#my foot has ash on it and is a bit swollen now on the part where the hot maachis fell

[hum-suffer]

Main abhi abhi aarti karke aai and istg what is this trials and tribulations

Tried to light the diya and the maachis didn't work like seven times until I said Jai Shree Krishna.

Lit Kuldevi Mata's Diya first, as is custom in my house, and the when I lit Krishna's Diya next, a part of the maachis fell on my foot.

Context, this is my bua's house and their main god, kuldev, is Krishna while mine is Swaminarayan. I love Krishna a lot and he's my personal aradhya but Krishna still has to trouble me with trials like

Hein beta Aaj kaise aana hua and then

Accha maa ko yaad kiya to papa ko second rakh diya????

[tomurasprincess]

Kinktober Day 28: Lactation (The Nest)

Day 28: Lactation Title: The Nest Pairing: Hawks x Reader Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: A/B/O AU, sorta dubcon but sorta not (due to Stockholm syndrome), pregnant sex, lactation kink, biting, marking, slight blood mention, yandere Note: Sequel to Aerie. So sorry this has taken so long to get out, but for some reason it was really kicking my ass. Hope it was worth the wait, however.

Kinktober Masterlist

You are absolutely miserable.

Not because of Keigo, no. Of course not because of Keigo. He was nothing but the doting mate during your pregnancy, a complete gentleman who provided you with anything that you needed. 

No, you were miserable over the fact that your back aches, your ankles are so swollen you can barely walk, and your breasts are so heavy and full of milk that the pressure is killing you. You can not wait for these pups to be born already.

“Hey baby bird, how are you doing?” 

You manage an incoherent grumble as you prop your feet up, and he simply smiles at your grumpiness.

“Having a bad day?” He kneels down on the floor, taking your foot into his hand and massaging your swollen ankles. You let out a cry of pleasure as he works the muscles with skilled hands, and you lay your head back and close your eyes.

“I want these pups out of me already,” you complain, and his smile simply widens. 

“You know what they say helps with that, right?” He whispers slyly, hands trailing from your ankles up your legs. His finger light touches has you shivering, goosebumps rising on your skin. 

He spreads your legs, pushing your already damp panties to the side as he licks along your folds. You moan, head falling back onto the chair as your hand comes to rest on his head. He laps at you like a man starved, nibbling and sucking on the skin but ignoring your clit completely.

“Keigo,” you whimper, “please - “

“Please what?” He laughs smugly. “Use your words or I won’t know what you want.”

“Keigo, please - please, I need you.”

“Need me? You have me already, baby bird.”

“No, I need you - I need you to lick me.”

He chuckles again, the vibration spreading out through your skin and causing a tingle of pleasure to run up your body. 

You growl a bit in frustration before finally getting the words out. “Please, suck my clit, please - “

He teases your clit out with his tongue before taking it into his mouth, sucking hard on the throbbing bead and drawing a moan from your lips.

“Ahh, please don’t stop, it feels so good.”

He doesn’t stop, continuing to suckle at your clit as he slips two fingers inside of you. He curls them upwards to graze that spot inside of you that he knows will make you come undone around his fingers.

“Ahh, oh god, shit, Keigo!”

You cum with a strangled cry, body convulsing as you clamp down around his fingers. You feel yourself begin to gush as he works your g-spot through your orgasm, squirting all over his face and causing him to chuckle with male pride.

“Such a good mate,” he groans as he suckles on your clit even harder. You shout as you’re finally able to pull away, the stimulation being too much to handle.

He gives you a second to catch your breath before pulling you up from your seat, lowering you down onto his lap as he holds you. You smile at your pleased mate, leaning in to give him a kiss. Only to let out a gasp of pain as your sore breasts rub against his shirt, causing milk to leak from your nipples and form two damp spots on the front of your shirt.

“Do you want some help, baby bird?” He whispers to you, reaching up to slip your wet shirt over your head. 

“Help? How can you - ahhh!”

You whimper as he takes your breast into your hand, squeezing gently and causing milk to flow from your sore nipples. He instantly follows with his tongue, lapping at your skin as he licks the droplets off.

“Keigo,” you sniffle as you tangle your hand into his hair, pulling him back down to your breasts. “Please, do that again - “

You can feel his body rumble with laughter as he repeats the action on the other breast. But this time, he takes the nipple into his mouth as he squeezes, shooting your milk directly into his mouth as he greedily sucks.

You sob in sheer pleasure at the release of some of the pressure, and you tangle your hand into his hair as he suckles on your nipple. When he finally pulls away, there’s a bit of milk on his lip. He notices where your eyes are, and pulls you in for a heated kiss so you can taste yourself on his lips.

“You taste so good, baby bird.”

“Here, have a taste.”

He pulls away too quickly, only to lower his head back to your other breast. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes please,” you whisper, “it feels so good, please Keigo.”

“I could never deny my little omega when she begs so cutely,” he whispers in a low voice before taking your other nipple into his mouth.

This time he takes big gulps of your milk, causing you to gasp with sheer pleasure as more pressure is relieved from your swollen breasts. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you plead with him.

You can feel his lips curve into a grin as his tongue swirls around your reddened nipple, continuing to squeeze out your milk into his mouth.

“Fuck, I can’t hold back anymore. Come here,” he has you switch positions, pulling you into his lap as he sits back in the recliner. He reaches down to rip your panties off with one sharp tug.

“I need you, omega,” he whispers to you in that tone that always has you obeying him. 

“I need you too,” you groan, a thrill running through your body as you hear a zipper being undone. His hot, hard length runs along your slit, gathering up your ample juices and coating his cockhead.

“Do you like me drinking your milk so much? You’re so damned wet.”

Your face goes hot, and you can’t bear to look at him in embarrassment.

“Hey, none of that,” he grabs your chin and pulls your face to meet his eyes. “No shame allowed here,” he says happily as he gives you that goofy grin that you love so much.

You can no longer remember why you fought him for so long.

He lowers you down slowly onto his cock, causing a delicious stretch that has you trembling with desire.

Once he’s balls deep inside of you, he pauses for a long second to allow you to get used to his girth. Despite how long you’ve been together, you’re still not entirely used to his size. 

He runs his hands along your body and down your sides, causing you to shiver against him. “You look so beautiful,” he murmurs to you, “and I’m going to prove it to you.

He finally begins to move inside of you, bouncing you along his length as you squirm. You put your arms above him on the headrest as you lift yourself up and force yourself back down to meet his every thrust. The sounds of skin smacking against skin fill the room, and you moan as he grazes that sensitive spot against your inner walls.

“Right there, Keigo,” you whine a bit, and he starts to aim for that spot relentlessly. He leans up to take a nipple into his mouth as he begins to suckle again, taking large gulps of milk as he rocks inside of you.

You never knew something could feel so good, so right, and you find yourself cumming just from the pleasure of the agonizing pressure being relieved.

“You feel so good cumming on my cock like that, baby bird,” he whispers to you as he bounces you up and down on his length easily, fucking you ruthlessly through your orgasm. 

“Shit, Keigo, too much, too much.” The tension in you snaps again and you cum even harder, so sensitive from your previous orgasms that your body goes limp in his arms as your whole body trembles.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” You can feel the base of his cock begin to swell, and you moan in anticipation of what’s about to happen. He moves his hips in sharp, short thrusts as his knot stretches your still too tight inner muscles. Your mouth opens in a wide O as the knot forces its way against your g-spot, getting caught there briefly and pulling another orgasm from your exhausted body.

He holds your body down as he ropes his knot into you inch by inch, stretching you until the top of the knot is pressing against your cervix. The knot tugging at your insides and your pussy still fluttering around his cock has him finally shooting loads of cum into you, filling you up so much that it leaks past his knot and drips down to stain the couch.

“You did so good, my little omega,” he murmurs to you as he rubs small circles into your heated, sweaty back. “So good for your mate.”

You nuzzle against his scent gland, licking the sweat from the spot and replacing it with your own. A sign of an omega marking her mate. 

“Marking me again, omega?” He murmurs huskily, chuckling as he returns the favor. “Funny, I remember how resistant you were to me at first.”

A sense of unease runs up your spine. You try not to think of those times, the times that you so rudely rejected your mate. That you hurt him, denied him the mating bond until he was forced to take action. A smaller, deeper part reminds you that this is exactly what you were trying to avoid. But it gets softer each and every day, more easily pushed back down and forgotten about.

Keigo, sensing your distraction, sinks his teeth into your neck as he breaks the skin. You whine a bit before he gently laps at the blood, soothing the wound as his chest rumbles against yours like he’s purring. 

“Do you feel better now?” 

“I - I do, Keigo,” you murmur, realizing that it’s the truth. Those days where you fought him, fought to keep a hold of your freedom are long gone.

Who needs freedom when you have a mate such as Keigo, and beautiful pups coming soon?

You try to stand up, only to find that his knot hasn’t gone down at all, preventing you from pulling away. “Gonna have to wait a little longer, beautiful mate,” he chuckles. “We’re still tied together.”

The thought echoes through your head, just a single, stray thought.

Tied together. Just like you’ll always be.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧ 

Kinktober: @thewheezingwyvern, @vixen-scribbles, @hisoknen, @trafalgar-temptress, @wings-flames-and-ashes, @burnedbyshoto, @bakugotrashpanda, @unmeiii, @kittycatkrissa, @reinawritesbnha, @dabilove27, @anxietyplusultra, @angmarwitch, @nereida19, @babayaga67, @fromsunnywithlove, @bakugos-cumsock, @yumeneji, @the-grimm-writer, @iwaizumi-chan, @slashersheart, @bunnyywritings, @bakarinnie, @angie-1306, @lalalemon101, @videogameboiwhowins, @f4nficbaby, @bbyspiiice, @thirstyforthem2dmen, @blissfulignorance2000, @bluecookies02-main, @aryjaa, @theodora3022, @raekah, @ineedmorefanfics, @serosmissingtoe, @deathmemeiverse​, @miscellaneous-bnha​

[dreamingofmilk]

Stop

Synopsis: Erik gets into a lot of fights because of you. Maybe you aren't what he needs anymore.

Word Count: 2,233

Warnings: mild angst, cursing, mild smut

Getting ready with Erik was always, ALWAYS, a hassle, the two of you could never keep your hands off each other. And tonight was no different. You watched intently in the mirror as Erik showered in the clear glass shower. He looked spectacular as the waterfall showerhead cascaded him with water.

You were supposed to be doing your makeup, but how could you with a sight behind you like that? You took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand, this was exactly why you two had to take separate showers, the temptation was real, it always had been. But you both promised your friends that you would be on time tonight, especially to help them set up. The two of you were leaving to visit Wakanda for two months this time and your friends always missed you while you were gone. 

“Babe!” Erik shouted as he stepped up behind you, his wet muscles on display and his dark blue towel hung loosely around his hips. You clenched your fist tightly in order to keep your hands to yourself. 

“Yeah?” You leaned back to look at him. He smirked down at you then kneeled down in front of you a gently wet hand caressing your face.

“You ain’t even got no foundation on. You've been staring at my dick this whole time from the mirror?” Your eyes widened in surprise, a heat crept over your cheeks. You kissed your teeth and pushed Erik away from you. Erik fell back laughing, his deep boyish laughter, filled you with rage. You smirked at him as you stood up to take off your robe, showing off the new lingerie you’d bought to tease him with. His jaw dropped as he watched you step around him and walk into the walk-in closet that held your outfit for the night.

Erik’s jaw clenched as he watched you slip the red dress over your hips. He stood up quickly and approached you in the closet.

“Where are you going with that on?” His hands grazed your hips, his fingers playing in the lace.

“To the party, duh.” Erik planted two soft kisses on your neck. His fingers started gripping your hips tightly. Your ass coming into contact with his hard-on.

“You wearing that, you must be planning on letting me hit it in Cam’s backroom?” 

Your heart rate increased at the idea of fucking him in public. Again. You pushed your ass back on him, sighing when you heard a deep groan leave his mouth. His fingers crept around to the front of your dress and snuck their way into your panties, pressing a delicious pressure into your clit.

You nodded, not completely aware of what you were agreeing to, your only thoughts were prayers that he wouldn’t stop. And he didn’t, his fingers dove deep into your wetness and quickly brought you to a leg-shaking climax, your new panties effectively ruined. You rested your hand on the railing in front of you. Trying to catch your breath as you watched Erik put his fingers into his mouth to taste your essence.

“You are not leaving the house in that short ass dress with this sexy ass lingerie on under it, choose one.” He softly kissed your neck again and left your closet to go change in his. 

*************

The party was going well until this guy approached you, aggressively. You tried to dissuade him repeatedly. You knew Erik would be pissed if he saw how aggressively this guy was handling you. Things could escalate quickly.

“No Tish don’t go get them we got this. Sir please leave me alone, I'm not interested.” You tried to remove your wrist from his tight hold, which was growing more painful by the second. 

“Come on sweets, you know I can take good care of you.” You tried to wrestle your arm free some more. You knew it was only a matter of time before Erik showed up on his own or Tish went to get him. 

“You’re hurting me.” You cried out. You stomped on his foot roughly only to be manhandled harder. Tish tried to step in only to be shoved aside. You knew this wasn’t going to end well. You really didn’t want Erik to have another body to add to his scars. You wanted him to get out of that lifestyle. But every five seconds it seemed like you were just pulling him right back in. 

You finally felt the guy let go of you and you looked up to see Erik’s hard eyes find you. He quickly checked you for injuries only to see you cradling your wrist delicately. 

You calmly watched Erik as he got into another fight. You knew his reputation preceded him because in the back corner of one of his homeboy’s house parties, no one paid him any mind as Kill knocked this guy out for putting his hands on you.

You were used to it by now, the annoyance blatant on your face as he continued to beat the guys face in. You looked around looking at the sparse crowd that paid Kill no attention. Most people knew that you were Kill’s fiancé, but you were fine enough that the ones that didn’t would always approach you trying to hit on you. Most stepped back once you told them you were engaged, but the few that didn’t made things more difficult for themselves. 

You understood why he was fighting right now, the guy had put his hands on you trying to get you to go home with him. 

But Erik’s anger began to scare you, it became too much sometimes. Erik told you before once he got started it was hard for him to stop. Especially when it has something to do with you. 

Erik loved you, it surprised you how much this man felt for you. Some days you couldn’t believe how much of a different person he was with you. But as much as he loved you. You loved him.

“Erik.” He stopped as soon as he heard your voice glancing back at you in the corner of the house party you two went to. “That’s enough Kill.” Erik looked back at the guy that he was holding up by his shirt, then back at you. He whispered a threat to the man, who now was sporting a swollen eye, then made his way to you. He placed a soft kiss on your lips and pulled you on to the dance floor. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him. 

You sighed as you rubbed your ass on to his growing hard-on. He rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around you. You danced with him for a bit before pulling away asking him to come with you to the car. 

He held your hand, dapped up his friends with the other as you led the way out of the party. You lean against his brand new sports car and watch him as he lights a blunt. He offers it to you before he takes his first hit, shrugging when you decline his offer.

“This is getting to be too much Kill.” You state looking away from him and up at the starry sky. 

“What is?” He asks quietly looking at you, you make eye contact with him briefly then look down the car packed street and the full house party that you just came from. He stared at you from under his long eyelashes as he flicked the ashes off his blunt.

“This.” You pointed between the two of you. “Us.” Erik straightened up quickly, a growing sense of dread rising in his belly. He loved you so much, but sometimes you feel like a dream to him. Too good to be true. He knew after the first time you saw him fight, and you stuck around, you’d be the one he would marry. And when he told you about his plans for Wakanda, and you didn’t flinch but helped him perfect his ideas, you would be the one to carry his child. But even after all of that certainty, there was a small part of him that knew you were too good for him.

“You leaving me?” Erik stepped up to you. His height towering over you, his intention to intimidate you. But he forgot that you knew, you knew how much he loved you, that he would never do anything to intentionally harm the only light that’s been in his life for years other than school. 

So you shrugged in response to his words and his proximity. Your chest hurt doing this. But you knew this was coming, Kill was making more and more appearances and you were starting to believe that you were the cause of that. And it pains you to believe that he would go downhill into that dark place again, because of you. He told you about his past, who he ‘used’ to be before he met you. Before you helped him reconcile with his family, and help displaced people of African descent around the world.

Erik chuckled as he looked down at you, the love of his life, then away down the same empty street you were watching. You scared Erik, the very thought of you alone scared him. How in the world did you wrap him around your finger? The love he had for you was nerve-wracking, and the idea of you leaving was devastating. But he knew when you were this calm about something like this that he couldn’t react with all of his emotions. So he remained calm, he watched you quietly and took note of every reaction you had towards him.

“Why,” He asked softly, though he wanted to scream it.

