#so here i am with my little notebook writing shit down

[basicallyjaywalker]

I should've uploaded this earlier. Anyways I'm entering my ✨ astrology era :✨

[sglossmin]

Muse | MYG

Plot: What happens when the man you practically simp over in high school, is right now, sitting across you after almost 10 years of not seeing him? Worse? You're here for an appointment for therapy and he's your psychologist.

Pairing: SeniorStudent!Yoongi x JuniorStudent!Reader ---> Psychologist! Yoongi x Artist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, slight age gap, slice of life, a bit of angst, schoolmates to lovers(?)

Warnings: talks about mental and death...erm lemme know if you found any disturbing heh

Word count: dunno

A/N: This is...actually some sort of based irl looll (only the high school scenes, most of it) This is my first one shot work! Let me know if I'm lacking something. The current series that I'm still working rn is still not even half finished T_T T_T So I thought I might give it a try---write a oneshot heh I just started here to write in tumblr so I still don't know that much stuff. Feel free to comment so I can improve!! Ik some of those thing weren't even a thing at that time...

"Shit..." I muttered right as I saw the man in a white coat, a clipboard in his arms while his hair softly falls down in his brows, reading his next patient's data. Just like the last time I saw him. Weird, huh? It's been years, yet... he still looks just the same.

Our eyes met, for the first time in a while. He frowned, it was so subtle and fast, no one would even know. But I did. Every little actions that he did, I always notice it. No matter what. I keep saying that the Y/n who just hit her puberty is no longer me, yet with my emotions right now, I can feel like my hormones are all over the place.

"Sit down," he smiled, gesturing the seat across him.

His voice so deep it sounds like soothing lullaby... Eyes so tired that I can tell he works so well... The warmth in his smile makes my heart skip a beat, forgetting why am I here in the first place...

Snap of it!

It took me a second to realize that I stared at him for too long. I cleared my throat, wishing my embarrassment would also go away. I smiled as I took the seat.

Our session ended without him saying that he at least recognize me. Did it made me upset? Yeah... sort of. I mean, I didn't go there and paid him to reminisce our high school days, but still...

I huffed as I crumpled a paper.

"Ugh! Really? Y/n? Still drawing him?"

I uncrumpled it and stared at the newly drawing for a while. I leaned back in my chair and sighed... "I'll give it to him. He looks hot in that coat." I chuckled and stuck the paper back in my notebook. "I'm keeping it because I drew him too good, not that I still like him or anything. That would be just so stupid."

Ha! Right! Nothing else. I smiled, pleased with how I gaslight myself.

I stretched my back and arms. My body ached for having a shrimp position for a long time.

And before I know it, I fell asleep (again) in my studio.

Summer 2010

Our last subject just finished and it's still raining heavily. I have no umbrella so my friends and I were forced to run. Reaching the covered court, I groaned. "Why call it summer when it rains this heavy??"

"Do they really think—us—high school students are waterproof?" Exclaimed by Sana while Chaeyoung just chuckled beside us. Our clothes were pretty wet but not that drenched.

We went upstage since there's some chair in there. Putting our bags down, we wait for the rain to stop. Us juniors only have to spend half day in the campus. Lucky, huh?

"Stay here, hm? You both can't leave me just because you guys have umbrella to share and your house are close." I glared at the both of them while they just snickered. They won't leave me otherwise, I know that.

It's been an hour, yet the rain don't seem to plan on stopping. It's about 1 now, we think. Seems like we're the only junior students in the campus. Suddenly, the seniors from the front building went outside. They went in the cover court. They were wearing some sort of costumes. It was ridiculous—Okay, not really. They seemed like they're going to dance.

We sat still from above across them and watch them prepare.

"Hey, Chae, wanna play?" I grinned as I whispered. Sana was too occupied with her phone that's why it was just the two of us who played.

We played Smash or Pass with every senior guy that I pointed. Until finally, I pointed it to the guy who's wearing a Thai hat(?) The gold ones, it seems like part of their costume.

"Hm... Smash!" Chaeyoung laughed and I did too. Cause miraculously, SAME.

We had a great laugh realizing we'd say smash.

We watched them dance and sing along with the music that were playing. Thinking about it, we might actually look like idiots. They can practically see us sing and dance with them since we're upstage.

After a while, I asked Chae, "What nickname should we give him?" It's our thing. Giving nicknames to people whether they look good or annoying. I think it's every friend groups should do.

"He looks like a cat and his eyes disappear too when he smiles... Kitty?"

"Kitty...?" Sounds weird so I proposed to change it. "What about Neko? Same meaning but doesn't sound weird." She agreed and since then, we called him Neko. With his sharp eyes and pale tone, he does looks like a kitty.

Few moments after, we planned a scheme. We went down to compare our height to his. We walked towards him as if we were just passing by and about to go to the canteen instead.

My and Chae's eyes went wide open. Gasping and staring at each other, the signal were sent.

Gosh, he's tall.

Oh gosh, he is.

A day or two passed since that. We randomly saw him when we went to buy in the canteen.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

Untill a few days have been passed and I keep on seeing him. To the point that... maybe... just maybe, it wasn't really a coincidence anymore.

New character unlocked?

When we were about to go back in our room, we met Hani. My bestfriend in elementary days.

"Y/n! Come here! Imma show you something. Actually—no—It's a someone." Hani dragged me and Chae went along with me.

Hani rant about how this guy looks so good, that in the first time in a while, they found someone who actually looks good in this campus.

Chae and I eyed each other. Were we thinking who we're thinking?

As we reached the third floor of the first year's building, across it was the senior's building. We stopped our track right in front of the exact room. The windows were open and from our spot, we can literally see him studying.

"Neko?"

"You know him?" Hani asked in which I nod.

I think we just found our sweet spot.

Chae and I sometimes went up there just to catch a glimpse of him. It was stupid and fun.

Until that day came.

As usual, Chae and I went to the third floor once again. We stayed in the balcony that faces their room. It was break time so everyone was all over the place. Then I felt it. Chae poked my side and pointed my front. I frowned and followed her finger. There was it, his teacher raising her brow at me. Then his classmates turned their heads toward me... 'till lastly, he did. Everyone was looking at ME. I noticed Chae was hiding on the wall divider of the balcony. I looked back at the teacher who's still looking at me.

"Do you need anything, Ms?" We were quite far but it was still audible.

"H-huh..?" That was all I could muster. It was even barely a whisper. My mouth was slightly open due to not knowing what to do nor say. It lasted like that for a few more seconds. Until I mustered all the courage and pride I have left in my body and shrugged it off and walked away. Frowning as if they got it wrong and I was simply hanging out there.

Walk

Walk

RUN

I went back to our room as soon as I noticed Chae was following me. When we get back, we were panting and sweating. Our classmates looked at us with weird looks. Not that I can blame them. One of our classmate asked us and we did tell the story.

It was our last time going in there.

I felt someone flick my head. I groaned in annoyance.

"Noona, wake up!"

