#fly beyond the rainbow

[ordinary-beautiful]

Happy Little Blue Bird

[eternally-racing]

baby steps | lando norris

pairing: lando norris x wife!reader (plus their adorable lil kiddo) 

genre: fluff

warnings: none 

word count: 2.5k

summary: Lando needs a little bit of encouragement to head off to his first race after the birth of your daughter, so what better thing to do than surprise him on race day?

note: this fic can be read as a stand alone or as part of the racer girl series !

---

When you first showed Lando the two lines on your positive pregnancy test, your entire world had changed. It felt like such a whirlwind of excitement, and before you knew it you were 9 months pregnant watching Lando’s races on television. It was pure luck that your water only broke the day after the season ended, which meant that Lando had a cherished couple of months with your baby girl, Piper, before heading back to racing. 

The two of them had become quite the dynamic duo in your household. From the moment that Lando first looked at your daughter, he knew that he was in love. He was an amazing father and you told him exactly that at every moment you could. It was one of the biggest fears that Lando had, being an absent father or not knowing what to do. Before you met Lando he was fully in his bachelor lifestyle, not once even thinking of kids, but now he was the biggest girl dad you’ve ever seen, giving into your daughter’s every whim. It’s exactly why Lando says he wants to give up racing all together once he sees your daughter cry for the first time when he leaves to go to the MTC for the first time since she was born - he would do anything for Piper, he would give up everything he loved if it meant that his little girl would be happy. Luckily, he had you to keep him grounded, and after more than a couple of tearful conversations you had helped Lando make peace with continuing on with his career with you and your daughter there to support him in the background. This was the first week that this was truly going to be tested though, since it was finally time for him to fly to Bahrain. 

“Say goodbye to daddy!” you say as you pick up your daughter’s hand to make her wave. 

You can see the way the wheels are turning in Lando’s head as he stays frozen in the entryway. He’s not forgetting anything, there’s no way he could with your packing lists that he’s used for every single race since you started dating. Even if he did forget something, he knows he could easily get someone from the team to either shop for him or send it over.

“Y/N I - , I don’t know anymore about this,” Lando mutters with his grip on the door handle loosening. 

“Lan, cmon now, I can’t have two babies in this house at once.” you joke as you pinch his cheek. “But seriously, you’re gonna be okay? Just do your best out there. I’m only a phone call away all the time if you need me. You’re going to be great and we’re cheering you on from here. I’ll send you all the pictures and videos and everything so it’ll feel like you’re still with us.”

While Piper can’t talk yet, she still reaches out to Lando to gently pat his shoulder - which only brings more tears to the forefront of Lando’s eyes. He always said his daughter was smart beyond her years, able to sense things even some adults don’t notice. 

“What if Piper can’t fall asleep without me reading her story? What if she learns how to walk before I’m gone? Or what if she forgets that I even exist?” 

“First off, I have memorized “the Rainbow Fish” perfectly from the 7 different times you taught me it. She’s not going to walk because she’s barely 8 months old. And lastly, she’s not going to forget you Lando, I promise you that. Do you trust me?” 

Lando doesn’t miss a beat when he says “always.” 

You hand your daughter off to Lando’s arms in exchange for the carry on that’s currently in his hands. You know that all he needs to do is hold her, to remember that feeling of being with her so he can keep that memory with him for the week ahead. You’re not the only one who’s noticed the way that Piper always immediately seems to calm down whenever she’s in her dad’s arms. There was something special between the two of them, something so unbreakable - which is exactly what you tell Lando. 

“Plus I think she’s in that phase where she’s starting to like you better, so I could use some alone time with our little bug” you tease as you squish your daughter’s cheeks. When Lando sees you cracking jokes it makes him feel a little more at ease - if you were so comfortable with this then why shouldn’t he be too? With one last hug and kiss, Lando finally walks out the door with a promise to facetime you once he gets to the airport. 

Piper starts crying the second she realizes that her dad is really gone, and honestly you shed a few tears too.

 “Don’t worry Pipes, we’re going to see daddy sooner than you think,” you whisper to your daughter as you try to soothe her. Little did Lando know that you had a bag packed in your bedroom for you and your daughter to surprise him at the paddock on race day.

—

The expectations were low for Lando in Bahrain, both from the media and from himself. He had been very upfront about having different priorities this summer than just racing, so he had been a write-off in so many people’s minds. That’s what made it even sweeter when Lando saw the checkered flag first in Bahrain, marking the very first time he had ever won at the circuit. It’s no secret that Lando had become more sensitive since he had become a dad, but when he says “This one is for my girls, I love you Y/N and Piper” over the radio, it brings tears to everyone’s eyes. 

Lando is already over the moon. He gives a big cheer to the roaring crowd before going to hug the rest of the team. It’s absolutely electric and it really seems like everyone, regardless of whether they are a McLaren fan or not, could appreciate how much this win meant to him. 

But the sweetest moment is when he spots you. You’re a little bit off to the side, a couple of security guards standing around you to make sure that nobody would try and trample over you and Piper. Little Piper is wearing a pair of noise canceling McLaren branded headphones on her ears as she hangs out happily in your arms. It’s like she spots her dad at the same time too, since she starts waving her arms in Lando’s direction. Lando immediately stops everything he’s doing to run over to you two. You have a knowing look in your eye, like you were just waiting for him to finally spot you both. 

“Oh my god, you’re here.”  Lando lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Having you both here makes him finally feel complete, like his heart was finally whole again. 

“There’s no way we were going to miss daddy’s first race of the season. Congratulations, babe” 

Lando has questions of course - how you managed to pull this off without him noticing, whether Piper gave you trouble on the plane, and so much more. For now, though, he just wants to spend time with you two. He almost forgets that he’s at the race entirely, let alone that he won it until a team member comes up behind him to ask him if he’s ready to do his interview 5 minutes from now. 

When Piper reaches over with her little grabby hands for Lando, you of course give into her whims as you pass her over to the sweaty driver. It also gives you a second to pull out your phone and capture the moment for yourself. Piper is playing with the visor on Lando’s helmet, learning a new form of peek a boo that you know that she’s going to want to keep playing when you get home. You’re the one who helps keep Lando on track, giving him one last kiss on his helmet before you tell him to head off towards the hoard of media personnel eagerly awaiting his appearance. When you go to take Piper back from him she refuses to budge, and with both Piper and Lando giving you their classic puppy dog eyes, you know you’re outnumbered. 

“Keep her safe, Lan, okay?” It’s a rhetorical question. You know that Lando wouldn’t let anything happen to her - but it’s still a big crowd, the biggest you’ve ever been since you gave birth, and it’s a little scary to not hold onto her here. 

You don’t think anyone has ever seen Will Buxton this happy as he pulls Lando aside for his post-race interview. 

“I have to say, congratulations on an absolutely brilliant drive from you today, Lando - and would you like to introduce the special guest you’ve brought with you?” Will asks with a grin. 

Lando can’t help the similar smile that is etched on his face as he looks at his little girl. “This is my daughter Piper, and she’s just the best thing that has ever happened to me. And I can’t share enough praise for my beautiful wife Y/N too - words can’t describe how much she means to me.I really wouldn’t be standing here in front of you today without her support.”  Lando looks back at you with a smile and kisses Piper on the cheek to end off his sentence, but Piper seems to be more interested in the texture of the mic than her dad at the moment. 

“What does it mean to you to have this be your first win as a father, Lando?” 

“Oh man, this little girl is everything to me - I just want to do my best on the track so that Piper can look back and always be proud to have me as her dad.” 

The moment is made extra sweet as Piper tosses and turns in Lando’s hold so that she can cling to him like a koala bear, pulling herself further into Lando’s chest. She is starting to like the microphone just as much as Lando, so she pulls her face right onto it before she says her very first word - “dada”.

At first Lando thinks he’s hallucinating - there’s so many people around and there’s so much noise that he can barely hear himself think. But then Piper says it again and he can’t help but start to cry.

“She -, she- called me dada, oh my god I can’t believe it,” Lando’s in pure disbelief as he stares in awe at his little girl and looks back at you watching in the crowd. For a minute he forgets that there’s a full corral of people watching him until he hears a collective “awww” from the crowd.  “Sorry it’s just -, wow, she’s never done that before.” he says sincerely as he wipes the tears from his cheeks.

It’s now Piper’s turn to cry as she gets overwhelmed with all the eyes that are staring at her, pushing the microphone away from her as she buries her head into Lando’s shoulder. She is just a little kid, after all. Lando wraps up the interview as fast as he can, apologizing as he whisks Piper away to try and lift her spirits. 

Luckily it’s time to head into the cooldown room, which proves to be the perfect place for Piper to calm down from her outburst. The antics continue there as Lando bounces Piper on her lap, pointing to the TV screen to show her all the highlights. 

“Look at daddy about to overtake uncle Charles! And there’s uncle Alex, and uncle George...” Lando continues to retell the story of the last two hours as the other two podium sitters, Max and Oscar, chime in intermittently. Sometimes Piper’s gaze falls to Lando’s new hat instead of the screen, but he’s happy to have her in the room with him to share this moment. 

You have to really bargain with Lando to get him to hand Piper back to you so he can head to the podium by himself - it’s only at the rational explanation of not wanting your baby covered in champagne that he finally gives in to reason. Piper loves seeing the celebrations on the podium, adding in some cheers of her own when she sees her dad jumping up and down with joy on the podium. The little girl is addicted to the shine of the Bahrain trophy in the sun and you and Lando both later joke that she likes the piece of metal better than the both of you combined. 

It’s no surprise that Piper falls asleep on the car ride home - you do the same next to her as the jet lag catches up to you both. Piper still keeps one hand firmly on the trophy, having barely let it out of her sight since Lando brought it to her. Lando can’t help but feel so lucky as he looks through the rearview mirror at the both of you. 

It never gets any easier - leaving. The next weekend Lando heads to the United States and Piper cries the whole day once she notices that he’s packing a suitcase. You’re honest with Lando when you tell him that you’ll see him once he gets back, there’s no way you and Piper would be able to handle all the time changes and long haul flights that would come with going to every race.

You still watch every race though, throwing sleep training to the wind as Piper often stays up at all odd hours to watch with you. There are so many moments where you wish that you could be there with Lando, especially with the season he’s having. As the journalists would say, Lando’s “dad powers” have brought him his best ever start to a Formula 1 season, as he has yet to finish outside the top 3 so far. 

“What do you think is going to happen when I don’t come home from a trip with one of those?” Lando jokes as he sees your daughter absolutely enamored with the newest addition to her trophy collection. It’s the Australian GP trophy, which proves to be the perfect vessel for Piper to put her cereal pieces into. The little girl has taken to yelling as her new favorite hobby, and she shows it off every time she squeals with joy when Lando walks through the door after a race.

“I don’t want to find out, so you’ll just have to keep getting podiums, Lan” you joke back as you lean your head onto his shoulder. 

----

author's note: oh man, this has been sitting in my drafts FOREVER as i tried to perfect it but i really wanted to share it with you all. Thanks for all the love - asks are open if you want to say hello or make a request! Until next time! - Em 🤍

[avenoirzm]

disco tits

✎ one shot where leon fucks u in your kitchen (?)

cw: d in p, creampie, ooc leon soo yeah, degradation, ouch, unprotected sex, fem! reader, MDNI

You really aren’t a slut, right? And yet, the dick that’s currently bouncing off you is the reason you look like the women in those pornographic videos. As for Leon, he’s the kind of guy who rarely resorts to such things, like one-night stands; he’s just a different story.

It’s the effect of your legendary disco tits, the ones that are sprouting out of your low-cut dress right now, the ones he has been staring at blatantly. Thank God, Leon feels deeply indebted that women don’t wear bras under such beautiful dresses.

Onto the scenery.

Your panties are already on the floor; who gives a fuck? Leon can’t keep his hands to himself and clutches your right tit. Crushingly like nails and all. The other one bounces on its own.

“Look at you, so proud, huh? Pretty little slut.” Leon praises, well, grunts—no doubt he’s praising. Debauched as hell, no place in the heaven if there’s a heaven.

He has to be praising, hopefully. You’ll be the judge of that, just do it later. Now, you’re quite busy.

Your legs are wrapped loosely around his waist, and your back is on the verge of a nasty twist on your kitchen island. Implicitly, you trust him; you just know that he won’t slip you down. Have you seen this guy? The master of manhandling.

Your thighs are deliciously spread apart so that Leon can shove his cock almost out of your dripping cunt, plush pussy lips beyond stretched out. He’s holding back a smirk as you give out the most succulent whimper. Your beautiful voice is so tangy that it sends goosebumps down his spine as he fills you. You swear you can fucking see all the colors behind your blurred vision and closed eyes—the complexity of a giant rainbow whenever the tip eases inside your abscessed cervix. Maybe you should ditch the work for tomorrow since there’s no way you’re going to be working your ass off after this shit.

“This dress is made for me, for me, fuck — to watch ’em tits — too tight, shit!” Curses fly out of his mouth; no self-control. He’s fucking the most beautiful girl in the world in her kitchen, on your razed countertop, your cervix long gone, his condolences.

His thrusts are practically jostling your insides with every millisecond; yes, again with no fucking control. He knows you’re close—the stunned look on your face and the saliva glistening down from your mouth should be enough. So, Leon releases your tit and rubs your fat bud with the pad of his thumb until your nerves are frayed, leaving you crimped.

You can’t help it; you’re drizzling his cock with your own juices and swathe it so warmly that he feels thoughtful enough to consult you, albeit his normal pull-out game is shit. He’s so damn close. How could he not? What a pussy you have; he can’t stop admiring while he’s fucking. 

“Where? In your mouth or—” You disturb his query. It’s so stupid. 

“Inside! Cum... inside.” All night long, it’s the only sound you’ve made other than whimpering and whining—a high-pitched request, a necessity. Neither of you is sober enough to think about what happens next and doesn’t take long to get what you want. Leon’s watching with bated breath as your sweet pussy encases in his own gleaming cum, thick and warm.

He still won’t pull it out, though; he loves and adores your cunt as he languidly and persistently moves his hips, fucking and shoving back the residue of cum through your wasted slit. He just needs to feel more, to keep you a while ’cause you’re beautifully slick; you’re written by his mess.

He really did it; his narcissism is through the roof. He fucked you so hard that bits and pieces of your brain melted out of your flushed and ringing ears. Makes him proud; he’d be a fool to lie, infringing Pinocchio himself to live with a longer dick. And his dick is already long, mind you. 

“Good girl, what a good fucking work and pussy.” One of the few words he says minutes before he leaves your house, not that you can catch it in your hazy reverie as you’re still pining away, leaking on the counter like the dumb-fucked fool you are. At least you got his name and number... oh! Plus, his boxers laying next to your panties. Well, a start is a start, you suppose. 

[euphemiaamillais]

money, power, glory - coriolanus snow

on the night of your victory party, president snow decides that he wants a little more than a kiss from his victor—after all, don’t you ought to show your president just how patriotic you are?

cw: 18+//dub-con//age gap (reader is 18+)//abuse of power//mentions of exploitation//objectification//blowjobs//piv sex//coercion//loss of virginity//creampie//district 7 victor!reader and president!coryo

the party is all for you; the gaud and festivity, the fountains of alcohol, the ridiculously clad guests. you won, they tell you—but it’s a reminder of the children you killed as you fought tooth and claw in that arena. it feels wrong, to be put on display like this when twenty-three children lay dead in their districts. the celebration of murder—it’s as if you’re the prize animal at the circus.

you had been primped and preened by your stylist drusilla all afternoon, gritting your teeth as every part of your body was plucked and waxed, as she pulled your hair back into some elaborate hairstyle, the pins now digging into your scalp. that pain—the dull ache of it—ironically served as a reminder of the pain you had to endure in the games. you only survived because you slit the throat of that boy from two, watching the blood trickle out of his neck as you practically limped away.

you’d since been repaired, though many a time you felt that familiar ache in your ankle—the one that had been broken—and supposed it was punishment for the cruelty of your actions. but put twenty-four helpless children in an arena and ask them to fight to the death, and you learn that the ‘inherent goodness’ in human beings is nothing but a thin veil maintained by law and order.

‘enjoying the show?’ you hear the familiar, cut-glass voice of drusilla, who’s currently festooned in a garish purple gown covered in feathers—with a hairpiece to match.

you shrug, taking a sip of the expensive champagne, feeling the bubbles fizz down your throat as you swallow. it’s all so much, the noise, the people—as if you’re being smothered.

‘you’re being awfully quiet,’ she sighs, brushing your shoulder with her perfectly manicured hand. ‘isn’t there anything to tempt you?’

drusilla is more sympathetic than most in the capitol; she’d listened as you’d told her about your family back in seven, the trees that spanned for miles, how you often lay under their green blanket and daydreamed of a world beyond this one. but still, she would never understand what being a victor was like, there were scarce few in panem who did. many turned to morphling or alcohol upon their return home, and you’d heard horror stories whispered about victor’s being sold for certain services.

‘i’m just tired, that’s all,’ you murmur, reaching for another glass of champagne as a waiter walks past.

drusilla cocks a thin brow, a suspicious look glittering in her eyes. the throng of people is dizzying as you down your second champagne, but you feel your nerves ease, and pray that this night will become more bearable.

‘come, they all want to see you—their victor,’ she grins, pearly white teeth glistening under the golden light of the strings of lanterns.

you take her hand, and she pulls you through the crowd. it’s a vertigo-inducing sea of rainbow; hands clasping together in applause, rich cheers from their panted mouths. you feel your own lips twitch into a smile, but your eyes are somewhere else; far away from this. you can smell the soil back home, see the larks that fly through the trees that reach to the heavens. there’s a dreadful pang of homesickness thrumming in your heart.

and yet you cannot return home, not when they’re all watching you, waiting for the pretty victor to make a witty remark, or to make bids on who will get to have her first. you’re acutely aware that your pink dress is practically see-though, it’s gauzy fabric not leaving much to the eye. your feet ache from the heels they’ve put you in, and you know no matter how much they primp and preen at you, you’ll always be district. an outsider among those in wealthy excess.

among the throngs of people, you spot him—president snow. your breath catches between your lips. you’ve seen him before, obviously. his touch has always strayed a little too much when he’s been around you, but of course, you’d never say anything. you wonder how such a young man—he’s only 24 after all—rose to such power. nobody can deny how attractive he is, piercing blue eyes and platinum blonde curls. if he hadn’t put you in these games, maybe you’d even be persuaded to like him.

drusilla pushes you to him, and you stumble a little, the champagne causing a heady, floaty feeling in your body as you make an attempt to make yourself presentable. you hadn’t expect to be thrust towards him so soon, but the way he’s staring at you is as if he’s been expecting this.

‘don’t be so nervous, you look gorgeous,’ drusilla reminds you as you come to a halt before president snow.

he’s wearing one of his finely tailored suits; this one the crimson shade of red you’ve so often seen him wearing. you feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and feel the absence of drusilla’s hand from your back. when you crane your neck—only slightly, so as not to seem rude—she’s disappeared into the throng of brightly clad partygoers.

‘my favourite victor,’ president snow reaches for your hand and presses a kiss to it. his lips are strangely cold. not that you knew what to expect, but somehow it makes sense. his demeanour is like ice.

‘president snow,’ you lean back into curtsy, your bad ankle aching as you do so.

he smiles, icy eyes flickering over your form. he can practically make out your undergarments in that dress; they’re a shade of peach and of such a sheer satin that you can nearly see right through, but it leaves enough for the onlooker to be left wondering what lies underneath. your eyes follow him, and you clutch at your arms shyly, as if half of the capitol hasn’t seen you dressed so scantly.

‘shy tonight, are we?’ he inquires, edging close enough to you that you can make out the slight five o’clock shadow on his jaw.

‘i’m tired, that’s all,’ you mutter, flinching as one of his hands grips at your waist.

‘i would’ve thought you’d enjoy this spectacle, seeing as you made quite the circus out of the arena,’ he leaned in close to your ear, in what you assumed was an intimidation tactic. in spite of being hardened by the arena, deep down, president snow terrified you. ‘the way you killed that boy from two—brutal. but you made yourself the star of the capitol…’

his touch strays further, grasping at the thin fabric that surrounds your ass. one blonde brow arches in surprise, and his lips flicker into what you assume to be a smirk. if he was anyone else, you would’ve pushed him away, but he’s your president. one word and you’d be good as dead; and after enduring the games, you’d rather not come face-to-face with that sort of confrontation again.

