there. I truly didn’t think it was possible. Apparently, after my brothers realized that you three were escaping, accompanied by Renjun, the High Watcher felt it might be prudent to check on his prisoners. My sources say that the brothers who descended into the dungeon discovered the cells of the two demons were empty, the bars torn open and melted. There were no further signs of them. There’s no way they could have escaped out the front door of the dungeon, and there is no back door. They searched down into the very depths of the dungeon to see if they’d for some reason decided to hide deep in the bowels of the place, but... nothing!”

Your heart, it feels like it’s eating itself alive.

Ten and Yuta. 

They escaped.

Renjun nods. “That must be what the Watchers I overheard were talking about, they just didn’t know it yet. Someone tripped alarms somewhere. Maybe that was them, maybe it was Ten and Yuta. Or whoever broke them out. There’s no way they could have done it alone. Being inside the cells nullifies powers, so they wouldn’t have had the strength to tear the bars apart or the ability to summon any amount of fire, definitely not a fire hot enough to melt those bars.” Renjun shakes his head, “So someone must have broken them out, but who?”

You turn from him to look again at Ira. He’s grinning, a mad gleam in his eye. 

“Here’s the final news, daughter. The news both good and bad.” 

Your skin goes cold, and you realize that your flames have faded again, that now Mark has his hands on your shoulders, and that WinWin is holding your hand again. Your entire body is tense, waiting for your father’s next words.

“I know who broke them out. I know exactly where your demons are, sweet child.”

“Spit it out!” You hiss, leaning forward as he just smiles, drawing out your anticipation. Steam rises from your skin, especially from where Mark’s icy hands rest on your boiling skin. “Tell me!”

“They’re right where they belong,” Ira says, eyes flickering around the room to touch on each of you. “Their Queen of the Night came for them, and she has taken them as her prisoners back to Hell.”

The fire that bursts forth from you right then is intense enough to send Mark speeding out the back door of the house for cover. WinWin ducks beneath the table, swearing, Renjun doing the same. Your father sits there, watching you blaze and rage, your fury at them being taken prisoner all over again by that damn Queen that you know they were tired of serving. But there’s relief and happiness mixed into all of that too. Relief that they’re alive, that they’re not facing the trial of the Watchers that would have undoubtedly resulted in them being lost into the abyss. There’s happiness because they’re alive! Even if they’re back in Hell, imprisoned by their Queen, they’re alive! 

He watches and he waits for you to calm down, he waits for the flames to dull from bright blue and white fury to a glow of red and orange settling over your skin before it simmers and fades to smoke lingering in the air. Renjun and WinWin emerge from beneath the table, the surface of which is seared and scorched. Mark peers in around the doorframe, checking to make sure your inferno has actually calmed before he re-enters, giving you a wide berth as you’re still giving off quite a lot of heat. He edges around to the other side of the table, leaning back against the wall across from you, near the windows just in case he might need to make another sudden escape.

“Now,” your father says, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Do you want to hear my plan?”

Steam spirals from your nose. “What?”

He grins. “You, my daughter, are half your mother and half me. Individually, we were powerful beyond comparison. Our powers together, in you, is something I have been dreaming of for a long time, the feats you can accomplish. The Queen of the Night is powerful and strong, but with a bit of training, setting you against her, she wouldn’t be able to hold you back. We can get your demons back, my dear, if you will let me teach you how.”

You don’t even have to consider it. Of course you will let Ira teach you. You want to know everything he has to teach you because if you’re going to get Yuta and Ten back, if you want to be reunited with them, you will do whatever it takes. You’d dreamt about them just that morning – though now you have your suspicions that that dream had somehow been reality, a last visit of theirs before they fully broke out of the House – and they’d told you to find them, Yuta’s promise that you would all come back to each other.

“Teach me everything,” you tell Ira, determination painting your voice in bold strokes. 

You’re going to save Yuta and Ten, and anyone that stands in your way is going to burn.

<-previous || next–> 

a/n: so a lot happened in this chapter! They escaped to safety without Renjun betraying them (he’s so trustworthy, guys! WinWin just has trust issues), and he brought them to the one person in the universe who has always wanted the best for Y/N: her dad, which I feel like no one has hardly mentioned at all. And then, of course, there’s that biggest bombshell that I’ve dropped there at the end -- they’re not facing trial anymore, they’re alive, they’re in Hell as prisoners again.

I may take a short break from posting Unholy after this chapter. Not a really long break, I promise! Just long enough to get my feet under me a bit as I work on the plot for the rest of Unholy, because as of right now, I don’t really know what happens next. Originally when I wrote this and “finished” it in December 2022, this chapter is where the story ended, though there were a few things that were a little bit different. So now I need to figure out what comes next, I need to write it, and I need to take a little time to work on a few other projects possibly that I’ve had brewing for a while.

So, as always, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter and the entirety of Unholy so far. I hope that you’ll continue to stick around until I post the next installment of this series, and continue to show it as much love as you all have shown this first part of the series. Thank you so so so so much! This story has grown a whole lot from where it started when it was originally just supposed to be a kinktober monster-fucking drabble, but instead has become, to this point, around 197,000 words long, putting it around 60k under the word count of the poly series which took me almost 3 full years to write 

Anyway, likes, comments, reblogs, sharing it with your friends/followers is forever and always appreciated and keeps me inspired to keep going! Thank you for reading!!

#nct fics #nct smut #mark smut #mark lee fics #winwin fics #winwin smut #unholy

[angel-inrealtime]

November F1c Prompts Day 28

Day 28 - Sound (Weather)

A/N: This is like. tooth-rottingly sweet and I make no apologies 🤷‍♀️

You lie awake listening to the rain like it’s a metronome on the tin roof, not quite readjusted to the time zone yet. The storm rolled in slowly over Perth and further south, and the petrichor is tinged with eucalyptus, the way it always is here.

Daniel’s arm is thrown over your stomach, one leg hooked over yours because he likes to be close (has even more since you found out). Apparently insomnia is relatively normal, even if you’re exhausted during the day and sick in the mornings.

You think you just can’t turn your mind off, running like an engine to the beat of the rain on the roof. There are so many things to think about; names and dates and announcements and where and who and-

“You’re thinking so loud I can’t hear the rain.” Daniel mumbles sleepily, nosing into your neck. His big hand splays over your (tiny, might still be imaginary) bump, covers most of it easily above your pajama shorts. Seven weeks, as far as you can guess. You've only known for one.

“Sorry.”

He kisses your collarbone. “S’alright. Everything okay?” He still sounds sleepy, barely home for a full day yet.

You nod against his head, drop a kiss into his soft curls. “Yeah. Yeah I’m good. Just can’t turn my brain off.”

“We can make a list tomorrow. Of all the things in there.” He’s almost asleep again already, you’re sure. “You need to sleep, bub.”

