#LISTEN HERE MISSY WITH THE SHARING A BED PROMPT

[whitesuited]

last night had been a blur ------------- and not from the alcohol for once; they'd both managed to keep themselves to one generous glass each of the blanton's charon had managed to conjure up out of thin air the last time they'd stayed at the continental ( and conveniently enough ended up in her duffle bag ); and even then she'd teased it was more for medicinal purposes than anything else as she went about addressing the areas on both of them in need of a bandage or a piece of gauze.

she remembers claiming the little stopper with the horse and jockey from it for herself despite them being nowhere near draining the bottle -------- twirling it in between her fingers ( the arm that wasn't currently pinning a bag of ice with her elbow to a sore section of ribs ) while they went over their strategy for the next morning. she remembers climbing into their room's solitary bed once the glasses went dry and her side was numb enough to let her move without too much cursing; eyes fluttering closed not long after her head had hit the pillow.

and now they're in the process of opening again, the line between sleep and awake beginning to thin when she thinks she's feeling warmer than usual because of the weight of the duvet. blurry and out - of - focus at first, it suddenly becomes apparent that it isn't the comforter that's been keeping her warm -------- @killsboogeyman is there, facing her, ( at least she assumes he is since she's the one with her forehead resting against his collarbone ) his arm threaded carefully between her arm and her side; his hand resting just above her hip. her heartbeat picks up as soon as realization sets in; her ribs offer up a small protest that's going to go unacknowledged.

       "john?" she murmurs softly through a yawn, almost hoping he's still fast asleep so she can stay like this just a little longer. "you're not awake, are you?"

[baronessblixen]

Here's a prompt for when you have more time and feel better: Mulder and Scully have to share a bed (they're not a couple). They end up spooning in their sleep. Mulder is so relaxed that he starts talking in his sleep and says "I love you" :) Hope you feel better soon :)

Hurt/comfort/angst with a dash of fluff! Hope you like. Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2021

Wc: 573

Fictober Day 22

Big Spoons and Little Spoons

They're saying it's the worst storm in Vermont's recent history. There are no flights out, no busses and no trains. All they're offered is a hotel room - just one - for the night. They have no choice but to take it. The room is small, the bed a double. The wind rattles the windows and the TV is out.

"Home sweet home," Mulder mumbles as they get ready for bed. The bathroom door doesn't close properly so the experience is more intimate than either of them anticipated.

Teeth brushed and pajamas donned, they get comfortable in bed. Or try to, anyway. There are several 'sorrys' mumbled as Scully presses her leg to his (an accident) and Mulder brushes her breast (definitely an accident).

They don't talk, stick to their sides as much as possible. Sleep doesn't come easily. Mulder listens to the weather wreaking havoc outside. Thunder crashes through the sky, the occasional lightning slicing through the cheap, crooked blinds. Every time it does, he flinches.

He turns around, clinging to the edge of the bed. But even with them closed, his eyes register the lighting, his anxiety rising as soon as thunder rolls. He counts the seconds in between to determine how close the thunderstorm is.

"It's okay, Mulder," Scully says, touching his back.

"I'm not scared," he replies quickly.

"It's okay if you are. Do you want me to explain it to you?" She asks with a yawn.

"Thank you, Dr. Scully." He chuckles. "I'm okay, really. It's just the light, it... it just startles me."

"I know what you mean."

"Does it happen to you, too?"

When she doesn't answer, he turns around. There's enough light in the room to see her eyes blink lazily at him.

"Sometimes," she admits.

"What do you do?" He scoots closer, wanting to not just share secrets but also space.

"I invested in new blinds." He sees her smile and after a second, realizing she made a joke, he does too. "Would it help you if... after my abduction, Missy stayed over a couple of nights. It helped me. Would it help you if I held you?"

He wants to believe she's blushing, but the light isn't bright enough to see.

"Maybe," he says. He turns back around so his back is to her. The sheets rustle as she comes closer. She touches his shoulder and then she presses herself against him, spooning him.

A moment later, thunder rolls and Mulder counts with his eyes closed. The flash of lighting comes, throwing a bucket of light into the room, but Scully's arms are around him and he doesn't even flinch, feeling safe.

"You're the best big spoon, Scully," Mulder says. Her body wrapped around him, warm and soft, calms him.

"Sleep now."

"Yes, boss."

The storm rages on but begins to lose its steam, tired out like a toddler. Mulder is about to finally fall asleep when Scully rolls away from him in her sleep. He follows her, like a magnet, and makes her the little spoon. His nose buried in her hair, he relaxes.

"Soft Scully," he mumbles, neither awake nor asleep, "sweet Scully."

"Sleep, Mulder," she mumbles back.

"Sleepy Scully," he says and is certain she's giggling. "I love you," he adds with a sigh, meaning every word.

"Love you too."

They sleep and when they wake in the morning, Mulder still spooning Scully, neither of them remembers their sleepy words.

[babyybitchhh]

Ace x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 3,201

Warnings: oral sex, cunnilingus, semi established relationship, first time

A/N: Wrote this for my editor in chief, who just got to the climax of Marineford and is very upset about ... you know. She gave the okay to post it, so please enjoy! : )

♥♥♥♥

You were halfway through the motion of lifting the overstuffed laundry basket so you could hand it off to Marco when you suddenly caught movement at the corner of your eye. Distracted from the task at hand, you swivel around only to find Ace leaning through the doorway, beckoning you over with a wave and a big mischievous grin. You eagerly start to smile back, excited to see him, but the sound of Marco expectantly clearing his throat stops you from bolting.

Sheepishly, you turn back around to glance at the blond who offers you a droll look in response. “Don’t even think about it, missy … you’ve been shucking your laundry duty off on other people for weeks now. Do you really think I’ll just let you take off like that?”

Your mouth pulls in a frown, dejected, and Ace not-so-helpfully chimes in with a grumble of ‘no fun!’ Brow arching wryly, Marco shoots him a quick look of warning, putting a stopper on any further commentary before turning his attention to you again.

“Sorry,” you murmur, holding out the basket in resignation. Whatever Ace wanted would just have to wait until the chores were finished.

Silently, Marco takes the laundry from you, studying the dispirited droop of your shoulders for a long beat until, at last, he heaves a yielding sigh. “Go.”

Your head immediately comes up. “What? Really?”

“Yes, really.” He says, trying not to smile when Ace loudly whoops from his spot at the door. “But you owe me. Both of you do, so you’ll take turns filling in for me on the chore rotation, got it?”

“For how long?” You ask, not exactly trusting his generosity at face value. But Ace was already dashing across the room to grab your wrist and unceremoniously yank you towards the doorway, making you squeak and stumble after him.

“A month!” You hear Marco shout after you, just barely, over the racket of Ace’s heavy boots on the plank floorboards.

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond, clearly making the decision for you as he drags you down the hall like a clumsy toddler until you get your feet situated under you. Laughing, you pick up the pace to jog alongside him with your heart in your throat, cheeks flushed and warm. He was laughing as well, his howling chortle much louder than yours, as his grip adjusts to your fingers so he can swing your arm back and forth between the two of you.

“Where are we going?” You giggle, struggling to breathe around the happy flutter in your chest.

“You’ll see! I’ve got a surprise for you!”

That gives you pause - or at least it would have, if he hadn’t been steering you down the winding corridors of the Moby Dick at an excitable pace. You were completely at his mercy now that he had you in his clutches and all you could do was go along with it, tittering the whole while.

You’re a little surprised, though, when he pulls you right up to the door of his cabin a few moments later, but Ace doesn’t so much as pause. Swinging the door open, he storms inside and slams it shut again before yanking you towards the cot.

“Sit.”

You do, but not without shooting him an inquisitive look.

“Now close your eyes.”

You do this, too, with butterflies in your stomach. Ace was a kind soul, certainly, but he was also prone to making impulsive, sometimes questionable decisions so you weren’t really sure what to expect while you listened to him move about in the small room. It was really anyone’s guess at this point, and you start slightly when you feel him slide something into your lap.

“Okay,” he says, plopping his butt on the mattress to sit beside you. “Open them.”

Obediently, you do just that only to find yourself blinking down at a ribbon wrapped box. It wasn’t very big at all, so likely not anything too extreme, but you could tell the bow on top wasn’t messy enough to be his doing, and you shoot him a questioning glance.

Ace’s grin only widens though; big and boyish, and so frustratingly charming that it makes your heart twist. You still couldn’t believe the effect he had on you, sometimes. “Go on, take a look. I think you’ll like it.”

Certain you would like it, you take the end of the ribbon in hand and tug. It comes loose with a slither and you feel for the seam with your fingertips, quickly finding it and working the top off so you can peer inside.

“Ace …” you warble after a prolonged moment of surprised quiet, eyes wide and glossy. “You shouldn’t have.”

He snickers as he leans close to your shoulder, proudly joining you in regarding the small, personal sized tiramisu sitting within. “It’s your favorite, right? I knew I had to get you something when I saw the bakery in town and I hurried back to the ship as fast as I could so it wouldn’t get all soggy. I hope it still tastes okay.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, trying valiantly to fight back the happy, reflexive tears that threaten to spill over your lashes. “You really shouldn’t have, but thank you. That was so sweet of you.”

His smile falters slightly when he looks up at your face and sees the misty quality of your eyes, fluster quickly creeping into his expression. “Hey, hey! It’s nothing to cry about!” He huffs, suddenly awkward, as he reaches over to drag his index finger through a corner of the cake. “Here, give it a taste. Tell me if it’s any good.”

Your mouth opens, wanting to tell him you’re sure it’s delicious, but he slips the cream covered digit past your lips before you can get so much as a word out. Cheeks warming, you noise around the intrusion and turn a plaintive look up at him even as you shyly clean the tip of his finger with soft little kitten licks. That seems to please him a great deal, his grin returning at full force in just a matter of seconds.

“Yummy?” He prompts, withdrawing his finger.

“Yummy …” you agree as your hand comes up to timidly touch at your mouth. “It’s really good, actually. Thank you.”

