#like what is this silly game of tit for tat

[prythiansprincess]

— a taste of the divine.

NAVIGATION // inbox. tags. writing. library. moodboard.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader.

song inspiration: the summoning by sleep token.

author’s note: vampire! mattheo has been on my mind for ages and now i've finally written something so hedonistic and self-indulgent solely inspired by the fact that the man looks good drenched in blood. sink your teeth in.

Everything in the world is about sex — except sex. Sex is about power. 

At an early age, you learned how to wield your sexuality like a weapon. After working as a courtesan for as long as you have, you quickly realized that men were truly only capable of categorizing women in one of two ways: the Virgin: an embodiment of purity, innocence, and virtue or the Whore: an incarnation of seduction, manipulation, and promiscuity. 

To be desirable, you were expected to walk a fine line and maintain a perfect balance between the two. Lean too close to the right and you’re classified a prude. Swing too far to the left and you’re labeled a slut. The difference lies in whether or not you know how to play the game. 

Given your line of work, it was in your best interest to become a top player. According to the Madam, you had a gift when it came to enticing clients. In reality, you were merely observant. The ability to accurately read people was a necessity in the game of seduction. 

To seduce someone, you need to know their dreams, their hopes, and most importantly, their desires. Most clients were motivated by a fantasy. It was your job to become that fantasy and you were quite good at your job. 

Ironically enough, the Madam always said that there were only two types of clients. The majority sought after instant gratification; a quick fuck, a one night stand, a memory to get himself off to while he lies next to his wife longing for the glory days of when his cock still worked. They were easier to please. The latter, on the other hand, proved to be a little more difficult. The naive ones that believed in silly fairy tales like making love, sighing dreamily about romance and intimacy and connection while inevitably setting themselves up for disappointment. 

You were more realistic. For you, sex has always been tit-for-tat. You never offered more than you received. Until Lord Riddle. 

You should have known Mattheo was trouble from the moment you laid eyes on him.

The first thing that you noticed about the young lord is that he preferred his own company. Every time you came across him in the Underworld, he was always alone. Mattheo never interacted with the other clients. Not out of shame like most of the first timers at the club, but out of observance. He was gauging his surroundings, judging the others around him in stoic silence, and filing them away in neat little categories in his mind. In other words, Lord Riddle was a predator sizing up his prey. Just like you. 

Usually, it only took a single interaction for you to figure out what type of person someone was. You could easily tell which clients possessed great wealth, political advantage, or secrets so terrible that you could easily exploit for your own advantage. Needless to say, this special skill of yours made you the most infamous courtesan in all of London and subsequently, the Madam’s favorite. 

But as you observed the mysterious stranger from across the room, you were surprised to come across something that you haven’t encountered for a very long time — a challenge. 

“Great choice,” the Madam praised from over your shoulder. “Would you like to be introduced?” 

“No,” you answered as you lazily sipped on a glass of champagne. “Lord Riddle will make his move when the time is right.” 

Three nights passed before Lord Riddle made his approach. The Underworld was filled to the brim with gyrating bodies, their sticky and sweaty limbs pressed against one another as they danced to the seductive crooning of the singer on stage. The red spotlight bathed the crowd in a hazy light as smoke curled through the dancefloor. 

“Not a fan of the crowd, I take it?” Lord Riddle drawled as he smoothly sidled up to your side. 

“I prefer to watch,” you replied nonchalantly as you sipped champagne. “Clearly, I’m not alone in that, my lord.” 

Lord Riddle smirked seductively, drawing you in like a predator toying with his prey. As you firmly held his gaze, you finally allowed yourself to truly take him in. Looking at Mattheo was like looking at a masterpiece — the dark and seductive eyes, the sharp cheekbones, the angular jaw, and the tall and lean body that towered over your own were all pieces of a work of art that deserved to be immortalized in a museum. Suffice to say that he was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

Still, there was more to Lord Riddle than just an aesthetically pleasing appearance. There was a presence about him, a certain magnetism that pulled you into his orbit. You felt drawn to him in a way that you had never felt with anyone else before. 

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” His voice was husky — smoky almost and it sounded like silk to your ears. Lord Riddle held out a gloved hand and flashed his charming smile. “My name is Mattheo. Mattheo Riddle.”

You shook his covered hand, noting the ancient heirloom ring sitting snugly on his right ring finger. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord. My name is Y/N.” 

Mattheo extended your hand up to his mouth and placed a chaste kiss on the back of your palm. The coolness of his lips against your skin sent shivers up your spine. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Y/N,” he purred. “And please, call me Mattheo.” 

With a sly smile, you swiped a glass of champagne from a passing tray and handed it to your newfound companion. Mattheo took a graceful sip, his intense gaze drinking you in. 

“What brings you up here tonight, Mattheo?” You gestured to the lower level of the club where the atmosphere shifted into a hedonistic maelstrom. “Surely you would much rather partake in the revelries happening down there.” 

Mattheo leaned closer and the strong scent of cinnamon and tobacco enveloped you from all sides. “Something tells me that the main event is right here,” he whispered as he caged you against the banister until all you could see, feel, and hear was him. “With you.” 

Unperturbed, you flashed him a seductive grin. “Smart and handsome,” you quipped as you smoothed the lapels of his velvet suit jacket. Mattheo trailed your touch with that intense gaze, his eyes following a path down the hard plane of his chest, which was exposed beneath an unbuttoned black dress shirt. The silver cross chain around his neck glimmered underneath the dim club lights. “Perhaps I’ve found the cure to my perpetual boredom.” 

“If you’re bored, then you’re more than welcome to play with me.” 

You raised a perfectly manicured brow. “Is that a proposition, my lord?” 

Mattheo was the perfect picture of sensuality as he closed the gap between you. “Not the type that you think,” he murmured softly. “After all, I am a gentleman so I intend to do this properly with you.” 

You raised your chin defiantly. “I can be proper.” 

His dark chuckle caressed your skin. “Somehow I doubt that,” Mattheo gibed. “Be that as it may, my offer is quite simple. I request your company for dinner tomorrow evening at my estate.” 

“For what purpose?” 

“I would like to get to know you,” Mattheo explained. “Preferably without the smoke and mirrors of this place. You’ll find that I’m a simple man with simple taste. I do not require such pageantry. What I want is the pleasure of your company over dinner and drinks.” 

“A date?” You reiterated with intrigue. “That’s not the way we do things around here.” 

Mattheo smiled. “I have a feeling you’ll make an exception for me, love.” 

“What makes you so sure of that?” 

“I intrigue you,” he simply stated. “I am a complete mystery to you. A puzzle of sorts. You like to solve puzzles. All you have to do to find the missing piece is accept.” 

“If I do,” you proposed in a neutral tone, your gaze flickering up to this magnanimous man. “Will I finally have the full picture of who you are, Lord Riddle?” 

Mattheo bowed and kissed your hand once more. “Come and find out, love.”

The wrought iron gates creaked as the carriage rounded the Riddle Estate. The ancestral home was imposing, its pointed arches and towering spires looming ominously against the backdrop of the full moon. The lawn was meticulously maintained, every hedge trimmed and shaped to perfection. 

The carriage came to a stop in front of an ornately carved wooden door. You thanked the coachman and climbed the steps one by one, careful not to step on your scarlet silk dress. As if on cue, the doors opened of its own accord. A servant awaited you inside, his stern expression fixed as he welcomed you into the home. 

“Welcome, Miss Y/N,” he rasped out. “Lord Riddle awaits you on the terrace. Follow me, please.” 

“Thank you for having me,” you said graciously as he led you through the luxurious home. You took a moment to appreciate the intricate artwork that lined the walls. “The estate is quite beautiful. From what I understand, this place holds a lot of history. Everything has been preserved from when the Prince resided here. Is that correct?” 

The man’s expression transformed from indifference to delight. “Before it became the Riddle Estate, this ancestral home was called Carfax. To honor its history, the Riddles have maintained the furnishings in its original state from when the Prince first purchased the property in the nineteenth century.” 

“Lord Riddle is quite right to do so,” you said in admiration. “There’s a certain melancholy to this place that I find quite charming.” The man nodded in appreciation. “Haunting, even.” 

“The only thing that haunts these four walls now are me,” Mattheo said when you reached the terrace. His dimpled smile was as charming and haunting as his home. “Thank you for guiding Miss Y/N, Nigel. That’ll be all for the night.” 

You curtsied as the man called Nigel bowed. “Have a lovely evening, Miss Y/N,” Nigel said in parting. “Perhaps I may give you a tour of this grand home and discuss its historic importance when my lord allows it.” 

“That would be lovely,” you accepted with a smile. “Thank you, Nigel.” 

Mattheo watched in amusement, his brows quirking as he watched the man depart. “I’m impressed,” he said with a chuckle. “You’ve managed to charm Nigel. I haven’t seen him smile in decades.” 

“I’ve been told I have a certain appeal.” 

“Speaking of,” Mattheo drawled as he surveyed you. His gaze snagged on where the silk accentuated your curves. “You look quite ravishing tonight.” 

You allowed a demure smile as you discretely scrutinized him. “I could say the same of you.” 

In all honesty, ravishing might be an understatement when it came to Mattheo. The silk button down he donned tonight was as dark as sin. At first, you thought it was black until the candlelight flickered through the fabric. Then you realized that it was a crimson so dark it appeared onyx like dried blood. His trousers were black and neatly pressed and on his feet were expensive leather shoes. The same cross chain dangled from his neck, disappearing underneath his shirt. You desperately wanted to trace it with your tongue. 

Mattheo rested his gloved hand on your lower back, guiding you gently to your seat. “You’re just in time,” he said in a pleased tone. “Dinner is ready.” 

As you settled into your seat, you had to admit that this wasn’t at all what you expected. You envisioned a grand and ostentatious six course meal served by servants while you and Mattheo were seated on opposite ends of an expensive mahogany table. In comparison, this was intimate and cozy. You were surprised to find that you preferred this much more. 

Dinner was a delicious serving of filet mignon, asparagus, and parmesan crusted potatoes that Mattheo served you himself. It was better than any meal you had ever had. To top it off, the wine he paired with the food was a rich vintage that was probably older than both of you combined. 

The conversation flowed easily between you. Mattheo was curious about you and asked questions at any given opportunity. He wanted to know your hobbies, your friends, your aspirations. It was more than anyone had ever inquired about you in a long time. 

“How did you come to work for the club?” 

You tensed at the question, but smoothly brushed over the reaction with a sip of wine. “My father was an alcoholic and a gambler. The drunker he got, the higher he bet. Unfortunately, luck never seemed to be on his side. One day, he lost a bet against a very powerful man. My father was given three days to repay his debt. Failure to do so would mean forfeiting his life. When I was eight, he sold me to the Madam and the rest is history.” 

Mattheo listened intently, captivated by your story. There wasn’t a hint of pity in his eyes, which you appreciated. You hated when people treated you like some broken little bird. The story wasn’t meant to elicit sympathy. It was a shitty thing, yes. But shitty things happened all the time. 

Even to little girls who didn’t deserve it. 

The fact of the matter was that you were the most influential courtesan in London while your father had drank himself into an early grave. You had accomplished more than he ever did in his sorry life. Because of him, you learned to read men with pinpoint accuracy so you would never be at one’s mercy again.

“Did your father ever show remorse for what he had done?” Mattheo asked curiously. 

You snorted. “That would require him to have a conscience. Besides, I neither want nor need his remorse. He died the way that he lived — drowning in liquor and debt.” 

“And the powerful man?” 

“Six feet under,” you declared nonchalantly. The governor was the first in a long line of men that met their demise by your hand. “May his soul burn in hell."

Dark eyes sparked with understanding. In the light, they almost looked crimson. “Who would be so bold to execute such a powerful man?” 

“A little girl with a grudge.” 

Pleased, Mattheo kissed your knuckles. He cleared the plates away and beckoned you to follow him. “Come, love. I want to show you something.” 

You followed Mattheo back into his home and walked through a maze of floors and hallways before you reached the west wing of the estate. He pushed open a heavy wooden door and led you into what looked like an office. Despite the extravagance of the rest of the house, the office was simple yet elegant. 

Crimson curtains reflected the moonlight, a breeze rippling through them like a phantom wind. Artifacts and artwork littered every corner of the room, including the mahogany desk positioned against the back wall. Important documents were arranged in organized stacks, but beside them were sketches and drawings of varying shape and color. 

“Everything there is to know about me is in this room,” Mattheo explained. “You said you wanted a full picture of me, so I’m giving you what I promised.”

The part of you that harbored mistrust was alarmed by his openness. “Why?” 

“To show you that I am true to my word. I will always be true to my word,” he emphasized. “Especially when it comes to you.” 

“I still don’t understand.” 

“Your madam told me about a special talent of yours.” 

“I wouldn’t call it a talent. I’m just terribly observant. If you know where to look, most people are an open book.” 

Mattheo fixed his gaze on you. “Read me then, love.”

“Most men can’t handle the truth.” 

“I’m not like most men.”

Between the lines, the true meaning of his statement revealed itself. This room was the very core of who he was and now he was inviting you in. Mattheo was putting himself wholly and utterly at your mercy. To scrutinize, to inspect, to judge. He knew how important it was for you to have the upper hand and he was willingly offering it to you. 

In silent acceptance, you surveyed the room with unveiled scrutiny. Your gaze snagged on a few interesting things. The family crest stamped on official documents. The trinkets and tokens originating from all around the world. The stoic portrait sitting above the mantelpiece. The picture of a dark haired boy that bore a great resemblance to the man before you peeking out from a discarded album. 

They all contained a piece of the puzzle that was Mattheo Riddle. 

“You’re wealthy, but not in the same sense that the rest of the club’s clientele are. You hail from old money, the type of generational wealth that most likely traces back to nobility. You’re well traveled and highly intellectual. You pick up interests left and right and you’ve probably studied at a handful of prestigious universities around the world, but you can never stick to just one topic. You have an older sibling that you have a very complicated relationship with. You’re guarded and extremely selective about the people you let in because you’re afraid of showing them the man beneath the mask. You don’t want control. You need it. Probably because you’ve felt out of control your whole life.” 