You love him so fiercely for knowing it will help, to get it all out of your head, to make it into smaller pieces you can tackle together. It still takes a while longer (rain slowing and his breathing going deep and even) but eventually you drift off.

☀

The thunderstorms in LA are loud and violent, and even though you know it’s coming the crack of thunder makes you jump, hand on your heart.

You wait, ears straining for any sound and withhold a sigh when the monitor crackles, reach forward to pick it up and go to comfort the baby when you hear Daniel’s voice.

“Hey mate, it’s alright. C’mere.” A pause, long enough for you to turn the video on, and then Daniel’s bare back is on the screen, Elio’s little head and already unruly curls peeking over his shoulder. “I know it’s loud and scary when you’re so little, hey? It’s alright, I got you.”

Elio’s body still fits mostly in one of Daniel’s hands, settling easily under his touch and at the sound and vibration of his voice through his chest. “There you go. What have you got there, buddy?”

Chubby baby fingers wrap around the pendant on Daniel’s chest, the silver one with ‘i love you’ stamped on the medallion (it’s got your initials on the back now, your little family). “Ah, I see, you like the shiny things too. Don’t think we need to tell your mum that, she’ll tell me off.”

You laugh to yourself, almost want to tell him he’s busted and you’re watching the whole thing, but it’s making you feel so warm to watch them like this, to hear the running commentary he keeps up as the storm moves overhead. Elio fusses at the thunder and Daniel rocks him gently on his shoulder.

“I know, I know. How about a song, hey? You like my songs. Someone’s got to.” He starts humming and you want to just lie on the floor and listen, soak in the sound of the retreating weather and his voice. “Fuckin’ nailed it.” You hear Daniel breathe as he puts Elio back in his crib, sleeping peacefully now and with half of his fist in his mouth.

You can’t resist, push the voice button on the baby monitor. “Language.”

Daniel jumps about a foot in the air and spins to look at the matching one, sitting on the dresser in the nursery. “Jesus Christ woman. Give me a heart attack.” He grumbles, but he’s smiling wide and bright.

☀

Elio has wide brown eyes and curly brown hair and he looks just like Daniel in miniature (the way it always was in your mind, when you let yourself imagine it).

Soon enough the Perth summer air is punctuated by the sounds of splashing in the pool, Isaac and Isabel swimming in circles while Elio floats under the watchful eye of Nanna and Poppy, and with Daniel treading water next to him.

Michelle looks through the window over the kitchen sink and then bumps you with her hip. “Are you stopping at two?” She teases gently.

“Stopping at one would have been fine.” You mutter, cutting up fruit to take outside (not really meaning it). “I’ve been so sick, this time ‘round.”

The older woman makes a sympathetic noise. “I was the same, I was way worse with Issy than Isaac. Maybe that means you’re having a girl.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “I don’t know if the world is prepared for girl-dad Daniel.”

Michelle stops to think about it for a second, dawning realisation on her face. “Oh god, you’re probably – oh hang on.” She taps sharply on the window. “Hey, no jumping while the baby is in the water, please.” Isaac slips back into the pool, caught and contrite.

You snort. “Busted.”

Michelle shakes her head, folding one arm over her chest. Her eyes drift to Daniel where he’s talking to their parents. “Has he decided yet? About next year?”

You sigh, and then lean against the counter. “This year was…I mean, after all the shit with the team who shall not be named, and the year off, Checo’s announcement was unexpected.” You couldn’t forget it if you tried, the phone call from Christian in the first week of January to say Checo needed to deal with some things at home and would Daniel be interested in the seat?

(staring down the barrel of navigating pregnancy and impending motherhood around 24 race weekends and an unexpected move mostly back to Monaco, so you’d be closer to Europe when the time came)

“I think he would have turned it down, if it had been.” Michelle offers. “He always wanted to be like dad, you know. Around.”

(talking through the guilt and the wanting that competed for space in his head)

“I know. And I know it’s been hard, being away. Feeling like he’s missing stuff.” You look out the window at everyone in the sun, the way the water from the pool slides down the muscles of Daniel’s back in rivulets. “Still, I don’t think he thought this year would happen. He was like…at peace, with being finished in 2022, and then to have more than a chance…” You pick up a grape and pop it into your mouth, shrugging as you chew and swallow. “But I think he should take this year too, while it’s there, even if him and Max keep saying it’s just a glory run. If nothing else so like…he actually gets to finish on his own terms. He deserves that much, at least.”

Something complicated flickers over her face and then Michelle drags you into a hug, arms tight around your back. “You are…” She pulls back with her hands still on your shoulders. “Not everyone would care, about that. About him, like that.”

“Jesus Shell.” You squeeze her arms. “It’s important to him, of course I care.”

“I know, I know. I’m just…I was worried he wasn’t gonna pull his head out of his ass, eventually. And you’d just be the girl he brought home a few Christmases but just never quite got his shit together at the right time, right?”

You pull her into another hug because it looks like she needs it. “I had shit to get together too, y’know? But I’m glad, too. Very, very glad.”

You pick up the fruit platter and wander out to the back deck, laugh at Joe blowing raspberries on Elio’s tummy while you settle next to Daniel, legs dangling in the pool.

He pushes the brim of your sunhat back to tilt your face up towards him, his other hand automatically finding the slight curve of your belly and rubbing with his thumb while he kisses you. “Mm. Strawberries.” He leans in for another kiss, and when he pulls away there’s a smile that’s as bright as the sun on his mouth. “Feeling okay mama?” You reach behind and offer him one of the strawberries from the board. “Never better.”

-☀-

Low effort photo grid? Low effort photo grid. (My pinterest algorithm? in absolute shambles let me tell you)

#f1 fanfic #daniel ricciardo fanfic #November f1c prompts #daniel ricciardo x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1blr #daniel ricciardo fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #formula 1 x reader

[imagine-darksiders]

Small snippet of the beginning of that Bowser & Reader fic I'm working on because I crave validation and can't wait to get this whole thing out to you guys <3

[Y/n meets Bowser Junior after startling him so badly, he fell off a bench]

Without thinking too hard on it, you click your tongue and reach a hand out for him again, murmuring, “Here, let me see...”

You feel him flinch underneath your fingers as they alight gently on his chubby, yellow cheek. But rather than wrenching himself away from you, his whole body stiffens in an instant, his eyes bulging out whilst you turn his head to one side and lean forwards, inspecting the dome of his skull.

To your relief, the only sign of damage is a small patch of grit sticking to his scales, picked up from the dusty, stone ground.

Tutting to yourself, you pull the sleeve of your dress down over a thumb and wet it with your tongue before returning your free hand to the back of his head. “Hold still,” you instruct him, though the request seems redundant in hindsight, given that he's as rigid as the stone under your shoes.