I grumbled as I sit up straight, realizing I fell asleep in the studio again.

"You know you don't have to flick me. Between the two of us, I'm the light sleeper." I mumbled while my eyes were focusing on the big guy in front of me.

He rolled his eyes at me. Up to this day, I wondered who did he got it from. "Eomma wants you to eat lunch with us."

I chuckled. "Your mother did? Wow, what a pleasure." I sassed.

He groaned and plopped himself at the couch. "Can't believe you still resent her."

"Kook, what kind of a daughter am I if I don't?"

Jungkook threw a pillow to me as he stood up. "Still. Eat with us."

And just like that, he walked away.

Life goes on, that's what they say.

I must've been nuts for going to therapy yesterday. It's not like, I'm seriously depressed.

Right..?

Living alone in the house that came from the paycheck of my drawings must be really the best accomplishment I've had. Who would've thought the high achieving in academics girl would end up in this job. It was pure mystery.

I stared at my empty fridge. I smiled. The only thing that kept me sane nowadays is this...

"Looks like, I need to go... shopping."

I grinned ear to ear while I spent my fortune.

"Who needs therapy, when you can go and do your grocery."

I picked out the foods I knew I'd eat while I finish the new dramas. I was about to get the last stock of my fave gummies until someone practically snatched it. Fast.

"H-hey-" I cut off myself from shouting when I realized who it was.

It was him. In normal clothes. Am I dreaming? Impossible. He wouldn't have clothes in the first place if I am.

"Oh, Ms Jeon." He smiled.

Smiled?

He has the nerve to smile after taking that gummy?

But... then again, who need those gummy bears when his gummy smile is practically the sweetest.

He cleared his throat. "Seems like we'll be seeing each other more often."

Uh...what? Is he trying to say that I have a severe mental illness so we'll literally see each other more?? This fucker...

He probably noticed my frown as he chuckled and shook his head. "Uhm, that might've come off the wrong way. I meant, I just moved in in this neighborhood."

Sorry, what..?

I laughed my nervousness away. It's not like we'll be neighbors. This neighborhood is way too big for us to see each other.

Is that why it was my first time seeing him in this grocery store?

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood." I chuckled, probably awkwardly and excused myself.

Damn it. It could've been my chance for us to talk and stuff, but I refused. I mean, with my looks right now? No thanks.

I skipped my lunch and didn't go to our family's house. I plopped myself on my bed and took out my old sketchbook.

Staring at my old drawings of him, it sure did bring back of the memories.

2010

It's been a month yet we still don't know his name. We already did a lot of different shenanigans just to know it. He must be really like having a low profile. We found his classmate's account yet his are nowhere to be found. Maybe he doesn't go online...

I was staring at my computer, scrolling on whatever stuff pop up, then it hits me. Her sister. Hani's sister!

They're in the same year, so maybe, just maybe, she knows his name.

I quickly typed in to ask her. A girl from our year had a picture with him posted. I sent it to her.

"Hi eonni, can I ask u a question? Is there a chance that you know him?"

*Photo sent*

It took a while for her to respond.

"Uhm yeah, he's from our year"

"Can you tell me his name?"

"Min Yoongi"

"I think that's his name"

Min Yoongi... cute. It suits him.

Hours and hours later, I still couldn't find his account. Then as I was searching, there was this account, he was friends with Hani.

My eyes widen. "Min Suga? Could it be?"

I stalked the account and it was really him. No wonder I couldn't find his account—he wasn't using his real name! Likes to keep a low profile? Bullshit. He has more than 5k followers!

Moreover...he really...looks good.

I wonder if his face reflects his personality.

I added him as a friend and waited for the request to be accepted. I told Chae that if he didn't accepted it within 24 hours, I'll delete my request. I still have pride you know. Don't want to be one of those girls in his inbox.

It hasn't even been an hour and I got the notification. He accepted it! I squealed and danced in my room.

This is what being a youth, right?

I clicked my tongue as I chuckled bitterly. "Youth is never coming back."

As I turn the pages more, my bell ringed. Jungkook never ring first, he just comes in whenever he wants to. I should really change the passcode. As for my mom, she never really bother coming here.

Expecting no one, I opened the door, only to gape at the man in front of me.

"You...like pies?"

Min Yoongi, in front of me, holding a pie, not just holding, but giving..?

"Uh...how close is your house exactly?" I didn't mean to sound rude, but rather genuinely curious.

He hesitatingly pointed the house across me.

The Kim's house?

"It was my friend's grandparents who lived there. He took them to take care of them and then he sold this house to me." Yoongi explained. His face going like this :]

"So you really did mean that we'll see each other more often..." I mumbled in which he caught. He laughed and gave me the pie.

"My mom kept on nagging me on giving pies. She really worked hard on it. Hope you like it!"

She's here?

I nodded and thanked him. He went back and I did too. The smell of the freshly baked peach mango pie really did things to my stomach.

For the first time, Min Yoongi gave me something.

Spring 2011

"Let's go hoomeee. Forget it! I'm not going to give it to him!" I murmured while we wait in the senior's balcony. A few steps away from him, we waited. "I knew it I shouldn't have contact him." I mumbled. "He didn't even read my text..." I mumbled. Chaeyoung was practically dragging me. "Look, he seems busy too."

"Would you rather let your drawing and efforts be wasted then?" Chayoung argued.

Then for the meantime, we waited. We walked towards his classroom but he was nowhere. He was just right there few seconds earlier.

"Stupid text."

A week ago...*

Should I really text him? The classes have been cancelled. I'm not sure whether it's a good idea to do it now. Should I make myself known? Or should I keep it anonymous? But I really wanna take a picture with him...

Ugh! My head hurts. Forget it, I'm just gonna do it.

"Hi uhm... So I just randomly draw one of my mutuals and it happened to be you.."

*Photo sent*

"Perhaps you like it?

"I was about to give you this at school tomorrow but they cancelled the classes so... Hope you like it<3

Was I too formal?

It took him hours to reply.

"Oh wow, what a nice piece!"

"Yes I like it, thanks!"

HE REPLIED!!! I muffled my squeal with my pillow as I looked back at his text. It took me hours to see the message and reply too.

"Guess... I'll just give it to you when we bump into each other, maybe(?)"

"Ugh goshhh how am I going to give you this at schoolT^T"

"Just don't give it yet if you're still not ready^^"

End*

I went home feeling defeated. Not able to give him the drawing.

I stared at my bedroom's ceiling before deciding to go online.

2+messages

It was sent an hour ago. I quickly opened the message. He replied to my text earlier in the morning, when I told him to meet up.

"Sorry, I just saw your text message"

"I don't have an internet at school, that's why"

"It's fine, so,I'll just give it to you tomorrow?"

"Okay, sure"

Saying it was fine when I was literally sulking in my room like a child. But that's when I haven't read his message.

Min Yoongi apologized to me.

I giggled like an idiot in my room as I stared at the text messages we shared.

The next day...

