#and thank you Frost for the birthday wishes! -Dawn

[sassquish]

A Birthday Surprise

Part 2.

Summary: THIS IS PURE SMUT. Part 2 to: AU where Loki joins the Avengers after Ragnarök. You are also a member of the team (fem reader). The two of you are a couple living together at Avengers HQ. Loki wants to give you whatever and whoever you want in the bedroom on your birthday.

Warnings: Smut, size kink, ddlg (daddy/baby as endearments), threesome, voyeurism, degradation, mention of breeding, traffic light system (but only green lights).

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I promised this part 2 about seven months ago 🤦‍♀️

Apologies, and thank you to those you commented! I tagged you in case you need some monster smut in your lives right now.

I have an idea for a fluffy part 3, hopefully it won’t take another 7 months.

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https://sassquish.tumblr.com/post/664134843299414016/a-birthday-surprise

Loki looked back at me. Realization finally dawned on his face. “Darling, this was your plan all along,” he said with awe.

I hummed and started rubbing my thighs together again. If my clit wasn’t given the attention it needed soon, I was going to pass out. I finally told him what my real birthday wish was.

“Please Loki, I’ve wanted you like this so badly since I saw you laid out on our bed. I couldn’t stop thinking of how much work I would need to do to suck you and fuck you and please you. You would never talk about it. Please stretch me everywhere, please,” I begged pathetically.

His face broke into a big, gorgeous smile. Staring into my eyes, Loki bought his face closer. He growled, “The role of the trickster is mine darling. I’ll have to punish you for this.”

I started to take a deep breath, but it was cut short when he flung me onto the bed and the force of the landing pushed it out again.

“Take up the position, slut.”

“Yes, daddy”, I squealed with an eager grin.

I went onto all fours, laid my head on my folded hands in front of me, arched my back, and stuck my ass up. I snuck a look at him to my right, where he was searching through our drawer of toys. My brain was still adjusting to his Jotun form standing in our room. I couldn’t make out what he was grabbing, his huge body shielded my view. He turned his head back to me in what was probably meant to be a stolen glance. With two steps, he came over to me, grabbed my face in his hand and forced me to look up into his red eyes.

“What is that look for slut, huh? Did I say you could watch me? You’ve added another 10.”

I groaned with pleasure and closed my eyes, preparing for the feel of our leather flogger on my ass. He used his thumb to caress my cheek,

“Look at me baby”.

I opened my eyes.

“I’m not used to my Frost Giant form sweetheart, so we’ll have to calibrate before we begin properly. Ok darling?”

I whined and wiggled my ass.

“Use your words baby girl, or you won’t be getting any of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Before another moan from the praise could leave my mouth, he bought his hand down to my right ass cheek swiftly, and the sound came out a squeal. The sensation of the thud and the sound of the smack on my jiggling flesh sent a wave of warmth through me.

“How did that feel, baby?”

“5.”

“Good.”

Another thud came down just on the edge of the last one, and this smack resounded around the room.

“7.”

Moving the placement of his hand yet again, he gave me another.

I choked out, “9”.

With that, he lightly caressed where there was undoubtedly a red hand print.

"What's your colour?"

"Green."

“Good girl, we’re feeling like a little pain slut today, are we?”

He smacked my other cheek.

“Yes, sir. I’m such a slut for your punishment. Please?”

“You’re enjoying this far too much sweetheart”, he said as he glided the flogger softly from my lower back, down my ass, and further down my left thigh.

I breathed deeply, enjoying the feel of the soft leather on my skin.

As I was relaxing into the loving caresses,

SMACK.

A grunt left my mouth.

“Count, baby girl.”

“One, daddy.”

Loki continued to flog me, sometimes giving a few at a time in slightly varying spots as he moved from the top of my ass down to my thighs. From time to time he would give me a break, softly dragging the leather over my cheeks, until the final five. I was in that wonderful meditative state, the only focus of my brain were the sensations my Loki was gifting me with.

“Remind me, how many has Daddy given you, pet? Hmm?”

“15, Daddy.”

“I saved the best for last for you baby girl.”

He bent over me and placed his two big hands on the bed on either side of my head. His arms enclosed by body and growled he in my ear, “the rest are for your sloppy. Little. cunt.”

That sent a shiver down my spine.

I groaned and whined, “Yes Daddy, please touch my sloppy cunt, it’s all for you, please.”

He chuckled and placed a kiss on the back of my head before straightening up.

Immediately, the leather hit my clit.

“Ohh Yes Daddy, 16.”

He was merciless when it came to my pussy and I got all of the smacks in quick succession.

“Such a good girl”, he cooed.

Finally, FINALLY, I felt one of his fingers glide along my pussy lips.

“Babygirl, you are such a depraved little slut. You’re always wet for me, but I don’t think you’ll need any lube even with me in this form”, he said with awe.

I moaned and grinded against him.

“Look at you, desperate for friction. Pathetic slut.”, he breathed.

“Yes, Daddy, I’m your slut please, please use me.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know sweetheart, it took you some time to get used to my human cock, let’s see just how much of a slut you are.”

With those filty words, he slowly began to slide his finger into my dripping hole.

“Ohhhh Loki” I gasped and wiggled onto him further.

He gasped in shock and I stopped, not sure what it meant. He flipped me onto my back and all my coherent thoughts disappeared. He towered over me, red-eyed, dangerous looking, but my beautiful blue Loki.

He bought a hand to my throat and asked me threateningly, “Whore, how are you taking my finger so well already? It’s almost as big as my human cock.”

He looked over to Bruce, who had been intently watching the entire show. The Hulk was looking desperate, clearly edging himself, trying not to cum before we were finished playing.

Loki looked back at me, raising an eyebrow, “Have you..?” he began.

“No Daddy, never!”

“Then, how”, he snarled as he squeezed a little and looked into my eyes.

I managed to squeak out the answer, “I practiced…look in our drawer.”

His expression was confused as he released me and stepped back to our toy collection.

“Under the bottom panel.”

He turned and looked at me with a smirk, “Another trick sweetheart, that means 10 more for you later.”

My pussy throbbed. He rummaged around and took out the false bottom, flinging it to one side. I purred low in my throat. Seeing Loki fling chunks of solid wood around like it was nothing was turning me on even more.

He chuckled deeply and turned around, holding what had been my little secret since the fantasies of him taking me in his Jotun form began.

"A blue monster sized dildo. What a depraved slut you are. I can't believe you've been sleeping beside me this whole time and I had no idea. It matches me perfectly."

He raised his eyebrows and I saw his genuine smile of pleasure before he replaced it with a smirk.

"It's not quite as big as our Green friend or I, but nonetheless, you're going to show us how seriously you've taken your training, darling."

He pulled me up onto my knees, took a fistful of my hair in his hand, and pulled my head back to look up at him.

"Open wide, slut."

I did as I was told and stuck out my tongue, the anticipation of finally having a hole filled completely adding to the stress on my painfully throbbing pussy.

Loki gently laid the dildo on my tongue and rubbed it up and down, teasing me. My mouth was watering for it. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I pushed my mouth onto it, and groaned with the stretch. He tisked and bought his hand up to cup my chin and throat, looking me in the eyes with my mouth full.

"Such a greedy little thing."

He removed the dildo from my mouth and I pouted.

"Did I tell you to put that tongue back in your whore mouth, hmm?"

I quickly stuck it back out again.

He used the dildo to give little slaps to my tongue while he squeezed my face a little. It felt like he was squeezing the wetness right out of me. When he eased up be spread the spit covered dildo all over my face.

"Such a pretty little pet", he said before giving me a peck on the lips.

"I can see you've been so studious that you can take this toy easily sweetheart. So how about we give you a challenge?

My eyes lit up.

"BUT your showing off is making me impatient darling, I want to start warming up your pussy. I'm so fucking excited to feel you around my Jotun cock. So why don't we ask our friend here to help us?"

He cocked an eyebrow and looked over to Bruce. Bruce's eyes widened in surprise and his hand froze on his cock.

Loki looked back to me and whispered, "would you like that, honey?"

"Oh yes please Daddy!", I squealed.

He chuckled low in his throat, "what an eager little slut you are, I love it."

He kissed me, then we both looked to Bruce.

He stuttered, reminding me of the old Bruce Banner, "Uhh guys, are you sure?"

I smiled and said, "Yes Bruce, I'd like to play with you. If you want?"

He smiled shyly, nodded, and rose out of the armchair.

Loki put me back on my hands and knees. I was facing Bruce standing on one side of the bed, and my Jotun was behind me on the other side.

My head was dizzy with need and disbelief. I was about to be spit roasted by my two favourite monsters.

Something flashed from the corner of my eye, and I turned my head to look towards the end of the bed. Loki had summoned a huge mirror, big enough to reflect the three of us. I had a huge grin on my face as I saw saw my two lovers staring back at me. I moaned and wiggled my ass. Loki pulled my hair from behind, so I was looking up at Bruce.

"What do you say to our guest, sweetheart?"

I gave Bruce my best doe eyes, " Please, put your cock in my mouth Bruce baby."

"Good girl".

Bruce smiled widely, "Don't have to ask me twice."

He stroked his cock a few more times, then repeated what Loki did to me with the dildo. He rubbed it on my tongue before pushing his hips forward until my mouth was full, then paused. It was the fullest my mouth has ever been. I was already drooling all over it, there was no space left to swallow back any spit. He started to press further, until I gagged. He eased out a little and whispered, "Good girl".

Feeling more spit drip down my chin made my pussy drip even more.

Bruce repeated this, slowly, a few more times. I used one of the breaks to look in the mirror.

God, I looked like a fucking whore, and I loved it.

What I loved even more was Loki starting at me in the mirror, and stroking his cock.

He smirked and said, "darling, I think you can take more than that. Take a little more, then I'll touch you. How about that, sweetie?"

I grinned and turned to Bruce. I let Loki's hand guide my head onto the green cock, I breathed, tilted my throat open and let Bruce slide in. I breathed through my nose and when I was sure I could manage, I pushed my head another inch and stayed there.

Both men growled and the vibrations shook the bed. I was startled and gagged all over the huge member. A stream of spit went all over the both of us. Bruce looked down at me and rubbed it into my hair, "God damn Y/N, no one has ever taken me that deep, that was amazing".

Loki started to drag his fingers across my sopping pussy lips, "look at me Y/N".

I turned to the mirror and watched him slowly push the tip of his middle finger into my pussy. I groaned and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. He was already hitting my two sweet spots, the one just inside my entrance, and the other much deeper. He took his cock in his other hand and manoeuvred it so it lay between his palm and my clit.

"What do you want sweetheart?"

"Please fuck me Daddy, please rub my clit so I can cum please."

With a grunt Loki started grinding into me, my slick making it so easy. All of the play had me so stimulated that it didn't take long for me to reach the edge of climax. Between the friction on my clit and Loki pressing those magic spots inside me, I was lost in my pleasure.

"Let go baby, cum for me."

I tumbled over the edge and writhed through the most intense orgasm I ever had. I don't know how long it took my mind to join the two men back in reality. Loki was looking at me in the mirror. It was the same look he had just moments ago, but the intensity of his hunger was startling now that I had some relief. I wanted to give him the same.

"Thank you Daddy, I feel so good. But I need more, please fuck me with that big blue cock, please".

He wasted no time in bringing his tip to my entrance. Looking in my eyes, he pushed his hips as far as my stretching cunt would allow. I moaned and panted with every inch. The fullness was overwhelming. Then he withdrew, and repeated. He felt perfect.

"Loki, you feel perfect my love."

He grinned and continued grinding into me like that, using not even the top half, and he placed a few fingers under my clit for me to get friction. It felt heavenly. I looked up at Bruce and stuck out my tongue. He had been stroking himself and wasted no time in filling my mouth again. I closed my eyes and relished feeling so full and watching myself be used by these two gorgeous men. I knew I wouldn't last very long, even if I did just have an orgasm. Loki started to pick up the pace of his strokes and took a fist of my hair in his hand.

"Look at you, look at my sweet little whore taking more dick than I've ever seen anyone take".

Then, he growled, "I'm so proud sweetheart."

I moaned at the praise.

He continued in a rough voice, "But you're not even a little whore, are you? At least whores get paid for letting monsters use their bodies. Not you, you're just a fucking slut who can't get enough dick. Are we even enough for you sweetheart?"

His words made me moan and I constricted around the cock in my throat.

Bruce made a surprised noise and pulled himself out before cumming and filling my mouth. I made a satisfied moan and swallowed what I could while still panting and grinding due to Loki's minstrations. Before I could see Bruce's eyes return to us, Loki flipped me over onto my back and continued to grind. He rubbed his hands all over me, before settling them on my waist, covering most of my torso.

He was moaning and groaning "Oh sweetheart, this is better than anything Valhalla could offer me, please let me see you cum around my cock, please".

"Yees Daddy Jotun, you feel so fucking good."

I watched his large frame tower over me and his big cock struggle to fit inside me. A few circles around my clit was all it took for an even more powerful orgasm than the first to wash over me,

"Loki" I screamed.

With the clenching of my pussy, Loki was also gone, "Y/N".

I felt him tense and I squealed at the odd sensation that followed. I could feel his cum shooting inside me, and it was cold. It took my pleasure addled brain a beat to realise why that was. When I did, I started to giggle.

I watched Lok's face as he came down from his pleasure. His eye lids were droopy and he leaned down to kiss me and to rub our noses together.

"Darling, we just had the hottest sex ever, what is so amusing hmm?"

"Sorry Lo, I just felt how cold your cum is. Are you going to impregnate me with little icicles?"

Loki started giggling too and he whispered contentedly, "Happy birthday, darling. Thank you for loving me".

Tags: @little-moonbeam-666 @cassiaodinsdottir @mellowfishcreatorshepherd @wannabemonsterfucker @lost-my-account25

#smut #marvelsmut #lokismut #lokifanficsmut #readerxloki #daddyloki #brucebannersmut #smarthulksmut #readerxbrucebanner #sizekink #frostgiantlokismut #jotunsmut #jotunlokismut #marvelthreesome

[poemstoldindarkness]

Dearest Readers,

Thank you for joining me on the first day of this dark month. Tonight’s story shall be that of a party which all are invited but very few feel as though they are welcome. A story for which the host isn’t the celebrated one and instead is the forgotten. Shrouded in the gloom of emotions that swirl like a dust cloud. I hope this story makes you thirst for more and wish not to read another poem from here again.

Deepest regards,

the sorrowful poet

The Party

This feel of emptyness

Like boat sailing on rocky waves

Waiting for the moment everything drops

How I wish I could spill my tears everywhere

Today should be a joyous day

But here I sit like a spoiled child

Watching the rain drip onto the window

At the table a card game is set and in play

At empty seat where the host belongs

Forgotten in the house that I call my own

Laughs like sweet music echo

Cracking away at my solitude

The boy who once said my voice was beautiful

Sits there with a pretty smile on his face

Now avoids me like the plague

Surely you don't forget the melody

We created together

Your fingers that gently plucked away

At the keys of that old wooden piano

As my voice joined into the melody

But even beauty withers away eventually

Their gentle questions and comments

Sound like mocking to my ears

Run away the cries say

Shut yourself away in the darkness

Hidden away deep in the shadows

Crying out in silence

Oh but the host must always stay

Putting on my best fake smile

To great you with

Don’t look too close dear

For I believe my mask is slipping

How long till you see the cracks

The pieces falling away

Those unable to be glued back together

Oh how I make this sound miserable

While only some time ago

The sweet taste of sugar was on my lips

Frosting from the most elegant miniature cakes

Tis a happy birthday to you

O’ sweet cherub child

With your locks

As bright as the golden beams of dawn

And baby blue eyes

A laugh as gentle as bells

Those that gather around you, whisper

Stay away from that one

See the shadow that's gathered around them

Like a dark cloud hanging overhead

And their words will continue to sting

Like a dark mist

That's snakes it's way into the minds

Words cling like bad static

One day your warmth will melt this exterior

Until then the cold will continue to bite

#poems and poetry #sad poem #poem #the midnight poet #poems told in darkness #gothic #gothic poem #gothic poetry #fiction #october

[monabot]

Alright, let’s rest for a bit.

You gave today what you could, and it was enough, even if it doesn’t feel like it now. You took care of what you needed to, and now it’s time to take care of yourself. You’re worth that care. Get some sleep. Sweet dreams!

#positivity #p5 #p5 morgana #persona 5 #p5r #and thank you Frost for the birthday wishes! -Dawn

[shadow--writer]

Happy birthday! May I ask for the main 3 celebrating the MC's birthday? GN please? Thanks!

Of course you may <3. And thank you for the birthday wishes! I know it’s been a wee bit since my birthday and you sending this in, but I appreciate it! 