“That’s a clever trick,” Mattheo drawled as he appeared in front of you in the blink of an eye. You sucked in a breath as he pressed you against the wooden desk, resting his hands above your waist. “Is that all your instincts tell you about me?” 

“You say that you aren’t like most men, because you aren’t a man at all. You’re something else entirely. Something dark. Something dangerous.” 

Red eyes glimmered underneath the moonlight. “What am I?” Mattheo rasped as he pressed his hips against yours. “Tell me, love.” 

You held your chin high and looked him in the eyes. “You’re a vampire.” 

The mask slipped as Mattheo transformed before you. His eyes were as red as blood, dark veins forming on his pale skin. You gasped when his canines elongated, sharp and lethal and deadly. He could probably drain you of life and you wouldn’t even know it until it was too late.

“How did you figure it out?”

“You wear gloves because your skin is as cold as ice, your eyes are crimson in certain lights, and you speak like you’ve lived a thousand different lives. Plus, you’ve been staring at my neck all night like you’re just waiting for the chance to sink your teeth in.” 

“Are you scared?” 

“No.” 

“You should be,” Mattheo drawled. “I have lived for five hundred years and never once have I experienced bloodlust like this in all of my existence. Your blood calls to me. I knew it from the first night I laid my eyes on you.” 

The admission should have frightened you, but instead in some strange way you understood. On any other occasion, you never would have allowed yourself to be alone in a strange home with a strange man, but for some reason, you felt compelled to accept. Whether by fate or kismet or destiny, you knew that you were meant to be here tonight. 

Mattheo caressed your throat and buried his nose in the crook of your neck to inhale the heavenly scent. “Tell me love,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly. “What do you desire most in life?” 

There was no hesitation in your voice when you spoke. “Power.” 

“I could give that to you,” Mattheo promised. “I could give you power beyond what you could ever imagine. All you have to do is say yes.” 

“What are you asking for in exchange?” 

“You,” Mattheo said simply. “I want you. Bind yourself to me and you will never feel powerless again. I will worship you like the goddess that you are. I will devote myself to you for eternity. I will be yours and you will be mine.” 

“You want me to be your consort?” 

Dark eyes flickered with desire. “No, darling,” he purred smoothly. “I want you to be my equal. Equal in wealth, equal in beauty, equal in power.” 

The idea thrilled you. Being an influential courtesan was one thing, but becoming an immortal vampire with immense riches and power would provide security that not even the Madam could offer. You thought about the little girl that you were — scared and helpless as your father ripped you away from the only life you’d ever known. If you accepted Mattheo’s offer, you would never have to feel that way again. You would be untouchable.

"Why me?"

"Because you are beautiful and bloodthirsty. Because you are clever and cunning. Because you clawed your way into a better future despite the pull of the past," Mattheo declared with certainty. "Because in all my existence, I have never met anyone quite like you."

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Sharp fangs caressed your neck as Mattheo dragged his canines against your skin. “The pull between us. I never believed in the concept of mates, but even I could not deny the call of the bond. I have searched for you for centuries and I was not even aware of it until I finally found you.” 

“Is that what it is?” Since that first night at the club, you had felt inexplicably drawn to Mattheo. Even then you knew it was more than attraction. It was like every fiber of your being yearned for him. “You’re my mate?” 

Mattheo nodded. “Only if you accept the bond.” 

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, I accept.” 

“I will have to turn you,” Mattheo explained carefully. “The ritual will be painful. I will drink of your blood and you will drink of mine. Once the venom courses through your veins, the pain will be excruciating, but I will be with you every step of the way.” He caressed your cheek, his expression softening. “Do you trust me, love?” 

Strangely enough, you did. You knew that Mattheo would stay true to his word. 

With a nod, the ritual began. Mattheo fisted your hair between his fingers and tilted your head back. He hummed against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses up the column of your throat before settling on a spot at the junction of your collarbone. His dark eyes flicked up to yours as his fangs elongated. Mattheo watched for signs of hesitation, but found none. 

You gasped as he sank his teeth into your flesh, eyes fluttering shut as the sting of the bite took hold. Mattheo moaned as he drank your blood. The venom spread like wildfire in your veins, scorching your entire being from head to toe. It felt like your blood was boiling. You screamed as tremors rocked your body, phantom hands taking hold of your bones and breaking them over and over again. You screamed as the pain spread, but Mattheo stayed focused and retrieved a dagger from his desk drawer. 

In one swift move, he cut his palm open and held it over your mouth. “Drink, my love,” Mattheo instructed. “It will ease the pain.” 

Desperate, you lapped up Mattheo’s blood with urgency. The metallic taste filled your mouth, but you couldn’t help but drink deeper as it turned sweet and heady, tasting like wine on your tongue. The more you drank, the better you felt. It was almost as though his blood was the antidote to the pain. 

“That’s it,” Mattheo murmured. “You’re doing so well, my love. Just a little more.” You sucked on his palm shamelessly, blood dripping down the front of your dress. “That’s a good girl.” 

Mattheo wiped his blood from the corner of your mouth before crashing his lips against yours. You groaned as he pressed you against the desk, his hands gripping your waist while you kissed him back with equal fervor. Passion sparked between you as Mattheo scrambled to taste as much of you as he could. 

His soft pants echoed in your ears as he desperately chased after your kisses, blood staining both of your mouths. A euphoric feeling washed over you like a wave, chasing the pain away and replacing it with a surge of pleasure. Every touch felt heightened, your senses shifting into overdrive as Mattheo pulled away. 

You whined at the loss, which made him grin apologetically. “The ritual isn’t complete yet, my love.” 

Mattheo flipped the dagger in his hand and beckoned you over to the middle of the room. He pulled out the expensive rug and carelessly tossed it aside before kneeling on the wooden floorboards. You mirrored the gesture and watched as Mattheo pulled you against him, placing the dagger in your hand. He produced a grimoire and skimmed through the pages until he found the right one. 

“We must draw the ancient bonding runes,” Mattheo explained as he pointed at the carvings illustrated on the grimoire. “They will signify our eternal union. Once we carve them, there’s no going back.” 

You gripped the dagger tightly. “Together?” 

Mattheo smiled. “Together, my love.” 

Carefully, the two of you carved the runes into the floor. The carvings glowed as mist and fog rose up from the wooden floorboards. You shivered as the temperature dropped, an eerie wind blowing through the crimson curtains. As you finished the last rune, you and Mattheo turned to face each other. 

Blood stained his hand as he reached up to caress your cheek, his eyes black with desire. You could feel the ritual sinking into your bones, changing the very core of your being. The bond physically took hold as the connection stretched taut between the two of you. The scarlet string glowed and the end of your thread reached towards Mattheo.

“What do we do now?” 

Mattheo’s fiery gaze flickered up to you. “Now we consummate the union.” 

Your breathing slowed as Mattheo drew you close, his face mere inches away from yours. Desire burned through you like a living flame. At that moment, nothing existed but him. 

“I want you, Mattheo,” you breathed. “My mate.” 

You groaned as Mattheo kissed you deeply, his hands finding refuge in your hips. The taste of him was intoxicating, sweeter than any wine you had ever consumed. You groaned as he parted your lips with his tongue and placed you over his lap. The kisses grew desperate, like you couldn’t get enough of one another. Mattheo pulled down the straps of your dress, kissing every inch of skin he had access to. 

“Let me worship you like you deserve,” he murmured in reverence. 

His eyes remained fixated on you as he laid you atop the runes, its glow bathing both of you in scarlet light. Mattheo took his time lavishing your body with kisses, marking every inch of you with his mouth. You moaned as his dark head disappeared between your legs, his sharp canines tickling the inside of your thighs. He took your lace panties off with his teeth and hooked your legs over his shoulders. 

The anticipation was almost too much to bear until Mattheo finally put his mouth on you. He eagerly feasted, his hunger evident in the way he buried his tongue in your cunt. You tugged at his curls as he licked and sucked, lapping up your arousal with unbroken focus. When his tongue flicked over your clit, you bucked against his mouth and shamelessly moaned his name. 

“You’re a fucking goddess, Y/N,” Mattheo declared. 

The sight of him between your thighs, his mouth dripping with blood and cum while his eyes burned with carnal passion was enough to send you over the edge, but you didn’t want to come without him. You wanted to do this right. You wanted to do this together.

“I need you,” you pleaded as you tugged at his belt. “Please, Mattheo.” 

“You never have to beg,” Mattheo answered as he undressed. “I’m yours, Y/N.” 

With bated breath, you watched in anticipation as Mattheo crawled over you, his gaze wild and hungry. He groaned when you tugged him down by his curls, his mouth meeting yours in a heated frenzy. His hard length pressed against your center as you parted your legs for him, greedily wrapping them around his waist while you grinded deliciously against his cock. 

The friction was divine, but you needed more. So much more. Mattheo growled into your mouth as he guided your hand towards his impressive length, chuckling softly when your eyes widened at his size. Crimson bled into soft chocolate eyes as Mattheo lined himself up at your entrance. 

“You’re fucking exquisite,” he whispered in reverence as he traced your jaw. “I have waited for you for centuries and it was worth every second.” 

You whimpered as he eased into you, his cock stretching your walls as you adjusted to his length. Praises flowed from Mattheo’s mouth as he pushed inside, giving you inch after inch until he was fully sheathed in your pussy. The pressure was painful at first, but it soon gave way to pleasure. 

“I feel so full,” you groaned as Mattheo kissed your neck. “So full of you, Mattheo.” 

“Is it as heavenly for you as it is for me, love?” 

In response, you secured your legs around his waist and pushed him in further, making the both of you moan in satisfaction. 

“Does that answer your question?” 

A cheeky grin appeared on Mattheo’s handsome face. “You’re absolutely sinful, but don’t get too cocky. I’m going to ruin you for every other man.” 

“You already have,” you responded as Mattheo moved slowly, dragging his cock in and out of you until you actually whined from the absence. “No man could ever measure up. There is no one like you, Mattheo.” 

The declaration seemed to unleash something inside of Mattheo. His movements, once slow and calculated, turned frenzied and frantic. His hands were all over your body, his fangs dragging up the column of your throat while his form enveloped you whole until you couldn’t tell where you began and where he ended. 

You matched his rhythm, rocking your hips to the frenetic pace. Mattheo hissed as you clawed at his back and slammed harder into you, seeming to know exactly what you needed without you speaking it into existence. The ancient runes glowed and your blood hummed in agreement, accepting the final binding of the ritual. 

“Do you feel that, love?” Mattheo grunted, his sweat matted curls plastered to his forehead. “That’s my power flowing into you. With it, you will be unstoppable.” 

Your back arched against the floor as energy surged through your veins, electrifying every cell in your body. The scarlet thread between you and Mattheo twined itself into an unbreakable connection, connecting your mind, body, and soul together. 

A shiver skittered down your spine as you looked into a pair of crimson eyes. “We will be unstoppable. My mate, my love, my Y/N.” 

The pleasure was overwhelming. You tugged Mattheo down to you, panting into his mouth as you kissed him. “So close,” you breathed. “I’m so close.”

Your gums ached as fangs began to elongate from your mouth. Mattheo watched proudly, his handsome face bathed in awe at the transformation. 

“Surrender to it,” he whispered softly. “Bite me, my love.” 

The words gave you pause, but as soon as he spoke them, hunger and bloodlust seemed to awaken in your veins. 

“Drink from my blood,” Mattheo encouraged. “Mark me. Claim me. Devour me.” 

Without hesitation, you sank your teeth into the side of his neck. The thirst was unquenchable and you drank deeply, greedy for the taste of his blood. Mattheo’s hips stuttered as he moaned erotically, his release close. 

“That’s it, Y/N.” Mattheo encouraged as blood dribbled down his neck. His fingers swiped over your clit, rubbing stimulating circles and making you feel untethered. “Surrender yourself to me completely. Come for me, my love.” 

A whip of lightning lashed at your body, searing you from head to toe as you toppled over the edge. The orgasm was white and blinding, seizing your very being with pleasure. Mattheo kissed you through the comedown, letting you ride it out as you clawed at his back and arms. 

“Look at me,” he commanded. “Watch the way you undo me.” 

Mattheo was a man ruined. As soon as your gazes met, he threw his head back and roared in pleasure. The way he looked when he came, perfect curls mussed and sex tousled, abs straining as he emptied himself inside of you, and mouth open as your name left his lips, was something that would be ingrained into your mind for the rest of time. 

The bond settled between you then, signaling the completion of the ritual. You were now connected to Mattheo in every way possible. The courtesan who once vowed never to give herself to a man now found herself bonded. 

Mattheo embraced you in his arms, holding you close. You pressed your cheek against his solid chest and found comfort in his touch.

“What happens now?” 

“I devour you again and again,” Mattheo responded cheekily. “And once more before the sun rises."

You chuckled softly. “After that?”

“You decide, my love.” He declared with no qualms. “You are in control of your story now.” 

“And if I said the little girl with the grudge wanted to burn the whole world down?” 

Crimson eyes met yours. “Then I’ll help her light the match.”

Mattheo meant it. You knew it in your very bones. With a smile, you settled into his arms. Feeling safe. Feeling loved. Feeling like you could rule the world. He gave you that. Your mate. 

As your eyes fluttered close, one thought flashed through your once cynical mind. 

Perhaps sex wasn’t always about power.

Perhaps, on rare occasions, sex was about so much more.

[elizabethan-memes]

Though Mary was prostrated and often delirious, during her more lucid moments she had gone through a journey of self-realisation - of the acceptance of death but also the acknowledgement that she must face up to the responsibility of being a Queen. She knew she must nominate her successor for England's sake. It was a difficult but courageous decision that Elizabeth herself evaded when her time came.

Linda Porter, Mary Tudor

Linda's so SALTY it's funny. Careful, Linda! That's a lotta sodium!

[pauljonelouns]

Chubby Bunny

Watching a horror movie last night, the female character was asked to put marshmallows in her mouth until no more would fit. Telling the person on the other side of the computer "Oh.. .you want me to play Chubby Bunny."