“Cause, I don’t think I’m good for you. I can see how having me around tempts you to be more violent. I’m sending you backward, not helping you move forward like your cousins. I feel like being with me reminds you of a darker time. A time that you’ve grown past. You're a prince now baby, and I’m not helping you wear your crown well.” An incredulous look crossed his face.

“Baby what are you talking about! You are my crown. None of this means shit if I don’t have you.”

“I can’t be your crown when I cause you to react like this. Imagine if someone caught wind that the long lost Prince of Wakanda was with some hood rat like me. Someone who constantly jeopardized the safety of royalty.” Your voice lost its edge, you lost your fight. The more you spoke the more you realized you were right.

“I refuse to lose you because of some of the illogical fallacies you have created in your head. You mean too much to me for me to allow anyone and I mean anyone to put their hands on you, and you know that’s not going to change. Maybe what we need to do is move.” Erik said a tone of hope returning to his voice. He quickly stepped up to you and grabbed your hand, his finger gliding over your engagement ring. You’d agreed to marry him, that meant you loved him right? He’d had this thought running through his mind constantly ever since he proposed to you, and you agreed before he was acknowledged as a prince.

“Move?” You jerk your head back in confusion. You didn’t want to lose Erik, and if he had a compromise that took the two of you out of these dangerous situations then you were all ears.

Erik pulled you closer wrapping his arms around you tightly, his fingers grasped your chin and angled it up towards his face.

“I have been thinking about it. T’Challa offered me the job to stay here and work at the outreach center. But like you said I can see how this place has affected us, just like it did my father. I don’t want you to lose me like I did him. So let’s move, let’s go back to where we were supposed to be. T’Challa offered me the job here because he thought I wanted to stay, but he says Wakandans have a great need for a historian that can inform them of the lessons, the pain, and the history that they missed out on while being hidden away from the rest of the world. Not to mention Shuri demanded I bring my engineering skills back to her lab immediately.” Erik chuckled and swiped his thumb across your bottom lip, before pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

“You want to move to Wakanda?” You asked softly, your lips still tingling from his sweet kiss.

“With you. Yeah.” Erik mimicked your shrug from earlier, a soft smile fell on his face as he admired your beauty. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.” He kissed you again, a slight pressure and sense of urgency fell behind this kiss. You smiled into the kiss as you felt Erik’s hand graze your ass, a tell-tell sign that you’d be getting some that night.

You couldn't say what your future looked like, but at that moment you knew with complete certainty that Erik was at the center of it. You looked into his eyes and smiled, your love for him clear in your expression.

“I’m ready.”

Taglist:

@aislinnsilver @wawakanda-btch @chaneajoyyy @marvelmaree

[ssidesblog]

we should just kiss like real people do

logince, 1,787 words, ao3 

cw: underage drug use (they’re smoking weed together so nothing horrible)

Logan looked over to the alarm clock Roman kept on his nightstand. The red numbers read 1:47am. He slowly turned his head over to Roman, who was using his phone’s flashlight to see his tools: a little baggie of weed and a red pipe. His hands were shaky and his eyes squinted. 

“You’re not packing it right.” Logan said, crawling over to take over for him. 

“Shut it, nerd, I’m doing it perfectly.” Roman said as he pulled it further away from Logan. 

“You're at fault if you find shit in your carpet in the morning.” Logan crossed his arm and leaned back against the foot of Roman’s bed. 

“Here.” Roman held the carb and held the end to Logan, “I’ll light it for you.” He smiled lazily and Logan couldn’t help but smile back. He pressed his lips to the end and Roman lit the bowl. Logan breathed in and smoke entered his lungs. He pulled back and the smoke exited his parted lips. Roman quickly brought the pipe to his own and took a deep breath. He slowly lowered the pipe and leaned over to Logan. He quirked a brow. Roman opened his mouth and blew the smoke directly into Logan’s face, making him squeeze his eyes shut. Roman laughed followed by a coughing fit. 

“That’s what you get, asshole.” Logan said and threw the water bottle they’d been drinking from in his direction. He sipped a bit and swallowed. He stuck out his tongue in a show of disgust. 

“I think I’m literally going to cough up a lung one of these times.” He twisted the bottle close.

“That would be disgusting and I believe it is impossible.” Logan commented. 

“Joke about a common figure of speech, dude. You call me a dumbass for being pretty stupid yourself.” 

“Fuck off, I’m not stupid.” Logan said and he hoped Roman couldn’t hear the genuine hurt in his voice but by the way his gaze softened he did. Maybe he is glad he noticed. 

“I’m sorry, you’re right, I’ve never met someone with a mind like yours.” Logan’s face was sent into a blush. He pointed his head down. 

“I’m sorry as well, you’re not a dumbass, Roman. You are actually quite smart,” Logan said, “Just in your own ways.” 

“That just means I’m stupid.” Roman said and fiddled with his hands. 

“No, no. I’m serious, Roman,” Logan grabbed his hands, “You look at things in such a different light then I do, and sometimes, though I would never admit this under normal circumstances, I need your creative mind. You add a completely new perspective to things and show me solutions I would never be able to think of on my own.” Roman smiled and Logan felt his heart speed up. 

“You have a way with words. I should give you more credit.” Roman said. 

“I’m not quite as good as you when it comes to flowery language.” Logan said sheepishly. 

“I always forget how sappy you are when you’re high.” Roman laughed. Logan rolled his eyes and finally drew his hands away. 

“Be grateful while it lasts, I know you thrive off the validation.” Logan finished with a smirk. 

“Ok, no need to come for my neck like that.” Roman said.

“Calling you out is fun. You’re so easy to piss off.” Logan said as he tilted his head to look at his ceiling. Roman made some kind of offended noise and said something but Logan wasn’t paying attention. 

“I can’t believe you still have those stars.” Logan whispered. Roman looked to where Logan’s eyes were focused and his face softened. 

“Do you remember the day I got those?” Roman asked. 

“Yes, we made a whole day of decorating your ceiling.” 

“And the reason it took all day was because somebody insisted they had to be placed to make actual constellations, even though they have almost all fallen off.” Roman said and knocked shoulders with Logan. 

“I still stand by my choice. One, it looked beautiful and two, we spent the whole day together.” 

“I miss being kids.” Roman sighed, longing. 

“We are still kids.” Logan corrected. 

“We’re 17, Specs, we may as well be adults. We can watch mature rated movies, that means we’re officially not kids.” Roman corrected Logan’s correction. 

“You are impossible.” Logan said and turned his head to look over at Roman, who was already staring at him. 

“And yet you’ve stayed with me this long.” Roman smirked. 

“I could leave at any time.” Logan threatened, no real intent behind the words. Because he knew he couldn’t. Not when Roman was looking at him like that. 

“And here you are, in my bedroom, talking to me the same as if we were 10 again.”

“Not quite the same, I do not think we ever got stoned at the age of 10.” Roman laughed and Logan smiled. 

“You got me there, Lo” Roman said, putting his head on Logan’s shoulder, “ You got me there.” 

They sat and worked on finishing the rest of the weed in the bowl. Music played from Roman’s speaker, not loud enough to wake Remus but honestly it would take a lot to wake that beast from his slumber. Roman’s back was pushed against Logan’s chest and Logan’s chin rested on top of Roman’s head. 

Logan liked nights like these. Contrary to popular belief, Logan enjoyed Roman’s company. They’d been best friends since childhood and worked despite their differences. They argued, fought, and pissed each other off, but Logan knew his life would be incomplete without their constant back and forth. Without Roman, Logan’s life would be boring and devoid of light. His chest aches and he holds Roman a little tighter. He moves his head so that his face is where his chin once was, his glasses push to the top of his own head. Roman pushes his head up like a cat does against a hand. Logan breaths out a sigh that speaks more emotion than words ever could. He lifts his head and places his chin back to where it originally sat. 

“Roman,” Logan spoke to the empty air, “How would you describe the feeling of being in love?”

“Getting a little deep there, Specs.” Roman said with a laugh, passing the pipe back to Logan. He took it and pressed it to his lips for a while. Smoke billowed out his mouth, followed by a couple coughs.

“I am simply curious. You’ve had more experience in that area than I have.” He handed the pipe to Roman, who tapped out the ashes that filled the bowl in the ashtray next to his legs. He lied down on the floor and motioned for Logan to follow, to which he complied. 

“Being in love is weirdly beautiful” Roman started, “There’s so many different ways to show how much you love someone. Through the way brushed hands can send a shock to your whole body, a kiss on the forehead that tells you you’re safe and cared for. Love feels an awful lot like home and expressing that is so hard.” Logan was turned on his side, watching Roman speak. 

“How do you know you’re in love?” His voice was soft.

“You’ll notice little things. How you stare at them a little longer than usual because their eyes are just begging to be looked into. The way you always want to be around them, interacting in some way. How you never tire of their voice, a melody stuck in your head and this time you don’t mind and you’d do anything to hear him talk. And it doesn’t take much to rile him up, even though his tone is annoyed underneath you can hear the gentleness, the fondness that he tries to keep hidden.” They were so close now, their faces only inches apart. 

“Roman.” A pause 

“Yes?” A breath. 

“I think I may be in love with you.” A smile. 

“I know.” A movement. 

Roman’s lips were soft and tasted like his strawberry chapstick. His breath reeked of weed but Logan couldn’t say his was any better. Logan noted that the movies were wrong about kissing. There were no fireworks or sparks, instead it was clumsy and the angle their bodies were at made it hard for their lips to more than graze. Logan shifted so that he was leaning over the other boy and lifted a hand to plant near Roman’s head. He deepened the kiss and he could feel the smile Roman tried to suppress. In turn Logan smiled and lifted his head slightly, taking in Roman’s face. His eyes were droopy and glossy but the brown shone like honey. His smile was gentle and knowing and red and swollen. Logan’s eyes teared up because-

“You’re so pretty.” Logan spoke as a tear fell down his face and landed on Roman. Roman quickly sat up and pulled Logan closer. 

“Why are you crying?” He asked, hands rested against Logan’s face. 

“Because you’re the loveliest person I’ve had the pleasure of knowing and you love me.” Logan’s voice was higher than usual and he knew he was sobbing but right now he didn’t care, because Roman’s eyes were full of a tenderness he has never seen before and all of it was directed at him.

 Logan leaned back in and kissed him. He tried to show how much he was feeling through this action; he couldn’t feel more right, as if his life was leading up to this moment, as if Roman was always meant to have his arms around him, his hands were made to run through Roman’s hair. Roman parted their lips and Logan, despite himself, let out a noise of complaint. Roman only laughed and Logan could never be upset when such a noise graced his ears. 

“You are just too cute.” He could hear the smile in Roman’s words. 

“Not to inflate your ego even more than I have,” Logan said, resting his arms on the other boy’s shoulders, “But I have never wanted to be with somebody more than I want to be with you right now.” Roman’s smile was enough to make Logan cry again but he willed back the tears. Roman kissed his face all over, making him giggle like a schoolgirl. 

“I have never been more honored.” Roman said and placed his forehead to Logan’s. 

“As much as I want to continue kissing you, I think we should sleep.” Logan said, eyes already closed. 

“I think you’re right.” Roman said, standing and pulling Logan up with him. He led him to the bed and pulled him down with a laugh. Logan shuffled closer and placed his head on Roman’s chest. 

“Goodnight, Specs.” 

“Good night, pretty boy.”

[milstrim]

Rise From the Ashes; Just to See You Again

Chapter 3: Penelope James Stark

Tony flipped the instructions open, looking between the completed example on the thin paper and the atrocity of a crib that he had somehow managed to create. He was a world class engineer, how had he managed to fuck up a crib so badly? It was a crib!

"I think this one's defective, J," he snapped out, beginning to take it apart, "I mean, I've got about five extra parts. There's no way I need these."

"What the hell do you even need a crib for?" joked a familiar voice, one that Tony hadn't expected to hear for a couple of more months. Rhodey stood in the doorway of the newly painted room, which was a pale yellow, still in his uniform and looking extremely confused.

"Platypus!!" he greeted, smiling widely and walking over to his friend, "I wasn't expecting you so soon! Or like, at all. I never get to know when you're coming back."

"Not my fault, Tones," he responded, giving him a hug and patting him on the back, "What's with the crib?"

"It's for, well--promise not freak out?"

"With your history? No."

"Eh, guess you'll never know then."

"Tony, come on, man! Is Dum-E getting a new room? 'Cause he'll need a crib sturdier than that thing."

"It's not finished yet!" Tony humphed, "Besides, it's not for Dum-E. I'm, well, I'm having a kid, Rhodey."

Rhodey blinked, looking between him and the unfinished crib that Tony was considering just throwing out. What if he just custom made one? It'd be a lot cooler, with built in nightlights and sound system. Of course, Tony needed one in his room too, since all the books he'd read had said it was good to have the baby in your room for at least six months. Maybe the defect crib should be in his room, since it was temporary, and the cool one would--

"You're joking right? This is some elaborate prank where you set up an entire fucking nursery just to mess with me?" Rhodey asked, sounding unbelievably confused about everything.

"No, I'm actually having a kid," Rhodey looked doubtful though, and he sighed dramatically, throwing back his head in exasperation, "Here, just--"

Tony left the unfinished nursery, gesturing for Rhodey to follow him across the hall to his own room. He grabbed one of the multiple parenting books off of the desk by his bed and pushed it into Rhodey's hands, who looked dumbfounded.

"I've been reading that, and these," he gestured to more books that were littered around the room, "Jar has been showing me informational videos, testing me in emergency situations. I took a baby CPR class--and look! Here!"

The man looked at the photos that Tony had shoved into his hands, hesitantly putting the book down and flipping through the photos. Tony could see the exact moment that it hit, he looked at Tony, mouth agape, and back at the pictures, tearing up a little. It was similar to Tony's reaction when he had received the photos.

It had only been a couple of days since Mary had been at his house, everything had finally been signed and he'd decided to celebrate by reading a parenting book on his couch when he got the call. He'd answered immediately when he saw it was Mary, heart clenching in fear that something had happened.

"Mary? Is everything alright?" he'd asked, unable to keep the worry and slight panic from his voice.

"What? I'm fine, Tony. I just wanted to see if you wanted to come with me to the doctor's office?" Mary had responded, sounding confused at his admittedly over-the-top reaction.

"Doctor's office? Why?"

"I need to go in for a check-up, for the pregnancy, and they need to take an ultrasound--t'see if the baby's healthy and all that. D'you want to come?"

"Yeah, of course!"

"Cool, meet me at..."

She had rattled off some random doctor's office and told him to meet her there in about an hour and a half. Thankfully it was only about an hour away, so he knew he'd get there in time. He'd left his house in his least flashy car wearing jeans and a t-shirt as well as glasses, a baseball hat, and a hoodie. Hopefully nobody would pay much attention to him.

Tony had actually ended up getting there earlier than Mary, which was a surprise, then again, he had a car and she had most likely had to find a cab since she lived in New York and didn't have a car here. The doctor's office had been relatively crowded, with an elderly couple, a few pregnant woman--one sitting by herself and the others with their husbands--and a toddler there with her dad, who were playing with those block-things that were on metal paths. He'd watched them for a few minutes, wondering if he'd be doing that with his daughter in a few years, (he needed to start looking into doctors and pediatricians, make sure he found somewhere that would be discreet) until Mary walked in.

He'd gotten up to greet her, shaking her hand and asking how she'd been--the usual formalities--and they'd fallen into a comfortable rhythm, asking about each other for a few minutes before lapsing into a comfortable silence. It was half an hour before they had been called in, a woman coming through the door and shouting, "Mary Fitzpatrick? The doctor will see you now."

They'd been led into a room that was painted a bluish gray and told that Dr. Murphy would be there in a few minutes, and sure enough, she'd arrived exactly three minutes later.

"Alright, what seems to be the problem?" Dr. Murphy had asked, sitting down in front of Mary, who was on the bed-thing. Mary had put a gentle hand on her belly.

"Nothing. Just here for a check-up, and an ultrasound," she'd answered.

"Alrighty, I'm just gonna listen to the heartbeat..."

All in all, the check-up had gone by pretty quickly, and before he knew it he'd been squinting at a screen as the doctor tried to help him make sense of it.

"It's just a blob," he'd told her bluntly.

"Yeah, but look here, it's a foot, see?" she told him, and he'd squinted more, leaning in closely.

"Sure," he'd said, not really seeing it, but as the woman kept pointing things out, it eventually took shape and he could finally make out some semblance of a baby. His baby, and he'd nearly cried.

Nearly, he told himself. He totally hadn't cried a little bit.

And then they'd left, Mary handing him the envelope of photos and a DVD of the ultrasound, they'd said their goodbyes and promised to see each other soon.

Tony was snapped from his memory when Rhodey finally managed to find his voice.

"You're, you're--wow! You're having a kid!!" Rhodey exclaimed, looking very excited as it all set in, "You're having a kid!!!"