“No problem. You know I’m always looking out for you!”

Mouth tugging into a smile, you watch as Ace leans back with his hands braced on the cot, face tilted up at the ceiling. He seemed so content and happy just to share his space with you, lightly humming a faint tune under his breath while he kicks his feet back and forth over the edge of the bed. In so many ways, he reminded you of a little boy when he was like this. Carefree and easy. Untroubled. It wasn’t a side of him that many got to see and, feeling quite fortunate, you start to reach for the cake.

“Here, you have some too.”

“Mmmm. No thanks. I’m good.”

Blinking, you curiously glance over at him. “Oh? You liked it the last time, though.”

“Yeah, but … I’m not really in the mood for dessert right now.” Neck turning, Ace drops his cheek to his shoulder and casually sends a meaningful glance down the length of your body to settle on the spot between your thighs. A sharp thrill immediately races through you, face warming alarmingly quick. He laughs at your reaction, all good natured humor and charming as he starts to tip his head back again. “I’m just teasing ya’, don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to - -“

“I don’t mind.”

His laughter abruptly cuts off with a sputter. “What?”

Face growing even hotter, you nervously shuffle your feet against the floor. “I said I don’t mind. If you really want to, that is. It’s okay if you were just joking - -“

Ace jumps up from the cot so fast you’d think he accidentally set it on fire if you didn’t know any better.

Eyes widening, you let him snatch the cake box from your slack hands and watch as he urgently sets it aside with quick, jerky motions. His expression is suddenly dark when he leans down to hook broad, calloused hands under your knees and pull up, flipping you onto your back.

“Ah - Ace!”

“Were you serious just now?” He asks, not stopping long enough to hear the answer before sinking down to the floor and sending you a hopeful puppy dog look from where he was now knelt between your legs.

“Y - yes,” you tell him truthfully. “I was. But you don’t have to though, I just - -“

He abruptly drops his face into the meat of your thighs, startling a squawk out of you. Embarrassed, your grasping fingers shoot down to tangle in his wavy hair as he inhales a deep, stuttering breath that makes his shoulders rise dramatically like some sort of hunching beast.

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this.” He practically growls against you.

“You should have said something then …”

Ace’s only response is a low, rumbling groan to accompany the tight squeeze of his fingers on your hips. You tense and shudder for him as he drags those big hands of his further down to take hold of your thighs and ease them apart. The breath catches in your throat when he promptly nuzzles into you, rubbing his face against your tingling cunt as if he were a cat marking its territory. You struggle not to screw your eyes shut at the sensation of him so intimately close to your core, smelling you and basking in the warmth bleeding through your clothes, but you force yourself to keep watching.

To bear witness to the way he presses in so tight his nose wrinkles up, brows furrowed in unconcealed pleasure. To see how the wavy strands of his hair rest along the curve of your thighs and then cling to the fabric of your skirt when he impatiently shoves it up out of his way. To appreciatively drink in the sight of him, all dark eyed and freckled, staring hungrily at the pudgy seam that runs down the center of your panties just as a starving man might look at a bountiful harvest.

He was easily the most beautiful man you’d ever seen and, based on the way he was looking at you, that feeling was apparently mutual.

“You’re sure?” It’s a soft question, but it rings loud in the quiet cabin.

“I … I’m positive, Ace. You don’t need to hesitate.”

Loudly exhaling the breath he’d been holding, he snags his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugs. Your throat constricts as you twist on top of the bed, helping him work the cotton down over your legs. He tosses them without a second thought as soon as they’re loose, quickly diving back in to shove his face into your bare pussy, making you jolt.

You have to bite down on your lower lip to keep quiet when you spread your legs further apart for him, delighting in the way he eagerly nuzzles against you without another thought to the matter. His lips purse against your slit and he kisses you, just as passionately as he does your mouth when no one’s looking. A whimper promptly claws up the back of your throat, high strung and needy, and Ace responds in kind with a rumbling sigh of his own.

Blunt fingers knead into the doughy soft flesh of your thighs as he tilts his head so he can better work your labia apart. You shiver at the sensation of warm spit gathering along the crease of your body, slowly dribbling down your skin and mixing with sticky slick to leave you feeling obscenely damp. The realization that he was excitedly drooling all over your pussy, panting and faintly moaning into you as if you two had been at this for hours, has your toes curling in premature ecstasy.

His rough lips were the perfect contrast on your delicate folds, sending intense shockwaves of friction through you that felt like something akin to fireworks. You heave, spine arching off the bed when Ace finally dips the plushy swell of his tongue inside to truly taste you and tease at your clit. Fingers scrabbling across his broad shoulders, you latch onto him with your nails, fighting to keep yourself grounded rather than let the heat of the moment swallow you up.

It was the middle of the day on a heavily manned ship, after all, and there was no lock on the cabin door. If someone came calling on him for one reason or another they probably wouldn’t hesitate to barge in unannounced. This was Ace you were talking about here. He wasn’t someone that often concerned himself with pleasant niceties such as knocking so why would they show him that courtesy?

It would be over in an instant and you’d both be caught red handed, no questions asked. Word of this incident would spread fast, no doubt, depending on who found the two of you like this, but everyone on board will have certainly heard about it by sundown. You just couldn’t afford to get carried away right now, for your sake as much as his - but it was so hard not to cry out in pleasure when he was languidly dragging his tongue up and down the length of your slit to gather all the accumulated fluid and swallow it down in one big gulp.

Seething, you finally give in to the urge and squeeze your eyes shut as your head tips back against the haphazardly strewn sheets, the smell of him swarming your senses all over again. “Ace … please …!”

“Mmmm, yes, baby,” he murmurs against you, muffled by the meat of your cunt. “Say it again. For me?”

“Ah! A - Ace! Please … pleeeaaase!”

It’s hard to keep your voice down but, somehow, you manage to hush your desperate pleas to a mere whisper, strained and cracking. He responds in kind, moaning softly as he nuzzles deeper, making your pliant pussy lips mold against his face. Hooded obsidian eyes rove up to regard you as he does it, watching your expression twist in pleasure with nothing short of a fierce, almost predatory interest reflecting in his dark irises.

Ace was hungry for you in a way you never would have anticipated, his lips and his tongue voraciously laving you in warm, wet attention, quickly winding the spring inside you tighter and tighter. Your sensitive cunt was already throbbing for him, threatening to burst at a moment's notice if he wasn’t careful. You could hardly breathe through it, so heavy and gratifying, as his insatiable, relentless mouthing continued to work you over until you were half delirious with it.

Despite wanting to savor this, you knew, instinctively, that you weren’t going to last much longer.

“Ace … I - I’m gonna’ …”

The sound he makes in response is very nearly a snarl, bordering on animalistic and feral. His fingers come up to press into your labia and spread them, finally - finally! Exposing your clit fully to his mouth. You suck in a haggard gasp of air and try to brace for it, but still jolt as if you’d been electrocuted when he drags the flat of his tongue over that pulsating little bud tucked away inside silken folds. Your vision whites out for a split second, entirely overwhelmed, nails clawing at his shoulder blades with an almost savage sort of desperation. A scream rises in the back of your throat, choking you when you refuse to give it voice.

Embarrassingly, all it takes is three quick swipes of his tongue to send you into a fit of convulsions, fresh tears instantly welling up in your eyes. This time, however, they track freely down the sides of your face while you struggle to keep yourself in check even as you twist and writhe underneath him, mewling as quietly as you can. You sound like something broken, an injured calf in its death throes, and Ace the ravenous wolf drinking your lifeblood as if it were sacrament.

He doesn’t let up for what feels like a small eternity, persistently lapping at your sensitized clit until you finally issue a wounded, half stifled shriek that seems to echo against the cabin walls. Coming up off you with a wet, wheezing gasp, he watches the way you slap a hand to your mouth and quake through the lingering tremors of your orgasm from under the fall of messy, sweat slicked bangs. So obviously entranced by the sight of you even as his bare chest contracts with quick, heavy breaths that give away the true extent of his tense arousal.

“You look so good like this ..” he murmurs, comfortingly dragging his hands across your trembling thighs as you start to ease down from your high. “Coming apart just for me. How’d I ever get so lucky, huh?”

Whimpering, you reach for him with shaking fingers and Ace attentively obliges, climbing up onto the cot and settling over you with his knees bracketing your hips. He swoops down to catch your mouth with his, and you moan at the taste of yourself as you languorously stretch out beneath him. The buzz of your afterglow was potently intoxicating, making your head spin long after the pulses had finally stopped, leaving you warm and comfortable. Satiated.

Sighing pleasantly into the kiss, you card your hand through his hair, working out a few errant knots here or there before tilting your head back to look up at him. “I think I’m the lucky one, actually … I’ve never felt so good in all my life, Ace.”

He chuckles when he leans down to adoringly press his forehead to yours, eyes locking from just a scant few inches away. “Guess we’re both lucky then, baby girl. I couldn’t ask for anything else, you know that?”

“That makes me happy,” you warble, feeling like you could just burst all over again.

“Me too.” Sighing contentedly, Ace snuggles somehow even closer to you and tries to get comfortable, but the prodding weight pressed into your thigh seems to give him a bit of trouble. He shifts awkwardly, looking for a position that will ease the strain on his cock, but it doesn’t appear as though one is very forthcoming in his current predicament.

You hesitate to do it but, quickly making up your mind, you reach down and shyly grasp at him through his pants. It’s his turn to jolt as if he’d just been shocked, and his attention whips around to practically gape at you. It probably would’ve been rather funny, the flabbergasted look on his face, if only your pussy wasn’t still soaking wet and silently begging to be stretched.

“I want to.” You tell him quietly.

Ace visibly gulps, swallowing his nerves. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I know for a fact that there isn’t a single soul in this world I would rather have. Please …?”

Luckily, you don’t have to ask him twice.