Julian, Asra, Nadia x MC birthday celebrations

~~~~

Julian

He loves celebrating your birthday with you, and is always super sweet about it 

Bringing you breakfast in bed (with Maz’s help of course <3) and will just sit and talk with you as you eat

He’s been planning what to do for your birthday for a little while now, taking you two to your favourite spots around town 

Stopping by the baker for a quick snack, saying hello to friends 

He’s very sweet and dramatic the whole day, picking out little trinkets and presents for you as you shop around for a bit 

Will do anything you want to do, and do his best to take you anywhere around town you want to go 

Sets up a little show at the theatre before dinner, the two of you getting dressed up and giggly as you watch it 

It’s a sweet thing, about the raven and the witch, defeating a god, and being together (*wink wink*) I wonder who could’ve possible written it...

After he takes you to dinner and then the dock 

Staring out at the water and the island that was more of a dull ache by this point, he softly whispers that he loves you

While holding a little cake he made without any help. The frosting is a bit messy, the cake saggy and crumbly. The candle half melted for it was all he could find 

But it’s so sweet you can’t help but almost cry, hugging him so tightly and letting out soft murmurs of ‘I love you’s

You fall asleep warm and content in his arms, with him kissing the top of your head

The cake, even with the messiness, was delicious

Asra

Asra is the type to wake you up on your birthday by jumping into bed and kissing you sloppily 

Loud wet kisses against your face and neck and chest, making you wake with a start and fall into giggles

Slow early morning kisses while they tell you all the fun things you two are going to do for your birthday 

The house smells sweet, like vanilla and sugar, the air holding a thickness to it that makes you feel like you’re on cloud nine

Faust curling around your shoulders as he hands you a sweet tea with still warm pumpkin bread, doing a little happy wiggle 

He can’t resist giving you some of your gifts early, lighting up and wiggling as you open them

Of course, as the day goes on they give you little ones randomly, just to see you giggle and kiss his cheek 

Takes you sightseeing, holding your hand and letting your arms swing as you two chatter on excitedly

Most of your day takes place at home, with little scavenger hunts to find presents and sweets, and spending time warm in one another’s company 

You help them make dinner, them wrapping their arms around you and leading you into a soft yet sloppy dance around the kitchen 

Smears frosting from your cake on your nose to kiss it off, entangling your fingers together 

Falling asleep perfectly happy with them slurring their ‘I love you’ with a voice thick with sleep

Kissing their neck and murmuring ‘I love you’ back as you slowly drift off, Faust curled up around on the pillow above you two 

Nadia

One would think Nadia would throw a party and have a celebration, but she prefers the soft and sweet morning, waking up to your lovely face 

The two of you sneaking out of the palace as dawn touches the dew turned earth, holding hands with whispered giggles 

Going out of the city for once, to enjoy the beauty of nature in one another’s company

Relaxing in the sun on a picnic, picking flowers and putting them behind Nadia’s ears and twined in her hair

Nadia stumbling into a cold creek and dragging you in with her

Screams from cold water and giggles as you two splash one another, getting muddy and soaked

Going back to the palace chilled to the bone and still laughing, bent over and holding one another

Nadia kissing you softly in front of the fire as you two are snuggled under a blanket, skin pressed against skin 

Laughter as you eat dinner and cake, opening gifts and just talking with her 

Her lips tasting sweet like buttercream and skin as soft and cold as snow, pressed against one another with soaking wet hair 

Soft ‘I love you’s said between kisses and bites of cake (that she probably feeds you) 

Falling asleep like that, in front of the fire, your head on her shoulder and her head on yours, your hands clasped

#the arcana #the arcana game #julian devorak #asra alnazar #nadia satrinava #julian headcanons #asra headcanons #nadia headcanons #the arcana headcanons #fluff #main 3 x mc #celebrating mc's birthday #I just #;-; #AUGH THEYRE SWEET

[katnissmellarkkk]

how about Katniss’s birthday before the Quell — do we hear much about that? if anything? if not, what about Peeta taking a timeout from his trainer persona to bring her something like a cake? 🥺

I’m always a little insecure when I do post prompts because I don’t know if it’s exactly like the prompt but I actually think it’s like 99 percent close? Which is like, amazing for me because I always twist prompts a little 🤏🏻 and I don’t think I did here! Anyways! I finally wrote this soooo. Well actually I wrote most of it a while back but I finished it and cleaned it up. But anyways, yay! I hope you and everyone else who blesses me by reading enjoy this! It’s short — at least for me. I don’t know the exact word count but … probably too long for a drabble but a short oneshot. Okay anyways, if I keep talking the AN’s going to be longer than the oneshot.

Since the morning after the Quell was announced, I’ve done my best to not cry again about my given fate. Going back into the arena a second time—this time with all experienced killers, who have been friends for decades, no less—was daunting, but one morning of weeping is about all I could afford.

Not that I truly had time to wallow in my own misery. Peeta had me and Haymitch on a tight regimen. Every day he pushes us further, every day he orders us to cut the breaks between circuits shorter, to keep on running, to not lose our momentum, to hit the target again and again and again. And again.

It’s even gotten to the point, as of late, that Peeta’s mother, the witch herself, has forbidden our usage of her precious flour sacks as weights, claiming she still needs the ingredients to keep the bakery running and we’ve already wasted enough.

Her son is rather put out with her — to put it lightly — but for perhaps the first time ever, I’m grateful to the sour woman. Last year, when I cited Peeta’s ability to toss a sack of flour over his shoulder, I didn’t recognize what a true feat it really was. Even after two weeks of attempting to lift the stupid, heavy objects, it still took all of my strength to even get the stupid things off the ground.

Haymitch and me so much as shared a conspicuous smirk when told we no longer have to endure that particular activity.

Of course, Peeta still insists on heavy lifting to gain muscle, trying to find a substitute for the flour sacks in way of buckets filled with gigantic rocks and overfilled water jugs. This doesn’t seem to be of much strain to him or Haymitch — and therefore, not of much help to their training — but I can visibly see the difference in my arms day to day. Having never done much lifting in the past, since it’s hardly necessary for hunting or trapping, it’s particularly fascinating to me, watching my biceps grow larger as Peeta’s insistent training plan marches on.

But Peeta still feels the need to push himself further. Perhaps even more so than me — or our now very sober mentor — he feels the urge to always put additional strain on himself, more and more with every day that passes on by.

And as of today, his dissatisfaction with the lack of heavy weights available for his training finally reached a head when he casually pitched the idea of using me as a weight.

At first, I thought he was kidding. For a solid minute, I just stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

It was only after I glanced at Haymitch’s uncharacteristically earnest face that I realized there was no joke in the matter. I debated refusing for a moment before I sighed, resigning myself to becoming a human leverage.

It took over an hour of Peeta lifting me over his head, of being swung up in his arms, being whirled over his shoulder or seesawed up and down, for me to realize this was actually a nice break for me from the rigorous training. By the day’s end, I’m perfectly content to let my fake fiancé bench press me, throw me up like the sack of flour he covets so badly and whatever else he deems necessary.

It was only later on the walk home, right after Peeta said he needed to stop by the bakery to see his father, that Haymitch predicted the true reason for my day of leisure.

“I suppose that was the boy’s birthday present to you.”

My head whips upwards towards him, shocked. No one has mentioned the date at all as of late. The acknowledgement of the sparse time left until the games is weighing heavy on us all. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “Because I do,” is all he says finally, as he turns in the direction of his own house now. Just as he reaches his door though, he murmurs, “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” before heading inside.

Ever since the announcement that I’m doomed to be reaped again, my mother and Prim have done just about everything to make things seem okay around the house. Beyond that even. They’ve dedicated themselves to always appearing cheerful, to always having dinner ready for me, to always having a remedy for healing my achy muscles or advice for putting on more weight.

But if they’re usually chipper, tonight they’re downright ecstatic when I cross the threshold. And the reason is all too obvious.

This is likely going to be the last birthday we spend together. And not just of mine, but any of ours.

It strikes me unexpectedly that I’ll never see my own sister grow up, I’ll never see her into adulthood, I’ll never be able to watch her become the talented healer, the wise beyond her years young woman, the nurturing mother she’s doubtlessly destined to be.

And I almost get choked up at the thought. My resolve to not break down into tears like the morning after the president’s announcement nearly crumbles. But I hold it together somehow. By some inexplicable strength deep inside, I hold myself together.

My mother did her best to recreate the lamb stew dish from the Capitol I loved the best and I practically lick my plate. Not just to make her feel good but because all this training has exponentially increased my appetite.

Prim tells me all about school and Lady and a funny man she healed this afternoon, who had a proclivity for telling jokes while she stitched his bleeding arm.

She’s just getting into a pretty fabric she saw in town today when a loud knock interrupts us. My mother glances at me meaningfully, as if urging me to go get the door.

I shoot her a puzzled look, as I’m the least personable member of this family and surely, no one is here to visit me.

“Go on,” she says though, nodding towards the entryway. “Go see who’s there.”

I stand from the table and hesitantly humor her, unsure the entire walk there what could be awaiting me on the other side.

The answer dawns on me as the most obvious thing in the world, as soon as I turn the knob.

And see Peeta standing on my porch. He’s still in the same white shirt he wore earlier, still damp with sweat from the heat outside and the added exertion of lifting my body weight countless times.

But that’s not all I notice. Right off the bat I see that he’s holding something delicate in his hands. I blink once before recognizing what it is.

A birthday cake.

A birthday cake that has been meticulously frosted into a deep pine green. My favorite color, as he knows.

I realize after a moment that my name is cursively splayed across the top in white icing.

“Peeta,” I open my mouth to say something, to say just about anything, but much to my dismay, nothing comes out and I’m stuck fumbling like an idiot in the doorway.

He gives me a tight smile though and it’s the first smile he’s really showed me in weeks, and as he gently pushes the cake into my hands, it strikes me just how much I’ve missed the sight. “Happy birthday, Katniss,” he whispers, his baby blues lingering on my face only for one beat before he quickly turns to make an escape.

Before I can think it through, I’m calling after him. “Peeta, wait!”

Very slowly, he swivels around to face me. “Yeah?”

I freeze, dumbfounded. I don’t actually know what I wish to say now that I have his attention. That I miss him even though I don’t know how I really feel for him? That I plan to trade my life for his in only a few weeks time and all his work and effort to prepare me for the games is useless because it’s him I intend to come back home? That I hate his trainer persona so much and I wish he’d go back to just being my friend again?

That I really miss it when he acted like friend?

Instead all that comes out is a choked invite. “Come in,” I urge, and the plea in my tone is palpable. “Please come in and share this with us.”

He thinks about the proposition for a long moment, leaving me still standing there like an idiot, holding a cake too big to fit in my hands. Finally though, he graciously relents to my request. “Okay,” he murmurs and I swear I see something akin to excitement in his eyes.

And I wonder in the back of my mind how many nights Peeta spends alone, eating these delicious desserts by himself in his too grand dining room.? I wonder if, deep down, he secretly wanted to join me and my family for cake? If he misses our attempt at friendship too?

He generously takes the cake back into his hold, having the advantage of strength over me. Lifting bread-trays and flour sacks all his life made him reasonably strong before our first games. The current training regimen him and I — and Haymitch too — are currently doing has made him remarkably strong.

“Thank you,” I whisper again as he brushes past me in the doorway, as he enters my home and heads in direction of the dining room where Prim will doubtlessly be overjoyed at the sight of the sweet treat.

“You’re welcome, Katniss,” he says again, and flashes me one more smile. This time it’s less shy and with teeth. “Happy birthday.”

Yes, I think to myself as I shut the door behind us. Happy seventeenth birthday to me.

#everlark #the hunger games #thg #hunger games #oneshot #ficlet #canon compliant #catching fire #my writing #asks 🦋 #cate 🦋🧸💗💐 #idk I wish I could make it more fluffy but I couldn’t with it being set directly in canon #so we get stingy with his affection Peeta #anyways thanks if you read!

[superbabetotherescue]

Thanks, Brucie-Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 1840

Summary: You reminisce on your childhood with your best friend

Warnings: some violence, none really described in detail except reader getting punched in the face (as an alternative to getting teeth pulled), do teeth need their own warning bc they might, probably swearing but idk, kinda sad but don’t worry it’s fluffy, Bruce is a lil bitch but isn’t that kinda par for the course?

A/N: Once again this is just an old oneshot I have that I like a weird amount for no reason. You can read it as platonic or romantic it’s up to you idk but I’m lowkey thinking of making it into a series as platonic best friends so idk. I mean you’re reading it if you want it to be romantic that’s fine lmao I don’t care

Growing up one of Gotham’s elite may be a charmed life, but that didn’t mean that it was without its faults. You had spent your time being ignored by your parents, and your best friend, Bruce Wayne, became an orphan during a back alley robbery when the two of you were kids.

Or at least, former best friend.

In truth, you hadn’t seen Bruce in a while.

Well, you saw him constantly on the news and in the papers and just existing in Gotham in general, but you never got to see him face to face anymore.

Not for lack of trying, either. You sat down one night, the fifth time that Bruce had blown you off to meet for dinner in the past month, and pulled out your old photo album.

There was your fifth birthday party, a year or two after you had met Bruce in mega rich kid preschool, and there the two of you were, sharing a chair and staring at your huge birthday cake.

And the next picture, your favorite, the two of you covered in said birthday cake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Brucie,” You had cried,  whispering to him frantically, “Brucie, I got frosting on my dress!”

You were wearing a frilly pink dress that your mother had forced upon you, and in a moment of excitement you had leaned forward a little too far, and now the pale buttercream frosting covered your bodice.

“Uh oh,” Bruce breathed out slowly, adjusting his tie, pink to match your dress, and looking down at his own tiny three piece suit.

You were panicking, breathing heavily, “My mom is gonna be so mad!”

With a quick tug to your pigtails, Bruce shook his head, “I got this, Y/N.”

He reached forward and scooped a large chunk of the cake out, turning to you and smashing it against your chest quickly.

“Ah!” You jumped backwards, “Bruce!”

“Come on, hit me back,” Bruce hissed, grabbing another handful of cake and smushing it into your face.

As his plan dawned on you, you nodded, getting your own chunk of cake and throwing it at him, laughing delightedly as it landed in his hair.

“Bruce!” Mrs. Wayne scolded, running forward and crouching next to her son, who was currently trying to wrestle you, “You’re such a mess. Ms. Y/L/N, I’m so sorry for my son’s behavior!”

Your mother merely shook her head, smiling pleasantly, “Oh please, don’t worry about it, Martha. Those two are always getting into trouble.”

Victory!

You leaned over to your best friend with a wide grin, wrapping him in a tight hug, “Thanks, Brucie!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flipping a few pages, you chuckled at what you saw.

Your face and Bruce’s fist matching in bloodiness, and a huge gap where your teeth were missing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were twelve years old, and you had five loose teeth. Your last five baby teeth. All in a row next to each other.

And, like most twelve year olds, you had a healthy fear of the dentist.

“They want me to go to the dentist tomorrow to get the teeth pulled!” You complained to Bruce, the two of you laying in his living room under the guise of studying.

He shrugged, “You just have to get them out before the dentist, right? Just keep wiggling.”

“I’ve been wiggling!” You sat up, shaking your head, “It’s not working. I need a new approach.  Maybe Alfred can make something sticky for me to eat and the teeth will get stuck in it. Like that toffee your-”

You froze, not looking at Bruce anymore.

His hand touched yours gently, and you turned to see a small, sad smile on his face, “Like the toffee my father used to make at Christmas? That would be good. But Alfred’s working on something, I think.”

Nodding, you hmm’d quietly to yourself for a moment, “I just don’t know what to do. I can’t let the dentist pull my teeth. I just can’t do it, Brucie.”

“Don’t call me Brucie,” He scowled, but you knew he didn’t really care.

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, pushing your teeth back and forth with your tongue as the two of you thought.

“I have an idea,” Bruce stood, extending his hand out to you, “But it’s a little unorthodox.”

If he hadn’t been offering to help you, you would’ve rolled your eyes at the way he spoke.

You rose next to him, nodding, “Anything! Anything that keeps me out of the dentist’s chair.”

He took a breath, deep, slow, thoughtful. His hand reached out towards your face, thumb stroking your lips, palm cupping your jaw and cheek.

What was he doing?

And then he reared his fist back, and punched you in the face.

It hurt, that was for certain, but it was well concentrated in one place, and you coughed as you choked on the teeth, spitting them into your hand.

“There’s only four,” You frowned, counting them quickly.

“Sorry about that, Y/N,” He held his fist back out, and you saw the fifth tooth embedded in his knuckle, “You can have it back.”

With a chuckle you plucked the tooth out and pulled him into a hug, “Thanks, Brucie!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alfred had a field day with that one, you remembered, but it was still better than going to the dentist.

With a few more flicks of pages, you felt your heart catch in your throat.

Prom night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5:30.

Your date was supposed to come meet you at Wayne Manor at 5:30 so that you could go out with Bruce and his pretty blonde arm candy.

And now it was 6:45, and he still wasn’t there.