"I know that, Honey Bear. Why do you think I was making a crib?"

"Failing at making a crib," Tony huffed, "What is--what are you--"

"It's a girl, and...I was hoping you'd be the godfather,"

Rhodey, if possible, smiled even wider, nodding.

"Of course, Tones. I'd be honored," Rhodey replied, and Tony breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't thought that Rhodey would say no, not in a thousand years, but there had been the irrational little nagging of doubt that Rhodey would be mad at him, that he wouldn't want anything to do with him or his kid. Of course, that was ludicrous, he didn't think Rhodey could look happier as Tony told him everything about the whole situation with Mary.

They ended up going back to the nursery where Rhodey managed to take apart and put together the crib correctly, which confused Tony to no end. Then they were on the floor, just talking and relaxing, and it almost reminded him of college.

"I'm going to have someone paint the ceiling," he told Rhodey.

"The ceiling? Why?"

"Like, y'know how people will paint their nurseries like, settings and stuff? What if the ceiling was an ocean?"

"The room's yellow."

"It's the beach, then."

"Sure, Tony. So, when's the kid due?"

"August seventeenth. Three weeks and four days from now."

"That's precise."

"It's her due date," he responded lightly, chuckling, "Mary will be here in a couple of days though, if you want to meet her."

"Here?"

"Yeah. She's moving in until the kid's born. Smoother transition I guess."

"Alright then, I'll see you in a couple of days," Rhodey said, getting up.

"Really, Sour Patch? You're leaving?"

"Uh, yeah. I've got things to do, onesies to buy. Fair warning, if you don't spoil your kid I sure as hell will."

Tony snorted and got up as well, walking Rhodey to the door.

"Sure, Rhodes, whatever. See you later."

"Bye, Tony."

Mary had moved in a couple of weeks ago, and she and Tony had fallen into an easy dynamic. He'd make her breakfast, usually just eggs and toast, and he'd leave for work, or he'd head down into his lab to work on Stark Industries' newest weapon. The whole time she'd been over, since he'd met her really, he'd been ignoring Obi, and it seemed as though the man had decided it was enough.

Tony had just finished making the scrambled eggs and was putting them on their plates, one for him and one for Mary, when a familiar voice called his name from the living room.

"Tony!! How've you been? I haven't heard from you in weeks!" greeted Obadiah, walking into the kitchen. Tony froze, looking like a deer in headlights, and it took him a moment to respond. Shit, he hadn't told Obi yet.

"Hey, Obi! What-what are you doing here?" he asked, uncharacteristically nervous.

"Haven't seen you in a while, so I thought I'd drop by, see what you were up to," the man answered, chuckling, "What's been going on? You've been acting weird. Pepper too. Why, I can barely get a word in with either of you before you're just gone,"

Right, he'd told Pepper not to tell Obi anything. Tony was regretting that now, she sure would've made sure things blew over smoothly, and now he had to tell Obi a week away from the due date while Mary was in the house.

"Well, you know what, Obi? There's actually something I've been meaning to talk to you about. What if we just talked out--"

"Tony?"

Both Tony and Obadiah turned towards the voice, who froze momentarily at seeing Obadiah but recovered quickly, placing a protective hand on her swollen belly. So...this wasn't great.

"Uh, Mary! Hi! I was um--your breakfast is done if you want to sit down," he stammered, avoiding looking at Obadiah.

"Eggs as always?" she asked, playful.

"Sorry, that's all I know how to make,"

"Um, Mary? Was it?" Obadiah interjected, "I don't mean to sound rude, but who are you?"

Tony and Mary exchanged glances, and she hesitated, not sure how to answer.

"Obi, can I talk to you real quickly? Outside?"

Tony led the man to the patio outside, the automatic lights turning on as they leaned on the bar that Tony had emptied the night he had signed the custody papers.

"Who was that? Some family friend or something?" Obadiah asked, looking over the counter, "Hey, where's the--"

"She's pregnant," he interrupted.

"Yes, I could see that, Tony. What's she doing here?"

"It's mine," he could see the moment it hit Obi, the smile wiped off of his face.

"It-it's yours?"

"Yeah. 100% confirmed. Tested and everything. She's due in about a week."

"Well, what's she doing here?"

"She's staying here until she gives birth, then she'll head back to New York I guess."

"Oh, that's good, then. And she's already signed everything? She won't tell the press or anything?"

"Yeah, she's good. She just wanted to know that the kid would be taken care of. Y'know, I gotta say, you are handling this a lot better than I thought you would," Tony told him, watching him go back to looking for a drink in the bar.

"Yeah, well, she'll be gone in a week and you'll never hear from her or that kid again, so--"

"--What?"

"Her and the kid? They'll be gone. Which, honestly, good riddance! The kid from some slut from your one-night-stand's would be disastrous for the company! I mean, the stockholders would go insane, and the press would have a field day with this! I mean--"

"Slut? Obi--what," Tony stumbled over his words, beyond confused, "She's having my kid! Why--"

"Why are you freaking out on me, Tony? I don't even understand why she's here. It sounds like she got her hush money--"

"I'm keeping it. I'm keeping the kid, it's mine," he said forcefully, his gaze challenging as Obadiah stared at him, jaw agape.

"You-you're, you're keeping it!?"

"Yes."

"Tony," the man said consolingly, putting an arm on his shoulder, "What--this kind of thing, we can make it go away! I mean, this is ludicrous, even for you--"

"--Get out," Tony said, his voice cold. Obadiah exclaimed in surprise and removed his arm, as though burned, "Get. Out. This is not a thing. It's my daughter. I'm not 'making her go away.' So get out until you can accept that, Obi."

"Tony--"

"I said get out!!!" he roared, and his friend fixed him with a cold stare, looking positively murderous.

"Fine," and then he was out the door, stomping through the kitchen and leaving through the front door. Tony didn't watch him drive off, but he heard him, the engine revving loudly. Tony stared at the door, his eyes hard and narrowed. He hadn't wanted to tell Obi, but he didn't think it would end like this, that his reaction would be that, that--

"Tony?" came a pained gasp from behind him, and he turned in apprehension. What now? "My water just broke,"

Oh. Oh.

"Bu-but, it's too soon! You're not due for another week!" he exclaimed, running over to her.

"Well, apparently she's impatient," Mary said, endlessly calm, "I'm going to change, then I'm going to finish eating--"

"--What!!--"

"--and then we'll go to the hospital."

Before Tony could protest she left, hurrying off to her room. Tony muttered obscenities under his breath as he went to get cleaning supplies. He had a mop, right? Was that what he needed, or just a cloth?

Mary stayed true to her word, sitting back down at the table and eating her eggs, and then eating his too when he told her he wasn't hungry. He tried not to bug her about it too much, but he had to admit that it was making him nervous and that he was more than ready to go when she finally finished eating.

He didn't bother to put their plates away, just ushered her to the car, making sure it was one that he had installed a car seat in. Mary didn't complain, just got in the car, groaning at what he assumed was a contraction. He called Rhodey and Pepper on the way, telling them which hospital they were going to before hanging up. They were pretty short conversations.

They arrived at the hospital in half an hour. He dropped Mary off at the front and went to park the car. He should have called Happy, but he was unfortunately on vacation. Shit, he hadn't told Happy...later, not his biggest problem at the moment.

When he hurried in Mary had already checked in and been taken to a room. The receptionist pointed him towards the room, not looking up. He entered the room hastily, trying to seem calm but failing. Nothing was ready! He still had to put things up in the nursery, and he had yet to baby-proof the kitchen. Had he read enough books? Were books even enough? Maybe he should've taken that CPR class again, just to make sure--

"Um, excuse me? What are you doing here?" asked a voice, interrupting him from his panicked thoughts. He blinked at the nurse in front of him, a bit slow to respond.

"I--"

"Oh, you're the father aren't you?" the nurse supplied for him, smiling a little. He nodded, swallowing, "Everything's looking fine. She's a bit early, but that's perfectly normal. Her contractions are rather far apart at the moment. Do you want to sit with her?"

He nodded again and she led him to Mary, who was laying the bed, already in a hospital gown. She looked perfectly content, reading a book. She looked up when he approached and gave him a tight smile. They talked for a bit, both a little impatient as the hours ticked by. He was saved from his boredom and panic by the arrival of Rhodey and Pepper, who he met out in the lobby.

"How's everything going?" Pepper asked, sounding out of breath.

"Slow," he deadpanned, "Her contractions are at thirteen minutes, so we've still got a while. But there haven't been any complications so that's good,"

They talked for a little bit longer, going over what had yet to be set up and some SI business, before he headed back to Mary. And that's how the hours went, he flitted between Mary's room and Rhodey and Pepper until he didn't want to leave Mary's side, much to the nurses' annoyance.

It all ended up happening so fast Tony felt like he barely blinked, and suddenly--

Mary had been screaming, yelling profanities as the doctors and nurses told her to push. Tony held her hand, feeling more than a little awkward, and then Mary let out a huge sigh, there was a moment of calm before the screaming started up again. Only this time it wasn't Mary.

"She's here," Tony whispered, to no one in particular. Her face was pink and she continued to cry as the doctors cleaned her and wrapped her up, putting a little beanie on her. Before he knew it she was being passed to him as the nurse cooed.

"Does Daddy want to hold her?" she said in a sing-song voice, passing her over, "There you go, support her head and--yep, just like that, you're a natural!"

Tony stared down at his daughter, who had quieted in his arms. She dragged her arm out of the blanket and, with surprising strength, grabbed his nose, laughing in that weird baby way. Her eyes were so big and brown, and he realized they were his exactly. Her hair was dark and curly, peaking out through the beanie, and Tony couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. It sounded wet, yet he couldn't remember ever being this happy. Ever feeling this complete.

He was only dimly aware that he was crying. Only a little though, he tried to convince himself.

Here she was. His daughter. Perfect and whole and happy. And he swore then that he would protect her, that he would be there for her, no matter what.

"What's her name?" the nurse asked.

"Penelope," he whispered, "Penelope James Stark,"

The nurse wrote it down with a small smile, "Well then, welcome to the world, Penelope,"

Yeah, he thought, Welcome to the world.

Read the rest of the story on AO3

[pollylynn]

Semblant: Chapter 2—A Caskett Two Shot, Early Season 5

Title: Semblant, Chapter 2 WC: 1900 A/N: I guess Beckett had something to say? 

Waking doesn’t feel like the word for what happens when she opens her eyes. Her lids—every part of her body—are inexpressibly heavy, as though something is pressing her, hard, into the surface of the earth. She feels dried out and swollen at the same time. Her tongue is a thick, useless thing in her mouth, and her throat—she has a moment of panic about her throat when it seems that it has closed off entirely.

Something kicks in to quell it, though. Her heavy lids fall closed. She pulls in a long breath through a miserably clogged, raw-feeling nose. She curls her toes hard and balls her hands into fists. She tenses tired, heavy muscles from head to toe. She holds—she holds until her lungs feel uncomfortably full. She holds a second more, then lets the breath out, lets the tension release In a slow, deliberate uncoiling. She goes through the ritual again, again, again until she has a clear picture in her mind of Burke’s office, of the soft leather chair, of the russet light filtering in through the blinds.   

She opens her eyes again. It feels no more like waking than before, but she’s present, at least. She’s seated, dead center, in a body that feels as if it’s been through the wringer. With an effort that makes her want to cry out, she rolls to her side. He’s there, of course. He has an arm shoved overhead, underneath his pillow. His fingers are curl over the top. He is asleep, or maybe not. 

His cheeks are pale. There are dark, thumbprint circles under his eyes, and his brows are drawn together. The creases in his forehead are deep enough to look carved, and his mouth is a straight, pensive line. He is most of the pieces of the puzzle. The throw clutched to his chest is the last. It is out of place. It belongs on the couch, and in an instant, she remembers. In an instant, the grief returns, zinging through her like a laser-guided razor blade. 

She pushes herself backward, away from him. She half falls from the bed and drags herself the rest of the way. She lands on her knees, scrambling. Here is a shirt and there are jeans turned halfway inside out. Her is a bra, a boot, a sock and something heavy—so heavy—that it must be the leather jacket she had stripped off and dropped behind her in a clear challenge that had lit a fire behind his eyes. Here, there, everywhere are the things she needs to flee, and she wants to flee. Grief, gut-wrenching, embarrassment, terrifying rage that rises up from this vulnerable, open wound—all of it demands that she flee. 

But she is tired. She is so tired. She falls back on to her heels, and the movement painfully jars each individual one of her ribs, her vertebrae, the tiny bones of her ears. Her fingers are knotted in the hem of an old, soft t-shirt that falls to almost cover her knees. It slips from her shoulder and leaves it bare. Her fingers are knotted in the stretched-out neck of it now, and she is breathing in his scent through a miserably clogged, raw-feeling nose. She is calling up the memory of his warmth and his calm, patient words. 

She rises up on her knees again and peers over the edge of the bed at him, sleeping, but not exactly. She pulls herself to her feet and kicks away the jeans, the shirt, the rest of it. 

She doesn’t flee. 

She lifts one leaden foot, then the other until she’s on the threshold of the bathroom. She doesn’t bother with the light. She slaps water on to her cheeks and takes cool sips from her cupped, shaking palm. 

Her face is there in the mirror—even in the almost-nonexistent light, it’s there—but she doesn’t bother much with it. She reaches for his heavy robe on the hook behind the door and pain sings out across all the muscles of her chest. She shrugs one arm, then the other into the sleeves and ties the belt tight. 

She leaves him sleeping, though not exactly. She heads for the kitchen—for coffee—but that’s simply practical. Even with the long sleeves of his robe flopping down to her wrists, getting in the way, it’s all muscle memory. 

What comes next is something else. She stoops for the cabinet beneath the island, the one where he stupidly keeps the pans. She sets the one she likes on the stove top and turns on instinct for the refrigerator. She produces eggs, butter, milk, the last of the bacon. She reacts up high for the bread in the cabinet, the toaster down below it. 

She whisks and heats and tends to the delicate work of scrambled eggs. She grumbles to herself as she dives for a second pan that’s no good for frying bacon, but will have to do. She finds a bowl, a cutting board, strawberries and blueberries and melon in the fridge. She moves ploddingly at first, clumsily, then with certainty—with life returning to her fingers and toes and tiny, aching muscles that hold her head up. 

The eggs are done too soon. The bacon should have come first and she knows that. She knows, but she doesn’t let it derail her. She pops a lid on them. She slides the whole thing underneath into the warmth of the oven with its pilot light. She pours blessed coffee and slices, washes, arranges the fruit. She loads up the toaster and slaps the lever down. 

She turns and finds herself in his arms. 

“Kate,” he rasps. 

His throat is as wrecked as hers. His hands, steadying her hips, are as heavy, and he’s shivering. He’s shivering because she stole his robe. 

“Sorry,” she says, sliding her arms around his waist, sharing her warmth for once. 

“Don’t.” He tightens his hold on her. He crushes her sore ribs. “Don’t say sorry.” 

She remembers, then. She tastes his name and those two words like ashes. Castle, I’m sorry. 

“Not for that.” She presses a pained, incongruous smile against his chest, because, yes—for that, too. For the terrifying void she knows she was, but right now, mostly not for that. “I took your robe.” 

“Oh,” he says. He runs a hand along the plus fabrics s though collecting evidence. “Oh.” 

They cling to each other like that for a while, wordless and heavy and needing to be sure of one another. But the toaster pops. There’s smoke over his shoulder and she needs to save the bacon. There’s coffee cooling in her own cup and one to pour for him. 

“Sit,” she says, shooing him away. “I’m okay.” 

She pre-empts him, though it’s not true. They both know it’s not quite true. But he sits obediently at the breakfast bar, heavy-lidded and quiet as she moves briskly to set placemats and bright white plates, gleaming silverware, and napkins that are a little on the obscene side of cheerful. He watches as she butters toast, scoops eggs, plucks sizzling hot bacon from the pan with her fingers and shovels it on to his plate, on to her plate. 

He waits patiently until she comes around sit on the stool beside him. He turns, then. They knock knees as he winds his arms around her. 

“You’re not okay,” he whispers against her cheek. His lips glide to find hers and she tastes the salt of her own surprising tears. She wonders how long they’ve been falling. She wonders. “You don’t have to be okay.” He strokes her hair. “It’s hard. It has to be so hard—“ 

“I’ve never had one like that before.” It’s as much a surprise—as much a revelation—to her as it is to him. “A dream. I’ve never had one that’s just . . . her. Happy. Alive.” She swipes her face hard against his shoulder, soaking his shirt. “It’s always—always been bad.” 

“And this one was . . . good?” He pulls back to look at her face, then thinks better of it. He cups the nape of her neck and lets her cheek rest against his chest. “At least a little good?” 