‘how pretty,’ he muses, fingers tracing lightly against your form. ‘did you wear this just for me?’

your lips purse, but your body propels you to give a swift nod of your head. ‘do you like it?’

president snow smiles, eyes dancing at your quick wittedness. the girls he has are usually stupid whores who he pays to suck his cock—you, on the other hand, are a precious prize. intelligent, obviously, and startlingly beautiful. and you’re the first female victor since mags flannagan, not that he has any say over her because he was still crawling his way up under dr. gaul then.

‘oh yes, i think you know why,’ he drops the fabric, and takes a few steps away, a blasé look crossing his features.

he watches as your cheeks turn a pretty pink, and you cast your gaze to the ground. how charming; you feigning bashfulness. he’d seen you at your most primal, knife dragging along the jugular of that boy. you couldn’t charm your way out of this one.

the silence pierces the air, and you are prompted to speak—anything to change the topic. the stagnancy between you two has wrapped it’s suffocating arms around you—and you don’t want to choke.

‘i must thank you, president snow, for the festivities,’ you gesture to the ridiculous amount of decorations; the blaring music and the light show.

‘i’m glad you like it,’ he remarks, but his eyes are still trained on you. he wants something from you, and you’re not sure what. ‘i had to celebrate my favourite victor, after all.’

you stifle a scoff; his flattery is sickening. he’s never this charming among company. he’s cold, calculating—you can see it in his eyes, still, but he so obviously needs you wrapped around his little finger. and of course, you can’t resist. who would disobey their president, after all?

‘you flatter me, sir,’ he swallows thickly at the appellation. god, he’d love to hear you call him that as he bends you over one of his expensive armchairs. he wonders if you’d beg him to stop, or if you’d take it. he can’t figure out which type you are, just yet.

‘there’s nothing wrong with flattery, don’t you think?’ he is close to you again, breath fanning your cheek. ‘especially when it comes from your president.’

you feel your body freeze up. there’s something so intimidating about him, and although you want to outsmart him, the way he makes your knees buckle turns you into another one of those bumbling capitol fools.

‘now, if you’ll excuse me, sweetheart. i’ve got a few matters to attend to,’ he backs away, leaving in a flourish of red.

you have to blink a few times to register his absence, and reach for another glass of champagne as a waiter holds out a decadent tray to you. why not? you think, taking time to sip elegantly at this one. there’s no harm in imbibing if you have to make it through this hellish night.

—

drusilla taps you on the back as you’re shoving an expensive vol-au-vent past your painted lips. when you turn around, she’s shocked to see your mouth full of the pastry, cheeks rounded out as you attempt to swallow it. the hunger pangs had grown considerably, and when you finally gulped it down, the effects of the champagne made you giggle.

‘oh honey,’ she shakes her head, reaching for a pristine napkin to wipe at the flakes of pastry by your lips.

the night had drawn on, and you’d been left with an anxious feeling after your encounter with president snow. everytime somebody so much as brushes against you, your head had whipped around as you searched for a head of perfectly-set blonde curls and a crimson coat. to your luck, it had only ever been waiters, carting more champagne. you reckoned you were drunk enough now that you didn’t care how you acted.

let them think you were a fool, you’d be heading home tomorrow anyways.

‘how much have you had to drink?’ she inquires, and watches as you furrow your brows in thought.

‘six, no—seven glasses,’ you admit, and drusilla scolds you with a clucking tongue, her pink curls bobbing as she shakes her head.

‘president snow won’t be very happy with that,’ she remarks.

your mouth turns into a curious pout, watching as her face falters into some sort of cryptic, far-away look. you run the soft fabric of your dress through your fingers as you let the words settle. no, it doesn’t make sense.

‘why would he care?’ you asked, a little piqued by the thought that he’d even be remotely interested in whether you were sober or not.

drusilla’s purple lips are drawn into a thin line, and she bends in close as if she’s ready to tell you a secret. your throat’s gone dry, the anxiety prying at you with it’s cold hands.

‘look, sweetie,’ her golden tone is laced with a little condescension. ‘president snow won’t like that you’re drunk. it won’t make the situation ideal for him.’

your brows quirk into a look of confusion. situation? drusilla sees your loss of words and takes it upon herself to inform you of the events. how naive you are, that you’ve got no idea just what he wants with you.

‘you’ve been asked to stay the night at the mansion,’ her eyes flicker to search for any eavesdroppers, and then she continues. ‘look, i’m sorry if i didn’t tell you earlier, but he’s asked to keep quiet about it. what with the others being jealous—’

‘others?’ your voice falters.

‘well, sweetie, you know how desirable victors are. president snow just wants to make sure nobody else gets their hands on you. that’s why he’s keeping you here, under close guard.’ drusilla bites her lip, revealing that she’s worried for you. she didn’t have much of a choice in your fate, but if she could forewarn you, she would.

you understood now why he’d been so touchy before—clearly he was jealous that somebody was trying to get their hands on his precious victor.

you lose all your words, mouth opening, nothing spilling out. it feels like it’s been filled up with dirt; you can hardly speak. drusilla goes to strike your arm, but is prevented from doing so as she’s whisked away by some blue-haired man harping on about her latest designs. once again, you feel the pangs of loneliness.

you had to reconcile yourself to the fact that the rest of your life—however long that may be—would be a lonely existence. you’d spent the better part of the month on the train, zigzagging back and forth between the districts, reading off prewritten speeches as you had to face the families of the fallen. all those children—their children—dead.

every night, you’d taken those pills prescribed by the doctors, the ones that stopped you from waking up with your hand around your throat as you screamed. you slept a dreamless sleep, but it became hard to not depend on them. what would you do without them tonight?

—

the party draws on long into the night, and you grow bored and overwhelmed. as per drusilla’s advice, and also not wanting to wake up with a throbbing headache tomorrow morning, you resorted to drinking the assorted non-alcoholic beverages.

your head is pounding by one am, but the party doesn’t seem to cease by any means. deciding you’ve had enough, and that nobody would really miss you—after all, nobody’s even talked to you for at least two hours—you stumble your way across the marble steps of the mansion. you hazily remember drusilla telling you what door you were meant to enter by, and you find it manned by a singular avox.

without a word, they let you inside, and you trail tipsily after them up a velvet staircase. your ankles roll as you climb the steps, head spinning, but it doesn’t take long to reach your room. your feet are aching, and when the avox leaves you to your own company, you practically tear the shoes off your feet.

you lay back against the white sheets, revelling in the feeling of the thousand-count cotton brushing against your skin. you’d never felt anything like it, and could feel your eyes shutting as you relax into the plush sheets.

you awaken what seems like hours later, but only twenty minutes have passed on the alarm clock by the bed. the sound of footsteps can be heard outside your door, and you’re surprised you can make it out as the party still booms outside the vast windows of the mansion.

you sit up, heart racing, and head throbbing slightly. you’re groggy from the champagne, and the bubbly tipsiness has given way to the absolute misery of sobering up.

the door opens, a small sliver of light giving way to the shadowy figure that progresses into the room. you squint, unable to make out a face, but pray it’s not one of the men you’ve heard were making bids for the victor.

you sigh a breath of relief when you see president snow, not a hair out of place as he stands beside your bed. your dress is up around your thighs, and you can see his blue eyes dancing across your frame.

‘president snow,’ you murmur into the darkness.

you wondered who had turned off the light in the first place—your memory is hazy at best but you don’t remember flicking the switch. an avox must have come past while you were sleeping.

‘i see my favourite victor has taken some respite,’ he muses, one cold hand reaching out to stroke your thigh.

you flinch back reflexively, not used to the icy feeling against your skin. nor are you used to the prying hands of men. the most you’d ever done was kiss a boy, and even then, that was years ago, you weren’t even sure it counted.

‘sorry,’ you spit out, lips trembling with apology. he only laughs, hand still tracing your smooth skin.

‘no need to apologise. i’d rather you doze here than fall asleep on a bench where any of those men could lay a hand on you,’ he makes a sound of disgust, shaking his head at the thought. ‘i couldn’t let them spoil my pretty victor.’

you feel your cheeks warm—did he really think you were pretty? but you remembered who he was; in fact he was the very reason there were even any games at all. he could put a stop to all this if he wanted, and yet he didn’t. you couldn’t let him fool you with his charm.

‘it’s very thoughtful of you, president snow,’ you offer, not wanting to raise suspicion in him.

in the moonlight, you can see a smile flicker across his lips. his hand moved further up to the apex of your thigh, and your breath hitches. what was he doing?

‘do you like that?’ he murmurs, leaning in against your ear, breath hot.

you can’t think of what to say. your thighs tingle a little with the touch, but you don’t want him there. it’s wrong. he’s the president though, and how can you tell him no when he could have you killed?

‘you’re a quiet one, aren’t you?’ he mutters, but wanting to rouse a sound out of you, he moves his hand to press flush against your panties, thumb stroking the area where your clit is.

you let out a breathy gasp; the pleasant warmth flooding your belly. his brows quirk up at your quick response—you’re so willing. he wonders how far he can push you; of course he wants to have you no matter what, after all, it’s his right as president—but he wants to know how much of a whore you are under those pretty clothes.

he knew what district girls were like. lucy gray—though that name made him shudder—bent easily under his guidance. he hoped you’d do the same; obey him. he had more power now, six years after his stint as a mentor and then peacekeeper. he kept that to himself; everybody else simply thought he’d been struck down with a bad bout of the flu, when really he’d been uncovering rebel plots by day and by night was burying his cock deep inside of whatever district slut would have him.

‘please, president snow,’ you beg, head spinning as he rubs at your sensitive nub.

‘please what?’ he inquires, an undercurrent of menace in his voice.

‘i mean—are you sure we should be doing this?’ you furrow your brows with anxiety. ‘aren’t there men who want to pay you good money for this?’

you squeeze your legs together in the hopes that he’ll stop, but this only angers him and he uses his muscular hands to pry your thighs apart. you can’t deny him this; he wants it, and he’ll have it.

‘oh, they’re not going to get you. no, you’re far too precious for the likes of them,’ he shook his head in disbelief. ‘when i realised you were going to be sold to some scumbag who’s been divorced three times, well, i couldn’t let that happen.’

your mouth stretches into a perplexed pout, and you let out another soft moan as he rubs diligently at your clit. his other fingers brush over your red lace panties, and he sucks in a breath as he feels how soaked you are. surely you cannot deny him when you’re practically begging for it?

‘but…’ your lips tremble and you are almost deterred from saying what you want to by the scornful look painted across his noble features.

‘surely you don’t want me,’ you scramble to find an excuse.

‘why wouldn’t i? it’s not like you’re a girl anymore, hm? you’re nineteen, and ever so pretty,’ his other hand thumbs your cheek. you didn’t feel it, but you’d been crying. his thumb presses against a droplet.

‘please,’ you plead. ‘you wouldn’t enjoy it—i’m a virgin.’

he laughs, shaking his head at your stupidity. he hasn’t suspected it, what with the way you were dressed; the gown revealing far too much of your body to him—he could see the top of your nipples sticking out of the neckline.

‘oh no,’ he clucked his tongue. ‘then i simply must have you. how could let you i waste your virginity on any of those men when i could have you?’

you shake your head, body trembling as you feel yourself give way to his fingers, which were slowly bringing you to your pleasure. you clutch at the plush sheets and feel yourself gush, your panties growing even more damp.

he can’t believe it, how quickly you came. he wonders if you’d ever even touched yourself before. sure, you’d killed a boy, but you really knew very little about the world, and even less of men. it enthralled him.

his cock strained in his suit pants, and he let out a low grunt. you responded with a shocked look, but sighed as he stood up, letting go of your thighs. the way he’d touched you—it was scandalous. surely he’d be in a lot of trouble if anyone found out?

but your heart fell when you remembered that he was president. it’s not as if you were anything more than a hired whore who had to do her duty by him.

‘you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?’ he called out, combing a hand over his perfectly styled hair.

your mouth went dry, but you stood up, wanting to be defiant, clawing for anything to make you seem like you had some sense of autonomy. it was a lost cause, however. you forgot how he towered over you now that your heels were discarded. you couldn’t face up against him.

‘i said, you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?’ his voice was wrought with ire this time, and you nodded.

‘yes sir,’ you respond with a clear tone. you’re surprised you even managed it.

he reaches out to stroke your face again, sighing as your warm cheeks meet the cold pads of his fingers. you tremble a little, knees buckling in fear. anything could happen.

‘now, are you going to be a good girl and show your president how patriotic you are?’ he asks.

‘yes, mr president,’ you reply blankly. the name sends the blood straight to his cock.

‘then get on your fucking knees,’ he commands.

your head is spinning, but you somehow find your way to the ground, knees aching as you press them into the wooden floorboards. you hear the sound of something unzipping, and when you glance up, you come face to face with his cock.

he’s hard, and huge—not that you’ve ever seen one before—and he lets out a heavy grunt as he sees how pliant you are. he wants nothing more than to fuck that pretty little face of yours and watch how you gag around his length. he hasn’t known he was so big until he’d gotten to district 12 and the stupid district sluts kept choking on his cock. when he’d dressed in academy rouge he’d only ever known his own hand. but now, he knew what power he could exert with all eight inches of himself.

‘good girl,’ he strokes your chin, and when you open your mouth, he slides his thumb over your bottom lip.

your saliva coats his thumb, and you gag a little as he slides it to the back of your mouth. a small grin flickers across his lips; if you’re choking on his thumb, just imagine how bleary-eyed you’ll be as you gag around his cock.

‘god, i don’t want to think about what i would be missing out on if you’d died in that arena,’ he tuts at the thought, and slides his thumb out of your mouth, smearing your own saliva at the corner of your lips.

your lipstick is smudged now, and he’s determined to ruin it even more; perhaps even have your mascara running down your cheeks as you take his cock in your mouth.

‘when i’d heard that the victor was to be the eighteen year old girl from district 7, well, i knew i’d be able to have you. especially once i got a look at you, in your victory dress. did they make it that short on purpose? to make my cock hard?’ he laughs, reminiscing how he’d taken a whore that night that looked just like you, pretending it was you that he was fucking from behind.

you shiver, terrified by him, his words. they’re disgusting. the way he viewed you as something to exploit—and it can’t even be considered taboo because you’re nineteen, after all. if the president wants you, he’ll get you.

‘answer me!’ he scowls, tugging at your intricate hairstyle, which hurts because the pins holding it together were already poking at your scalp.

‘no,’ you murmur, because it’s the truth. you wore what they told you to, you didn’t think it was supposed to be for him.

‘no?’ he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘well then, tonight at least—they must’ve known i wanted to have you. wasn’t going to let you get away from me this time.’

you swallow thickly, mouth agape in terror, knees trembling against the cool floor. you can feel the bruises forming on them; the dull ache of kneeling is humiliating.

finally, he presses his cock against your open mouth, a little pleased that it was hanging agape in shock, making it easier for him to slide it right in. you freeze, blinking back tears of mortification, but you can't say no, not when he's your president, not when there's that nagging ache in your core that makes you yearn for his fingers back against you.

you open wider, and he slides himself in, cock hitting the back of your throat instantly. you gag, the tears now dribbling foolishly down your cheeks, and president snow just laughs, the sound mottled with undertones of a soft groan. you wrap your lips around him, and move to bob your head up and down, but he grabs your hair and tugs it towards him.

you cry out, scalp stinging and mouth stuffed full to the brim with his cock. his grip tightens as he begins to thrust into your mouth, grunting as feels your saliva coat his length. he can't even fit himself all in, it's pathetic, but he'll help you learn in time how to deepthroat, so he can watch as your mascara runs while you beg him to push himself further down your throat. you'll become his personal fuckdoll.

'teeth,' he winces as he feels your top teeth make contact with the skin of his cock, and embarrassed, you make sure to push your top lip around them.

his lips stretch around a groan, forcing your nose to meet his pubic bone—the sound of your gags are delightful, and when his eyes flutter shut, you know he's enjoying it. he tosses his head back, cock throbbing as he forces it back and forth in your mouth. when his eyes open again, it's to the sight of your mascara running, thick black streaks painting your cheeks as you choke around him.

'so pretty,' he strokes your cheek, smearing the mascara even more. he wonders if you'll still be crying as he stretches you out, filling your cunt with his big cock. probably; he's forgotten how much whining virgins do.

feeling himself close, his thrusts grow more haggard, and you feel his balls slap against your chin as you attempt to breathe—through your nose, of course. his movements are suffocating, you're grasping at his hips, praying for it to be over—and then it is.

hot sticky spurts of cum slide right down your throat as he gives a loud moan, crying your name in praise. part of you—the part you revile—reddens at his praises, you want nothing more than to please your president. the other part of you tries not to gag as the pearly ropes of his cum slither achingly slow down your throat.

'good girl, swallowing it all—you'd do anything for your president, wouldn't you?' he coos, pulling his cock out of your mouth.

your lips ache, and you're sure the back of your throat is blooming purple with a bruise; but you nod, eyes all fucked out because your cunt is dripping wet, all for him.

'well, i really only want one more thing from my victor...' his voice trails off, lips pursing. you can see the desire in his eyes, icy gaze dripping with lecherous intent.

and yet, you cannot deny the fact that he had already made you cum once, that your body is begging for him. you hate it. you want to scream—if only you weren't so tired and your mouth didn't ache so sorely.

'how about you lay back in the bed, hm?' his voice is soft, laced now with the sweet tone he uses to charm the wives of senators and the little girls that give him roses.

you oblige blindly, and rise, knees black and blue, legs trembling, but somehow you find yourself laid back against the plush sheets once again.

‘can’t believe nobody else has had you,’ he murmurs, removing his shoes carefully, and then undoing his suit. it’s brand new, and he doesn’t want to spoil it.

when he’s undressed to his boxers, you can’t help but admire his form. he’s well-toned, biceps muscular, the slight formation of abs on his stomach, and you can see his cock has once again hardened. you press your thighs together in want, and he watches as you gaze at him, half-terrified, eyes blown wide, and yet half-wanton, body beckoning him to take you and make you his.

‘god, you’re so pretty,’ he muses, crawling across the bed and placing his arms either side of you.

you shiver, suddenly feeling brushed with cold, perhaps it’s from him. how fitting, you think, that his name and touch are both reminiscent of the cold. you can feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh, a reminder of your helplessness in this situation. the way he’s going to do whatever he wants with you.

he slides his fingers under the straps of your dress, forcing it down your arms. you lie still as a stone, letting him slide the dress down your body, exposing your breasts, watching him sigh as your nipples respond to the frigid temperature radiating from his body.

he takes one breast in his mouth, laving at your nipple until it hardens under his tongue. your hands are urging you to clutch at his perfectly styled hair, but you cannot move; the tears are brimming in your eyes and you’re not sure if they’re out of shame that he’s touching you, or shame that your body is so pliant to his touch.

he pushes the dress down further, and gets on his knees until he’s completely stripped you of it. there you lay, among the pristinely white sheets, the party alive outside of your window; completely bare besides your panties. your skin is pocked with goosebumps as he runs his hands over your bare stomach, fingers latching at the waistband of your panties.

‘god, are you wet for me?’ he chuckled as he removes your soaked panties—still evidence that he’d managed to make you cum.

you are unresponsive until he gives your skin a pinch between his slender fingers, and a soft yelp escapes your lips.

‘talk to me,’ he commands, though there’s an undertone of begging. not that the president should ever have to beg. ‘i can’t have my pretty victor keeping silent, especially not while i fuck her. i want to hear the sweet sounds that are going to come from your lips.’

you give a nod, eyes flickering to glance at the ceiling, watching as the hazy lights from outside dance upon the ornate eaves. one of his hands touches your cheek, the chill bringing you back to meet his gaze.

‘gonna make you mine,’ he groans, reaching down to palm at his cock through his boxers.

you push away the tears at your eyes, and your hands go down to clutch at the sheets. you’re still a little floaty from the champagne, but it can’t seem to take you away from what is occurring right before your eyes.

'look at me!' he snaps, hard cock now pressing against the inside of your thighs.

'sorry,' you manage to get out, lips trembling as you brace yourself—he's big... too big.

'fuck, can't believe i get to have you all for myself...but i suppose it's the least i deserve as president,' a soft laugh plays upon his lips, the sound soon mottled by a low moan.

he eases the tip into your hole, sighing at your tightness. your eyes flutter shut, but strangely, your core only tingles as he slides himself into you. it's the ultimate betrayal—your body is yielding to him, growing wetter as he sheathes himself completely inside of you; at least, most of his eight inches.