Careful as can be, you sweep your thumb over the grit and wipe it away to reveal the tiny, thankfully unbroken scales beneath. Then, once satisfied, you draw away and return your hands to your lap, offering the stunned stranger your most amicable smile.

“There. No scrapes or bumps in sight. I think you'll survive.”

Thick, auburn eyebrows twist up in confusion as he turns to face you again, cocking his head and regarding you as if you've sprouted an extra pair of arms.

Even kneeling, you're still an inch or so taller than he is standing up.

All of a sudden, you find a clawed fingertip jabbing at the air just in front of your nose as he jumps back to put another inch or two of space between you, his little tail held high and alert.

“Just who the heck do you think you are, lady!?” he demands in a shrill, raucous voice, “You can't go around sneaking up on people like that! I could'a blasted you!”

Caught off guard, but pleased that he seems fine, you lean away from his finger and splay your hand across your chest, feigning an impressed look. “Goodness! I suppose I should be counting my lucky stars.”

“Yeah! You should!” he readily harrumphs, withdrawing his arm and folding them across his chest, turning his snout away from you again.

Evidently snubbed, you muscle down a grin for the sake of his pride. You must have startled him more than he'd care to admit, if the embarrassed pinch of his lips is any indication.

After a few seconds, he twists his nose towards you once more, his dark eyes flitting up and down as he gives you a fleeting once-over.

“Who are you anyway?” he demands, “I don't recognise you.”

Amused by his informality, you offer him a patient smile and reply, “I'd be surprised if you did. I'm afraid I'm not a frequenter of the Mushroom Kingdom. This is my first visit, in fact. I've sailed here from across the ocean.”

At that, his brows quirk up in intrigue and he drops his arms to his sides. “Sailed across the ocean?” he asks with the barest hint of awe softening his tone. Then, all at once, his eyes grow exceptionally wide and he excitedly blurts, “Are you a pirate!”

Letting out a good-natured laugh, you say, “Sadly, no. No. Piracy is not in my job description.”

To your surprise, he looks downcast at the admission, but in the next moment, he perks up again and points at you, his claw just inches from your nose. “What's your name!?” he all but barks.

Dimly, you wonder if anyone has told him that pointing is rude.

Clearing your throat, you reply, “My name is Y/n.” Then, after a pause, you add, “And, you are...?”

Puffing out his chest, he plants one hand firmly on his hip and jams the opposite thumb against his chest, striking a dignified pose.

“Name's Junior!” he declares with all the confidence of a venerated dignitary, “Bowser Junior!”

#bowser #bowser junior #y/n #friendship #mario bros movie #super mario #reader #draft

[morvantmortuary]

sweetweirds -

so in our little gc we have a channel where we ask each other questions about our OCs, and my friend @bigtiddythanos recently asked us about weird quirks they adopt with their S/Os when no one else is around. so I wanted to share what I thought the Morvants would pick up once the two of you (or more, I don’t judge) had been dating for a while, just bc I had a lot of fun writing them 🖤

not long, but still putting it under a cut so not to clog things!

Maxi -

Will walk up behind his s/o and set his chin on the top of their head or shoulder, depending, and let out this little huff through his nose like Maggie used to do when she had a nose when he’s curious about what they’re doing/bored/misses them. He won’t hug them if they’re doing something, and he’ll back off if they can’t be distracted, but it’s just how he says hello.

When the two of you are just sitting around, if he’s within range, he might well lean over and just gently grab your arm or your shoulder in his teeth with a muffled “Delicious!”

if you two are cuddling and you try to get up before he wants to, he goes “oh no, rigor mortis!” and hugs you with his arms and legs so you can’t get away, followed by “Oh no, death tickles!” which is self explanatory lmao.

If he’s feeling especially weird and the two of you are definitely not in public (and if he doesn’t run the risk of ruining your makeup, which he views as art), he will totally randomly lick your cheek and say “just re-upping my claim” before walking off like nothing happened.

He also totally bows exaggeratedly whenever he fucks up and drops something or bumps into something or whatever and goes “For my next trick, I will flee into the swamp!”

Hector -

he has sweater paws constantly in his hoodie when the two of you have been going out for a while. he’ll walk up behind you and gently flap you with the ends of his sleeves when he’s bored.

When he wants attention he’ll go “Quiero besitooos~ ;A;” in a sad muppet voice, wandering the house mournfully until he finds you

If the two of you are playfighting (or you say something mushy and it catches him offguard), he does the thing where he pulls his hoodie up and pulls the drawstrings until it scrunches around his face and curls up in a ball.

He’s prone to walking up behind you and dancing as quietly but wildly as he can until you turn around and notice him, and then he’ll ask you whatever he actually came to ask you about.

He’ll also walk up to you sometimes with snacks like chips or something and go “sssh, just trust me” and put it in your mouth before you can see it (but only ever with things he already knows you really like)

Rora -

(Has the hardest time making it to full weird, but when she does, she’s Weird.)

If you’re sitting around reading or on your phone and she walks in, she’ll go “Gasp! A beautiful flower! In the house!” and make a show of sniffing your hair.

Whenever you do something a little bit clumsy, she’ll go “And I must swoon.” in an exaggerated version of her accent, but never in a mean way.

When she’s clumsy, she’s like “And that’s why I was Miss Louisiana.”

She also does the thing where she’ll walk up and lick your face when you two are totally alone/not wearing makeup. “It’s how we used to lay claim to sweets when we were little,” she’d drawl when you finally asked why, which. Explains a lot about the family, you suppose.

When you’re sitting on the couch together doing your own thing (but not something where she could throw you off, like a video game), she’ll go “I wilt!” in a dramatic voice and put her hand to her forehead and fall on top of you, where you must revive her with kisses.

If your hair’s long enough and you’re busy but she just wants to be near you, she’ll stand there and braid tiny strands of it together if it wouldn’t distract you too much.

just a little something I wanted to take the time to share, because I’m enchanted by the idea of those odd little in-jokes/habits that emerge out of a shared language of intimacy 🖤 no I’m not touch-starved I don’t know what you mean

I hope everyone’s having a good saturday so far! (or sunday, depending!)

#maxi vibes #hector vibes #rora vibes #maxi morvant #maximilian vincent morvant #hector morvant-casares #hex morvant-casares #hector emile morvant-casares #rora morvant #aurore morvant #aurore maria morvant #the morvants and their readers #maxi morvant x you #hector morvant-casares x you #rora morvant x you #slasher ocs #southern slasher ocs #necromancer ocs #morvant mortuary

[woso-dreamzzz]

Leaving II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your Career Grand Slam

Alexia didn't leave Spain a lot.

Apart from matches, she doesn't travel much.

Her life is simple. Practice, home, watch football, sleep. Repeat.

It takes a lot to get Alexia to break her routine but she happily does it for you.

She's curled up on her sofa under a blanket, eyes staring up at her tv as she watches the tennis. She's never found it interesting. She'd never enjoyed watching it but she put that aside for you.