She pulls in a breath. She bunches her fingers and toes and holds on to herself. This is a lot. Trying to find an answer to that is a lot, but the scent of bacon, oddly enough, guides her—the scent of buttery eggs with a hint of red pepper. 

It is a little good. The dream, and this—the larger pattern of nights that she’s been up with old movies and the sounds of the city. Nights she’s wandered from wind to wall and back again, trailing her fingers over piano keys and picture frames and the hundred things that make this place a home. 

“It’s a little good.” She disentangles herself from him—mostly. She winds her ankle around his calf and bumps herself jerkily closer to him, even as she picks up her own fork and nudges his elbow until he picks up his. She lets the first forkful of eggs melt on her tongue before she goes on. “I’m thinking about her a lot. More. About her.” 

She waves a frustrated hand in the direction of the pans on the stove, the spatula sitting at an awkward angle. They have something to do with something. He knows. Of course he knows. 

“About her.” His eyes close in pleasure as he gets his first taste of the eggs, too. “Not about her murder—about her.” 

That’s it. The tears press against the back of her throat, because that’s it. Whether its him or the warmth of his family tucked into every crevice of this place—whether it’s her and all the hard work she has done, is doing, will do with Burke in therapy—whether it’s all of that put together or something else entirely, that’s exactly it—she’s thinking about her mom, not her mom’s murder. 

“I don’t get to.” She doesn’t like the declaration. As soon as she makes it, she doesn’t like it. “I don’t let myself. With my dad, it was so hard for so long. I didn’t know what might . . . hurt him too much to think about.” 

She shakes her head and gives an ugly snort of laughter at the splash of a tear on the countertop. A long moment elapses. They eat in silence, but the air feels full. The world feels full and heavy and a little bit good. 

“You did this before,” he says hesitantly, at last. “A feast and you told . . . you were telling my mother how she—” 

“How she’d cook on the weekends.” She looks at the spread before the two of them, at the pans and knives and cutting boards again and she sees—continuity. She sees wholeness and a life filled up, not the piecemeal, stop and start of her existence for so long. She feels the difference in her still-heavy limbs and her sandpaper eyelids. “I forgot about that,” she says aloud. “I forgot.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says with a smile that has some of his usual, careless charm in it, and it’s good. It’s ormolu than a little good. “To remind you.”  A/N: That’s certainly it. 

[caelesjjk]

Forget Me Not

I hope everyone enjoys a little calum angst today.

She wasn’t allowed to force it.

The doctors said that he would have to remember all on his own. And that part tore her apart the most. Because what if he never remembered her? What if he found someone new and the life they had together just became something in the back of his mind that would never surface again?

But she had to let Calum heal on his own. He needed to be able to put the pieces together himself, or it could have consequences. So London had tried to keep her distance. She let his friends take him home after he was released from the hospital so that they could help him remember things. Things that could jog his long term memory, things from his childhood when they were all growing up together. They wanted to give him time before they brought London back into his life.

But she just kept thinking that maybe she was all that he needed to remember. She knew things that no one else would know because he had been hers for years. Belonged to her in ways that he didn’t belong to his friends and family. She knew him. And he knew her. At least, he did.

It had been 3 weeks. 3 agonizing weeks of waking up in their bed alone. She could smell him on the sheets, but didn’t have the heart to change them. The guys had come over and taken most of his things back to Ashton’s house. They only left a few things here and there. Little things, like his silver chain necklace that she had given him for his birthday two years ago. She left it sit on middle shelf of the bookcase in the living room because that’s where he had left it last.

He had taken it off and sat it there the night the accident had happened. London hated to think about that night. Hated to think that if she had just asked him to stay one more time. If she had just gone with him, maybe things would be different. Maybe he wouldn’t of taken the road he chose, and maybe he wouldn’t of run off the road and hit that tree. Too many what ifs to sort through.

She didn’t want to give up. She loved him. So when her phone started ringing on the side table next to the couch, she grabbed for it immediately, seeing Luke’s number pop up on the screen. She took a few deep breaths before answering.

“Hi, Luke.” Her voice came out weak and scratchy.

“Hey there, Lons. How are you?” Luke said, concern in his voice as usual.

“You know the answer to that.” London sighed, leaning her head back against the couch. “How is he?” Her mouth was dry.

“He’s better, physically. All healed up for the most part. But he still doesn’t remember much, except his mom and his sister. He asked about them yesterday. Things are looking better.” London could here Luke scuffing his boots on the concrete.

“Has he…has he said anything about me?” She knew the answer, but asked it anyways.

“Nothing yet, Lons. But…but Ashton thinks that maybe you should by. Just to push him a little, ya know?” Luke explained.

“The doctor said not to push.” London sat up, her heart racing at the thought of seeing him.

“The doctor doesn’t know him like we do. Calum is so damn stubborn, I just think if he saw you. Heard you talk. Maybe he would start remembering.” The sound in Luke’s voice was just the slightest bit hopeful.

“And what if he doesn’t?” She asked.

“Then we keep trying. We keep trying every day until he does, okay Lons? We just…keep trying.” London could tell Luke was upset. Frustrated. And he wanted his friend back just as much as London wanted the man she loved to come back.

“Okay.” London whispered, biting at her bottom lip, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Just come by today. See you soon.” Luke said quietly before hanging up the phone.

London was panicking. She had been waiting for this. Tirelessly pacing the floors hoping that they would call and ask exactly this. And now that it was happening, she was frozen. She didn’t know how she was going to control her emotions. She needed to keep them in check so that she didn’t confuse him. So with trembling hands, London got dressed and fixed her hair. She hadn’t really done either of those things since all of this happened. But now that she was going to see him, she wanted to look like she still gave a shit.

As she drove towards Ashton’s house, all the memories of the night of the accident came flooding back. London had tried so hard to push those thoughts away, but the closer she got to Ashton’s the more they came flooding back in.

“Is this London Baxter?” The unfamiliar voice said.

“Yes, who’s this?” She replied, confusion all over her face.

“This is Francis Dougherty, I work for Mercy Hospital. We have you as contact person for Calum Hood?” The woman said quickly.

“Y-yes. Whats going on?” She could feel her heart plummeting to her stomach.

“He was just transported to Mercy by ambulance after being involved in an accident. He’s in critical condition, you should get to the hospital as soon as possible ma’am.” The woman explained, and London stopped breathing. “Ma’am?”

“Yeah…I’m on my way, I’ll be right there.” London forced out the words, sprinting for her car and driving to the hospital for more recklessly than she should have. She called Ashton from the car, but didn’t bother to wait for him to get to the hospital.

London pushed through every door and ignored every security spot that tried to stop her. When she reached the emergency room, she didn’t wait in line. She forced her way to the front of the line and begged the old man behind the desk to tell her where her sweet boyfriend was. And after he pointed towards the surgery unit, she took off running again. She had no idea what was going on around her. She just needed to get to him, right now.

When London arrived in the surgery unit, she was stopped by some nurses who wouldn’t allow her to go any further. They wanted her to sit down so they could explain what had happened. But she couldn’t hear them. Nothing made sense. How could he be hurt so badly? She just saw him a few hours ago? He had just left their apartment to go get some Duke some dog food. How could he be lying unconscious on a hospital bed now? Battered and bruised from the impact? How could the beautiful man with the perfect dimples and glowing smile be just lying there with neither on his face?

They had let her see him after surgery, but he wasn’t awake. They didn’t know when he would wake up. But London never left. She stayed in that tiny hospital room with him got two weeks before he finally woke up. And London thought that Calum waking up, would be the best possible thing, but as it turns out, it was the most devastating thing that could have happened.

When he stirred awake for the first time, London was at his side almost immediately. Carefully touching his swollen face when his eyes fluttered open.

“Wh-who are you? Where am I?” He said, trying to move away.

“Calum…Cal its me. Whats the matter?” She asked him, fear rushing through her veins.

“I don’t know where I am…what the hell happened to me?” His voice was getting louder and more scared by the minute.

London tried to console him as all the doctors and nurses came rushing into the room. She had to watch from the door as they calmed him down enough to explain things to him. And when they realized that he didn’t remember anything, a whole new journey had begun.

Ashton’s house wasn’t far from hers and Calum’s apartment. That was something that killed her even more. He was just a few minutes away but further away than he had ever been. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she turned off her car and walked up the driveway. She wasn’t sure if she should knock, she never used to. But this place different to her now, just like everything else, it had a shroud of sadness on it.

Thankfully, Luke was waiting outside for her when she arrived.

“Hey, Lu.” She walked up the few stairs and stood in front of him.

“Glad you’re here, Lons.” He wraps his long arms around London’s shoulders and pulls her against him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hid her face in his chest. They were all friends, but never had much of a chance to properly decompress together.

“Where is he?” She asked, eager to see him, but terrified at the same time.

“Inside with Ash and Mike. He’s more comfortable now than he was when he brought him here. Sleeping a little better.” Luke gives her one last squeeze before he pulls back to look at her. “Doesn’t look like you’ve slept much.”

“Do you blame me?” London asks.

“No. No, I guess I can’t.” He shoves his ring clad fingers into the pockets of his skinny jeans, before nodding towards the door. “You ready to go in?”

“I think so.” London sighs, and moves to step inside when Luke opens the door.

Almost immediately, London is met by a bear hug from Michael, and before she can take another step inside, Ashton comes to stand in front of her. He looked pitiful. Like he hadn’t slept. London could feel the emotion building up in her throat as she looked at him. Calum was Ashton’s best friend, and London knew that this was hurting him so badly. Ashton’s mouth was turned down in a frown as he walked a little closer to her, and she could see the tears at the corners of his eyes threatening to spill over. London wasn’t sure she could open her mouth to talk without sobbing.

“Hi, Lons. We missed ya.” Ashton says quietly, stopping to stand in front of her, just a foot away.

Part of London, was so angry with Ashton. He was keeping Calum away from her, but deep down, she knew he was doing what was best for him. But the bigger part of her, missed Ashton too.

“Hi, Ash.” She blubbered out, but couldn’t hold back the sobs anymore. And Ashton was quick to wrap her up in arms and let her cry against his shoulder.

“S’alright love. I’m here.” Ashton patted her back softly and let her cry as long as she needed while Luke and Michael stood by. “M’ sorry it took so long to get you over here. I guess I thought I was protecting you.” Ashton said when London finally pulled away.

“Protecting me? Ashton I don’t want to be protected, I want Calum back. I want to help.” London wiped at her eyes and nose trying to straighten out her appearance before she saw him.

“Just…don’t get your hopes up, okay? He gets frustrated easy…” Ashton starts to walk down the hallway towards the living room, and London starts to feel her heart pound again.

Ashton walks into the room first, and London watches as he goes to stand in front of one of the couches. Her eyes follow Ashton, and then land on him. She can only see the back of his head right now, but the messy bunch of black curls on top of his head are undeniable. Her breath is stuck in her chest as she walks around the couch so she can stand next to Ashton.

“Hey Cal, someone came to see ya.” Ashton says as London stops in her tracks. He was everything she remembered and more.

Lips were pouty and pink like they always were. That hadn’t changed. His eyes were still dark and inviting, but they held a confusion that practically broke London’s heart. She watched him look at her, but he didn’t react to her the way she was reacting to him. Calum looked up at Ashton and then back ot her once more.

“Who’s this?” Calum asked, his voice was husky and deep. One of London’s favorite sounds. But the words cut straight through her like the sharpest knife.

“This is London, buddy. Do you remember her at all?” Ashton said as he sat down next to Calum on the couch. London stood frozen in place.

“London…” Calum said quiety. The sound of her name coming from his mouth made her heart try to escape its cage in her chest. “I…no. I can’t remember.” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

“That’s alright, Cal. You will.” Ashton pats Calum’s shoulder.

“No. I’m not ever going to remember any of you fucking people. I just can’t fucking remember!” Calum stands up, pushing past London and making her stumble before she can even get herself together.

London knows there are tears on her face and a look of distress in her eyes. She wants to go after him. She wants nothing more than to follow him and comfort him. But she knows that she can’t do that, because to him she’s a stranger, and she can’t imagine there would be anything comforting about a stranger.

“It’s okay, Lons. It’s just been like this the last few weeks. You know how he is with his temper.” Ashton tried to explain. But London just wants to see him more, 20 seconds was never going to be enough.

“Will he let me talk to him?” She asks.

“We gotta let him come to you, when he’s ready. Why don’t you just stay around here? The more he see’s all of us the better.” Ashton suggests, his shoulder drooping a bit.

“You mean stay here all the time?” She asks.

“You should be here too.” Luke says from behind her. London isn’t sure what to say, she’s feeling the slightest bit of happiness for the first time in weeks. She could be around him all the time, even if he didn’t remember her. And that was better than nothing. So she nods yes.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day 36

It’s been over a month since the accident happened, and two weeks since London had moved into Ashton’s guest bedroom. Even though he still didn’t remember much, London felt better just being closer to him. He didn’t quite understand her presence there, they had told him she was a friend, because they didn’t want to overwhelm with the thoughts of a relationship that he couldn’t remember.

They took things slowly, tried to remind him of his favorite foods and favorite beers by bringing them around. He would try things that he normally liked, and not feel anything when he tried them now. But one thing that had seemed to jog his memory just the slightest, was when the boys played music. They had all been in a band, playing gigs now and then for a few years. Calum played the bass, and he was so damn good at it. He seemed to open up the most when they took him into the practice space that Ashton had in his basement. He listened and closed his eyes and tried to soak it all in. He even picked up the bass and remembered a few chords, but no particular song had come back to him yet.

London couldn’t stop watching him. The way he moved, the way he talked, and the way she felt when he was around was all so routine for her. She was watching him from the couch now, as he walked around the room and looked at some of the pictures Ashton had framed on his mantle and side tables. She watched as his eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to remember the faces in the photos. When he came to one particular picture, he stopped in front of it for quite some time. It was a group photo, the boys and lots of their friends during a party in Ashton’s yard. And London. Calum had his arm wrapped around her shoulders and his lips pressed to her temple in the photo.

“Is this you?” He finally asked, not turning to look at her.

“Yes.” She said quietly, sitting up straight.

“Were…were we close?” He asked, turning to look at London as she stood from her seat on the couch.

“Yeah, we were close.” She bit her lip, trying not to smile as she remembered just how close they were.

“I wish I could remember something. Anything about you. Because I feel something every time you’re in the room and I don’t know what it means.” He walks closer to her and London feels her chest tighten.

“You’ll remember soon. The doctors said it just takes time.” London says.

“Why won’t you just tell me? Tell me what you meant to me.” He looks at her, frustration evident on his features.

“We have to let you remember. If I tell you anything it could mess up all the progress you’re making.” London explains.

“Progress? What fuckin’ progress?” He huffs with annoyance and steps away from her. She missed his close proximity already.

“You remembered your mom and Mali. And the music is helping.” She says, grabbing his hand to hold him there.

Calum stops in his tracks when he feels London’s hand in his. His shoulders rise and fall over and over as he tries to control his breathing and the way his heart is pounding. He looks back at her and wets his lips with his tongue.

“Why are you here, London? I don’t know who you are.” He gently pulls his hand away from hers.

“Because you did once. And I want to be here when you remember.” She doesn’t move to grab his ahnd again, he needs his space now.

“What if it takes forever? Or what if I just don’t fuckin’ remember?” His voice is louder and shaky.

“It’s okay, Calum. I’m not going anywhere.” She says, jaw tightening.

“Maybe you should.” He shakes his head before walking away towards the room he had been staying in.

London couldn’t deny the fact his words hurt her. It broke her heart every time he said something like this, but she knew he was just frustrated and confused. And she wasn’t going to give up. Not ever.

----------------------------------------------

Day 66

It’s been another month of trying to help Calum remember. The biggest break through so far, was Calum remembering who Ashton was. He and Ashton had gotten into a heated argument because Calum was sick of Ashton pushing him to remember. But his best friend knew what he was capable of.

“You can remember, Calum. I fucking know you can. You have to try, you’re giving up and we all can see it!” Ashton had said.

“What do you want from me? I’ve been tryin’ for months and I can’t remember.” Calum was standing in front of him, his jaw tightened and his chest out.

“You’re not trying, mate. Stop being such a damn baby and dig down in that mind of yours and find it!” Ashton was yelling now as well. And London knew she should stop him, Ashton shouldn’t be pushing this hard, but she was desperate for him to remember something.

“Are you listening to a fuckin’ word I’m saying?! I don’t know you! I don’t know any of you! It’s like living in a house full of fuckin’ strangers!” Calum was right up in Ashton’s face now.

“Yes you do, Cal. You know me. You remember that time when we were kids, and I beat you ridin’ bikes down Old Terry Hill? I know you remember that!” Ashton was still yelling, but he was keeping his cool.