[lepus-arcticus]

OMENS: CHAPTER FOURTEEN one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen trigger warnings apply

KICKING HORSE B&B 9:25 PM

Marion revved the truck through the sea of dark mud surrounding Kicking Horse. In the rage of the storm, the once-elegant house took on a veil of ghostliness, its stately lines smeared white against the blackening sky. The only light from within leaked out from the tower, and it flickered hysterically, casting strange, incomprehensible shadows that danced and bled together and then disappeared, only to leap back to life again in shreds of brilliant orange. The other windows, in contrast, were empty and cold, as flat as the eyes of the dead.

As the house came into clearer view, so did Mulder’s silhouette, pacing barefoot and coatless on the porch. The sight of him scraped at Scully’s heart. Had he been out here since she’d left, scanning the horizon, waiting for her return?

They passed through the painted arch that marked the beginning of the driveway, and Marion gave the truck one last valiant surge of gas. When they were a stone’s throw away from the porch, she killed the engine.

Mulder leaned on the railing. His usually impassive face was rumpled in concern, but he didn’t move. Scully briefly met his gaze, but then the rain sluiced over the windshield and smudged him into nothingness.

A heaviness settled over the cab of the truck. Marion slouched into her seat, took a deep breath, and reached over to squeeze Scully’s wrist. Scully turned her hand over, threaded her fingers through Marion’s, and squeezed back.

“Marion,” she said, as they broke apart. “You said… you said that everyone, all of the Bishop women, had a natural… proficiency.” Marion nodded. “What’s yours?”

A sad, ironic little smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and she gestured vaguely at the sky. “I’ve got a thing with the weather,” she said, shoving open her door. Before Scully could respond, she was gone.

Scully sat for a moment, listening to the rain on the roof of the truck, watching the streaked shadow that was Marion move past Mulder and into the house. She opened the door to the storm, and jumped down into the mud. As she climbed the porch steps, Mulder hurried towards her, his hands outstretched.

“Scully, you’re bleeding,” he said flatly, his voice cutting through the cacophony of the rain. He placed his hands on both of her shoulders. “God, you’re shivering. Where’s your coat? Where did you find Marion?”

“She found me, actually,” Scully replied. Mulder flexed his fingers against her, looking for more, but all she could do was look up at him, hoping that he could read her, hoping that he could understand.

He drew closer, leveling his face to her own, inviting her back into their secret, subtle dimension. “Scully…,” he pressed.

She opened her mouth, but the words evaded her. He smoothed a hank of wet hair from her forehead, searching her face. “Let’s dry you off,” he said, ushering her into the dark maw of the house, a guiding hand planted firmly against the small of her back.

He led her through the murky halls, up the stairs, past the ever-present audience of Bishop stares. She couldn’t help but look at their faces as she passed--each one of these women an echo of the one that came before her, bound by singularity. How did they contend with the promise of that loneliness, with the knowledge that they must always be their heart’s own keeper?

Mulder steered them past Anna’s closed door, and back into the room she’d shared with him for the last two nights. It was draped in velvet dark, illuminated only by the blue of the storm and thin shards of firelight leaking down through the tower window outside. She reached out her hand, felt for the bed, allowed Mulder to help her sit down.

“We can’t interfere,” Scully said, dazed, looking out towards the tower. “We can’t go up there, Mulder.”

He squatted in front of her and nodded solemnly, licking his thumb and swiping it across her cheek, clearing a path through the residue of a nosebleed she hadn’t noticed. “I know,” he soothed. “Don’t worry about that right now. All that matters is that we get you warm and dry, okay? We’ll stay here and let them do their thing. It’ll be okay.”

She nodded, shivering and bewildered, nearly on the verge of laughter at the absurdity of it all. She was grateful, she realized, for his gentleness, his concern, his utter lack of pride. No matter the rigours he subjected her worldview to, no matter how startling the myriad of revelations she’d experienced in their work together, he’d never once resorted to I told you so. With Mulder, it was never about winning. It was always and only about revealing the truth.

He bent with a grunt to remove her mud-caked boots one by one, peeling her socks off before taking each of her feet in turn, warming them between his palms like they were newborn whelps. The enormity of his tenderness stirred something soft and vulnerable within her, made her humble, made her feel limp and warm.

“Here,” Mulder said, releasing her foot after one last firm squeeze. “You can wear something of mine.” He spun away from her to ransack his open bag at the foot of the bed frame.

“Believe it or not, I did bring some clothes of my own,” she replied.

“I know,” he said, but continued to search. He unearthed a sweatshirt, and even in the dark, Scully recognized it as his favourite, a slightly tatty remnant from his days in Oxford Athletics. He tossed it to her, then turned his back to allow her to change.

She rubbed the well-loved fabric between her fingers and thumb, pouting softly in appreciation, then peeled herself out of her soaked shirt and bra, weakly lobbing them to the other side of the room. Her pants were next. She briefly considered losing her underwear, too, but in the end, couldn’t commit. The sweatshirt was so large that it hit her mid-thigh. As she slid it on and let it fall, the worn cotton caressed her pebbled nipples, drawing them tight and stiff and sending a flourish of shivers over her ribs. It smelled of him, of his favourite Rosemont laundromat and a hint of his stubborn sweat, and she breathed it in, brooding as she hugged her elbows.

“I’m decent,” she managed, sitting again on the edge of the bed. Mulder set right back to work, wringing the rain from her hair into a dirty t-shirt he’d produced, reaching into the collar of the sweatshirt to gently strip the sopping bandages away from her cut. She let him fuss.

Once he was satisfied, he finished by reaching around her for the comforter and draping it over her shoulders, rubbing her arms through the batting. She mustered a small smile of thanks.

“What happened out there?” he asked, dragging the desk chair over to sit knee-to-knee with her. She pulled the comforter more closely around her arms, silently replaying crashes of lightning and a cacophony of gnashing teeth, and found that she couldn’t find a satisfactory answer.

“You saw something,” he prompted. In the flickering dark, the strange dissonant structure of his face seemed miraculous, like a Rodin through a kaleidoscope, and she reached out to trace her fingers along the sandpapery flat of his cheek. He brought his hand up to her wrist, stroking her pulse point. “What is it Scully? What did you see?”

She looked at him, at his origami lips, his glimmering dark eyes. Mulder, who was capable of such sweetness, such violence. Mulder, whose merciless curiosity had cracked open the firmament and sent the secrets of the universe spilling out over the both of them like holy wine, amrita, ambrosia.

“Scully?” he whispered, but it was all there in his eyes.

He knew.

Slowly, with the clearest of intent, she leaned forward and brushed her lips over his.

A drugged warmth spread through her, blooming from where they touched: his smooth, heated hand on her rain-chilled knee, his nose pressing into her cheek. She lost herself in the tender ache of it all, in the dark and secret world where they met, the crush of his lips against hers. She parted her lips, pulling back without quite breaking contact, encouraging him to chase her, to claim her, to make her his.

But instead of following her, he fell away, leaving her empty and cold.

Her stomach turned sour for one terrible, panicky moment, but then, to her great relief, he reached up and threaded his fingers through her hair, cupping the base of her skull. “What do you want?” he asked her, letting his forehead fall forward against hers.

She stroked his curved jaw, nudging the tip of his nose with her own. What did she want? She wanted redemption, wanted justice, wanted peace. She wanted picket fences in the sun, wanted the thrill of midnight chases and gunpowder residue on her palms. She wanted Missy back, and the Farmer’s Market on Sunday, and for God to forgive her. She wanted the cold, quiet sanctuary of the Quantico morgue, the dark, dusty comfort of their Hoover basement.  She wanted to run away. She wanted to crawl inside of him and live in the safety of his ribcage forever.

“I want to live.”

“Oh, Scully,” he said in a strangled voice, and a vindictive part of her was glad to have hurt him. Rain roared against the window, and in a rush of determination, she moved into him again.

This time, he surrendered into her kiss, deepening it, sweeping her back up into a slow, maddening throb. They kissed until they were panting, sharing breath, sharing hunger, sharing the sweet humiliation of want.

“Are you sure?” he asked against her lips, one warm hand resting on her bare thigh. “I need you to be okay.” In response, she fisted his t-shirt, nipped at his bottom lip.

“Scully,” he insisted. “Last night—”

“—Oh, fuck last night,” she pleaded, clutching at him. She pulled him down hard from the chair so that he fell before her, kneeling between her thighs. He groaned his compliance as he dove forward, dipping his tongue into the hollow at the base of her neck, dragging it across her collarbone as she lavished kisses into the thick, fragrant silk of his hair. The comforter fell from her shoulders, as if to encourage them.

She squirmed closer as he sucked at an earlobe, tonguing the small pearl stud she wore. She was pressed up so tightly against him that she swore she could feel his heartbeat, noble and strong, keeping time against her belly. The heat bloomed through her, but made her realize that something was missing, something was wrong.

God, she used to get so wet just thinking of him, flushed and needy and swollen in rental car passenger seats and mouldering motel showers. But the cancer had stolen that from her, too. Whimpering in abject frustration, she willed her body to respond, focusing on the way her blood felt magnetized to his, the way her nipples strained and ached against him, the ferocity of her determination to finally have him.

Slowly, Mulder smoothed his hands up and over her hips, up underneath the sweatshirt she still wore, flexing his fingers where they bracketed the small of her waist. “You’re still so cold,” he said into her neck, nuzzling her softly.

“Then warm me up,” she said, digging her knees into his sides.

Under the sweatshirt, he found the soft, sensitive weight of her breasts, and uttered a reverent sound that arced through her sacrum like an old, secret magic. She pushed herself forward, and he grew bolder, clutching, squeezing, dipping down to latch onto a stiff nipple with his beautiful mouth and sucking it through the worn cotton. Her nerves sparked and fizzed, cold champagne on bare skin, but still she felt no welcoming swell, no hot liquid rush.

It wasn’t fair, damn it. When was the last time someone had touched her like this, with this much feeling, this much honesty? When was the last time she’d wanted somebody with such a grave and furious need?

Overcome, she released his hair and grabbed at his face, slouching, kissing him hard, sucking at his tongue and sighing into his mouth. She pulled at his shirt, and he ripped it over his head, tossed it aside. His muscular chest was cast in Aegean shadows, supple as clay and specked with a star-map of moles and fawn-coloured freckles. Darts of distant firelight from the window slid from his shoulders as he gazed up at her, utterly moonstruck, utterly at her mercy.