On days when Mami couldn't and Alba was busy, she was left with the job of trekking halfway across the city with you to take you to your lessons.

You were so young back then, practically tiny with your little pigtails and a racket that was almost double the size of your head.

Loathe as she is to admit it, going to Poland has done you some good. You were always amazing at tennis but you've gained confidence that Alexia isn't used to seeing from you.

You're working harder than you ever have before and it shows.

You'd won the Australian Open in January. A win at the French Open rounded off your June. Most recently, you had won Wimbledon by the skin of your teeth and now you were at the US Open.

Alexia could practically see the beads of sweat dripping down your face as you served again, your shoulders rising and falling as you skidded across the court to hit the ball back at your opponent.

She winces every time, unable to keep her thoughts away from what would happen if you planted your leg wrong or if you slipped. The thought of you tearing your acl too haunts her.

You don't deserve that.

You don't deserve any injuries like that, her little sister who used to cry when Alexia got bumps and bruises and made sure to kiss them all for magic healing.

You stumble a little, just managing to volley the ball back over the net.

Alexia can see the hit to your confidence it gave you before you snap out of it and get back into the zone.

This is a semifinal and she knows that you want to win.

Tennis is a little more brutal than football, Alexia thinks.

There's no team to back you up. There's no other people to help you when you make a bad hit.

It's just you and your opponent and the ball you're hitting between you.

It's when you win that the anger bubbles up in your sister. She hadn't been expecting it. Honestly, she had been screaming at her screen in celebration as you finally take the set and win your place in the final.

Her fist was pumped in the air and the next moment she wishes it was punched against this girl's nose.

You'd just finished shaking your opponent's hand, a woman nearly double your age who congratulates you warmly, when you take off to the stands.

Your coach is sitting in his box and he fists bumps you, something you do back only in passing before you're crushing a girl into a hug.

Alexia freezes, ice spreading across her body as she stares.

You're not the most physically affectionate person. You're quite touch averse despite growing up with Mami and Alba willing to lather you in affection at a moment's notice.

For years, Alexia has been the only one whose touch you enjoyed. You had always curled into her like a little kitten. She was the only one that got to touch you like that, even way back when you were only six and getting skinned knees from tennis practice.

Watching you and this random girl on her tv screen fills Alexia with anger. She doesn't know why. She knows that it's wrong but she can't help it.

For years, she's been your rock, the one you came to when you needed a hug. This random girl hasn't known you nearly long enough to be touching you with such familiarity.

It's all Alexia can think about even as she sits on the plane journey from Barcelona to New York. She can't help but stew.

Nothing looked like it had changed when you last called her from Poland, a week before you flew out for the US Open. You hadn't mentioned sharing hugs with anyone else. You hadn't mentioned using anyone else as your substitute Alexia.

You don't mention anyone now as you practically tackle her into a hug, rapid Catalan spilling from your lips like every time you speak to her.

Alexia catches the girl from the semi-finals hovering over your shoulder and she frowns, brows drawing together as she watches the girl awkwardly shift on the balls of her feet.

"Who is your friend?"

You say her name but, truthfully, Alexia couldn't care less. Her eyes focus on the way you reach for this girl and lace your fingers together tightly.

She's never seen you do that with someone else before.

"-My girlfriend and-"

"What?"

Suddenly, her mouth is dry and her head is filled with cotton. Alexia prays she misheard.

"My girlfriend, Ale," You repeat before continuing on with your story," And we were running right down the street because those old dudes kept yelling at us. It's not my fault that they couldn't understand my accent."

You and your girlfriend start giggling like you've said something funny and Alexia gets the feeling that she should have been listening to the start of your story rather than glaring daggers at this stupid girl.

She smiles though, just so you don't realise that she hasn't been listening before she laces your fingers with hers and pulls you into her side again.

"I'm so proud of you," She says, brushing back your hair softly and cupping your face.

You lean into her with a smile, eyes sliding closed for a moment as you suck up her affection.

"Are you feeling ready?" She asks," This is a final. Do you feel in the right mindset?" Alexia cuts her eyes towards your girlfriend. You're still so young and you seem to want this so bad. She doesn't want any distractions for you.

"Can you help me get ready?" You ask softly and Alexia grins.

"Of course." A kiss is laid on your forehead and Alexia is brought back to your first game when you were still very little.

It was just a few kids playing and was hardly a tournament of any kind but Alexia had treated it like one for you. She'd done your hair that morning and helped you get dressed. She'd laced up your shoes and given you your racket.

It was something you did at every final now - a superstition that you both adhered to strictly.

It was strange to do this with an audience.

The girl - your girlfriend, Alexia sneers in her mind - is at home with herself in your changing room. She's in control of the music, something that you didn't even let Alexia do.

She tries to shake it off, this interloper in your space as Alexia stands behind you and does your hair.

Gone are the days where you would have it up in two pigtails. Now it's replaced with a braid and tied back with a headband to keep flyaways out of your eyes.

"I love you," She says as she ties off your braid.

"I love you too, Ale."

She kneels down in front of you before helping you slip on your shoes, lacing them both up tightly.

"I love you," She says after each of them.

"I love you too, Ale."

She cups your face and looks into your eyes.

"You're so talented," She says to you," You deserve this so much. You go out there and you try your very best, okay? It's just you on the court."

"Yes, Ale."

Her lips brush against your forehead and she teasingly tugs on your braid, laughing at the way your cheeks puff up just like when she used to do it to your pigtails.

You stand and grab your bag.

Alexia expects you to walk straight out onto the court but you stop in front of your girlfriend instead.

Your foreheads are pressed together and her hands are on your waist. You're whispering to each other. It's not the familiar Catalan that Alexia is so used to hearing from you but Polish instead.

It sounds strange in her ears as you murmur to this interloper, your lips brushing hers every so often before she pats your side and sends you on your way.

Alexia tries to avoid her as much as possible, quietly distraught that she has ruined the superstition that had won you so many finals before. This is your last big hurdle of the year, Alexia doesn't want to see you lose.

Somehow, though, Alexia ends up wedged between her Mami and this interloper. It would have been easier if she was between your girlfriend and Alba because any snide comment she made wouldn't be picked up but Mami had always been able to concentrate on watching you play tennis and lecture her other two daughters at the same time.

It was a scary talent which was why Alexia kept her mouth firmly shut.

She pretended this girl didn't even exist, this girl that had clearly taken advantage of the fact that you had no Alexia affection in Poland and latched onto you like a parasite.

Alexia plays her no mind, silently cursing her in her head as she watches you step onto the court.

This woman is older than you by at least ten years, maybe more but you hold up against her well, trading hits across the net.

The first set is perhaps the longest one that Alexia has ever sat through and it's enough to have everyone sitting up straight in awe.