You’d been pacing the parlor of the Manor for two hours. Bruce and his date kept disappearing to make out in various rooms, and Alfred had stopped standing at the front door and had instead begun to busy himself in the kitchen.

And you were crying.

“Shit,” You hissed, wiping a tiny smear of eyeliner out from under your eye.

You weren’t going to cry over him. Especially not after you’d spent three hours on your makeup. You couldn’t do it.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just leave her,” You heard The Blonde complain to Bruce in the next room over, “She’s totally bringing down the mood.”

“Hey, back off,” Bruce sighed, “She’s my best friend. I’m not leaving her all alone on prom night. Maybe she can just come out with us.“

“I’m not spending my prom night with some loser who got stood up by her own date.”

You bit your lip, swallowing back a sob and then speaking loudly enough for them to know they were meant to hear you, “Hey, Bruce? I think I’m just gonna go, okay? Sorry for holding you guys up.”

“Wait,” Bruce opened the door to the closet he and his date were in, running a hand through his hair, “Y/N, don’t go.”

The Blonde gasped indignantly, and you shook your head, “No, seriously Bruce, don’t worry about it. I’m just-”

“Don’t leave, Y/N,” He said again, and the solidness of his words, the complete authority in how he said it, was enough to freeze you, “I’m taking you to prom. You can’t leave me.”

What?

“What?” The Blonde shrieked, stomping her heel on the ground, “You’re not taking her, you’re taking me!”

Bruce gave her a rather pleasant smile, “Actually, I’m not. I think you’re a stone cold bitch and if I look at you for any longer than fifteen more seconds, I think I’ll vomit. Now get out of my house,” And with that, waving a dismissive hand at her, he turned to you and grinned, “Now, Miss Y/N Y/L/N, would you do me the honor of being my date to prom?”

A burst of energy running through you, you sprang forward and wrapped him up in a hug, “Absolutely. Thanks, Brucie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Closing your photo album, you sighed.

It felt like just yesterday in so many ways, and yet a million years ago.

What had happened between you two? What had you done to drive him away? Maybe a walk would clear your head.

You grabbed your keys and left, walking the streets of Gotham and thinking of your younger days.

There was a playground where you and Bruce would sometimes sneak off to play, halfway between both of your houses. It was where you had taught him how to throw a punch when you were six, where he had taught you how to cartwheel when you were eight, and where you two had shared your first kiss when you were ten.

You laughed at that memory too, wishing you had a picture in your album of that day, when the two of you had decided to be each other’s first kiss just so you’d know what you were getting yourselves into.

You’d sat on top of the monkey bars, staring into each other’s eyes as you came to your solemn decision, and leaned forward to give each other the briefest of pecks on the lips. And then you’d both fallen off the monkey bars, wiping your mouths and gagging dramatically.

Standing by those monkey bars, you ran your hands down the side with a smile.

And then you felt the cold barrel of a gun press into the back of your neck.

“Give me all your money, and get on your knees,” A dark voice growled.

Crap.

How could you let yourself be taken completely by surprise, in Gotham of all places?

Shaking, you tried to speak, your voice catching in your throat, “I… I don’t…”

“Hey!” A familiar voice sounded through the air, cutting you off, “Back off!”

You felt the  rounded metal leave your skin and let out a sigh of relief.

Spinning on your heel, you watched as your attacker, a large man with a ski mask pulled over his face, so cliche, got the crap beaten out of him by…

“Batman?” You gasped.

Of course!

Batman wrapped an arm around you, scoffing at the thug on the ground, and shot a grappling hook into the air.

As you felt yourself fly your head spun, trying to wrap your mind around everything.

So this was why he kept standing you up. Why he always came up with some flimsy excuse. He couldn’t just tell you he was the Batman, and besides, the mystery of it all was surely an ego thing for him.

You landed outside your house a moment later, the dark suit encompassing Batman just intimidating enough for you to almost take a step back as he rumbled, “You should be more careful. Especially at night.”

But you couldn’t take his warning seriously.

Your best friend wasn’t avoiding you, he didn’t hate you, he just had a secret!

You were too ecstatic to pay his advice any mind.

And so you simply wrapped him in a hug, your arms erupting into goosebumps against the cold armor that he wore, “Thanks, Brucie.”

#Super Babe Original Content #super babe: fanfic #Bruce Wayne x reader #batman x reader #batman #Bruce wayne #Dc #batfamily #dcu #Dc fanfiction #batfamily fanfic #Once again this is just an old oneshot that I like more than I should lmao #Obligatory mobile apologies #And tag apologies #Idk what I’m doing with my life but ig this is happening so #Yeah #idk man #idk

[ace-of-creation]

A belated birthday present for @lavellan-pavus! Please enjoy, I hope you like it. I put hearts next to the names of the romantic scenarios

Zevran ❤️

Vel Hawke doesn’t know what wakes him up early in the morning. Not at first, at least. The sun has yet to rise and the fire has burned low. Vel takes a few minutes of blinking and letting his brain fire up before he investigates. The dagger under his pillow slips comfortably into his hand. He treads silently over to the now-open balcony doors.

Not a sign of anything. Maybe a few new spots of bird poop, but that’s it. Frowning, he turns back into the room to investigate. Nothing’s out of place and the door is still locked. So why does it feel like someone has been here? Sighing, Vel sits at his desk and closes his eyes. Upon opening them, he notices a package and a letter. He lights the candle on the desk to read by.

Amore,

I’m sorry I won’t be around today. I have some business I must complete before we can really celebrate your birthday. Things have been quite messy here, but no matter. It shall not compete with the brilliance of the Champion of Kirkwall and the best of the Antivan Crows! I will give you many gifts to make up for my devastating absence from your bed. Quite a few will be conducted in said bed, though I am rather flexible on the area. For now, I brought you your favorite from a quaint little bakery in Antiva. It may have gotten smooshed. Whoops! -Z

P.S. Don’t worry about the job I did before I left, I made it look natural

P.P.S. Someone should look in Lord Bourdon’s room before he starts to smell

P.P.P.S. Happy birthday, my love

Vel snorts and shakes his head. Only Zevran. He pulls the package toward him. The name of some Antivan bakery is on a tag attached to the twine. It indeed looks a bit smooshed. He carefully unwraps, getting a nose full of rich chocolate. A small block of Antivan fudge is wrapped in wax-coated fabric. There’s also a piece missing. It looks to have been cut with a very sharp knife.

Vel shakes his head in fondness. “Thanks, Zevran,” he says to the empty room. Outside, a hooded figure hanging from the tower grins. Then, he leaps away into the darkness.

Cole

Vel Hawke had fallen asleep at his desk, looking over the paper Josephine had sent to him. He missed supper, and he awoke in the middle of the night. Unable to go back to sleep, Vel had decided to take a walk. He gets back a bit before dawn, just before the sky starts to lighten.

Vel drops through the kitchen to get some bread and butter on the way back to his room. As he’s leaving, he overhears one of the helpers telling the chef that some ingredients have gone missing. “Well, find me more eggs! We should have started breakfast half an hour ago!” The kitchen helpers scramble to fulfill her orders, well aware of how cranky she is in the morning.

Probably Cole, Vel thinks. I wonder what he was making. Thoughts of missing food from the kitchen falls from Vel’s head as ascends the stairs to his room. He thinks he got through about two-thirds of the papers before falling asleep. He should be able to finish the rest before Josephine is up. He makes his way to his desk, but slows and stops at the new addition to it. A cake sits on the center of his desk, over the papers. It’s on a plate, thankfully. It’s not a very pretty looking cake. It’s lopsided, and the frosting is slightly melted. Whoever made it didn’t wait for the cake to cook fully before putting it on. It actually looks a lot like…

“The warmth of everyone in the same room. Carver and Bethany smiling and chattering to either side. Papa sneaks a finger of frosting. Bethany catches him and pouts at him and his laughter rings like bells. ‘Make a wish, Vel.’ The candle gets blown out, and it smells of smoke.”

Cole is sitting against the closed balcony doors. He gets up and wanders over to the cake and Vel.

“Smoke, thick and cloying. Not like Bethany’s fire, not like Papa’s. He’s gone. Carver yells a battle cry and he’s gone. Mother has had too much and she’s gone. Bethany is in the Circle, her feelings for me bitter and sour. They’re all gone, and I’m alone.”

Vel stays silent, looking at the cake he couldn’t bring himself to make.

“I felt the hurt,” Cole says, sounding sad. “It was scratching at your insides and squeezing your heart.”

He looks at Vel, searching. “Did I help? You still feel hurt. Pain and remembrance.”

Vel smiles at him, tears pricking at his eyes. “You helped, Cole.”

Cole smiles, bright as sunshine. “I’m glad. Happy birth.”

A laugh startles from Vel’s throat. “That’s not quite how it goes, buddy, but thank you.”

Cole smiles back at him, and then gets distracted by the cake. “It doesn’t look like how it did. I tried to get it right, but it looks different.”

“That’s alright, Cole.” Vel pats him on the shoulder. “Let’s see how it tastes.”

Cole frowns. “I don’t need to eat.”

Vel picks up the knife and starts cutting the small cake. “Birthday cakes are best when you have someone to share it with.”

“Okay.” Cole watches as Vel cuts the cake, more happy memories flooding in. Unable to contain his curiosity, Cole sneaks a fingerfull of frosting from the plate, just like Papa had all those years ago.

They don’t talk while they eat the cake, but Vel can tell Cole likes it. The silence is comfortable, and reminds him of how his Mother would sit with him after the meal. He’d read his new book, and she’d mend clothing or create new ones. He’s glad Cole is here with him.

“Happy birthday,” Cole says once he’s finished his cake. “Did I get it right this time?”

“You did, Cole. Thank you.”

Cole smiles at the feelings he can sense. They’re less sour and twisted together and more buttery and smooth. “I helped.”

Vel smiles at his spirited son. “Do you want another piece?”

Cole’s hat flops when he nods, and Vel laughs again. His laughter rings like bells, just like his Papa’s.

Krem ❤️

Vel Hawke huffs as he gets hit in the face by yet another branch. “When exactly are you going to tell me what we’re doing out here, Krem?”

Krem holds the next branch forward long enough he doesn’t get smacked. “What, you want t’ go back to that stuffy old ‘party’?”

Vel opens his mouth to reply, then thinks better of it. It was nice to get away from it. As nice as his birthday started out, Josephine and Leliana had insisted on making a big deal of his birthday. Something about morale and public hope, he guessed. Still, one can only talk to so many Orlesian nobles before they’ve had enough.

Krem snickers at Vel’s silence. “That’s what I thought. Remind me to find Varric some nice booze for the distraction.” He looks over his shoulder at Vel, a mischievous smile on his face. The sunlight through the trees hits his face just right and Vel almost trips over a root looking at him. Krem steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. “You alright there, sweets?”

Vel hums, pretending to be serious. “Just thinking about how handsome the lad I’ve managed to woo is.” The faintest blush appears on Krem’s cheekbones, but Vel is adept at spotting it.

“And here I thought I was the one responsible for all the wooing,” Krem says cheekily, grabbing Vel’s hand to guide him along.

“I did my fair share of wooing, in my opinion.” Vel sees more light through the trees ahead of them, but Krem blocks his sight and brings him to a stop.

“Close your eyes,” Krem says softly. Vel does so easily. He trusts his man, just as Krem trusts him. Krem leads him carefully over the last stretch of forest to their destination. The light behind Vel’s eyelids grows brighter. “Okay, open them.”

A mini meadow sits in the clearing in the forest. The canopy above is open, and the sunlight streams down into it. A picnic basket sits on an old stump from a fallen tree. The tree itself has been moved to act as a bench to it. Something glints in the sun, and Vel sees a wine bottle and glasses sitting between the stump’s exposed roots.

“Krem, this is amazing.” Vel steps further into the clearing to get a closer look.

“I know you’ve been stuck in a fancy party for a while, but I wanted to do something nice. Something different from our dates, and away from,” Krem gestures in Skyhold’s general direction. “Everything. A break from demons and requisitions and an increasing amount of shitty news.”

Vel looks at Krem with fondness. “There is quite a bit of shitty news. So much of it.”

Krem smiles warmly at him. “Happy birthday, Vel.”

Vel takes Krem’s hand and pulls him in for a kiss. A slow, loving one that fits the sunlit clearing perfectly.

When they part, they continue to hold each other and rest their foreheads together. “I think this earns you a larger wooing percentage,” Vel murmurs.

Krem laughs and guides Vel to sit down on the cushion-covered log. “Does it now? You should step your game up.”

“I should.” Vel ‘seriously’ ponders while Krem gathers up the wine and glasses. “How does a candle-lit barfight sound? A bit of ale, a bit of blood, maybe some cake.”

Krem snorts and hands him a glass. “Romantic,” he jokes. He sits and they share another kiss.

“Thanks for this, Krem. It’s wonderful.” Krem’s smile makes Vel’s chest feel warm.

“Not a problem, love.” They clink their glasses together, and turn to the picnic basket.

#dai #dragon age inquisition #zevran arainai #dragon age zevran #Zevran x Vel Hawke #cole #dai cole #krem aclassi #Krem #Krem x Vel Hawke

[wolfish-trickster]

Advent kisses

happy b-day my king👑💚

17/24

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 1 219

Summary: Instead of chocolates, kisses are going to be recieved everyday until Christmas.

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @modestlyabsurd @winterfrostsarmy @spaceyempress @thefridgeismybestie @laramoonworld @birdgirl90 @nickkie1129

You spend the night with him. In innocent way, of course. He insisted on keeping you warm. Weak excuse to hold you all night. Wrapped in his soft blanket, lying in his bed, his arms around you.

It started to snow around midnight. Small snowflake shadows danced on walls, carpet, your face, his exposed forearms. He quickly tucked them under the covers. He still tried to make peace with that part of himself, but he just couldn't. He barely resisted the urge to go outside with you when you asked. To laugh and play with you. But he couldn't. He knew as long as he stayed away from direct touch with something super cold there's nothing to worry about, but the paranoia stayed. What if you'll avoid him if you knew?

The overthinking kept him up most of the night. He only started to sink into light slumber when it started to dawn.

A soft movement inbetween his arms dragged him into reality. You were waking up. He tightened his grip on you and nuzzled his head into your hair.

"Hmmmm, good morning," you mumbled into his t-shirt. "Why didn't you carry me to my own room?"

'Is she angry?' "Please, don't be angry. We layed down and you started to doze off. You were so warm and comforting against me I fell asleep," a little white lie. Not all of it, just the end.

"I'm not angry, just askin'. You're a good cuddler. And a good pillow," you smirked at him.

"Wow, I got reduced to a cuddle pillow, what an honor," he squeezed your sides.

You laughed and tried to wriggle away from him. He stopped tickling you and just took you in. Lovely wise eyes, ruffled hair, soft smile. He will tell you. Today.

"Hey, Loki, I'm going to kitchen. Do you want something?"

He unwinded his arms from around you, already missing your presence. "I'm not hungry. But thank you, for thinking of me."

You slowly stood up. "Oookay then. I'll see you downstairs, if you decide to show up."

And you were gone. Just like that. Loki stayed in his bed a little while longer. Thinking. He can't let you find out by accident. It would drive you far away from him. For good. But whenever he tries to tell you fear shuts him up. He covered his eyes with his hand. 'Who made Christmas a winter holiday? And why did Tony drag all of you into freezing snowy mountains? Of all the places on Midgard...'

He reluctantly made his way down to kitchen. You were talking with Rhodey, telling him what an awesome fight he missed yesterday.

After Loki finished his morning cup of tea he decided to visit gym. It was smaller than the one in the tower, but it still served its purpose: distract him from his thoughts.

He didn't end until all of his muscles burned and ached. He kept his back to the snow behind the window the whole time.

He checked the clock on his way to his room. He had spend there 2 full hours.

He couldn't wait for the steaming hot shower. Ever since he found out he wasn't 100% Asgardian, he favoured hot showers and baths. He didn't know if it was conscious or unconscious decision.

After he cleaned himself of the sweat he just stood there and let the hot water cascade down his back. The warmth was comforting, almost as much as yours. He closed his eyes. It would be nice to stay here. All warm and clean. He wanted to fall asleep again.

A knock on his bathroom door stopped him im his thought. "Loki? Are you there?"

He turned the water off. "Yes Y/N. Do you need something from me?"

"No, not really. I just want to show you something. Get dressed and come out. And please hurry."

Loki dried himself and made a shirt and sweatpants appear on him.

With water still dripping from his hair and low hanging sweatpants he opened the door. Only to see you, with a chocolate cake with lit candles stabbed in it. A huge smile plastered on your face. "Happy Birthday Loki!"

He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He stared at you with the cake, mouth slightly agape.

Maybe he stared at you way too long. Your smile faded. "You don't like it, do you?"

Only then he came to his senses again. "No, darling I love it. It's just.....how did you find out what is the midgardian date for my birthday?"

"Thor mentioned something. So, will you blow out the candles? Don't forget to make a wish!"

He bowed his head down and blew on the candles. "Y/N, do you remember how I refused to go out to play in the snow with you?"

"Umm, yeah, but isn't this the time you start eating the cake?"

He took the cake out of your hands and after he placed it on the table he took them in his own. "It can wait. I need to tell you something. About who I am. You see I-ehh. I like you. You're a wonderful person and I trust you. I don't want to keep this from you. See, the truth why I couldn't go out into the cold is eeeh. I am a Jotun. A Frost Giant. Not fully, since I am significantly smaller then them, but from the big part," he searched your face for rejection. There was none. Only pure curiosity.

"Sooo, does that mean you can control ice or something?"

"Almost, I can turn blue."

You beamed. "Really? Can you show me? Please?"

"Okay, I just need something in order to do that," he pulled the Casket of Ancient Winters from his pocket dimension. "Since I never tried to learn control it, I need this in order to turn," he explained. His fingertips and arms soon turned blue. Markings appeared.

When he looked at you with ruby eyes he didn't see disgust, nor fear. A wonder.

"You have lines on your body," you ponted to ones on his neck leading down to his chest. "Can I see them?"

Loki carefully pulled down his shirt, exposing his skin to you. You gasped. He looked down and found out why. In the middle of his chest sat a giant scar. "A dark elf I faught in Svartalfheim left it there."

"Can I touch it?"

He nodded.