'so fucking wet,' he grins devilishly, beginning to buck his hips gently.

you look so angelic, hair sprawled out on the pillow like a halo, the soft lights from the party glowing against your skin. coriolanus wants to take it slow, in spite of how much his cock is throbbing, because you are his prize—he must relish you. he can't let your virginity go to waste, after all. half the capitol has been vying for it, and now he is the one to take it. he imagines the disgruntled looks on the faces of the men who had bid for you when he informs them that you've been spoiled—and if any of them complained, well, he's the president. he could see to their... accidental deaths.

as he stretches out your tight walls, a pretty moan escapes your lips, by accident, but he takes this as a sign that you are surrendering yourself to him. coriolanus smiles a little to himself, and fastens the pace slightly, grunting as your body opens itself to his caresses.

‘you like that, hm?’ he inquires, one cold hand moving down to rub your clitoris.

you let out another gasp, this time of shock and pleasure, as his thumb presses against your sensitive nub. his eyes dance with delight as you come apart under him, your cunt growing slicker by the second. you’re so beautiful, and he glances down at the part where you two meet—his big cock stretching out your tight walls. a milky ring of your arousal coats his shaft, only driving him more lustful as he fucks you.

‘president snow…’ you cry out, trying to shove his hand away.

you can see the ire returning to his eyes, and when he presses down on your clit harder you stop and allow your body to relax. you realise it’s fruitless to try and fend him off anymore—he’s making you feel good, after all. but that’s the terrible part of it, the fact that you can feel waves of pleasure washing over you again. he’s smiling sickly, groaning as he ruts into you with grunts.

‘you're so fucking tight,’ he moans, watching you moan with pleasure as his fingers bring you to climax.

‘so good…’ you say, barely above a whisper, but the knowing look he cast you makes you admit it—after all, perhaps he’ll be kinder next time. let you decide when you want it.

‘yeah? you like the way my big cock is filling you out? how your president is reminding you who you belong to?’ he grunts, and you give a lazy nod.

the coil in your stomach comes unbound slowly as the combination of his cock stretching you out and his thumb rubbing diligent circles around your clit drives you over the edge. your toes curl sightly, arms moving up to grip at his back. you find the smooth, cold skin is surprisingly toned; hard muscles prominent under your touch.

you feel your pleasure peaking, body dancing with warmth and want. you try to stifle your moan by turning your head into the pillow, but his hand grasps your chin and pulls you back to meet his gaze.

‘don’t turn away from me!’ he scolds, brows knitting into a pained expression.

‘i’m sorry…’ you murmur, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

you feel a wave of pleasure wash over your body as his thumb coaxes another orgasm out of you—your second one for the evening. your cheeks fill with warmth as your arousal coats his cock, causing coriolanus to let out a breathy groan.

you pray that it ends soon, but your body continues to dance with pleasure and satisfaction, giving into him, allowing him to make his stake in you. his pretty little victor that he was deflowering—and she came around his cock and everything!

‘fuck,’ coriolanus grunts, hands travelling down to grab at the soft skin of your hips as he pounds into you. ‘all fucking mine. taking me so well…’

when you clench around him, he feels his balls tighten, and cock still for a moment as he reaches his own climax. you’re mewling so prettily—half-begging for him to stop by the way your head roles about in a dissociative reverie shows him that if your heart cannot be persuaded to take him, your body will.

‘shit,’ he spits as he slows his pace, dragging in and out of you at a painfully still speed.

he doesn’t want to finish so quickly, but you’re so fucking tight and your slick coating his cock has set his nerves on fire—his tip is throbbing with desire. coriolanus’ fingers are plunged into the supple skin of your hips, digging far enough that you feel a few bruises forming under the skin.

'so fucking tight,' he curses, sliding himself all the way out before filling you up to the hilt again. the sound of your wet cunt squelching around his big cock reverberates against the walls.

another moan escapes your plump lips, egging coriolanus on—clearly you're enjoying this to some extent; you've come twice tonight. next time he might not be so kind, after all, he's only being so sweet because you're a virgin—you're more like a prize to enjoy than anything else.

'gonna fill you up with my cum,' he sneers, eyes rolling shut as he pushes himself against your g-spot. you contract around him in response. 'you'd like that, wouldn't you? taking your president's cum? so patriotic, aren't you?'

the way he's still squeezing and pinching at your hips urges you to respond, so you cast a groggy nod—the champagne is still making your head swim.

'good girl,' he praises, and you respond with a genuine smile.

coriolanus grunts heavily, his balls tightening, and he feels hot spurts of cum spurt out from the tip of his cock. the relief that washes over him is blissful; watching you take every last drop of him makes him sigh deeply. you can't help but squirm at the sticky feeling as he thrusts his cum back up into you. you're trying not to lurch away in disgust—his hands, now clamping down on your shoulders, are keeping you there, close to him.

when he pulls out, he gazes at your weeping cunt in awe as his cum trickles down your thighs. you’ll always be his—he can see that by the tiny smudge of blood that also coats your inner thigh on one side. he doesn’t know if he can bear to sell you to those other men now; perhaps he’ll just have to lock you up here and keep you all to himself.

‘thank you, mr president,’ you murmur, half on the verge of sleep.

your body is humming with exhaustion, and you begin to curl up into a supine position, trying to force away the uncomfortable combination of his sticky cum and the dull ache between you thighs.

‘i’ll be back tomorrow,’ he presses a kiss to your forehead, smoothing a few tendrils of hair out of your half-closed eyes. ‘don’t think you can get away from me now, my pretty victor.’

[sytoran]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟑 — 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇-𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

kinktober day 003 | IW!wife!wanda x gn!reader

you've always loved writing stories since young, but the tale of you and your wife writes itself, and it ends with a sweet happy-ever-after.

cont. soft sex, established relationship, romance + fluff

word count. 1477

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

You’ve always had a thing for writing stories.

From the most devastating tragedies of a sapphic couple in medieval times, to the spiciest of female homoerotic tension during a zombie apocalypse, there were no words beyond the coaxing grasp of your vivid intelligence.

Encompassing was what it was, how the words flowed from the edge of your mindwires to the tips of your fingers, spilling onto page after page of literary beauty. You could get lost in it for days on end, spinning that marionette with a poetic dexterity, making her dance to your stories until her legs could take no more.

It was no secret that writing had been an extraordinary talent of yours, that would later take shape in the path of your future career. 

So there you were, sitting at your study desk on a lazy Saturday morning, nimble fingers flying over your keyboard in an intricate dance, each pausable breath, each rush of words that woved into the fabric of your story.

It’s quite picturesque, if you’re being frank; what with freshly brewed coffee in a steaming hot mug that read ‘Pride not Prejudice’ (Yes, there was an overload of rainbows decorating its surface,) and a breathtakingly idyllic view of the morning sky.

Of course, the skyline would never quite compare to the sight of your lady stepping out of the bedroom. The only causation to cease your words.

“Y/N?”

It’s a beautiful calling, tainted with a sleep-dragged croak of the throat. Brown doe eyes slowly blink to meet your gaze, soft feet making tentative contact with smooth marble.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you respond softly, eyes savouring the sight that is your wife in one of your cream Oxford shirts. Wanda's beauty is underlying and unsaid, beyond the boundaries of conventional and beyond your dictionaried words.

Certainly, Wanda has the traits of what define beauty: your shirt on her is partially unbuttoned to tease at a tantalizing cleavage, the hem of the clothing is high enough to show off the expanse of her porcelain legs.

But it's also the way the sunlight falls on Wanda's skin, like she's a descendant of the Gods that crafted the essence of light, like she was made to dance and roam in the beauty of the day.

It's the way the morning glow accidentally highlights her Grecian-sculpted cheekbones, and the way her light-brown freckles casually pop in that light. It's her collarbone scattered with your marks of violet hues, and that fading scar on her right thigh you never fail to kiss.

A sleepy sigh escapes from Wanda’s lips, and she runs a hand through her perfectly dishevelled hair. You don’t have to say anything, only nod your head in the slightest. The rest is second nature: Wanda slides herself into your lap, arms hooking around the back of your neck, head tucked into the crook of your neck.

Perhaps it was second nature, truthfully, because Wanda didn’t need control when she was around you. You were her control, her steadfast pillar, her rising sun. You were a constant in her ever-changing world, always by her side regardless of whatever insurmountable task might be in her way.

You let an imperceptible sigh of content slip through your lips, but you never stop typing for a second. Emotion was difficult for you to convey, paradoxically, considering the amount of feeling you could put into words. In actuality, it was hard for you to laugh carelessly or have an outburst of fury. Your emotion was quiet and unspoken, much like in the present moment.

Wanda, however, seemed to have other plans in mind.

It started off innocent, because you truthfully believed she was just being affectionate and physically in need of human warmth. And maybe it was, as your girlfriend eased into your lap, nuzzling adorably into your comforting scent.

But when Wanda’s hips begin moving unsubtly, breath growing more delicate on to the curve of your neck, you’re sure without a doubt that this is another one of those times Wanda sought a different kind of fulfillment, the kind that lay adjacent to her pretty thighs.

Your hands dance a little faster on the keyboard. Your eyes are still gazing over the top of Wanda’s head, firmly determined to complete this part of the novel you were working on. 

“Y/N…” Wanda says, reverently softly, pressing up into the warmth of your bodily heat. “Mhm?” you hum absent-mindedly, tucking your forearms in a little closer to entrap Wanda in your embrace.

You replace a comma with a fullstop just as Wanda shifts uncomfortably in your lap. Your wife’s legs fall open and slides her centre around the muscle of your right thigh. Something rises in your chest at the sensation of bare centre meeting your warm skin. 

She cranes her pale neck like a swan, pressing her warm mouth against your neck. You shift imperceptibly, switching a three-letter phrase into a subject-verb concord. When Wanda’s tongue pokes out between her ruby lips, when her sharp teeth scrape over the pulse point of your neck, when her curled hair brushes your exposed skin, an uncontrollable shudder runs through your body.

Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Your spelling is becoming sloppy, almost like there’s a distraction.

Almost in retaliation, you jerk your knee up, the one that had been situated between Wanda’s thighs, and the mewl that leaves her mouth breaks her porcelain-doll composure. Satisfaction pools in your hips.

Words don’t need to be said between the two of you, as a slight shift in the atmosphere of the dining room sets itself. Wanda’s pants become shallower and quicker, the undulation of her hips speeding up, her legs clenching tighter around your thigh.

Your hands are flying over the keyboard now, your fingers twitching with bridled electricity, having need of some alleviation to express your ever-increasing libido. It’s a wonder how your eyes aren’t yet completely glazed over; yet, they’re moving in mechanical function to type, like you’re clinging on to a fragment of sanity. 

Because honestly, remaining sane while your wife let out the most pitiful whines into your ear certainly wasn’t an easy task. 

“Y/N,” Wanda cries, finally, emitting a sound as she clutches onto the soft fabric of your collared shirt. You can see, in your peripheral vision, the way Wanda’s face morphs into an expression of pleasure, the lines in nose-bridge forming a scrunch. 

Wanda is, without a doubt, the most breathtaking woman you’d ever laid your eyes upon. Reverent devotion bleeds from your mindwires and on to the page, staining it a crimson red as she nears her high. 

Your right thigh is moving in sync with each of Wanda’s humps, and she’s chasing that pleasure for all it’s worth: The clenching of your thigh muscles, the harsh jerks of your thigh as she struggles to ride it properly. 

Leaning down, your lips caress the shell of your wife’s ear, and from your mouth flows the words that are the final seal of acquiescence.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

Just like that, something snaps inside Wanda, and the edge of your brainwaves fray like an old rope. In that moment, you know your words can take a rest. 

The movement of your fingers come to a halt. There was an unfinished story before you, the plot unfolding but not quite complete. But with Wanda by your side, she writes your story for you, carves the path towards a bittersweet ending. 

She takes the words from the deepest depths of your heart and lets it pour out her mouth, unashamedly, unapologetically, indescribable emotion overflowing from those blossomed lips into her trembling figure, her flushed cheeks.

“Y/N,” Wanda moans, and her sounds raise in pitch when you buck your hips up in a moment of your fractured composure. Her hips grind shamelessly onto the muscle of your thigh, chasing that stimulation.

It’s far from the most intense orgasms you’d brought Wanda to, because she can’t ever reach that level of ecstasy without your prodding fingers or your devil-tongued mouth. Perhaps that’s half of its beauty, though, that the two of you were incomplete without the other.

Wanda curls in your lap as she recovers from her high, enclosed within your forearms and the desk, face buried into your chest to engulf her senses in your scent. There’s sacred solace in the way you tilt your head down to press a fluttering kiss on her neck.

Your word document remains open but unfinished, the coffee in your mug grows cold. Sweet nothings and promised everythings are exchanged between the two of you until the sun has fully risen, hues of amber and gold painting the room.

The only story that mattered was the one before you, the one waiting to be explored.

You’ve had a thing for writing stories since young, and this particular one ends with a happy-ever-after.

this fic is really special to me. i think it's probably some of the best writing i've put out there, so i'd be incredibly grateful if you could give it a reblog ♥

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

[cheynovak]

 Something fragile

Soldier Boy x F/Reader Y/N        

Warnings: Toxic masculinity, cursing, violence, alcohol drug use, cursing, mentioning of sex, I think that’s it? ... 

Side note: English isn’t my first language 

Words: 6600  

*Does not follow the boys storyline *

--  

Soldier boy just got out of Russia thanks to the boys. But his journey back to reality has been fucked up. Streets are filled with rainbow colours and new pussy looking heroes. Streets were even more crowded, nothing seemed the same anymore. And to top it all off he had some severe ptsd and a new superpower. 

After the explosion he ran to recover his blackout, meeting y/n a young woman on her way home from volunteering at the veteran shelter. Seeing how he looked confused, offering him help.  

-- 

Ben, known to the world as Soldier Boy, stumbled through the bustling streets of downtown New York. The sun was blinding after so many years in the dark, cold confines of a Russian facility.  

Forty years of captivity had left his mind in a haze, his body in a state of perpetual tension. Every sound, every face, was an assault on his senses. He blinked against the garish lights of electronic billboards and the incessant buzz of smartphones.  

People moved past him in waves, their faces buried in glowing screens, oblivious to the world around them. Ben felt like he had stepped into a dream, a strange, incomprehensible dream. As he walked, his eyes darted from one unfamiliar sight to another.  

Men holding hands, walking side by side with easy intimacy. Ben's lips curled into a reflexive sneer. He couldn't help it; the world he had known was gone, replaced by something that felt alien and uncomfortable.  

The 1980s had their problems, but this? This was beyond his understanding. He rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the headache building behind his eyes. The memories of his captivity were like shadows, lurking at the edges of his mind, ready to pounce the moment he let his guard down. He had to stay focused, had to keep moving.  

As he passed a café, the smell of coffee and pastries wafted out, mingling with the scents of car exhaust and city grime. Ben's stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten a decent meal in ages. He paused, glancing around warily, wishing he had a few dollars in his pocket.  

Lost in thought, a voice pulled his attention away from the widow. "Excuse me, are you okay sir?" Ben looked up to see a young woman with concern in her eyes. "Yeah" He wanted to walk on. “Are you eh, hungry or thirsty something?” Ben looked confused at her. “I can get you something if you want?” she added in a sweet voice. 

“Let a woman buy me a fucking coffee? What a fucking pussy would that make me.” and he walked on. 

Ben continued down the street, the sights and sounds of the modern world were overwhelming, a constant reminder of how much time had passed and how out of place he was. As he walked, a familiar melody reached his ears. It was faint, but unmistakable, the haunting strains of a Russian folk song that had played endlessly in the lab where they had experimented on him.  

The song was a cruel reminder of his years of suffering, a soundtrack to his nightmares. His pulse quickened, and his vision blurred. The world around him seemed to tilt, and he could feel the panic rising, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.  

The radiation within him, the cursed gift of his captivity, began to stir, responding to his heightened emotional state. Suddenly, without warning, a burst of energy erupted from his chest. The street around him exploded in a violent flash of light and heat. The force of the blast shattered windows, sent cars flying, and threw pedestrians to the ground.  

Screams filled the air as chaos erupted. Ben staggered, disoriented and horrified by the idea what he had done. He had no control over this power, no way to stop it once it started. The destruction was immense, and he could hear the wails of the injured and the dying.  

His heart pounded in his chest. Y/N heard the explosion and felt the shockwave. She had been walking away from the café, thinking about the troubled man she had just met. When she saw the devastation and the panicked crowd, her first instinct was to help.  

She pushed her way through the throngs of fleeing people, her heart racing with fear and determination. She spotted him through the smoke and debris, standing in the centre of the chaos, looking lost and broken. She rushed to his side, her eyes wide with shock at the scene around her.  

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, reaching out to touch his arm. The heat radiating from his body made her flinch, but she didn't back away. "I... I didn't mean to..." Ben stammered, over and over. Y/N looked around, her mind racing. She had to get him away from here, away from the people he might hurt.  

"We need to get you out of here," she said firmly. "Come with me." Ben nodded, dazed and compliant. He allowed her to lead him away from the scene of destruction, away from the horror he had unleashed. They ducked into an alley, where the noise of the city was slightly muffled, and Y/N took a moment to catch her breath.  

"Listen," she said, her voice urgent but calm. "I don't know what happened to you, but you're not alone, okay? I'll help you." Ben looked at her. "Why are you helping me?" "Because you need it," Y/N replied simply. "And because everyone deserves a chance."  

Ben nodded slowly, the weight of his guilt and fear still heavy on his shoulders. Y/N supported Ben as they walked through the quieter streets, her arm around his waist to steady him. His weight pressed heavily against her, but she didn't falter. She was determined to help him, no matter what it took.  

The path they took was familiar to her, one she had walked many times on her way to the veteran help centre where she volunteered. The centre was closed at this hour, but Y/N had a key. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching before unlocking the door and guiding Ben inside.  

The cool, dim interior was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a sanctuary from the madness of the world. "Sit here," Y/N said softly, helping Ben into a chair in the small break room. She quickly moved to the kitchenette, grabbing a bottle of water and a granola bar from the cupboards.  

She handed them to Ben, who took them with trembling hands. "What's this shit?" he muttered, his voice barely audible. But still opening the drink. Y/N sat across from him, ignoring his muttering complains, watching as he opened the bottle and took a sip. She could see the exhaustion etched into his features, the lines of pain and weariness that spoke of years of torment.  

"You're safe here," she said gently. "Take your time. Eat something.” Ben’s eyes fixed on her. He unwrapped the granola bar and took a small bite, chewing slowly. The simple act of eating seemed to ground him, to bring him back from the edge.  

"Why are you helping?" he said after a moment. "You don't even know me."  

"I know enough," Y/N replied. Ben leaned back in the chair, the weight of his ordeal starting to lift, if only slightly. He looked around the room, taking in the posters on the walls, the pamphlets about support groups and therapy sessions.  

His expression hardened, and he scoffed. "What kind of shit is this?" he muttered, pushing the granola bar away. "A place for vets who have difficulties getting back to the real world." Y/N answered ignoring the disgusting look on his face. "For who can’t handle their crap? PTSD, trauma... that's for fuck-ups who can't cut it. Real men don’t need this kind of help."  

Y/N sighed, her patience unyielding. She had encountered this attitude before. She knew it was a defence mechanism, a way to mask vulnerability. "What's your name?" He didn't answer, "I'm Y/N..." she said hoping he would be willing to answer if she took the first step. "Ok doll." was all he said, she didn't push further.  

"PTSD is real. It doesn’t make you weak or a 'fuck-up.' It means you've been through something traumatic, something no one should have to face alone." Ben’s eyes flashed with anger. "I've faced plenty alone and survived. Don't need a bunch of pity and hand-holding to get by." " 

I’m not offering pity," Y/N said firmly. "I’m offering support. There’s a difference. Some have been through hell, and it's okay to need help coming back from that." Ben clenched his fists, the tension in his body palpable.  

"You don't get it," he snapped. "I was a soldier. I fought, bled, and survived on my own. This..." he gestured around the room “... this is for people who can't handle the easy world." Y/N met his gaze steadily.  

"Maybe you did survive on your own, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it alone. Needing help doesn’t make you less of a man. It makes you human." He looked away, the anger in his eyes giving way to something more vulnerable.  

"You don't know what it's like. What they did to me..." "No, I don't," Y/N admitted. "But I do know that what you're feeling is valid. And that this place exists because too many people try to do it alone and end up hurting themselves or others."  

Ben shook his head, "Bullshit" Y/N looked him in the eye. "Is it? Didn't you just blow up in the middle of the street? Literally?" He looked at her, his eyes searching hers for some kind of hate or reluctance, maybe even fear but all he saw was reassurance, patience. 