"AAHHHH! Let's go hoomeee. Forget it! I'm not going to give it to him!" I whined, it wasn't just Chae and Sana was there for me, but some of my classmates too. They were waiting for me—like usual, we go home altogether. "I knew it I shouldn't have contact him. This is really a stupid stupid idea!!" I ran around the court in attempt to go home.

We're here, in front of the senior's building. Waiting...again.

One of my classmate proposed that they'll just call him to go down. Two of them went upstairs to his room.

Why does he always keeping me on waiting. Does he think he's some sort of a king?

I huffed and were literally losing all my shits. Till I heard them.

"He's here!!" They squealed. Too much of an opposite, I composed myself and cleared my throat. Thank God he's tall so when I'm looking forward all I can see is his chest. I gave it to him and our hands brushed. It was so quick and subtle, yet it already made my heart warm.

As practiced, Chaeyoung smoothly asked him if we can take a picture—for business purposes. I felt too stiff. This is too good to be true. Then I felt it, he leaned closer. Our arms touching, he smiled to the pic.

My heart was about to get off my rib cage. My insides were going crazy, yet, thankfully, I look completely normal outside.

When I got home, he texted me, thanking and saying that he really appreciates it. A warm feeling spread across my whole body.

The next day, my classmates and I talked about the event yesterday. They were bitching about how Yoongi didn't even thanked me and just left. I laughed so hard when I heard that. Because he did. Yoongi did thanked me before leaving, it just happened that it was loud enough for only me to hear it. Now, it felt more special.

"Have you ever thought of the probable major reason for what you're feeling?"

Here we go again.

How can I focus on what's wrong with me, when you're right here? Worse, as my doctor.

3 more appointments with him. I paid for this, I should at least gain something.

"Maybe... because up to this day, I still blame myself for his death." My head hung low as I mumbled it.

Why do you always have to see my flaw, Min Yoongi?

This infatuation is slowly turning to hatred...

"You know it wasn't your fault."

I turned my head to him with a frown. So, he does remember me?

A tear fell from my cheek. I wiped it before he can even notice. I turned my hands into fist. 6 words. It was only 6 words yet he can already open my bare self.

"I-if I wasn't stubborn. He'd still be here. He followed me. You saw that. If only he didn't. He'd still be here."

I felt a lump in my throat. Those memories. It was too vivid as if it just happened yesterday.

Spring 2012

"I told you, I don't want to!"

Another day, another argument to have with my mother.

Why is she so pushy on making me go to states?

"It's for your own sake! Studying here at this campus will let you go nowhere."

"What? So eager to get rid of me?!" I yelled while we drive to campus.

"Jeon Y/n! Don't you dare shout at your mother." My father said sternly as he drives.

As we were near the campus, I lost it.

"Drop me off." 1.. 2.. 3... "I said, drop me off, dad." Keeping my voice low yet so stern it could cut apples.

My father stopped the car and I get out of it.

I was mindlessly crossing the road that I didn't notice a four wheeler truck coming at me.

Then I felt a pair of hands pushed me hard, and before I knew it, screams were heard. My mom's loud cries were ringing in my ears. Tears were coming out of me uncontrollably. Blood all over him. I crawled, oh so slowly and trembling. Before I could even reach him, my mom pushed me aside and called for help.

Minutes later, I heard the sirens of the ambulance. I was just there. Staring at him. No words coming out.

It started raining. It was a light rain, yet even with those subtle touch, it made my whole body flinch and freeze.

Till I felt someone's embrace. Someone was covering me with their jacket. Who could possibly care for me if it wasn't my father.

Slowly, I turned my head towards the person.

Why it has to be you?

"Everything's gonna be okay. The ambulance is taking your father already."

He spoke in a soothing tone. Yet no matter how warm or soft his voice is, I can't somehow get out the ice cage I'm in.

"Do you think your father would want you to think that way? It's been years Y/n, what happened that you're back at this again?"

part 2 read here^^

A/N: okay, I lied. Maybe this isn't gonna be a oneshot... maybe I'll have 2 parts? 3 maybe? I just cut this off here cause I think it was too long. So readers can have breaks hehe. Gonna post the next part tomorrow maybe...

Comment your @ if u guys wants to be added on the taglist^^

[shieldedreams]

in the silence, my heart beats the loudest (m.m.)

summary ⇾ minho thinks he's pretty good at keeping his feelings at bay, but sometimes, the silence tends to challenge him details ⇾ 1,273 words / minho moon (xo, kitty) x gn!reader / 🌸 a bunch of soft feels / a sprinkle of curse words / the au where minho's absolutely (silently) whipped for someone (and kitty and q are somehow big shippers) notes ⇾ not me coming back just to write this but hey, i gave xo, kitty a shot and not surprisingly adoring minho ; w ;

a regular occurrence that no one no longer bats their eyes at is the way at any given point, minho could be found by your side despite the claim of i don't have any issues studying alone, as a matter of fact? sit on the other side, you're blocking the light. yet, somehow, minho's willing to give up the window seat he eyes when it's your bag and belongings that claims the seat.

today was no different.

minho finds himself well-acquainted with the seat next to you; almost too comfortably nudging your things aside to make room for himself. it makes you scoff–not out of annoyance–in amusement as you turn the cheek to raise your brow at him.

"well, hello to you too, then," minho jabs, quietly (because this is a library) but the sass in his tone is ever-present.

"there are plenty of seats available, mr. moon," you huff, placing a hand on one of your books to prevent him from putting his things down next to you just yet. he grabs the chair and leans down, squinting his eyes at you, "i don't believe i'm asking if i can sit here," he juts his chin towards the book you have captive, "i am sitting here."

minho hates–hates–how you lean closer towards him that it almost makes him lean back despite appreciating how close you are to him. it was your turn to narrow your eyes at him with the slight purse of your lips and how fucking adorable.

if there's anything that you can attribute minho to, it would be he doesn't back down without a fight. he challenges you by blowing the baby hairs on your forehead due to the close proximity, earning himself a chuckle from you.

"it'll be my treat when we get a snack break later, so please for the love of god, just move your shit."

and if there's anything–more than the many things–minho adores about you (but won't ever tell you just yet), it's the way you mirror his passion in a way that makes his heart swell.