“You didn’t fuckin’ beat me, I left you in the dust!” And then everything stopped. Calum had a look of shear disbelief on his face as he looked up at Ashton.

“There you are, brother.” Ashton said, grabbing Calum into a hug. After that, Calum slowly started to remember more and more about Ashton, and even bits and pieces of Luke and Michael.

It was like the anger set something off, something that they been trying to reach for months. They just had to figure out a better way for him to reach those memories. After he started remember, he seemed to relax a little more. He was friendlier, with the other boys at least. But London couldn’t expect him to understand why she was still there.

When she woke up to the sound of a guitar being played one night, she assumed it was Michael. London dragged her tired body from the now familiar bed, and walked into the hallway. The sound wasn’t coming from Michael’s room, but from Calum’s. And the sound was one that made London’s heart soar, because it was her song. He might not know what he was playing, but she did. With her hand cupped over her mouth to keep from sobbing she quietly walked across the hall and nudged his door open a bit more so she could see him. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, his feet were bare and his hair was disheveled. Calum’s eyes were closed as he played the chords and London knew that she needed to pull herself together. She wiped away the tears and smoothed back her hair before lightly knocking on his door. He jumped a little, before opening his eyes to see her standing there in her pajamas.

“Hey.” He said with a sigh.

“I um…just heard you playing.” She walked into the room a few steps. “What’s that you’re playing?”

“I don’t really know. I just started playing it.” He said, sitting down the guitar and turning his attention to her.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“Yeah, Lons. I really can’t remember where I’ve heard it before.” When he used that nickname, it stung. He had started calling her that after hearing the other boys say it. But that wasn’t his name for her. London sighs before sitting down next to him.

“You used to play that for me, all the time.” London made herself meet his eyes, even though she knew it would hurt. His eyes were warm and always the most perfectly chocolate colored.

“When?” He simply asked.

“When I was sad. Or when I was happy. When I had a bad day and you wanted to see me smile.” She smiled a little at the thoughts.

“We were more than just friends, weren’t we?” He asked.

“Much more.” London said. She wanted to tell him something that would make him remember. She missed him so much.

“I want to know how much you meant to me. Please. I want remember.” He stands up from the bed and starts to pace.

“I was yours and you were mine. I’m still yours…that’s why I wont give up.” London stands up as well, watching him move back and forth.

“Its like its right there. It’s right there on the surface and it won’t come out. Why can’t I remember you?” He’s standing a few feet away, shoulders heaving with his heavy breathing.

“You just have to keep trying. Just try, Cal. I’m here, sweetheart.” London tries to take his ahnd but he moves away again.

“I can’t. I can feel something, but I don’t know what the fuck it is or why I feel it.” He keeps pacing.

“Yes you can.” She tells him.

“No! You just aren’t there! My body is telling me one thing and my mind just doesn’t know!” He’s frustrated and yelling as he paces. London knew she was getting somewhere, she had to.

“What does your body tell you?” She asks.

“To grab you around the waist and kiss you against that wall until neither of us can breathe! But I don’t know why?? Do you understand how fuckin’ maddening that is?” Calum walks back over to her, his eyes wide as he stares down.

“Because you know who I am. You do, you fucking know Calum!” London knows shes crying now, and she doesn’t care.

“Why are you pushing this?! I cant remember!” He angrily kicks over the chair in the corner that had been piled with clothes.

“Look at me, Calum!” London shouts, walking over and grabbing his arm to turn him towards her.

“Dammit, Lonnie! I said I don’t remember!” He freezes, goosebumps covering his skin.

“There, there that’s me! Not Lons, you call me Lonnie. You know me, baby.” She takes his hand and brings it up to her cheek and he immediately cups it.

“You…fuck. I know you. I know you, sweet girl.” He wipes at her tears with his thumb and brings his other hand up to cup the other cheek.

“I found you back.” London allows herself to finally touch him, her entire body practically convulsing at the feel of him.

“How could I forget you.” Calum whispers the words as his forehead rests against hers.

London can see the boys waiting in the doorway, huge smiles on their faces letting her know that they must of witnessed most of what happened when they heard all the yelling happen.

“We can go slow, okay? Until you remember more. All the time you need.” London says, her hands lacing into his soft curls.

“Can’t wait to remember every little thing.”

[etlunainmorte]

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

"Des yeux qui font baisser les miens, un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche, voila le portrait sans retouche, de l'homme auquel j'appartiens,..."

She's just sitting there, at the back of the dark establishment near the bar, paying close attention to the singer on the small stage as she sang. She was holding what looked like a single stem of a purple hyacinth, and there was that melancholic expression on her face once more.

"Quand il me prend dans ses bras, qu'il me parle tout bas, Je vois la vie en rose. Il me dit des mots d'amour, des mots de tous les jours, et ça me fait quelque chose. Il est entré dans mon coeur, une part de bonheur, dont je connais la cause. C'est lui pour moi. Moi pour lui dans la vie. Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie."

He was just sitting right next to her but, of course, he couldn't do anything to comfort her. As much as he wanted to get close to her, to touch her smooth skin, to caress her cheeks, to brush that wayward (H/C) lock off her forehead, to touch those dainty hands and hold them close to his heart,...

... to lean close to her ear and whisper to her how much he loved her and how much he missed her,...

He reached out a hand towards her, his fingers grazing the tears on her cheeks that he couldn't brush. He gently rubbed the back of his hand against her face and felt nothing.

"My love,..." He whispered, his voice low and hoarse. She didn't hear him.

"Et dès que je l'aperçois, alors je sens en moi, mon coeur qui bat."

Her head bowed down low, her eyes closed shut. Her tears fell uncontrollably down her lap, her shoulders trembling violently with her suppressed sobbing. She wiped those tears again and again with the sleeves of her pale pink fur hoodie which was recently given by Sister Christina and averted her gaze from the passing patrons to avoid being seen as such. She looked up once more, inhaled sharply through her nose, covered her mouth with her right hand, and leaned her right elbow against the counter top of the sleek, mahogany bar.

She was trying so hard to stifle her sobs, to control the tears,...

... to shout at the top of her lungs how miserable she felt.

From the shadows, a bartender, who was idly wiping a glass with a white napkin, approached her. She sat up straight and managed to make herself decent before him despite her red and swollen eyes.

"Re - bonjour! Je peux vous aider? Ou vous admirez juste la belle vue?" He told her. And seeing that she's one of his foreign patrons who can't understand english, he spoke once more. "Hello again dear, can I help you with anything? Or do you want a glass of vodka for your weary heart?"

"Ah, yes. Yes, please." She answered, not sure whether she could afford a glass of liquor at this place.

"Alright. One glass of vodka coming right up." As the Bartender was about to prepare her drink, he faced her once more and leaned a bit closer to her. "Please, call me Petya. The owner of this establishment."

She nodded and smiled weakly at him. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Petya."

"And you, as well. And that,..." the man said with a smug smile as he pointed at the lovely singer who was approaching them. "... is my lovely wife, Natasha. She is known here as Solange by the French patrons, kind of like a screen name, if you will. But, she is pure Russian. Just like me."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes! Let me introduce you. Solange, s'il te plaît, tu peux descandre une minute?"

"Mon amour." The woman called Solange, and whose real name is Natasha, greeted as she approached her husband and kissed him on the cheek. She turned towards (Y/N) and smiled, appraising her from head to foot with seemingly expert eyes. "Добро пожаловать в Розах и Водке!"

"Ah, she said, hello and welcome to Roses And Vodka." Petya translated for her.

"Oh, thank you." (Y/N) replied with a courteous nod.

Petya translated for his wife, who, then nodded at (Y/N) with a slight smile on her lovely face. "Мне кажется, ты влюблена. Ты хочешь чтоб я спела что-то для тебя? Я это сделаю совсем бесплатно, но следующий раз вам придется заплатить."

Petya chuckled as he kissed his wife on both cheeks, the language barrier both killing and confusing (Y/N). He, then, turned towards her once more. "She would love to sing any song you want. Do you have any requests?"

V watched with complete adoration as the lovely, yet sad and lonely, girl pursed and curled her lips, seemingly concentrating on her song choice. She opened her mouth, then closed them once more as she couldn't think of any song. And this, not to mention her puffy red eyes, worried both Petya and Natasha.

"Are you in pain?" The bartender carefully asked, which made the girl cry all over again.

"Ssh, ssh, ssh,..." Natasha, who felt it was her fault why (Y/N) cried, hushed and gently wrapped her in her arms. She said something in Russian, then Petya translated for her.

"She just told you to not cry over a man who left you." Petya answered. "I was right, then? You need vodka for your weary heart?"

"Ah, no. I'm sorry." (Y/N) pulled away from Natasha and wiped her tears with sleeves of her hoodie once more. "No one left me. Yet. I haven't even seen him."

To this, the couple only looked at each other, dumbfounded as to what she just said.

"What do you mean by that?"

(Y/N) bowed down low and exhaled, feeling her breath getting heavier by the second. She looked up once more and faced the concerned couple. "I was looking for someone. A man with white hair. He plays the violin. I saw him right here where I' am now."

"Oh."

V listened intently on the conversation, then pulled a notebook from his pocket - the little journal he kept during his travels. He opened it and saw his little scribbles of the places he's been in search for that elusive power to keep his mortal flesh from crumbling.

Spain

Germany

Russia

France

Italy

There were a lot more places, and not only from Europe, that were listed on his little journal but, he only knew one thing for certain: that (Y/N) has already been to those places ten years earlier than him. Somehow, with the help of Cassandra's visions, she accurately predicted all the places he would go to ten years before they could even meet. Somehow, she correctly assumed the order of his actions before he was even born as V.

Somehow, she saw her future before her,...

And she was traveling because she was looking for him and him alone that it made her sad and miserable like this.

And him? He was traveling because of his search for some stupid kind of power that corrupted him and blinded him from the truth, allowing someone to manipulate him. And not because he wanted, or expected to ever see her.

And his foolishness led to this very moment: of him regretting all his actions and grieving for her disappearance.

He might not have cared for anyone before but, now,...

... his heart ached to see her like this.

He was just sitting right next to her but, of course, he couldn't do anything to comfort her. As much as he wanted to get close to her, to touch her smooth skin, to caress her cheeks, to brush that wayward (H/C) lock off her forehead, to touch those dainty hands and hold them close to his heart,...

... to lean close to her ear and whisper to her how much he loved her and how much he missed her,...

But, of course, he couldn't do this, for this was a mere illusion. The remnants of her past that was left behind by Galatea, the Bearer of The Past.

The Bearer,... of her Past.

Natasha spoke once more and as Petya translated for her, she went to her stage and prepared herself for another performance, quickly whispering something to the pianist. The notes from the grand piano sounded and the words came out from the mouth of the singer known as Solange.

And as both V and (Y/N) listened to her song, they were both afflicted with something that made them clutch their chests, feeling a strange kind of pain and sadness that instantly brought tears to their eyes. V quickly glanced back at (Y/N) to see her bowing her head down low as she unloaded all of her burden and emotions.

He reached out a hand, wanting to touch her this time. Everything around him lost its color as the movements around him slowly froze. Even Natasha's voice seemed to lose its clarity.

Then, everything finally stopped moving, from the patrons, to Petya, to Natasha, to the Pianist,...

... even (Y/N).

A single tear rolled down her cheeks. He reached out a single finger for the last time to catch it, and when it collided against his skin, the sensation it gave him almost feeling surreal, every single thing before him turned to ash, and it plunged him in total darkness.

V closed his eyes, bringing his finger closer to his lips, giving it a kiss,...

There's a saying old, says that love is blind.

Still we're often told, seek and ye shall find.

So I'm going to seek a certain lad I've had in mind.

Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet.

He's the big affair I cannot forget.

Only man I ever think of with regret.

I'd like to add his initial to my monogram.

Tell me, where is the shepherd for this,...

... lost,...

... lamb,...

The poet opened his eyes upon hearing Natasha's disembodied voice that seemed to come from afar, and when he looked around his dark surroundings, he saw a glimmer of light right before him. He chased the light, and it brought him to visions of recent events,...

... of that tear - stained letter in his hand bearing those heartbreaking lyrics to that song,...

... of him running to the nearest places around the apartment in search of her,...

... of him finally losing his temper and rushing to all the places he knew that she might go to,...

... of his former familiars finally catching up to him to calm him down and urge him to come home after a week of his endless search,...

... of him breaking down in front of Nico, his emotions getting the better of him and his sadness, guilt, and regret of everything that happened within the past couple of weeks going down on him all at once like an unstoppable and devastating storm, tearing him down and making him vulnerable despite the power he acquired.

There's a somebody I'm longin' to see.

I hope that he turns out to be,

Someone who'll watch over me.

I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood.

I know I could, always be good.

To one who'll watch over me.

He closed his eyes once more, trying to push these painful memories off his tortured mind.

But, alas, he couldn't.

For with eyes wide opened, V could see everything.

And with eyes closed shut, V could see her and only her,...

... of how she looked up at him and smiled at him like he was the only person in her own world that mattered,...

... of how graceful she looked when she walked,...

... of how her cheeks turn red whenever she talked to him,...

... of how she danced for him, baring all her thoughts, and her whole heart, to him,...

... of how she leaned in close to him to give him reassurances that she would never leave him,...

... of how she protected him in her own unique way,...

... of how she sweetly called his name, over and over again,...

Won't you tell him please to put on some speed.

Follow my lead, oh, how I need,

Someone to watch over me.

... of how he doubted her kindness with simple, twisted words uttered by the enemy,...

... of how hurt he felt because he thought she lied to him,..

... of how he rejected her and her feelings that one day when she confessed her own undying affections towards him,...

... of how he thought of planning to mangle her body and expose her for what she truly was, only to find out that he was mistaken,...

... of how he chose power over her and drove the Yamato through her fragile body to acquire the power she has, the power she once used to search for him and to protect him unconditionally,...

... of how she once died before him,...

...

... of how she still loved him despite everything,...

“One of these days, and it won’t be long,

You’ll call my name and I’ll be gone,

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well.”

Won't you tell him please to put on some speed.

Follow my lead, oh, how I need,

Someone to watch over me,...

V opened his eyes, his senses finally returning to his own reality. It was already close to twilight, and the others were nowhere to be found as they were probably helping out with the search.

He was sitting at the sofa, his eyes instantly dropping on the things on the glass top table: the vintage record, the old porcelain doll that was Galatea, (Y/N)'s bloody and broken violin,...

... the pair of shoes she once used the first time they met,...

V took one of those shoes, the right one, which she threw and he caught that night, and held it close to his heart.

Then, he remembered his own words to her that day.

“Those feet, my Lady,… I would kiss,… over,… and over again,… if I could,… ”

His eyes stung, his heart feeling that same pang of pain once more. He brought the thing close to his lips, kissing it and pretended on fulfilling that foolish promise of his.

Being left by someone you loved,...

... it hurts.

It hurts so,... damn,... much,... you thought the pain will kill you,…

But, somehow, you’re still alive, and still dealing with the pain, alone and with no one to help you through that endless chain of sadness.

It hurts,…

... doesn't it?

***

XXX

***

🖤 Special thanks to these two wonderful people, namely @vergils-daughter and @capsule-cosplay , for helping me with the Russian and French dialogue and translations, and for giving the names of the Love And Vodka couple Petya and Natasha / Solange. 🖤

🖤 Also to @harlot-of-oblivion for teaching me something about the beautiful Language Of The Flowers to get one important and secret message across. 🖤

🖤 And to @brattyvitale , who I've briefly talked to in the past regarding the topic of break - ups, and for simply being a really nice and graceful person. Thank you so much. 🖤

🖤 @la-vita , @micaelagua , @yepps , @beyond-the-mirror , @ceruleanworld , @ehrzeth , @boundbysoul , @diabeticsugarush , @simmy-ships , @gothghoulfiend , @lessy86 , @heaven-on-a-landslide , and @krazy06 . 🖤

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

[etherealwaifgoddess]

What He Wants (Pt. 16)

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Summary:  On going series of Bucky getting his shit together and falling in love with you.

Warnings/ Content: none, sweet fluffity fluff :)

Word Count: 1186

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! There was SO MUCH love for the ending of the last chapter here and over on AO3 and I’m really glad ya’ll loved that bit  as much as I do. If you haven’t read the rest, please at the very least go back and read 15 because the beginning of this will make zero sense without the end of that part. Now, let’s see where things go in the wake of your confessions...

If you missed the first few parts, you can read them here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

XOXO -Ash

What He Wants, Pt. 16

Bucky’s face lights up like the sun. He moves his right hand up your side and cups your cheek tenderly in his palm. “Yeah?”

You nod against his hand, “Yeah.” 