Ben stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. His movements were restless, his mind clearly in turmoil. He began to walk toward the door, but Y/N called after him, her voice gentle but firm.  

"Wait. If you ever feel like talking, or just need a place to be... I'll be here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Other days, there are other people who can help if you don't want to talk to me. You don’t have to go through this alone."  

He paused at the door, glancing back at her. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something, but instead, he just nodded curtly and walked out into the night. The next day, Y/N was cleaning up after a session, stacking chairs and tidying the break room. That day had been busy, and she was exhausted, but it was a good kind of tired, the kind that came from helping others.  

She was lost in thought, reflecting on the day’s work, when she heard the soft chime of the bell above the door. "We're closing," she called out over her shoulder. "The next session is tomorrow." There was a pause, and then a familiar voice responded. "It's me... Ben."  

Y/N turned around, surprised but not displeased. Ben stood in the doorway, looking uncertain but determined. He seemed a little more composed than the day before, but the haunted look in his eyes was still there. "Ben..." she said, offering a warm smile. "I'm glad you came back. Come on in."  

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I'm not sure what I'm doing here " he admitted. Y/N nodded, gesturing to one of the chairs. "Have a seat. I was just finishing up, but I’m here if you need to talk."  

Ben sat down, his movements still a bit stiff. "I don’t know where to start." Ben settled into the chair, looking around the room before finally meeting Y/N’s patient gaze. “Where you feel like.” He seemed to gather his thoughts, taking a deep breath.  

“Everything’s different now,” he began, his voice tinged with frustration. “The world... it’s nothing like what I remember. People, technology, everything’s changed. It's like I don’t recognize it anymore.”  

Y/N nodded, her expression encouraging him to continue. “I mean, look at the way people are glued to their weird portable phones,” Ben continued, gesturing vaguely. “No one talks to each other face-to-face. Back in my day, if you had something to say, you said it. Now, it’s all that small shitty thing. And the clothes people wear… men walking around in clothing, colours I wouldn’t have been caught dead in.” 

He paused, running a hand through his hair. “And don’t even get me started on the way people talk about feelings. PTSD? Trauma? In my time, you just sucked it up and got on with it.”  

Y/N listened attentively, her expression understanding. She knew better than to interrupt; sometimes, people just needed to voice their frustrations. “Even the food is different,” Ben continued, his tone a mix of incredulity and irritation.  

“Everything’s organic, gluten-free, plant-based crap. What happened to a good old-fashioned burger and fries? And the music… nothing like the rock ‘n roll I grew up with. It’s all electronic noise now.”  

He shook his head, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I feel like I don’t belong here. Like the world moved on and left me behind. I was a soldier once, a fucking hero. Now, I’m just...” Y/N waited a moment to make sure he was done before she spoke.  

"How long were you gone?" Ben's eyes locked on her, ignoring her question and stood up to leave. Y/N called after him. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?" He turned back to face her, his expression guarded.  

"No," he admitted. "I didn't need much sleep since I got back." Y/N frowned, concern etched across her features. "You need a place. There’s a motel nearby. I can arrange a room for you, but only if you agree to come to the sessions here every week."  

Ben laughed, a rough, humourless sound. "You’re really something, you know that? Since when are woman making deals like that. But alright, I need a place. I'll come to you for sessions. Only you, no one else."  

Y/N nodded without hesitation. "Of course. Deal. Every Friday?" Ben smiles looking her up and down while licking his lips. "Sure doll... I see you on Friday." "Tell the motel owner I send you." 

Next Friday 

Y/N waited anxiously at the centre for Ben to arrive. She checked the clock repeatedly, her concern growing as the minutes ticked by without any sign of him. Finally, she decided to head to the motel to check on him.  

When she reached his door, she knocked firmly. After a few moments, the door opened, and she was taken aback to see an elderly woman standing there, looking slightly embarrassed. "Excuse me," Y/N said, trying to keep her voice calm. "I’m looking for Ben. Is he here?"  

The woman glanced back over her naked shoulder, and Ben’s voice called out from inside. "Just in time doll, why don’t you join us." Y/N stepped into the doorway, seeing Ben sitting on the bed naked with a mirror filled with powder in his hand.  

“Oh my...” Y/N turned around covering her eyes seeing the woman quickly gathered her things, brushing past her as she left the room in a hurry. Y/N’s heart sank as she saw the mess inside and the unmistakable signs of a night spent with company.  

Ben sat on the edge of the bed, looking unrepentant. "To what do I own this suprise," he said with a smirk. “We had an appointment, remember?” She glanced over at him. “Can you please cover up?” He said looking up at the ceiling.  

"Yeah about that talk, I don’t need your help sweetheart. I just needed a good fuck and something to calm me down." Y/N felt a wave of disappointment and concern. "Ben, this isn’t the way to deal with what you’re going through. You said you’d come to the sessions."  

He scoffed, standing up and moving closer to her, putting on dirty sweatpants. "They’re for people who need a shoulder to cry on. I’m not one of them. But if you really want to make it up to me for scaring off my company, you could always... continue where she left off." He nodded to his crotch.  

"Stop right there," Y/N cut him off, her voice firm and filled with a mix of anger and sadness. "I’m here to help you, not to be manipulated or disrespected. You’re better than this, Ben. I know you are."  

He looked at her, a flicker of something, shame, maybe, crossing his face before it hardened again. "You don’t know anything about me."  

"I know you’re hurting," Y/N said, refusing to back down. "And I know you’re scared. But pushing people who want to help away isn’t going to help. You need to face what’s going on inside you. Literally!” 

Ben clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "I don’t need your pity."  

"It’s not pity," Y/N said quietly. "It’s compassion. And it’s a lifeline, if you’re willing to take it. But you have to want to change, Ben. No one can force you." For a moment, the room was silent. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.  

"Ben, if you're more comfortable, we can keep the sessions here in the motel room. But you have to promise I won't walk in on anything like this again." Ben's smirk widened as he walked closer to her, his eyes dark and intent.  

He reached out, his hands gripping her arms and pulling her closer to him. Y/N recoiled, anger and fear flashing in her eyes. "Ben, let go of me," she said firmly, her voice shaking slightly. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, feeling his beard softly scratching, as he whispered,  

"Don't take away my needs for women and drugs, or I'll take it out on you." Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to let fear control her. She forced herself to stand her ground, her eyes meeting his with unwavering resolve.  

"This isn't a joke, Ben. You need help, and I'm here to offer it. But I won't be intimidated or manipulated by you." For a moment, Ben's grip tightened, his eyes searching hers for any sign of weakness. When he found none, his expression wavered, uncertainty flickering across his face.  

He released her abruptly, stepping back. "Fine," he muttered, his bravado faltering. "We'll have the sessions here. But you better not try to change me."  

"I’m not here to change you," Y/N said, rubbing her arms where his hands had held her. "I’m here to help you find a way to live with what you’ve been through. But you have to meet me halfway. See me as, i don’t know, a friend?" Ben looked away, his jaw clenching.  

"I don’t need a friend" he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. "Yes, you do," Y/N said softly.  

As Y/N turned to leave, her mind racing with concern and frustration. She reached the door, Ben called out, stopping her in her tracks. "Where are you going?" he asked, his tone a mix of annoyance and challenge.  

"I want the session now." She looked back at him, her eyes narrowing as he nodded toward the bed. Thinking this was process. "Sit," he said padding the bed next to him, but she hesitated, her gaze fixed on the rumpled sheets that were a stark reminder of what had just happened there. 

"No," Y/N replied firmly. "I'll sit over here." She moved to a chair by the small table, positioning herself as far from the bed as possible. "Let’s talk, go ahead." She said, Ben watched her for a moment, sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.  

"Fine." He took a deep breath, his expression darkening as he began. "Back in the day, women knew their place. They knew how to treat a man. They'd do anything to please me, anything I wanted. They'd cook, clean, and make sure I was taken care of in bed. They’d do whatever it took to make me happy. They understood what real men need."  

Y/N's stomach turned at his words, but she kept her expression neutral, listening intently. "Nowadays, it’s different," Ben continued, a sneer in his voice. "Women think they can do whatever they want. They don’t respect men like they used to. They want to be equal, to have careers and opinions. It’s all bullshit. They don’t know how to take care of a real man. They think they're entitled to everything, without giving anything in return."  

He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers, trying to see her reaction. "The women I’ve been with since I got back... they don’t measure up. They’re too independent, too... modern. They don’t understand what a man like me needs. They just complain and whine, instead of doing their job."  

Y/N forced herself to stay calm, her mind racing as she processed his toxic words. "Ben, do you really think that’s what relationships are supposed to be like? One person serving the other without any mutual respect or partnership?" He scoffed. "Partnership? Respect? Those are just modern buzzwords. Real relationships are about roles. Men lead, women follow. It’s how it’s always been."  

"Does that make you happy?" Y/N asked quietly. "Do those kinds of relationships fulfil you? Or do they leave you feeling empty and alone after they leave?" Ben’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before he masked it with anger.  

Y/N pushed his buttons just a little more, “Is that why you didn’t want me to leave? Because then you’ll be alone?” Ben’s lip twitched "You don’t know what you're talking about. You’re just another modern woman who thinks she can lecture me about life."  

"I’m not trying to lecture you, Ben," Y/N said softly. "I’m trying to understand you. But more importantly, I want you to understand yourself. These beliefs, this anger... it’s not just about the world changing. It’s about you feeling lost and trying to find control in a world that’s different from what you knew."  

He glared at her, but didn’t interrupt. "Let’s dig deeper," Y/N continued. "Why do you feel the need of control over women? What are you really afraid of?" Y/N’s question seemed to strike a nerve. Ben’s expression darkened, and he abruptly stood up, in two paces he stood tall, towering over her.  

His voice rose as he leaned in close, anger radiating from him. "Why do I feel the need to exert control? What am I afraid of? You don’t know anything about me!" Y/N didn't flinch. She met his gaze steadily, her calmness a contrast to his rage. This seemed to catch him off guard, and he paused, staring at her with a mix of curiosity and frustration.  

"Here she is, lecturing men but this little princess is just as big of a fuck up like the men she helps, isn’t she?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Most people would be scared, what did you see that made you a stone-cold bitch?" 

Y/N took a deep breath, maintaining her composure, not willing to share her story with him just yet, but he needed something from her to build trust.  "I’ve faced fear before, Ben. I grew up as the daughter of a veteran. My father came back from war a different man. He was aggressive, a drunk. He’d beat me whenever he felt like it, accidently killed my mother in front of me while he was high and saw things there weren’t. So no, Ben, you don’t scare me."  

Ben’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face, maybe even a little regret. He stepped back, his anger momentarily replaced by something else, perhaps respect, perhaps understanding, perhaps pity. "So, you have daddy issues, poor baby.”  

"I’ve had help" Y/N said softly. "But understand this, Ben: I've seen what anger and no control can do to a person. It doesn’t lead to happiness or peace. It leads to more pain.” Y/N stood up, stepping closed to him, toe to toe.  

Her eyes were unwavering, her voice firm. "I have patience, Ben. But lose your temper like this one more time, and you'll be alone. Understand?" Ben’s lip twitched in anger. He moved the chair aside, placed his hands against the wall behind her, leaning in close.  

"Maybe I should teach you some manners," he growled, his breath hot against her face. Y/N didn’t flinch. She looked him straight in the eyes, her voice steady and cold.  

"Go ahead, try it. But understand this: I’ve dealt with men like you my whole life. You think you can intimidate me? You’re wrong. And if you do this, you’ll lose the only person who’s trying to help you. Do you really want to go down that road?"  

For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent standoff. Ben’s eyes were filled with rage, but beneath it, Y/N could see a flicker of doubt and confusion. Slowly, his hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped back, a mix of anger and frustration playing across his features. 

“Good," Y/N said. "Now, let’s get back to talking. We’re not done yet." - “Oh no, we’re done for today doll.” he said opening the door. She followed him. 

Y/N walked through the door Ben held open for her, her eyes briefly and unconsciously sweeping over his toned chest, noticing the small freckles scattered across his skin, similar to the ones on his face.  

She took a deep breath, focusing back on the conversation. "Ben," she said, her voice firm but kind, "see my advice as tough love. I'm a friend who wants to help you, not someone you can... fuck around with"  

Ben's smirk returned, a hint of genuine amusement in his eyes. "Tough love, huh? Never thought I'd hear that from you." Y/N raised an eyebrow, her expression unwavering. "Well, get used to it. I'm not here to cuddle you. I'm here to help you find a way to live in this new world, to help you become the person you want to be."  

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, I get it. Tough love it is." She nodded back, feeling a small sense of victory. "Good. I'll see you next week. Same time." As she walked away, she felt his eyes on her, a mix of curiosity and respect in his gaze.  

It was a start, and for now, that was enough. She had made it clear that she wouldn't be pushed around, and Ben seemed to understand that. One step at a time, she reminded herself.  

In the following sessions, Ben was more composed. He wore clothing and there were no unexpected visitors, though Y/N could still smell the lingering scent of sex in the air and noticed the traces of cocaine on the mirror beside his bed. Despite these signs, he began to talk more openly, allowing her to glimpse the deeper layers of his pain.  

One evening, as they sat across from each other, Ben finally broached a subject he had been avoiding. "My team... they betrayed me," he said, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. Y/N leaned in slightly, encouraging him to continue.  

"Tell me more about that," she said gently. He took a deep breath, his eyes distant as he recounted the memories. "We were supposed to be a unit, a family. But they sold me out. They handed me over to the Russians.”  

He took his time to think about his next words. “Forty years, doll. Forty years in that hellhole because of them." Y/N nodded, her expression empathetic. "That must have been incredibly painful, feeling that betrayal from people you trusted."  

Ben's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. "It was more than painful. It broke me. I thought I could trust them, but they were just using me. And when I was no longer useful, they discarded me. Even my own girl."  

"It's understandable to feel angry and hurt," Y/N said softly. "But holding onto that anger will only continue to harm you. You need to find a way to process those feelings, to let go of the pain, if you want to move forward."  

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. After weeks of sessions, Y/N felt they had made enough progress to broach a crucial topic. As they sat in the motel room, Ben seemed more relaxed, though the ever-present tension lingered beneath the surface.  

"Ben," Y/N began, her voice steady, "do you want to be Soldier Boy again?" He looked up, startled. "How do you...?" Y/N smiled, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "I've been listening, the pieces of your story. The details, the hints. I put them together."  

Ben's surprise turned into a wry smile. "You're smarter than you look." His eyes roamed her body like they did so often, at first, she felt uncomfortable by it, now she had learned the difference is his looks.  

This one wasn’t filled with heat, or not as much, no it was more an appreciation look. 

"Thanks, I think," Y/N replied, chuckling. "But seriously, do you want to go back to that life? To being Soldier Boy?"  

He leaned back, scratching his beard. "I don’t know. Part of me does. It’s all I’ve ever known. But another part of me wants to kill my old team and move on." Y/N ignored his lasts sentence.  

As they continued their conversation, Y/N felt a growing sense of optimism. Seeing Ben was starting to see beyond his past, to consider a future that wasn’t defined by his old identity. 

As Y/N ended their session she stood up and placed a hand on his arm. “You did good today Ben, I'm proud of you.” She could see the shock in his eyes, realising no one had ever told him they were proud of him. Not as sincerely like she just did. 

Ben’s eyes flickered to her lips and back a few times, so, before he could so something to ruin their bond she turned away. “See you next week.”  

Next week  

Ben paced the motel room, glancing at the clock every few minutes. Y/N was late. He tried to convince himself that maybe she was just held up, but as the minutes ticked by, anger began to simmer.  

Just when he had started to open up, to trust her, she didn't show up. The feeling of abandonment gnawed at him, intensifying his frustration. He threw the table a crossed the room, trying to let go of his anger.  

Deep down he knew she was like everyone else, thinking: “Maybe the fact that he was Soldier Boy pushed her away? Fucking pussy, you shouldn’t have told her about your fucking feelings. Man the fuck up!” 

By Saturday, his anger had turned into a determined need for answers. He decided to walk by the centre where Y/N volunteered, hoping to find her there, she told him the last weeks she had fulltime hours.  

He needed some explanation. As he approached, he saw her at the doors, but she wasn't alone. A man in a suit stood with her, and they were arguing heatedly. Ben's eyes narrowed as he watched the exchange.  

The man gestured aggressively, his face twisted in anger. Y/N flinched at his movement, just so slight that most people wouldn't notice, but Ben did. Knowing she doesn’t flinch just like that unless...  

His anger flared, a protective instinct kicking in. He strode up to them, his presence immediately drawing their attention. "Hey!" Ben barked, stepping between Y/N and the man.  

 

"What's going on here?" The man in the suit turned to face him, irritation clear in his eyes. "This is none of your business caveman, leave." Ben's gaze hardened. "It is my business if you're bothering her."  

 

“Oh...” the man looked at Y/N “This is one of your little projects!” Turning back to Ben. “I’m sorry buddy, but I need to talk to my girl.” Ben looked at Y/B seeing her face twitch at the words ‘my girl’.  

 

“Just go away Peter. We’re done I told you last night.” But then Ben noticed something he hadn't seen before: a faint bruise on Y/N's cheek, barely hidden by makeup. His eyes narrowed, and his chest tightened with anger.  

 

Ben glanced at Y/N, who noticed his eyes on her and looked away, clearly distressed. "Who is this guy, Y/N?" She hesitated before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's my ex-boss and... ex-boyfriend."  

 

The man's sneer grew. "We were just having a conversation. Nothing for you to worry about." Ben's eyes flicked back to the man, his anger simmering just below the surface. "A conversation that left a bruise on her face?"  

 

The man's expression turned smug. "She left me because of one little mistake. She needs to learn her place. I’m sure you understand." Ben's chest began to glow faintly, his rage manifesting physically. "You piece of shit."  

 

The ex-boyfriend didn't seem to notice the glow at first, but when Y/N placed her hand on Ben's chest, trying to calm him, she gasped in pain, pulling her hand back with a burn. "Ben, stop!" she cried, her eyes wide with fear and concern.  

 

The man took a step back, finally realizing he was pissing of a supe. "What the hell...." Before Ben could react further, Y/N stepped in front of him, her unburned hand on his arm, pleading.  

 

"Ben, please. Calm down. Don’t let him get to you. This isn’t the way." Ben's eyes met hers, and the glow began to fade as he struggled to control his anger. His fists unclenched, but his eyes remained fixed on the man.  

 

"You’re lucky she’s here. But if I ever see you near her again, I won’t hold back." The ex-boyfriend, now visibly shaken, took another step back. "So now you take care of freaks too?" he muttered. “I hope they can fix your issues.” he added before walking away. 

Ben looked at her, opening the door for her so she could get inside. ”Let me see your hand.” Y/N shook her head, “I can take care of myself.” But Ben thought differently, pushing her toward the table, his eyes demanding her to sit down.  

Ben searched around the kitchen for the first aid kit, his movements still tense from the encounter. When he found it, he brought it over to Y/N and carefully began treating her burned hand.  

"So, you slept with your boss," he remarked, his tone carrying a hint of teasing scepticism. Y/N smirked, wincing slightly as the cool ointment touched her skin. "Never thought that was your kink," Ben chuckled, the tension easing slightly.  

"I though more in the line of, older man, calling them daddy, spanking your perfect little ass... Guess I’ve still got a lot to learn about you." He looked up at her, seeing her reaction, she tried to hide a smile, the humour lightening the mood.  

"It was a mistake," she admitted, her expression growing more serious. "We were together before he was my boss. Things were good at first, but then he had stress, started drinking more, and everything went downhill."  

Ben nodded, listening when she finally opened up to him. “I saw my father in him, determine to heal him before he could hurt anyone.” she said looking at his hands gentle as he wrapped her hand in a bandage.  

"And then he hit you?" Ben asked without joking about her ‘daddy issues’ - "Yeah," she said softly. "That was the last straw. I couldn’t stay with him after that." Ben finished wrapping her hand, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of concern and respect.  

"You did the right thing by leaving. No one deserves to be treated like that." She looked confused at him, he noticed "Just because I think a woman should be at home, cooking for her man, please him doesn't mean I would hit her... unless she likes a little spanking in the bedroom." He winks at her.  

She could feel the soft pink on her cheeks burning, "Thanks, Ben," she said, her smile returning. Ben looked at Y/N after taking care of her hand, a sense of resolve in his eyes. "I need to take care of a few things," he said, his voice gentle but determined.  

"You won't be seeing me for a while." Y/N nodded, understanding the weight of his words. Ben looked at Y/N, concern etched in his features. "Are you going to be okay being alone?"  