“Scully…,” he breathed, tracing his fingers along her stomach, down to the elastic of her underwear. Despite her certainty, her clarity, her breath caught in her throat.

He paused. “Hey,” he ventured, searching her face. “You okay?”

She flushed with shame, and hated herself for it. “It’s just that… it’s harder for me to… be ready. It’s a residual side effect from the chemo. I’m not as… I’m usually… I just don’t want you to think… because I do,” she said. “God, Mulder, I really do.”

His face softened. “Oh, Scully, it’s okay,” he promised, sealing his lips to a childhood scar on her patella. “It’s okay.” He nestled into her lap, his stubble grating decadently over her skin, his breath warm as a wild mountain spring. “Will you trust me?” he continued, his voice low, conspiratorial. “Let me take care of you.” He kissed a wet path from the inside of her knee up the line of her inner thigh, daring to venture higher, closer. “Let me,” he said against her skin, making her muscles quiver. “I want to. I dream of this.”

He dreams of this, she thought. He dreams of me.

She hummed a helpless note of consent, and he exhaled excitedly, rolling his jaw against her thigh. He moved closer, dragging his tongue, slowly rooting his way between her legs. A sharp, sweet pang pierced her gut when he nosed the hem of her underwear at the crease of her thigh, when he inhaled deeply and failed to stifle a drunken groan of approval. The heat rose in Scully’s cheeks, but she couldn’t help but lift her hips, couldn’t help but let her knees fall open just a fraction wider. She anchored her feet to the tops of his thighs, scrunching her toes against the rough of his jeans. He was there, right there, nothing between them but department store cotton.

Over the fabric, he traced the seam of her with his nose, with his tongue, twisting to lightly graze his teeth over the soft swells of her labia. He looped his hands under her knees and gripped her hips, yanking her closer, tilting her hard into his plush and Bacchanalian mouth. And finally, finally, with his rough cheek pressed to her thigh and his expressive tongue tracing the boundary of her bare skin, her body began to respond in a slow, liquid tide.

Scully whined in relief, in anticipation, her belly twisting with the satisfaction of watching him work to coax and please her, watching him work to make her wet and plump and ready for him. He released his grip on her hips and found the waistband of her panties, curling his fingers over the elastic. This time, she let him drag them down. He slid them slowly over her ass, down her thighs, over her feet.

She pulled her knees together, weak with nerves and desire, a little shy, but he smoothed his hands over her legs, warming her, opening her, gazing up at her as though she was Venus, Voluptas, his very best girl. His hands brushed the backs of her knees, and she let him lift her legs, draping them over his shoulders one after the other. Her breath fluttered as she inhaled, riding a furl of low, wet need, and he cradled her hips in his hands, drawing her forward, pressing her open. He spilled hot, open-mouthed kisses up the inside of her thigh, prying, spreading, until she was as open to him as an oleander, quivering and ripe.

“Gorgeous,” he exhaled, staring, running his fingers over her labia with a whisper-soft touch. “Unbelievable.”

Despite herself, despite her pride, Scully glowed with the pleasure of receiving his praise, of being the focus of his wonder. He bowed to her, and at the first cool touch of his tongue, she gasped, another well of wetness rising to meet him. He licked her from her swelling, pulsing core to the peak of her clitoris, a low and ravenous sound rumbling in his throat.

Jesus Christ.

Again he stroked her, but harder this time, his tongue flattening and his fingernails biting into the flesh of her hips. But just as he reached her clitoris, he lifted off, barely grazing it, making her writhe and whine and pant, making her wild. He soothed her with a reassuring, self-satisfied hum, and continued to lap at her, slow and sweet and perfectly evil.

Scully closed her eyes and let her head fall back, trying to lose herself, but he nipped at her sharply, demanding her full attention. Chastised, incredibly turned on, she obeyed, watching him as he sucked at her clit, as he twisted and rolled his tongue. Fuck, this is what she’d been so nobly resisting? This?

The rain thundered against the roof and rattled the window in its frame, and a sudden surge of panic filled her chest—she needed him inside of her now, before it was too late, before the Fates discovered this breach in reality. She tugged at his hair, unhooking her legs from her shoulders, and he began to suck at her fiercely, determined to make her come.

“Mulder—,” she begged, wriggling. “Please—”

He lamented into her cunt, dragging his tongue over her again with a weak growl, but followed her as she pulled him up and over her body. As he rose from kneeling, there was a crack, and he let out a sparse, sharp breath. Scully paused in concern.

“My knee,” Mulder explained, chuckling bashfully, shaking it out as he bent over her on one hand. She pouted in amused sympathy, shifting back further onto the bed to make room for him. God, it really was Mulder, she thought, admiring his sheepish grin. It really was them, here, together.

He brushed back a lock of her hair as he loomed over her, and she dragged him down for one languid, complicated kiss, savouring the trace of her own oceanic flavour on his lips.

“I want you,” she confessed.

“You have me,” he whispered back. “You’ve always had me.”

With a sharp surge of need, she reached down and began to fumble with the fly of his jeans, her fingers trembling as they grazed the confined ridge of his erection. She couldn’t get a grip, her fingers slipping over the metal button, so he reached down with one hand to help her. He exhaled hotly into her neck as he worked the zipper open, kicked himself free of his jeans and underwear, and settled himself carefully between her legs.

Propped up on one elbow, his naked thigh slid against hers, and then, with a subtle shift of his hips, his cock made contact with her lower belly. It was smooth as buckskin, hard and hot and thick, and her pulse raced in a joyous, fretful cadence as she took it in hand and squeezed. Mulder growled, thrusting into her palm, and she ground up desperately against his hips. God, she needed it, needed him, now, now, now.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

“You won’t, you won’t,” she urged, burning with frustration, and to prove it, she pushed him off of her, gripped him with her calves, rolled him over, and straddled his hips.

Trapped below her, taken delightfully aback, he half-smiled, one slightly crooked eyetooth catching the light. He melted his hands over her thighs, over her hips, up under her sweatshirt, becoming greedy.

In the low light, she caught her breath and settled into his eyes, mooring herself in their murky glimmer, losing herself in his hunger, his worship. A thought swung madly into her head that this was what she’d been created for, what her spirit had been cast earthside to do: to love him, to be loved by him, and to love the strange, sublime universe into wholeness together.

The thunder howled viciously, victoriously in the sky. She let the sound pass through her, let it charge her nerves, let it shatter her guilt and her grief, leaving something pure and keen as starlight in its place.

Mulder lifted the hem of her sweatshirt, and she helped him without self-consciousness, easing it over her shoulders with her good arm and letting it fall to the bed behind her, goosebumps blooming over her skin at the touch of the cool storm air. Between her thighs, he released a pained and shaky exhale, eyes glazing with lust as his palms traveled over the gentle crimp of her ribs. He traced his fingers down the sides of her breasts, and her nipples puckered and strained in response.

Underneath her, he was beautiful, his hair tousled across the pillow like a shadowy halo, his lips swollen from kissing her. She leaned down and pushed her fingers through the sparse patch of coarse hair on his chest, luxuriating in how the life within him thrummed under her touch.

With careful restraint, she lowered her hips, swiveling so that she met the ridge of his cock where it burned against his belly, and God, he was so stiff and hot that it made her light-headed. She slid over him with the swollen, spit-anointed groove of her cunt, grinding her clit against his spongy head, and he jerked, gasped, dug his fingers into her waist and urged her down harder.

“Fuck,” he swore, reaching up to fondle one of her breasts and searching her face for a reaction. She let him see it all; how good it felt to touch him and be touched by him, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth and whining softly as he rolled a nipple between thumb and forefinger. She canted her hips forward again, gliding along his length, loving the torture of it, loving the violence it wrought within him, how it made him tense and curse and writhe.

With a shiver of pleasure, she fell forward fully so that her breasts pressed against his chest, her face hovering just above his. She needed to feel his breath, needed to share in his life force, his prana, his spirit. Hungrily, she lapped at the divet in his bottom lip, and he lifted his head, catching her in a dizzying kiss, clutching her ass to force her down harder onto his cock.

At least there was this. Even if she’d been rendered powerless, even if her future had been stolen from her, at least there was this. At least she could still make this singular, strange man want her, could wrench those sweet, despairing sounds from his throat, could conjure this thunderous, convulsive need within him.

When the lightning hurled down close outside, illuminating the room in brilliant white for one ghostly, shocking moment, she didn’t jump, but rode out the wave of thunder that followed, relishing the slick drag of his body against hers.

No more words, she thought, her stomach clenching in anticipation as they spun towards the inevitable. No words now, because it would make this impossible, would rip it back into reality, would make it a topic for discussion, for dissection, for analysis and argument. Sure and steady, she rose and reached between them, lifting his cock to where she wanted it.

He flexed his thumbs against her hipbones, gaping at the spot where they met. She drew breath. And then, oh, then…

She sank down onto him, sighing as he forced her open, as he filled her up. And oh, Christ, it was good, and it hurt, and it was everything.

She met his eyes, saw her amazement mirrored. He reached up and cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his palm for support. Gently, gently, she lifted herself back off, nuzzling into his hand, running her tongue over the heel of his palm. She lowered herself again, thighs already tight with the effort of it, and he was even more perfect than before, heavy and thick and hotter than her core. He moaned, pulsing inside of her.

“Fuck, Scully,” he said, as she lifted herself again, rocking forward, swaying back, finding a rhythm. He traced his hand from her cheek to cradle her neck, her breast. She covered his hand with her own, urging him to knead and to pinch, to give her more, to treat her like she deserved. “Is this happening?” he asked dazedly, almost to himself. In response, she seated herself fully, clenching around him. He whined and lifted his hips to meet her, and though there was nowhere left for him to go, he continued to surge up into her hard, as though he could fuse her to him forever with only the force of his will.