Your soft fingertips caressed the outline of it. Your face got closer to his chest. To get a better look. Your fingers started to run along different lines on his skin. He closed his eyes. Never in his life he felt such gentleness.

Suddenly he felt your lips land directly in the center of the scar. His eyes snapped open and he looked down at you.

You pulled away in the speed of lightning. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking. I-I should go-" he stopped you with both hands on your shoulders. The blue hue started to fade, but the scar stayed. Loki pulled you into a deep hug. "Never apologize for a kiss."

Loki was greatly relieved his wish came true.

#loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #the avengers #christmas fic #loki fluff #fluffy loki #fluff

[when-to-sit-in-silence]

Mama’s Boy

Rated: T Relationships: Lonnie Byers & Will Byers Characters: Will Byers, Lonnie Byers, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Mike Wheeler, Mentioned Joyce Byers Additional Tags: Post Season/Series 03, Emotional Manipulation, Abusive Parents, Past Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Confrontations, Homophobic Language, Lonnie Byers Being An Asshole

Summary: Will’s dad comes to visit the day after his birthday, and Will is right to have a bad feeling about it. But he’s not the same scared little kid he used to be.

Will’s dad is standing on the front stoop.

Wearing a pair of cheap sunglasses and grinding a half-smoked cigarette beneath the toe of his boot, Lonnie Byers reaches for the doorbell a second time, and with the curtains parted by the width of two fingers, Will stands there in the living room watching dumbstruck.

“Who is it?” he hears Mike call from the dining room as the house fills with another impatient chime. Will doesn’t respond. He can hardly believe his eyes. He figures the chances he’s only imagining his father there are too great to give an answer.

Lonnie tries to peer through the frosted glass on the front door, and when he doesn’t make anything out, he turns his gaze back out to the driveway, empty but for the unfamiliar sedan that must’ve been the rental he’d driven from – wherever cars can be rented around here. Will has serious doubts Lonnie put the hours into driving halfway across the country himself. Running his tobacco-stained fingers through his hair, Lonnie’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. He throws one final glance at the door before he starts to descend the concrete steps.

A sudden surge of panic shoots through Will’s chest, the reality of the moment finally striking him like a hammer. He abandons the curtains for the front door and turns the lock.

“Dad?” he says as he very nearly tears the thing off its hinges trying to get it open before Lonnie reaches the car. Pausing in the middle of the lawn, Lonnie spins back around. Behind his dark glasses, he sizes Will up in the door frame, and the corner of his lip lifts into smirk.

“Holy shit,” Lonnie exclaims. “Look at you, huh? Finally hit that growth spurt.”

Immediately, there is that feeling of being seen Will had gone so long without sensing, a feeling he could only attribute to the beady, watchful stare of his father growing up, a signal for the muttered comment he would make under his breath in the seconds to follow. Will would feel like all his skin had been stripped away, like he stood there exposed to the elements without his body’s most basic line of defense against the world pulsing and living all around him. He resists the urge to squirm, attempting to harden his exterior with the mindful elevation of his chin. “What are you doing here?”

Lonnie laughs like it’s obvious. “What do you think, son?” He pulls something out of his back pocket, a green envelope marked with his name in permanent marker. “Figure I’d surprise you for your birthday.”

“My birthday was yesterday,” Will replies, unimpressed.

“Come on, kid, I know that. Didn’t want to intrude on any plans you had.” Lonnie returns to the front stoop and hands Will the envelope. He stares at it, uninterested in what’s inside while his mind scrambles to come up with some sort of response to the absurdity of the situation. His dad, Lonnie Byers, showing up unannounced to their new house two thousand miles away to hand him a birthday card without so much as a phone call since 1983. Will might laugh if he wasn’t so uneasy.

All he says is, “Thanks.”

“Your brother home?” asks Lonnie, looking over Will’s shoulder into the house.

“He’s working.”

“And your mom?”

“Same.” Will actually isn’t sure where his mother is. Joyce had left pretty suddenly that morning before dawn, waking Will and El briefly to tell them everything was fine; she was just going on a trip for a few days and would be back before the next weekend. When Will had gotten out of bed that morning and realized he hadn’t dreamt that moment, Jonathan mentioned something about Murray Bauman, that journalist guy who’d shown up last summer to help them close the gate beneath Starcourt Mall. All of them had been chewing on some pretty troublesome questions the last several hours – but Lonnie doesn’t need to know any of that.  Honestly, the sooner he thinks Joyce will be back, the better this whole situation might turn out.

Lonnie removes his sunglasses and hangs him off the neckline of his t-shirt. “Yeah, thought so. Alright, then.” He gestures to the house. “You gonna show me around the place?”

“Oh – uh, yeah, I – I guess.” Will can’t get over how weird this feels. Momentarily, he forgets how to operate his legs before stepping aside to let Lonnie through the door. “Come in.”

That same naked feeling Will has when his father stares at him, he gets as Lonnie sweeps his gaze around the front entryway and adjoining living room. He surely recognizes a lot of the same furniture they’ve always owned, notes that the place has a staircase leading to a second story but really doesn’t look that much bigger than the old house back in Hawkins. It isn’t nice. Will can admit that, but it never bothered him until Lonnie set his eyes on it for himself. All the sudden, he wishes the place was spotless, shiny and elegant like everything his family isn’t. And then he hates himself for wanting that.

Lonnie’s eyes land on a photograph hanging above the sofa for an especially long pair of seconds. It’s just a portrait of Will, Jonathan, and Joyce taken at his middle school graduation last year, but Will holds his breath waiting for Lonnie to look away.

“So, it’s the three of you here?” he says, walking over to adjust an old hand-made throw blanket draped across the arm of the sofa. “Certainly looks like you’ve made yourselves at home.”

“Well, it’s been almost six months,” murmurs Will.

“You like it here?”

“Yeah,” he lies.

“Jonathan like it here?”

“Yeah.” That’s not a lie. Probably not, anyway. Jonathan seems to like it the most out of any of them, but then again, that really isn’t saying much.

Lonnie’s about to ask another question when a voice calls out from the other room. “Who’s there, Will?”

A moment later, Mike and El appear, both pausing as soon as they see Lonnie sifting through the magazines and newspapers fanned out across the coffee table.

“Oh, Will,” Lonnie says, eyes shifting between the newcomers, “You didn’t tell me I was intruding on something. I didn’t know you had friends over.”

“I mean – no, no, you’re not – no,” Will stammers. He puts himself between his father and his friends, flicking his index finger back and forth. “They’re just – they’re just here.”

Lonnie blinks at his son. “You gonna introduce me?”

“Right. Right. Uh, guys,” he says to Mike and El. “This is my Dad. Lonnie. Mr. Byers. Whatever. And, Dad, this is Mike. He’s visiting from Hawkins for Spring Break. And that’s – that’s –” Will flounders to decide which name to give. Teachers and most other adults have gotten to know Eleven as Jane Hopper, but she tends to introduce herself by her nickname. As he stands there stuttering, it occurs to him El’s is a complicated story that might be best kept hidden.

Read the Rest on Ao3

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #will byers #lonnie byers #joyce byers #the byers #byers

[demonologist-in-denim]

Humming to himself, Crowley dusted the rich dark cocoa powder into the soft white flour, and reached for his trusty wooden spoon. Blending ingredients in a mixer tended to create a smoother batter, but Crowley enjoyed the feel of the spoon in his hand, the sound it made scraping the bottom of the bowl, the hands-on experience of turning flour and sugar and eggs into cake.

When the dry ingredients were properly combined, he made a well in the center and carefully poured in the buttermilk, eggs, butter and vanilla. Instead of the usual red food coloring, Crowley added in fresh beet puree – just enough to give the cake a velvety ruby hue. The rich cocoa would cover the hint of earth with a delicate chocolate flavor. The mixture was then evening distributed between three pans and scooched into the oven.

While the cakes baked, he set to work on the frosting. The softened cream cheese and unsalted butter whipped together beautifully. He settled on using far less powdered sugar than the recipe called for, wanting the tangy sweetness of the cream cheese to accent the cake all on its own.

“Would have asked about any preferences in decoration,” Crowley muttered to himself as he applied the crumb coating to the cake, once it was done baking and properly cooled, “but that would have tipped my hand.” Simple yet elegant seemed appropriate. After applying a thick final layer of cream cheese frosting, Crowley piped fluffy buttercream swirls along the rim of the red velvet cake. A soft pile of crumbled extra cake crowned the top, and he tossed more along the side to create a dusting effect.

There was nothing left now except to take the photo.

Which, as fate would have it, turned out to be the difficult part.

He positioned the cake on the kitchen table, and snapped a few photos. Crowley hmmmed to himself.  It wasn’t quite up to his standard of food porn. Perhaps he’d take a few more, just to be on the safe side. Until one was suitably flattering. He was still adjusting the cake, playing with the proper angle and lighting for the perfect shot, when Sam and Dean strolled into the kitchen.

For a moment, they lingered at a respectful distance. But Crowley could sense their curiosity like a gathering storm of rose petals, soft yet burdensome.

“Can I help you two with something?”

Disbelief and delight were tugging a one-sided smile out of Sam. “Is – is that for Valentine’s Day?”

Valentine’s Day? Crowley narrowed his eyes at the elegant dessert. Bloody hell, the cake was red and white, wasn’t it? He hadn’t considered that when a bit of carefully applied questioning had disclosed the recipient’s cake preferences.

Crowley mulled the situation over. He couldn’t answer in the affirmative. That would mean he had intentionally crafted the cake as a celebration of gushy hearts and the sweet delirium of – internally, Crowley cringed – love. But he also couldn’t reply with a defensive and definitive “no”. That would only open him up to further, unwelcome inquiry.

He settled for the more characteristically dismissive third option.

“It’s Valentine’s Day?” Crowley steadfastly went back to attempting to capture the perfect photo with his phone. “I don’t bother myself keeping track of that sort of thing.”

Dean eyed the demon knowingly. “Yeah, well, our Netflix recommendations would say otherwise.”

Crowley glowered at the hunter.

“Whatever the occasion,” Sam offered up as his brother idled over to the cake, “that’s professional-grade baking. You’ve got a real talent. The frosting, the whole look? Seriously, I’m impressed.”

The arrow of this flannelled cupid hit its mark. Crowley felt a slight blush of pleasure, despite himself. Casual, unsolicited praise? From Sam Winchester? He seriously contemplated the possibility that Sam had been exposed to some sort of low-grade, poorly-concocted love spell that had bloomed into amiability, or maybe it had been released as a pink mist in the bunker’s common room, and Crowley had unknowingly avoided the worst of it. That seemed like the sort of malarkey that would happen around here on what, apparently, was Valentine’s Day.

Because Crowley found himself saying, “Thank you, Sam,” with actual sincerity. Moments such as these reminded Crowley that he was rather fond of these two boys, after all.

That was the moment Dean ran his finger along the edge of the cake, carrying off a large dollop of frosting from one side. The whole cake just looked so enticing! Dean was more of a pie man himself, but Crowley’s culinary expertise had the tendency to tempt him in surprising ways.

He was halfway to lifting the frosting-festooned finger to his mouth when he caught sight of the expression on Crowley’s face. Sam’s own face was a rotting lemon. Dean’s hand stilled, mouth still open.

“Um,” he muttered.

Dean looked at the offending finger, uncertain of what to do next. He started to put the frosting back where it belonged, thought better of it, looked for a napkin, and reluctantly settled for ashamedly completing the crime by depositing the frosting in his mouth.

Which was a mistake. Because now he knew the cake was friggin’ delicious, and Dean seriously wondered if maybe Crowley could manage his little photo shoot even if there was a slice of the cake missing.

As if he could read his brother’s mind, Sam shook his head in the most supreme disappointment. “Dean.”

“What?! Sorry!”

Reminding himself that murdering one Winchester brother would only end with him being ganked by the other one – though there were certainly times it seemed worth it – Crowley took a deep inhalation, and let it go. Cakes were ultimately meant to be eaten, even if it was by inconsiderate louts and lumberjacks.

“I’ll accept your apology, if you cut everyone else a slice before digging in yourself. I’m sure one of the photos I took before your little indiscretion will suffice.”

“Alright! Cake!” Dean cheered, while Sam just closed his eyes.

Crowley thumbed through the multitude of pictures he’d taken, and settled on the most appealing of the lot. Then he opened up his Bumblr app, and made a new post:

@petrichoravellichor – in honor of your birthday today. Heard from a mutual that you have a particular fondness for red velvet cake. Hope it’s to your liking. – C

He sent the message and image off with a satisfied smile, then set about getting plates and forks, as this cake was obviously not going to survive the interest of the Winchester brothers much longer.

As Crowley was pulling plates out of the cupboard and Dean was cutting into the cake, Castiel wandered into the kitchen, attention entirely given over to his phone. The angel had graduated from texting and emojis to social media and memes, and sometimes he could be found scrolling through Twitter and Instagram with a rapt fascination that would out-fixate even the most plugged-in FOMO-obsessed teenager. There was a chiming sound as he entered the kitchen, as notification of a new post.

“Dude,” Dean was grinning from ear to ear, “Crowley made cake!” He pointed with delight at the dessert.

Cas looked up from his phone, saw the cake, and halted in the middle of the kitchen. He narrowed his eyes, examining the red velvet cake on the table in front of him. Then he looked back down at his phone in consternation. Cas looked at the cake again. Looked back at his phone, and then slowly, he looked at Crowley.

The demon looked from the angel to the cake, his eyes increasing in size as realization dawned.

“Is that – ?”

“Don’t you say one bloody word, angel!” Crowley blustered, a rush of red to his face further colored by the mortification of such abject exposure. “Not one word!”

And before anyone could say anything else, Crowley shoveled a huge slice of not-at-all birthday cake onto a plate, shoved it into Cas’ hand, and quickly excused himself from the kitchen.

“What,” Sam wondered to the startled room, “was that all about?”

Cas continued to stand in the middle of the room, cake in one hand and phone in the other, attempting to come to terms with having inadvertently discovered a fandom mutual was also a real-life friend, and the one he would have least expected. Unsettled, he took comfort in the certainty their shared mutual would appreciate the well wishes on their birthday.

Dean shrugged, merrily flipped the serving knife in his hand, then waved the tip at his brother. “That’s Crowley for you,” he observed, good mood undeterred. “Dude would cut out his own heart and blend it to make red cake batter before admitting to it, but deep down, he’s just a big ol’ teddy bear who wuvs hugs. Speaking of which – you see that giant pink moose Eileen sent you? Friggin’ adorable.”

Dean proceeded to cut a huge slice for himself, leaving a worried looking Sam staring down at the blood-red cake. Then the hunter stepped around a disconcerted Castiel, patting the angel on the shoulder, and strolled out of the kitchen.

***

Happy birthday, Petra! I’m sure you’re tired of your birthday comingling with Valentine’s Day, but when you said your cake preference was red velvet cake, what was I to do? ;)

If you’re wondering exactly why – or even how – Crowley became a member of the in-world spn fandom, you can find out here. This fic will be posted on AO3 in my Tumblr Ficlets after posting on Tumblr.

Image sources here: X

#crowley #spn ficlet #spn fandom #spn crack #spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #one of the boys #fandom life #happy birthday #to you! #this was so much fun to write #i *may* have passed along to Crowley #your cake preference #hope you have a great day!

[valhallanrose]

Dancing Queen

A reflection on past birthdays and a glimpse at the present. 

Happy birthday to my firstborn.

2.3k. Cautionary CW for discussions of food. 

Fic title: Dancing Queen by ABBA.

The first birthday that Zelda remembered actually wasn’t her own, but Tamryn’s. It was his twelfth, though only the third time he’d actually celebrated on February twenty-ninth and not on March first. She was four then, giggling madly as she smashed a piece of the cake into his face - a tradition in Nevivon and something their parents had encouraged - and licking buttercream frosting off her fingers until Galen lifted her up to the kitchen sink to actually wash her hands. 

Tamryn got her back two months later, on her fifth birthday, though he was far more gentle than she had been about it. Maybe it was because she’d been completely zoned out chewing on one of the sugar flowers that had adorned her cake, but she distinctly remembered assessing the mouth feel of one of them before a hand on the back of her head tipped her face straight into the slice of cake Evalina had just set in front of her. 

Birthdays were typically small affairs in the Olenev household. It was time to simply be together, take joy in another year spent living life to the fullest and with each other. The only exception Zelda could think of was her bat mitzvah, all those years ago, and Tamryn’s own bar mitzvah, though she certainly remembered her own better than his. 

They always got to pick a special breakfast a few days before the actual birthday. Zelda chose the same thing every year without fail: chocolate-stuffed syrniki and strawberries. There was never another time of year that particular combination was eaten, only on her birthday, which made it feel all the more special to her no matter how old she got. 

Some birthdays had been...less than happy. Her sixteenth, the first birthday alone, the wound of her father’s death still raw on her heart. Or her twenty-fifth, which she had entirely forgotten until the following week, elbows deep in work at the Lazaret. Not that she’d celebrated at all during the plague, it never felt like a worthwhile occasion. 

She remembered on her twenty-sixth birthday, the first she acknowledged after the end of the plague, wishing quietly that there’d be no more sad birthdays. She wanted those happy times back - those happy times of just being five years old in Nevivon and feeling sugar flowers melt on her tongue and getting her face shoved into a birthday cake just when she thought it was safe.

And then Tamryn had found her later that year. 

Twenty-six had been a new beginning for them both. Twenty-seven had been the first birthday of hers they celebrated together since she was fifteen - a little awkward at first, but they found their way, finding a cute little restaurant on the waterfront and Zelda nearly punching Tamryn over the set of diaries he’d found in an antique shop that had belong to an apothecary long before.