Y/N met his gaze, her expression softening. "Are you?" He chuckled, a hint of self-awareness in his laughter. "No, not really." She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Me neither." 

Y/N looked at Ben, her expression turning serious. "What are your plans?" Ben hesitated, his gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to hers. "I... I'm going to visit an old friend," he admitted reluctantly.  

 

"Someone who can help me get my suit back." Y/N's brows furrowed in concern. "Your suit? Why do you need that?" He looked away again, the weight of his words heavy on his shoulders. "To... settle some unfinished business.” Her eyes widened in alarm. "Ben, you can't be serious.”  

 

"I have to," he insisted, his voice tight with determination. "They betrayed me, Y/N. They left me to rot in that hellhole for forty years. I can't just let that go." Y/N reached out, taking his hand in hers, her touch gentle but firm. "Please, Ben. Think about what you're doing. Revenge won't heal anything." 

As Ben and Y/N looked at each other, there was a palpable tension in the air. For the first time, they felt a stirring of attraction, a spark igniting between them. Y/N's gaze lingered on Ben in a way she hadn't before, truly seeing him for the first time.  

She noticed the depth of his green eyes, the curve of his full lips, the scattering of freckles across his skin. There was a ruggedness to him, a rawness that drew her in. Ben found himself captivated by Y/N in a way he hadn't expected.  

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her lips, imagining the softness of them against his own. He felt a pull towards her, a magnetic force that seemed to draw them closer with each passing moment.  

Slowly, almost instinctively, they began to close the space between them. The air crackled with anticipation as their breaths mingled, their hearts beating in sync. In that moment her hands moved to his cheek, a tender gesture as she pulled him closer and kissed him softly.  

He leaned into the kiss, savouring the moment, feeling the soft scratch of his beard against her skin. When he pulled back she kept her eyes closed, she could hear him moving. Knowing what he is going to do. 

She heard the door closing, reality crashed back in, and a single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. In the quiet of the room, she couldn't help but wonder why it hurt so much. The sudden ache in her heart caught her off guard, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable. 

Her eyes where still closed, her fingers moved over her lips, trying to hold on to the lingering sensation of Ben's kiss. 

--

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Tag list:-> If you want to be added let me know what you like to read!

@yvonneeeee

@suckitands33

@mostlymarvelgirl

@globetrotter28

@jackles010378

@hobby27

@call-me-mrs-winchester

[caldwellwrites]

Things to Consider When Writing Setting

As a writer who has been coming up with a specific story concept for the past nine and a half years, I have a lot of trouble when it comes to writing and, oftentimes, imagining the setting of particular scenes. I almost always one detail in my head, but struggle to come up with any other features. Anyone can think, "Okay, my character is in a parking lot". But we, need to think beyond that.

Okay, first things first, decide a few things before we start consulting the big(ish) list.

-Where does this scene take place? (Pt. 1) That means the type of location. Are they in a forest? At home? In a Starbucks? There are a near-endless list of places for your character to be, but it's crucial to make sure you know where this person is before building from there. In my opinion, this is probably the most important aspect to know before attempting to write about the setting. Know. Where. They. Are.

-Where does this scene take place? (Pt. 2) This means the country or province. Consider every aspect of this place (I'll be making a post about world-building soon for those who need it). What are the geographical, cultural, and climate-related features. Think about how would these features impact the way your character experiences their environment.

-When does this scene take place? I'm talking about the time period, time of day, and time of the year. All of these factors will change what your character sees, hears, smells, everything.

Now that you've (hopefully) answered the three questions above, let's look at the big list of ideas. These are just some ideas I thought of while writing and editing this list, there are so many more ideas that are not on here. Try not do get overwhelmed by the list, and just look at it one section at a time. Play with some of these ideas in your head, on paper, a doc, whatever, and decide what feels write (get it?) for your project!

Sky, Weather, and Temperature

Sky Objects: Sun, Moon, Planets, Stars (Constellations), Meteors, Clouds (look up the different types), Rainbow, Flying Craft (Planes, Blimps, Drones, Helicopters), Balloons, Confetti, Kites, Bubbles

Weather: Sunny, Cloudy, Rainy, Stormy, Snowy, Hail, Foggy, Windy

Temperature: Sweltering, Hot, Warm, Comfortable, Chilly, Cold, Freezing

Nature and Natural Elements

Plants: Trees, Flowers, Grasses, Herbs, Mushrooms, Weeds, Bushes

Domestic Animals: Dogs, Cats, Horses

Wild Animals: Wolves, Coyotes, Bears, Wild Cats, Raccoons

Water Sources: Unmoving, Slow / Gentle, Rapid, Rough

Objects and People

Vehicles

Houses

Shops, Kiosks, Stalls

Schools & Other Buildings

Garbage

Fences, Walls, and Other Barricades

Parades, Parties, Festivals

Random Citizens / Passerby's

Higher-Ups (Royalty, Government Officials, etc)

Workers (Gardeners, Dog Walkers, Street Performers, etc.)

Furniture or Decor

Smells

Urine or Feces

Death / Blood

Cigarette / Cigar / Marijuana Smoke

Car Smog

Flowers

Fresh Cut Grass

Garbage

Food and Drink

Rain

Smoke / Fire

Pine

Sounds

Animal Sounds (Birds, Dogs, Insects, Frogs, etc. )

People Being Loud (Screaming, Playing, Cheering, Laughing, etc.)

Wind (Wind Chimes, Howling Wind, Blowing through plants, etc.)

Water

Machinery (Lawn Mower, Leaf Blower, etc.)

Transport (Carriages, Cars, Buses, Boats, Trains, Emergency Vehicles)

Weather Sounds (Rain, Thunder, Hail)

Fire Crackling

Music

[achromatophoric]

Wenclairtober 2024, Day 24 - First Date

“As first dates go,” she said, her glossy gaze still admiring the woman in her lap, “this really could have gone better.”

“It was more than I could have imagined.”

“Well, you never were very good at imagining the nicer things.”

“Are you calling me unimaginative?”

“If the predictably black boot fits…”

The detective exhaled a breathy chuckle and smiled. For once, it was entirely sincere, unfettered by pained past or impending future. From her partner’s delighted gasp, it too was more than she could have imagined.

“You have dimples?!” exclaimed the wolf in an incredulous tone. “After all this time, you’ve been hiding what are, and I must emphasize, the most adorable-as-shit dimples I’ve ever seen!”

The answering shrug was barely more than a shudder. “Contingency plan. Secret weapon. Either way, I was saving it for when your usefulness inevitably ended.”

The wolf’s mock offended gasp rang hollow, as did her half-hearted shove. Too a light a touch. Too aware of the damage.

“Screw you, Detective.”

“If we only had the time, Wolf.”

Those words proved too much for the moment. It finally broke with one woman’s sob, while the other could only marvel as tears rained upon her face. Hot droplets upon rapidly cooling skin and that exceedingly rare smile. Marvelous.

“Moon above, I’m going to miss you.” She wiped away tears from eyes that have never been more vividly blue and pressed her wet palms to her beloved’s face.

“As I will miss you, my sunlit heart.”

“Wait for me, okay? Wherever you’re going.”

“Of course. When have—have I not?”

A trembling smile. Tears that were once specks of heat now went unfelt. Her entire world had narrowed to behold only the one who cradled her. The one who held her heart. Everything else had long gone black.

“One—One more kiss, my love? For… the journey?”

Did she manage to speak? She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t even feel relief when the shining angel above her nodded. So bright. So perfect. So—

Oh.

Pressure upon her lips. Her angel. Her faithful wolf. She was gravity beyond celestial. In that infinite black, with all else gone, it was magnified a trillion fold. Binary existence. The nothing of Zero, and the everything that was Her, distilled into singularity.

If she could still speak, something the dead are lamentably incapable of, she would have reassured her love one last time. She would have laced their fingers so their nails alternated rainbow and black. Her smirk would be the one her wolf so adored. Then, in the driest of tones, she would have told her this:

“As far as last dates go, this was unequivocally flawless. For what else could I have ever desired, but to be ushered into eternity by the very one who had become my everything?”

And so did it end. One final case, closed with a long-awaited date that was both their first and their

“HELL-TO-THE-FUCK NO!!”

Wednesday: Excuse me?

The writer looks up from her manuscript to take in Enid’s tear-streaked visage. Twisted as her face is in distraught fury, she is breathtaking, if perhaps a touch snotty from ugly crying.

Enid: Wednesday Friday Addams, you— *sniffles* —are NOT allowed to finish the book this way!

Enid: Whatever THAT was— *jabs finger at the manuscript* —is NOT how things are ending for Viper and Zeva!

Wednesday: *stunned* But it’s done. I just need to send it to the editor—

Enid: No! Nope! Nada! Nein! Ie! Aniya! Οχι!

Wednesday: Enid—

Enid: 🙅‍♀️

Wednesday: Then what—

Enid: What you are GOING to do is edit the everloving shit out of the ending, so that my girlies get the HAPPILY-ever-after they freakin’ DESERVE!

Enid: *claws out* You are NOT ruining Wolfviper, GOT IT?!

Wednesday: *deep suffering sigh*

Enid: 😡

Wednesday: 😒

Wednesday: Fine. I’ll rewri—

The manuscript goes flying as Wednesday is bowled over by Enid’s exceedingly pleased and relieved tackle hug.

Enid: THANK YOU BABE I LOVE YOU YOU’RE THE BEST!!!

Wednesday: *peppered with kisses* I love you too, mi sol.

Enid: *releases Wednesday* Kay, now get to it.

Wednesday: Get to what?

Enid: *shoves Wednesday towards her desk* To fixing that dumpster fire you call an ending.

Wednesday: Now?

Enid: 🤨

Wednesday: *sighs* Yes, dear.

[potatoplace]

You Can Have It - Chapter 3

Alpha!Feysand x Omega!Reader

chapter 2 | chapter 4 | series masterlist

Story Summary: You've been a baker for 75 years, and are finally moving on from the Winter Court to the City of Velaris to start your own bakery after your grandmother passes. After your grand opening, the High Lord and Lady of Night become daily visitors to your bakery for months, every day having your most popular pastry- one that increases fertility for a short time. All the while, the two alphas want nothing more than to call themselves yours.

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, no rhys and feyre 😠

Words: ~5.3k

Author's Note: it's here! There will be a second chapter posted soon as well, I needed to cut this one in half otherwise it won't fit in one post. And I rlly want to get to the scene meeting Rhys and Feyre aaaahhhhh I hope you guys like this chapter!

18+ only pls

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Tuesday had passed quickly for you, spent with you writing down everything you needed for your bakery, the apartment, and garden in the building process.

You had a visions in your head for exactly how it should look- a log cabin similar in style to those in Winter, with a set of stained glass double doors depicting the cycle of dawn, day, and night during the winter season. The main floor of the bakery would be divided into two parts, with the actual kitchen area being in the back, separated by a wall stretching two thirds of the way across, leaving an open archway to connect the two on the left side. Windows of course, some in the front of the bakery as well as along the sides, and one that takes up most of the back wall of the kitchen, so that you’ll always be able to stare out the Sidra while preparing you baked goods.

At the far right of the kitchen, away from the access into the shop, you were going to have a spiral staircase leading up to your apartment if that was a possibility.

Upstairs, you would have a personal kitchen of your own, also against right side of the back wall of the building, with another large window to offer you the same benefit as the floor below. To the left you’d have your bathroom, sectioned off with walls- you were most excited about the large, possibly custom tub you’d have put in, with more than enough room for you to soak with your wings in the water if you wished.

The indoor part of the upstairs should cover about two thirds of the top floor, with your bedroom not separated by a wall from the kitchen. You wanted to feel free and open in your new home. That left the rest of the second floor for your small garden you were planning to have. Viviane had made sure you knew that you could take some of the plants your grandmother had lovingly planted and tended to. She had loved that garden so much, and had done as much as she could to revive the garden after coming back from captivity, teaching you to tend to them before her cursed illness had gotten too bad.

You were planning to have the space enchanted to act as a temperature controlled greenhouse, that way the frail Winter native plants could survive even in the summer. Among them would be a few bushes: hornberry, the fertility enhancing berries, chillberry, which grow berries that help to alleviate heats, and saiberry, a helpful berry and leaf for reducing the symptoms of ruts. You would also have a variety of medicinal herbs that you used in your pastries related to general health.

You were beyond excited to start drawing up the plans for the building as soon as you had the proper permits. When you went to bed that night, it was all you could think about.

Wednesday morning, you awoke to a note from Marcus, telling you that the demolition and construction permits were approved, and to get yourself over to your lot as soon as you could.

It was only seven in the morning, but you rushed to dress for the winter weather quickly, flying down the stairs and quickly but carefully making your way to the Rainbow.

More snow had fallen overnight, and hardly anyone was out at this time. Most of the streets were still untouched by fae, and silent with the extra help of the snow. You reached the edge of the Rainbow quickly, and spotted Marcus among a dozen other men, all dressed warmly and carrying a variety of construction tools or busying themselves with the two large carts in the middle of the street, attached to two massive horses.

“Y/N!” Marcus exclaimed as soon as he met your eyes, marching over to you and pulling you back to the group. “This is our new boss for the next couple of months, gents, be nice to her, alright?” The men all nodded their heads in agreement, keeping their eyes respectful when they did dart across your form, though many lingered on your wings. “So, Y/N, would you like to take the first swing?” Marcus asked you, already handing you a heavy sledgehammer.

“Why not?” You said lightly, approaching the dilapidated building. You took a swing at one of the windows, and glass went flying into the building. The males behind you whooped, then followed your lead and began tearing down the building as quickly and effectively as they could. You turned back to Marcus, handing him the sledgehammer.

“Y/N, if you’re available now, I’d like to start drawing up the floor plans for your bakery,” Marcus suggested, and your face broke into a grin.

“I’d love nothing more than that, Marcus. But, could we get breakfast first? I came as soon as I woke up,” you said, blushing when your stomach growled, as if to prove your point.

Marcus only chuckled and took your arm, leading you East to the Palace of Flame and Steel. “Of course we can get breakfast, there’s this cute little restaurant that should be open right now, they serve some amazing breakfast foods there.”

As promised, the food in the cozy restaurant was delicious. You’d had a scramble with potatoes, peppers, onions, and sausage, topped with a good amount of cheese. The two of you left feeling stuffed, and made your way to his office, shucking off your winter gear and hanging it on the hooks near the door.

Marcus quickly started a fire in the fireplace, adding some much appreciated heat to the room. The two of you settled in around his desk, and Marcus pulled out a notepad, quill and ink.

"So, do you know what type of building you'd like? Brick, stone, wood..."

"I'd prefer having a log cabin style of building, if that's a possibility," you said, hoping that it would be.

Marcus smiled at you and wrote down your answer. "Of course we can, and we can even go to the lumber yard in a couple of days to pick out the type of wood you'd like, Y/N. Now... what were you thinking for the floor plan?"

"I want it to be a two story building, with the top floor being dedicated as an apartment and also a garden, if everything works out."

"A garden on the second floor?"

You nodded your head. "Yes, I'm planning to have it enchanted so that I can grow some Winter crops year round, and they'll be safer off the ground, I think."

"Alright, that should be doable enough. If you'd like I can direct you to an interior designer who also specializes in home and business enchantments, she should be able to make that garden happen for you."

"Perfect!" You said, clapping your hands together excitedly. Everything was already seeming possible.

The two of you spent the next five hours going over every detail that you wanted built into the building, and by the end of it he had a preliminary sketch of the building.

"The main problem with your spiral staircase would be getting the tub and furniture up and down the stairs. I do happen to have a couple of Illyrians working in my company right now, so we should be able to get the tub up before the roof's construction is done, but the furniture would most likely need to be fully assembled upstairs, or we fly it in before the roof is finished."

You bit your lip for a moment, considering your options. "That would be fine, getting everything in before the roof is finished. Would there be any problems with doing that?"

Marcus shook his head. "No, it's more just something to consider. The spiral staircase will save you some space, so it's a good idea for your floor plan to keep as much space on the first floor for the bakery. Go ahead and look over the blueprint, and tell me if anything is off." He slid the paper over to you, careful not to smear any of the still drying ink.

Your eyes greedily took in the floor plans, already looking exactly how you wanted it. The main floor was divided in the way you had pictured, and the kitchen would be wide enough to accommodate your wings and even another person, if you ended up needing to hire someone to help you.

Only one thing was missing, something you'd hadn't thought of until now.

"Would it be possible to have a fireplace on both floors? On the main floor, about halfway through the front room and on the left, and on the top floor one on the right, after the spiral staircase?"

Marcus looked at the plans for a moment before answering you. "Yes, that should be doable, especially if we allow the chimney to stick out and along the side of the building for the first floor one." He quickly sketched in the fireplace on the floor plan, then turned to the exterior mock up and added the chimney to the side. "Does that look fine to you?"

"Yes, that looks perfect! Thank you!"

"It's no problem, Y/N," Marcus said with a soft smile. "If you think of anything else you'd like in the blueprints, you can either send me a note with it or come here, I'm normally in from six in the morning to six at night."

"I'll make sure to let you know, but I honestly think we got everything down!" You said excitedly.

"I'm glad to hear that, Y/N. The tear down process should be finished by the end of the week, including getting someone in to cast a charm to keep snow from falling over the lot. Then the actual building process after that, as long as everything goes right and all we need to build is available, shouldn’t take more than two months. Now, would you like me to show you to that interior designer I mentioned?" He offered.

"Oh, I'd love that!" Right as you said it, your stomach growled loudly once again. You looked up at him sheepishly. "Want to go to lunch first?" You asked with a chuckle.

"I'd love that," Marcus replied, already standing from his chair and stretching.

You did the same, finally feeling the tension that had built in your body from sitting for so long. Your wings fluttered slightly as they stretched, before you finally relaxed once more.

The two of you threw on your outerwear again and headed out of Marcus's office, and you let him lead you to another restaurant, a different one than this morning.

"This is my favorite spot for lunch, they have these delicious sandwiches," Marcus said as he held the door open for you, letting you walk in first before following you.

It smelled heavenly inside, and if your watering mouth was anything to go by, you knew he was correct.

"I'll have whatever you're having," you told Marcus before he stepped up to the counter. "I'm sure whatever it is will be tasty, but I can't choose between all of those options," you laughed.

"That's fine, Y/N. Any foods you want to avoid?" Marcus asked, looking down at you as you shook your head. "Alright then." He stepped up to the counter, you following right behind him. "We'll have two of your cheesesteaks, please.” Marcus went to hand over his bank card like he had for breakfast this morning, but you beat him to it, grinning at him when he put his card away while shaking his head, a matching expression on his face.

After you paid, the two of you took a seat at a table near the windows, only waiting a couple of minutes to be served your sandwiches. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, dearie,” the older high fae said with a smile before she walked back behind the counter.

“And thank you, Y/N, for buying me this delicious lunch,” Marcus said to you, right before taking a large bite of his sandwich.

“Well, you did pay for breakfast,” you said before you followed suit, finding the sandwich made of thinly sliced beef, onions, peppers, and cheese to be just as good as he’d said it would be.

“How’s Velaris been treating you so far?” He asked you after a few minutes.

You swallowed your bite, then said “It’s been really nice so far, everyone’s been very welcoming and I just feel so lucky to be here, and already be making so much progress on my business.”

Marcus smiled at you. “I’m glad to hear it, Y/N. I hope everything continues to go your way.”

“Same here. How’s your life been treating you?”

“Oh, it’s going well right now. My business has been doing better than ever in the past two years since I had a contract with the High Lady, and I happen to have a very sweet new client,” Marcus replied, and his words made you blush.

“That’s good to hear. What was it like working for the High Lady?”

“Feyre and the High Lord, Rhys, were both extremely easy to work with, pretty similar to how it’s been working with you. They knew exactly what they wanted and were good at describing it. It was an honor to work with them, and one of the best experiences I’ve had since taking over the business.”

“They sound like a lovely pair of rulers for the Court, then.”

“Oh yes, I feel we are one of the best treated cities in all of Prythian. And they’ve even begun taking steps to change how Illyria and the Hewn City are run,” Marcus added.

The two of you finished eating, and all you could think of was the High Lord and Lady, and that all of the good you’d heard about them in Winter had to be true, if Marcus, a citizen of Velaris, believed it to be true as well.

“Now, let’s get you to Gabrella’s shop, she is newer to the business, only having moved here five years ago, but all of my clients that I’ve sent to her have nothing but good things to say about her,” Marcus said, extending an arm to you after he’d returned your plates to the front counter.