She couldn’t control her hands, and they were everywhere, exploring the limber, vibrant animal of his body. God, it was good. He was so good. This man, this moment, this life was hers.

With a surge of power, she quickened her pace, taking him into her again and again. He tensed between her knees, open-mouthed in awe below her, and the adoration in his gaze billowed through her chest like holy incense. She bent to take his mouth, to slip her tongue over his, to taste that dark place inside of him. She drank her fill as he tangled his hands in her hair, and then, swifter than a prairie storm, a different need overtook her.

She slowed, dragging herself up, easing herself down, and the tension within him immediately melted to tenderness. “You okay?” he breathed, stroking her back, searching her eyes.

“Mulder?”

He stilled his hands.

“Fuck me,” she said. A glimmer of confusion crossed his face, and he pulled her back down for a soft kiss.

“Is that… not what we’re…,” he began, the shadow of a smile on his lips.

“No,” she interrupted, speaking into his mouth, tasting the heat of his breath. “Fuck me like I’m not sick.”

He stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge her resolve, and a familiar determination crossed his face. Without warning, his arms were around her waist, and she was flying, falling, losing her breath as his cock slid out from inside her, and he flipped her over onto the mattress. She landed on her cut and hissed through the jolt of fire that seared through her shoulder, but gasped in pleasure when she realized he’d taken her seriously.

He seethed with lust as he loomed over her, breathing hard. Yes, she thought, Yes, this, thank God—and he shoved her thighs up and apart, lunged into her with one merciless punch of his hips, and fell over her, ravaging the good side of her neck. She yelped with the thrill of the way he filled her, the way he reshaped her body, her mind, to make himself fit.

He fucked her, hard, for what felt like a swirling eternity, or maybe it was only seconds—brutal and sweet and so relentless that she thought she might lose her mind forever, might witness her own brain spill from her ears, sizzling, staining the floral sheets. The madness within her sharpened, grew desperate and pulsing and urgent. Just a little more and she’d be there, just a little more…

He lifted himself off of her. She nearly cried out at the betrayal, clawing at his arms, but he ignored her, sitting up on his knees and yanking one of her legs over his shoulder. He clutched her thigh with one hand and found her clit with the other, smearing his thumb through her heat.

Oh, fuck, but it was good this way, too, where she could see all of him, his beautiful, scarred chest, his pained expression; where she could see how his eyes raked over her body, could feel his gaze like touch, ravishing her belly, her breasts.

He turned his face and bit into her ankle where it tensed against his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. She jerked in surprise, and he smiled a gloriously wicked smile, kissing it better, synchronizing his thumb on her clit with his tongue against her skin. God, how easily he could hurt her. How easily she’d forgive him for it.

She fought to keep her eyes open against the assault of sensation, but it was impossible not to be swept away. His soft grunts, the sound of them meeting again and again, the feeling of him inside of her—it was all too much. She surrendered, letting herself escape inward, but then Mulder dove back down at her, scooping her up and lifting her so that she was nestled in his lap, his face close to hers.

“No,” he rasped, clearly near the edge. “Look at me.”

She shivered, but complied, letting her eyes fall into his. He cupped her ass and dragged her hips against his, and together, they found a rhythm that was clumsy and heartfelt, wholly sublime.

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he said, his forehead against hers. His tone matched the darkness in his eyes, something dangerous, something dire fermenting within. “So beautiful. So fucking good…”

And it was his voice and his praise that brought her there, to that unreal, mystical release, that dark and starry place. She shuddered and tensed, and through the haze of her orgasm, she could hear his proud, frantic sounds of appreciation, his senseless stream of half-formed encouragements.

After what seemed like forever, she came down weak and boneless and dizzy, and he caught her, supporting her spent body as she draped herself over him. He laboured on, chasing his own pleasure, his muscles quivering below her as he forced himself up into her again and again.

“Oh, fuck, Scully, I’m gonna…” he warned.

Some primal creature spoke for her. “Inside of me. Inside…,” she whined into the hollow of his neck, tasting his pulse, the salt of his sweat.

As soon as the words left her lips, he stiffened, became silent, and thrust into her ferociously, stopping so deep that she swore she could feel the liquid surge of him pulsing into the deepest parts of her. He fisted the hair at the back of her head and dragged her face back up so that her forehead was against his, so that she was forced to bear witness to his euphoria.

I did this to him, she thought triumphantly, drinking in the pained twist of his expression. He drew back slightly as she held fast to him, and moaned as he pushed back in once, twice, never breaking his gaze.

He finally stilled, and they panted in each other’s arms for a long moment, the storm roaring wrathful outside. Without closing his eyes, he tilted his head to slide his lips across hers, to take her mouth in a kiss that was somehow both lazy and overwhelming, soaked through with afterglow.

Slowly, he laid her down, never leaving her heat, and in the dancing shadows, his face transformed, became softer, almost boyish, almost scared. Her heart ached with it. She wondered if she looked the same. She caught her breath as the night seeped back into reality, and he kissed her again, slipping wetly from her body with a sigh. He drew her close into his arms, rubbing her back, clinging like a wet cat.

She breathed into his chest, his hair tickling her nose. Surely the panic would set in now, the regret. Surely she would begin to rationalize this, blame it on the case or the cancer or the undeniable maudlin sway of a thunderstorm or even on Hugh, on that tragic magnetism that pulled her in and pushed her away, pushed her all the way into Mulder’s arms, his bed, his heart.

But it felt right. She couldn’t deny it. It felt natural, comfortable, to be here with him, with her nose tracing his collarbone, with his come inside of her, with her body wrapped safely in his while the skies rioted outside.

She looked up at him, and he brushed a stray hair from her forehead, inhaling deliriously, his eyes soft.

“Wow,” he said, the corner of his mouth easing into a hesitant smile.

“Yeah,” she whispered, suddenly struggling to hold back an unexpected swell of relieved, exhausted tears. “Wow.”  

She reached up to trace the curve of his jaw, but then⁠—

BANG⁠⁠—

The sound was muffled by the rain, but it still brought both of them back to consciousness, their eyes sharpening in the dark. Scully leaned up on one elbow.

“What was that?” she said, quietly.

They listened a moment longer. Nothing.

“‘S probably the storm,” Mulder assured her. She smoothed hair from her cheek nervously, and he reached up to comfort her, stroking her arm. “Just the storm, Scully. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

BANG⁠⁠—

This time, the sound was accompanied with a distant, almost otherworldly wail. Scully’s blood piqued, her senses whipped into high alert. “That’s not nothing,” she said, and began to frantically search for her shirt and slacks, her chest tightening in panic.

“That’s a gun.”

[the-voice-of-night-vale]

‘cause I feel like such an insomniac (please take me away from here)

Doctor Who; reading time: ~7 mins; Twelfth Doctor and Missy; bed-sharing, touch aversion vs touch starvation, literal sleeping together, emotional intimacy tm, mutual trauma; can be interpreted platonically, queerplatonically, or romantically.

                                    “What hath night to do with sleep?”

                                                        ― John Milton, Paradise Lost 

Eerie notes of a piano drifted through the tunnel down to the vault. The Doctor thought it sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

He set the paper bags, along with the satchel containing some essays he was supposedly grading — really he was just going to skim them and draw little smiley faces by the bits he liked — on the ground as he started the complicated process of opening the vault.

The piano drifted off as he came in, the vault door swinging shut behind him. Missy’s back was to him, and she was sitting very still. 

“I thought it was nice,” he said as he crossed the room to the low table and deposited his armfuls there. “What was it?”

“Some popular song,” she said. “Fireflies, or something like that.”

“Hm. Didn’t know you listened to music.”

“Well what else am I going to do, locked away in here?” She descended the short steps towards the sitting area, skirts hiked up. “I’ve read all the books, twice, and you won’t even do me the kindness of bringing me a particle accelerator.” She stuck her lips out in a pout. “Did you bring me a singularity spike, at least?”

He looked up at her as he pulled takeaway boxes from the bags. “You know I’m not going to do that.”

She sat down with a puff, arms crossed. “You never let me have any fun.”

“Fun for you involves dissolving living matter.”

“Exactly!”

“I got spring rolls.”

“Oh, I have such a merciful jailer.”

He rolled his eyes, though they were mostly swallowed up by his eyebrows. “Do you want the food or not?”

Not responding, she took up a plate and started filling it with food. 

He leaned back with a small plate balanced on one knee, an essay on the other. 

“What’s this week’s prompt?”

“I asked them to write about their imaginary friends.”

“Fascinating.”

“Don’t you wish we had teachers like me back home?”

She hums. “Maybe if we did you would have passed.”

He pursed his lips and continued reading. 

As Missy finished her food, she picked up a few bags of groceries, snacks, and clothes, and started putting them away, humming a song as she went. 

“Nardole tells me you don’t seem to be sleeping,” he said after a few minutes. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn around to look at him. “Hm,” she said primly. “Isn’t it rather perverted of him to be watching me all hours? A girl needs her privacy.” 

“The vault senses life signs, to make sure you’re still here and not trying to kill yourself. He’s noticed a lack of deep-breathing and no periods of REM brain activity.”

“Why does it matter if I’m sleeping?”

“You need to sleep.”

Her heels clicked along the concrete as she crossed the room. She rested a hand on the back of the chair, the other on her hip. “Do you sleep?”

He smiled. “‘Course I do.”

“Then why do you look so tired?”

He glanced up at her, out of the corner of his eye. 

She smiled, knowing the truth; but her eyes were sad. The Doctor told himself not to let that make him too hopeful. 

He set the essay down and stood, facing her. “Someone once told me. ‘With all the things a Time Lord has seen, everything he's lost, he must surely have bad dreams.’ I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”

He bent, picked up his satchel, and started towards the door. 

Missy’s voice followed him. “Then you understand why I don’t sleep either.”

He paused in place, considering whether he should turn around or not. “Good night, Missy.”

He avoided the vault after that. He sent Nardole to bring Missy things he got for her, and pointedly avoided questions on the subject. 