For her twenty-eighth, Tamryn had given her an experience - a theater company from Prakra had made a temporary stop in Vesuvia to host a performance of The Tempest for the Countess on their way to Venterre, borrowing the theater in the Heart District closest to the palace. The short period they were in town fell over her birthday, and Tamryn had not only gotten her tickets, but got them tickets for one of the private boxes rather than the general audience. It had been a delight, and an experience she treasured dearly. 

She’d asked Tam once, a few weeks after that birthday, why he did so much for her (not that she was ungrateful) - and he’d simply smiled, kissing her forehead and telling her that he had ten years of birthdays he wanted to make up for. She’d assured him he didn’t need to do that, but he waved her off, pointing out that he was an adult and that if he wanted to do nice things for his family, he would. 

The twenty-second of April came again, this time her twenty-ninth birthday, and Zelda stirred when the mid morning sunlight beamed across her face and warmed her skin. A heavy weight pressed against her back as she began to roll over, making her snort as she assessed the limited amount of space between her and the other side of the bed. 

“Bed hog.” 

Oberon lifted his head, some of her hair threaded between his antlers, and gave her an incredulous look that made her laugh. 

“Yes, you, a bed hog. Brat. Come here, give me your head.” She shifted enough to sit up, carefully brushing her hair away from where it had tangled with the new growths forming, each only a few inches tall by then. “How are your nubbins doing?”

Do not call them my nubbins. 

“Fine, oh mighty forest prince, how doth your crown fare -” Zelda laughed as Oberon shoved his face into her chest indignantly, the stag sighing dramatically before he laid his head in her lap. She carefully inspected the velvet, idly scratching behind his ears all the while as he patiently waited for her assessment. “They do look good, Obie. You had a beautiful eight point set last year, I’ll bet on the same or more this year.”

She’d kept his last shed, actually. They were currently mounted on the wall in her shop, those pretty eight points acting as hooks for the herbs and plants she was in the process of drying out. 

Zelda smiled as she began to scratch around the base of one of his antlers, his hind leg thumping against the mattress and his head pushing into her hand as he snuffled contentedly. There were a few long beats of quiet before his voice filtered through her mind again and drew her eyes down to his, all big and brown and soulful. 

Zelda?

“Yeah?”

Happy birthday.

She beamed at that, lifting his head in both hands and pressing kisses to his fuzzy cheek, even when he complained about ‘smelling her morning breath’ but made no move to get away.

“Thank you, Obie. What do you say to breakfast?” Zelda glanced out the window, smiling at the cloudless blue sky and the bright golden sun. “Tam spent the night last night. I’m thinking me, you, him, and Magnus out in the back garden after I whip something up.”

Oberon nodded slightly, shifting to drag himself out of her bed - quite literally, as he put his front hooves on the floor and shuffled forward until his hind legs hit the hardwood. Zelda shook her head at him and flipped back the covers, combing her fingers through her hair and shoving her feet in her slippers before she made her way down the hall to the kitchen.

She knew she’d slept in, but she was surprised to see Tamryn already awake, standing at the stove with Magnus perched on his shoulder and preening his bedhead. 

“You, not waiting to mooch off my breakfast? Hell must have frozen over.” Zelda teased, and Tamryn rolled his eyes, tipping his head back and giving her a cheeky grin. 

“I could say the same thing about you sleeping in.”

“It’s the weekend, Tamryn, I’m not a masochist.”

“Well, not just a weekend.” Tamryn shifted, lifting his left arm to gesture for Zelda to come closer. She gladly accepted the embrace, burying her face in the soft wool of his sweater as he gave her a tight squeeze. “Happy birthday, shithead.”

She swatted at him as he laughed, turning away from her to slip the spatula under the pancake when Magnus chirped and set it carefully on the serving plate to his right.

Zelda’s brows drew together as she let her eyes wander over the ingredients, then the pancakes themselves, the realization dawning the longer she looked over it all. “Tam...are you making -”

“Mama’s syrniki recipe, yeah. I can’t promise it’ll be perfect, you and I both know she would follow her heart tweaking things and I only have the recipe cards you helped me braille, but I realized I have now been here for three birthdays and not even attempted making it.” He waved the spatula idly in the air and blew a few strands of hair out of his face before he continued. “Hopefully I wasn’t too presumptuous, but you and I both have the same opinions about chocolate and I felt optimistic.”

Zelda laughed, shaking her head as she found the chocolate in question and broke a piece off for herself. 

“No, not presumptuous at all.” She popped the piece into her mouth before she began to move about the kitchen, pulling together parts of Oberon’s own breakfast with the deer hot on her heels. “I’m looking forward to it. I don’t think I’ve ever made them myself, so this’ll be the first time I’ve had them in years. Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, get the hell out of here with your fancy leaf water.”

“If tea is leaf water, then coffee is just bean water, stupid.”

“Maybe, but if I wanted to drink leaf water I’d just go drink from a puddle.”

Zelda flipped him off, and when Magnus squawked loudly, Tam returned the gesture, snickering to himself under his breath as he worked his way through the last few syrniki. 

*     *     *     *     *

Eventually, when they made their way out to the small back garden and crammed the plates onto the wrought iron patio table, chatting as Magnus settled on the back of one of the empty chairs and Oberon found his favorite spot - easily noted by the way the grass was permanently flattened at the base of the crabapple tree in the corner of the garden. They both were animated in conversation, Zelda only pausing to take the first bite of her syrniki and losing her train of thought.

They weren’t Evalina’s, but they were still delicious, the chocolate warm on her tongue and the strawberries perfectly between sweet and tangy - it was enough to make her throat feel a little tight after she swallowed.

“Good?” Tamryn asked after a moment, and Zelda laughed, nodding as she spoke. 

“They are. They’re not mom’s, but they don’t need to be. They’re perfect.” She reached out and laid a hand on his wrist, squeezing it lightly. “Thank you, Tam. Really.”

“You’re welcome.” Tam shoved strawberry in his mouth before he reached into the pocket of his sweatpants with his other hand, turning Zelda’s palm over and smacking a slim, flat box into her hand. “Your gift, by the way, before I set it down and forget where I put it. I already did once, I made the bed and lost it in the sheets. Damn near shit myself.”

Zelda snickered softly, gently tugging away the crisp white ribbon and carefully cracking open the box, the lid opening on a hinge that revealed the jewelry inside. 

The necklace was simple - only a single pendant, the six-pointed star a little bigger than the pad of her thumb and strung on a delicate golden chain. Her breath caught as she lifted the star on one of her fingers, watching the morning light gleam on its polished surface. If her throat had felt thick before, she felt like she was trying to swallow a rock now, eyes burning with the tears that welled up.

“You said you lost yours years ago.” Tamryn said gently. “I know you loved it, and you never took it off when we were kids…”

“You’re going to make me cry on my birthday.” Zelda sniffed, and Tamryn laughed, reaching out to pat her arm. 

“Don’t, because then you’ll make me cry, and then we’ll both look ugly when we go out later.” He smiled when Zelda snorted at that, swiping a rogue tear away before it could slip down her cheek. “Do you want help putting it on?”

“I’m sure it’ll look ridiculous with my pajamas, but that’s not going to stop me. Yes, please.”

The clasp would come together neatly at the base of Zelda’s neck - simple, but secure - and the pendant fell just below her collarbone, making her smile and touch her fingertips to it once she released her hair from where she’d moved it out of Tamryn’s way. He draped his arms lazily around her shoulders, chin propped on her head, rather than returning to his own seat across from her at the table. 

“If the chain is too short, I can take it back to the jeweler and ask them to add some length to it.”

“No, Tam, it’s lovely. Thank you so much.” She laid her hands over his and gave them a squeeze, smiling as he squeezed them back before he straightened up. 

“I’m glad you like it.” Quickly, he snatched a strawberry off her plate, snickering to himself as he made his way back around to his seat despite her protests at the theft of fruit. “Now shut up and eat your breakfast.”

“Ass.” Zelda reached out and stole one of the blackberries left on his own plate, munching happily on it and smacking his hand away when he tried to steal another strawberry off her plate. “Go away, you have your own fruit.”

“You won’t even share with your beloved older brother?”

“Just because I’ve been stuck with you since birth doesn’t mean I like you, you know.”

“Joke’s on you, bitch, that goes both ways.”

With a laugh, Zelda finally dug back into her syrniki, banter and conversation mixing and flowing between them easily as they talked about anything and everything that came to mind. The sun continued to move overhead, warming their faces long after their plates were cleared and their cups were empty.

She didn’t need to know how the rest of the day was going to go - in her book, it was already a pretty damn great birthday.

#zelda hollyheart #tamryn olenev #happy birthday zelda

[temos-era]

The Angel In Their Eyes

Officer Ronnie Peterson x Paul Sevier x Fem Reader

Words: 5.6k

Summary: A threesome with your husband and his best friend sounded like a good idea at the time...

Tags/CW: Threesome - F/M/M, Power Dynamics/Power Play, Established Relationship, Reader Is Married to Ronnie, Praise Kink, Degradation, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Oral Sex (m&f), PIV Sex, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, BDSM-ish, Ronnie Is Soft!Dom, Paul is Hard!Dom, Spitroasting, Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasms, Vaginal Fingering, Squirting, No M/M, Food Play-ish, Jealousy, Paul Is In Love With Reader, Angst/Fluff/Smut

Notes: This is without a doubt the smutest smut I have ever written... And while this is mostly as a one-shot for those of you that have read Late Night Patrol this *could* be considered a continuation of that story too...

Availible under the cut and on AO3 & Wattpad

Shamefully flushed, you stole a moment away to compose yourself.

The boys always had a way of working you up and getting underneath your skin.

“You okay, Angel?” your husband questioned with curious intent as he joined you in the kitchen.

You hummed in response, pursing your lips. “Mm-hmm. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ronnie’s shoulders shrugged. “You look tense.” His gaze locked on you as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “You know we're only joking, right?”

“I know,” you replied quickly, avoiding eye contact as you created work for your idle hands.

You never had an issue with their teasing. The boys had done it for as long as you could remember, but you’d be lying if you didn’t acknowledge that it ignited a particular unspeakable response in you - a response you’d never dare act upon...

Before you knew it, Ronnie’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, encircling your body in his as he stood behind you, nestling his chin against your neck.

“You like it, don’t you?” he prompted, breathing the question hot against your neck as he nipped at the skin slightly. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how your breath hitched and your skin grew hot when sitting between Paul and me.”

Your body froze.

“Admit it. You want it. Both of us."

You pulled back, eyes wide. “Ronnie. He’s your best friend.”

“Exactly. He doesn’t threaten me,” Ronnie reassured, his face deadpan. “Plus, he looks just like me, and doesn’t that turn you on? The thought of two of me fucking you?”

Nervously, you chewed on your bottom lip, lost in your thoughts as you considered the possibility. Paul Sevier was your close friend, the best man at your wedding, and was indeed the doppelganger of your husband.

Of course, the thought had crossed your mind on occasion, but it was a mere fantasy, not something you ever felt compelled to make reality and certainly not something you ever expected Ronnie to suggest.

“Are you being serious?”

“You don’t have to. It’s just an idea,” Ronnie clarified. “But yes, I’m serious.”

Your mouth twisted before settling into a smirk. “Okay, I’m interested.”

Ronnie cocked his head, grinning as he embraced you. “So, you think you can handle us both?” he whispered, his eyes narrowing. “My greedy girl.”

Your hands caressed the small of his back as you glanced up at him. “And what makes you think Paul would be interested?”

“Well, you know there’s a reason he’s not found anyone,” Ronnie divulged. “He’s hung up on a certain someone… ”

“Oh,” you mouthed, the realization dawning on your face. “So, Paul gets what he wants, and I get to fulfill my fantasy, but what do you get from this?”

“A happy wife and a live-action porno,” Ronnie smiled. “It’ll be just like watching myself fuck you, and, plus, what better birthday gift could we give Paul than a taste?”

Without further ado, you both made your way into the lounge, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ loudly as Paul shifted in his seat and tittered with unease. His eyes grew uncontrollably wide, and his pupils dilated as he swallowed the lump in his throat, watching in nervous disbelief as you kneeled before him, birthday cake in hand.

“Make-a-wish,” you prompted with a devilish grin as Ronnie watched from the threshold.

Doing as told, Paul closed his eyes momentarily and blew the candles out. “Thank you,” he smiled, glancing at you briefly before averting his gaze towards the cake. “Did you make this yourself?”

You nodded. “Red velvet with vanilla frosting. Your favorite, right?”

“Yeah, it looks great. I can’t wait to taste it.”

“She tastes better,” Ronnie murmured from across the room, catching Paul’s attention as he approached. “You should take a bite.”

“Excuse me?”

You sat back on your heels, seductively running a finger through stray frosting as Ronnie crouched beside you.

“Paul, you know I love her more than anything in the world,” Ronnie began. “And, I don’t make this decision lightly, but there’s no one else I trust to do this with.”

“Do what?” Paul asked, watching wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Ronnie took your frosted coated fingers into his mouth.  

“What Ronnie’s trying to say… ” you purred as his tongue swirled around your fingers, sucking gently. “...is that we’d like you to join us in the bedroom.”

Paul’s body stiffened at the suggestion as he swallowed dryly, unable to wet his parched throat. “What?” he croaked in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

Ronnie’s mouth left your fingers with wet ‘pop.’ “One rule,” he declared. “Her cunt is mine, and mine alone. Isn’t that right, Angel?”

You nodded in agreement. “Only my husband gets to fuck my pussy,” you affirmed, causing Ronnie to pull your body against his, claiming your mouth with a voracious hunger as Paul watched on helplessly.

“Such a good girl,” Ronnie groaned, pulling away breathless. “Now, go and see the Birthday boy.”

You licked your lips, swiping another fingerful of frosting before placing the cake on the coffee table and rising to your feet.

Paul’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as he watched you approach him. He kept his features deceptively composed as his mouth parted from the sight of you. Pretty and eager and all for him - a Birthday wish come true.

“Would you like a taste, Paul?” you questioned, displaying the frosting on your fingertips as you moved to place your knees on either side of his body, straddling him.

He nodded greedily, leaning back in his seat. “Please.”

You flashed a coy smile and ran a finger of frosting over his lower lip before swiftly leaning forward and sucking it off keenly as if you were famished. In all honesty, you had expected to feel more anxious, more timid, but there was something about Paul that made you feel at ease.

Perhaps it was his uncanny resemblance to your husband? Still, as your tongue licked at the seam of Paul’s mouth, forcing an entry effortlessly, you wondered how far their similarities would continue in the bedroom.

Deepening the kiss, Paul’s hands groped your pert ass and forcefully pulled you against him. The growing erection beneath you communicating his exact desires as he snaked his tongue into your mouth, and for a brief moment, you lost yourselves in one another.

“Do you like that, Angel?” Ronnie questioned from behind, reminding you of his presence as he brushed the hair from the back of your neck and placed hot, all-consuming kisses against your skin.

“Mm-hmm,” you murmured as you arched your back, pulling away from Paul’s kiss as you began to stimulate both men simultaneously. “I want you both… badly.”

You rocked your hips firmly against the restricted bulge in Paul’s pants as your hand reached behind you and rubbed at Ronnie’s growing erection, causing a chorus of male moans to engulf the room.

“Paul. Don’t be a fucking tease.” Ronnie berated with jagged breath as he began to remove his clothing. “Take her dress off.”

Without hesitation, Paul delicately worked to remove the thin fabric from your body as your head loled backward against your husband’s chest. You moaned softly as Ronnie sucked bruising marks of ownership against your skin.

“Fuck. You’re so, so, ex...exquisite,” Paul stammered as he gazed at your lingerie-clad body before blowing his cheeks out with a heavy breath to compose himself. You were everything he had ever wanted.

“Don’t be shy, Paul,” you whispered against his ear seductively as your hand reached past the opening of his mustard-colored shirt, touching his warm skin. “Have your way with me.”

Paul shot a hopeful glance toward Ronnie, seeking approval from his best friend before continuing. “Are you sure this is okay? She is your wife, after all.”

“Just remember that fact, and you’ll be fine,” Ronnie warned as he worked to free your breasts from the confines of your bra, causing you to shudder with excitement. “And, this is what you want, Angel?”

You nodded. “Please.”

The magnitude of varying sensations enraptured your mind, body, and soul as Ronnie’s hands molded around the swell of your tits, teasing your nipples into taut peaks with his fingertips before relinquishing his hold and sitting back on his heels.

“She’s all yours, friend.”

A flush of anticipation flooded your senses as Paul’s eyes flickered with a burning desire, and in one swift, unexpected motion, you found yourself on your back.

“I always knew you were an insatiable little slut,” Paul taunted, grasping your wrists in one hand, leaving you powerless as he held them above your head. “So desperate to please your husband. It’s almost pathetic.”

You couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your lips as Paul looked down at you, his body on top of yours. The change in his demeanor unanticipated but welcomed.

“Tell me. Does she follow instructions, Ronnie? Or do we have to force her?”

“If she wants to come, she’ll do as she’s told.”

Paul smirked from the intel. His gaze meeting yours through the thin frames of his spectacles as he let go of your wrists. “Now, be a good little slut and get my cock out.”

You licked your lips and eagerly began unbuckling Paul’s belt, dragging his pants down to mid-thigh before slipping your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and allowing his heavy cock to bob free.

Instantly, your eyes grew lustful. Long, thick, flushed, and already dripping with pre-cum, you were almost disappointed you wouldn’t get to experience Paul’s fat cock in your pussy.