He led you a few blocks away from the restaurant, deeper into the Palace of Flame and Steel. The two of you stopped in front of cute, red brick building with flower beds lining the front, covered in snow at the moment. Marcus opened the door for you, and you stepped inside, immediately loving the cozy feel of the shop, and you spotted an fae female, with large, black leathery wings coming from her back.

They were absolutely beautiful.

You’d heard of Illyrians before, and as a child had thought that wings without feathers could not possibly be pretty, but your child self was proved wrong the moment you laid eyes on her wings.

“Welcome in- oh, Marcus! Another client of yours, I presume?” The fae asked as the two of you made your way back to the counter she was seated at.

Her smell hit you, a sweet blend of mountain air, honey, and some type of berry that you couldn’t quite place- an omega. That instantly put you at ease. It’s not that Marcus’s scent wasn’t nice, the snow and pine mix was pleasant, but knowing that at least one of the people you’d be working with for the next couple of months is an omega was calming.

“Yes, my name is Y/N. I’m going to be opening a bakery with an apartment upstairs in the Rainbow soon, and Marcus is helping with the construction aspect. He said that you’re an interior designer?”

The Illyrian nodded her head and replied, “Yes, my name is Gabrella. I do interior design work and household and business enchantments.”

“Would you be able to show her a bit of your work, Rella?” Marcus asked. “She’s wanting a greenhouse for year round Winter native plants, and I know you just recently finished something similar.”

Gabrella’s eyes lit up at that, and she stood from her spot behind the counter. “I would be delighted to show you something like that, Y/N. Marcus, you can come too, if you don’t have anything else to do.”

Marcus looked at the clock on the wall to the left, sighing when he saw the time. “No, I should be getting back to check on the boys, make sure the demolition is going to plan,” he said, making his way to the door. “Y/N, remember that you can come by my office from six to six if you need anything, and you’re always free to stop by your lot at any time, alright?”

“Thanks you, Marcus. I’ll probably see you sometime tomorrow.”

“That sounds good,” he said, leaving with a wave.

“Bye Marcus!” Gabrella said right before he shut the door. “Alright, Y/N, I’ll have you come upstairs with me, my garden is on the third floor.”

You followed the other fae up the stairs, then up one more set, coming out onto a beautiful rooftop garden, filled with lovely blossoming tropical flowers. The air was warm and humid, even with their being no walls or roof.

“This is amazing,” you said, trailing your hands over a few of the blooms lightly. “How were you able to do this?” You asked, turning to Gabrella.

“Well, it took a couple of years for me to get the enchantments perfect, but it’s not too different from doing an indoor temperature control charm. It does require a bit more magical power, especially if the plants need any else besides the temperature controlled. Like the humidity, that was the part that took me the longest to get down, but now that I have, all of my sweet little plants are thriving,” Gabrella explained, looking down fondly at all of the flowers she’d been able to grow thanks to her magical talent.

“Would you be able to do something similar for me?” You asked hopefully.

“I believe I could, it may take a couple of tries to get the climate just right for you. Do you have an idea of when your building will be finished enough to start the garden?”

“Not quite, though Marcus said the whole process should take a little over two months. I’m just not sure when the second floor would be available to put the garden and enchantments in.”

“That’s perfectly fine, we can play it by ear. Were you wanting my services for anything else?” Gabrella asked, gesturing for you to head back downstairs.

“Yes, I was hoping that you would be my interior designer as well, along with any other enchantments I’d need for my building.”

“Wonderful, I’ll grab a contract for you right now,” Gabrella said after you took a seat in one of the stools in front of the counter. She rifled through a filing cabinet, pulling out a few pieces of paper. “Alright, before anything gets signed, I’d like to know what type of enchantments you’re going to want, as well as the areas of interior design you’d like help with.”

“Obviously you know about the garden,” you said, and the both of you chuckled as she wrote it down. “Plus temperature control for both floors of the building, a fireproofing charm for the kitchen if you’re able to do that.”

“Oh, yes, that’s a popular one, with the city being tightly packed everyone wants to avoid causing a fire in case it takes out a whole neighborhood,” Gabrella said. “Were you going to have a kitchen in the apartment upstairs?”

“Yes, I can’t believe I forgot to mention that,” you laughed, surprised that you were missing a few details. It had to be all the excitement, you had been drawing up floor plans all day. “Do you do plumbing enchantments?”

“Mhm, as long as you have actual plumbing pipes installed in the building, we’re able to get hot and cold water running, as well as connect it to the city’s sewer system,” she answered. “Knowing Marcus, he’s already gone over that with you?”

You nodded your head. “He sure did, he was very adamant in making sure I knew where all of the pipes would be going through the wall.”

“Yes, he’s very thorough like that. That’s why he’s one of the most in demand builders during the typical construction season. Did you have any other enchantments you were hoping for? If you can’t think of them now, I’m always able to add to your total bill, it’s just better in my experience to have as full a picture of the cost before we begin doing the actual work.”

You wracked your brain for any other spells you might need- “I’d like an enchantment that will keep the scent and sounds of the second floor separate from the first floor,” you stated, heat rising to your cheeks.

“That’s a good one!” Gabrella said enthusiastically, writing it down on the paper. “It’s very helpful for if you want to keep your business open with another staff member while you’re in heat, I have that one on my own apartment upstairs,” the omega said with a kind smile. “Anything else, or should we move on to the interior design portion?”

You couldn’t think of another enchantment you might need at the moment. “Interior design, but I’ll let you know if I think of something else.”

“Very good. For the bakery portion, what were you wanting help with?”

“I’d definitely like your help in picking out the furniture, the appliances, and the general look of the inside, and any recommendations or help with a stained glass artist that creates door panels. I do know generally what I want it to look like, but being new to town I would have no idea of where to start.” You thought about that for a moment. “So pretty much everything about it, I’d like your help with,” you giggled.

Gabrella joined you, her laugh so pleasant and fun. “That’s perfectly fine, I love helping create an entire vision! They’re the most fun for me, when my client knows exactly what they want and we just have to scavenger hunt for it all around the city.”

“That’s good, otherwise this would be a real chore for you,” you said jokingly, already loving Gabrella’s personality.

“For the second floor, what were you wanting help with?”

“Most everything again, though with the bedroom I’ll need a bit less help, nesting needs are pretty easy to satisfy on your own,” you replied, mind conjuring a soft nest filled with fabrics in light blues, silver, and white.

“I get that, nests and bedrooms are so personal to us omegas.” Gabrella’s smile was soft as she finished writing everything down. “Alright, I believe with the number and complexity of some of the enchantments, that part will run you for around 50,000 gold marks, and we do offer lifetime warranties on all of them. So if one starts to go faulty, just stop by and I’ll come and fix it as soon as I can for you. And the interior design portion will be around 25,000, and that will include the price of most items, delivery of them, and getting everything in place for you, as well as my help and advice in picking out items. Does a total of 75,000 gold marks sound reasonable to you, with these terms?” Gabrella asked, sliding a contract over to you.

You read it, including the warranty, and thought it all sounded perfectly reasonable. You picked up the extra quill she had sitting in an ink pot and signed your name to the contract. “Yes, this all sounds fine to me. Did you want to take payment now, or later?”

“If you have your bank card on you at the moment-” you were already pulling it out. “Then I’ll take a fifty percent deposit for a total of 37,500 gold marks now, and once the project is complete I’ll take the other half of the payment, plus or minus however much it falls from the estimate.” She pressed your bank card to the ledger on her desk, then handed it back to you. “I’m so happy to get to work with you, Y/N. You seem like a lovely person so far, and I do love a good bakery.”

“I’m looking forward to working with you as well, Gabrella. And I’m glad to know another omega in the city, I’ve only met one other omega here so far.”

“Yes, there aren’t too many of us here, but it’s so safe and free, I think we have a higher population of omegas than most other cities in Prythian. I’m sure you’ll meet more soon enough. Also, you can call me Rella. We’ll be working together for a while, and I have this funny little feeling that we’ll be friends,” Rella said kindly. “Now, would you like to go look at some kitchen stoves and counters if you have time?”

You beamed- nothing would have excited you more at the moment. “I would love to do that, it’s one of the areas I’m looking forward to furnishing most!”

Rella offered her arm to you, which you gladly took. “Perfect! Now, what type of color scheme were you wanting for the kitchen? It might change which shops we go to.”

“I think… soft pastels? Possibly winter themed, or maybe in pinks.”

Rella grinned at you. “I’m liking you more and more with every passing minute,” she said, dragging you away from her shop after locking it up. “We’re going to Arana’s shop, she has the cutest kitchen and dining room furniture you will every see!”

In a few minutes, after a couple of twists and turns through the streets, you arrived at a pastel pink shop, looking very much out of place next to the mostly dark, wooden building surrounding it. Rella pulled you inside, shouting “Arana! I have a new client, you’re going to love her!”

A female stepped out from a back room, ice blonde hair and white wings at her back.

Peregryn. Another Peregryn.

You’d only ever met you’d mother, no others of your kind before. And as you got closer to her- and omega, with a soft scent of pine, cinnamon, and fresh air.

“Well, it’s rare to meet another Peregryn in Velaris, my name is Arana. And yours is…?”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you,” you said as you shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” Arana responded warmly. “You said she’s a client of yours, Rella?”

“Yes, she’s building a bakery in the Rainbow-”

“Wonderful! I’ve been wanting a bakery on this side of the Sidra for so long, I hate walking all the way over to the other side in the winter,” Arana interrupted, the looked to Rella sheepishly. “Sorry, Rella, go on please?”

“I know, I’m excited about it too,” Rella laughed. “Shes working with Marcus, and it sounds like they’re still in the process of tearing down the previous building, but the two of us would like to start looking for furniture, countertops, and of course stoves.”

“Oh, is it gonna be a cute bakery?” Arana asked hopefully, and you nodded your head.

“Yes, it’s going to look like a log cabin, and I’m hoping the furniture I get will make it look cute and cozy inside!” You gush, so happy that there are people already excited about your business, even if you were going to be paying them a lot of money in the process. The two of them sound genuinely excited about it, so that didn’t matter.

“Oh, you’ll need log chairs, probably with a selection of different colors of cushions, maybe even some log benches, plus log tables of course to go with the little log theme-”

“All of that sounds great! Do you have any in here?” You asked, already wanting to see some.

“I don’t have any log furniture at the moment, but the shop next door does. I’ll be able to provide the cushions for them, though I’d recommend waiting to pick them out until you know the type of wood you’re using, so that you get the best color match,” Arana offered, pointing to the shop east of hers. “I do have plenty of stove and countertop options, if you’re wanting to go for bright colors in the kitchen. And I do make display cases as well, when you’re ready to look for those.”

You smiled in excitement and said, “Show me the stoves, please.”

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The three of you spent the next few hours looking at all Arana had to offer, and you found many different options that you liked. It all depended on what color scheme you ended up going with, but whether it would be done in blues, whites, and silvers or in soft pinks and purples, you were sure you’d be buying from Arana’s store.

The designs and sturdiness of her furnishings were perfect in your opinion, and you were so excited to see your kitchen come together once the building was finished.

You and Rella waved goodbye to Arana as you departed, promising to come back in a few weeks to finalize your decisions, having been sent home with a pamphlet filled with the designs of furniture she offered so that you could think on it further.

You and Rella parted at her shop, leaving you to walk back to the Inn alone, relishing in the sounds of the city as it came alive for the night.

It was nearly seven in the evening when you passed by a restaurant at the end of the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, right next to the bridge that would get you home. The smell coming from the restaurant was heavenly, full of garlic and smelling as though it could burn your tongue with the spice alone. You entered the restaurant, and were quickly seated at the bar, admiring the lively atmosphere before looking over the menu. They served noodle bowls, most of them having a between three and five little peppers drawn next to their names. Judging by the smell in the air, you wouldn’t survive more than a two pepper dish, so you choose the one that had the most garlic in it, sautéed with chicken, zucchini, green cabbage and onions, and of course noodles.

The dish you got was fantastic, as garlicky as you’d hoped for and spicy enough to bring tears to your eyes.

All of the food you’d had in Velaris so far was amazing, and you were excited to delve further into the cookbook that you had back in your room, if these were the types of recipes that were waiting for you.

After paying, you made your way back to the inn more slowly than before, taking time to admire the people skating on the now frozen over Sidra. Everyone seemed to be happy.

It was nice to be a part of that, of a city so joyous at all times.

By the time you made it to your room, it was past eight, and you wanted nothing more than a hot bath and some sleep.

You stripped out of your dress after taking off your outerwear and boots, then peeled off your tights and underthings. You would need to do laundry soon, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Your bath was lovely, the hot water warming you nicely and stealing the tension from your muscles. Your bed was even lovelier, so fluffy and soft, and you drifted off to sleep just a few minutes after your head landed on the pillow.

Series Taglist: @icey--stars @breadsticks2004

[from-the-owls-nest]

Intro

Hi, uh, I'm Noa. Nice to meet you. I'm new in here and my cabinmates said to do this??

(ooc: this is basically a me camp half-blood version to interact with other rp blogs and the fandom beyond my other rp blog @flipflops-n-bones whose character is a toddler as of now.)

I'm 15, usually - when my brain glitches or when I want, it can be anywhere from toddler to teen (ooc: IRL I'm a young adult as far as ID goes!).

I'm nonbinary, aro-ace or something? Generally some kind of confused queer. I use they/them or she/her as pronouns, default is they.

Uhm. I look like the little picture I put - on the smaller side, dark curls, blue eyes, headphones and hoodie.

I like: stories, books, music, stars, rainbows, owls, cats, hugs, hot chocolate, helping people understand things, windy days at the lake... in general I'm more of a quiet and cozy person, but with my friends I can be quite silly!

I don't like: loud noises, spiders, darkness, pain, social issues, thunderstorms and crowds.

I read a lot, and listen to music, and I like doing crafts like crochet, sewing, embroidery... Also I got some experience with medical stuff if you need any volunteers.

As far as weapons go I'm okay, I think? Learning Archery, and before coming here I was already learning some Karate and Kobudo (basically quarterstaff work) which is really fun!

My Godly Parent is Athena. At least an owl appeared over my head when I came here (before I passed out)... So I guess I'm good with thinking and concepts and like noticing stuff, and "putting the pieces together". At least when my brain cooperates.

Update: I can change into an owl and fly!! And with practice I'll be able to change just body parts into their owl versions (hearing, vision, claws, even beak i guess? - not wings though that's not how physics works). Athenas symbol or something.

And my age and bodily appearance can change based on mood / unconsciously or when I want it to, from like small child to teenager. We're not really sure why. If I find out, I'll tell you.

And since I got adopted by Jack I can change into a cat too!!

My mortal family... um. No. No thank you. No. I'll be here year-round, please. I miss my little siblings, but... let's say there's reasons I left.

I'm dealing with some issues body and brain wise - autism, disability, silly brain - but it's usually not too much of a problem. Like, i get dizzy and walking hurts so I'll sometimes use mobility aids like a cane, crutches or a wheelchair. And I'm confused sometimes and have a really bad memory, or talk weirdly, but yea. Just some chaos all around.

Uh. Oh yea. Please don't be weird or mean, this is for fun.

People I know:

Jack @demigod-jack-hearth My adoptive mum, Daughter of Hestia, Champion of a whole bunch of gods, gives great hugs and cookies!

Nico @nico-sees-dead-people Son of Hades, needs some sleep

Will @dr-flipflops Head Medic, Nicos Boyfriend, Son of Apollo, also needs some sleep

Aria @flipflops-n-bones their kid, reminds me of my brother, Daughter of Demeter?, (my other rp blog)

Crescent - @the-eclipse-is-in-me Nicos sister, Daughter of Hades

Quinn - @quinn-is-victory Crescents partner, Child of Nike

Annabeth - @not-annabeth head counselor of my cabin and i guess half sibling?, Daughter of Athena

Percy - @seewead-brian Annabeths Boyfriend, Son of Poseidon

Grover - @proud-tree-hugger a Satyr. also something with Pan?

Bianca - @the-one-who-returned Nicos Sister who died, Daughter of Hades (link broken?)

Thalia - @thalia-grace1248 was a tree?, now a Hunter, Daughter of Zeus

Kayla - @sun-girl-offical Wills sister, archery instructor, Daughter of Apollo

Hazel - @the-gem-girl-from-the-argoii a roman demigod and Nicos halfsister, Daughter of Hades Pluto

Jason - @demi-gods-blonde-superman a roman demigod, Son of Zeus Jupiter

Piper - @theghostsaredancing Daughter of Aphrodite

Frank - @zankfrang23 a roman demigod, Son of Ares Mars, can shapeshift into Animals

Leo and Harley - @mrmcshizzleandh-meister Sons of Hephaestus

Selena - @hexpect-the-worst Daughter of Hekate

Reyna - @praetorofthebestlegion Daughter of Bellona, now a Hunter

Rachel - @rackel-mackerel-dare Mortal, Oracle

Silena - @silena-beauregard-xxx , Daughter of Aphrodite

Connor - @connorstollslays (link broken?), Son of Hermes

Calypso - @calypsoontheisland former immortal

Magnus - @dont-call-me-beantown Annabeths Cousin, Norse, Son of Frey, Healer

Alex - @alexf1erroo Magnus' Partner

Cleo - @cleoreadsbooks from Egypt

Apollo - @no-longer-lester Apollo. God of Poetry, Music, Healing, ...

[lilacmingi]

PLAYTIME

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you are under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Moondrop!San & Sundrop!Wooyoung x fem reader

Word count: 4,092

Note: This was published on Wattpad October 2022 and since the FNAF movie is coming out in a couple days I’m sharing this one on Tumblr! It’s one of my favorites and I feel like it’s so unique. There will not be a part 2. Also if the cover looks bad pls ignore it :P

You huffed as you pushed up the metal garage-like door just enough for you to get through. You didn't really care where it led to, you just wanted to get out of the main area of the mall and away from those incessant staff bots.

You just started working at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex. In fact, it was your first day on the job and you somehow managed to get yourself locked inside. You were so busy with all your work that you lost track of time. When you finished, you found that you had been locked inside.

The area you just entered was the daycare.

The first thing you spotted was a huge golden statue depicting a sun and moon character, both dressed in attire that resembled that of a jester. Glancing around the room, you saw round tables scattered about, each one with a number on it. You were quick to figure out you were in some sort of reception area of the daycare.

You peered out into the netted area beyond the reception hall, inside were two large, multicolored play structures with cartoon faces of the glamrock mascots from the Fazbear franchise stuck on them and a massive ball pit designed to look like a mote. Your gaze was drawn to a platform a few feet above the play area, made to look like the outlook on a tower, a bright spotlight shining directly on it. Red curtains draped over an arched doorway that led to what you could only assume was a room.

The daycare area appeared to be a safe and vacant place for you to lay low for a while.

Your eyes searched the area for a moment before you spotted a colorful rainbow sign that read: SLIDE INTO FUN! leading directly into the daycare area. It appeared to be your only way inside, seeing as the security bots were patrolling the staircase that led to the second entrance for adults.

Without any other option, you got in and descended down the slide, falling right into a ball pit. You waded through the colorful spheres and stepped out of the pit. Now that you were inside the netted area, you were able to get a better look at everything.

The place seemed to be empty and free of any bloodthirsty animatronics.

Surely, you'd be safe.

Suddenly, your attention was turned to the castle up on the wall. A man suddenly emerged from the arched, curtain-draped opening and stepped out onto the platform. His blonde hair was pushed back away from his face, tousled in a way that made it look a bit spiky. He was dressed in jester attire, the collar ruffled as well as the top of his yellow and red striped pants. Tied on his wrists were red ribbons with bells that jingled when he moved.

The man lifted his arms into the air, chuckling gleefully before diving into the ball pit you were just in moments ago. You watched with wary eyes as the man never came up. Hesitantly, you stepped closer, peering into the ball pit. He emerged abruptly, causing some of the colorful spheres to fly through the air. He made his way out of the ball pit, a bright smile on his face.

"Hello, new friend! You're a bit big to be in the daycare." He tilted his head. "That's alright! We can still have fun!"

He didn't give you a chance to speak as he continued talking.

"We can finger paint, tell stories, drink Fizzy Faz until our heads explode and stay up all night!" He exclaimed, giddily as he pranced around.

"I was actually just hoping to—"

"What's your name, new friend?"

"Uh... Y/n." You answered.

You were wearing a name tag. Did he not notice it?

"Ah! Y/n. What a wonderful name! I'm Wooyoung, but my friends call me Woo. Hey, do you like glitter glue?"

"I-“

"If you like glitter glue, I have glitter glue, and lots of it!"