Even Alexia, who will admit she knows next to nothing about tennis, will admit that it's clear both you and your opponent are giving it your all but, ultimately, you come out on top in the first set.

You look exhausted though as you take your break, wiping the sweat off your face and practically caning your water bottle when Alexia knows you should sip.

Your shoulders rise and fall and Alexia knows that you're fatiguing.

She knows that it's because of this killer first set and the blazing of the sun on your back but she blames your girlfriend.

If she hadn't interrupted your usual pre-game routine than none of this would have ever happened.

This idea is only solidified in your sisters mind when you drop the second set.

You look frustrated as you hydrate again, knee bouncing.

The women only go to best of three and you and your opponent are tired. There can only be one winner and, with the way that you're fatiguing, Alexia puts all the blame on your girlfriend.

Your girlfriend who you've turned to look at with a little furrow in your brow. Your girlfriend who's smiling at you with an encouraging nod and a thumbs up that makes you produce the dopiest smile Alexia has ever seen.

You don't even look at her or Alba or Mami, just your girlfriend as you make your way back onto the court, bouncing up and down to ready yourself.

Alexia has no idea where all this energy has suddenly come from but you return the ball with vicious intensity that catches everyone off guard.

It's beautiful to watch, even more beautiful when she realises that you haven't conceded a point at all.

It's a beautiful moment as you fall onto your back when the umpire proclaims the match won.

You just lay there, arms splayed out on the court as your chest rises and falls in a pant. You've abandoned your racket next to you even as the box and crowd erupt into cheers.

You're crying, Alexia notices when you sit up and finally pull yourself to your feet, leaning over the net to shake your opponent's hand.

Tears streak down your face and you keep trying to wipe them away but more come. You make your way over to the box, reaching up to lace your fingers with your girlfriend's.

She's saying something to you, screaming really over the crowd but Alexia can't understand what she's saying.

You can though because a bubble of laughter forces its way through your tears and you nod.

Your other hand reaches up for Alexia's and she grabs it instantly, squeezing it like she did when you were little and just won your first game.

"Ale!" You say," I won!"

"Si, hermanita," She says," You did. I'm so proud of you."

"Go get your trophy," You girlfriend says with a beaming smile," We can put it next to all your others."

You look at her now and drop your sister's hand.

Alexia finds that she doesn't mind as much as your girlfriend leans down from the box and fists the front of your shirt, pulling you in for a kiss.

Though, she could have done without a front row seat to that.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

[bibblelevi]

can we see a rose blood snippet sar?

Warnings for rough sex, hate sex (sort of), light impact play, degradation, fingering, jealousy, light humiliation (maybe?)

He stands behind you, breath blowing over your neck. It’s warm. If there’s one thing you do remember, it’s what his breath felt like going down your throat; sometimes a near-dozen times in a night; sometimes only once. His fingers grab the zipper at the base of your spine and slowly drag up.

Kiss her. Kiss her right fucking now, an intrusive voice in his head demands as he stares. Kiss her shoulder, and kiss her back, and kiss her neck. Kiss her mouth. Kiss her neck some more.

Halfway up, he brushes his fingertips over your bare back. He can’t resist any longer. The need to relearn the texture and softness of your skin under his hands is dire. If he doesn’t, he will die.

Your breath catches, and your body goes stiff. He touches you some more, his fingertips drawing a line upward, until he’s following the bump of your nape.

“We have issues,” he says.

“No,” you huff sarcastically.

“I’m not cheating on you. I have never cheated on you. I never will cheat on you.”

You blink away the stinging in your eyes. “I’ve never cheated, either.”

“Then who the fuck are you dressed like this for? Hm?”

Both of you stop breathing as the air in the room turns palpable. His anger rubs against your skin and sparks tiny fires all over your body. Between your legs, it ebbs and throbs, turning into something more.

Levi’s eyes flicker up then down, pupils blown and irises twinkling as he outlines your jaw and the shadows on your neck. The smoky-sweet scent of your perfume hooks him and reels him in, until his lips ghost the patch of skin, searching for the source. He doesn’t kiss you yet; he holds his mouth there, barely a hair’s breadth away, relishing in the limbo before reaching the tipping point.

You outwardly gasp at the fluttery sensation. Your eyes fall half-lidded, and you press your thighs together. Your mind is already running wild, full of filthy, deprived thoughts, all of which about Levi. You think of how he’s taken you before, how he’s going to do it again. Finally.

“Well?” His words vibrate close to your throat. “Who’s the slutty dress for?”

“No one,” you say. You sound anything but indignant like you intended to.

His fingers dip between your legs, brushing along the buttery fabric of the stockings. “And what about these tights?” Up and down, his fingers move.

“N-no one, Levi,” you try again.

You huff your frustration out through your nose, leveling him with a glare. His gaze doesn’t falter. He’s determined to win this one, and you’re too weak in the knees from a few strokes of his fingertips that you’re afraid he just might.

He hums and dares to work his fingers further up your thighs, until the tips are prodding at the seam of your tights. You shift, nearly blinded by pleasure from the slightest of touches. It’s just been so long since you’ve felt wanted—needed—like this. You could weep with gratitude.

“Right here?” he asks, pushing on your clit. He massages circles over the bud while his other hand rests on your waist. He guides you forwards away from the full-length mirror and bends you over your vanity. Your hands plant themselves on the table as if your body has already decided what will happen.

Your breaths are unsteady, half-lidded eyes peering into the smaller mirror. Your husband stands behind you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, veins flexing with the dexterity added to his movements. You can’t bring yourself to look away. Levi somehow makes everything look mesmerizing, even down to the mundane tasks; and it never fails to make you wet.

He slides his hands up your hips and hooks his fingers under your tights, then tugs down. The thin and delicate pair of panties you wear barely covers your cunt. He cups you with a palm, pressing lightly. You shudder.

“Since when was the dress code a little black dress and tights?” He uses two fingers to trace your slit through the fabric, rubbing back and forth, barely teasing your clit.

“It’s, hah— “ Levi nearly crumples at the sound of your wispy cry, “I-I wear stuff like this… for events all the time…” With a hot face, you crane your neck over your shoulder, looking for him. It takes every nerve within you not to push against his cock and beg him to just fuck you already. “You just never notice.”

His fingers stall, leaving you to clench and throb. You have to wiggle your hips and bear down on his fingers to reign back in his attention.

“Not until tonight, that is,” you add. “So what’s changed between now and then, huh? I wasn't your slut a week ago or a day ago. I sure as hell am not now, so shut the fuck up and just put your dick in me so we can get this over with, Levi.”

The way you say his name with such bite. With such seething, blithering hatred. God, he shouldn’t love it. He shouldn’t love the way you’ve always had to choose to love him and done so every time. He brings his palm down, smooth surface colliding with your ass. The skin ripples, a sharp, surprised sound leaving you on impact.