“Suck it,” Ronnie directed, his voice low in his throat. His breathy instruction caused you to glance over at him, your lips parting at the view.

You watched with hungry eyes as your husband stroked his length, slowly working his fist under his swollen head as the veins on his shaft bulged and shifted with every gentle upstroke.

“Eyes on me, Sweetheart,” Paul snarled as his free hand grasped at your jaw, forcing your attention toward him, your pupils dilating at the sight of his naked body.

Your breath hitched, and a sudden flush of warmth spread from between your legs as you parted your lips and took Paul into your mouth. The saltiness of his pre-cum filled your senses immediately as your tongue danced around the fleshy tip of his head, lapping it up gladly.

The taste of him was different. Not worse, nor better, just unfamiliar. Ronnie was without a doubt sweeter, but your mouth only grew wetter from the small appetizer Paul’s pre-ejaculate gave.

“Go on, Angel,” Ronnie grunted with encouragement. “Gag on his cock. Show him how good you are.”

You knew better than to glance at your husband, but you could feel his gaze on you, watching intently as your lips strained to wrap around another man's throbbing erection. You knew Ronnie was observing with bated breath as the scene unfolded before him, imagining the soft glide of your lips around his shaft as he worked his length.

Fluttering your eyelashes, you looked up at Paul as you enveloped him into the heat of your mouth. Slowly, you started to drag your lips up and down his length, pulling a strangled moan from his chest as you hummed happily around him.

You weren’t sure if it was Paul’s cock in your mouth of the thought of Ronnie fucking himself beside you, but you couldn’t help but rub your thighs together, desperate to create some friction to soothe the constant pulsing between your legs.

“Ffff-fuck. You were made for this, weren’t you?” Paul rasped as he raked a hand through your hair, watching with a hooded gaze as he thrust himself into your mouth. “You like sucking my cock, don’t you? Dirty slut.”

You moaned around him, signaling your agreement as spit pooled at the corners of your mouth. With that, Paul quickened his pace, fucking your throat in earnest as you greedily sucked, slurped, and gagged on his cock.

His breath grew thin and ragged as you hollowed your cheeks and tightened the hold around him, the vacuum-like sensation causing his member to twitch against your tongue.

“Oh. Oh, f-fuckk,” Paul stammered, his head falling back as his eyes fluttered closed. “I’m, I’m-a cum.”

The sound of sharp stuttered gasps and grunts escaped his lips as a gush of hot cum hit the back of your throat, a stifled yell tearing from his chest as you greedily swallowed the salty mix down.

Pleased with yourself, you smirked as Paul pulled his sensitive cock from your mouth before glancing over at your husband.

“Oh, Ronnie,” you cooed, gazing at him with doe-eyes as he continued to slide his hand up and down his shaft. “Look at you. Look at your big cock. I wanna taste you too.”

Ronnie’s eyes widened, his face softening. “Yy-yeah?” He questioned hopefully.

“Yeah,” you purred with a loving smile as Ronnie approached.

“Christ. You really are a cum-hungry-slut,” Paul scoffed. “Is she always like this?”

“O-ooh-oh, yeah… “ Ronnie stammered between grunts as your sultry lips wrapped around his aching cock. “... Fff-filthy whore likes getting fucked in police cruisers and hotel balconies. Always so… fucking... insatiable."

Paul groaned at the information, a mixture of jealousy and disbelief overwhelming him as he evaluated the challenges of your carnal desires. “Hmm,” he pondered. “Let’s see how many times we can make this greedy whore cum, Ronnie.”

His words caused you to moan around your husband’s cock. The threat of infinite orgasms a tantalizing prospect as Paul began to move down your body. He was determined to demonstrate his abilities and show you everything you had been missing out on as he placed rough, hungry kisses upon your inner thighs.

His touch was cruel but painfully enticing as he moved towards your core, rubbing teasingly at your clothed pussy. Your needy whimpers were muffled by Ronnie as he fucked himself rhythmically into your mouth. The vibration of each of your moans around his cock was just enough to push him over the edge as his hips canted forward.

“Aghhh-fuuuck-g-good wife,” Ronnie gasped, carefully wrapping a hand around the back of your head as he spilled himself down your throat. His thrust stuttered as he watched with satisfaction as you gladly swallowed him down before removing his spent member from the warmth of your mouth.

“Love you,” you murmured with a coy smile as Ronnie knelt beside you, his breaths slowing as he kissed your lips tenderly.

“Dirty cum-dumpster,” Paul rasped, causing you to quiver from the heat of his breath against your folds as he tauntingly pulled tight at the material of your panties.

You let out a whine and bucked your hips toward him as a yearning tore through your body. “Please, Paul,” you begged. You were helpless and frustrated; you needed your release.

“So desperate,” he taunted as he slowly removed your underwear.

Your skin grew hot and feverish from the vulnerability before a surprised yelp escaped you. Paul grabbed at your legs and ruthlessly spread you wide open, just for him. He paused for a moment and marveled at the sight of your dripping pussy before dancing a finger along your folds, gathering your slick.

“That pretty little cunt of yours is so warm and wet,” Paul remarked, causing a pleasured ache to flood through you.

“Do the two of us really make you that excited, Angel?” Ronnie questioned with bright, curious eyes as he stroked at your hair affectionately.

You bit your lip and nodded, your eyes pleading up at your husband. “Please, Ronnie,” you mewled. “I wanna come. Tell him how I like it, please.”

Before Ronnie had a chance to respond, you let out a high-pitched cry as Paul spread your pussy lips apart and spat on the throbbing nub of your clitoris. Your body convulsed from the sensation, the blood rushing to your core as Paul lowered his head and licked at your spread cunt with his warm tongue.

“Fucck!” you shrieked, arching your back in response as your eyes glanced down at the broad expanse of Paul’s chest between your legs.

“You like that, cumslut?”

“Yy-yess!” you gasped, overwhelmed by Paul’s insatiable hunger for information.

“What about this?”

Paul’s eyes watched your body intently as he pushed two fingers at your entrance, exploring with a curious fascination. You sucked in the air sharply; your slicked cunt squelching around his digits as he pumped into you. Captivated, he noted how each twist and turn of his hand caused a different reaction from you, both internally and externally.

You were lost in a wave of euphoria as a series of large, strong hands roamed over your body. You had never felt so desired; as Paul massaged your inner walls, Ronnie placed lusty kisses against your neck and palmed at your breasts, causing soft moans to escape you.

“God, I love hearing you enjoy yourself,” Ronnie murmured, flicking his tongue over one of your sensitive nipples, your body shuddering. “It feels so good, doesn’t it?”

You moaned in agreement, your hips jerking forward as Paul’s fingers curled upwards to grate against your g-spot, the sensation creating a fire in your abdomen.

“Ronnie,” Paul exasperated. “She needs restraining. I can’t get her off if she keeps moving.”

A refrained chuckle escaped Ronnie. “I have just the thing.” He smiled and gently pressed his lips against your forehead before leaving the room momentarily.

You exhaled deeply, a flush of anticipation overcoming you as Paul crawled up your body, placing hot kisses against your stomach and tits as he went.

You were so lustful that you couldn’t stop yourself from bucking against his erection. He was, so, so close to your entrance; you both knew that one roll of his hips, one quick thrust, and he’d be buried deep in your cunt - the one sexual act forbidden between you both.

“Look at you, grinding against me,” Paul breathed against your neck, brushing the hair from your ear. “You’re really desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Your body stiffened; you knew he wasn’t wrong. “W-we can’t,” you stuttered nervously—the sound of Ronnie returning, catching both of your attention.

“Hmm. Well, let’s show your husband how to really make you cum,“ Paul whispered with a smirk, your eyes widening in disbelief. “And remember, don’t scream my name too loudly... we wouldn’t want to upset that ego of his.”

With that, Paul returned to your cunt, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes as the sudden warmth of his plush lips on your folds forced a choked gasp to escape you. He darted his tongue at your entrance before dragging up, his nose grazing your clit on the way as he licked meticulous circles against your sensitive bud.

“Wrists,” Ronnie prompted with a suggestive grin - cuffs and lube in hand.

You shook your head, eyes pleading upward. “No, Ronnie. Please. I promise I’ll be good and stay still,” you implored, your legs shaking from Paul’s continued attention; you were getting close. “I-I wanna be able to touch you both.”

Ronnie cocked his head in consideration, his brows furrowing from behind his horn-rimmed glasses - you were always his weakness. “Fine, but you’ve gotta control yourself.”

You nodded in response, drawing your lower lip between your teeth in an attempt to restrain your movements, but Paul’s hands and mouth were relentless. The pressure of his tongue, the suction of his lips, the rhythm of his fingers as they penetrated your core created an overwhelming experience.

All of that mixed with Ronnie’s touch caused a coiling tension in your stomach; you couldn’t stop yourself from writhing as the pressure inside of you built.

“Paul, I-”

Your eyes squeezed tight as you leaned against Ronnie’s chest, your hand gripping his in support. You felt your toes curl and a shiver travel up your spine as your hips started to buck against Paul’s face, your breath coming in sharp pants.

“Aah fffuck…Paul, I-”

“That’s it, almost there,” Paul drawled, replacing his tongue with his thumb as he rubbed at your throbbing clit. His eyes mesmerized by your sweet little hole as it started to clamp around his fingers, watching with glee as you began to crumble from his handiwork.

Your hips stuttered, your vision blurred, your nails penetrated the skin on Ronnie’s hand before you let go completely. Your whole body shook. Every exhale was a sob as the force of your orgasm flash-flooded your senses. You felt something cataclysmic burst inside of you, a sensation you’d never felt before.

“Oh, yes! Good fucking girl,” Paul shouted in astonishment, his glasses askew on his flushed face as your cunt gushed, squirting clear liquid against his hand.

“What?... Are you?... Did he?!” Ronnie gasped, amazed and envious at the sight of you squirting. It was something he hadn’t been able to achieve yet. “… How?!” He demanded, glaring at Paul.

“Angles, Ronnie.”

You let out breathy, unrestricted murmurs of Paul’s name, too blissed out to maintain any filters between your brain and mouth as your walls continued to spasm and contract.

“Hey! She’s my wife,” Ronnie barked, jaw clenching. “You don’t get to blow her mind like that. That’s my job.”

Paul’s mouth set in a hard line as he analyzed the situation, quickly discerning the issue. “Oh. You mean, you haven’t?” he questioned, surprised. “Have you not? Really?”

You sat up and looked between the two men, sensing the tense atmosphere as your husband pursed his lips in frustration. “Ronnie… “ you purred, reaching your arm out toward him. “Come here.”

He drew in a long, exasperated breath and sat beside you. His body stiffened as you climbed on top of him, pressing soft kisses against his jaw. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” Ronnie whispered, discouraged, his shoulders slouching.

“No,” you reassured before glancing at Paul and signaling him to move closer. “Best friends help each other out. Isn’t that right, Paul?”

“Of course.”

With the boys sat beside each other, you shifted to straddle a thigh of each of them. “I love you,” you cooed at Ronnie, dispelling his fears as you sucked on his bottom lip before removing his glasses. “And, I like you,” you purred towards Paul, melting your lips against his as you removed his spectacles too. “My gorgeous boys.”

A shudder of pleasure surged throughout your body as you rocked your cunt against their thighs. The friction pulling a mewl from your chest as each of the boys fondled your breasts. They tweaked your pebbled flesh with their fingertips as their mouths kissed and sucked various locations on your body.

“Our beautiful girl,” they murmured in sync as you closed your eyes and moaned. The sensation of their touch filled you with an urgent lust. You were in seventh heaven and getting so, so desperate for the two of them.

“Please, I can’t take it anymore,” you cried. “I need you both inside of me.”

They turned to face each other, their brown eyes lighting up with excitement before gazing back at you. “Do you think you can take us both?” Ronnie questioned.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out...” you tempted with a seductive wink as you clambered off of them and swiped the bottle of lube from the coffee table—your husband and his best friend hot on your heels as you headed towards the bedroom.

In one swift, harsh movement, you found yourself head down, ass up, and hands cuffed behind your back. “You like being used by the two of us?” Ronnie taunted.

“She’s a cock-craving slut,” Paul chastised, marveling at the pucker of your ass as he spread your cheeks wide and inserted two lubed fingers into your tight entrance.

You whined as a thudding pressure rocketed through your passage, your body jerking forward from the sensation of the cool, silky gel. You felt entirely exposed, all their attention focussed on you and the tight pucker of your ass as it yielded to the intrusion of Paul’s digits.

“Such a pretty hole,” Ronnie admired. “Are you gonna be a good little fucktoy and let Paul destroy your ass while I fuck your pussy?”

“Please. Please, I’ll beg, I’ll do anything you wan-”

You were interrupted by the sharp, stinging strike of a hand on the soft flesh of your backside; your words replaced by a yelp as your eyes welled, uncertain whose hand delivered the smack.  

“Be patient, whore. I’m not going to fuck you dry, no matter how much you beg,” Paul hissed before directing Ronnie toward your front. “Shut her up with your cock or something while I finish prepping her.”

Your husband’s heavenly whiskey-colored eyes gazed down at your restricted body. “You’re so beautiful when you’re all flushed and wanting.”

You were convinced you could lose yourself in his adoring eyes - lose yourself in him. He was your world, and you were going to be, oh, so good for him as he slowly guided his cock into the heat of your mouth.

Your tongue swirled around his head, sucking desperate breaths through your nostrils as your pussy cried out for him, yearning for the fat stretch of his cock.  

“You ready?” Paul questioned as your body tensed slightly at the feel of the cold lube against your crack as he nudged the tip of his member at your aching hole.

You bobbed your head against Ronnie’s cock, conveying your desire and need to be filled as you pushed backward.

“Easy. I don’t want to hurt you,” Paul reassured, his familiar compassionate nature showing. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much, okay?

You hummed in acknowledgment, his considerate words alleviating all of your apprehension. You drew in a deep breath, allowing your body to relax as Paul eased himself into the sensitive cluster of nerves.

“You’re doing so well, Angel,” Ronnie praised, distracting you from the burning stretch as he watched your tight, little ass surrender to Paul’s girth. His hips bucking as your whines vibrated around his cock.

A deep grunt echoed in Paul’s chest as he continued to sink slowly into your clenched passage, his hips rolling gently when met with resistance, and eventually, you moaned out together when Paul seethed himself to the hilt.

“That’s it,” he groaned, grasping at your cuffed wrists to anchor himself as he started to gently fuck your ass. “Take it all, you greedy little fuckhole.”

The pressured penetration ignited a fire throughout your body, a needy, desperate burning that was all-consuming, and you wanted more. Your hands ached with the desire to touch and explore as they strained against the cool metal of Ronnie’s police-issued cuffs.

“You like sucking my cock, while he fucks you from behind?” Your husband grunted through thrusts as your slick, plumped lips sucked and drooled around him before popping off his length.

“I need you. I need your fat cock in my pussy,” you begged with desperation. “Fuck me until I can’t think, both of you. Please!”

Not one to deny you of your pleasured demands, Ronnie repositioned himself on the bed, leaning back against the headboard as Paul paused in his movements, panting as he pulled out and steadied himself.

“Is she on birth control?” he breathed as Ronnie freed your wrists from the constraints of his cuffs and moved you to straddle his hips.

“Yeah… for now,” Ronnie smirked knowingly, a hint of things to come as he merged his soft lips against yours and caressed your neck with his hand. “Why? Your not… “

Paul relinquished the hold on your hips and held his hands up. “No. Just ensuring the correct precautions are in place, that’s all. Her pussy is yours; I get it.”

Ronnie didn’t have a chance to respond as you suddenly brushed your dripping, wet cunt against his thick length, a whimper escaping him. “Shut up and fuck me,” you purred, lowering your mouth to his as you drew his lower lip between your teeth and tugged on it slightly.

“And aren’t you impatient,” he teased before grasping at your waist and pulling you closer. “So desperate to be filled up.”

Your breath hitched in anticipation as he pressed his hard, throbbing cock at your entrance, the sensation causing a sudden flush of warmth rushing to your core. Your body arched in response, eager for him to join his body with yours.

Then, with one hard roll of his hips, he entered your wet heat, and a collective moan filled the room, your head lolling backward in pleasure as he stretched you out. Your body rocked against his cock, easing him in and out of you slowly as you gasped for air, taking pleasure in every hot leisurely slide of him against your walls.

“You feel so fucking good,” you groaned, your thighs clenching around Ronnie as you bounced yourself on his cock, aching for more. “Fuck my ass, Paul,” you cried out. “I wanna be a dirty little slut for you.”

When you felt Paul’s expert hands spread you wide from behind and the cool, familiar gel against your skin, you began to question if your body could even handle another cock. The stretch of Ronnie was as overwhelming and heart-stopping as always; you couldn’t imagine two cocks seated deep in each orifice.

“Ready?” Paul queried before you murmured a breathy ‘yes’ in response.

He slowly pushed his girthy cock into your tight entry, watching how your body responded as he filled you up, inch by inch. You choked back the cry that was forced from your chest as Paul sheathed himself in you fully, your head resting against your husband’s chest in need of support and comfort.

"Relax, Angel. You’re doing perfectly,” Ronnie soothed, planting feather-like kisses against your temple. You were thankful that both men had paused in their movements to allow your body a moment to adjust to the stretch - you had never felt so full.  

Gradually, you started to raise up Ronnie’s cock, his hands guiding you by the waist as you bobbed on his length, his fingertips digging into your soft flesh. “Mmmhm-it’s, feel s-so g-good,” you stammered, mouth agape and eyes pinched shut.

“Ride me. Slowly, that’s it,” Ronnie encouraged as Paul pumped in gentle tandem.

Growing in confidence, enjoyment, and satisfaction. You started to snap your hips with more vigor as you gyrated against Ronnie’s cock. Paul’s hands moved to grasp the back of your neck as he followed your lead, penetrating your ass in rhythm with your hips; his eyes glued on how wide he was stretching your tight, little hole as Ronnie fucked your pussy from underneath.

“Fuck. Look at you taking both our cocks,” Paul cursed loudly, thrusting his pelvis in an unrelenting tempo as you squirmed beneath him. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Your movements caused Ronnie to moan out against your skin as he bucked up into your heavenly cunt, the sound of smacking flesh surrounding the room. “You look so beautiful when being fucked by us.”