What constitutes a game, is at least 2 players, a set of pure strategies or rules, and at least one equilibrium, we can't forget the payout.

The more the merrier I say; maybe with 6 hungry players sitting around the dinning room table. In the center, 3 big bags of jumbo marshmallows, with mom as the overseer/referee.

The rules are: Each play in succession has to put a marshmallow in his or her mouth and after it's inside he or she has to legibly say "Chubby Bunny." The last player standing usually takes the game, ties are rare, everyone for the most part has a different size mouth.

The equilibrium each player has to meet, is not to break the succession of his or her turn in between the person before and after. Only when no more marshmallows will fit or in the event he or she can't say the words (legibly) "Chubby Bunny" but still holding the marshmallow in their over stuffed mouth will the player dis-equilibriate; mom intervening having the player sit back.

The payout is open to the subjectivity of the players, mom or who knows, it could be something like not having to do the dishes for a week or not rake the leaves.

The above is a legitimate real game, it's not Prisoner's Dilemma or Tit-for-Tat; Chubby Bunny sits up with the best though.

I'm laughing at its silly nature as I type, but blown away at its legitimatecy of its being ... .. .you have to be there.

Thank you for reading

Paul

[stxrfclls]

she  wasn't  sure  why  it  became  so  fun,  poking  at  the  high  lord  rather  than  flirting.  she  may  have  tried  all  of  once  to  be  a  sweet  and  charming  lady  of  spring,  but  that  had  quickly  shifted  into  one  she  knew  they  both  understood  the  other  was  playing.  she'd  not  expected  it  of  him,  nor  how  thrilling  it  was  to  get  a  rise  out  of  a  man  she  was  expected  to  beguile.  "  hmm,  does  this  mean  you  are  admitting  you  need  me  to  continue  in  order  to  ensure  you  remain  at  your  best  ?  "  she  tilts  her  head  to  the  side,  clearly  speaking  rhetorically.  they  both  seemed  to  know  that  they  would  never  be  rid  of  the  other,  even  if  reila  was  never  really  sure  why  she  was  so  drawn  to  him.  it  was  maddening,  and  perhaps  why  she  poked  him  with  her  sharpened  barbs  in  protest.  her  brow  cocks,  and  she  glances  at  her  bow,  then  at  his  own.  "  skewering  my  high  lord  does  not  seem  to  be  the  best  action.  i  think  my  arrows  would  be  far  more  beneficial  on  another  than  you.  "  she  makes  it  seem  as  if  he's  unworthy  of  being  shot,  which  is  quite  amusing  as  well  as  silly.  she  flashes  a  grin,  relishing  in  the  way  he  admits  to  what  she  does  to  him  even  if  he  somehow  decides  to  move  closer  to  her.  "  at  least  i  do  it  in  private,  my  lord.  "  because  she  was  more  behaved  in  public,  demure  as  she'd  been  taught  and  loathing  every  second  of  it.  with  roland  she  was  mostly  herself,  unfiltered  and  allowing  actual  enjoyment  in  a  conversation  –  even  if  it  was  at  his  expense  and  her  own  when  he  returned  the  favor.  his  proximity,  the  just  out  of  reach  space  between  them,  is  maddening.  she  doesn't  let  it  show,  refusing  to  let  him  see  how  he  affects  her.  reila  parts  her  lips  to  reply,  but  words  are  cut  off  by  the  drawing  of  his  bow,  and  at  this  close,  she  feels  the  air  rush  between  them  as  he  aims  and  releases.  for  a  moment  her  eyes  show  her  clear  surprise,  but  she  schools  it  away  in  hopes  he  hardly  notices.  she  catches  where  his  arrow  lands,  and  of  course  he's  hit  the  center.  "  careful,  my  lord,  that  will  begin  to  sound  like  the  wedding  incantations.  "  she  warns,  easily  playing  the  game  he  always  meets  her  tit  for  tat  in.  her  eyes  don't  stray  from  him  either,  even  if  it  is  her  turn  to  take  aim.  in  truth,  she  feels  she's  always  trying  to  climb  beneath  his  skull  and  understand  what  is  going  on  in  that  mind  of  his.  did  any  other  attempt  to  do  so  ?  or  did  they  take  his  charming  high  lord  act  and  call  it  a  day  ?

( 𐫱 ) 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗱, 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗱, 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝗺 𝗺𝗮𝗱. won't you call me by my name? but this resonates with more impudence than he cared to admit. it often is wondered whether or not the high lord of spring has a shred of his own heart left. perhaps only resentment and pride beat within his chest, and he himself, much to his chagrin, couldn't say. what he could: reila started that familiar fire, made passion bleed from his pores. makes the smirk want to come back, there to be more of a purpose than — than what? all of it. "then this whole facade has been us slipping and reminding and slipping again. where on this realm would i be if not for your curt reminders and sharp intellect?" and quicker aim, expression just at the coarse edges of surprise when she whirls towards him. sarcasm, but the tremble is near. he reflects it, offering a mock bow, both hands to lift despite the weapon he held. "will i be your next target if i do not stay my tongue?" asks he. "it's awful at being an annoyance. because someone, in private, knows just how to arouse its barbs from their resting places." he falsifies surrender if only to invade her space all further, a shoulder stepping as though to brush, but in the end, no contact is made. it might all be ruined if it was. "we should keep it that way." he, in standing close, then nocks his arrow and aims, impulsive, without thought. of course, it is this one that strikes the centre, and it feels metaphorical, in a way roland doesn't wish to explore. his huff, it hurries past the dryness in his throat. honey - eyed gaze strafes towards her profile. "if i had missed, i would say you'd be the death of me. alas. you give me new life! and so, my lady, you must put up with me. for better or worse." if he must be haunted by zarathin women, then so it will be, but what he also doesn't anticipate is how the internal passion translates onto his face, dissolving into a private mask of being taken aback by truly seeing her. one that may, or may not, be just for these quarters.

[thirstyandbeautiful]

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” - “Falling insinuates I landed with no padding, so yes, it did hurt.” (53) with Lando please?

53. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” - “Falling insinuates I landed with no padding, so yes, it did hurt.”

APRIL DRABBLES

Lando!Drabble: Trying too Hard

Summary: Lando desperately tries to flirt with his new coworker. (fluff!)

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” 

“Falling insinuates I landed with no padding, so yes, it did hurt.” 

You looked up from your iPad, unimpressed as Lando stood in front of you. You weren’t sure whether his face of the day was actually hurt or just slightly dejected as he looked at you like a lost puppy.

“Boooooo!” Daniel yelled from across the room, “You gotta try harder than that!” 

You laughed as you turned to face Daniel, your body between the two team drivers.

“Mind your business, Daniel!” Lando yelled playfully. 

“Nah, you’ve been hitting on her for a month now! Let it go!” he yelled from his sprawled place on the couch, “My ears have suffered from listening to your lack of game.” 

“I have plenty of game!” Lando whined. 

You rubbed your cheek as you listened to the two fall into a tit for tat with each other, one whinier than the next. It was like two siblings squabbling. 

“Well, if the attention is no longer on me, then...” you mumbled as you turned on your heel and stepped out of the room. 

You were careful on the staircase, they were so narrow in the pop up team HQ on the paddock. You were still new, so you still felt the heavy expectation of not looking like a fuck up, of proving yourself a worth while hire. Each step felt like a test for your usually clumsy feet.

“Hey!”

Your foot slipped right past one step, but instead of falling on your ass, you felt the sure grip of large hands on your arms, pulling you back to your feet before you could even hit the ground. 

“Lando,” you sighed as you turned towards him, shaking off his hold, “what?”

“You know, I....” he trailed off for a moment, “I wanted to say sorry, like, if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You haven’t!” you heard your own voice shake, fuck, “I’m fine.”

You hadn’t seen an earnest side to Lando yet, an apologetic side, so you felt off kilter as you stood a step down from him . 

“I just,” he sighed, “I’d like to take you out. For real. If you would want to!” the words rushed from him now, “It’s no pressure, if you don’t want to then we can go back to joking around and stuff, I don’t want you to think-”

You tuned him out as you weighed your options. 

Lando had been really welcoming. And he seemed like a nice guy, he hadn’t made you uncomfortable with the silly pick up lines. His awkwardness was almost endearing, well, actually was endearing most of the time. 

“Lando,” your hand squeezed his arm to silence him, “I think I would actually really-”

“What are you guys doing?” Zac’s voice echoed from how loud he was in the tiny staircase, “You’re blocking traffic, come on!” 

You and Lando both squeaked as you rushed up the stairs and out of the way of your boss, as he followed none the wiser. When you reached the room you were just in and he called for a team meeting, you looked at Lando.

Later, you mouthed to him. 

[aiura-stan]

❤️🦋🔥🌧🌏⚾️🔮🍀😇💣🤩💅🏽 ✨Katha’s Long List of Proposed Creative Saiki K Shipnames ✨

Sure, smashing names together is fine, but I like creative and quirky ship names! So I have taken it upon myself to make up as many as possible…

👯‍♀️🕵️🤝👻👽😱👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨🤑💫🍜🍰🏃‍♂️

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

~Intro~ (feel free to skip ahead)

As a Saiki K fan who originally didn’t ship anything in this fandom, I have grown fond of reading fanfics with different pairings. It’s admittedly very fun to think about all of the alternate universe potential of ships. Ships go beyond canon, and explore the potential relationships and implications of one plot point happening before another, and how it could wind up impacting two people’s lives together.

I think there’s something inherently interesting about the stories fans tell about two characters and their interpersonal dynamics, and how it plays into the source material- or goes against it. It’s creative! And very cool, and I think the fandom should have more creative ship names to reflect that. I miss the days when a ship name told you something about the pairing it was referring to.

So I came up with a bunch myself, ft my silly commentary. I welcome people to propose additional names, ships or alterations, or take this entire list and copy+ paste it to workshop it/rework it themselves. Without further Ado.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

KuboKai (Kuboyasu + Kaidou)

-Troublemakers

-Wannabes

-Legend and Legendary

SaiTeru (Saiki + Teruhashi)

-Battle of Wills

-Heaven and Hell (thanks Kuusuke)

-Destroying Angels (a type of beautiful but deadly mushroom, with an angelic appearance)

-Divine Intervention (My personal favorite)

-God’s Chosen (courtesy of Saikikthoughts)

SaiAi (Saiki + Aiura, Aka Mikosai or Saiura)

-PSIoulmates (from a chapter title)

-Destiny Reawakened

-Future Nostalgia (Yes, like the Dua Lipa song)

-Power Couple (It’s simply true)

Future Sight (It was super effective…)

SaiShun (Saiki + Kaidou Aka KaiSai)

-Sweet Reunion

-Cotton Candy (already a homestuck femslash shipname but shhh, they have a nice color scheme)

ImuTeru (Imu + Teruhashi)

-Pretty Girls Rock (come on let’s do the pretty girl Rock…)

-girl power

SatouSai (Saiki + Satou)

-Average Life

-Normal Boyfriends (In which Saiki gets the normal life he has always dreamed of.)

SaiKechi (Aka AkeSai, Saiki + Akechi)

-playmates

-battle of Wits

-Bet

-Horsegamblers

-Pushing Luck

-Luck by deduction (something like that.)

ToriSai (Saiki + Toritsuka)

-Master Worship (Jared Kleinman voice: kinky)

-impervect chemistry

NenRo (Nendou + Hairo)

-Gym Bros

-Himbos

-CompetiPSIon

-Buff n’ Buffer (Courtesy of Saikikthoughts)

KuboSai (aka SaiYasu, Kuboyasu + Saiki)

-Rule of Fists

-Delinquents

-Karma

-Vigilantes

-What Goes Around

AiTeru (Aiura + Teruhashi)

-Girl Power

-Saiki Approves

-Poetic Duet

KusuKoto (Aka MaKuusuke, MakoKuu, Makoto x Kuusuke)

-sibcon binate

-wit and charm

-fool’s gold (pyrite is an interesting and useful mineral in its own right but it’s DEFINITELY not gold or a substitute)

-Monarch Mimicry

-kill-a-fellow (like the snake rhyme)

[insert phrase meaning deceptive appearances]

ToriAi (Toritsuka + Aiura)

-Fate and Death

-Bi-Psychics

SaiSai (Saiki + Saiko)

-Rich get Richer

-Alliteration boys

YumeAi (Yumehara + Aiura)

-Love Deluxe (Let the voice of love, take you hiiigher…)

-Hearts on Sleeves

-The Love Club (like the Lorde song)

-Love Fantasy

-Love & Truth (Mother Mother anyone?)

-Gossip girlfriends

(They’d make such a good couple, just from a storytelling POV)

NenSai (Nendou + Saiki)

-ramen buddies

-pals

SaiKoto (Saiki + Makoto)

-Aggravation Games

-Roku/Six Eyes (this one’s so stupid)

-Romcom (doesn’t it sound like one. I fell in love with the girl-who-has-a-crush-on-me’s overprotective brother with a siscon…)

ToriHii (Toritsuka + Hii)

-Disastrous destiny

-Tit for Tat

-Lady and the Damned (haha)

SatouHii (Satou + Hii)

-A Perfect Match

-luckbuddies

SaiHara (Saiki + Yumehara)

-Love Fantasy

SaiMera (Saiki + Mera)

-Coffee Jelly

-Sweethearts

-Café Date

-Eat your Heart Out (to all the haters of the ship!! XD)

SaiRo (Saiki + Hairo)

-Motivation

TorIsu (Toritsuka + Arisu)

-A Ghostly Couple (remember Saiki saying Arisu chan was probably a member of the occult generation of miracle kids?)

-Fight or Fright

-Creep n’ Creepy (tbh)

-Phantasmagoric

-Grimms (Anyone seen NBC Grimm…?)