“You wanna talk about this now with my fingers almost buried in your pussy? You sure you can think coherently?” He shoves your panties to the side, sweeps his fingers through your folds, and sinks them home. Another obscene moan parts your lips. “Telling me to shut up when you’re the one who’s whining. Tch.”

Your body trembles, jaw hung wide while he swivels his fingers around. It takes some seconds until the tips graze the sensitive spot on your walls, but once he finds it, he doesn’t relent. He strokes you there profusely, reeling whine after whimper from the back of your throat. Your expressions play out on the mirror like pictures from the past, when he had you strung out from hours of merciless pleasure, and nostalgia burrows itself inside him. Those pictures are becoming sparse, and he wants more—he needs more to survive. Before there are only empty strips left.

Your cunt squelches, and your walls suck him in, clenching around him, greedy. That’s how he knows you’re close. But do you deserve it? After what you just accused him of in that kitchen? After daring to look so goddamn gorgeous afterwards? His body answers for him: His fingers stop and slide out, devastating you with what feels like eternal emptiness. You groan in dismay.

“I-I was gonna— “

“I know,” he says. “You’re not allowed.”

#ask and u shall receive #feeling h word so have a smutty snippet

[nebulein]

lap - brissbords 💞

Smh, I must love you so much, because of course this turned out way longer (and yet way less smutty 😭) than I planned it. Sigh. Can't win 'em all, I guess. 😩 Here's 1.2k of schmoop, you menace. 💜