One day, while they were having tea, Nardole said, “Missy wants to know why you haven’t gone to see her.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“I said that’s probably because she’s evil and that she’s finally getting what she deserves.”

“And she said?”

“That she’s your best friend and she didn’t do anything wrong. And she suggested I start slipping sleep pills into your tea.”

The Doctor looked down into his cup and set it on the desk. “And did you?”

“No, why would I ever do something Missy suggested?”

“Hm. Smart move.”

“Why haven’t you gone to see her, sir?”

“Exactly why you said.”

Nardole raised his eyebrows — well, he would have, if he had any eyebrows. “You were bringing her takeaway not three weeks ago.”

“I got busy.”

“You did not.”

He stood up and went for the TARDIS doors. “I don’t have to tell you, do I? Last I checked, you were working for me!”

“Sir, I’m simply expressing the necessary concern— and you know if Professor Song were here—”

He pointed a dangerous finger at him. “Don’t bring her up. You think I don’t know what she would say, if she were here?”

With that, the TARDIS doors slammed shut. 

The Doctor fiddled with something for a few hours, loud rock music playing to drive away the thoughts. 

Eventually, he tossed the device to the ground and went down to the vault. 

Missy was lounging on the fainting couch, a book in her hands. She raised her eyebrows when he came in. “What are you doing here? Isn’t it awfully late?”

His fingers found one another and he laughed nervously. “Ah, well, you see— I was just thinking. It is late, but I figured you wouldn't be sleeping.”

“No, I’m trudging through this.” She tossed the book aside. She stood up, smoothing her skirt. “But why would you want to come see me? You seemed very keen on ignoring me.”

“Well, I’m—” He really should have thought about an excuse before coming down. He smiled sheepishly, a look that was entirely innocent. A look he had only shown to a handful of people in his life. “I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“And… what do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing. Maybe keep me company.”

She watched him for a moment, warily, before sitting down. “Well then. Since you asked so nicely.”

The Doctor soon began wandering down into the vault a few nights a week, to the point where Missy would always be expecting him with a tray of coffee. At first it would only be a few hours, but one night the Doctor realized that he could hear birds outside the window and pale gray light was drowning out the dim lamplight from the side table. He left very quickly after that, making the excuse that he had a class to teach. Both of them knew it was Saturday, but for the sake of appearances, neither of them mentioned it. 

One night, the Doctor came into the vault and saw Missy in a nightdress — distinctly Victorian, like all her clothes, but deep midnight blue instead of the usual white or pink. 

She was sitting on the couch staring into the distance, sipping a cup of tea. 

“Oh, were you— going to bed?” the Doctor asked, taken aback by her state. 

She snapped out of her trance and looked up at him. 

“No, not necessarily,” she said. “I spilled something on my dress.”

“Ah. Of course.”

She stood up, looking at the floor in a way that — were it at all possible for someone as fierce-looking and dangerous as Missy — would almost be demure. “Actually. I was wondering. Since you’ve been spending the nights here so often. Perhaps we ought to have a sleepover, for once.”

He blinked. “A— a sleepover?” He thought back to the nights spent curled together in childhood, passing out drunk in one or the other’s bed at the Academy, holding each other when it felt like the rest of the world was set against them. 

Had they touched in a way that didn’t mean violence since then?

“You know, like we used to.” Her voice was quiet, afraid; she thought she had overstepped. She felt guilty. 

“I don’t know, Missy, I—”

“You don’t have to.” She reached out, like she might take his hands, if she were just a few feet closer. 

“I know I don’t,” he said. “The problem is, I don’t know if I want to.”

“Might help you sleep.”

“Might help us both sleep.” 

She smiled. 

He watched her for a moment. Surely it was some kind of trick— Missy would never be so vulnerable to him. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“The vault measures life signs, remember? That means it responds to you too. If I were to try and hurt you, Nardole would be alerted and I’d probably be paralyzed by whatever security system you have in here.”

“Right. Of course.”

“You don’t have to take my word for it.”

He yearned for the safety of the other side of that door, away from her, away from their past, but his feet remained firmly planted where he stood. 

He swallowed, trying to regain his voice. “I know I don’t. But I will. I’ll let you prove yourself.”

“So you’ll stay?” She started to step forward, but stopped abruptly, remembering herself. 

They both had facades to maintain. 

Instead of speaking, he just nodded. 

Her eyes flitted to the bed against the side of the room. More than big enough for each of them to lay a comfortable distance apart. He doubted that would be a concern. 

Following her to the bed felt awkward, and the thought of being touched made that flight response return. 

She crawled into bed and let out a long breath, as though she was finally relaxing. Her dark hair haloed her head against the eggshell white pillow. Here she looked almost peaceful, like she could finally exhale. 

“I’m not going to bite you,” she said after a moment of him awkwardly standing there. “Well, unless you want me to.”

“Ah, no, thanks. I’ll pass on the biting.”

Unable to put it off anymore, he pulled his jacket off and let it drop to the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced his boots, setting them beside one another. 

He laid down, teetering on the edge and facing away from Missy. She clapped and the lights turned off. 

Then, because she knew him — because she knew him better than anyone in any universe — she said quietly, as if whispering would make it less real, “We don’t have to be close. I know how you are. But it might help. If you wanted to try.”

She shifted, turning — presumably onto her side. He turned over and found himself staring into her eyes. There was no wild glee in them now, no desperate anger, no evil; they were genuine, and open. I’m here now, they said. Come home. 

He found himself exhaling now too, and he reached out, across an expanse that had seemed impassible before, and cupped her face in his hand. 

Her breath shuddered, just for a moment, at the touch, and her eyes shut.

He pulled her close, and she curled into him, their hearts beating in time. She fit her face into the crook of his neck. “Good night, sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

He hummed and ran his hand across her shoulders, feeling them loosen beneath his touch. “I’m sure you will.”

thank you for reading!! reblog this if you liked it, don’t just heart it!! I do requests, feel free to send me some!

[leiascully]

5 hc prompt: melissa lives to smack mulder and scully’s dumb heads together

1.  “So how long have you two been madly in love?” Melissa asks as soon as Scully gets out of the hospital.  Mulder spits out his coffee.  Scully buries her bright pink face in her hands.

2.  “You should ask him out,” Melissa says as she and Dana sit on the couch, their feet touching, bowls of ice cream propped on their knees.  “He’s cute.”  “He’s not cute,” Dana protests, but Missy just looks at her.  “Okay, fine, he’s cute,” Dana mutters.  “He’s cute?” Missy prods.  “He’s...very handsome,” Dana admits.

3.  “She likes you,” Melissa says as Mulder waits by the door.  “I hope so,” Mulder says, deliberately obtuse, “She’s my partner.”  “She likes you,” Melissa insists, “and you should do something about it.”  Scully comes out of the bathroom still smoothing her hair and they both look sideways at her.  “What?” she says defensively.  “Nothing,” they say in unison.

4.  Missy insists that they invite Mulder to Thanksgiving.  Bill blusters at him, all protective big brother, but Missy rolls her eyes and sweetly puts him in his place.  Maggie slips him an extra piece of pie.  Scully surreptitiously doses their after-dinner coffee and Missy’s with bourbon and they get gently tipsy in the corner until Maggie brings out the Christmas ornaments.  Scully smiles at Mulder from the other end of the string of lights, her eyes glowing.  

5.  He’s already decorated the tree, so of course he has to come to Christmas.  It isn’t as if his family celebrates it - his mother is Jewish and his father barely communicates.  The Scully family does Christmas dinner the night before and then Mass.  He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he goes with them and kneels next to Scully.  Her shoulder brushes his.  They have coffee and cookies after and then stash the presents under the tree.  Mulder spends the night on the couch, listening all the while for Scully to sneak down the stairs.  She does, eventually, and they sit together watching the embers of the fire die out.  “I’m glad you’re here,” she says before she heads back to bed in the room she’s sharing with Melissa.  She brushes her fingers through his hair as she leaves.  In the morning, there are presents for him under the tree, and Grinch-like, his heart grows three sizes.  Outside, it starts to snow.

give me an AU and I’ll give you five headcanons

[eyesfixedonthesun22]

She’s So High: Chapter 7

Summary: 90’s karaoke and your snarky wit seem to have revived the charming side of one Bucky Barnes. Now that he finally has you home all to himself, perhaps he can put some of that charm to good use. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Warning(s): Smut 18+. Swearing. Kissing, Hand Job, Oral Sex (male receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex. Word Count: 2,635 Notes: Idea was inspired by this 90′s playlist. This chapter was beta read by the lovely @viktordrago. You all go thank her cause without her there would have been A TON of really laughable errors. Thank you so much to everyone for their likes and reblogs thus far. Anyone who left comments has literally melted my heart. I love you all.  Smut Note: ***DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, INTERACT WITH MY WORK IF YOU’RE NOT 18+*** It goes without saying, unprotected sex....please make sure your partners are clean and you use an agreed upon form of protection (if relevant).

You sprint up to the tower mildly annoyed you’re being made to run on one of your days off. The public doors to the tower are locked for the evening so you head for the private entrance. After scanning your biometrics, you push the door open only to see a smug Bucky standing in the elevator with the door hold button on.

“Took you long enough, Doll.” He says dangling your phone back and forth like a pendulum feigning as if he’d waiting longer.

“Not everyone has super serum steroids running through their veins. Plus, you try running with someone’s cum leaking out of you. Not fun!” you rant while attempting to steal your phone back.

“Not so fast, darling. All that talk of my cum inside of you is turning me on.” He says puckering his lips in a taunting manner while continuing to hold your phone just out of reach. You roll your eyes at his arrogance. Taking a deep relaxing breath, you spring into one of your favorite field moves in hopes of being able to grapple your phone to freedom.

Bucky must have known you’d take the bait. He counters you gently and with lightning precision has you pinned against the elevator wall with your hands helplessly overhead; hips locked in place by his own.

“Did you really think I don’t have your favorite move memorized? You and Nat, so predictable.” he tuts with his face close enough to smell the hints of whiskey on his breath.