ToriKai (Toritsuka + Kaidou)

-Rabble Rousers (one of those chaotic ships, I think)

KuriAi (Kuriko + Aiura)

-girlbosses

KuriTeru (Kuriko + Teruhashi)

-café denial

YumeTeru (Yumehara + Teruhashi)

-Love Advice

-whispers

(was trying to find some cutesy equivalent of female version of ‘bros before hoes’ but couldn’t find anything not vulgar)

NenKai (Nendou x Kaidou)

-Me or You

SaiHii (Saiki + Hii)

-Unluck in love

-Fortune Chasers

-Breakdown Buildup

SuziyumaHiiisunderrated came up with a bunch of cool ones:

-Death Flag

-Worldbreakers

-PSI-lamity

(these all sound so METAL I wanna write a long, epic fic about them)

KuuTori (Kuusuke + Toritsuka)

-a blind date (because kusuke probably blindfolded him when kidnapping him… also took him on a “cafe date”…)

-Stockholm Syndrome (i’m laughing help)

ToriKechi (Toritsuka + Akechi)

-run, don’t hide (they can locate you with ease…)

KuuAi (Kuusuke + Aiura)

-Fashion showdown (I feel like Kuusuke’s probably into fashion as a hobby when he’s not studying. Aiura is definitely a fashionista.)

-Certainties (With Aiura’s accurate predictions and Kuusuke’s intelligence, who knows what they could bring about together…)

HiiTeru (Hii + Teruhashi)

-Even Out

-Grace and Klutz

HiiAi (Hii + Aiura)

-pathfinders (Some sort of Milo Murphy’s law type situation where Hii chan’s girlfriend Aiura comes prepared for all situations and they work together to avoid daily disasters in life and wind up going on all sorts of adventures together. Think about it- if you know every way something can and will go horribly wrong, you also know exactly how to make it go right…)

YumeKai (Yumehara + Kaidou)

-Knight & the Princess

MetEra (aka MerSaiko, Saiko + Mera)

-Rags and Riches

-Dedication (one thing both share)

KaiMera (Kaidou + Mera)

-(for) Love & Money (both work their hardest. One gets more money than love, the other more love than money…)

NenTeru (Nendou + Teruhashi)

-couth and uncouth (sat on a bench, couth fell off… wait nevermind wrong word pun)

-Beauty and the Beast (akdjsjdj I couldn’t resist)

YuMera (Yumehara + Mera)

-Extraordinary Ordinary

postscript

I don’t even ship most of this, so I’m sure someone who did ship it would come up with something better. So please feel free.

Several of these could be called the ex-Saiki crush club. How many characters have/had a crush on saiki again? Like five, I think. Yumehara, Aiura, Teruhashi, Toritsuka (as Kuriko), and that one unnamed girl near the beginning.

Psychic Duo could apply to either SaiAi or ToriSai, Perv BF’s could be either KuTori or KuusuKoto. Some of these might be confusing, or apply to multiple pairings. Not entirely sure.

Did I miss your favorite? Tag me with the ship name + a proposed creative name and I will add it ^^

[belphies-cuhm-sluht]

And here's a thought! Lucifer and Belphegor pining after the same F!reader. A fic or headcanons, whichever is easier for you. How would they go about wooing her? What are their flirting techniques? Who's more touchy feely and who drowns her in words? I want that good, kind of filthy because we know they dont play fair, brotherly competition

Sincerely,

Your favorite aka the Queen of Smut @diavolosthots

Lucifer and Belphegor Pining Over The Same F!MC Headcanons

did I get carried away with this? Yes. Did it go from Headcanons to like ... headcanony fic? Yes. Do I Hope it’s still good? Also yes.

This isn’t friendly competition, not at all. As soon as they realized that they liked the same girl, it was like a race to see who could get to her first, who could win her over first. They are out to spoil each other's plans, no matter what it takes.

Lucifer would take you out on little lunch dates or grand dinner dates, it just depends on how busy he is, but he does enjoy smaller lunch dates since the restaurants aren’t packed during the day, but the dates were always under the guise of a friendly lunch or a generous dinner for helping around the house. His pride made it hard for him to handle any type of rejection, so he never told you that it was a date, just in case you didn’t like it.

Belphie, if he found out about the reservation that Lucifer had made, would always attempt to hold everything up. The dishwasher just so happened to start leaking bubbles from the bottom as soon as you and Lucifer were about to leave, or all the lights in the house somehow went out while you were getting ready. Strange things, but they were also normal things that could happen in a normal household. You were none the wiser to what was going on, but Lucifer knew, and he could play just as hard at that game.

Belphie wasn’t one to take you out of the house, he didn’t see the point in doing it. He could have a normal date with you up in the attic, and that’s exactly what he does. Snacks lined up next to the beanbags that he has placed in front of the television. Just a simple movie night, and the best part is that, this was one of the things that he and you did before he even realized that he had feelings for you, so you wouldn’t think any different of it, but this was his way of getting closer to you.

Lucifer hated it, he hated how simple it seemed to be for Belphie. He was lazy, so he didn’t have to try as hard to impress you. Him just getting out of bed was a means for a round of applause from you. He wasn’t one to spoil things the way Belphie did, but he would text you occasionally during your movie, just to make sure that you were still capable of texting back. Sometimes, if you didn’t text him back within ten minutes, he’d go up to the attic himself and inform you that it was time for dinner, or that he needed your help with something.

It started out as somewhat normal brotherly competition, but once one of them started getting handsy, that’s when the other ramped it up. Lucifer was definitely more handsy, although he’d play it off quite well. Pulling you into his lap in his office while he worked, and when you’d question it, his excuse was that you kept him from getting up and getting distracted. Now, he and you both knew that he wasn’t the kind of person to get distracted, but he also did seem to work much faster with you on his lap. That, and the fact that his arms were on either side of you so you couldn’t really move, and his chin was resting on your shoulder. What better way to get closer to someone than to actually have them close like that? That was Lucifer's way of thinking, and Belphie didn’t like it one bit.

Belphie was too awkward to do stuff like that, not that he didn’t hold onto you during the naps that the two of you took together, but that was normal to him, and it was normal to you as well. Any other kind of physical affection though… he couldn’t do that. What if you pulled away from him? What if you didn’t like it? That was scary to him.

Belphie liked to use words, and while he wasn’t the best at telling you how he felt, it seemed way better than just pulling you onto his lap and staying silent. That just seemed awkward. His “words” were usually just off handed compliments, things that wouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable, and things that he found easier to get out. He wouldn’t stumble over his words when he told you that your hair looked nice, and he wouldn’t turn into a blushing mess when he complimented your outfit or your shoes. It was easy, and you would always smile and thank him when he said those things. Your reactions alone made him feel like he was winning, and they made Lucifer more irritated because you didn’t smile and thank him when he held you on his lap. What did he have to do to receive the same gratitude?

Soon though, they got tired of basically beating around the bush. You were either clueless to their advances, or just didn’t like either of them. No matter what, they had to find out, and they were going to try twice as hard. The bad part is just that though… they were both trying, and that was a recipe for disaster.

Lucifer is used to getting what he wants, when he wants, no matter what it is. His best friend is the king dammit, and he isn’t going to give up. If he has to bring Lord Diavolo into this, he will. Don’t doubt him.

Belphie on the other hand, he’s not used to getting what he wants at all, but he feels like he at least deserves to have you considering you’re the reason he got locked away in the attic in the first place and he still wants to be with you. That should amount to something in your eyes, right? Can’t we just get over the fact that he killed you once and then attempted to do it again?

Lucifer started bringing random gifts and flower bouquets to your room. Stuffed teddy bears, and random pieces of jewelry that “caught his eye” and “made him think of you”. Everything that he got you was exquisitely beautiful, and probably worth more than everything you owned combined.

While he had the upper hand monetarily, Belphie had the upper hand in the fact that he was easier to get along with, and those kinds of things weren’t really expected of him. Sure, he had money, but unlike Lucifer he didn’t spend it on grand things to try to buy you over with.

Now, every time Lucifer even comes to your bedroom with gifts, Belphie is in there with you, and that in itself was his gift. He was staying awake, for you. That’s not to say that he didn’t get you things though, but they weren’t as marvelous as the gifts that Lucifer got you, but they had more meaning than a silly little bracelet or multiple vases filled with flowers.

Belphie had gotten you a little cow plushie, and it had a simple note attached to it that said “When you can’t be with me, you can still cuddle with a little piece of me.” And now you brought it with you everywhere, even into Lucifer’s office.

If gifts didn’t work, well… then they’d just go at it full force. Lucifer would put some of his pride aside, and Belphie would let his hatred for Lucifer really shine as they both tried to win you over.

Lucifer would lock Belphie up in the attic for an entire and if you asked where he was he would lie and say he went out with someone else, hoping that it would make you not want to see him anymore. Then he’d take you out on a date, only to find that his credit card isn’t in his wallet and you end up having to pay for the meal.

Yes, Belphie stole Lucifer’s credit card, and the guy should be happy that he just hid it in the attic instead of giving it to Mammon.

Whenever Belphie tried to hang out with you, Lucifer would miraculously claim that it’s room inspection day, which only seemed to begin just recently, and the attic always seemed to need to be cleaned, and so did your room… although Lucifer would always offer to help you with your room when it needed to be cleaned.

If Lucifer had you in the office with him while he was working, Belphie would text Lord Diavolo and tell him that Lucifer wanted to hang out today and he was just too prideful to ask. He knows all too well that Lucifer can’t say no to Lord Diavolo.

That, in turn, had Lucifer using the same trick against Belphie with Beel though. He’d tell Beel that Belphie wanted to work out at the gym with him and was just too embarrassed to ask since he was so scrawny and weak.

It was a constant tit for tat, back and forth with the two of them, and finally they wouldn’t be able to handle it anymore. They’d sit you down at the table, and even though they’re kicking each other under the table, they’re smiling at you.

“I like you, Y/N… so… who are you going to choose?”

[thedashingcaptainweird]

The "Newlyweds" Game: Max and Orion

I was tagged a while ago by @the-lastcall (thank you!) and had loads of fun doing this, and even drew a silly little thing. You should try it with your special couple!

(Also, Max and Orion aren't married, it's just the name of the game 😆)

1. Who can outdrink the other?

Orion: He's gonna say it's me, so he can maintain the mysterious and sophisticated air of a man who doesn't get wild on vices. But that guy could drink a handle of Glacial Aged and still recite the six pillars of Scientism. Even if he has renounced them.

Max: Me, no question. Orion starts to fall asleep after half a glass of wine. It's rather sweet, honestly.

2. Who says “I love you” more?

Orion: Who tits for tats on something like that? I say it, he says it, and not a minute goes by that I don't know it's true.

Max: I don't think I could possibly repay the 'I love you's" he impresses upon me, though I try. The DeSotos were a much… quieter and emotionally withheld set than my dear Captain, and we didn’t say it very often.

3. Who has trouble sleeping alone?

Orion: Me. Can you blame me? I slept alone for 74 years. And yes. I know I was only in the tube for 70.

Max: Orion.

4. Who swears more?

Orion: I think we'd both earn an R rating if we were in a movie.

Max: Me.

5. Who does more of the housework?

Orion: SAM.

Max: The automechanical. And me.

6. Who forgets their anniversary?

Orion: Max, but I seriously don't mind. It just means I get to look the chivalrous hero when I plan some winning set up, and I get to see that sly smile of his.

Max: Time is an illusion after all. What matters is how we spend each present moment, and I feel we do well by that measure.

7. Who steals the duvet in their sleep?

Orion: Me

Max: I hope you’ll pardon my ignorance, but what does “duvet” mean?

8. Who keeps the other awake at night with their snoring?

Orion: As far as I know, neither of us?

Max: I've never been awakened by it, if it happens. And I do believe Orion would do me the courtesy of letting me know if I snored. I doubt he'd let me live it down.

9. Who finds stray animals and begs the other to let them keep them?

Orion: Hey, Max heavily implied I should bring that weird little mutt onboard. Him and Felix. Little thing gives me the creeps. But what am I gonna do… say no to Felix and Max?

Max: Did he tell you that I begged him to keep Anubis? Because… guilty as charged. The canid is quite a sharp little fellow, and a good companion. I'd do it again.

10. Who usually makes dinner?

Orion: It's one of my favorite things to do.

Max: Orion. It seems to make him very happy, and admittedly he's much better at it than I am. But helping him do it, being a part of the process, I find I enjoy that immensely

11. Who plays their music out loud?

Orion: Me. It isn't like Halcyon...ites? Halcyoners…? It isn't like people in Halcyon actually have real music. I mean it wasn't even all that great in my time. I go back a couple centuries for the good stuff.

Max: He plays these incredibly theatrical, over the top, but admittedly catchy ballads and sings along with them with great enthusiasm. It's quite a spectacle. Old Earth music had a lot of heart.

12. Who hogs the bathroom?

Orion: me

Max: It takes him an obscenely long time to get ready for the day.

13. Who gives the most compliments?

Orion: Max

Max: Orion

14. Who usually starts/causes arguments between you?

Orion: Used to be Max. Now? I honestly couldn't tell ya. We don't tiptoe around our differences anymore. I’ll tell him anything, even if that means telling him he's pissing me off

Max: Likely me. You know how I can be.

15. Who isn’t afraid to embarrass the other in public?

Orion: I guess I'd be worried about embarrassing anyone in public. I want him to feel safe and confident with me. But, I guess I'm a bit much sometimes… over the top? Flamboyant? Anyway not much seems to embarrass him anymore.

Max: Embarrassment is in the mind, and comes from an inability to let go of our own sense of self importance.

16. Who gives the other cringeworthy pet names?

Orion: It's probably weird that I still call him Preacher, isn't it?

Max: Is it strange that I still use Captain from time to time?

17. Who fusses over the other when they get sick?

Orion: He is so gentle and kind when I'm sick. It's almost too much. More than I deserve.

Max: "Fuss" isn't a strong enough word for what Orion does. Every time I get so much as a fucking splinter you'd think the universe was crashing down around us and only he had the power to stop it.

18. Who finds it impossible to stay angry at the other for long?

Orion: I can't stay mad at him

Max: I can't stay mad at him

19. Who clings to the other for comfort when they’re sad or scared?

Orion: Look. If you’re scared, there is no person in the star system… probably the universe… who is going to keep you safer than Max.