(send in your own smut sunday prompt or read the others here)

~~~

Brendan has made a grave mistake. He knows it as soon as he sits down, but it's already too late: Bords' arm coming up, loosely wrapped around Brendan, his hand resting on Brendan's thigh, high up (right next to his crotch) under the guise of keeping him from falling. Ha, as if. Bords' thighs are big, even if he's tiny, but Bords just huffs, "don't be ridiculous, I won't break," pulling Brendan back against him. Brendan laughs, but it sounds choked. Every time he squirms Bords just holds him tighter, a little closer. He should've just sat in the grass.

~

Briss fidgets. Thom should've known, but he didn't think. He'd seen Briss looking around the fireplace like a lost puppy, realizing there were no empty seats, and said, "Sit here," slapping his thigh, and Briss had done it. Because Thom had offered, like a fool.

He's heavy, but not too heavy, a solid weight, warm against Thom. Thom resists the urge to bury his nose in Briss' neck, inhale the scent of him, feign a bite to the skin peeking out above his collar. Briss isn't too heavy, but he's sitting on Thom's dick and he fucking won't. stop. moving.

~

"You okay?" Brendan checks, because he can feel the tension practically humming through Bords, but he just shakes his head, shakes it off. "Fine." "I can--" "No!" Well. Looks like Brendan is stuck here. He laughs at some ridiculous story Kent is spinning. Bords' thumb has started rubbing tiny little circles right there over the inseam of Brendan's jeans, maddening, the gesture so absent Bords probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. Brendan manages not to react, at least until Bords' fingernail catches on the seam. A tiny sound escapes him, soft but unmistakable. Desperate. Needy. Revealing. Bords' finger stills.

~

Nobody's paying them any attention, everyone too busy ragging on Kent for striking out with that girl, the light of the fire so low that Thom doubts anybody could see much. Not with the way Briss is angled, anyways, sideways across his lap, head resting on Thom's shoulder. Nobody can see his hand, nobody heard Briss' gasp, nobody except Thom. Briss is motionless atop him, frozen. Thom barely dares to breathe, slowly, carefully, rubbing a circle. Applies more pressure, inches a little higher. Briss sighs, a stuttery exhale, thighs flexing, opening wider. Thom's dick fills with blood. "Yeah?" he asks.

~

Brendan doesn't look at Bords, stares at the ground, the feet of Owen's adirondack chair, the way the flames cast shadows over the grass. Everything feels tight, suspended, where one wrong step will send Brendan plummeting into the deep. There's goosebumps running up his arms, down his spine, his thigh practically burning under Bords' palm, the heat of it imaginary and yet so real. He doesn't speak, chews on his cheek instead, the moment stretching between them. What if what if what if. Bords starts pulling away, and Brendan jerks, terrified suddenly of losing Bords. He nods, and presses closer.

~

Fuck fuck fuck. Briss won't look at him, chewing at the drawstring of his hoodie, but he shifts, enough to make it clear he's giving Thom access, his ass still nestled right above Thom's crotch. Thom's hard now, and he's pretty sure Briss can feel it, too. He doesn't dare look. It's a slow crawl, his hand on Briss' thigh, still rubbing circles, up and down, every one a little closer than the last. It takes forever, but then he's there, thumb bumping against the ridge of Briss' crotch, tracing the outline of his dick, hard, tucked to the left.

~

Brendan's is gonna die, or come in his pants, or maybe both. Probably both. Bords is barely moving, arm still, only using his fingers to covertly stroke across Brendan's cock. A maddening touch: forbidden, unmistakable, yet barely enough. His other hand has snuck its way under Brendan's hoodie, resting just above the waistline of his jeans, hot like a brand. Brendan sucks in a breath, stomach muscles flexing. They're both so hard and yet they can't do anything, not anything more than this, not with their teammates, their friends all around, but… well. Standing up is out of the question.

~

If Thom could make the whole word disappear with a snap of his fingers, he would. Wish it all away so he could do what he wants most: get Briss out of these pants, stroke him for real, on his lap or maybe on the ground, hoodie rucked up, Thom between his legs doing what he's barely let himself dream, what he's only ever seen the guys in pornos do: get his mouth on Briss, on his cock, finally figure out if sucking cock is as awesome as eating pussy. Briss doesn't have tits, but his ass… Thom would deal.

~

"You wanna come?" Bords whispers, so low Brendan barely manages to catch the words, his thumb pressing down on where he's figured out the head of Brendan's dick is: an offer. Brendan never wanted to come so badly in his life, but he knows Bords means right now, right here, and Brendan-- he can't. Not like this, not in his pants, Jesus Christ. He catches Bords' wrist, and Bords stills, but neither of them draws away. "Later," Brendan says, then catches himself. What if this is a one time offer, a now or never type of deal? Maybe he should--

~

"Will you kiss me?" Thom asks, feeling foolish, but he needs to know, the question burning under his skin. If this means what he wants it to mean. Briss' perfectly round baby face screws up in a frown. "Now?" Thom wants to laugh, but swallows it. (He wants to swallow so much more.) "No, silly." (He wants to suck on Briss' tongue, and kiss his brows, and find out how smelly his balls are.) The fire is slowly dying down, the first boys calling it quits. "Later." Briss shifts, ass dragging across Thom's cock. "Yeah, okay." Thom leans back, smiling.

~

"You guys coming?" Owen asks, looming large as he stands, hands buried in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, blocking out half the night sky. The fire's been banked, everyone else sleepily stumbling back to the house in twos and threes. It's gotten cold, but Bords is warm, and he hasn't once complained about Brendan's heavy ass, simply shifting him this way or that to keep his legs from falling asleep. Brendan hums, shooting Bords a look. "Go ahead, we'll catch up," Bords decides, and Owen shrugs, a 'suit yourselves', trudging up the path to the house.

They're finally alone, in the dark, nobody around to see. They could kiss, or more, if they wanted to. But Brendan is warm and cozy, folded up on Bords' lap, Bords' arms around his middle keeping him close, Brendan's nose buried in the crook of Bords' neck. "You wanna go up?" Brendan asks, quiet because it feels right. Bords makes a contemplative noise, shoots Brendan a quick smile before gazing back up at the sky, clearly in no hurry. "In a bit." Brendan's barely half-hard anymore, decent enough for company if they wanted. He laces their fingers together. "Yeah, okay. Later," he agrees.

#i tried okay #at least every snippet is still a drabble except the last is a double #the boys just wanted to cuddle and hold hands 🤷‍♀️ #maybe we'll do another encore here #bordsbriss #frostbees #neb writes #smut sunday #hockey baby

[sebin]

☕️

#this photo is so cute to me let me talk about it for a second #i can’t pinpoint specifically what it is but something just. i can’t stop looking and i can’t stop my heart from flipping #look at the way his lips curl not in the reflection like his side profile is SOOO PRETTY #the way his lil eyelashes are showing too 😭 i want to kiss them!!! #he has the prettiest chin too it’s so cute i just can’t stop looking at it and look at his NOSE !!!! #i would write a whole essay on that. it’s so cute and round and such a nice size and shape #his nose suits his face so well #he has this tiny little bump under his nose too and you can only see it really clearly on some side shots and idk it’s just the cutest thing #all his features are so unique like even his teeth are just so uncommon #there’s nobody like youn there’s nobody with the same talent and the same visuals and he blows my mind every single day #he looks so cute all bare faced with a half drank coffee just looking in the mirror and i can’t get over it #who looks that cute doing the bare minimum??? youn does. every time. #everything about his features is so cute like i said it already but i can’t stop looking at the way his lips curl... he’s so pretty he’s #literally breathtaking. #AND HIS HAIR. IT LOOKS SO SOFT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND THE SHIRT HES WEARING LOOKS SO CUTE AND COZY #i bet this guy smells so good like something you’d never forget honestly. almost nostalgic feeling that makes u feel safe i don’t know 😭😭 #he’s just so cute he’s so cute. i love him or something fr #seungyoun

[eepy-pleepy]

It’s Not Everest (No Vacancy)

The neon “NO” is hidden behind an overgrown shrub, so Dean pulls the Impala into the motel parking lot before they can see that it is, in fact, lit.

“Awesome.” Dean says in a tone that clearly doesn’t think so, and whips the car around to pull back onto the dark road. They immediately hit a pothole and Sam’s head bumps the ceiling.

“Ow, wait, Dean, we didn't go check with the office, maybe they just left the sign lit because they can’t freaking see it–”

“No, Sam, every goddamn motel in this godless town is full up and I don’t particularly feel like walking into another musty fucking office just to have them tell me I need to learn how to read. It’s too damn late, I’m too damn tired, I’m just gonna find a pull-off where the cops won’t feel the need to be our 5AM wake-up call and we’re sleeping in Baby. Fuck it.” He emphasizes the last sentence by throwing the car into park, all seventeen feet of shiny black metal successfully hidden behind a bank of tall, scraggly shrubs off the shoulder of the road. Dean kills the engine and the early summer evening rises to fill the silence with the musical stylings of several hundred crickets.

“Dean.”

“We’ve done it before, Sam.”

“I know we have. What about Cas?”

Dean looks over at the passenger’s side. Sitting shotgun, Cas looks back at him, his eyes just a dark glint in the moonlight.

“I can just... keep watch outside.” He says.

“Bad fucking idea.” Dean snaps. “I wake up in the middle of the night and see you out there lurking, I might shoot you between the eyes. You’re staying in the damn car.”

“Dean, there’s not enough roo–”