His left hand takes over holding both of your wrists in place; the cool metallic palm dwarfing both your own. To any onlooker, Bucky’s position over you would have looked predatory but you basked in the return of his confidence. His right hand tucks your phone securely in his back pocket before taking a firm hold on your hip.

“Ever think this is the exact outcome I wanted and you just fell for it?” you counter, testing the waters. “Winter Soldier’s getting soft.”

“I think you’ll find it's quite the contrary, doll.”  His hips grind against you and you feel him stirring in his jeans. Sensing your resolve is crumbling, he peppers light kisses along the column of exposed skin on your neck. You attempt to hold back and not give him the satisfaction, when he begins sucking and nipping at your soft flesh, you reluctantly cave.

The two of you are so thoroughly lost in one another you, don’t hear the elevator ding once you reach the living quarters.

“Agent Barnes. Agent Y/L/N. Floor 90: Living Quarters” Friday prompts. Bucky doesn’t come up for air. His metal arm releases your wrists from their willing prison only to tap lightly on your thighs. You know what he’s suggesting but you pause.

“Up you go!” He says picking you up with ease.

“Bucky Barnes you put me down this minute! I swear to god if you drop me-” His footsteps pause and he pulls back from kissing your neck. One eyebrow is raised and his mouth is firmly set in a smirk.

“I’m not exactly light as a feather, Buck.” His expression flickers to confusion as his head cocks to the side.

“Being picked up makes me hyper aware of my body.” Your eyes fall from his face now self-conscious about meeting his gaze.

“You mean aware of these?” He squeezes your bum appreciatively. “Or these?” Now holding you with his right arm and caressing the curves of your hip and thighs. “You must mean these?” Palming your breast in admiration.  “Darlin’ I ache for every damn bit of your body. I wanna worship it all.”

Your eyes raise from their spot on his chest. “I’m serious, sweetheart. Besides, you’d have to somehow grow to Scott’s freaky large Antman size to pose a challenge for this super strength.” You beam and peck his nose lightly.

“Thank you, Buck.” He kisses you back with renewed fervor while continuing the trek down the hall. Finally in the privacy of your room, he lets your body gently descend his with a controlled grace; lips never leaving yours. You come up for air only to realize you’re in Bucky’s room not your own.

It shouldn’t surprise you; but it catches you off guard regardless. You’ve only ever seen small slivers of his room in the past. His door was always shut like a not so subtle “keep out” sign. If it is open, it’s only so he can peak his head out to chat with Steve to decline a run. Bucky senses your curiosity and lets you explore.

On the largest window-filled wall sits a beautiful walnut desk. You’d imagined it would be bathed in sunlight come morning. The desk is bare except for a set of small plain back notebooks stood between leather wrapped bookends. Upon further examination, you can see each notebook has a range of dates on its spine.

“Therapy has helped a lot; but my memory isn’t one hundred percent still. Whenever I remember something or have a dream, I write it down in those.” Your heart clenches with empathy.

On the wall near his closet is a cork board with a small collection of photos; mostly black and white prints. Looking closer, you find a scrawny Steve beaming a stress free smile you rarely see on him now. Bucky’s arm is slung over his shoulder. They look so young; clearly void of the pressures of Captain America and Winter Soldier. Squinting at the more faded photos, you make out what looks to be his family interspersed with some drawings you recognize in Steve’s style. Right in the center of the collection is a group photo of the Avengers from the holiday party last year.

On his nightstand is a well-worn copy of War of the Worlds next to an ambient noise machine. His duvet is a calming shade of blue which perfectly coordinates with the camel leather headboard. It’s warm and welcoming.

It almost feels intrusive to see the intimate details of Bucky’s space and disturb his calm oasis. Your heart swells with emotion knowing how much he must trust you to have brought you here.

“It’s beautiful, Buck. Did you decorate it?” you feel his arms circle around your waist from behind as you continue to look around.

“Of course I did, darling. It took me a long time to figure out what I wanted; but I finally have something that feels like mine.” He gives you a quick peck on your cheek before walking over to the nightstand.

Still wonderstruck by his room, your revere is interrupted by music filling the space. It’s a song you recognize from one of your private playlists. You turn to face him; his hands once again encircling you. “How did you-” You’re pushed back into the plush duvet with a short yelp.

“Your playlists may be private but you didn’t turn on a private listening session.” He raises his eyebrows like he couldn’t possibly be more proud of his sneaking abilities. Making grabby hands, you feel his weight settle on top of you.

“So you spied on my listening habits? That’s pretty impressive technology navigation for a senior citizen.”

“I mean… they don’t call me a ghost story for nothing.” He says with a lighthearted chuckle. “Plus I’d watch all that senior citizen talk, missy. What does that make you?”

Bucky’s warm lips mold themselves to the contours of your neck making it difficult to think. “A harlot?”

He hums in response while marking you with another love bite. His hands roam to your breasts caressing them in earnest while pressing you back into the down duvet. His hand moves to the small of your back to hoist you up further on the bed, quickly settling his weight back onto you.

Despite the earlier fervor you both shared on the elevator, you’ve wordlessly communicated a temper of pace. His flesh hand cups your jaw gently as his tongue slips in to meet your own. All urgency lost, you allow yourself to savor Bucky. The now familiar scent of his body wash envelops you as you attempt to memorize his tastes and sounds.

Fingers trace and graze. Palms grip and smooth across planes and dips of one another's body. Your lips only separate to gasp needy puffs of air before diving back into each other; never wanting to be apart for long. Each article of clothing is removed reverently before the skin below is explored.

“Fuck darlin’-” He says stealing his lips away. His eyes are a vivid shade of blue but show no signs of hesitancy. There’s a subtle flush across his cheeks which matches the beautiful color the kissing has brought to his plump lips.  “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You rise up to meet his lips again; gently pushing him off the bed before your hands move to the waistband of his jeans. The belt joins his other clothing strewn on the floor and you’re able to get the zipper down with far more grace this time. His hands settle on top of yours and you both push his jeans and underwear down together. He pulls you to stand and rids you of your final garments.

“You finally gonna let me have my turn, Buck?” He’s lying in the center of the bed stroking his length languidly; the mischievous grin you’ve grown to love makes an appearance.

“Doll, you know you don’t have-”

“I want to… so badly do. I want to.” You crawl up the bed and settle between his legs; kissing his firm thighs as you near your goal. “You’re not the only one who’s thought about this for a while, honey.”

“You been thinking about me during your alone time, doll?” He says folding his flesh arm behind his head as he looks down at you.

You’re certain there’s another snarky comment coming but it gets choked off in his throat as you lick him from base to tip. Knowing full well you have all evening, you set out to figure out what combination can draw those beautiful sounds from deep in Bucky’s chest.

A particularly strong moan followed by a choked breath alert you to a sweet spot. You continue to work the same pattern with heavier pressure; savoring the rhythmic tensing of his thighs in response. Bucky leans up slightly as if he’s going to tell you to stop; but you gently press him back down. He sighs deeply while pressing his head further back into the pillow; hips raising on their own accord, pushing him further into your mouth.

“Doll, I’m-”

He lets out a low growl from deep in his chest before he spills into you. You continue your motions; touching softer while adoring his little whimpers of oversensitivity.

“Sorry, darlin’. Didn’t give you much warning.” His voice carries a heady coarseness; indicating his post-orgasm state.  Kissing your way up his thighs, abs, and pecs you hum gently in his ear-

“Didn’t need one, sweetheart.” You kiss the shell of his ear before moving to his pillow soft lips for a deep kiss. “Besides, you’re not exactly subtle.”

He chuckles lightly and shifts his weight pinning you beneath him once again.

“As perfect as that mouth of yours feels, I’m not done with you yet, doll.” Your legs part wider allowing him to settle between them. Allowing him time to recover, you both kiss with renewed desire. His cock, previously semi-hard, stiffens once more. His hips roll and dip allowing his shaft to slide between your wetness. Each pass provides a delicious friction to your clit making you crave him inside you.

“You’re such a tease, Bucky.” You intend for it to be a stern warning but it comes out a desperate plea.

“Hush baby girl. It’s not teasing if I deliver on my promise.” On the last word he angles his hips slightly and pushes into you.

Having been acquainted with quick and dirty, you’re surprised how delicate Bucky is. His kisses seem to land on your body exactly where you crave them. The gentle glide of his cock against your walls stretches you deliciously; passionate and slow. Before, your release came on like a freight train. Now it’s as though he started a small fire and was stoking it with each push and pull inside you.

“Bucky! That feels so-” your words die into a whimper as the fire breaks forth and spreads like a wave over your body. You spasm and clench around his length as he continues to rut into you.

“I’m so close, darlin’.” He manages to last a handful of thrusts longer before he releases into you. He quieter this time but it seems his release is endless.

Bucky stills above you; barely supporting his weight as to not crush your form beneath him. He pecks your lips so softly before gently lifting off you.

“I’ll be right back, doll.”

You watch his firm backside retreat into the bathroom. Releasing a deep sigh you reach for your phone in hopes to update Natasha and Steve so they don’t worry about you. Bucky returns from the bathroom with a soaring belly flop onto the bed before he scoots up closer; burying his head in your neck. Distantly, you hear the stream of the shower he started in the bathroom.

“Watcha doin’?” He slurs lazily against your skin.

“Just updating Nat so she doesn’t come hunt you down.” you say chuckling.

“You’d defend my honor.” He wraps his arm around your waist pulling you impossibly closer to him.

Opening the message on your phone a flush starts to creep to your cheeks. You see a string of concerned messages from Steve, Sam, and Wanda wondering if you need consoling. Tony sent a rather inappropriate message asking if Barnes had “sacked up”.

At the top of your list you see Nat’s messages turn from positively frantic to utterly annoyed. The last one reading, “I’m home now. I can hear you sickos through the wall. He better be treating you good for me to endure this torture.”

You return back to the message threads debating who to respond to first; or if you want to respond at all.

You contemplation is interrupted, “Why am I in your phone as ‘Grumpy Barnes’?! How rude!”