Max: Orion provides an emotional security and comfort that I am entirely unused to, on a level that I’m not sure can be matched by any other human being. In terms of actual physical protection and safety? His strengths lie elsewhere.

20. Who is more ‘physically passionate’? (hugs, kisses, or maybe more…)

Orion: I think most people would be surprised how physically “passionate” he is. I mean, imagine his enthusiasm out on the tossball pitch or in a fray… and turn that into something intimate. It’s. Uh. Really something.

Max: I’m sure he’s telling you all sorts of sordid details, but that simply isn’t my style. You’ll have to use your imagination.

[heli0s-writes]

The Thief

Summary: Where do all of Bucky’s shirts keep disappearing to?  Pairing: Reader x Bucky A/N: 2.1k word count. Silliness, fluff. Posters from the fic LOL

Bag of Tricks One-Shots Masterlist

Bucky is missing another shirt on Saturday morning. He rifles through his closet, slapping the hangers to the left and down the pole where they clack against each other fearfully. Last week, this happened too. His favorite red Henley with the threadbare hem and black buttons— all day he had searched for it until—

Oh.

With a slightly exasperated groan and a backwards tilt of his head, he closes the closet door. Quietly, he slips out of his room and down the silent hallway until the chatter of voices from the kitchen meets his ears.

Wilson stands at the stove top, flipping pancakes the size of plates— heavy, thick, wheat ones, overloaded with blueberries. Steve is to his side, pouring milk and stealing fruit when Sam isn’t looking. Natasha is perched on the counter, sipping black coffee.

And then, his eyes skip over to the dining table where a pair of delicate feet are propped up on the glass, toes tapping off-beat to a tuneless song.

You.

No matter how many times Tony and Steve tell you to stop putting your feet on the table, you still do— almost out of spite and with glee. You match Steve in stubbornness and Sam in annoying-ness. You’re just a step behind Natasha when it comes to acting, too. The combination could be lethal if you weren’t such a lawless brat, squandering your talents on petty revenge.

You’re leaned back in the chair, comic book in hand with a silly lopsided smile and your hair tied in the messiest of buns. Strands loop out from the elastic, flop against your ear pathetically. There is a smudge of toothpaste on the corner of your mouth, and when you lick your dry lips, you lick it away too.

“Hey, when are those pannies ready?” You ask over the line of the glossed book.

“Don’t call them panties! And don’t rush perfection!” Sam hollers back.

“Okay…” You try again, “When are those pancakies ready?”

“Pan-cakes.” Steve sends over his shoulder, “Pancakes. One word, two syllables, no ‘y’ at the end.”

“Uh. It’s I and E, sir.” And when Steve sighs in displeasure, you tug the collar of the shirt over the bridge of your nose and hide your snickering inside. You pop a finger in your mouth and flip the page, leaving a wet round print on the edge. Tony is going to kill you when he finds out that you are desecrating his rare collection with spit.

With a snort and shake of his head, Bucky runs his hand through his bangs and walks up next to the table. “Huh.” He mumbles, finger rubbing the sleeve spilling from your shoulder, threatening to flood all the way down to your elbow. The specked brown fabric, slightly pilled is familiar beneath the pads of his thumb.

The very one he was searching for this morning. That timeworn thing, half falling apart because it’s been so many times washed.

“This looks familiar.”

“This?” You ask, eyes wide, “Is it— is it yours? Aw jeez, Barnes. I found it in the laundry room. It just looked so comfy.” One foot scratches the other and the shirt rides up your legs and folds against your stomach. Your rub the fabric against your collarbone, shifting it side to side, and the middle falls in-between your breasts, outlining the shape of you.

He has to bite down on his cheek to stop his next expression, but hums a noise of surprise anyway, “Wonder how it got in there.”

You shrug and blush, give him a fake demure smile before scooting your chair back and heading over to grab food. He follows lazily behind, watches the hem swing at the top of your thighs, a tiny inch of your athletic shorts peeks out underneath. You’re ridiculous, he thinks.

“Yummy yummy yummy, get into into my tummy.” You pull three pancakes onto your plate and Steve glares at the way you use your fingers even though there is a fork in your other hand.

“Your germs are gonna go into my tummy.”

Shocked, you press three bent fingertips to your sternum, “Captain, sir! It’s called a stomach! Two syllables. No Y!”

Steve follows your hand with a wry smile, then the slightest tilt of his head happens as he narrows his eyes on your chest.

“Captain Rogers, are you checking out my tit-tats?”

With a stutter, Steve flushes and turns around, busies himself with getting his own pancakes. Everyone else follows suit and soon enough the dining table is seated with all five, pouring syrup and cutting fluffy stacks into smaller pieces.

To his right, Bucky watches you roll up a pancake like a log and dunk it into a lake of syrup you’ve squirted on your plate. With your mouth full, you take your fork and steal a triangle from him. Syrup dribbles onto your— his shirt.

“We literally have the same food.” he complains.

“But… yours is better; Wilson put more love into yours. I think he put fingernails in mine.”

Across the table, Natasha smirks, “Arsenic, maybe.”

“Actually,” Sam corrects, “It’s rat poison.”

Behind another log dripping with syrup and melted butter, you grin and waggle your eyebrows at Sam, tongue slipping out beneath the roll to lap the dripping syrup away. Bucky kicks you under the table, a quiet reminder to stop being so obnoxious.

Instead of heeding his advice, you shove the rest of the sticky tube into your mouth and choke a little.

“Jesus Christ.” He mutters, turning away from where you are pounding on the table and coughing. “You dead?”

“Rest in damn pieces.” Sam adds.

Steve continues to stare suspiciously as you press your cheek to the glass surface and catch your breath.

You’re going to drive him crazy, he thinks.

He hides the smile behind a cut of pancake and a swig of coffee. A few more bites and he loads his plate into the dishwasher, returning to his room to take a shower, even thanking Sam for breakfast without an insult. Wilson looks after him curiously but takes the compliment where he can get it.

On his way back to his room, Bucky stops by the familiar door decorated with a single poster you printed off in the lab—a kitschy and poorly edited photograph of Sam with a rainbow-colored clown wig over his head, not even fully covering his hair. Underneath his torso are the words Sam Wilson Local Dumbass.

You had made it after a mission where Sam’s wing clipped your shoulder and your gun went off into a gas tank, blowing out half the floor. It’s been almost half a year and you still haven’t taken the poster down—vowing not to change it until the year passes. Petty revenge, Bucky scoffs to himself.

Bucky pushes past the door and yanks open your closet, staring at the piles of shirts and shorts, mountains of pants and dresses you’ve never worn. On top of each heap are a million pairs of panties, like you just grab your laundry basket and throw it in. You probably do. The doors are always shut probably because you have the object permanence of an infant and if it’s out of sight, it’s out of mind, too.

He laughs when he sees the assorted hangers on the pole, varying sizes and some bent completely out of shape. There are precisely four, neatly aligned next to each other, out of place with the rest of the disordered space.

His hand reaches up to tug on the familiar red Henley he found last week over your torso as you sat watching a movie with Natasha. You had tied an elastic band to the bottom of it, the tiniest sliver of your hip showing beneath.

Next to the red is a gray long-sleeve. Next to that is a cream-colored shirt he hardly wears but you mentioned one night that you liked seeing him in lighter colors. Ironic that you’d steal it from him, then.

At the end of the row, folded neatly over the bar of a plastic green hanger, is a single pair of his black boxers and he nearly hisses when he yanks it off in mortification.

“What?” Your voice calls from the doorway, “They’re clean.”

“Jesus! Why do you have these?”

A wide grin stretches over your mouth, “I wear ‘em to sleep sometimes. Mostly when you’re not here.”

“Darlin’, you got your own clothes.” Bucky smiles, wishing he could genuinely find your antics annoying and not so damn cute. Walking forward, his fingers reach under your shirt where the smooth plane of your stomach starts, other hand moving over your head to push the door close. “It’s hard to keep a secret when you’re so obvious about it.”

You whine, bratty again, and he shuts up the noise with a press of his mouth over yours, “It was only fun for like, two months.” You mutter into his mouth, “But really, Buck. Everyone here is so oblivious that we could probably fuck on the conference table and they wouldn’t notice.”

A strangled breath falls out of his mouth, “We- we haven’t—f—” He can’t even bring himself to say it, because unfortunately, he is so stupidly shy when it comes to you. “D-don’t say f...” His face burns red and he attempts to look at anything else but your devious smile as you tap a finger over the band of his sweatpants.

“Fuck?” You laugh, “Fucky-fuck-fuck, Bucky-Buck-Buck.”

Then, quick as a whip, you leap up and lock your ankles around his waist, knees splayed out to his sides. Automatically, his hands catch underneath your bottom. Three months of secretly dating and all he’s done is kiss you senseless in utility closets. And now you’re saying… Jesus.

You’re going to kill him, he thinks.

Leaning back, you almost pitch out of his hold but then you stop yourself and slowly shrug the shirt—his shirt from your torso. “You wanna, right? Three months, Bucko. You’re playing a slow burn game that I am not good at.” You grin and drop the shirt onto the floor, the sight of your bare skin turning his entire body hot. “Bucky…!” You whine loudly, bouncing in his arms, “Come on!”

He groans at the way you shift against his groin and thinks fuck it. If you kill him, it’ll be a good thing. Rest in damn good pieces. Bucky sighs and tilts forward, pressing his nose to your neck, inhaling the scent of maple syrup. “Baby, you’re so—”

The door slams open and you yelp, falling out of Bucky’s hands and onto the floor on your back. “What the fuck!”

Steve is pointing, wide triumphant grin across his face, “I knew it! I knew that shirt looked familiar!” Bucky pitches forward, covers your bare chest with his body and nearly crushes you underneath.

“You fucking perv, Steve! Stop trying to look at my tit-tats!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Steve cries, turning around. Bucky kicks the door shut with his foot as you continue to curse out Steve on the other side of the door. With an amused sigh at the way your nose scrunches up as you hurl insults, he presses his nose to your collarbone again, licks away the stain of syrup you’d dropped earlier on yourself.

--

He wakes up in your empty bed around noon, groggy and a little confused as to why you’re suddenly gone. Disappointment and fear sparks in his chest at the thought of his lonely state. Was it bad? Maybe this is how you’re breaking up with him. Fuck—was it that bad?

Bucky slowly gets up, slips on his sweatpants from the earlier morning and scoops his clothes into his arms, mind set on clearing out his belongings from your room if the relationship is truly over, not even bothering to put a shirt on.

The hallway isn’t empty this time—down the walkway you are crouched with something in your hand in front of Natasha’s room, but you pay him no mind. Bucky tucks his clothing under his arm, turning around to close your door before his eyes catch sight of what’s been newly taped to it.

An enormous poster decorates the plain paint. Steve’s face is blown up and touches each corner. Over his eyes you’ve photoshopped two enormous breasts and under his chin are the words: Steve Rogers, Local Pervert.

Bucky sputters before a loud howling laughter tears itself from his throat as he pitches over to hold himself up on the door frame. It’s obscene—the petty revenge, it’s your worst one yet. He’s really going to fall in love with you, he thinks.

Down the hallway, you look over and grin at him, taping yet another poster to someone else’s door. Over your torso, again, as always, is his shirt.

[404fmdminjung]

creative claims verification — the visitor

summary: things i hate about you, but i still love you — the general gist of the song. warnings: none wc: 1233

break-ups are easy.

or so she used to think when it goes about the same status quo of wake up, feel sad for a few days, piece yourself together and forget the rest. because life moves on, and she moves on without a second thought to the boy written in the clouds.

but this time’s different, and she supposes it’s the after effect of actually opening the confines she builds for herself, no longer letting the nomadic effect sweep her through.

figures, she’s left to fend for herself at the end of all this.

and she wonders how she got here in the first place, and how she became so susceptible to things she used to chide those around her for. the ease and thrill of puppy-dog love, and she’d call it a sadistic joke to fall through each sweet lie tainted with the kiss. past artificial physical touches, and how it seeps deep into a soul. touches you, imprints — how it feels all too real when it all comes to life in full-motion.

she writes down the traits — a bullet list of images that become the hook for the pull. his grave manner in polite sentences, the smile that bustles out when he doesn’t feel shy. she remembers the first glance across a table of acquaintances and a tit for tat humor that catches her off-guard and pulls her awry when she least expects it.

she hates every single one, marks it with an x of things to forget. the words that brought the thrill back into her life like she stepped forward, up to bat in a game of things she told herself she’d never get caught up with. things change, and she learns to despise each one — dig it deep under where she’ll never resort back to her pocket of delicacies. (but as much as she detests each one, she knows she won’t ever forget any single one of them).

and she theorizes, it’s all those things composed into one. the very reason why her eyes wouldn’t flee to anyone else’s, or how she was drawn to the instantaneous magnetism of his presence, living life as if he had no reckoning of what a bad day was.

and as she thinks about all those facets coming back full-circle once more, she falls back into one of the five deadly stages of grief: bargaining. it starts with the question why, toppling over the second it starts off a trigger of questions left unresolved. why she writes these silly love songs, the broken hearted pieces or why she says i love you when her heart’s still torn apart.

she can write a checklist of things she hates, or things she’s learned to hate over the time period apart. she could tell herself time and time again of each dagger that’s aimed to her front — in the end, it’s no use when it still pulls her back into the underside where her lungs fill up with the unspoken revelation: she’s never fallen apart.

each touch she remembers like it sears her memories and pierces her skin. how many times she’s fallen inside the self-destruction of bottles of alcohol and crumbled packs of cigarettes — it doesn’t matter. because patience isn’t a virtue, and there’s no vices to cover up the remains of something completely thrashed. she’ll push it away for what it’s worth, only to find herself in the midst of failure each time.

but the only question floating around in her head’s a simple one — it’s how it looks from the flipside. how it looks when he’s on the other edge of a crumbling mountain. avoidance is key, and she’s avoided every nook and cranny of the small size inside seoul. no where to hide, they say, and she’s only made a home in places where he can’t see her.

curiosity gets the best of her with her questions still hung high around aquaintances. cold shoulders, and she starts another bulleted points of questions she wishes she could ask — time changes all, but how does it change him? what he’s doing, she knows. only she wishes it’d remain a variable inside it all, so instead she’d ask: what kind of music he’d dance to, and who he’s with.

turns out, she’ll never get those answers when all the questions lie inside the leather bound journal, never spoken out into the void.