“Look, Sammy, passing out is passing out, sitting or lying down. This is a molehill, not Everest. I just need my four hours, damn.”

Dean crams up against the driver’s side door, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning his bent knees against the back of the seat between himself and Cas. He’ll worry about bootprints on the leather upholstery when he isn’t so fucking exhausted.

“Jerk.” Sam mutters from the backseat, almost inaudible.

“Goodnight, bitch.”

“Goodnight, Dean. Sam.” Cas murmurs.

“Don’t make it weird, Cas.”

"Goodnight, Cas."

"Thank you, Sam."

Dean gives a little huff through his nose. Cas folds his hands in his lap and turns his head forward to watch the fireflies.

Dean doesn’t like it when Cas watches him sleep. Cas knows this.

But if he doesn't want eyes on him, he shouldn’t be drawing so much attention to himself. This is the fourth time inside of an hour that he’s shifted around, clearly uncomfortable with his sleeping arrangement, six feet of full-grown man trying to figure out how to make three feet work for him.

It's clearly not working out.

Dean's head has fallen against Castiel’s arm. He’s snoring gently, Cas can feel his breath warm through the sleeve of his trench coat.

He shuts his eyes. Pulls his focus down to just this, the upper lefthand side of his body. Feels the weight of Dean's head, the unyielding shape of his skull, the softness of his cheek. Cas turns his head towards him, just to better assess the situation. Not at all to feel the soft tickle of Dean’s hair against his nose and lips. That’s just an... accidental consequence.

Cas feels too big for his own skin. It’s something a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent should be entirely familiar with, but this isn't the feeling of cramming a Chrysler building into a 5-foot-11-inch frame.

This is bigger than that.

The slump of Dean’s body across the seat means that his head is the only thing supported, and it has his neck at a bad angle. If Dean's an angry sleeper, he's even worse with a crick in his neck and Cas doesn't love the idea of being stuck in a car with that tomorrow. He can't pull Dean more flush against his side without the risk of waking him and sending him into a conniption of bruised heterosexuality, so instead, he carefully lifts his arm. It works perfectly: Dean slides forward, falling to lying down with his head in Cas' lap.

The effect is immediate. The uncomfortable pinch between Dean's brows smooths away and he takes a deep, slow breath, settling against his new pillow and sinking into an easier sleep.

Cas hasn't realized he's smiling, yet. It's a tiny, soft thing, the one he gets when he's looking at something precious.

He is.

The moonlight catches the sweep of Dean's eyelashes, the top of his cheek, the shell of his ear, gilding them silver. His lips are parted, plush and dark in the contrast of the pale light. He's slightly curled up on the bench seat and Cas knows it's to fit the small space but that doesn't mean it's not the most fucking endearing thing he's ever seen.

The short hair over Dean's ear is mussed from the way he was slumped like a grumpy turtle past the collars of his shirt and jacket. Delicate, Cas brushes it right again.

Dean shifts, pressing up into his ghost of a touch. Cas draws back, afraid he's been caught doing something definitely not on Dean's approved list of Things Just Friends Do, but Dean doesn't wake. Cas' hand hovers.

He shouldn't. He should return to looking out of the front windshield and prepare the diffusion for when Dean wakes up to find himself sleeping in Cas' lap. That's what he should do.

The trouble is, nothing short of a fucking catastrophe could pull his eyes away from this. Dean is so beautiful, so calm and easy in his slumber, and he's right here, safe and close and warm. Literally right in his lap.

Cas pets Dean's hair, feeling that dangerous constriction again, something so huge and profound it might very well burst him. Dean sleeps on.

"You should tell him."

Sam's voice from the backseat is so quiet it's barely a whisper, but it startles Cas like a gunshot. He turns his head a margin to find Sam watching him, head and shoulders against the back driver's side door, arms crossed over his chest.

"Did you say something?" Cas tries, matching Sam's barely-there whisper.

"You heard me."

"Tell him what?"

"You love him."

Cas turns his head further so he's not just looking at Sam out of his periphery. There's nothing accusatory in Sam's tone, quiet as it is, or in his posture, cramped as it may be. He looks back at Cas with nothing but the same easy camaraderie he's always shown him, like they're discussing a good book or the lovely weather, not a complete paradigm shift.

In his lap, Dean tucks one hand under Cas' thigh and nuzzles his face deeper against the fabric of his pants. Cas looks down at him again and feels ready to explode into several new galaxies.

"I can't." He breathes.

"Why not?"

"You know your brother, Sam.” Cas says, unable to stop himself from stroking light fingers through Dean’s hair again. “And I’m happy. I refuse to risk losing him in pursuit of something I don’t need from him.”

“You’re right, I do know my brother. Probably better than he’d like to believe.” Sam says. “And I think he might surprise you, given the chance.”

Cas looks back at Sam like he wants to argue, but then just closes his mouth, his jaw bunching. Sam gives a little shrug and sits forward, reaching behind himself for the door handle.

“Just some, uh… food for thought.” He says. “I’m gonna hit the head. I’ll take my time. No particular reason.”

“Sam.”

But Sam’s already unfolding out into the night air, the car rocking as his weight shifts. The crickets are suddenly much louder, invading their little bubble of quiet. In Cas’ lap, Dean twitches.

Sam shuts the car door and Dean sits bolt upright. His gun, dropped in the footwell before he fell asleep, is in his grasp in a blink.

“Sam's just gone to relieve his bladder.” Cas says next to him. Dean squints at him and sniffs, wiping at his groggy eyes, then flicks the safety back on. The gun hits the footwell again with a dull thunk.

"God. Like a damn cashew. You'd think with all that height there'd be more... storage."

Cas is carefully looking forward, and not at the red mark on Dean’s cheek that’s the same shape as the warm spot rapidly cooling on his thigh. Dean rubs at that side of his face.

“Was I…?” He clears his throat. “Uh.”

“Asleep? Yes. I thought that was the idea.”

“Lying on you.”

“You needed to stretch out.”

Dean gives a frustrated sigh. “No, Cas, man, that’s your personal space. You should have shoved me off.”

“It was easier on your neck.” Cas says, still looking straight ahead. “You weren’t bothering me.”

“That’s not the point. You gotta have boundaries.”

“What’s mine is yours, Dean. I have no qualms sharing everything I have with you.”

Dean scoffs, leaning forward over the steering wheel and tilting to pop his spine. “Jesus. You ol’ romantic.”

Cas turns his head to look at Dean. The slightly uncomfortable smirk slowly slips off of Dean’s face. His eyes drop to Cas' lips before he catches himself, and he makes a weak attempt to laugh the charge out of the air between them.

“Man, you gotta figure out your levels. Last person who looked at me like that had me thinking marriage."

“Dean, why do you say things like that?”

Dean’s shoulders shove up under his ears. “You turn eyes like that on some innocent girl she’s gonna up and devote her entire life to you, Cas, I’m just letting you know you gotta tone it down!”

“Why would I turn eyes like this on some innocent girl?”

“Because you’re doin’ it to me like you think it’s a normal thing to do!”

“Dean, maybe you need to figure out how to receive a signal without assuming the other person isn't aware of what they're broadcasting." Cas snaps, then subsides as something like fear flickers across his face.

Dean’s jaw hangs uselessly for a stunned moment.

"Cas. You–"

Cas watches him in the manner of a gazelle waiting for a sudden deadly movement. Dean's gaze flits to Cas’ lips again.

"You. Uh." He says eloquently, and his tongue darts out in a nervous motion. This makes his lips impossible to ignore, shiny and wet in the moonlight.

“It's not Everest." Cas whispers.

"It kinda fuckin' is." Dean says, hoarse.

“Forget it. You should go back to sleep.” Cas says, reaching towards Dean with two fingers. It’s his fighter’s instinct that makes Dean grab them before they can touch his forehead, but it’s something else entirely that bunches his other hand in the front of Cas’ coat and yanks him forward. Cas tumbles gracelessly on top of Dean, and Dean doesn’t give either of them time to think.

At the first touch of Dean’s lips, Cas melts. A tiny sound escapes him, not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, and he’s grasping Dean’s shoulder like it’s the only thing preventing him from falling into the footwell. Their mouths part with a soft, wet noise and Cas meets Dean’s eyes, almost too close to focus on.

His arm is pressed across Dean’s chest from his fall. He can feel Dean’s heartbeat, galloping like an outlaw with the sheriff on his tail, and he understands the feeling.

“Dean.” He croaks.

“Yeah.”

“Do that again.”

Dean nuzzles their noses together, nudges Cas’ mouth in a barely-there brush of lips. Cas touches Dean’s face, dizzy with it, feeling stubble rough on the skin of Dean's jaw. He presses forward, holding Dean’s face like the beloved thing it is, and kisses him reverently. Dean sinks against the door until he’s lying across the seats and shoves his arms up under Cas’ suit jacket, encircling his back.

The crickets play them a love song. It’s entirely lost on them.

When Sam returns, approaching the Impala with caution, he finds his brother asleep with his angel hugged against him like a large, man-shaped teddy bear. Cas glances up, clocking the motion of Sam leaning over to peer through the driver’s window, and there’s a smile on his face that Sam’s never seen on him before.

If happy was what he had been, then this? This is pure, unfiltered bliss.

Sam slides carefully into the back seat and shuts the door as gently as he can.

“I’ll save my I Told You So, but only because you look so cute.” He whispers.

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Read on Ao3

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