"i get to choose the convenience store?" you're smiling so hard, it spills over in your words as you blink up to him.

minho sighs, "to your heart's desire, my love."

that earns him a gummy grin from you as your arm quite literally shoves everything aside to create the vast amount of space for him to settle in. "welcome in, mr. handsome."

even though minho rolls his eyes, he's trying to mask the smile that threatens to form on his lips when you giddily put your things away properly, scooting to the side a little to accommodate more space for him. he dislikes that you seem to be further away but when he actually sits down and feels you bumping shoulders with him, he's thankful that you give him space or it'll definitely feel like it's too hot in here.

he swallows thickly and settles in, shaking his nerves as he leans back in the seat, eyes carefully drifting over to you to see that you're taking the assignment pretty seriously. he begins to unload his bag, fishing out his laptop and a notebook. it's like you've read his mind (or memorised his patterns) when you mindlessly nudge your pencil case towards his direction despite having your eyes glued onto your book with a highlighter. a smile quirks onto his face as he murmurs a soft thanks, then grabbing a pen to fiddle with as he attempts to take a crack at the work he's assigned with.

the hands of time ticks away, the students begin to file out of the library as it nears the time for the next round of classes (except it doesn't concern either you or minho), which is why he hasn't bothered you from your little "break". quite the contrary, he lets you use his folded blazer as a place for you to rest your head to pillow between the table.

he normally doesn't condone this, but when he knows you've had a late night the night before, it was almost too easy for him to make the decision to pull his folded blazer out for you to–well, goodnight, y/n. he smiles to himself when he sees how accustomed you are to closing your eyes and drifting away in slumber... with one of his hands held captive.

he has this fear... that some way, through the pulse of his fingertips you have in yours, that you can feel how hard his heart is pounding in his chest. how you can render him to feel the whole damn zoo bubbling from within without saying anything at all. he bites down on his tongue to offer himself a sort of relief, even when he knows it's useless. all he does is sigh as he rests his chin in his palm, pretending like it's no big deal as he continues to stare at his laptop... when in fact, everything turns into a blur as his eyes trail down to the keyboard, occasionally glancing over to you with the smile he continuously tries to hide.

he fears that one day, his fear would surface as a weakness instead. that it'll take you away from him. break from this little reverie of happiness he has.

but for now... with the soft glow of the sunlight casted over your features as you peacefully take intakes of air, cheek pressed to his blazer, hand gently holding onto his (because now he had duties as your human alarm clock)... minho allowed himself to have this little piece of heaven.

((minho regrets looking up when he hears his name being whispered in the quiet of the library. he meets with two familiar pair of eyes that makes him scowl. did y/n come here to nap? q mouths, followed by kitty's half-whisper, half-squeal as she whips out her phone, trying to hide the biggest grin on her face as she captures the moment. and are you here to accompany them? q mouths again, only to get nothing in response from minho apart from his glare. "woah, tough crowd," kitty grabs q by the arm, dragging the both of them out of the situation. it's only a couple of beats before kitty half-yells, "check your phone later, minho!" before minho can respond, he's more worried about you waking up that he turns to look at you. he sighs as you remain resting peacefully, keeping one of his hands captive with a small smile to your face. (unknowingly, it makes the boy smile, too) // the vibration against minho's thigh makes him pull out his phone with his free hand. he gulps before he taps on the unread message from kitty. upon clicking on [download] to view the image, minho has to suck the insides of his cheek to stop himself from smiling when he sees it's the view from q and kitty a couple of steps away from where he's sat with you. his hand in yours, your head resting on his blazer, the sunlight glow casting the outline on both of your silhouette and... the softness in his own eyes as they're locked onto you. he tries not to indulge too much, tapping out of the photo to text: you better keep this to yourself, covey [3:32pm] (read) my lips (and hands) are sealed 🤐 [3:33pm] minho is about to text a thank you, but finds himself cursing under his breath when the next text from kitty makes him– for now, at least ;) [3:33pm] but when you're squeezing his hand, unconscious and sitting next to him... he'll ignore it and pretend like everything is okay. for now, everything is at ease and peaceful and sometimes, he'd rather keep things this way if it meant security in having you beside him.))

[britishassistant]

Three Little Words (x Infinity)

Yuu looks him in the eyes and says, solemnly, “I love you.”

The notebook page they’re holding up reads “Pick a god and start fucking praying Trappola.”

In his defense, it was an accident!

So maybe he thought it’d be funny to sneak a frog eye down the back of Grim’s lab coat as revenge for his stolen bread earlier.

And maybe Grim had shrieked, leaping up and clinging onto Deuce’s face as he tried to escape from the slimy sensation.

And maybe Deuce, blinded and suffocated by fur, had begun flailing wildly and managed to knock Yuu into the cauldron where the potion they were meant to make was brewing.

“So,” He finishes with a flourish. “It was all an innocent mistake! No one’s to blame here.”

“NO, YOU’RE DEFINITELY IN THE WRONG!!” Deuce and Grim yell.

“I love you.” Yuu seethes through gritted teeth. “I love you, I love you, I—”

“Down.” Professor Crewel’s riding crop thwacks the table in front of them. “You bad boys are certainly deserving of some discipline, and remedial lessons. The potion you were meant to be brewing was one of False Appearance, created by the benevolent Witch of the Seas so that those she helped could appear as their love’s ideal.”

His crop hovers an inch or two away from Ace’s nose. “So tell me, puppy, what did you add to the draught that left the Prefect like this?”

“Uh.” Ace wracks his brain. “I, I mean, we followed the recipe exactly, right? Two grams of walrus whiskers—”

“Grams?” Deuce interrupts. “Wasn’t it milligrams?”

“What? No.” Ace points to the worksheet where the instructions are listed. “Look, it says g, not mg. How’d you add a whole letter that’s not there?!”

“Oh.” Deuce has gone pale, eyes flicking over the rest of the list. “B-but we did everything else right, Professor! We added the apple blossom petals, the ground seashell was meant to come later, the muse’s heartstrings…eh? We didn’t have a vial of distorted mirror shards, did we?”

“Oh, s’that what that was?” Grim folds his paws. “The silvery stuff was so sweet and crunchy, I thought it was a snack for us.”

“Since when does Crewel give us snacks during class?!” Ace hisses. “Also if you thought it was food, why didn’t you share, huh?!”

“I love you.” Yuu’s head is buried in one hand. With the other, they scrawl, “I’m throwing you all out of a window.”

“It’s almost impressive.” Professor Crewel raises an immaculate eyebrow. “Through your thorough botching of this recipe, you bad puppies have managed to create an entirely new potion that renders the drinker unable to say anything other than declarations of love. If it had any practical use, we’d be talking about submitting your results to an academic forum.”

“However, given how little walrus whisker was put in, it’s difficult to say if these compelled confessions are true or false,” Ace feels a chill go down his spine.

The professor glares at them. “I can say that it will be exceptionally tricky to craft an antidote, especially given that we have no way of knowing how permanent these effects are.”

“I love you.” Yuu’s voice is strangled as they write. “I love you.”

“What’s going to happen to me then? Am I stuck like this?”

“Hopefully not, but we’ll see.” Professor Crewel sighs. “I will do my upmost to create a draught that can reverse these effects. You bad boys are to serve detention to help me do so, and supervise the Prefect at all other times to ensure their condition remains stable, and that they do not cause unnecessary turmoil to others. Understood?”

The four of them share a Look.

Crewel pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering. “By the Seven, I’m too old for this shit.”