"I'd like to just stay in here for a while if that's okay."

His eyes sparkled as an excited gasp left him.

"Of course! There's so much we can do! We could play hide and seek, have a puppet show, make macaroni art." He listed enthusiastically.

This guy didn't seem so bad and the daycare appeared to be the safest place for you. Perhaps you could stay.

"Oh, this'll be so much fun! There's one rule, however. Lights stay on. On." He punctuated the last word, his voice sounding ominous when he did.

"Uh. Yeah. I can do that."

"Wonderful!" He clasped his hands together. "Come here! I have some fun activities planned."

He grabbed your hands, yanking you forward. Because of that, you stumbled and accidentally knocked over a stack of cylinders that had crescent moons and music notes on them, the objects making the sound of a party favor as they tumbled to the floor.

Wooyoung came to a stop, turning to see the shapes that had toppled over.

"No, no, no, no! What a mess! Oh, which was the bottom? Where is the top? Clean up! Clean up!" He stressed, hurrying to stack the musical cylinders back up.

Once the stack was back the way it was, he let out a sigh.

"There. Good as new."

"Sorry." You apologized even though it wasn't really your fault, but it felt appropriate.

"It's alright, friend." He beamed. "I get ahead of myself sometimes and I can be a bit clumsy."

He continued to pull you towards a tiny table where he ushered you into a small chair that you barely fit in.

"Look at all this neat stuff!" Wooyoung beamed. "Here."

He placed a piece of copy paper in front of you and began talking about all the different arts and crafts materials he had.

You opted for the colored pencils, grabbing one of them while Wooyoung started grabbing paints.

"What are you gonna draw?" Wooyoung asked, giddily. "I'm gonna paint a sun."

"I'm not sure what I'm gonna draw yet."

"That's okay. Just wait for inspiration to strike!"

As you thought about what to draw, you noticed a black cord stretching across the play area.

"What are those cords?" You asked Wooyoung.

"Oh. Those lead to generators in the play structures. There are five of them and each connect to a light on the outside of the structures." He pointed.

You noticed a few lights here and there attached to the plastic grate walls of the structures. You wondered why there were generators in a play area for children, but chose not to ask questions.

"So, you mentioned Fizzy Faz earlier."

"Uh-huh." He nodded.

"What does it taste like?"

The paintbrush in Wooyoung's hand fell, as did his jaw.

"You've never had it?"

You shook your head.

"We have to change that right away! What flavor do you prefer? There's orange, pink lemonade, cherry, lime, and grape."

"I'll have (your choice)."

Wooyoung immediately got up from his chair and started to hurry off only to stop and turn to you.

"You won't run off, will you?"

"I don't have anywhere else to go." You shrugged.

Minutes later, Wooyoung returned with a can of the fizzy drink and a small paper cup.

"Here you go, friend." He beamed, placing the small cup down on the table.

You thanked him, trying some of the soda, the tiny cup already nearly empty.

"Are you hungry? I have all sorts of yummy snacks. Goldfish crackers, cookies, potato chips, gummies." He listed.

"Now that you mention it, I am kinda hungry."

"Great! I'll be right back."

He hurried off somewhere while you stayed in your seat, working on your drawing.

Moments later, a paper tower was placed on the table as Wooyoung started putting small piles of assorted snacks onto it.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted, so brought everything." He paused for a second. "You don't have peanut allergies, do you?"

Before you could answer, he spoke up. "It's fine. None of these snacks are made with peanut products anyway. Gotta stay safe for the kiddos." He gave a bright smile, his head cocking to the side. "Here you go, friend."

You chuckled at the setup before you. A small, paper cup with soda and a paper towel with little piles of snacks on it.

"What's so funny?" Wooyoung asked.

"This just reminds me of when I was a kid." You smiled softly at the nostalgia. "This was the usual setup for special snack at school."

"Ah, that's right. You're not a kid." He chuckled. "Sorry, friend. I'm used to being around children." He slid the can of Fizzy Faz to you before sitting back down in his seat to continue his painting.

"That's alright." You waved it off, taking a drink of the bubbly soda. "You're trained to handle kids. You're used to that, so I don't blame you for being on autopilot."

"Thank you, Y/n." Wooyoung gave you a gentle smile before turning his attention back to his artwork.

"So, you work here?" He asked.

"You just noticed?" You chuckled.

"Yeah. I was so excited to have a visitor that I got carried away."

"Well, I only just started working here today. I don't know too much about this place and I had so much work I got distracted and when I finished, the doors were locked."

"So you're stuck in here until morning?"

You nodded.

"You can stay in here with me until 6am! You'll be safe here."

"Thank you."

Things were quiet for a few moments. The only sounds were the music playing in the daycare accompanied by the soft noise of your colored pencils against the paper.

"New friend, Y/n. Can I tell you something?" Wooyoung asked, cutting through the silence.

"Sure." You hummed, painting away.

When he didn't say anything, you looked up at him. His cheeks were tinted pink and he was holding back giggles.

"What is it?" You urged.

"You're very pretty."

"Oh. Thank you."

"Only children come into the daycare, and parents, of course, but I'm not used to seeing someone as pretty as you." Wooyoung was blushing like crazy as he spoke. "The teenagers and young adults usually spend their time elsewhere like Roxy Raceway."

"Right. I'm sure this is weird for you."

"No, actually. It's a nice change. The limited non-robot staff we have here don't really come into the daycare, so I'm not around older people that often. But, again, it's a nice change."

An hour or so passed and you were having a wonderful time with Wooyoung. Making crafts and painting really took you back to your childhood and helped to distract you from worrying about animatronics. Wooyoung had even made a cute little drawing of you with crayons, which you found endearing. He was very enthusiastic and bubbly, asking lots of questions about you and your interests. Whenever you'd give him your answer he'd watch you with wide eyes, taking in every word.

The two of you were having a blast when all of a sudden the lights shut off, surrounding you in near total darkness. You let out a gasp, the bright and sunny man's stern words immediately replaying in your head.

"Lights stay on. On."

He was so serious when he said that.

What happens when the lights go off?

"Oh no." Wooyoung muttered. "Oh no. Oh no!"

He stood up from his chair abruptly, causing it to fall over as the panic in his voice rose.

"What's wrong?" You asked, worriedly.

"Not good! Not good!" He put his hands on his face, staggering backwards as he screamed in agony.

Lost in his hysterics, he tripped and fell behind a stack of large, foam blocks sitting about the daycare, the atmosphere becoming eerily silent.

"Wooyoung?" You called out, shakily.

To your shock and mild horror, a completely different person emerged from behind the shapes. This one had dark hair with a white streak in his bangs. His attire was similar to Wooyoung's, but instead of stripes, this man's pants were a dark blue color with yellow stars all over them. He donned a night cap on his head with the same pattern.

"I'm not Wooyoung." The man responded with a sinister grin. "I'm San."

"What happened to Wooyoung?" You asked, taking a step back.

"He's not here right now." His red colored irises that seemed to glow raked down your body. "You're up a bit late, don't you think?"

"No." You answered, taking another step back.

"You should be sleeping. Naughty, naughty." He shook his head while wagging a finger at you.

"I'm not a child." You responded.

He let out a tsk as he leaned in close to you, tilting his head. "Daycare rules."

You took a step back, stumbling when your foot hit something. You had accidentally knocked over the same stack of cylinder shapes that you'd bumped into earlier.

San growled angrily, bending down.

"Clean up! clean up!" He repeated in a seemingly annoyed voice as he began stacking the objects back up.

You then realized Wooyoung reacted the same way and perhaps you could use that to your advantage. You took that as your chance to try and escape, bolting directly for the play structures, crawling up the slide, opting to hide there for a moment.

"Oh~ you wanna play hide and seek?" San chuckled, the sound coming out in a rasp. "I think I can manage."

It sounded like San was on the opposite side of the daycare, which put your nerves at ease, but only for a moment.

Afraid to stay in one place for too long, you

shimmied up the slide and started crawling around in the structure.

What do I do? What do I do?

Would you have to spend the rest of the night hiding from this San guy?

You advanced further into the play structure, moving up a bit higher, taking a moment to peer out into the daycare. It was dark except for the giant screen at the front of the room depicting a sun character that resembled Wooyoung.

Using the light from the screen, you looked around the area from above. You didn't see San anywhere, which terrified you. Instead of staying in one place for too long, you continued on your way, slipping through a colorful tube and into another section of the structure.

As you crawled ahead, you felt your foot catch on something, instinctively flinching before turning around to find a generator. The relief you felt when you saw that it wasn't San was immeasurable.

That's right. There are generators inside the play structures.

You shuffled back to the generator, a red light shining. Feeling around, you managed to find a switch of some sort, your fingers curling around the handle. You pulled up on it, a light on the outside of the structure coming on shortly after.

A quiet sigh of relief leaves you.

One down, four to go.

"You can't hide forever, dear." You heard San's voice from somewhere below.

Taking one last look out into the daycare, you spotted San creeping across the bridge above the ball pit.

You needed to find the other generators, and fast.

You crawled through the top area of the play structure, not finding any. As much as you hated to, you knew you'd have to go back down to the lower level.

Taking in a deep breath and gathering all the courage you could muster, you headed down until you got to the bottom level. You glanced around, checking for San before sneaking your way into another section of the play structure. It didn't take long for you to come across a second generator. You flipped it on and were on the move once again.

The floodlights didn't illuminate the area very well, but it was better than nothing. You hoped turning on all five would somehow bring Wooyoung back.

You continued searching the play structure, opting to follow the cords throughout the area, hoping they would lead you to a generator. Sometimes they would lead to one you had already turned on, while other times they led to a light attached to the outside of the structure.

You hadn't spotted San for quite some time, which gave you a sense of relief. Maybe you got lucky and he forgot about you.

Just then, you spotted him clinging to the outside of the play structure. A scream tore through you as the man leaned close to the grates.

"It's past your bedtime, my dear." He said with a sinister smirk.

You scurried away as quickly as you could, wanting to get as far away from him as possible, your knees becoming sore from crawling around so much.

You had already turned four generators on. There was only one left, but you couldn't seem to find it.

I've searched this entire structure. You thought to yourself. Where could it be?

Just then, you spotted a second play structure on the other side of the daycare, your heart dropping in your chest. The last generator is over there. You're certain of it.

You would have to find a way over to it without getting caught.

Moving silently throughout the play structure, you made your way to the bottom where you slowly began to lose your nerve. Your mind began to fill with petrifying thoughts, wondering what ghastly things San would do if he caught you.

You have to get to that last generator, Y/n. You told yourself, trying your best to psych yourself up and gather your nerves. Getting the lights back on was the only way to ensure yourself safety.

Taking one last look out into the daycare, you got ready to make a break for it, checking for San. When you didn't see him, you took off across the colorful foam flooring, skittering towards the second play structure.

Dark chuckles echoed through the vast room.

"Run run as fast as you can."

Hearing San's taunting frightened you and had you shaking like a leaf, but it also gave you that extra rush of adrenaline you needed, helping to get you safely to the second structure where you momentarily felt safe.

"I can see you." He sang creepily, prompting you to scurry further into the structure in an attempt to get away from him.

You hated this. Why did the lights have to go out all of a sudden? That was the one thing Wooyoung said not to do and now look where you are. It's your first day on the job and you're going to die by the hands of some psychopath in star pajamas. The mere thought of being caught made the panic within you rise tenfold.

You creeped through the structure, hoping San doesn't find his way inside. Little did you know, your fears would soon become a reality.

As you're crawling, you feel someone's breath fanning against your neck.

"Knock knock." He whispered.

You let out a terrified yelp, continuing to move forward at a quicker pace, but you didn't make it very far.

A gasp left you as San grabbed hold of your ankle, jerking you backwards until you were underneath him.

"Caught you."

His hands held you firmly against the flooring of the play structure, preventing you from escaping. You were just a foot from the last generator—so close, yet so far away. San moved in closer, his sharp eyes gazing down at you as a wicked smirk played at his lips.

What do I do?

You were panicking, your heart beating so fast you could hear the pounding in your ears. Fearful of what he would do with you, you shoved him away with your knee, pulling yourself closer to the generator, stretching your arm out, your fingers reaching for the switch, just barely brushing it.

"Wait!"

You paused after hearing San call out to you.

"Don't. Please."

The desperation in his voice caught you off guard, making you hesitate in your actions.

Your brows pulled together in confusion. Did he just ask you not to flip the generator on?

"I thought we were playing hide and seek." He continued, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth downward.

"Hide and seek?" You parroted in disbelief. "I thought you were trying to kill me!"

"Kill you? No. I thought we were just playing a game."

He pout in his voice almost made you feel bad for him. Almost.

"You didn't exactly make that clear."

He sighed, his head dropping in disappointment.

"I'm turning this on." You told him. "I want Wooyoung back."

"You don't like me?"

Your hand froze once again after hearing his words. He sounded hurt. Pitiful, almost. Turning back to him, you saw the expression on his face. His bottom lip was stuck out in a pout, quivering slightly as his red eyes appearing glossy with tears.

Your hand went limp, abandoning the the generator and silently hoping you weren't about to make a mistake.

•

Your heart thudded against your rib cage, your knees hitting the plastic flooring of the play structure as you crawled as fast as you could through the narrow passageways, getting lost in the maze once again.

I can't believe I let this happen again.

You barely made it out the first time and now you're stuck here once more. That all too familiar feeling of terror was beginning to build inside you as you hurried to hide, ominous chuckles from San echoing down the tunnel you were crawling through. Your body shook as you hurried through the endless labyrinth that was the play structures. The raw panic and trepidation that ran through your body was the only thing keeping you going. Your trembling hand grabbed onto the switch on the third generator, flipping it on.

That's when you heard San's dark chuckling behind you, causing you to gasp.

He was inside the play structure.

Crawling as fast as you possibly could, you turned a corner, shuffling through a tube, coming out at the bridge that connected two of the play towers. You hurried across into the second structure in search for the next generator.

"You're getting better at this, darling." San's voice emitted from across the bridge.

He was right on your tail.

You followed the twists and turns of the tunnels and platforms, not realizing you'd somehow gotten turned around.

Panicked, you changed directions and shimmied down a nearby passageway, narrowly escaping. You arrived at a small ramp that led to a lower level of the play structure. From what you remember, there was a generator nearby one of the ramps, though you weren't sure if this one was the right one. There was no time to think it over as you took the chance.

Just when you thought you were about to find the next generator, you ran into San who had a wicked smile on his face, his eyes flickering with mischief.

You yelped in surprise, which only made him grin wider. In one, swift motion he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around you.

"Gotcha."

"You promised you wouldn't chase me this time." You frowned.

"Sorry." He giggled. "It's just so much fun."

"I've had enough hide and seek for the night. I wanna hang out with Wooyoung."

"You got to hang out with Wooyoung earlier." San whined.

"Alright, fine. But I don't want you scaring me anymore."

"No scaring. I promise!"

After that first night at the pizzaplex, you learned San wasn't so bad after all. He just had an odd way of interacting with people sometimes and tended to come off a bit scary. He wasn't nearly as terrifying as he appeared. In fact, he was actually rather adorable.

His counterpart, Wooyoung, had apologized profusely to you once the sun had come up, worried that San had spooked you. Being honest with him, you explained what happened, but assured him that San wasn't a bad person and you actually enjoyed your time with him—when he wasn't chasing you, that is.

From then on, you would drop in and visit Wooyoung during the day while working and stay after hours to spend a little more time with him before bringing San out. Something fishy was definitely going down at the mega pizzaplex, especially with the glamrock animatronics, but with San and Wooyoung around, you felt safe. You found yourself looking forward to seeing them every day, wondering what new shenanigans would ensue once the pizzaplex closed for the night.

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

[luckyfluffy-ccs]

The Seven Monster Brothers!!

Unfortunately, I can still not make any detailed drawings without hitting an artist's block. So have these low-hanging fruits from me so you can get a taste at least!

If you look at my other art you know these are not the actual colours of their designs but I thought it would be funny to have them be their own colour, they make a funky rainbow-

Beyond Levi's larger form, there are some more 'hidden' monster forms of some brothers. But those are still spoilers for now~

(Additional note; I really wanted to stay true to their banner animals. But, I could not get Beel's fly design to make sense. And I remember somebody made a Moth beel and I loved it so much I maybe adapted it-(he's based on the Hercules moth!))

[climbthemountain2020]

Solstice Gifts

Baby's first Feysand! | Ao3

[Feyre loves buying Solstice gifts for her family, but this year she might have been outdone.]

Eternal thank yous and forehead kisses to @tunaababee @cauldronblssd and @witch-and-her-witcher for just being the most wonderful humans and beta reading and encouraging me to post this.

Solstice in Velaris was the most lovely time of year, and no matter how much time Feyre spent here, she doubted she’d ever grow tired of it.

The snowy streets were covered in faelights, all twisted into beautiful shapes and hanging from the signs and light posts. There were long strings of them criss-crossing over The Rainbow and casting all the snow and shops in an ethereal glow. Complex smells of cinnamon, clove, freshly baked breads, rosemary, and mulled ciders cascaded from the storefronts, their windows decked in boughs of holly and fir and their doors hung with mistletoe.

Feyre was hurrying back to the River House, late as usual, with the last of her gifts.

She’d been mostly organized this year, but Nesta’s gift had ended up taking longer than expected, and of course today was the first time she’d been able to sneak off to grab the little Illyrian leathers with space for wings that would fit an almost-four year old.

She’d gone a little overboard on gifts this year, but it was hard to not spoil those she loved now that she had the means. Old habits die hard, and she too-vividly remembered the years that she and her sisters had stoically ignored the Solstice happening at all, not even a candle lit in the windows to be spared. So now, when things had changed so vastly in the last seven years, she would fully use every bit of means at her disposal to shower everyone with gifts they would love.

Nyx was six now, somehow, the years flying by in a rush that she tried and failed to stop like grabbing whitewater in her hands. Rhysand reassured her constantly, a laugh on his lips, that though time was flying, they still had centuries together, and there was no need to beg for more. Another thing she had trouble letting go of in her immortality–the idea that things were good now, and there was no time limit on it. Things could be happy and productive and peaceful like this for centuries more. But Feyre still had trouble allowing hope for good things to bloom in her heart, despite feeling beyond blessed in all ways.

She shuffled the bags in her arms–she’d had to stop for some last-minute pastries, too. What good was a solstice birthday if she couldn’t eat whatever she wanted? The smells on the way to the leather-smith had been too good to resist, and she was crazed for the pistachio croissants with the bergamot filling that the bakery beside Rita’s had this time of year.

She quietly snuck the front door open, hoping to slip in quietly and unnoticed by her houseguests. Mor, draped in her normal gorgeous finery, strode through the foyer, lifting a brow that surely must be genetic, and before tipping her head back to laugh at Feyre.

“You’re just as bad as Rhys, you know? I saw him coming back not twenty minutes ago.”

Rhys, that weasel.

Feyre wondered what he’d been off plundering after amusedly lecturing her this morning about sneaking out last minute for more presents. She ran the bags upstairs, ditched her coat, and wrapped the leathers quickly in the celebratory packaging she’d picked up last month in their guest bedroom before scurrying back down the stairs. She’d arrived just in time, everyone present in the sitting room as Nuala and Cerridwen announced the dinner was ready. Luckily, she’d had the foresight to prepare before going to grab the gifts, her long midnight-blue dress swaying luxuriously around her feet, the gossamer sleeves like a soft embrace along her arms. She’d definitely gotten used to wearing pretty clothes in the time she’d spent in Velaris, though most days, she still dressed for comfort. She’d left her hair down and lightly curled, compulsively tucking a strand behind her ear as she entered the dining room. Elain had helped prepare the Solstice meal and cake, as she insisted she do every year, and Feyre had to admit it all looked mouthwatering, as always.

Rhys pulled her seat out for her as she walked up, pressing a quick kiss to the side of her head as he pushed her in.

“Last minute shopping go well?” He murmured against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine and goosebumps down her arms. He knew it, too, and she turned to scrunch her nose at him as he laughed.

“I hear you’re one to talk, hypocrite.” He held his hand to his chest feigning offense, then sent her an absolutely world-shattering smile as he moved to take his place.

A crash in the hall sent Feyre’s eyes to the doors, followed by Nesta’s bellowing.

“Hey! Wings closed indoors! You know the rules.” Giggles abound as Nyx and Aife came into the room, leaning into each other and cackling as they took their seats. They were only two years apart and thick as thieves. Though Nesta and Feyre would never admit it aloud, seeing their children close as they’d never had the opportunity to be as children had healed something between the two of them that had once felt depthless.