Bucky doesn’t hesitate, he pulls you gently down to him, his lips brushing against yours. Your breath catches in your throat and your body trembles against his. The times you had imagined anything happening between you two it was always raw and frenzied. Nothing could have prepared you for the sweetness of these first few kisses. You match his pace, not wanting to hurry him, just enjoying how his body floods your senses. His scent is clouding your thoughts; he smells like a forest in the dead of night, clean, piney, and just a little wild. There is still a faint taste of tears on his lips but his eyes are dry at last. You shiver at the cool metal of his left hand caressing your hip where your nightshirt has ridden up. It isn’t your first kiss ever, but it makes every single one before it pale in comparison. You happily lose yourself in him, letting your body follow where he leads without a second thought. 

Bucky is drowning in you. He’s unused to relinquishing control and just letting himself feel but with your soft skin pressed against him and the sweet taste of your lips brushing against his, he is a goner. You taste like summer rain and peaches, and he can’t get enough. He wonders fleetingly if even a lifetime of this would be enough. Bucky deliberately keeps the pace slow, not wanting to miss a moment of this. The way your body responds so naturally to his is incredible and he loves how in sync you are to his movements. He knows he needs to pull back and stop before things escalate further but every time he thinks to pull away he just dives in for more. Finally, desperate for air, he leans his lips away and rests his forehead against yours. 

“Wow” you murmur.

“Wow” he echoes and you grin like a kid on Christmas. “You okay there, mouse?”

You nod lightly against his forehead, “Better than fine.” 

“Me too. I don’t know how I ever got so lucky as to find you, mouse.” He moves you so you are sitting across his lap, tucked in against his chest. He wants to be able to look down at you and appreciate how you beautiful you look; your lips swollen from his kisses, cheeks reddened where his beard brushed against them. 

“I know exactly what you did.” you tell him, “You asked for what you wanted, and you got it.” 

Bucky chuckles, “That simple, huh? Well, I’m gonna start asking for things a lot more often.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

“Another kiss for starters.”

You giggle and kiss him again, deeper this time. “See, that easy.” 

“Oh man, I was missing out. I’m gonna be asking for foot rubs, breakfast in bed, and a dog next.” 

You laugh harder, squirming in his lap. “Oh, no!” You cry with fake concern between giggles, “I’ve created a monster.” As soon as the word monster leaves your mouth you regret it. Bucky is still smiling but you notice the slight twitch of his left eye at the word. “Bucky… I… I didn’t mean it like….”

Bucky gives you a quick kiss, “I know you didn’t, doll. It’s alright. But I’m absolutely going to keep asking for things.” 

“Good, you should.” You say relieved he isn’t offended by your poor word choice. 

Bucky pulls his phone out and started texting quickly. “I’m gonna start by asking that damn raccoon for my arm back.”

“What?” You ask, extremely confused.

“Do you know Rocket? He’s not actually a raccoon, just looks like one. He’s part of Quill’s team, the Guardians of something?” 

“I’ve heard of him but we haven’t met.”

“Well, I gave the furry bastard my good arm before I left for Somalia. He’d been jonesing for it since Wakanda and since I hadn’t planned on coming back I thought I’d hook him up. I meant to text him yesterday, I’m gonna need that thing back.”

“You have different prosthetic arm? Why? Is it better?”

“Oh, mouse, it’s the best. Shuri, T’Challa’s sister, made it for me a few years ago. It’s made of vibranium so it’s virtually indestructible and the tech in it is light years ahead of anything else. She has it set up so it reacts as fast as I can think and the sensors are almost as good as really feeling something again. I’ll know if something is hot or cold, soft or rough. I couldn’t believe it when she gave it to me.”

“That’s incredible. I can’t believe you parted with it, that was really kind of you.”

“He’s a good guy. Anyway, where can he send it to? I know you don’t want anyone having this address.”

“Have him send it to Fury. He’ll get it to us here.”

“Thanks, doll.” He places a kiss on your cheek and is texting quickly again. “Okay, he’ll have it to Fury today or tomorrow. They haven’t left earth yet and can swing by SHIELD before they leave.” 

“I’ll give Fury a heads up to overnight it to us.” You offer. 

“Mmm, you’re the best.” He lays his head next to yours on your shoulder and holds you for a moment, unwilling to let you go just yet. “So what are we going to do today?” 

“How’s your leg doing? I wanted to go down and visit the lambs that were born while I was away. They’re bigger now but still fun at this age.” 

“I’ll hold up alright. The crutch really isn’t that bad. If you want to go out, we can.” 

“We can head back if you start getting sore. Just tell me, okay?”

“I will, mouse. I can’t wait to be rid of this thing, I won’t push it.” 

“Good.” You reach out to brush your thumb against his cheek, feeling the softness of his beard in your palm. It’s distracting being so close to him. “Come on, before we spend the whole day on the sofa.” 

Bucky grumbles playfully but stands up with you. He tests his weight for a moment before grabbing his crutch. “I think I’m almost done with this thing.” 

You watch him lean a little more on his right side, he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. “That’s great. Maybe you can try a little more later if you’re still doing okay.”

“I’m gonna change the bandage and check on it before we head out.”

“Okay, I need to get dressed first anyway.”

You slip away to get changed in your room and take a minute for your brain to catch up with the last half hour. You are ecstatic and nervous; very ready to start something with him but you worry it won’t be the easiest of roads. It doesn’t really matter though, it’s all worth it. Bucky is finally figuring out what he wants for himself, and right now, by some miracle, it’s you.

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty @ladyemofhousestark@abswritesfandoms @rupestria

[crybabytoy59]

the Meeting pt7.

Suspended like a starfish I hand no choice but to swallow the gift as air became my most important need inside my head !! Mistress Mummy patted my head “Clever girlie Crybaby that’s the way potty girlie....let’s just have you keep quiet while we get you prepared for this mornings training session “ Mistress Mummy pushed in a soaking wet pair of pants into my mouth as Master Daddy withdrew from me sealing in his taste with a new taste of Mistress mummy tail pee ! She then put a ball gag over it pushing it to the mouth guard till the pants could not be seen....Master Daddy Spoke as I was lowering “Crybaby get on all fours & follow us ....crawl faster Crybaby we don’t have all morning....shit head !!!!” They Both laughed but not a normal laugh a WKD sadistic laughter.....Mistress Mummy opened the door to the play room, as I entered I could see a pole from the ceiling it had a cross bar halfway down it three feet Wide just over a foot below that was a single bar around a foot out from the pole this bar also had a crossbar at its end around two feet, then a third bar was on the pole also a foot from that one but it was shorter by 6”, at that level was a padded triangle from the pole set outwardly it had an oval top that narrowed to a second oval with two long straps hanging from it, Master Daddy was at the pole smiling he spoke “Now Crybaby Stand Up ..Clever girlie...straddle the pole with your leggies so Your botty is resting on the padded part....Clever girlie..Now hook your ballet booties behind the lower pole...Clever girlie ..Now legs tightly together..Now slowly lay backwards down on the pad..Good Girlie Crybaby..Now give Mistress Mummy your handies behind your back under the padded bit !...Clever girlie Crybaby let get you strapped in nice & tightly!!”

Mistress Mummy Put a strap to my mittens putting each to my ankles as Master Daddy pulled straps around each foot securing them tightly to the bar, next he pulled a strap over my tummy Suddenly pushing my tummy down this strap was pulled tightly, next Mistress Mummy lifted the long straps hanging from the padded part crossing them over my chest then through loops on the tummy belt, she fed them to Master Daddy who crossed them both behind the padded part through two second loops then back around over my thighs to buckle ratchets! Mistress Mummy spoke to me “Clever girlie Crybaby that’s us ready just one last thing for our girlie Crybaby potty Toy, aawwww I think someone is scared Master Daddy!! You have good reason Crybaby!!!” Suddenly the padded part started moving forward pushing me into an arch as the straps tightened making Any movements impossible only my head now hung free, then the pole started to go up towards the ceiling until my head was at hip height then they stopped it...Mistress Mummy kissing my head Spoke “look at the floor Crybaby...Yes Crybaby head All the way backwards! Look at the Fucking Floor Crybaby Do it  !!!!” They strapped my head backwards....Mistress Mummy lifted a long tube “Crybaby Training is going to take time but with help You will be the perfect Play Thing “ she pushed it slowly up my rear....”Crybaby Sweetheart this is a colon tube we are going to fill You up Very full from both ends then Master Daddy & I will have our breakfast so that You Crybaby can have some time to reflect on how Obedient You Are going to be for us, do try to relax “....they both laughed at my whimpering..As Mistress Mummy inched in the colon tube Deep inside my rear passage once lodgedfully in she attached a funnel! Master Daddy had a large jug of liquid this he started pouring into the funnel in felt the warmth filling me A Full gallon later Mistress Mummy rubbing my swollen tummy mocked me. ”Clever girlie Crybaby look at you all filled up like a cute potty girlie.....Now just relax till we get back from breakfast then we can start today’s punishment session.....Master Daddy has a wee treat for you !”   I watched Ashe came up to my face with a large cotton bud pushing it up each nostril in turn then pinching my nose they both giggled then left the room ...Suddenly I could smell my own waste !!!.....

[calumbringbackthewatermelonshirt]

To the Ends of the Earth [FBI!Cal AU]

Day 5

a/n: thanks everyone so much for reading! hope you all enjoyed my take on FBI Cal! I ended up just deciding to combine parts five and six. 

After interrogating Francis for all of two seconds, Cal and Ashton had the location of what they believed to be the location that Riley was hiding Maggie. Calum was so ready to beat Riley’s face in, especially after torturing Maggie for almost a full week. Francis had given them the address to a secluded cabin in about thirty acres of woods. It was no wonder that Riley chose this place to bring Maggie. It was huge, towering at about three stories, and had been foreclosed for about ten years now. Nobody wanted it and nobody knew it existed. Calum, Ashton, and Luke had put together about four or five units of officers in about three hours. A lot of officers had actually volunteered to go on the mission. It was going to be dangerous but not too dangerous. Since they were only going up against one perp, the mission was low risk. However, the agents still knew to be wary going in. Even though Riley was only one man, he was one of the most dangerous ones out there. Between his history of insanity and malicious ruthlessness, Riley was at the top of the FBI most wanted list. So they got the agents together and moved out as soon as possible. 

Day 6

The FBI was doing a nightsweep. It was one of the more dangerous missions that they could do and Maggie recognized it right away. She knew it was a night swap when she saw the singular flashlight pop up out the small window she had been staring out the past few days. Riley had kept her locked up in a basement, and while she was shackled to a chair in the middle of the underground room, there was a small window that rose above the ground by about a foot. It was small, and it definitely wasn’t anything special, but it was enough for her to know that help had finally come. She could finally relax. So when Riley came downstairs, armed to his teeth and pissed off to his core, she didn’t even try to fight when he cut her out of the ties keeping her in the chair. She didn’t try to stay awake when he threw her on the ground by her hair and kicked the shit out her. Instead, she let the heavy darkness succumb her. ||

Calum took a deep breath. He could feel it. This, this was where Riley was, where Maggie was. He kept his gun pointed at the ground and waited for the first officer’s signal. They were trying to lure Riley out rather than go in. If they went to him, then he had the advantage and Calum wasn’t giving him anything more than he had already taken. This raid, it had to go well. They had about twenty officers and agents, all surrounding the house and sweeping the property. Riley was hidden on about twenty acres of property, so they ha a lot to go through if Maggie wasn’t in the house. This was going to be a hella long night. Still, if it meant getting Maggie back then he was fine. Calum heard movement to his right and brought his gun up, ready to fire. It was just the first officer, who reported that there was no movement from within the house. Fine. They would have to go in. Calum motioned to the rest of the group and advanced toward the house, Ashton and Luke flanking him on either side. Michael was waiting at the hospital. Just based off the pictures, Maggie was in rough shape, so as soon as they brought her out Calum himself was going to drive her to the hospital. Michael was there to make she had a friendly face in case something went horribly wrong. As soon as Calum reached the door, he flattened his back against the wall and waited for the rest of his unit to get in position. It didn’t take them long, so as soon as Cal got the all clear he bust the door down. He skipped the formalities and didn’t even bother knocking or trying to give Riley a chance. His backup flanked him and spread through out the house, a few agents going to each floor. There were three in all, so Cal, Ash and Luke all took the first floor. Ash and Luke swerved off together after clearing the majority of the rooms on the first floor. Calum searched more thoroughly, however, opening anything that even look remotely big enough to conceal Maggie. He looked under everything, in each closet, but came up early. Damn. If she wasn’t in the fucking house, Cal would burn it to the ground. After a few minutes of searching, he stumbled upon something a little odd in his opinion. In the bottom of a closet was what looked to be a newly carpeted floor. What Cal found odd, however, was the fact that nowhere in the house was any other carpet to be found. Cal furrowed his brows and reached down. He grabbed the carpet and ripped it off in one jerking motion, only to find a hidden door beneath. It appeared to be the door to a basement or wine cellar of some sort. Jackpot. Calum didn’t know how, but he knew that this was where Maggie was hidden. Nobody had radioed that they had Riley, so Cal figured he either ran to save his own ass, or was down stairs with Maggie. 

“Ash, I need you in the master bedroom. Stat.” Cal tapped on his earpiece and radioed Ash. He was anxious, but Cal wasn’t stupid. He wanted backup and he wanted the man he trusted with his life. 

As soon as Ash entered the room and Cal explained the situation, Ashton nodded once and brought out his gun and flashlight. Cal ripped open the cellar door and descended down the steep stairwell. The room he entered into was absolutely God-awful. There were water puddles and mold everywhere. There were rats scampering all over the place and there was one singular dimly-light lightbulb in the middle of the room. Out of nowhere, a fist came flying at Calum’s face. Calum was more excited than nervous, though. He had been waiting for this moment for what felt like forever. Cal caught Riley’s fist before it made contact with his face and delivered a hard kick to Riley’s ribs. The satisfaction Cal felt at the sound of Riley gasping was unreal. But, Riley had learned to fight in prison. So there wasn't a chance in hell he was going down easy. So Riley grabbed the back of Calum's neck and forced his head down so that it made a cracking noise when Riley knee connected with it. Cal was a bit stunned so when Riley got in three more solid hits to his chest, he had to admit he was impressed. But hell hath no fury like a man whose woman was taken and tortured, so Cal quickly ducked down and swept Riley’s feet out from under him. Riley’s back hit the ground hard and knocked the wind out of his lungs. Cal saw his opportunity and started kicking, didn’t stop until Riley’s body went completely limp. He spun quickly, the adrenaline still flowing. Cal scanned the room wildly for Maggie. 

Then he saw her. 

Limp on the floor. 

Not breathing. 

Calum’s heart dropped and he was at her side in about two seconds. 

“Oh God. Maggie speak to me. You have to say something. Say something or I will absolutely flip my shit.” Cal did’t know where to start with her injuries, but when he saw her chest rising and falling shallowly, he took a sigh of relief himself. 

“I’m going to alert the other officers that we found them.” Ashton retreated upstairs once he saw Maggie was okay. This felt like a personal moment to them, and Ashton felt that, after everything they had been through, they deserved that much. 

“Fuck. What happened?” Maggie awoke to a pounding head and a soothing voice. When her one good eye finally creaked open, she felt tears rush out of it when she saw her partners face. It was such a relief, like happiness had flooded her body. It was a face she hand’t been sure she would ever see again. 

“I love you. I’m sorry, I know this isn’t the best timing or whatever, but I can’t lose you again like this and have you not know. So now you do. I love you.” Cal was impatient, but after this past week, no one ever thought he was. Moreover, Cal was selfish. He wanted Maggie and he wanted her then and now. They were finally safe, could finally be happy. 

“I love you, too. God, Cal I love you so much. You got me through this week of fucking hell. You did. And I love you.” Maggie thought this was a pretty great day, all things considered. Sure she had started her morning with torture, but it had ended with her rescue and the love of her life in her arms. Calum was holding her broken body, so she sat up to hug him. They would have kissed, but her face was just too swollen and she made sure to inform Cal of her broken ribs. This was quite possibly the happiest moment of her life. In her beloved’s arms, ready to move on. 

Until she saw him. 

Riley.

With his gun. 

Aiming directly at Calum’s back.

All she heard was two gunshots and then her world went black. 

[chasinganecdotes]

Shankshaw’s Revenge 🎭

Prince Roland clinked his silver against the glass goblet, standing from the velvet cushion of his throne. He looked so elegantly regal in his midnight attire, a black silk coat cinched tight to his slim frame and a crimson cloth draped over his shoulder. His hawk-like features were hidden beneath a lattice threaded mask beaded with onyx pearls and rubies that curved up into a plomb of wings, as if he truly were the predator incarnate. His only betrayal were those frozen river eyes that didn’t quite match the rest of his darkness.