[tojifile]

@Gojo Satoru . . . (๑ ˃ ᴗ ˂)

Tags: bf!satoru, gn!reader, established relationship, pure fluff, hcs, ooc Gojo Satoru, cursing

A/N: This loser twink won the poll. I like him and don’t like him (I am still his gf though) so here I am, writing a bf!satoru x reader because I WANT A BF (and kinda don’t, it’s either they suck or they’re the best). My new year’s resolution is to get a bf, please baby me, I want to be babied so bad!!! Tfdym dignity??? PLEASE mansplain the most basic shit, look down on me 😍😍

Links: Masterlist

bf!satoru who doesn’t care where you guys are. He’s just super touchy. This guy doesn’t want to hear about how you’re in public, he just wants to feel you. Don’t even try to dodge his hugs or kisses because he will make a scene.

bf!satoru who, when you’re not around, texts you all the time. Asking where you are, how you are, if you’re hungry. You know, shit like that. He always needs to know what’s up with you, don’t even try to hide your true feelings from him.

bf!satoru who is such a whiny brat. He definitely has this playful rivalry with Megumi. I would imagine Megumi to develop some kind of crush on you, especially if you’d dote on him. Throw “unshakable character” out the window. This kid has mommy issues AND daddy issues.

bf!satoru who loves seeing your reactions. He’ll tease you, touch you, and whine. He loves to see what you’d do next. It always works in his favor anyways.

bf!satoru who takes you out on expensive dates. He makes sure people know you’re well taken care of. Even if someone was brave enough to court you, they could never compete with him.

bf!satoru who loves to kiss you. He worships your body and is as careful with you as one can be. If he hears you’re insecure, he’ll constantly reassure you that you’re beautiful.

bf!satoru who loves to dress you up. You’re like a little doll to him.

bf!satoru who already has his vows written and scribbles your name in a notebook with his last name like a teenage girl. Now, if this were no curse, modern au then him, Suguru, and Ieiri probably did FLAMES to see what you guys were.

bf!satoru who just loves you so much. He’s ready to do anything for you and with you. To have and to hold you from the day he met you, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part.

“I love you, Satoru..” you whispered softly in his ear as you played with his hair, breathing in the cold winter air. His head was facing your chest as you straddled his upper body on the bed, hugging each other. You couldn’t care less about the world right now. All you thought about was how Satoru was with you, how he was alive and well, and how much you lived him, “I love you more.”

@toxicramune @oh-my-beel @nymphsdomain @morinuu – Comment 🪩 to be on my taglist !

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Quiet Brain Corner

Hi!! I love your writing so much! I have a request for you, if you’re interested! I think the headcanon that Patton raised the light sides and Janus raised the dark sides makes a lot of sense— I can definitely see them wanting to exert control over the other sides for different reasons. Janus is surprisingly a good parent, but Patton is arguably not. The upside of this is that Logan and Roman grow very close, and they become a guaranteed safe space for each other. The downside is that sometimes they’ll talk to the other sides and be like, “yeah, you know, the [insert bad parenting tactic here].” And Janus, Remus, and Virgil are collectively like “??? No???” Anyways. I hope you’re having a good day/night - anon

Read on Ao3

Pairings: none

Warnings: child abuse

Word Count: 2857

It starts like a normal conversation. It really does start as a normal, everyday, we're-just-talking-about-things conversation. Remus and Roman were talking about projects they'd worked on when they were younger, how they might do them differently now, how they had always been a little more similar than everyone—including them, sometimes—had liked to admit, and then Roman had mentioned the Quiet Brain Corner.

"What the fuck is that?"

Roman waves his hand. "You know, the thing where Patton takes my notebooks and stuff and I'm not allowed to Create for a bit. But I think that having the Disney movies right around—"

"No, no, no, we're not fucking moving past that," Remus barks, slapping his hand down on the table, "what the fuck do you mean?"

Roman frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? What are you talking about? What do you mean, Patton takes away your shit and you're not allowed to Create?"

Across the room, there's a low snap as Janus shuts his book. Even Virgil looks up from his phone. Roman rolls his eyes. "Is this you trying to make a show of how much better behaved you were as a kid? 'Cause it's not gonna work, Re."

"First of all, how dare you accuse me of being well behaved—" Janus snorts— "and second, how the fuck is that what you got out of me being concerned about you?"

"Concerned—Re, why are you being concerned about me?"

"Oh, gee, I dunno, maybe because you just told me that your parental figure was taking away your ability to do your function?"

"You're making a bigger deal out of this than it was, Re."

"It doesn't sound like that to me! Sounds like you're not making nearly as big of a deal out of this as you need to be!"

"Okay, you once threw a tantrum because the slime in Ollie's pond was, and I quote, '3% less viscous than it should be,' so I'm not sure if you—"

"Tell me you don't give a shit about Ollie's health another time, Ro—"

"Oh, fuck, Re, no, that wasn't what I meant at all, I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"Whoa, whoa, hey," Virgil says quickly as Remus mutters a curse and throws his arms around Roman, "easy, let's just—let's take a second, okay?"

Roman wraps his arms around his brother muttering another apology. Remus just shakes his head and buries his face in the crook of Roman's neck. Over his shoulder, he makes eye contact with Janus, watching them with a wrinkle between his brows. Roman swallows heavily and pats Remus's shoulder. Remus just holds on tighter.

"Uh, Princey?"

"Yeah?"

Virgil tugs on the strings of his hoodie. "Can you…can you explain a little bit more about what the Quiet Brain Corner was? I think we're—I think we're a little confused."

"You guys didn't have something like this?"

"We had No-Stim time where if one of us got really overwhelmed, we'd have, like, a semi-time-out thing, but that sounds like it was a different sort of thing."

"The Quiet Brain Corner is where distractions go when we can't focus."

Something works at the corner of Virgil's mouth. "What does that mean?"

"You know, how phones and computers get taken away if homework isn't done, or whatever. If we didn't do our chores or pay attention during dinner or family time, or if we weren't spending enough quality time with each other. They go in the Quiet Brain Corner until we've proven we can use them responsibly."

Virgil's face is getting paler and paler. Remus is still refusing to let go of him. Roman frowns, trying to figure out why they're all getting so upset. He looks at Janus, who carefully sets his book aside.

"What sorts of things went in the Quiet Brain Corner?"

"Uh, my notebooks, my sketchbooks, some of my, like, other projects? Why are—"

"Please, sweetie, just humor me?"

Roman sighs, resigning himself to having a limpet for a brother for a little while. "Yeah, those…uh, sometimes my Imagination Key would go in there too, I—ack! Remus!"

"He took your key?"

Roman's head snaps back at the tone of Janus's voice. Janus is glaring at him. He—oh, god, did Janus not know? Did Patton not tell him?

Fuck, does Roman have to tell him?

Without realizing it, he curls into Remus's arms, trying to hide behind his brother, before he realizes what he's doing and snaps himself out of it. Straight shoulders, straight spine, chin up, voice even. He remembers this.

"Yes," he says, impressed with how steady his voice is, "I…thought Patton would have told you. When I was unable to confine my Imagining to what was…what was right, I wouldn't be allowed in until I could prove that I learned my lesson. I'm sorry, I thought Patton would have told you."