-

she shuffles between the idea of a song, but no base to the melody nor thought. just the words and a big picture image — mystery and wonder shrouding the words now brought to a melody. the base is set, a saving grace when sooah’s surge of creativity comes to save the day (in this thought, sooah’s saved her ways in more ways than one).

so, when she steps forward in the recording booth, lets the general melody carry the way of the first set of vocals — she lets herself hear the playback. it sounds eerie, the way it manages to inch its way up her spine.

taunting and creepy where the guitar takes a major play with the rifts sprinkled throughout. her voice climbs up when each verse is sung, and she plays her voice like it teases and taunts. a mental checklist of things when the song feels like it’s a series of backhanded questions given to her when she stops and stares at the reflection in front of her. for a split second, she pays no attention to whatever’s going on in the studio. instead, she rolls back and allows herself to stretch out emphasis on words when the guitar breaks into silence and fades to percussion.

her voice picks out a half-breath, half-voice tone — she uses that to the advantage of adding on the layers of an enigma when she draws out the overall tone of the song.

it falls within the boundaries of a subdued jazzy bar, late-night where the wanderers no longer spill in. instead, it draws a peek through the doors closing, the room filled with the lonely souls left lingering in the room. and in the big scheme of things, she thinks that it’s only irony mocking her when she becomes the only soul left in the big room filled with jazz.

it’s only when she gets to the finish of the vocals, and the late night restlessness brings back the finished file of the track. with her head tilted, eyes closed — rethinking the song and the elements, she finds herself with a missing void. eyes narrowed, she repeats. plays it over and over till the missing piece comes in the sentiment she wants to hone in on.

the why’s.

she adds a filter, one that muffles out the perfect polish of the song. instead, it sounds like a second-hand account of listening to it as it falls past the speakers — like a graze of a gentle breeze. it rakes past, a nonchalant thought tossed to the side, picked up only once it’s already passed by.

it’s the sound of what she wants to harness, so she keeps the filter at what it is only at that set part. it’s a shift in the songs entirety before slowly transitioning back into the facets of the regularities. straight in the middle, it’s a statement piece — a statement of something she’ll face for herself.

[yume-tsuki]

[hq] To answer the question, How the hell did you Tendo get a girlfriend(before us)???? (Some Random funny conversation of the shiratorizawa boys my husband and me talked on  a weekand morning , he can sound like Tendou, it’s so funny ,  has the same eyes like Atsumu Miya,<3) ) Warning language, they are boys they are talking about stuff like that Tendou: Well on a reject shop at the bargain table.  We want to grab a banana shaped box. We accitently hit our heads at each other. Tendou: She thinks I’m funny somehow.  We lay in bed on our first date, joking around.  ((Semi:And you havn’t even kissed her? Tendou: Nope why?)) Tendou: She liked the noises I sincroniced of her .t....s Shirabu: What? You were allowed to touch her b-...s?! Tendou: Yeah  she wanted  to know how they are sound. Semi:  And she touched you where? (Tendou(Tit for tat)) How can you be so calm? Havn’t you checked her feelings?   She was hot like a dog and you hadn’t get it?  ((Ushijima She is a Hot dog? Ohira: No uhsijima!!))  (Sorry I love silly Ushiwaka, I know he isn’t like that ,fully) ((((( the original doesn’t work in english sadly XPP)))) Ohira: Damn the first yaers are  unconsious!!  Semi: And on your second date you touched her? Yo know where??! Tendou: Yes why not? Shirabu: She was hot as fu$  you dumba$$  Ushiwaka  So it was a hot hot dog?  (sadly again the translation lacks...) Kawanishi: How the hell have you done this with your kappa face? Tendou: She intruduce me to her parents.  They were death. She lives with her grandpa at a temple... everyone ‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘ (( Her grandpa: Demon get out! *his sport is throughing beans against DemonTendou.* Akari: Stop it. We are together since a year! Grandpa:  It’s a matter of principle! Tendou. *is used to it*)) Tendou: We had you know on our 3 date Ohira: Shi..  we killed our second years too. _____________________________________________ extra two years later Akari: Satori honey. We  alowed to get married, finally. Tendou: Why this all of a sudden? Akari:>> It would be even more emberresing for the family to get a baby if  you are unmarried my child! <<He said. Tendou: WHAAAT ??? You are pregnant????! Extra of the extra two years later, again Tendou: Are you looking forward to the game Katoshi? Katoshi: Yeah! I can’t wait to see Kageyama! He is the coolest. Tendou: Ohoho. don’t tell uncle Waka he will get mad if you say so.  Akari: If he isn’t already seeing it coming. *meens the tricot*

[wolfpawn]

Life is a Game of Risks, Chapter 24

Chapter Summary - Tom and Alexianna wake up after the night's confrontation with Edward in better moods, which becomes even better again when Tom meets with his old schoolmate.

TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.

Previous Chapter

Tags: @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @theoneanna

Request if you wish to be tagged

Tom stretched as he woke, grinning as he felt a body beside him in the bed, but groaning as he felt his back ache slightly. Opening an eye, he was delighted to see the brunette hair of Alexianna beside him. She moaned slightly in her sleep a moment later and turned over, her eyes flickering as she woke. ‘Good morning.’ He smiled.

Alexianna groaned and rubbed her eyes. ‘This bed is horrible.’

‘It is actually.’ Tom was forced to admit, he pulled her to him. ‘The company is good though.’

Alexianna curled in close to him. ‘It is.’ she smiled as Tom kissed her head. ‘I need to get up though and go into the bedroom.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Lily might see us.’

‘We are dressed.’ Tom pointed out.

‘I don’t…’

‘Mommy.’ Alexianna swore silently before looking around. ‘Why are you on the sofa bed with Tom?’

‘We fell asleep last night after your mommy made the bed for me to sleep in.’ Tom answered, ‘Good morning Lily.’

She giggled and jumped up next to her mother. ‘Hi.’ She leant in and tipped her nose off Alexianna’s.

‘You need to brush your teeth.’ Alexianna smiled. ‘Did you have nice dreams?’ Lily nodded. ‘What did you dream about?’

‘That you, me, Tom and Nana went to a restaurant and I got a big ice-cream with chocolate sauce.’

‘Well, that was a great dream.’ Lily nodded happily at her mother before looking at Tom too and smiling.

Tom gave her a wink and she giggled. He felt a surge of sensation through his stomach, one he had not experienced before. As Lily leant over her mother and held out her hand in a fist, he could not explain it. He looked between her and her fist expectantly. ‘She wants a fist bump.’ Alexianna explained.

‘Oh right, silly me.’ Tom extended his fist and Lily bumped hers forward before pulling backwards singing slightly, startling Tom before rushing back into the bedroom. ‘What was that last part?’

‘It’s from Big Hero Six.’ Alexianna stretched.

‘Never heard of it.’

‘You will, she’ll make sure of it.’ Tom frowned at the statement, which Alexianna caught. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to make you feel pressured.’

‘It’s not that, I just...it’s odd, I never needed to have a child like me like this before, so to have her so accepting…’

‘Tom?’

‘I am in her thoughts, her drawings, her dreams, alongside you and Daniel, her family, it feels...I feel...’

‘Pressurized?’

‘A little, because I feel I have to live up to her expectation of me. She sees me as part of all this now, I feel I could leave her down.’

‘We are all human Tom, we have to accept, even at four years old, that putting people on pedestals only causes us to be disappointed when they err because no one is perfect.’

‘How do you bear it, she idolises you?’

‘I am her mum, I will be there for her when no one else is, when Daniel moves on with his life, when you are not here, I will be.’

‘I am not leaving you.’

‘You will, be it for a movie, for a Marvel press junket, or if you decide you are finished with this, you will leave.’

‘I am not going to just up and leave Lexi, stop thinking like that.’ Tom stated firmly. ‘I have to do things that pull me away, sometimes for weeks on end, but I will return.’ She looked at him uncertainly. ‘I will, it is not always going to be easy, I am not going to lie, and there are going to be strains, but I want this, you and Lily. I love you both so much already.’ Alexianna frowned. ‘I do, I love you. You have been forcing yourself out of your shell so much in the time we have been together and you have instilled so much trust and faith in me, I cannot put into words what it means that you do.’

‘But it scares you?’ Tom looked at her guiltily. ‘Tom, I feel incredibly overwhelmed pretty much every day with raising Lily, and I am her mother, the person she has genetic links to, the human that effectively chose to allow her to exist, I cannot fathom how it is for you, but you can leave if you need to, I won’t blame you if the day comes.’

‘I feel like we’ll be doing this a lot.’

‘What?’

‘Me telling you I am not leaving.’ Tom stopped a moment later when he realised. ‘Of course, I am saying this to a woman that only knows people who leave and abandon her.’

‘I am starting to think it is me.’

‘It is not you, Lexi, your parents and your ex are not nice people. Look at my family, we are actively trying to see more of you.’

‘Are you sure it’s not you that’s defective?’

Tom chuckled, ‘we could easily be.’ He kissed her for a moment.

Alexianna pulled back after a minute. ‘I need to get us some breakfast and you need to get ready, you have another day of mopey Danish prince to train as.’ Tom chuckled and got out of the bed reluctantly.

*

‘Here you go.’ Tom extended his hand and took the envelope. ‘One divorce papers, with every T crossed and every I dotted.’

‘Jeremy, I cannot thank you enough.’ Tom beamed looking at the sealed manilla paper.

‘It’s the least I could do.’ the other man smiled. ‘So, stepdad, bet you never thought you’d play that role.’

‘It was unexpected.’

‘It makes life fun, the unexpected.’ Jeremy joked before his face went serious. ‘I need to warn you of something Tom, I am not sure you are going to like it.’ Tom felt unsure as to what Jeremy was going to say. ‘Edward Rice, the firm has had dealings with his before, effectively stalking, the whole shebang your girlfriend went through and more, they are, to say the least, bottom feeling, scrupulous scum.’

‘I have noticed.’

‘You need to be careful, he could still make good on his threats.’

Tom pursed his lips. ‘He is going to make it that she will never be free.’

‘Those type seldom do, and the force used to twist his hand into this is not going to help.’ Jeremy pointed to the envelope. ‘Just be careful.’ Tom nodded. ‘I am not the first to warn you of this, am I?’

‘No, and you won’t be the last.’

‘I’m sorry Tom, I just…’

Tom put up his hand and smiled, ‘You’re just looking out for me,’ Jeremy nodded. ‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’

‘Anytime, and I mean that. If he rears up again, I will deal with it.’

‘Thank you, Jeremy.’

‘I am glad she got away from him anyway, he does not seem like a nice guy, but why not get money for the kid if it is his?’

‘She wants to keep away from him, he said he would demand half custody and she decided that it isn’t worth it.’

‘That’s understandable, though I think, considering his lack of interest until now, that is just a tactic to stop her considering it. She should have gone for it. Just remind her she still can in the future, should she decide to, but I do believe he will demand a DNA test. A judge would very much be inclined towards having one too in a tit for tat situation.’

‘Okay.’ Tom nodded.

‘Good luck with it all, who knows, you might be giving that little girl a sibling soon enough.’ Tom frowned at the jestful comment as his old friend began to walk off. ‘It’d be handy actually, I need someone to save my kid’s ass in school if it’s anything like me, so if it is the same gender as mine it would be great.’

[omegatheunknown]

AEW Fyter Fest

AEW keeps the momentum going with a card that was a little less prestigious, but a little more chaotic, but overall entertaining and plenty filling.