Bucky apparently has woken up from his mini post-coital nap. You’re about to defend the name (blame Sam) when he launches a sneak tickle attack. Eventually you manage to wiggle free from his clutches and sprint to the awaiting warmth of the shower. Bucky walks in and soon has you wrapped back in his embrace.

The gentle caresses of his fingers up and down the wet skin of your body paired with the steamy mist from the warm shower have your eyelids feeling heavy. You lean your body back against Bucky letting him support you while he washes you in his body wash. You find so much comfort being surrounded by his scent.

“What do you wanna do now, doll?” You hum sleepily; the length of the day catching up with you. “How about we curl up, watch something on Netflix and crash? You nod slowly into his chest.

After drying off and ignoring searching for pajamas, you’re nestled amongst the pillows and comforter. Bucky pulls you close under his arm while turning on an episode of Twilight Zone at a low background volume. Your eyes flutter shut enjoying the warmth of his body pressed next to yours. It’s quiet but you hear him mumble something inaudible before sleep takes you both.

“Doll, I know I’ll never been the same Bucky I was before Hydra got ahold of me, but if the new version of me feels how I do now, I don’t think I mind.”

[realmofextremepossibility]

Verboten

AU | Part 1/3 | PG - NC17

This was originally supposed to be an @xfpornbattle prompt, but of course, I never finished it. I’ve never really written anything multi-chapter before, so we’ll see how it goes.

**

Naval Air Station North Island, San Diego, California

June 1981

The salt of the sea tangled in her wind mussed tresses. She scrunched her toes deeper into the sand as the surf lapped at her ankles, a siren call beckoning her back to its depths.

A pair of strong tanned arms swept around her suddenly from behind and pulled her firmly against the chest of their owner swaying them gently from side to side, her burst of surprised laughter breaking over the crash of the waves. Her eyes slid closed and lips upturned as his soft lips nuzzled their way from the freckled skin of her shoulder, across the fine bones of her clavicle and up the curve of her neck to her ear.

“God, you are so fucking beautiful, Dana”

He pressed a gentle kiss in that sensitive spot just beneath it before pulling it into to his mouth. His hands crept lower on her hips, long curious fingers edging beneath the suit line, dancing their way towards the thin strings holding the sides together. A gentle tug on her ear…a gentle tug on the strings…closer and closer…

The sound of a car crunching in the driveway gravel jolted her eyes open and her hand from her panties. She jumped up in a panic, quickly wiping her hand on the towel she had laid down.

She peered out the window, her pulse speeding up and another gush of arousal flooding her already sopping underwear.

Fuck. It’s him. He’s here.

Fox Mulder was 19, brilliant, and beautiful, the star of many a late night teenage fantasy beneath the sheets in her darkened bedroom. He was also the on-again, off-again boyfriend of her older sister, Melissa, the forbidden fruit of her lust at whom she was forever allowed to look but never touch.

His tall, lanky frame leaned unaffectedly on the hood of his beat up Jeep, the epitome of cool, hair swept back and aviators perched on his aquiline nose, entirely unaware of the flurry of teenage anxiousness he was causing two floors up.

Her heart rampaged in her chest as she moved from the window to root around in the top drawer of her dresser, flinging her oversized t-shirt over her head in the process.

Damnit, pull yourself together, Dana. You can do this. This is your chance.

Her hand finally landed on what she was looking for and she pulled out the tiniest black bikini she had ever seen, let alone owned. The push-up cups gave her just the right amount of cleavage without looking too risqué and Melissa had insisted she buy it after dragging her to the mall last weekend.

"You need to learn to live a little, Dana," she'd chided, as she shoved her into the fitting room with the scrap of material. "You look smokin' and there isn't going to be a boy in town that can keep his eyes off you!"

Ahab would freak if he knew she had bought something like that. She looked in to the mirror to settle her breasts just right in the top before tugging on the barely there high waisted gym shorts her mother had expressly told she was not to wear in public. “Hot pants” were entirely inappropriate for a captain’s daughter. Her heart picked up speed at the illicitness of it all. Maybe Missy was right, she did need to get out of her comfort zone. And she knew exactly whose eyes she wanted on her.

Melissa and Mulder had been a thing since they met their sophomore year of high school and had broken up and gotten back together more times than she could count. Dana had been just a lowly thirteen year old in junior high, forever in the shadow of her beautiful older sister, but Mulder never treated her that way.  

He was always kind, asking about school and her science classes, indulging her ramblings on Einstein and physics until Melissa pulled him away insisting she was boring him. He never seemed bored though. Bored people didn’t ask that many questions. Relevant questions at that. In a house where she was constantly talked over by Bill Jr. and Melissa, it was nice to have someone interested in what she had to say for once.

It was an innocent wish of a happy 14th birthday and kiss on the cheek that had changed everything. She'd stammered her thanks as her face flushed the color of her hair. Bill Jr. had teased her mercilessly for weeks afterwards. Her hand strayed to her cheek, certain she could still feel the gentle pressure of his soft lips on her skin, even three years later.

She smoothed her hair and leaned into the mirror, dabbing on just a hint of lip gloss and a few swipes of mascara, opting for the more natural look she knew Mulder preferred from one of the occasional eavesdropped conversations she had been privy to over the years.

Dana knew Melissa cared for Mulder, but she wasn’t the type of woman he needed. She was flighty and impulsive, and uninterested in settling down with one guy.

"Life is too short to tether one’s heartstrings to a single person so young, Dana," she'd once told her younger sister. "I want to follow my heart, be free to give and receive love."

What Mulder needed was someone stable and grounded. Someone to hold him when the nightmares about his sister woke him up crying and shivering in a cold sweat. He didn’t need someone to wave healing crystals over his head and babble about the deeper meanings of dreams and how they were the key to unlocking the subconscious.

Okay, so maybe she had eavesdropped more than just a few times. And Mulder’s bad dreams and beauty preferences weren’t the only thing she had “accidentally” overheard.

She’d heard him sneak in Melissa’s window one night, when they thought everyone else was asleep. Their shared bedroom wall was thin and hushed conversation quickly gave way to creaking springs. She could hear his muffled moans and felt an unexpected tingle down below.

She'd closed her eyes, imagining that she was the one making him make those noises. She hadn’t meant to, but she'd suddenly found her hand wandering lower of its own accord, pressing against the heat of her center. She'd quickly snatched her hand away, the nuns’ constant warnings about masturbation being the devil’s handiwork ringing in her head. But she couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt.

In that moment, her innocent crush had turned into a full-blown obsession.

Dana Scully was a good girl. She was obedient and polite and god fearing. The heady rush of doing something so bad and wrong and downright naughty was intoxicating, even better than the time she sneaked one of her mother’s cigarettes in the dark. It was too tempting to resist. Night after night, she listened for his voice through the walls, a pile of soiled panties growing beneath her bed until she was alone in the house to do her laundry.

She took a final look in the mirror with a pop of her glazed lips and light spritz of Jovan Musk on her pulse points. “Discover the power,” the TV commercial had declared, claiming to bring more men and women together than any other fragrance in history. In a world filled with blatant propositions, brash overtures, bold invitations and brazen proposals, she was going to get her share. Satisfied, she slung her beach bag over her shoulder and headed down the stairs.

She wasn’t one of those immature girls littering the pages of her notebooks with hearts and his name in a loopy cursive scrawl. Mrs. Fox Mulder. Not anymore anyway. No, she was a woman. A woman who was going to show him that she was more than Missy’s kid sister.

As she made her way down the front steps to the driveway, he was still sprawled, god-like, against his car, chewing on that much fantasized about bottom lip and pensively shucking sunflower seeds with his tongue, an errant lock of hair flopping into his eyes.

Dana's fingers twitched with the urge to brush it back and just slide her fingers through his hair, certain it was as soft as it looked.

Keep it cool, Dana. You got this. Shoulders back, stomach in, chest out. Cool, casual, breezy, confident.

She strutted towards him with a subtle sashay of the hips, her chin tipped with an air of disinterest.

Mulder lifted his sunglasses slightly to peer over the mirrored lens, his eyes flitting briefly over the newfound curves of her body that had bloomed since she’d last seen him. Dana felt her face flush with a streak of pride and bit her lip to keep from grinning, willing herself to keep her cool. She had only recently become accustomed to having this power over men, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t thrill her. For once, boys actually looked at her, instead of just Missy.

“Oh, hi Mulder,” she tossed out as casually and breezy as she could manage. He never let anyone call him Fox.

He pulled off the sunglasses, training the full force of his smile on her, the bright white glinting in the noonday sun. Her insides turned to mush and her knees went weak. He had no idea of his effect on her. It was entirely unfair.

“Hey, Dana!”

Just the sound of her name on his lips made her stomach flutter and crotch moisten again. She could listen to that throaty monotone for hours. She took a deep breath in a futile attempt to settle her nerves and prayed the thundering echo of her pulse wasn't audible outside her own ears.

"What are you doing here? Didn't Missy tell you she was going out of town for the weekend?"

“Oh…” Mulder murmured, his smile fading. He shook his head as if to clear it, suddenly looking like a lost puppy who couldn’t find his owner. “Yeah, I guess she did mention that. I must have forgotten. Sorry, I should go.”

He reached to put his sunglasses back on and turned towards the car.

“Wait!”

Mulder jumped, startled at the force of her tone and her sudden hand on his arm.

Perfect, Dana...that was absolutely chill, cool, calm, and collected. Fantastic.

“You should come with me to the beach,” she offered brightly, doing her best not to frighten him anymore than she already had. “It’ll be fun! Plus, I hear it rains a lot in England, so you should enjoy the California sunshine while you can.”

He smiles softly at her, his mood seeming to lift. “Yeah, okay. I'd like that.”

"I was planning on going down to Coronado -" she began, frantically stopping midway at his scrunched nose of displeasure."But if you have a better idea, I'm down for anywhere!"

Mulder chuckled and rested his hand against the exposed small of her back to guide her towards the Jeep, sending a rash of goosebumps across her skin.

“Actually, I think I do. Hop in, kid. I know just the place.”