You let out a sweet whimper. They were both so deep in you that you could’ve sworn you felt them in your throat. You were overwhelmingly stuffed, but the fullness was delicious. It was intense, yet satisfying as if you were getting the best of both worlds all at once. That when Ronnie snaked a hand between your bodies, brushing delicately against your clit you almost combusted.

“Oh-my-fucking-God!” His soft, broad twirling movements tightened into swift circles, right where he knew you needed them as you felt yourself dissolve into pleasure, and Ronnie saw it. “Please! Both of you, make of cum!”

They quickened their pace, fucking your holes in a frenzied manner; all of you now desperately chasing that sweet, sweet release of undeniable pleasure.

“Jeeesus fuck. Jjj-just like that!” You wailed, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as your body began to quake; you swore you saw stars as the pressure started to build - your body being pulled tight like a bowstring.

“Cum for us, Sweetheart,” Paul grunted, his hips stuttering as he felt his impending orgasm brewing.

There was so much pressure, so much penetration and stimulation that you couldn’t stop yourself from falling apart. Unable to handle the overwhelming sensations any longer, you let go and orgasmed loudly.

You were all feverish cries and jagged moans, unsure whose name you were moaning as your pussy gushed and clenched, your silky ridges gripping and contracting against Ronnie’s cock as you rode your high.

“Ohh, fuck. I’m gonna come-!” Ronnie sputtered, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth, unable to stop himself as your walls spasmed and fluttered around his cock, milking every last drop of his seed.

Your knees began to buckle as Paul grasped hard on your hips. “Say my name,” he begged. “Tell me you love me-my, uh, cock.”

“Yes, Paul. Fuck me. Cum in my ass; I love your big cock!”

Your words sent him catapulting into his crescendo. Shattered breaths and broken grunts escaped him as he reached his climax, emptying himself inside of you before swiftly pulling out and collapsing beside you.

The room was silent as you laid between both men, all of your chests heaving as you greedily sucked in breaths. You were completely blissed out, the feeling indescribable as you came down from the most intense and mind-blowing orgasm of your life.

“That was… “ you murmured, unable to find the words as you pressed breathless kisses of gratitude against each of the boys’ lips before nestling into your husband's embrace.

“Such a good little wife,” Ronnie hummed before you both gave in to exhaustion.

And as you slept soundly in Ronnie’s arms, making it clear where your heart was aligned  - Paul laid beside you wide awake, analyzing the events from earlier. He knew there was no use in denying it; he was in love with you - his best friend's wife, and there was no coming back from what had just happened.

—————

Thank you to @/MissPandulce on Twitter for the FANART 😍

#officer ronnie peterson x reader #ronnie peterson x reader #ronnie peterson x you #ronnie peterson #paul sevier #paul sevier x reader #paul sevier x you #the dead dont die #midnight special #ADCU #adcu community #ronnie peterson x paul sevier x reader #temogemo

[ms-maj]

Jug’s Last Day

I know you guys were really jonesing for another songfic ;)

All of the gratitude to @bettycooper for her amaze beta and graphics skills. Cat, as always, thank you for turning my alphabet soup into a lovely word salad. You the best!

And to Sarah, @theheavycrown​, thank you for your support and friendship and believing in my words even when I don’t <3

Oh when you left home and moved to Ohio

The summer had come to an end

My best friend goes I try to follow

Running as you disappear

Stay, you know how bad this hurts

It’s been three weeks and just gets worse

Come back to PA

Forever this time

Greg’s Last Day- The Starting Line

May 24

“So do you know when you’re leaving yet?” Archie asked quietly, trying not to draw the eye of their friends wading down the bank of the river.

Jughead shrugged, eyes cast down, kicking at the pebbled ground with the worn toe of his boot. “Not until August, I don’t think. Before school starts for sure. I think I get the summer at least.”

“Did you tell her?”

He stopped and sighed, head shaking no.

“Neither part I take?”

Jughead finally met his best friend’s eyes. What was sadness a moment ago is now abject horror. “Why would I do that to her? To me? I’m only going to be around for another two months, max—”

“Okay, okay!” Archie held up his hands defensively, dropping them when he noticed his friend’s attention had once again been captured by the meandering bank of Sweetwater River and the blonde ponytail that traced its path. He stepped forward to nudge Jughead’s shoulder with his own. “Then don’t tell her that thing, but you have to tell her that you’re leaving, Jug.”

“I know, Arch, I know.”

June 10

“How are we already seniors in high school, Jug?” Betty sat cross-legged on the cot in the back of the projection booth.

Jughead grunted in response, the bulk of his attention on the finicky machine in front of him.

“Maybe I’ll finally get a real date to homecoming this year, since Kevn has a boyfriend and all.”

His hands stilled on the projector. At thoughts of Betty in dresses of satin and lace, across every color of the spectrum, hair curled in soft waves over her shoulders, spinning out of his arms and onto the dance floor a smile crept to his lips. He could almost feel the warmth of her hand in his, hear the soft lilt of her voice when she says—  

“Juggie?” He’s snapped back to reality, the dream sequence bursting appropriately above her head as he turned to meet her questioning gaze, the dawning realization that all of those things will come to pass whether he’s in the picture or not sinks like hot lead in his stomach.

“Sorry, this thing’s a piece of shit. Always takes a while to get going. If you want, you can go find Kevin and Archie. I know a bunch of other kids from school are here, too, so you don’t have to sit here and watch me fight the projector,” he swallowed the bile down with the lie. The projector was old but well-cared for, and in all the years of the Twilight’s operation it had never failed.

“Oh,” her voice was hushed, almost disappointed. “I thought we…”

The pounding of his heart echoed in his ears as their eyes held over the projector. “It’s just not going to be much fun watching me try to keep this thing running.”

It was dark in the booth save for the light emanating from the machine which gave off just enough to see the tears welling in her eyes. “Sure, whatever you say Jug.”

She was gone before the last of the breath he was holding escaped.

(read below or check it out here)

July 7

The lights were hung from the trees in her backyard, encircling them and twinkling in the humid July night. It was Betty’s seventeenth birthday and yellow frosted cake sat too brightly between the various healthy snacks that seemed terribly out of place at a teenager’s party.

“You look really pretty,” he managed as his hands sat awkwardly on her waist. The pink fabric of her dress was slick yet stuck under the dampness of his fingers.

She smiled. “Thanks, Juggie. I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He felt the furrow of his brow, his fingers tightening against satin.

“Oh,” she flicked the hair off her shoulder, eyes cautiously glancing back to meet his. “It’s just that you’ve been really busy. I haven’t seen you much.”

Her voice was soft. Even through the music and raucous laughter of their peers, it was lyrical and light and maybe just a little bit sad. Jughead tightened his grip on her sides in a poor attempt to tamp down the ever growing desire to run his hands across the entirety of her body.

“Work,” he said, probably more terse than he meant, but it was a lie he was trying to sell. “Between the Twilight and taking shifts at Pop’s...it’s been a busy summer.”

Betty nodded. “No, I know that. It’s just…” Her head shook softly as her most tried and true generic Cooper smile faltered. “I was hoping to see more of you before we got bogged down by school.”

Jughead could swear he smiled, but the look reflected back at him conveyed he did not. He could feel the sweat forming under the betraying rim of his beanie, a lock of escaped hair sticking to his brow. Her arm rose from his shoulder, and while he missed the sensation, the one that replaced it made him shiver. Her soft, slender fingers found their way to the unruly curl, sliding under it and wrapping it around them before gently brushing it from his forehead and back under his beanie.

“Betts,” he swallowed thickly, her hand still lingering on the side of his head.

“Hey, Mr. Jones!”

Jughead felt the air leave his body as he turned toward the gate to see Mr. Andrews and his father talking.

“Are you here for Jug? I can’t believe you guys are leaving already!” Archie called out from behind them.

“Leaving? Where are you going, Jug?” Her hand fell from his face and landed awkwardly on his shoulder.

There was no way around it now. Not when she should have known since the beginning. Not when she was looking up at him more confused than he’d ever seen her. “Um, do you think we could go somewhere and talk?”

He was so fixated on the wrinkle between Betty’s eyebrows, the way her face scrunched up when she was deep in thought, that he didn’t see the movement to his left. Didn’t know his father had made his way through the crowd to clap him on the back and proclaim to the entirety of their classmates: “Truck’s all packed. Just a good night’s sleep is all that’s separating us Jones men from the Buckeye State.”

“Buckeye?” Betty echoed absently, her arms dropping from around his neck. “Jughead?”

He swallowed, opening his mouth to speak and promptly shut it when no words came out. The dawning realization stole over her face, confusion melting away to hurt. Shaking her head, she turned out of his arms, her hands in fists at her sides, before she ran from the yard altogether.

“Fuck!” Fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose while the other hand balled up at his side.

“I’ll let that one go, boy. Looks like you have bigger fish to fry,” FP squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, gaze softening as he walked back toward Fred.

“Bro, how did you not tell her?” Archie’s voice sounded distant in his ears even though he was standing right next to him.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot, Arch,” he slipped the beanie off his head and grabbed a fistful of hair.

“You know what you have to do, right?”

He looked up at his best friend, who looked far more sympathetic than Jughead deserved. “I know, I know. But where do I even start?”

Archie clapped him on the shoulder and nodded encouragingly. “You know exactly what you have to do, man. And now you have to tell her the other thing too. Good luck. She’s got a mean left hook.”

There was another reassuring squeeze of his shoulder before Archie ran back into the crowd. Jughead sighed, replaced the worn beanie on his head, and took off for the one place he was sure Betty would be.

Except she wasn’t.

Not at the river. Not at Pop’s. Not in Archie’s old, dilapidated tree house nor at Picken’s Park. He stalked through the streets berating himself, kicking at the pavement and scuffing the dangerously thin soles of his shoes.

Archie said she hadn’t made it back to the house yet, which meant his search wasn’t completely wasted, but the longer he walked with no sightings, the harder it was to accept she wanted to be found. Not that he’d stop looking. There were too many things left unsaid and too much history between them to let it all fall to the wayside, because he’d been an idiot.

He wished it was cooler. Sweat beaded on his brow, so much so he resorted to using his beanie as a rag, shoving the damp wool into his back pocket instead of back on his head. Between the stagnant midsummer night air and the way his anxiety seemed to simmer just under his skin, he felt fully aflame.

If only he had…

There were so many things he could have done, or said, so many missed opportunities and moments left to chance. He played every interaction he and Betty had since school let out, since he knew he was leaving and understands—knows implicitly—he is the only one at fault for his current predicament.

And yet he wants to lash out at everyone. At Archie for spilling his admittedly stupid secret, at his dad for insisting they leave right after Betty’s party, at Betty for looking so sad and hurt when he knew that she’d miss him for maybe a minute. Tops.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” her voice came from behind him, louder and sharper than usual. He slowly turned to find her sitting on a bench, the harsh light from the streetlamp cascading down on her.

“I didn’t think I said that out loud,” he started toward her, halting when she held up her hand. It dropped to her lap after a moment, joining the fingers of her other hand clutching at the fabric of her dress. “Betts…”

“Do you really believe that, Jug? Has our friendship meant that little to you, or are you just trying to make yourself feel better for being a dick?” He saw the tear roll down her cheek, the attempt to leave it unacknowledged, and then, the hasty removal of it from her face. “You know, honestly, at this point I don’t know if I care,” her sniffle carried across the space, somehow not drowned out by the restless cicadas or the pounding of his heart.

“No! No,of course not, Betty. I know you would miss me for at least five whole minutes,” he deadpanned. However, it seemed Betty was not in the mood for his misguided attempt to deflect. The roll of her eyes and the sharp set of her jaw had him reaching for his sweat-soaked beanie, retrieving it from his back pocket and pulling at it aggressively as he tried to cover his hair. “Can I try this again?”

He was answered by a curt nod as Betty looked away from him once again.

“My dad is about a hairsbreadth away from both falling off the wagon and back into the inglorious cesspool of gang life. As a last ditch attempt in not destroying everything, he and my mother came to some sort of arrangement if we moved to Toledo.”

Betty’s mouth opened slightly before snapping back shut, the juncture of her jaw throbbing against the soft curve of her cheek. Her eyes closed for a moment before she spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not a conversation that I wanted to have with anyone, Betty. Least of all you,” his hand scratched at the back of his neck, eyes not daring to look up from the pavement.

“But you obviously told Archie, right? So why not me? Are we not…” she stopped and pressed the tips of her fingers against her lips. “I guess we’re just not as close as I thought.”

The hand dropped from Jughead’s neck as he stepped toward her. “You know that’s not true either.”

“So what was it then, Jughead! Tell me why you could confide in Archie but not me? Tell me why you pulled away when you already knew you’d be leaving?”

“Because I refused to have you look at me like that! Like some sad, lost cause with one foot in the grave and the other following exactly in dear ol’ dad’s footsteps.”

“What? Jughead,” she stood, quickly wrapping her arms around her torso, seemingly to stop herself from reaching for him, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. “You know, I don’t know what hurts worse. The knowledge that my best friend is moving. Tomorrow. Or that he thinks I think so little of him and our friendship I would (A) judge him for things completely out of his control, (B) not understand what it was like to deal with fucked up parents, or (C) think I wouldn’t be there for him.”

His arms stretched before him of their own volition, long fingers wrapping around her upper arms. “Betty,” he breathed, willing her eyes to meet his. “I know you wouldn’t have done any of those things. It wasn’t because of you that I didn’t tell you. I was embarrassed and ashamed and million other things that I have no explanation for at the moment.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t step out of his grasp. “I just don’t understand, Jug. What changed?”

“Nothing! And everything, I guess. It was supposed to be different. It was all supposed to be different this year. We were gonna get control of the Blue and Gold and fill out college applications at Pop’s over milkshakes and burgers and…”

Betty looked up at him, tears clinging to her lashes, vestiges of her party makeup smeared around her eyes. “And what, Jug?”

“And,” he swallowed, unable to help the thumb that had crept up to wipe the mascara away. “And I was finally going to work up the nerve to tell you how I feel.”

He could feel the laser focus of her eyes, the tension in her jaw, the thudding of her heart under his fingertips. “What?” Her voice came just above a whisper.

“To ask you to be my date to homecoming and winter formal and prom; to ask you to be mine.” Jughead’s hand slid from her arm to her waist, pulling her closer to him in the process.

“That’s not fair,” she trembled beneath his fingers, chin wobbling and shiny eyed.

“Betts,” his thumb dipped to her chin, angling her face up to his, “this wasn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

“Which part? The part where you have feelings for me or the part where you’re leaving tomorrow? Because right now, both of those things hurt the same.”

“I know. I know, and there’s nothing I can do to change how it came out but,” he could feel the air sucking into her lungs they were that close. “I can only say I’m sorry for one of those things, Betty, because as awkward or poorly timed as this is, it’s led to this. You and me. In this moment.”

Her eyes were wide “You have no idea, do you? How long I waited for this, how badly I wanted this.”

“I’m still right here, Betty.”

“Yeah, but for what? A few more hours?” Her hands grasped at the fabric of his shirt. Stretched out on tip-toe, her lips landed gently on his cheek.  “All I wanted tonight was to finally be brave enough to kiss you. I never imagined our first kiss could be a goodbye, and honestly, I just don’t think I can do that to myself.”

She slid out of his arms, his fingers flexing on her skin. Words to keep her there flew through his brain—screamed through his veins—and yet he simply let her fall away. His fingers traced where her lips burned his cheek and wondered if he would have survived the phantom feeling if she’d kissed his lips. The sight before him nearly choked him. His mind latched on to the creases in her dress, the patterns of mascara on her tear-stained cheeks, her jasmine perfume that hovered around them and stuck to him long after he finally moved from the spot.

July 8

Jughead woke before the dawn. Never much of a sleeper, he found it exceedingly difficult when the image of her turning away from him played over and over in his mind. The ancient hot water tank couldn’t produce a stream scalding enough to burn it from his mind either. He stewed in his own thoughts, typing out and subsequently deleting about a hundred different messages to his blonde haired best friend, but couldn’t find it in him to send a single one.

No platitudes seemed enough, and what good would it serve? Maybe it would be easier to be in Toledo if she hated him or if he thought she did. He threw his head back on the couch (the one they wouldn’t need in Toledo, where he’d have a real bed, in a room all his own) and tried to remember what the world was like before Betty Cooper looked at him like he was a leper.

His downward spiral didn’t get to progress too far before the sound of an approaching car snapped him back to reality. He peeked out the bare window, the sight before him bringing a smile to his face.

“So this is really it,” Archie sniffed, standing beside him, a cup of half drank Pop’s coffee between his palms.

Jughead nodded, taking a slow sip of his own coffee, trying not to choke on the words and feelings that seemed to lodge in his throat. “Thanks for the pick me up and the donuts. Those might make it to the state line.”

Laughing, Archie knocked his shoulder into Jughead’s. “I’m gonna miss you, man.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, Arch.” The cup stilled at his lips again. “Have you, um, talked to Betty at all?”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” He ran over to his dad’s truck and reached through the open window, producing a large tupperware from inside. “She didn’t say much; she didn’t have to. She looks about as good as you do.”