“My esteemed courtesans, welcome to this Hallow's Eve Masquerade. A night to celebrate the souls of those we’ve lost. A night, I dare say, to ravish in their memory and indulge in revelry on their behalf.” Though the mask covered his mouth, Georgina sensed that the corners of his lips had upturned  in a rather bemused smirk. “I have prepared our jester with a small game for your entertainment.” He motioned to his guards. “If you would kindly bring in the clown.”

He was dragged in on chains, his body limp with the weight of the gilded manacles biting into his ankles and wrists. Bent over, his spine punctured his dirty rags like tiny daggers slicing the skin, starved and broken as he was. He was placed at the foot of the dais, the guards unshackling him, and for a moment Georgina thought the clown might collapse. But slowly, ever so slowly, he began to roll up on limbs seemingly inflated with life. With his head still bowed, he peered through strands of silvered hair, his eyes red rimmed and swollen. A smile stretched across the whole of his face- not just any smile though. It was a smile carved from flesh, a mangled mess of a puckered wound that sliced up his cheekbones from the corners of his mouth. Georgina gasped. She had never seen someone quite so hideous, nor anything so gruesome. It wasn’t becoming of a lady to be present to such eeriness. 

“Ghouls,” the clown rasped, crooking a finger toward a woman seated at the front, “and gremlins.” He lurched toward the man seated opposite her. “Tonight we feast on the dead.” 

“Enough with the dramatics, Shankshaw. You are not here to frighten the guests,” Prince Roland scolded. 

Shankshaw glared up at the prince from the corner of his eyes, his smile widening to teeth.“Yes master.” He turned back to the crowd, pulling out a blunt of sage from his bootleg. “To begin this ritual, I must first perfume the air with the burning of a beauty.”

“He means a beauty burning the sage, of course.”

Shankshaw nodded vehemently. “Of course, of course.” He skidded over to Mrs. Westlow, the wife of the Captain of the Guard. “Misses, if you would.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly-“ she protested, her thickly jeweled neck blushing stark white.

“Oh but you must!” He dug his talons into her naked shoulder. “The spirits call to you, my lady.” Mrs. Westlow’s eyes rounded as he thrust the sage into her hands and, as if by magic, blew a breath of fire to ignite the wrap. Thick purple smoke began to mist around the room, obscuring the clown as he weaved in and out of the rows of courtesans. 

“And now, if you would, may I have a volunteer to draw just a drop of blood?” The clown’s voice was a wailing whisper, like claws scratching violin strings. 

A man wreathed in the insignia of the scroll chamber jolted from his chair. “And what of this? Why should we spill our blood on the plea of a court jester.”

“Mr.Chamberland, keeper of the ancient scrolls, is it?” The clown unsheathed a dagger from a scabbard at his side and palmed the blade. “Hasn’t there been anyone dear that you’ve lost? Anyone you would simply die to speak with one last time?” Georgina watched as the man’s face slacked, his outburst extinguished by a sudden veil of sorrow. It had been rumored, she knew, that the man had just lost his youngest daughter to a terrible bout of pneumonia.

“I suppose I volunteer tribute then. I will slice my palm, but just enough to get on with the ritual.”

Shankshaw handed Mr. Chamberland the dagger, blade first. Mr. Chamberland carefully sliced a line across his palm, watching in fascination as a well of blood began to pour from his open fist. Shankshaw crouched below the line of blood, letting the next drop catch on his tongue. 

“Now look, you tortured creature-“ Mr. Chamberland started.

“And for our last bit of fun I shall use the help of our prince.”

“Do not involve me in your antics, Shankshaw. I am not meant to partake in your little game.”

“Oh, oh, but Prince Roland you must lead example to your court! It is a small part. Insignificant really. Why you don’t have to do anything at all. Just stand center to the ritual. A figurehead. A leader. A king.” Georgina could see the cold, calculating fury starting to fissure through Prince Roland’s eyes. She knew the clown had struck a cord with that forbidden word, the title Prince Roland so steadfastly reached for but would never quite grasp. The prince lifted his chin and waved a gloved hand, unimpressed by Shankshaw’s performance but unwavering in his determination to not be bested by the tricks of his fool. 

Shankshaw bounded up the steps of the dais so that he was face to face with Prince Roland, a cruel mirror of the beautiful black hawk of Rathia to his broken and bloody plaything. The clown no longer looked hunchback, but rather stood taller than even the prince. They could be about the same age, Georgina thought, though the clown’s mutilated face made it hard to discern any signs of youth. 

The clown pulled from his pocket a leather bag, which he began to upturn in a circle around the prince, creating an almost protective sphere, like she had seen some of the witches do in their hexes. Though instead of candles and salt, small shards of bones and what appeared to be ash crowned the prince. Shankshaw howled, a truly vicious laugh that stopped Georgina’s blood cold. 

“For years you have laughed at my misery, prince. Humiliated me, tortured me. Carved up who I was born to be into the tiny pieces of who you forced me to become. I was born to be a magician, you know that? Born to the blood of the magi. But you stole that from me. You all,” Shankshaw turned to the crowd, “have stolen that from me.” 

“Your game this night is over, fool. Do not think I will take kindly to what you have done here,” Roland seethed. “Guards!” But the guards did not come.

Mrs. Westlow began in a fit of coughs, a rib rattling hackle that seemed to worsen the more the sage smoke burned the air.

Shankshaw bent back his spine and let loose another cackle onto the night. “You think me so dim witted. A lowly court jester. Ha! I have paid attention over the years.” With a wave of his hand, the smoke parted to reveal the mask of horror that lay beneath. All across the room, velvet and jewel encrusted vizards drop bloodstained on the floor, the courtesan’s faces unveiled to the skin. And across each, a smile of flesh and blood sliced from ear to ear.

 Amid the coughing, Mrs. Westlow let out a strangled scream, though to Georgina’s ears it sounded more like choking. 

“Mrs. Westlow, how I do regret that the smoke will trigger emphysema, especially with such a case so severe as yours. A hidden opium pipe addiction will do that, I suppose.” 

She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle the next onslaught. But instead of air, a ripple of flame crawled through her lips, licking its tongues down her neck to catch fire to her dress of jaded satin. The fire didn’t just burn her skin, it seemed to melt it, a sort of hellfire that incinerated her in the same instant it took for her to breathe. In just a blink of an eye, she became mere ash, as if she had ceased to exist at all.

“You monster!” Prince Roland bellowed. “Have you no remorse, no mercy for the carnage you have wrought upon your kingdom?” The prince dared to charge the clown, drawing the sword that always lay ready at his back, but was hurled back by some invisible force that enchambered the circle of bones.

“Tenfold for the carnage you have wrought upon me.” Shankshaw countered. He dragged a finger across the wreckage of his smile. “Just a boy prince is all you are. Cruel without purpose. Tell me Roland, how does it feel to be trapped as the world you love dies right before your eyes?”

Prince Roland’s eyes flickered to Georgina, a plea to run, to escape the fate of the dying court. 

“Ah yes, the jewel of Rathia,” Shankshaw purred. He stalked toward her, an icy fear paralyzing her to her seat. She looked to Mr. Chamberland, her last hope, and gasped as his body fell to the floor, blood leaking from his eyes and nose and mouth. 

“Georgina!” Prince Roland screamed, though it was as if she were hearing him from beneath water. She could hear him, but the words could not reach her. Silent tears wet her cheeks as the clown bent a knee before her, pulling from his shirt sleeve a single rose and extending it to her. The rose was in full bloom, strangely plump in a season where the rose bushes were beginning to wilt.

“A beauty such as the Gardens of Botanica would be jealous.” Shankshaw whispered.

Georgina reached for the rose, and for the moment her skin touched his, she was reminded of another boy at another time with another rose jimmied up his shirtsleeve.

“Peter?”

Shankshaw smiled, a true grin without malice or menace. “Georgina.” And then, in a motion swifter than her eye could track, he slashed a dagger line across her chest, just above where her heart lay.

[readbookywooks]

Tyrion

If you die stupidly, I'm going to feed your body to the goats," Tyrion threatened as the first load of Stone Crows pushed off from the quay.

Shagga laughed. "The Halfman has no goats."

"I'll get some just for you."

Dawn was breaking, and pale ripples of light shimmered on the surface of the river, shattering under the poles and reforming when the ferry had passed. Timett had taken his Burned Men into the kingswood two days before. Yesterday the Black Ears and Moon Brothers followed, today the Stone Crows.

"Whatever you do, don't try and fight a battle," Tyrion said. "Strike at their camps and baggage train. Ambush their scouts and hang the bodies from trees ahead of their line of march, loop around and cut down stragglers. I want night attacks, so many and so sudden that they'll be afraid to sleep—"

Shagga laid a hand atop Tyrion's head. "All this I learned from Dolf son of Holger before my beard had grown. This is the way of war in the Mountains of the Moon."

"The kingswood is not the Mountains of the Moon, and you won't be fighting Milk Snakes and Painted Dogs. And listen to the guides I'm sending, they know this wood as well as you know your mountains. Heed their counsel and they'll serve you well."

"Shagga will listen to the Halfman's pets," the clansman promised solemnly. And then it was time for him to lead his garron onto the ferry. Tyrion watched them push off and pole out toward the center of the Blackwater. He felt a queer twinge in the pit of his stomach as Shagga faded in the morning mist. He was going to feel naked without his clansmen.

He still had Bronn's hirelings, near eight hundred of them now, but sellswords were notoriously fickle. Tyrion had done what he could to buy their continued loyalty, promising Bronn and a dozen of his best men lands and knighthoods when the battle was won. They'd drunk his wine, laughed at his jests, and called each other ser until they were all staggering . . . all but Bronn himself, who'd only smiled that insolent dark smile of his and afterward said, "They'll kill for that knighthood, but don't ever think they'll die for it."

Tyrion had no such delusion.

The gold cloaks were almost as uncertain a weapon. Six thousand men in the City Watch, thanks to Cersei, but only a quarter of them could be relied upon. "There's few out-and-out traitors, though there's some, even your spider hasn't found them all," Bywater had warned him. "But there's hundreds greener than spring grass, men who joined for bread and ale and safety. No man likes to look craven in the sight of his fellows, so they'll fight brave enough at the start, when it's all warhorns and blowing banners. But if the battle looks to be going sour they'll break, and they'll break bad. The first man to throw down his spear and run will have a thousand more trodding on his heels."

To be sure, there were seasoned men in the City Watch, the core of two thousand who'd gotten their gold cloaks from Robert, not Cersei. Yet even those . . . a watchman was not truly a soldier, Lord Tywin Lannister had been fond of saying. Of knights and squires and men-at-arms, Tyrion had no more than three hundred. Soon enough, he must test the truth of another of his father's sayings: One man on a wall was worth ten beneath it.

Bronn and the escort were waiting at the foot of the quay, amidst swarming beggars, strolling whores, and fishwives crying the catch. The fishwives did more business than all the rest combined. Buyers flocked around the barrels and stalls to haggle over winkles, clams, and river pike. With no other food coming into the city, the price of fish was ten times what it had been before the war, and still rising. Those who had coin came to the riverfront each morning and each evening, in hopes of bringing home an eel or a pot of red crabs; those who did not slipped between the stalls hoping to steal, or stood gaunt and forlorn beneath the walls.

The gold cloaks cleared a path through the press, shoving people aside with the shafts of their spears. Tyrion ignored the muttered curses as best he could. A fish came sailing out of the crowd, slimy and rotten. It landed at his feet and flew to pieces. He stepped over it gingerly and climbed into his saddle. Children with swollen bellies were already fighting over pieces of the stinking fish.

Mounted, he gazed along the riverfront. Hammers rang in the morning air as carpenters swarmed over the Mud Gate, extending wooden hoardings from the battlements. Those were coming well. He was a deal less pleased by the clutter of ramshackle structures that had been allowed to grow up behind the quays, attaching themselves to the city walls like barnacles on the hull of a ship; bait shacks and pot-shops, warehouses, merchants' stalls, alehouses, the cribs where the cheaper sort of whores spread their legs. It has to go, every bit of it. As it was, Stannis would hardly need scaling ladders to storm the walls.

He called Bronn to his side. "Assemble a hundred men and burn everything you see here between the water's edge and the city walls." He waved his stubby fingers, taking in all the waterfront squalor. "I want nothing left standing, do you understand?"

The black-haired sellsword turned his head, considering the task. "Them as own all this won't like that much."

"I never imagined they would. So be it; they'll have something else to curse the evil monkey demon for."

"Some may fight."

"See that they lose."

"What do we do with those that live here?"

"Let them have a reasonable time to remove their property, and then move them out. Try not to kill any of them, they're not the enemy. And no more rapes! Keep your men in line, damn it."

"They're sellswords, not septons," said Bronn. "Next you'll be telling me you want them sober."

"It couldn't hurt."

Tyrion only wished he could as easily make city walls twice as tall and three times as thick. Though perhaps it did not matter. Massive walls and tall towers had not saved Storm's End, nor Harrenhal, nor even Winterfell.

He remembered Winterfell as he had last seen it. Not as grotesquely huge as Harrenhal, nor as solid and impregnable to look at as Storm's End, yet there had been a great strength in those stones, a sense that within those walls a man might feel safe. The news of the castle's fall had come as a wrenching shock. "The gods give with one hand and take with the other," he muttered under his breath when Varys told him. They had given the Starks Harrenhal and taken Winterfell, a dismal exchange.

No doubt he should be rejoicing. Robb Stark would have to turn north now. If he could not defend his own home and hearth, he was no sort of king at all. It meant reprieve for the west, for House Lannister, and yet . . .

Tyrion had only the vaguest memory of Theon Greyjoy from his time with the Starks. A callow youth, always smiling, skilled with a bow; it was hard to imagine him as Lord of Winterfell. The Lord of Winterfell would always be a Stark.

He remembered their godswood; the tall sentinels armored in their grey-green needles, the great oaks, the hawthorn and ash and soldier pines, and at the center the heart tree standing like some pale giant frozen in time. He could almost smell the place, earthy and brooding, the smell of centuries, and he remembered how dark the wood had been even by day. That wood was Winterfell. It was the north. I never felt so out of place as I did when I walked there, so much an unwelcome intruder. He wondered if the Greyjoys would feel it too. The castle might well be theirs, but never that godswood. Not in a year, or ten, or fifty.

Tyrion Lannister walked his horse slowly toward the Mud Gate. Winterfell is nothing to you, he reminded himself. Be glad the place has fallen, and look to your own walls. The gate was open. Inside, three great trebuchets stood side by side in the market square, peering over the battlements like three huge birds. Their throwing arms were made from the trunks of old oaks, and banded with iron to keep them from splitting. The gold cloaks had named them the Three Whores, because they'd be giving Lord Stannis such a lusty welcome. Or so we hope.

Tyrion put his heels into his horse and trotted through the Mud Gate, breasting the human tide. Once beyond the Whores, the press grew thinner and the street opened up around him.

The ride back to the Red Keep was uneventful, but at the Tower of the Hand he found a dozen angry trader captains waiting in his audience chamber to protest the seizure of their ships. He gave them a sincere apology and promised compensation once the war was done. That did little to appease them. "What if you should lose, my lord?" one Braavosi asked.

"Then apply to King Stannis for your compensation."

By the time he rid himself of them, bells were ringing and Tyrion knew he would be late for the installation. He waddled across the yard almost at a run and crowded into the back of the castle sept as Joffrey fastened white silk cloaks about the shoulders of the two newest members of his Kingsguard. The rite seemed to require that everyone stand, so Tyrion saw nothing but a wall of courtly arses. On the other hand, once the new High Septon was finished leading the two knights through their solemn vows and anointing them in the names of the Seven, he would be well positioned to be first out the doors.

He approved of his sister's choice of Ser Balon Swann to take the place of the slain Preston Greenfield. The Swanns were Marcher lords, proud, powerful, and cautious. Pleading illness, Lord Gulian Swann had remained in his castle, taking no part in the war, but his eldest son had ridden with Renly and now Stannis, while Balon, the younger, served at King's Landing. If he'd had a third son, Tyrion suspected he'd be off with Robb Stark. It was not perhaps the most honorable course, but it showed good sense; whoever won the iron Throne, the Swanns intended to survive. In addition to being well born, young Ser Balon was valiant, courtly, and skilled at arms; good with a lance, better with a morningstar, superb with the bow. He would serve with honor and courage.

Alas, Tyrion could not say the same for Cersei's second choice. Ser Osmund Kettleblack looked formidable enough. He stood six feet and six inches, most of it sinew and muscle, and his hook nose, bushy eyebrows, and spade-shaped brown beard gave his face a fierce aspect, so long as he did not smile. Lowborn, no more than a hedge knight, Kettleblack was utterly dependent on Cersei for his advancement, which was doubtless why she'd picked him. "Ser Osmund is as loyal as he is brave," she'd told Joffrey when she put forward his name. It was true, unfortunately. The good Ser Osmund had been selling her secrets to Bronn since the day she'd hired him, but Tyrion could scarcely tell her that.