Nyx pushed midnight-black hair from his eyes as he looked to Feyre.

“Mom, can we go play with our presents after we open them tonight? I promise I’ll go straight to bed after.”

“I don’t see why not. Nesta, are you all staying the night tonight?” Nesta looked to Cassian and nodded.

“I think so. Aife and Nyx are going to be here all day tomorrow anyway during the snowball fight. We might as well.” She gave a pointed look to Cassian, who grinned wolfishly. Feyre could hear Aife whispering to Nyx.

“Who’s going to win this year?”

“Uncle Az. It’s always Uncle Az. He says our dads are old now.” They both giggled and Feyre cracked a smile, shooting the conversation down the bond to Rhys, whose eyebrows lifted as he shot her an amused smile as if to say we’ll see.

They tucked into the great feast, a large roast the centerpiece, surrounded by offerings of ham and turkey and too many sides to reasonably name. Feyre loaded her plate with the most buttery mashed potatoes she’d ever tasted, one of Elain’s specialities that Feyre always requested for special occasions, as well as a basil and tomato tart, baked to crisp perfection by Nuala.

She remembered a time when she’d hated her birthday, and while she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with all the attention, she surely would celebrate now if only for the delicious foods she got to have. She couldn’t beat the company either, her blood and chosen family all seated around the table, laughing and loving and enjoying themselves in her home. A decade ago, she would have laughed in the face of anyone who’d tried to describe this possibility, and it wasn’t lost on her how much luck and fate had stepped in to make things as they were.

++

Stuffed to the brim and with the gift exchange behind them, Feyre slumped onto the couch. The kids had been spoiled beyond reason, the piles of gifts higher than the chairs surrounding them.

Nyx and Aife had begged Az, Cass, and Lucien to bring them outside to practice with the new bow and arrow sets, courtesy of Elain and Lucien’s recent trip to the Day Court. As the official “Uncle Troupe”, as they’d so ridiculously named themselves, they felt it would have been in poor taste to decline. Feyre pulled her feet up onto the couch and laid her head back. It had been a busy few months, though things were finally, blessedly beginning to smooth out. They’d been able to delegate a bit more recently, and it certainly helped their workload.

Elain had gone back to the kitchens to help clean up and exchange gifts with the twins before they took off for the evening, leaving Feyre to relax for a bit while Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, and Mor sat at the table with sweets and coffees chatting. Amren and Varian had skipped the party this year in favor of a trip to Summer, as they now alternated holidays between courts. While she’d never taunt Amren to her face about it, Feyre secretly loved how domesticated she’d become in the time she’d known her, settling down while still claiming that ancient power hummed through her veins.

She felt Rhys sit down by her feet, his presence always noted by her magic immediately twining with his. At any given time, she could feel where he was, the power soaring back and forth between them like a current. The depth of love between them was fathomless and deep, and she’d never quite get over the fact that she had him all to herself, hers and hers alone, for the rest of her life.

He picked her feet up in his hands, shuffling them over to his lap and giving them a squeeze.

“Tired, darling?” His voice was a low rumble as he leaned against the back of the couch, settling in.

“Exhausted. I love the holidays, but I would also love a solid two days of sleep.” He laughed, his smile lighting up the room as she lifted her head to peek at him. “Did you enjoy your Solstice gifts?”

She’d bought him a device she’d found at one of the shops in Day Court on a summer visit to Elain and Lucien months ago. Duty had them back and forth between courts now, and Feyre couldn’t deny the love she had for any excuse to get to the shimmering beaches of Day. She’d found it nestled in the back of a tinkerer’s store–a handheld device that rolled over clothes, enchanted to remain sticky, and pulled any lint or fuzz from them.

“It’s only my favorite thing I’ve ever owned,” Rhys quipped immediately. She laughed, closing her eyes again and poking him in the side with her toe. He gripped it in his hands and threatened to tickle her. “How about you, love? Get everything you wanted?” Feyre paused, but didn’t open her eyes. She should say yes. She should feel like she had everything she wanted, but there was just one thing missing, and unfortunately it was something she couldn’t have.

“Hey lovebirds, we’re heading out!” Mor called across the room, her arm around Emerie’s.

Feyre sat up to say goodbye. “So early?”

Mor chuckled and Emerie elbowed her in the ribs. “Solstice plans of our own,” Mor said, waggling her brows at Rhys and giggling as he rubbed his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Alright, then.” He slapped his palms on his thighs, laughing and ending the conversation as Emerie blushed about ten shades of red, still not quite used to the way this family spoke so openly about things. Feyre stood to hug them both.

“We’re so glad you came. Feel free to drop in any time tomorrow. We’ll be here all day.”

Gwyn and Nesta had gone to join their mates and the children out on the illuminated training ring in the yard, leaving Feyre to slip back down onto the couch, this time scooting closer to Rhys and leaning her body against his. He was always so warm and solid, her touchstone in times both trying and lovely. He always smelled like oranges and the sea–the smell of Velaris, of home, tied intrinsically with his. She nuzzled closer, his arm finding its way around her waist as he settled too.

“Everything okay, darling?”

She hummed noncommittally. She hated that even with all this joy, all these gifts, all this family, she still couldn't shake the thought that something was missing, incomplete.

“Can you believe this is Nyx’s sixth Solstice?” She felt Rhys soften beneath her, realization creeping down the bond from his end, followed by a burst of soothing love and affection.

“He's incredible, isn't he? What are we going to do when he learns how to use that bow accurately?” She laughed.

“Truly, it's the inaccurate use I'm more worried about.” His breath ghosted her ear as he chuckled, sending those light shivers scurrying back along her spine.

Things got quiet, then. She knew it would take very little for Rhys to understand what she was thinking, if he didn't already intrinsically know. Even without the bond, even without the daemati powers, there was really a moment he wasn't able to read her like a wide open book.

“He's so big now…” she let her voice drift off, trying to hide the hurt in it and failing miserably. As always Rhys filled in the gaps.

“He’s wonderful. We made a really wonderful child, Feyre. He’s everything I never even dared to hope for for myself. I never thought such joy was possible for someone like me. You know that he’s the greatest gift you ever could have given me, right?” She felt the tears burning behind her eyes, and she took in a deep breath as she felt him press a kiss to her temple.

“I know.” Her voice was just a wobbly whisper, quiet in the room.

“And if he’s the only one we ever have, it’s more than enough for me. I need to know you know that, Feyre.” She nodded furiously, the big tears slipping down her cheeks now, burning hot tracks as they descended.

“I can’t even explain it. It just feels like someone else should be here.” He pulled her tightly against him, resting his chin on her shoulder and rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

“And maybe, someday, they will be. But if the three of us are all we ever have, it’s more than enough. It’s everything to me.” She couldn’t hold back the sobs then, turning to bury her face in his chest as she cried.

It had been two years since they’d decided things had evened out enough that another child was even an option for them. They’d been casual about it at first, enjoying themselves and giggling in the dark under covers as they talked about the possibilities of the future. She missed Nyx’s tufts of baby curls, that new infant smell that seemed to cling to him always then faded abruptly away after he hit one year. She missed the snuggles and the closeness, and her heart ached to watch how wonderful he was with his cousin without knowing if she’d ever be able to give him that gift as a big brother.

Realistically, she knew all the logic. It could take fae decades to have a child. It wasn’t always going to be as quick as it had been with Nyx. He’d come quickly, but the consequences, as everyone remembered, had been disastrous and near-fatal. She’d never even considered the possibility of it being a problem again when Nesta informed her she’d changed their anatomy, but she’d never considered that she might be the one having the problem. Part of her wondered if the absolute massacre of her body bringing Nyx into the world was responsible–her tissue mangled and her blood spilt and her spirit eking into the ether, only to be yanked back and mended together at the last possible second. Could it have damaged her irreparably, the anatomy be damned?

“Nothing is your fault, love. Not one bit of it.” He held her to his chest as her cries subsided. “And it’s okay to be upset about this. You don’t have to hold everything in all the time. There are no prizes for stoicism.” She snorted at him, and he huffed amusedly at her.

“Pot, meet kettle,” she shot back wetly. He smiled softly as she sat back to look at him, a little of the life returning to her as well.

“You’re a lovely mother, and our boy thinks you’ve hung the stars and moon above Velaris, even if he is getting old enough to wield a weapon. A little sibling won’t ever change that. Plus, I get the impression Aife isn’t going to be his only cousin.” She sighed, nodding, as he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“It’s just hard not to feel like I’ve done something wrong. I know how badly you want another, how badly I do. It’s hard not to wonder.” He took his hands in hers.

“I meant it when I told you that you and Nyx, you are the gifts. Our family is absolutely lovely the way it is now. If we’re meant to grow it one day, we will, and if we aren’t, believe me when I tell you I am absolutely over the moon for the way things are now.” She couldn’t help but kiss him then, the stars reflecting in his violet eyes taking her breath away, as they always did. “Plus, I never mind practicing with you.” She smacked him across the chest as he grinned broadly and wickedly at her, hauling her into his lap in response as she yelped.

If anything, Rhys knew how to chase away her tears better than anyone else ever had or would.

Just then, the parlor doors opened and Elain stepped through.

“Oh, just the two I was looking for! I’ve got one last gift for you both, but I wanted to wait until the right moment.” She ducked back through the doors momentarily, reappearing with a small, neatly wrapped parcel as they stood. She flounced lightly up to them, setting the little bundle wrapped in delicate yellow paper in Rhys’s hands.

“Elain, you didn’t need to get us anything else. You already gave us such lovely gifts and you made dinner.” Elain blushed, still the demure lady after all this time.

“Consider it a double gift.” She whispered as she leaned in conspiratorially. Rhys pulled back the paper and pulled out the tiniest, knitted pink blanket.

One beat, two. The silence hung in the room as Elain smiled wide.

“I just saw last week, but I wanted to make you something to let you know in a way that was special.”

Feyre’s hands shot to her stomach, and Rhys began to cry, turning to her and holding her close while still looking at Elain.

“Now?” Feyre asked, incredulously.

“Probably only about a month along.” Elain smiled again. “I knew with the wings and everything last time, you’d want to get in to see Madja as early as possible.”

Feyre was sobbing into Rhys’s chest again, his tears dripping down into her hair. Feyre felt him reach out to Elain and pull her into the embrace.

“Thank you, Elain. Thank you so much.” She pulled back, laughing lightly again.

“I’ll leave you both to it then. I gotta get little lady’s cousin and uncle home safely.” She put a hand to her own stomach, winked, and went towards the back to grab Lucien before Feyre and Rhys could even register her news. He grabbed her face in his hands, pressing kisses to every inch of her face.

“I love you, more than anything.” Feyre laughed, the sound breathless and airy. She couldn’t take her hands off her stomach, the joy pulsing through her veins with every beat of her heart.

A daughter.

“I have one more gift for you, too, actually.” He reached into his back pocket to withdraw a small, navy velvet box, pressing it gently into her hands.

Her eyes shot to his. “You didn’t need to get me something else.”

“Open it.” His smile was wide open, his entire heart spelled across his face like stars across the night sky.

Feyre cracked open the box and couldn’t help the flood of tears that began anew. Nestled in the soft velvet was a silver necklace, a charm of a large crescent moon with two small stars dangling down off of it.

“You knew?”

“I suspected.” He smiled. “You’ve been getting those pistachio pastries all week that you liked so much last time. I figured it couldn’t hurt to be prepared with one more last minute gift.” She took it out, turning to let him put it on her. He let his hands graze across her neck as he dropped them while she turned in his arms.

“Beautiful.” He murmured, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Thank you, Rhys. I love it. It’s been the best Solstice ever.” Her smile was broad and teary, but she felt the joy all the way down to the very fibers of her immortal heart.

“Thank you, Feyre. For all of it.”

And nothing in all of Velaris could hold a candle to the joy radiating back and forth down the bond between them in that moment as their lips met quietly again this Solstice.

[thecaptainoutoftime]

"Now, you just help us out today and find yourself a place where you won't get into any trouble!" "Someplace where there isn't any trouble. Do you suppose there is such a place, Toto? There must be. It's not a place you can get to by a boat or a train. It's far, far away. Behind the moon, beyond the rain…" *sings*

"Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high, there's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby. Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue… and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true. Someday I'll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me… where troubles melt like lemon drops, away above the chimney tops, that's where you'll find me… Somewhere, over the rainbow, bluebirds fly. Birds fly over the rainbow… why, then, oh why can't I? If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow… why oh why can't I?"

Happy 85th Anniversary to The Wizard of Oz

August 25th 1939-August 25th 2024

[rubyklaasje]

If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why, oh why can't I?

[klbwriting]

Broken Prism

Chapter 2

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Toddxfemale!Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Jason dies and then comes back, tale as old as time

Jason had heard stories about what happens right before you die. You see a white light, hear angels singing, everything goes black, you see your life flash before your eyes. What he didn’t know was that the only thing that you really thought about as you lay, body aching, blood pooling around you, was your regrets. He could see the bomb ticking down nearby, 3, 2, just before the 1 it felt like time stopped, his brain trying to process everything inside it at once before clocking out forever. He processed each image going through his head, not being able to stop his dad leaving, save his mom from ODing, times he couldn’t control his anger, times when he should have spoken but instead stayed quiet. It was maddening realizing how stupid he had been over the last 17 years. But the worst, God the worst images were the ones he had of you.

Jason hadn’t stopped watching over you after that hospital room visit. You hadn’t known but he had found you, when you were working your high school job, when you were sitting in the library, wondering why that boy a few tables down kept staring at you. You would put your book away and go to speak to him and Jason would be gone. He watched you when you walked to school, forgoing getting in early from patrol just to make sure you were safe. He should have used that time to talk to you, find out your name, your interests, your heart. Why had he let Bruce get into his head and stop him?

It hadn’t taken long for Bruce to figure out why Jason had hesitated, why he had followed the girl to the hospital after the attack at the high school. He had thought at first the boy just had a crush, it was the first time he had saved someone his own age and Bruce remembered how he had followed his first rescue around for a time, wanting to make sure they stayed safe. However, it didn’t stop. After a month of Jason losing sleep, skipping trainings, Bruce had went snooping. He talked to Dick who tried to skirt they question but he couldn’t keep lying and told Bruce about giving Jason the flashcards. That complicated things. Bruce tried to talk to Jason, telling him he should stop following this girl, wait until he was older and more controlled before seeking her out. Jason had rebelled at first, claiming he could do both, that he was in complete control, until he had been following YN home from an after-school activity instead of patrolling with Dick. Batman had to fly in and keep Nightwing from getting a broken skull and not just a broken arm. Beyond the guilt he felt Jason also felt pain from getting worked over by Bruce for so long. Extra drills, extra studying, extra sparring, his body and mind were drained completely for nearly a month. He stopped following you around, held himself back. He expected to be able to get older and find you again. He didn’t expect Joker and a crowbar and a bomb.

His blood was red, he knew that, but now he wished he didn’t. As he lay watching that timer tick to 1 he wished he couldn’t see that the numbers were red. Wished he didn’t know what any of these colors were. But instead of black and white he just saw the red and when the timer finally clicked 0 he saw the brown of your eyes before seeing nothing at all.

The rainbow was back. Green, lots of green, browns and blacks, rocks, red and orange and yellow, fire, bronze, the hand currently helping Jason out of the warm, acrid water pit he was in. He stood, legs shaky, feeling a blanket being put on his shoulders, which was nice considering he was naked and now could see several people in the room. He wasn’t sure what was going on, his brain muddled entirely. He remembered pain, almost nothing but pain, but there was something else, eyes, brown eyes, when he remembered those, he felt peace for just a moment before the pain came back. “Jason Todd,” he heard the woman who had pulled him out of the pit say. He didn’t look at her, wasn’t sure who she was talking to. Her hand grabbed his chin, and she pulled him to look at her. “Jason Todd, that is your name,” she said. He stared at her and then saw green, teeth baring as he moved without thought, throwing kicks and punches, anger surging through him. He was able to get past a couple of the other people in the cave before he felt a prick to neck, then he saw nothing again.

Unlike death, sleeping allowed Jason to dream. These dreams were violent, angry, a bat diving and soaring while he tried to attack it. It hurt him, it healed it, it hurt him again. There was some kind of blue bird, diving at him, sometimes helping the bat attack him, sometimes scaring the bat away. Jason wanted to spread his red wings and fly away, get far away from the bat and the blue bird, but he felt trapped, something holding him to the ground. His cries were drowned out by the screech of the bat as it came in for the kill.

Cold water rushed over Jason, making him sit up fast, head spinning. He tried to attack again but was immediately put under by whatever had subdued him the first time. By the time they woke him up again he had realized he needed to contain whatever this green rage was the filled him. When doused with he ice water this time he sat up and looked around slowly, observing. He didn’t know why but he paid close attention to the tiny details, the way someone stood, how the cave was laid out, exits and rocks that appeared loose in the walls. He knew, muscle memory, what to do if he needed to escape.

“Jason Todd,” the woman from before said. He looked at her, the name registering this time. Yes, his name was Jason Todd. He was from Gotham. He was Robin. Some pieces were starting to come together in his head.

“Where am I?” he asked, voice hoarse and scratchy. He didn’t remember sounding like this before. He cleared his throat but still felt the burn and itch, like he was growing new vocal cords. He coughed.

“You are with the League of Assassins, my father, Ras Al’Ghul, has decreed that you be brought back and returned to the Batman,” the woman said. Jason visibly recoiled at the mention of Bat. No, not the Bat, no more Bats.

“No,” he said. The woman looked at him hard, seemingly seeing through to his very soul, before she nodded. She said something in a language he couldn’t identify to another in the room. This person approached, helping Jason to stand and led him deeper into the cave, emerging on the side of a mountain. He was guided up roughly hewn steps to a large compound on the top of the mountain. The person was silent as they showed him a room and left him, locking the door. It was small, change of clothes on a very uncomfortable looking cot, but he wasn’t sure he had a choice at the moment, so he changed into the clean clothes and settled in to sleep again, his dreams still of being a red bird with a bat on attack.

Jason spent the next five years with the league of assassins, training, learning, and carrying out missions for their creed. He moved up their ranks but never reached the top, always a few rungs down on the later because he couldn’t always control the rage he felt. If he saw green, then everyone suddenly stopped working towards the leagues mission and just started working on getting him subdued. He was a liability until he could get it under control. That was, until Ras Al’Ghul himself met with him in his study. The room was finely furnished which always itched Jason the wrong way. Why did the man who said they were working towards a greater world for all, be so rich and mighty above his league? Jason also didn’t understand why Ras kept getting brought back from the dead. Ras had been in the pit several times, he knew the rage that Jason had, had been personally training him to control it, however, Ras didn’t seem to control it as much as he mastered it. He was able to use the rage to help him reach his goals, but he told Jason to contain the rage, not use it. It was hypocrisy and Jason hated it.

“Do you know why I have asked you here boy?” Ras asked, standing behind his desk, hands folded behind his back, appearing casual. Jason wasn’t an idiot, this wasn’t casual, there was a knife back there ready to go through his heart if he would step out of line. Jason shook his head.

“I really don’t,” he said, folding his arms, defiant. He wasn’t afraid of death anymore. He couldn’t imagine why he would be. He already had seen his regrets move through his mind in slow motion, he didn’t have a lot more to add. Nothing was worse than his regret of not finding you when he had the chance, so why would he be afraid now?

“I believe it is time for you to leave our ranks,” the master said. Jason wasn’t all that surprised. He was dangerous to anyone and everyone. He still had his triggers and if he was being honest, he didn’t try to fight against them in the field. He didn’t really care who lived or died, except for children. No matter what, children had to survive. “Do you have any argument?” What was the point?

“No,” he said, letting the word fall between them. Ras nodded, unsurprised, but disappointed. Somehow, despite death and years with assassins and barely any decent memories Jason remembered that face on Batman…Bruce…Batman…Bruce. He took a breath and stopped his mind racing. Jason didn’t wait for anymore from Ras, turning and heading to get the few things he had. He found them already by the door of his room, packed and ready. Least he knew where he stood here. There was no fanfare to his departure, no one even looked his way as he walked out into the world.

He hitchhiked to the nearest town, finding the first bar, wanting to drown himself in anything he could before he found what to do next. He glanced at the TV, not really listening to what the broadcast was saying, focusing only on the two caped crusaders soaring on the screen. Batman and Robin. But…he was Robin. Batman…Bruce…Batman, had replaced him? The glass shattered in his hand, but he barely felt the cuts from the shards. He threw down the little bit of cash he had and headed out. He had something to take care. He needed to get back to Gotham.