"Told me what?"

Roman shrinks in on himself again. "How…how hard I was to raise."

Remus growls in his ear. Something terribly dark flickers across Janus's expression before he forces it neutral. He takes a deep breath, one hand retreating into his cloak for a moment, then folding them calmly in his lap.

"What else gave you the impression that you were difficult to raise?"

A laugh chokes its way out of him. "What, you mean aside from the everything about me?"

No one else laughs. Janus just looks at him expectantly. Roman swallows.

"I, um, well, it's no secret that I'm…you know, loud. And I don't always—I didn't always know when the right time to be loud was so I'd—I'd make noise when I wasn't supposed to. And I'm not—I focus on stuff that I think is important but I'm not so great at knowing what is important and I don't—I'm not that smart, you know? So I gotta—I needed a lot of—they had to take a lot of time teaching me how to—"

"Who's they, Ro?"

"Huh?"

Remus pulls back and Roman stares at the tears on his brother's cheeks. "Who's they, Roman?"

"Re, Re, you're crying—"

"Don't give a shit." His brother glares at him. "Who is 'they?'"

"…Patton and Logan, Remus, why are you—"

Remus sticks out his hand and summons Logan. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at?"

"Re!"

"Why are you calling my brother stupid?"

Logan blinks. "Hello, Remus. I do not believe I'm calling Roman stupid, but—"

"That's not what he just said!"

"Oh for—Remus, no. I said that Patton and Logan had to teach me a lot more than they should have, not that they were calling me stupid." He glances at Logan. "I'm sorry, I don't know why they're so upset, we were just talking about things."

"It's quite alright, I wasn't doing anything terribly important. And—Roman, you know that I—"

"Of course I know, Specs. You too."

Logan smiles, reaching over to ruffle Roman's hair. "Are you okay?"

"I'm really confused right now, but yeah, I'm fine." He sighs. "Maybe you can do a better job of explaining things 'cause the way I'm doing it seems wrong."

"Certainly. What are we talking about?"

"This bullshit that you call the Quiet Brain Corner?"

Something flickers across Logan's face before he sighs, adjusting his glasses. "Ah, yes. It's been a while since I was in there."

"Since you were in there?" Virgil gets up off the couch. "The hell does that mean? Princey said only 'distractions' or whatever go in there!"

Logan blinks. "There you are, then."

"It was easier when he put both of us there at the same time," Roman mumbles, more thinking out loud than realizing what he's saying, "'cause then we could, like, hold hands and wait together. I use the same code with some of the Imagination creatures now."

"Oh, really? Which ones?"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on—" Virgil holds his hands up in an 'X'— "what do you mean, 'code?'"

"You're familiar with Morse Code, aren't you?"

"Yeah, what the fuck does that have to do with…" Virgil trails off, mouth hanging open. "Wait, you couldn't talk while you were…?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "It wouldn't be very effective against distractions if the distractions could keep being distracting, now, would it?"

The living room goes silent. Roman tries to disentangle himself from Remus, but Remus just clenches his jaw and pulls Logan in as well, leaving them awkwardly smushing shoulders together until Logan puts his arm around Roman's shoulders, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of Roman's neck with a wink. He taps his finger against his scalp: one long tap, two short taps, one long tap. Their code for you okay? Roman nods back and Logan smiles.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," Janus says lowly, "Patton would take your things—things that you used to be your functions, or at the very least, things that were your coping mechanisms or interests, and keep them away from you until you behaved in a way that was acceptable to him, and when you were 'distracting,' would put you in there as well with instructions to be silent until he let you out?"

"We would have to prove that we learned our lesson in order for things to come back from the Quiet Brain Corner, but yes, that is the gist."

"And how would you prove such a thing?"

Roman can't help the way he shrinks in on himself again, Logan stepping closer out of habit. "We would explain what we did wrong, apologize for it, and suggest an alternative behavior for going forward. If it was enough, then—"

"If?" Virgil's hands ball into fists. "What the hell do you mean, 'if?'"

Roman chokes out a laugh. "Come on, shadow-ling, you know I'm not always great at apologies. And it's not like I'm…"

Logan rubs his back when he can't finish. "Sometimes we wouldn't get it right the first time, so we'd try again the next day."

"Don't lump yourself in with me, Specs, you always got it quicker than I did."

"Not always," Logan says quietly and now it's Roman's turn to put his hand on Logan's shoulder, squeeze him closer, hum something the way he always does to remind them both that they can speak, they can make noise, it's okay, they're not in there. "Thank you."

"Sure. We both know that most of the time it was my fault you ended up in there, so…"

Logan chuckles, resting their foreheads together. "Noisemaker and Chatterbox."

"The best duo since peanut butter and chocolate."

"It's peanut butter and jelly, Roman."

"Sorry, I can't hear you over how good peanut butter and chocolate is."

And they probably would've continued to argue about it had they not been interrupted by the sudden impact of someone else abruptly joining their group hug. Remus grumbles slightly as Virgil jams his head into the crook of Roman's shoulder, his arms so tightly around all of them that Logan grunts in protest, freeing his hands enough to wrap them around the twins.

"Virgil, what—"

"Where the fuck is this corner?"

"What?"

"This punishment corner, where the fuck is it, I want to burn it."

"Not without me," Remus growls, "and not without Janny."

"I really think you guys are overreacting—"

"It's not that big of a—"

Both of them cut off as Janus stands up. In an instant, Roman's two feet tall again, his notebook clutched in sweaty hands, Logan's arm through his as they stare up, shrinking under a shadow, words already dying and drying on their tongues, the musty smell of unclean carpet and old paint burning their noses—

"—tie, sweetie, look at me, it's only me, it's just Janus, it's okay, sweetie, I promise."

Roman blinks. He reaches for Logan—one long squeeze, one short squeeze, two long squeezes—Logan's hand wraps around his and doesn't let go, there's something on his face, things around him, he's being coaxed to the floor, he's holding onto Logan so tightly—

"Shh, shh, it's okay—boys, go get the good blankets and pillows—that's it, my dears, just look at me, focus on me…"

No noise, Roman thinks hysterically as he feels tears start to slip down his cheeks, no noise, no noise.

"Oh, you poor things…come here, come here, that's it, that's right." He's pulled into something dark and sweet-smelling, Logan's hand in his still as something starts to rub soothing circles into his back. "I've got you now, I'll look after you, it's all going to be alright."

Logan squeezes his hand—two short, two long—and Roman tries to blink away enough of the tears to see what's going on. Janus's face swims into view, concern written plainly across every feature, all six hands fussing over the two of them as Virgil and Remus come back with their arms piled high with blankets and pillows.

"J-Janus?"

"Yes, sweetie, it's me, I'm here, alright? Oh, look at you, my little prince…" A gloved thumb carefully brushes away a few tears. "You cry as much as you need to, okay? We'll make a little nest right here and you can get all of it out."

"I can cry?"