- What’s the draw of the ‘Buy-In’ pre-card, especially when the whole show is free? Obviously don’t give away your best offerings for nothing, but if the point is bringing eyes to the product and having them follow-up by buying the event... these pre-cards are not going to do that. - I sort of love the introduction of JR with entrance music as a ‘and now the real show is beginning’ signifier. JR’s really got some of his passion back, and the combination with Excalibur continues to be a surprisingly satisfying one. May Alex Marvez stay out of the both indefinitely. - Camera cuts have calmed down. I think this event was at .5 Dunns for unnecessary cuts, which is still far too many, but at least they stopped stacking cut/cut/cut and opted for more of those lovely crane shots. Entrance music should be way louder, the pyro was fun, the dumb fyre fest gag at least allowed for a colourful set design and AFAIK no legendary Canadian grapplers fell off the stage trying to head straight back up the tunnel. So that’s a big win.  *Pre-Card Best Friends v SCU v Private Party (**) - Three way tag-team matches with only two active teams is always an odd stipulation and as fun as that match was to get the party started, the format leads to any finish getting a bit dusty as a result. Really enjoying Marq Quen and his Wesley Snipes-in-Demoltion Man fit. Allie v Leva Bates (dud) - The Librarians are an intentionally awful gimmick with plenty of winking going on, which is fun on BTE for thirty seconds a week but the live crowd seems to be beyond done with Bates and Avalon and the shushing. I will admit it took too for long it to click for me to realize the heelish potential in wrestlers attempting to keep the crowd as quiet as possible, but as fun as that meta-irony is, it meant this slow moving match which should’ve hyped up the crowd on the debuting Allie (The Bunny alive and well after being killed to death by Su Yung on Impact, Cherrybomb’s current whereabouts unknown.) looked worse than it was and was the worst thing on the card. Michael Nakazawa v Jebailey (**) - I have heard the name enough by now that I know that Jebailey is ‘the’ CEO guy but I don’t really know what that means or what he does in everyday life but he’s certainly a non-wrestler and yet he showed a decent grasp of the fundamentals and Nakazawa ran him through what was a DDT-esque comedy match with some funny spots and a nice turn for Bryce Remsburg as wrestling’s most committed comic referee.  *Main Card CIMA v Christopher Daniels (**1/2) - Daniels has never felt like a bigger deal than he does now, on the edge of fifty. Hard not to root for a guy with 25+ years experience trusted to have an explosive curtain jerker and get the crowd into the evening. CIMA’s an excellent foil, the pair are so smooth and deft at building a match I only wish there was more at stake between them, which is maybe the through-line of the whole evening barring some exceptions. They’re putting in groundwork elsewhere for the fall, but before AEW gets to TNT they’re going to do some more of these exhibition style affairs. Riho v Nyla Rose v Yuka Sakazaki (***) - A pox on B/R live or my friend’s wifi for stalling and so we missed Yuka’s amazing theme song, but AYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA aside, this was a really nice match with a bit of sloppiness that nevertheless made up for the kneecapping of Nyla via Awesome Kong last month. Nyla looked every bit the powerhouse, pulled off a couple really nice high-energy maneuvers (knee drop from the top rope to the rope-hung Riho was nuts.) Conversely, there were definitely moments early on where it looked too much like a two-on-one match, though it did ultimately build to a satisfying bit of anguish for poor Yuka. Hangman Adam Page v Jimmy Havoc v Jungle Boy v MJF (***) - Prayers up for the audience-cutaway victim of MJF’s savage (rote but knocked out of the park) promo. Salt of the Earth. - Wondered what Havoc was bringing to the match until I realized it’s nice to show him in a more conventional competition and it doesn't harm him in the least to eat a pin. A good showing, though I miss the AFI. - Jungle Boy is going to be great. Got in some really bananas aerial stuff, and like... not to put too fine a point on it, but he looks like Luke Perry. - Adam Page is money. I don’t remember exactly but how is it he was more or less randomly assigned to Bullet Club-RoH as ‘just a guy,’ just three years ago? Sure, he was 24 years old and still finding his pace in the ring, but everyday there is less and less doubt that he’s a top guy, he’s your big beautiful babyface hero. Match was as good as one could reasonably expect from a four-way. Cody v Darby Allin (****) - A lot of the cards for All In, DoN and Fyter Fest have been exhibition matches for skill and style. Cody, probably recognizing where his strengths as a wrestler lie, has been the big exception -- nothing at All In had the emotional resonance of Cody winning the NWA World Heavyweight Championship, nothing at Double or Nothing (or most of wrestling in 2019) could touch the intensity of the Rhodes vs Rhodes match, and last night Cody delivered another of the best version of himself and helped Darby Allin make himself a big fucking deal. The kid is nuts, though I have to assume some skateboard bumps put falling on mats to absolute shame. Maybe my friends and I are nuts, but we were all pretty sure that the controversial post-match chair shot was largely taken on the shoulder with some accidental (and sharp) contact to the head. Also is it really a Cody match if he doesn’t gig? Apparently there have been some subsequent developments suggesting they really did intend for one (1) unprotected chair shot for the love of the sport, to which I say, again, Cody is his father’s son.  The Elite v Lucha Brothers & Laredo Kid (****) - 100% exhibition, 100% spot fest, despite the pseudo-feud going between the Young Bucks and Los Hermanos de Lucha, this was bound to be one of those pure sprint ‘show me what you’ve got’ type of matches. Emotions, strife and storytelling are integral to the wrestling theatre, but so is the actual wrestling. The Young Bucks and their perfect opponents -- Penta & Fenix, also the Motor City Machine Guns, also SCU, also the Briscoes -- are the finest purveyors of tag team wrestling in form of the free-flowing, spot-to-spot-to-spot kinesis that they’ve made their name on and this was no different from the ‘usual’ mind-bending and entertaining spectacle possible when The Elite are in the ring. That Laredo Kid came out and hung tough with 5 of the best wrestlers in the world is astounding and marks him as one to watch. - Of special note, as usual, is Fenix, who is better and crazier every time I see him, like he’s in the process of a Hiromu Takahashi-esque supernova. Legitimately might be the best talent to appear in the ring for AEW.  Jon Moxley v Joey Janela (***1/2) - Loved the work Justin Roberts did to introduce this match. Such gravitas. So silly. - Moxley’s back in his element, and I’m suddenly a huge mark, though I am way more excited about what he’s been doing in New Japan, up to and including his choices in ring gear. Though at least he’s out of jeans and wife beaters. Match was well-paced for a deathmatch style, no doubt owing to both party’s absurd enthusiasm for this sort of utter nonsense.  - Joey Janela has way too much of a Mick Foley (for the fans, for the love of pain) in him and I don’t think any amount of beatings will beat it out of him. Though Moxley seemed game to try. - Barefoot thumbtacks is decently fucked up, I think. The level of mayhem was balanced nicely between sadism (tacks, barbed wire boards,) wrestling nonsense (barbed wire wrapped chair) and satisfying spots (Joey’s big elbow drop.) - Kenny getting his revenge was necessary but seemed a bit half-hearted, almost? I’m plenty excited for their match as is, all he needed to do was assault Mox in the ring and peace out, but I guess tit-for-tat is the law of the jungle.

[skyemcloud]

This Is How It Ends.

So, this is how it ends. Really, truly, finally ends. It was a quiet ending. Not what I expected from either of us- we like to put on a show. I thought there would be kicking and screaming on the way out but there was not. My grip on you, once so tight, had softened over time without me realizing. Every day the idea of letting go became sweeter and I let my hands rest from the grip. “What would happen if I let go?”, I wondered. It was like a game of tug-of-war except we both let the rope escape us at the same time. “You ok?” I whispered setting the rope down. We were both tired.  

I like to think it was a graceful ending. I was gentle and so were you; there was no breaking. There is sadness though. I feel the sadness in me like a disease. The sadness is ingrained into me, like you used to be. Never one without the other. 

I look at an egg and all I see is you. I see the morning light coming in through the kitchen window, I feel the warm cup of coffee that you brewed for me in my hands. Our favorite show is on and you are making eggs. Each morning you would say,”You HAVE to try this! I’ve never made them like this before.” You were a little boy again, waiting for me to congratulate you on your newest achievement. My heart swelled with love for you and the innocence of this moment. I could see how proud you were after perfecting something simple as an egg. But it wasn’t simple. It never really was with us. 

“You don’t look at me the same anymore” you say. It hurts because it is true. I am afraid to look at you now- afraid my eyes will give me away once again. I think of my eyes being drained of love- so empty. All that is left is two dark, lifeless pools of black. Is that what I look like now? It is how I feel. There is a lump in my throat and I know it’s over. What can I say when my face says it all? 

I look at myself in the mirror. I am naked. I try to pinpoint the part of me that did not make you happy. The useless, ugly part that lead you to look for something better. More beautiful. Did she have perfect skin? Was that it? What about her stomach? It probably was flat unlike mine which is carrying an extra 10 pounds. I try to see myself through your eyes. But all I see is her. 

He hates me so much and I know it. “There is no brain in that hollow head of yours”, he tells me. I never thought I was stupid before but now I feel frozen. What if he’s right? I try to remember that I am smart, I am good- but I don’t know if it is true anymore. If I was smart he wouldn’t hate me. If I knew how to cook chicken properly and paid my own phone bill I think he would like me much more. That is what he says, anyway. He is always telling me I will be a bad mother because I will not be able to teach our children anything. He says if he ever died that he would be scared to leave the children with me and now I’m scared because I think he might be right.  “When will you grow up”, he growls and scowls at me as I regret asking him if he could pick me up from the bar later. I should have known better- he’s older, busier. He does not have time for silly favors. He buys me dinner and I say thank you. He reminds me that I now owe him a dinner. This is how we do things I have learned. Tit for tat. I say thank you again. I try a new foundation and he makes sure to tell how bad it looks. “Someone needed to tell you”, he says. He tells me he loves me and that is why he is so honest. I am grateful. He is so right. I am dumb and childish and spoiled. I would hate me too, I think. I take the makeup off and I say thank you. 

He tells me that I remind him of a Disney princess. I smile because he makes me feel like I am. He tells me I am an ungrateful bitch. I don’t look at him. I know it must be true if he tells me I am. 

[calypsoff2]

See this is what some of us mean about Robyn. The childish games she plays when she knows how Chris is. Its like everything does not need to be tit for tat. If she knows he doesn’t feel comfortable with her wearing things like that then why do it ?!! If Chris gets upset then its he has a temper and a mouth and blah blah but then if he doesn’t Robyn is all like why isn’t he kicking off ?! Like girl grow up. If you want to forgive then forgive and stop playing silly games but if you don’t then move on.

So she’s being herself and he doesn’t like it? I am being genuine, that’s just her. She wore what she wants to wear, how is it her fault?

[greekowl87]

Fic: False Flags Redux (2/13)

Previous Chapters: (1)

Author’s Note: First off, thank you for all the feedback! I’m planning to post a chapter every Friday because with school and my new job starting next week, that is also the one day I have off guarantee. This second chapter is an early New Year’s Day gift and a way to even out the chapter distribution for my OCD part of self. I like even numbers rather than odd. I know, a little weird. And I am too excited for this fic so two chapters within 24 hours.

 As always, a million thank yous to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm and @scully-loves-ruthie for making this possible.

Tagging @today-in-fic .

2/13

IHOP Norfolk, Virginia December 13, 1998

In a small plastic booth wrought with fake morning cheer and pancake induce atmosphere, Mulder watched Scully from across the table absently push her scrambled eggs around her plate, ignoring the short stack of pancakes she had her heart set on, as he sipped his coffee. She rested cheek on one propped up hand while she left fiddling her eggs in favor of picking at the mixed fruit. “You have to eat something besides the fruit. We’re not going to the jail with you acting like this,” he said softly, choosing his tone carefully.

Scully arched an eyebrow and then rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Acting like what? You’re worse than my mother,” she grumbled, checking her watch. “It’s only 6:23. We could just go there now.”

“We will be there at nine a.m. promptly,” he scolded softly. “More than enough time for you to eat something and for us to talk. We did not have to leave the hotel so quickly, by the way, this morning. I was looking forward to a real intercontinental breakfast, Scully. Were you trying to pull a fast one on me?”

“I really wanted pancakes instead of waffles,” she shrugged. “What are you now? My psychologist?” She looked up, her blue eyes sparkled teasingly although her tone suggested otherwise.

He gave a small smile. “Well, I do love delving into your mind over breakfast. Shows you that I am more than a one night stand. And remember, Scully, smart is sexy. Besides, tit for tat. You patch up the bullet wounds you give me, I fix any recurring dreams about you giving a speech in your underwear.”

“You are more than that,” she said softly. She dropped her fork in favor of sipping her own coffee. “You want me to talk about earlier this morning.” It was a statement rather than a question. “About yesterday.”

“That’s the plan,” he encouraged. “I know you don't like opening up about those sort of things, but I could try and help you, Scully.”

Scully nodded and took a moment to appreciate the easy camaraderie that they had. Things had been little rough with the appearance of Diana Fowley a few months ago, and not to mention the whole her-getting-an-alien-virus-and-Mulder-going-to-Antarctica-saving-her thing, but things had gotten easier again too, but things were still tense. Mulder and Scully made lousy dance partners; one step forward and two steps back. Their matching little desks next to each other in the bullpen almost recreated the private little bubble they had in the basement office as they performed menial tasks. Her and Mulder very rarely saw Fowley and Spender, which was perfectly fine with her.

“You asked me about Tennessee earlier,” he prompted. “About knowing how it was real or what was real.” She nodded after a moment. “I don’t. I cannot recall anything consciously. I don’t have memories or impressions. I mean, maybe a bit after the regression therapy, maybe. But not really. Maybe I was Biddle and you were my sergeant and Melissa was my wife. But I can’t consciously recall anything or remember anything. I have never had a dream about it if that is what you are asking. However, it is not unheard of people to dream about past lives or history. I mean, Norfolk is pretty eclectic in ways of history. Maybe we walked past something that triggered the dream.”

“Did you believe it though, Mulder?”

He licked his lips and sipped his coffee again, mulling his thoughts before he answered. “Then, perhaps. But now, no.” She let out a mock gasp. Mulder held up his hand dramatically, calling for silence. “I know, I know. The skeptic has influenced the believer. But she wasn't my wife. I can't explain how, Scully, but I just know.” He stared at her for a long moment, his hazel eyes taking her in like a drug. “There is someone else for me.”

Scully felt silly talking about this with him, even entertaining the notion. “I feel like I should know better, Mulder. I know there are other things that would have caused it like lack of sleep or maybe something on TV.”

“I’m not here making fun of you, am I?”

“Well, I feel like rare occasion I do talk about the idea of the unknown, our roles are reversed. You become the logical one and I become the spooky one.”

“See, we’re the perfect partners! Mr. and Mrs. Spooky!” Scully rolled her eyes with a smile and he picked a piece of hash brown off her plate and nodded towards the food. “Eat it before it gets cold.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You're not my mother. I thought you wanted me to talk.”

“You can do both, smartass. Now it's not often I have to spoon feed you, is it?”

Scully stuck out her tongue defiantly and Mulder just shrugged and ate the potato. She picked at the eggs slowly and began shaking her head and started to pick at her sodden syrup-laden pancakes. “I just...there was this neighborhood that looked like something out of Victorian times in the winter. And I was looking at someone. He had eyes like yours, Mulder. I remember his eyes.”

“Little ol’ me?” he tried to sound like a beauty queen. She gave a weak smile. “How can you be so certain they were mine?”

“I said like yours, I didn't say they were yours,” she corrected. They were his, a voice told her. But then again, maybe it wasn't his eyes? “I just remember gazing and the intensity of it, then I woke up.”

“Nothing else?”

She shook her head no. Mulder paused and stole another piece of potato from her plate. “Well,” he began after a long moment, “it could be nothing except your mind telling you that you’re in love with my eyes and it was just a dream.” She arched an eyebrow wordlessly. “Or there could be something to it.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy, do you, Mulder?”

He gave her a warm smile and shook his head. “Not at all, Scully. You are crazy for not finishing your food.” He picked up his own fork and began to help himself to her plate. “Well, waste not want not.”