Jughead chuckled morosely as he took the proffered container. Perched on top, folded as neatly as could be and inscribed with her exacting script was a note addressed to him. He sucked in a breath, shakily peeling it off and tucking it into his pocket before prying open a corner and seeing a rather large chunk of her birthday cake inside.

“She knows me too well,” he set it down on the hood of his dad’s truck, shaking his head. “I really fucked up this time.”

Archie grinned.

“What? That makes you happy?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, it does not make me happy. None of this is exactly happy, Jug. But the fact that for once in our lives the ire of Betty Cooper is directed, in its entirety, at you is not something that is lost on me. Now, let me bask in this short-lived glory, because I’m going to be the shoulder she cries on when all of this sinks in.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he swallowed down the last sip of bitter coffee with the bile that started to rise. “Just tell her…”

“She knows.”

He nods, somber, letting the words and feeling sink in. Coffee finished and goodbyes thoroughly dispensed, the Andrews men departed Sunnyside and left the Joneses to start their new lives.

“You ready for this, son?” His father asked as they slid into the truck. Even though the sun was barely up, FP seemed energized; happy. He smiled despite himself.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“A new chapter for us, boy. Hell, a new story all together! I know it doesn’t seem like it right now but, it’ll get better, I promise.���

His father’s hand rested on his shoulder for a moment before making its way back to the wheel. Jughead sighed, head hitting the window with a dull thud. “Yeah, well, it can’t get any worse.”

As the truck pulled away from the trailer park, and he watched as Riverdale shrank behind them in the mirror, he wondered if the note in his pocket would ever stop burning or if the ache in his chest would ever cease.

#bughead #bughead fanfic #songfic writing challenge #there's some pining #and some angst #but appropriate levels of teenage angst #just a little summertime sadness #with a not so happy ending

[teenthoughtsblog]

SURPRISE

Manav had the perfect life. He had a successful company and was making millions. He was on a private jet to the Maldives for a summer vacation to take a break. He landed and the first thing he did was check-in and crash into the inviting hotel bed. When he hit the deluxe duvet covers with a soft thud, a voice rang through his mind “Manav beta if you don’t get up now, you won’t be able to go to school on time, let alone catch a flight to the islands.” Turning into a deeper shade of red than his mother’s burgundy kurta, he dragged himself off his nighttime abode. After what seemed like a painstakingly protracted brush, plus a small snooze in the shower, Manav was ready to get out of the house and start his day. He ran like as though in an Olympic race, and barely made it to his bus stop in time.

On the way to school, he jammed out to his favorite artist Eminem and recollected with what remained of his tasks from yesterday and pondered over the arsenal of things to do that lay in front of him that particular drab and drowsy morning. It was a busier week than usual. His school was hosting a first ever exchange student program bringing in students from Japan, Korea and the states, and that only meant that the student council’s (in which he was part of) responsibility increased tenfold.  Manav groaned at the off spending his lunch and other free periods cleaning classrooms and supervising countless drills. The day kicked off as usual, with students shaggily dragging their feet into the auditorium, the assembly being a mere excuse to catch up on twenty minutes of sleep, and the roll call actually making one forget their roll numbers.

The previous night Manav had less than adequate sleep with only four hours remaining on the clock, and without justification, he dozed in history class. A chalk hit him with agonizing precision. Rubbing his head, he shot up absent mindedly and shouted “present ma’am!” “Well it was so kind of you to finally wake up, Mr. Kautra, and answer to a poles apart questions. But what I inquired was who the successor of Alauddin Khalji was? ” His best friends,Rishi and Shravya made all attempts to stifle their now unstoppable giggles as Sarthak, forever the nerd, managed to give the correct answer in record time.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Being mid-December, it was quite chilly. Huddling up in his jacket, Manav went from room to room to do his classes, and half-heartedly did his class rep duties. Between classes and lunch, he heard many hushed conversations. “I couldn’t find black forest so I got red velvet instead”, he heard Rishi hurriedly explain to Meher, and later heard Shravya exclaim, “Of course it has to be something associated to basketball”. He started to contemplate that his mind had gone berserk, and pondered on what was going on, when someone tapped him on his shoulder. Dazed, Manav looked up and saw Mr. Roy, the head janitor. “Manav-ji you have been called down to the basketball court by Coach Sharma.

While heading towards the basketball court, Manav cautiously placed his footsteps slowly, in an futile attempt his meeting with the coach. He hadn’t found to time to practice basketball for a few days now, all courtesy of the exchange student program coming up. He feared that Coach Sharma, forever the worshiper of discipline and rigor, had noticed and decided to punish him (also something the coach was fond of). When he neared the Coach’s office, all his fears multiplied. Seeing coach Sharma sitting on his desk with narrow eyes made Manav think that his time had come to kiss his spot on the school team goodbye.

“You’ve not been coming to practices lately, beta?”

“Yes sorry coach, the exchange student program has come up, and I’ve been busy with the student council.”

“But I promise sir I’ll”-

“I know you’ll come to practice, no doubt about that. You are quite the diligent athlete. But that’s not why I called here.”

Manav’s mind did a somersault. “it’s not sir?”

“No. its not.” “Did you have one of the best friend circle I’ve seen in quite some?”

“Yes I know that sir but-“

“SURPRISE MANAV!!!” Shravya, Rishi, Sarthak, Nethra and Riya sprang out from behind the table.

Before Manav could process everything, a delicious cupcake came flying into face, smearing his with sweet cream. After five minutes of futile attempts of getting the frosting of his now smothered face, Manav just gave up and went back to being puzzled at why his friends had done what they had done.

“But it’s not my birthday, is it?”

“Arre (yo in Hindi -of sorts) it is. You’ve just been too busy to notice.” Rishi grinned.

Manav’s eyes widened in realization. The last he had checked the calendar, it had been mid-December, but now 29th of December had dawned.

“Oh yes! Thanks guys so much. You didn’t have to-

“Oh don’t sweat about it. This is what friends are for right?” Shravya cut him off, replying.

“Happy birthday Manav beta. I’ve seen you grow up a lot in these past few years. I still remember you as the shy pre-teen that came up to me to learn the basics of this sport. Enjoy your day.” The much respected coach contributed, chuckling.

“Time for cake!!” chimed Nethra, giggling, the others backing her up.

Laughing, and nodding fondly, he blew the candles and wished for a new basketball.

The celebration wasn’t big. It was a small gathering of his closest friends with a cake, some delicious snacks, and a LOT of chatting. Although the small party caught quite the attention when everyone starting shouting to a karaoke song.

Manav had the time of his life, enjoying the simplest of pleasures. He laid back and enjoyed. Afterall birthday boy deserved a break.

#shortstory #teen thoughts #short fiction #teen author #blog

[astraeagreengrass]

Roses

Bucky celebrates his birthday three years after the war

Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1.071

Warnings: Fluff, slight allusions to violence and PTSD

A/N: Birthday love in honor of the birthday boy! This is my submission to @honeyvbarnes​ Birthday Writing Challenge - thank you Vi for having me! My prompt was "Decade AU", which, honestly, was the perfect excuse to write some birthday themed, post-war 1940's Bucky fluff. I like to think this is set in the same universe as Dizzy From Lovin’ You, but it can absolutely be read as a stand alone. I hope you like it ♡

Disclaimer: I don't own Bucky Barnes or any fictional characters mentioned in this story - they are all property of Marvel Studios and Marvel Comics. The plot is my own.

When you press me to your heart I'm in a world apart A world where roses bloom

Bucky heard her as soon as she opened the door. 

He was still a little lost to the in between of asleep and awake - that peculiar place when you're not precisely one thing or the other, so you let your body decide instead, saving your consciousness the hard work. The last remnants of his dreams, still lingering at the front of his mind, begun to fade as the girl entered the room, while his sense of touch reacquainted itself with the feel of the sheets and the heavy duvet you saved for the winter months.

If it wasn't for this delightfully sluggish state of mind, he’d have opened his eyes, if only for the sight of his visitor making her way to the bed on her tiptoes, tongue between her teeth and brows furrowed in concentration, careful to avoid the fifth floorboard to the right - the one that creaks and, apparently, was responsible for ruining her Christmas morning surprise.

Bucky remained still on his stomach, breathing evenly, as she crawled over the mattress.

“Wake up!”

Her voice pulled him to surface, the small hands on his back as the anchor.

“Wake up, daddy!”

Tiny fingers lifted the hair that covered his ear, whispering again:

“Wake up!”

Noticing the beginnings of frustration in her voice, Bucky lazily opened one eye, then the other, finding irises that mirrored his own. Rosie giggled, nose to nose with her father.

“Finally! You sleep like a bear!”

Bucky gasped, feigning offense, drawing a mischievous smile from the girl.

“Is that so?” sleep was forgotten as he narrowed his gaze, quick arms circling his daughter’s little body. “Take it back, young lady.”

“Never!” she exclaimed, her infant bravado fading with glee at Bucky's war cry.

Rosie’s shrieks filled the room as Bucky tickled her. Joy lived in her smile, your twin, as she chanted in euphoria “lift me, daddy, lift me!”. The light streaming from the window cast heavenly shadows over her frame and, high in her father’s arms, she looked exactly like the angel he always thought she was.

“I’m just like Uncle Stevie!” she squealed. “Flying my parachute over Azzano!”

Azzano.

Dark rooms, needles and that thing they put on his body.

It was still here right now, allowing him to raise Rosie over his arms without breaking a sweat and alerting his ears of the slightest twist of the bedroom door jamb. Whatever it was that they injected on him, Bucky could still feel it, almost half a decade later. 

His child, God bless her, was oblivious to the way his pupils widened at the mere mention of anything that happened overseas, but you never were. While Rosie couldn't understand why Bucky didn't work with Uncle Stevie and Aunt Peggy “since you went to the same war”, you, on the other hand, were relieved when he decided to forgo S.H.I.E.L.D. and return to Brooklyn in '45, taking back his old job at Goldie’s Boxing Gym.

Part of your husband would never return from the front, but you'd take all the pieces of him that you could.

A dark brown stain on Rosie's pajama sleeve - out of place considering your perfectionism when it came to laundry - deflected his attention from the unwanted memories, so he lowered her, laying her gently on the pillows. 

“What was that?” he asked, tugging on the purple sleeve.

“Oh my God!” she blurted, suddenly remembering the reasoning behind her whole morning crusade. “Mommy baked a cake!”

Jumping from the bed and landing right above the broken floorboard - Bucky would have to apologize to Mr. Gilbert from downstairs later - Rosie dashed down the hallway, calling out for him.

“Hurry, daddy!”  

Bucky rose with a grunt, stretching his arms above his head. There was a bruise on his shin from where a rookie had accidentally kicked him during yesterday's practice - if only the kid could punch as hard as he could kick, he’d be perfect for the flyweight Championship - that somewhat slowed him down on his way to the kitchen. 

That or his old injuries had finally caught up to him.

He found you and Rosie putting the final touches on a three-layer chocolate cake - or rather, you were evenly spreading candles on top of it while she sneakily tried to get a swipe of frosting from the side. The clock on the hall told him it was forty past seven. If Bucky looked outside he’d surely find the streets busy with people starting their day, but, inside, time stood still. 

This was Heaven on Earth, he decided. Early tuesday morning, your hair rumpled, the slight shadow of breasts under the camisole as you snatched your daughter’s clever finger, pressing a kiss to it. Your daughter. Yours and his - blood and heart united, creating a soul. 

“Dear Jimmy” he could recite back from memory. “We have a daughter. Rose Winifred Barnes, born January 16th 1944. It was a long snowy night, but she arrived like a golden dawn, flooding my heart with love like I’d never known. She looks just like you, from the dimple in her chin to the blue of her eyes. I stare at her little face and can’t believe the two of us managed such perfection. Please come home to your family soon. We love you.”

The letter was safely tucked on the closet, in a box where he kept everything you’d sent him while he was away. Sometimes, when his sleep was unkind, he’d take them out and outline your handwriting with his pointer, thinking of you, alone with a newborn baby while he was fighting for his life and his country. It was hard to believe that the war was truly over when it insisted on haunting him.

But not this morning.

This morning he only had thoughts for you and Rosie, singing a flawlessly out of tune rendition of Happy Birthday to You, with the child breaking down in laughter at the end. Bucky blew his candles - all thirty-one of them, one for each hard-earned year of his life - to the cheers of his girls.

He scoped Rosie with his left arm, dropping a loud smack to her cheek and snaked the right one around your hips. He grinned at the new fullness there and you winked. There, nestled in the safety of his heart’s embrace, his birthday wish come true, Bucky Barnes had everything he needed.

My masterlist

Everything taglist:  @ivoryhazlewood​ @youclickedthislink​ @thegetawaywriter​

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #1940s bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #1940s!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #honeyvbirthdaychallenge #corneliabarnes #my writing

[renee-writer]

Greyhound Chapter 45 Bing Crosby

 

It was a white Christmas, almost to white with close to a foot of snow. The Fraser’s and Beauchamp’s all gathered at Henry’s rented house the night before. Thank God or they would have been apart on Christmas day. But with a warning from the weather channel, they got together in Christmas Eve.  

 

They bedded down on various couches, love seats and the guest bed, which Henry insisted that the Beauchamp’s take. Jamie shares a couch with Claire. Not that either get much sleep. Not do to any intimacy, not with her mum on the love seat across from them. No, it is due to Jamie’s nerves. He can’t wait to give her, her gift.

 

“What is it Jamie?” she whispers in the pre-dawn hour.

 

“I can’t say. It is a Christmas surprise.”

 

“It is after midnight. It is Christmas.”

 

“Won’t work. Lay your head, mo ghoal. Happy Christmas.”

 

“Happy Christmas to you, my love.”

 

She manages to sleep a bit more as her man holds her and goes over and over in his mind what he wants to say and how after gifting her with the ring.

 

“Wake up. It is Christmas. Lord, Claire, I never had so much trouble when you were a child getting you to wake up Christmas morning.” She hears her dad say. Slowly opening one eye, she sees him smiling down at her. “Your young man can’t get up until you do.”

 

“Crap. Sorry. Happy Christmas dad.”

 

“Happy Christmas princess.” He is a bit weepy feeling knowing what Jamie was giving her.

 

All are soon gathered in the living room with hot tea, coffee, or chocolate. Jamie is bouncing off the walls to get to the giving part but, he knows his family tradition.

 

“We read the Christmas story. It is important to recall what this day represents” Brian explains to Henry and Julia. He then settles in to read. Claire cuddles against Jamie and listens. Tears fill her eyes as she imagines him reading the same to her and Jamie’s babies  some day.

 

“Can we give out the gifts now?”

 

“Aye son, but us and her parents first.”

 

“Right.” He doesn’t wish to take away from them and strives to be patient.

 

Ellen and Brian give Julia a tartan shawl. “It is cold here. We wanted you to have a taste of Scotland.”

 

“It is quite lovely Ellen and so soft and warm. Thank you.”

 

She gives them a years delivery if Boston cream pies. “One a month. So you can have Boston with you.”  As the Fraser’s had tasted the pie and found it delicious, this gift was well received. They give Henry a kilt and a promise to show him how to wear it.

 

“When the time comes.” Brian whispered to him. He gives them tickets to the Nutcracker. “As my ex wished us to experience a true American Christmas, well, this is part of it.”

 

“Claire, I wish I could give you back all those years that we should have been a family. Since I can’t, it is the next best thing,” her mum says handing her a flash drive. “I recorded messages to you on your birthday’s and every Christmas.”

 

“Mum, thank you so much.” She weeps as they hug

 

“As I know what your dad and my parents got you, I need to go first, for their gifts to make sense “

 

“Okay.”

He takes a few deep breathes and hands her the box in gold wrapping paper. She opens it and the hedged box underneath. “Oh Jamie!”

 

“I know. It is way to soon to be married. We need to finish school. We will. I just wish you to know that I am serious about our future. Serious about marrying you, making you part of my family. Having a family with you. I love you Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. Will you do me the honor of wearing this ring and marrying me when the time is right.”

 

“Yes! Absolutely yes!” He slips it on her hand and takes her lips in a kiss that has their parents cheering.

 

“Now Claire, we can give you this.” Ellen hands her another wrapped box.

 

“Oh!”

 

“They were my mam’s and hers before that. They have always went to the eldest son’s bride.”

 

“They are so lovely.” She lifts them out and runs her fingers over them.

 

“Scottish pearls. Wear them at graduation, your wedding day, your children’s Christening. Well anytime you wish.”

 

“Oh Ellen, Brian, thank you so much. I will cherish them and hand them to my own future daughter – in- law someday.”

 

“Princess, I both prayed for and feared this day. I always hoped that you would find someone who would love you as much as I do. Jamie is a true gentleman, all I could hope and pray you would find. In preparation for this day, I have been making up a book of all the wisdom I pray will help you with marriage and parenthood.” He hands her a leather bond book. She takes it and opens it to the first page.

 

“My little princess, I am so happy to meet you finally.” She realizes he had started it on the day she was born.

 

“Oh daddy!” She cries as she hugs him.

 

“I have one more gift to give, to Julia.”

 

“Henry, I didn’t expect, I didn’t give you anything.”

 

“You have, the gift of a family Christmas.” He hands her a box. She opens it to reveal a beautiful plague with Robert Frost’s The Road Less Traveled, on it. “Julia, the road you choose was hard but you are heading the right way now. I am proud of you and want you to know it.”

 

“Henry, thank you.”

 

It is a wonderful Christmas.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #greyhound #bing crosby #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #modern au #outlander fandom