"Oh, baby, of course you can cry, it's alright, you're allowed to do that." Janus cups his cheek in his hand. "Would you like some cuddles while you cry? I know Remus wants to squish you into next week."

Roman blindly opens his arms and is rewarded with a heavy Remus-sized weighted pillow flopping onto his chest, his other hand still wrapped around Logan's. He glances over and sees Virgil crouching next to Logan, murmuring softly into his ear and squeezing his other hand. Janus pulls blankets and pillows closer around them, keeping up a steady murmur of his own. Then a sob chokes out of Logan and the dam in Roman's chest breaks and they're sobbing together, each wrapped up in someone else's arms, clinging to their hands like a lifeline, and they can make noise and everything's fine and they're not in trouble and no one's angry at them and they—they—

"Hey, what's going on?"

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Well, from Logan and Roman, anyway. They both damn near stop breathing.

"Patton," comes Janus's voice, cold and dark from miles away, "you and I are going to have a little conversation."

"It's okay," Remus mumbles into Roman's ear, "it's okay, Roro, nothing's gonna happen to you. Nothing at all. I'm right here, Virgil's right there, Janus is going to take care of it, okay? Nothing's gonna happen ever again."

Roman can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't make a single goddamn noise. Logan's stiff as a board next to him, even as Virgil tries to coax him into relaxing again, because they can't make a noise, they can't be distracting, they can't be—they can't—

Splash!

Roman splutters, flailing around—Logan, where's Logan—there's Logan, also flailing in the shallow pool they suddenly appeared in—Remus must've sunk them into the Imagination, yes, that's—

They're in one of the shallow pools near the glowstone caverns at the top of the falls. The water is warm, the sky a light purple as the pale pink clouds drift across the horizon. They're—they're safe. They're in the Imagination. No one can touch them in here. They…

Oh, God.

"Hey, c'mere," Remus coaxes, tugging him over to the rocks, "c'mere and just lay out here and dry off, it's okay. We're here now. It's gonna be alright."

"Logan? Logan—Logan, I—"

"I'm here, I'm right here, it's—are we—?"

Roman swallows, water mixing with the tears still on his cheeks. "I think we're okay."

The Imagination can only do so much out of the confines of its doors. Inside, of course, it can do things like warm water until it is pleasant to sit in, send gentle breezes to dry clothes and tousle hair, craft dazzling skies and brilliant stars to soothe its darlings to sleep, and barricade said doors to anyone who would dare disturb them.

Outside, however, well…it can only do something so small as slight rearrangements. Say, making sure a certain corner disappears entirely, never to be seen again.

(Let someone try to keep Creativity from it again. Let them try.)

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs@el-does-photography@princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl@raven1508

[blackbat05]

Friday Evenings

Evan Buckley x Reader (Not Gender Specified)

Plot: It’s another Friday evening at the library, but that doesn’t mean it has to be boring.

Genre: PG-13

A/N: Kinda like a comfort piece for myself. Also, I need to start writing again so I guess this is the way to go. Enjoy!

“Knock, knock!”

I look up from my laptop to find Evan holding a bag of takeout. “Uh, I know there's strictly no food in the library, but I was hoping you could make an exception.” 

“Well, perks of being the library assistant. Come on over.” I invite him behind the circulation desk and draw the blinders. “Your timing is immaculate, I was just about to finish up the last bit of cataloging.” 

“Cool, no rush.” Evan sets the bag down. “Can I take a look?” Curious Evan, always eager to learn more about everything around him. That was also what made him so attractive. 

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’ll just bore you.” 

“Hey, how do you know what bores me?” His eyes twinkle and set himself beside me. My fingers quickly fly across the keyboard, entering the right value and category into each empty box. I scan the barcode of each book, registering it into the database before sticking the respective stickers on the book. 

“Finished!” Despite the seemingly small task, it was still a task completed. 

“That was amazing.” 

“Says my boyfriend that fights fires for a living.” I dismiss him casually. 

“Don’t do that.” Evan admonishes. “Did you know that in the past, people had to flip through thousands of cards to find the book that they wanted?” He gives me another fun fact to which I am amazed by once again. “You guys are like the keeper of books. Without you guys, there’s no knowledge and the whole world would burn to the ground.” 

“And that’s why you’re my biggest hype man.” I say, giving him a kiss. “On behalf of all library staff, I would like to thank you for acknowledging our tireless efforts.” Fishing out a box of chow mein, I find my mouth salivating as I dive into the springy noodles. 

Night falls as Evan and I talk about our week. From crazy rescues to patrons of different personalities, there was no dull moment. 

“Lisa was so sweet. I always love to see when a child is so enthusiastic about reading. You hardly ever see that these days.” You gush. 

“Tell me about it. Maddy and Chim are really trying their best to build that habit in Jee.” Evan agrees.

A clacking of shoes could be heard from behind the entrance. A stray strand of noodle hangs limply from Evan’s mouth. My eyes widen at the noise as I put a finger to my lips.

“Shit! I thought Marianne left! She’s gonna kill me if she finds out.” I hissed, eyes darting around wildly for a solution. Evan’s a step ahead of me as he swiftly removes all the damning evidence and packed it into the takeaway bag before ducking down under the circulation desk.

Not a second later, Marianne enters, completely unaware of the chaos that just happened.

“Hey! I left something behind. I need it for tomorrow’s class.” She comes closer and I can feel the sweat trickling down my back. I quickly push my chair to block her way, earning a curious stare from her.

“No worries! I can get it for you. Just stay right there.”

Before she can say anything else, I grab the cursed notebook belonging to Marianne, making back to my seat in top speed.

“Er… thanks!” Marianne slightly cocks her head in confusion. “You sure you okay? You seem a little jumpy.”

“Totally! Just can’t wait to get out of here. It’s a Public Holiday tomorrow after all.” I laughed. Somehow, I knew that Evan groaned from under the table at my poor attempt.

Marianne shrugs, taking her notebook. “Well, don’t stay long!”

She leaves, shutting the door behind her.

"Ouch..." Evan barely manages to get himself back on the chair. He grins at me. "Some dinner that was huh?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to give Marianne an opportunity for me to become office gossip. You know how older ladies are."

"Trust me. Have you seen Eddie's Aunt?"

The two of us burst into laughter, quickly piping down just in case Marianne was still within the vicinity.

"Anything I can help with?" Evan asks as we pack away the containers. "I need to fight the food coma."

"Hm... well I do need to shelve back today's returns." You tell him. "If we split up, it should be done in no time and we're out of here."

"Sounds like a plan."

I grab a trolley for Evan and assign him to a row. The two of us worked seamlessly, the rolling of the wheels on the carpet was the only sound that filled the library.

"Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"I'm happy for you." He says sincerely. It doesn't take me long to piece together what he was referring to.

"You know, it still hurts sometimes." I tell him as I shelve a couple more books before going down the aisle. "But it hurts less."