She pushed her plate to the center of the table as they both began to eat the last of her breakfast. “Well, I get to pick lunch today. It's only fair.” He nodded in concession. “And we're doing what I want to do. We're not eating burgers.”

. . . .

Regional Jail Portsmouth, Virginia December 13, 1998

Mulder was unsureon whether to let Scully take the lead on this encounter. He remembered when they had caught Francis Buckley the year before. He and Scully had been called down to Norfolk, Virginia to investigate an odd murderer that had occurred at an old graveyard that the local newspapers teased about supernatural occurrences. That was enough for Mulder. But what they found was an ordinary, human killer. A very sick, deranged murderer but an ordinary murderer nonetheless. Between their tag-teaming, Mulder’s profile, and the findings of Scully’s autopsies, they were able to narrow in and capture Francis Buckley and find two more victims. He had thought Buckley was just your normal-run-of-the-mill murderer, nothing supernatural or paranormal about him.

But this morning, aside from the bizarre dream Scully confessed to him and her lack of sleep, she was on edge slightly. He knew she was flashing back to Boggs and that incident. As they walked through the parking lot and to the jail, he paused her mid-step by gently claiming her arm. “Scully, wait for a second,” he said softly.

“I can do this, Mulder,” she replied quickly.

“I’m not saying that,” he soothed. He stepped closer to her and entered her bubble. “I want to know how you want to go about this. Do you want me to take the lead, go in by yourself, or just me? We have to have a game plan here.”

She looked distantly at the jail and then back up to Mulder. She still felt unsettled, confused, much like she had yesterday morning in the courtroom. Scully knew better than to go at this alone and Mulder was offering her a hand instead of running off without her. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Take the lead,” she said softly after a moment. She looked up at him “But I want to be in there.”

He nodded after a moment. “You got it, Scully.”  Unconsciously, she sought his hand briefly, squeezed it, and let it go. “Let’s go.”

. . . .

Francis Buckley licked his lips thoughtfully as he watched the two FBI agents enter. Buckley was a large, round man in his thirties with dead brown eyes and oily hair, looking like he had been found in a pickling barrel. She looked nervous as if she was unsure what to do with him. Her partner loomed over her, watching quietly, like a gargoyle. “Well, Agent Scully,” he clapped his chained hands together. “I was not expecting that you would come. Tell me, how did you sleep last night? Well, I hope.”

The tall one sat in front of him as the woman crossed her arms and leaned against the dull wall behind him. She remained quiet as Mulder spoke. “What do you want, Buckley?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Agent Mulder. I did not mean to leave you out of our little conversation.” He lounged back in the metal chair, placing his hands behind his head, despite the handcuffs. He nodded to Scully. “I wanted to see Starbuck, not you.” He gazed past Scully and tapped his head. “I have friends, Dana. Someone told me your dad used to call you that. Best way to get your attention.”

She resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. He kept staring at her and it crawled under her skin. Mulder cleared his throat sharply and smiled insincerely. “Sorry. Must be the weather. What do you want?”

“You were always protecting her,” he sighed. “I want to talk to her. Why are you avoiding me, Dana?”

Anger flashed in his eyes as he resisted lashing out across the table. The gaze Buckley gave Scully made his skin crawl; it reminded him of Pfaster and every other low life that they had come across. But there was something more to that gaze, possessive almost like he was glancing at a piece of property. He lowered his gaze, never breaking it, and licked his lips like he was tasting something. Bastard.

“That’s enough!” Scully snapped.

Mulder turned his head quickly at the fury of her voice. It almost gave him whiplash. Her blue eyes blazed with an old fury, one he had never seen before.

“I. Don’t. Belong. To. You. I never did.” She seethed each word with a breath, her nostrils flared like an angry bull. “Got it? I never was yours.”

Mulder stood up quickly, spinning around. He placed a hand in warning on his partner's shoulder. She blinked as if coming out of a daze. She looked at Mulder and he saw fear briefly spark in her eyes before the cool, calm collected Agent Scully came back. “We’re done here, Mulder.”

“Guard!” Mulder called.

Scully gave him a quick nod before heading towards the door. Buckley grinned from ear to ear. “Don’t think that I have forgotten anything, Lieutenant. You took her from me the first time. Coward. I had my revenge once. What makes you think I won’t have it again?”

Mulder paused, glancing at Scully’s retreating back as he spun around to face Buckley. “You best back off,” Mulder threatened and then he smiled. “Oh wait, you’ll be stuck in here. Lucky you. I hope you enjoy life in prison.”

Mulder’s mild threat was considered light for the deep, fire-filled rage he felt burning in his body. Most of all, Scully's outburst stood But he left without another word to find his partner waiting just outside. “Everything okay?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he breathed, forcing himself to calm down. “That was a waste of time, wasn’t it?”

“Hm,” she nodded distractedly. She gazed back to the holding room, watching the guards take Buckley away with that shit eating grin on his face. “Out of sight, out of mind, Scully. We’re flying back, right? What time is our flight?”

Mulder was silent before saying, “Why don’t we drive back instead? We could take Route 17, it will be longer but a nicer ride. We don't have to deal with I-95 until outside of Fredericksburg.”

“And prolong dealing with Kersh?”

“We’re not expected back in the bullpen until tomorrow. We don’t have to go straight to the Hoover building. I can take you home first. What do you say, Scully? You could use the sleep.”

“You’re driving,” she said softly.

“Of course,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. “We both know you can’t reach the pedals.”

She snorted uncharacteristically. “Well at least I know I have a better sense of direction than you do.”

. . . .

She came. Dana actually came. Honestly, that whole Starbuck thing was a shot in the dark. I had a dream about some creepy little man telling about it. He looked like that actor Brad Dourif who was in that movie Dune. But anyways, it was a dream that told me to call Dana Starbuck. Complete shit luck. But she still came and I saw my wife. Oh, I saw my wife come through tonight.

She has to be remembering. I saw the look in her eyes. She used to get that faraway look in the other time like she did not belong. Back then. But she belongs to me, in that life and this life. But then there is him. Arrogant bastard. Figures he come back in this life too. I recognized that old fire in the Lieutenant’s eyes. I remember that defiance and protectiveness when he disobeyed me.

. . . .

Norfolk, Virginia February 4, 1862

She sat by the window, looking longingly at the snow-covered streets, her hand rubbing the cover of the copy of Moby Dick that her father gave her right before her marriage. She looked at it fondly before tucking it away in a small bag beneath the floorboards. Also in that bag rested money, papers, a couple of pictures, and a revolver. She cinched the bag shut and replaced the floorboards and recovered it with the carpet.

Her husband would be home soon. The last thing she needed was to be caught. She sighed, wondering how she was supposed to go about this absurd mission.

“Mrs. Buchanan,” a maid asked softly, “a messenger just arrived from the shipyards. The Captain will not be joining you for dinner tonight. Shall I prepare something for you?”

“I’m quite fine, Charlotte,” she smiled weakly. “I’ll make myself a small plate and have some wine.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect,” the maid began tentatively, “the Captain truly insists that we do work like that. He says it isn’t the place of a captain’s wife to be doing hard labor.”

“It’s just making a small plate of food,” the wife sighed. “Charlotte, go to bed, go read yourself a book. I’m quite content right now.”

She nodded and gave a small smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Buchanan. Good night.”

Mrs. Buchanan gave a warm smiled and nodded. “Good night.”

Alone with her thoughts, she turned her attention back outside. Dana Katherine Buchanan was supposed to be a Navy Captain’s Wife. Just like her mother had been. What an empty title. But she was his second wife, not his first. Her husband, Captain Francis Buchanan of the Confederate States Navy. He had previously been, like many other military men of the Confederacy, a United States Naval Officer. She had married him before the war, in 1854 when she was twenty-four and he himself was fifty-four. He had been a friend and naval college of her father’s; they both had enlisted in the navy together in 1815 and at the tender age of 15. Her father could not think of a more perfect suitor for his youngest daughter when the opportunity presented itself for then Commander Buchanan to remarry.

That had been seven years ago and what did Dana have to show for it? Nothing. She was miserable. Domestic life did not suit her. Inwardly, ever since she was a child, she desired to do something more, to be intellectually stimulated and do something with her life. Something grand like medical school. She remembered the first time she read Florence Nightingale’s Cassandra shortly after her marriage. It sparked the idea to actually act on her desires.

Her husband found this notion ridiculous. The years passed and she read as much as she could to pass the dullness and bear the miserableness of her marriage. The Captain frowned on the fact that she still remained childless, but he was not lacking. He still had his nine other children from his previous marriage, all who were close to being grown and in boarding schools. They did not take to the idea of having a step-mother. Even then, Dana never gave the thought of motherhood much consideration either and secretly ensured that she would remain childless.

She smoothed the front of her dress and thought about the task at hand. A few months ago, she had been approached by her youngest brother, Charlie while her husband had been away visiting his children. She was surprised to see him; both of her brothers served in the Union Navy. But here he was, dressed as a civilian. She remembered his urgent tone, the seriousness of his face.

Spy for the union, he begged his sister. There is a knowledge that your husband is to be commander of the newest ironclad frigate. Get us information, Dana. Help end this war.

Dana herself still did not know why she did it. Maybe it was the sense of adventure, maybe it was the sense of greater justice, or maybe it just gave her purpose. But she was doing something with her life. But still, she needed a way in to uncover information before passing it to the Union.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia December 13, 1998

Mulder gently shook Scully awake as she jumped slightly, startled out of her light sleep. “Hm.” She blinked lazily. “Are we already back in Washington?”

“Still got three hours but I thought we could grab a late lunch. The front desk person at the hotel spoke about this little restaurant right along the Yorktown River. Some awesome seafood from what I heard.”

“Hm. Yorktown,” she murmured. She licked her dry lips. “Didn't something happen here?”

“The Revolutionary War ended here in 1781 when Cornwallis surrendered to Washington. There is a small cave down ways called Cornwallis's cave. Supposedly Cornwallis hid there during the 1781 Yorktown siege and the Union Army used it for mutilations during the Civil War,” Mulder recited. He nodded outside the car towards the rear window. “Check out the view. And since we're not rushing back to work, there's a local graveyard we could check out.”

Scully's breath caught quickly as she viewed the York Riverfront and the Coleman bridge linking the two Virginia peninsulas. Something about the site lulled her into a state of happy contentment. Maybe it was because of the gorgeous riverfront view. “You're full of surprises, Mulder,” she commented softly.

“Only the best for you, Scully,” he remarked.

Mulder was concerned about Scully (when was he not?) since they came to Norfolk. She seemed caught in some sort of fog lately ever since the other day. He wanted to distract her and tried to get her to smile.

“I think,” she paused, glancing at him, for dramatic effect, “you're flirting me, Agent Mulder.”

“I may be, Agent Scully.” Of course, he was flirting with her. He loved and cared deeply her but he would never openly admit and ruin the relationship they already had. He was too much of a coward to pursue the matter and risk losing what they had already. “But I also know you too well.”

She gave a playful push against his arm as they got out of the car. Scully breathed deeply, feeling the wind, carrying a crispness that only could be felt near the shore. She already felt her spirits lifting. They walked up to the front of the small shack of a restaurant as he opened the door for her. They sat quietly at the bar and shared two happy hour beers and mulled over the menu.

“Look, Scully, they have frog legs on special! Deep fried. Everything is better than deep fried!”

She arched an elegant eyebrow and nodded. “Challenge accepted as an appetizer. Hm. Saws the chef caught it himself and kept them frozen for a special occasion. I'd this occasion is special. Fox Mulder buying me lunch!” Scully laughed. She glanced back to her own menu at hand, deciding on a small side salad and a side of scallops to put on her salad. “What are you getting?”

“The softshell crabs sound awfully tempting,” he answered, “as do the oysters. A Yankee boy like myself is allowed to indulge in these things. Why don't we just share? What were you thinking of getting?”

“A small salad and a side order of scallops.”

“Let's get that, some oysters, and...” he eyed the menu, “collards and green beans. Gotta try that southern cuisine.”

“You've already asked me to get china patterns and marrying you,” she mused, closing the menu, “we better slow down before we get ahead of ourselves.”

He smiled slightly and ordered their food. “So,” he began, resting his head in his hand, “you okay, Scully?”

She pursed her lips, about to murmur I'm fine but hesitated. “I feel better now but I...” She struggled inwardly before giving in the urge to confess. “I had another dream.”

“About what?”

She eyed the beer bottle and sipped it tentatively. “I'm me, but I'm not,” she started cryptically. “I saw me, but not, and it was like...the 1800s. I was a spy. There was a war?”

“The Civil War?”

She shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe. What other war could it be?” She played with a napkin. “I'm probably losing my mind.”

“Don't say that,” he said softly. “Scully, you know if you ever want to talk, I'm there for you.”

“You're three am calls prove it.”

“You could already feel the love,” he teased. “Even at the very beginning.”

The deep fried frog legs arrived. Mulder held up his fork in challenge. Scully smirked and held up her own as they dug in the two sets. “I feel like I am back in high school biology,” Mulder mused, trying to fork the frog leg.

Scully was already successful, eating her first piece. “It really does taste like chicken. Damn, this is good.” She was silent for a long moment. “Mulder. Thank you for all this.” She waved her hand uselessly. “Dealing with me.”

“Anytime, Scully.” He had successfully forked a piece of the frog leg and dipped in the house sauce. “Not bad.”

“I bet we can add this to our list of safe food,” she chuckled.

“Frog legs. Got it.”

They ate in easy silence. The bartender brought their odd assortment of food and they continued to pick at each others dishes. Mulder paid their tab and they left, leaving the car, to walk along the riverfront. Scully sighed slightly feeling a sense of relief. The silence was comforting as they enjoyed being in each other company. “You really did not have to do this, Mulder,” she admitted as they neared the end of the walk. They stood right under the Coleman Bridge. “I just had some bad sleep.”

He shrugged. “What are friends for?” he spoke softly.

His hand was still there, resting on her back, giving her a sense of security and sureness. “You ready to head home, G-woman?”

She nodded as he quietly led her back to their car to take them back to their live modern lives in Washington D.C.