He supposed he ought not complain. The appointment gave him another ear close to the king, unbeknownst to his sister. And even if Ser Osmund proved an utter craven, he would be no worse than Ser Boros Blount, currently residing in a dungeon at Rosby. Ser Boros had been escorting Tommen and Lord Gyles when Ser Jacelyn Bywater and his gold cloaks had surprised them, and had yielded up his charge with an alacrity that would have enraged old Ser Barristan Selmy as much as it did Cersei; a knight of the Kingsguard was supposed to die in defense of the king and royal family. His sister had insisted that Joffrey strip Blount of his white cloak on the grounds of treason and cowardice. And now she replaces him with another man just as hollow.

The praying, vowing, and anointing seemed to take most of the morning. Tyrion's legs soon began to ache. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, restless. Lady Tanda stood several rows up, he saw, but her daughter was not with her. He had been half hoping to catch a glimpse of Shae. Varys said she was doing well, but he would prefer to see for himself.

"Better a lady's maid than a pot girl," Shae had said when Tyrion told her the eunuch's scheme. "Can I take my belt of silver flowers and my gold collar with the black diamonds you said looked like my eyes? I won't wear them if you say I shouldn't."

Loath as he was to disappoint her, Tyrion had to point out that while Lady Tanda was by no means a clever woman, even she might wonder if her daughter's bedmaid seemed to own more jewelry than her daughter. "Choose two or three dresses, no more," he commanded her. "Good wool, no silk, no samite, and no fur. The rest I'll keep in my own chambers for when you visit me." It was not the answer Shae had wanted, but at least she was safe.

When the investiture was finally done Joffrey marched out between Ser Balon and Ser Osmund in their new white cloaks, while Tyrion lingered for a word with the new High Septon (who was his choice, and wise enough to know who put the honey on his bread). "I want the gods on our side," Tyrion told him bluntly. "Tell them that Stannis has vowed to burn the Great Sept of Baelor."

"Is it true, my lord?" asked the High Septon, a small, shrewd man with a wispy white beard and wizened face.

Tyrion shrugged. "It may be. Stannis burned the godswood at Storm's End as an offering to the Lord of Light. If he'd offend the old gods, why should he spare the new? Tell them that. Tell them that any man who thinks to give aid to the usurper betrays the gods as well as his rightful king."

"I shall, my lord. And I shall command them to pray for the health of the king and his Hand as well."

Hallyne the Pyromancer was waiting on him when Tyrion returned to his solar, and Maester Frenken had brought messages. He let the alchemist wait a little longer while he read what the ravens had brought him. There was an old letter from Doran Martell, warning him that Storm's End had fallen, and a much more intriguing one from Balon Greyjoy on Pyke, who styled himself King of the Isles and the North. He invited King Joffrey to send an envoy to the Iron Islands to fix the borders between their realms and discuss a possible alliance.

Tyrion read the letter three times and set it aside. Lord Balon's longships would have been a great help against the fleet sailing up from Storm's End, but they were thousands of leagues away on the wrong side of Westeros, and Tyrion was far from certain that he wanted to give away half the realm. Perhaps I should spill this one in Cersei's lap, or take it to the council.

Only then did he admit Hallyne with the latest tallies from the alchemists. "This cannot be true," said Tyrion as he pored over the ledgers. "Almost thirteen thousand jars? Do you take me for a fool? I'm not about to pay the king's gold for empty jars and pots of sewage sealed with wax, I warn you."

"No, no," Hallyne squeaked, "the sums are accurate, I swear. We have been, hmmm, most fortunate, my lord Hand. Another cache of Lord Rossart's was found, more than three hundred jars. Under the Dragonpit! Some whores have been using the ruins to entertain their patrons, and one of them fell through a patch of rotted floor into a cellar. When he felt the jars, he mistook them for wine. He was so drunk he broke the seal and drank some."

"There was a prince who tried that once," said Tyrion dryly. "I haven't seen any dragons rising over the city, so it would seem it didn't work this time either." The Dragonpit atop the hill of Rhaenys had been abandoned for a century and a half. He supposed it was as good a place as any to store wildfire, and better than most, but it would have been nice if the late Lord Rossart had told someone. "Three hundred jars, you say? That still does not account for these totals. You are several thousand jars ahead of the best estimate you gave me when last we met."

"Yes, yes, that's so." Hallyne mopped at his pale brow with the sleeve of his black-and-scarlet robe. "We have been working very hard, my lord Hand, hmmm."

"That would doubtless explain why you are making so much more of the substance than before." Smiling, Tyrion fixed the pyromancer with his mismatched stare. "Though it does raise the question of why you did not begin working hard until now."

Hallyne had the complexion of a mushroom, so it was hard to see how he could turn any paler, yet somehow he managed. "We were, my lord Hand, my brothers and I have been laboring day and night from the first, I assure you. It is only, hmmm, we have made so much of the substance that we have become, hmmm, more practiced as it were, and also"—the alchemist shifted uncomfortably—" certain spells, hmmm, ancient secrets of our order, very delicate, very troublesome, but necessary if the substance is to be, hmmm, all it should be . . . "

Tyrion was growing impatient. Ser Jacelyn Bywater was likely here by now, and Ironhand misliked waiting. "Yes, you have secret spells; how splendid. What of them?"

"They, hmmm, seem to be working better than they were." Hallyne smiled weakly. "You don't suppose there are any dragons about, do you?"

"Not unless you found one under the Dragonpit. Why?"

"Oh, pardon, I was just remembering something old Wisdom Pollitor told me once, when I was an acolyte. I'd asked him why so many of our spells seemed, well, not as effectual as the scrolls would have us believe, and he said it was because magic had begun to go out of the world the day the last dragon died."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I've seen no dragons. I have noticed the King's Justice lurking about, however. Should any of these fruits you're selling me turn out to be filled with anything but wildfire, you'll be seeing him as well."

Hallyne fled so quickly that he almost bowled over Ser Jacelyn—no, Lord Jacelyn, he must remember that. Ironhand was mercifully direct, as ever. He'd returned from Rosby to deliver a fresh levy of spearmen recruited from Lord Gyles's estates and resume his command of the City Watch. "How does my nephew fare?" Tyrion asked when they were done discussing the city's defenses.

"Prince Tommen is hale and happy, my lord. He has adopted a fawn some of my men brought home from a hunt. He had one once before, he says, but Joffrey skinned her for a jerkin. He asks about his mother sometimes, and often begins letters to the Princess Myrcella, though he never seems to finish any. His brother, however, he does not seem to miss at all."

"You have made suitable arrangements for him, should the battle be lost?"

"My men have their instructions."

"Which are?"

"You commanded me to tell no one, my lord."

That made him smile. "I'm pleased you remember." Should King's Landing fall, he might well be taken alive. Better if he did not know where Joffrey's heir might be found.

Varys appeared not long after Lord Jacelyn had left. "Men are such faithless creatures," he said by way of greeting.

Tyrion sighed. "Who's the traitor today?"

The eunuch handed him a scroll. "So much villainy, it sings a sad song for our age. Did honor die with our fathers?"

"My father is not dead yet." Tyrion scanned the list. "I know some of these names. These are rich men. Traders, merchants, craftsmen. Why should they conspire against us?"

"It seems they believe that Lord Stannis must win, and wish to share his victory. They call themselves the Antler Men, after the crowned stag."

"Someone should tell them that Stannis changed his sigil. Then they can be the Hot Hearts." It was no matter for jests, though; it appeared that these Antler Men had armed several hundred followers, to seize the Old Gate once battle was joined, and admit the enemy to the city. Among the names on the list was the master armorer Salloreon. "I suppose this means I won't be getting that terrifying helm with the demon horns," Tyrion complained as he scrawled the order for the man's arrest.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

What He Wants (Pt. 21)

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Summary:  On going series of Bucky getting his shit together and falling in love with you.

Warnings/ Content  beware: more lemons! 

Word Count: 2048

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! I know ya’ll are thirsty for more lemons and not gonna lie, it’s pretty lemony from here on out. Enjoy darlings :)

If you missed the first few parts, you can read them here: 1 2 3 4 5 67 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

XOXO - Ash

What He Wants, Pt. 21

“Everything okay?” you ask him as he joins you in the living room.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I had to call Pepper back. My email gave her a fright. She just wanted to make sure I’m okay.”

“That’s nice of her. Is everything sorted out then?”

“Yep, I’m officially out of the rotation. I can go back whenever I want or I can be done permanently. She’ll let the others know today.” 

“Are you going to miss it? Maybe not the missions, but your friends?” You had mulled this over a few times since he agreed to come back with you. You were pulling him into your world without anything from his own; his friends, his belongings, his life back at the Avengers compound.

“I was only really close with Sam and he has my number. I’m sure I’ll be getting a call as soon as Pepper tells him I’ve gone off with some mystery woman. I’ll see the others eventually and they know how to reach me if they need something.”

“But you had a life back there, Buck. I want you in my world, I really do. I want to give this a real chance. But don’t you want some of your stuff at least?”

“I don’t have much but I was thinking after we give it some time we could take a little trip out to get what’s left. You know, if I decide this hiatus is going to be permanent. Everyone is going to want to meet you anyway, if you’re willing.” 

“We could do that at some point. And I met Sam once on a mission a few years ago, he’s a good guy. He’s taken over Steve’s old shield and title, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he has. It couldn’t have gone to a better person. He reminds me a lot of Steve but he is such a smart ass.”

“I remember he had a sense of humor. I’m okay if you tell Sam you’re with me. Not where, of course, but you can let him know we’re… together. I don’t think he’ll tell anyone if you ask him not to.” 

“Nah, he wouldn’t blab. And I would like to tell him about us.”

“What are you going to tell him?” you tease, your tone shifting to low and suggestive as you walk over to him to wrap your arms around his solid waist. 

Bucky runs his hand through your hair and kisses the spot on your neck that makes you moan softly. “Well, I’m gonna tell him I’m staying with you. That you’re unbelievably kind, and soft, and so sweet. And you make the most amazing little moans when I…” You shove him away and he trails off laughing at your incensed look. “Come on, mouse. I was teasing. I’m just going to tell him we’re together and then, knowing my dumb ass, I’ll probably bore him to death telling him how completely wrapped around your little finger I am.” 

“Mmm, smooth recovery.” you pull his head down for a kiss. His hand is rubbing circles along the curve of your hip and it’s driving you wild. You run your hands over his chest, giving yourself ideas of how you want to spend your morning. You press your body against his and your arms snake around him, your hands tracing the hard planes of his back. 

He makes a throaty noise as your hands move lower, stopping to cup his shapely backside in your palms. “Careful there, mouse.” 

You raise your head up to meet his eyes, “Oh, I know what I’m doing.” you tell him. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Well, Mr. Barnes, I’m seducing you.” You’re cheering internally at your display of confidence. He had been so giving yesterday and while you know he came too, it’s not the same as you being an active participant in giving him pleasure. 

Bucky groans a little, “Doll, you can do that just by standing there.”

You swat his butt lightly, “Come on, Bucky, let me show you what I mean.” 

You take Bucky’s hand and lead him to the bedroom and you’re pleasantly surprised to find your bed made. You position him at the foot of the bed and push him lightly so he’s sitting down. He is watching you intently, waiting to see what exactly you have planned. Excited just at the thought that you wanted to do something for him, regardless of what it is. You nudge his knees further apart so you can stand in between them, close to him but not quite touching. It’s nerve wracking, but you’re determined to carry out your plan. Bucky genuinely seems to appreciate your body and you tamp down the anxiety that he may find something unappealing about you naked. 

Giving Bucky the sultriest smile you can manage, you pull the hem of your night shirt up slowly and toss it on the floor. You’re standing between his legs, bare except for your pink striped panties and you do your damnedest not to make your discomfort known. You chance a glance at Bucky and it stops your internal monologue. Bucky is staring at you like you’re water in a desert. 

“Holy shit, mouse.” He says like a prayer. 

Your inhibitions evaporate and you smile at him genuinely this time. Your confidence restored, you lean in to kiss him and he wraps his arm around your waist, locking you against him. His kisses are reverent and his hand trails up your side to your breasts which he alternates kneading in his wide palm. “Fuck doll” he murmurs between kisses and you shudder under his touch. 

“Hey,” you press a palm against his chest but he’s a wall of muscle and doesn’t budge. “Hey,” you try again “This is supposed to be about you.” you remind him. 

He lets you move back but looks confused, “Doll, believe me, I was doing that for me.” he says and glances down at the tent that has formed in his sweats. 

You blush and pull on the waist of his sweatpants to remove them. Bucky leans back and props himself up on his hand, lifting his hips off the bed so you can pull them all the way off, and damn if it doesn’t turn you on as his bicep and ab muscles all constrict and flex as he moves. You get his pants completely off and stay kneeling between his impossibly thick thighs. You look up at his eyes before slowly trailing down his body to the erection that you’ve freed and is now arching out and slightly up. You knew it was going to be impressive just from what you felt pressed against your thigh the day before but nothing could have prepared you for this. 

You’re not a virgin by any means but it’s been quite some time and with significantly smaller men. Bucky is long and girthy, his skin smooth and soft, with a large blunt head which is currently purpling from the rush of blood. “Wow.” you whisper to yourself, amazed. 

Bucky hears you and groans. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, doll, and things are gonna be over before you lay a hand on me.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I just… you’re just… wow.” you smile up at him like a drunk and you don’t even care. He is absolutely magnificent and you’ve gone from wanting to do this because you want to bring him pleasure, to wanting to do this because you need to taste him. Carefully you reach out and take him in your palm, quickly realizing you can’t wrap your fingers all the way around his shaft. The thought worries you for a moment, hoping you can fit enough of him in your mouth to make it pleasurable for him. You trail your hand lightly along his shaft, tracing your thumb over the ridge of his head and he gasps. Not willing to wait, you slide your hand down to the base of his shaft and, watching his face closely for his reaction, you lower your mouth and swallow as much of him as possible. You’re pleased with yourself that you manage to take in more of him than you expected and his reaction is better than you could have imagined. Bucky’s whole body shudders, his eyes rolling back in his head, and litany of mindless endearments fall from his lips. When his eyes snap back open his pupils are blown wide with lust and his breaths are coming in ragged gasps, every muscle in his body is coiled tight and you can see he’s barely holding on. 

You are spurred on by his reactions and you start moving your hands in tandem with your mouth, focusing on laving your tongue along his shaft and swirling it around his swollen head. His body continues shaking at your every movement and you wonder how long he’s going to be able to hold out. You snake one hand down from his shaft to cup his balls and are not surprised that they are also large and weighty. You knead them gently as your continue to worship his cock which is leaking precum steadily now. You wouldn’t say you enjoy the bitter saline fluid but you’re lapping it up like it’s ice cream because it’s Bucky and the thought of bringing him to this point turns you on beyond comprehension. Your jaw is starting to ache and you pray that you’ll be able to hang on long enough to finish him. The way he’s shaking though, you think you stand a chance. 

Bucky is consumed by the need raging in his body and he doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore. He knows it’s mix of doll, baby, mouse, a variety of curse words, and prayers, but he can’t think straight when you move your tongue like that. The sight of you almost completely bare between his legs with your sweet mouth on his cock makes him want to come right away and he’s holding on for dear life, trying not to spend himself so quickly. It’s mildly embarrassing how quickly he came in his jeans yesterday from nothing more than watching you fall apart in his hand and rubbing against your thigh. He needs to make this last just a little bit longer and he pulls on every bit of strength in his body to hold off. He barks out your name when you cup his balls and he knows he’s on the losing side of the battle with himself. He can feel his balls constrict, the pressure building rapidly and he prays silently that you give him a chance to prove he can go longer than this later. 

You can feel his cock thickening yet again and you gasp around him, amazed it can swell anymore and knowing it means he’s so very close. His balls pull in tightly and you move your hand back up so they’re both pumping in rhythm with your mouth and you can focus your tongue properly on the top of his shaft and head. You flick it against the bottom ridge and watch as his body shakes violently as he tries to keep himself supported by his one arm. His eyes are half open and you wait for them to meet yours again. When they do, you give him a small smile around his cock and then hollow your cheeks increasing the pressure as you give his head several rapid flicks with your tongue. Bucky makes an animalistic sound and his body goes rigid. Abruptly he spends himself in your mouth and you are quick to gulp it down, taking care of your man like you want so desperately to do. 

Bucky has barely finished coming when he collapses back on the bed, every muscle in his body trembling and weak. He’s gasping for air and trying to let his brain turn back on so he can ensure you’re okay. He feels you move away and is concerned momentarily until he feels your weight press down on the bed. You slide up next to him on his left, lying on your side and smiling down at him. He smiles back, trying and failing to find the words he wants to say to you.

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