The memories of not living up to the expectations of those who depended on me float around in my mind. The disappointment on people's faces when I told them I couldn't continue. The anger and self-hatred that I experienced because I essentially threw all that hard work and effort into the drain.

"Don't go there." Evan says sharply. "Don't beat yourself up for things that you couldn't control."

I give a weak smile. Evan had enough confidence for the two of us.

"You did what was the best in that moment. You just didn't know that it wasn't the right thing for you. That's okay. I mean look at me! I was wandering around aimlessly before I found the 118. It seems you may have found your place."

"What if it doesn't work out again?" My inner voice wins the battle to be let out into the open.

"Then you try again." Evan says it, as if it's so simple. "We're not going to put ourselves in a box for the rest of our lives. We got to try new things when we can. And that's exactly what you're doing."

The both of us reach the end of our respective aisles, cart empty. Evan comes close and hugs me. "Maddie says that hugs can really help to improve a person's mood."

Did I save an entire country in my past life for Evan to be by my side?

"You always know the right words to say."

"That's because they're the truth." Evan helps with the paper bags. "Now, as much as I really enjoyed secretly flouting the library rules, we should head for desert." His eyes twinkle. "I'm thinking of that gelato place down the street."

He knew the right words to say and the way to my stomach? Scratch that, he saved an entire continent with his selfless behavior.

"You took the words right out of my mouth."

Evan smiles widely and gets up from his chair.

“Come on. We’re not going to waste a perfectly good evening.”

Like I said, I didn’t know what I did to deserve Evan Buckley.

[qveerthe0ry]

The D-Files

Summary: Something weird happens when Dieter tries to post his X-Files fanfiction Word Count: 14,941 Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Fox Mulder x Dana Scully Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: threesome, oral (m & f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected PIV, rimming, d/s undertones, poor explanation of time travel and quantum physics, it's a little cracky tbh Beta: the one and only @for-a-longlongtime obviously A/N: listen. I have ten episodes left of the whole series so if something is totally off and not accurate to x files canon just ignore me :) Also I'm absolutely aware of how completely ridiculous this fic is but I heard the voice of Dieter Bravo speak to me and could not ignore it Ao3 link

Curled up under at least three blankets, in just his underwear, stoned out of his mind (just weed— he’s California sober now) Dieter watches Mulder and Scully shake hands for the first time. 

The first time for them. 

He’s had to have seen this episode at least a thousand times by now. 

He’s in one of those funks again. His therapist calls it a depressive episode, but that’s so dramatic. He’s just a little bit down in the dumps thinking about how worthless he is and how no one’s ever really loved him before, not even his own parents, and how he hates himself so much he’s not sure if he would ever get rid of the guilt of letting someone else love him because he knows he’d just be a waste of their time.

It’s no big deal. Nothing an X-Files rewatch, weed, and a footlong Subway sandwich can’t fix.

Except this time, the way Scully and Mulder instantly mesh so well kind of makes him feel like he smoked too much pot. His stomach’s a little queasy as he watches him give her his undivided attention, and fuck, maybe this is a job above these FBI agents’ pay grade. 

He eyes that stupid notebook on his nightstand, still wrapped in plastic from the Amazon order. 

His therapist told him to start writing his thoughts down in a journal. He doesn’t like writing. It’s not what he does. He can’t stand those actors who think just because they’ve starred in a few movies means they should start writing them, or scrawling down some convoluted, conceited novel. Just fucking act, y’know? 

But as Scully throws herself into Mulder’s arms after knowing him for only a few days, and they both look so comfortable, Dieter rips open the packaging and swallows down the bile threatening his esophagus.

—

I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing here. What should I even write down in this thing? How lonely I am? Get in line, right? I’m not the only one. Even though sometimes it feels like I am.

Maybe it feels so bad because I know I did this to myself. Everyone always told me I’d always be a piece of shit. Even when I was young. And I just let their narrative take over and now here I am. The biggest piece of shit. 

It’s like Mulder. Everyone always called him Spooky and said he was too ‘out there’ and he ended up in the basement chasing Bigfoot. 

Except I don’t have a hot redhead in my life to balance me out or slowly fall in love with me.

And I’m not a tall, boyishly handsome, charming FBI agent. 

I’m just a washed-up actor, and a slob, and a drug addict. That’s probably why.

Golly gee, doc, this sure made me feel better.

—

He writes in his journal a bit here and there. He also slowly rots away in his bed, takes far too little showers and far too many THC gummies. He talks to his therapist two weeks later and tells her he’s been writing down his thoughts and her impressed hum and “That’s very good, Dieter” has him riding a high the rest of the afternoon. 

So he keeps it up. 

He doesn’t leave the house much, and when he does, he just wants to get back into his permanently affixed blanket fort to watch more X-Files and get high. 

He writes a little about his day, about what he’s mulling over in his mind. But as he reaches the end of season two, he’s out of his funk enough to start feeling horny again. 

Who wouldn’t, watching the world’s hottest FBI agents on a near constant loop?

So who can blame him when his journal thoughts get a little spicy?

—

God, Mulder’s such an idiot sometimes. So is Scully. They waste so much time getting on each others’ nerves. This entire show is just years-long foreplay. I swear they get off on irritating each other.

I irritate so many people, why aren’t any of them ever turned on about it? 

They should have just let them kiss in the first season. There could have been so much sex. All the motel rooms these two wasted! On the government’s dime, too! 

Rental car sex, alleyway sex, OFFICE sex. The Sex Files. That’s what this show should have been. 

I wonder if Mulder’s better at eating ass or pussy. I just know he’s freaky with all the porn and phone sex hotlines. And the auto erotic asphyxiation thing, can’t forget about that. I’d choke the shit out of him if he wanted that. With my hand or my cock, his choice. 

I wonder if Scully is freaky, too? I think she’d deny it, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she was filthy kinky. She always has to be in control. I wonder if she’d be like that in bed, too? I wonder if she’d get off on torturing me and making me beg. Or maybe she’s always so in control that she wants to relinquish all of it when she’s in bed.

—

Dieter remembers that fanfiction exists shortly after that. 

His dick is raw and he hasn’t even made it through half of the explicit entries on archive of our own. But everything’s so… Vanilla. 

Don’t get him wrong, he’s a total sucker for tender, missionary love-making. But where’s the experimentation? Where’s the creativity? And why the hell does everyone think Fox Mulder is such a dom?

Just look at him.

He’s pathetic. Scully could have him begging on his knees with nothing but the snap of her finger and one of her sexy, stern glances. Maybe he’s projecting a little bit, but not much.

He gripes to his therapist about this while he avoids the topic of his greatest fear being dying without ever having a meaningful relationship in his whole life.

“Have you ever thought about writing your own fanfiction?”

And no, he truly never has. It seems like something so far away from appropriate given his profession. But then again, when has he ever been totally professional?

So he starts writing. At first he finds himself falling into the popular tropes— love confessions and sweet, romantic first times. Just little blurbs in his journal he ends up scrawling out with his pen. There’s enough of that already. He needs to explore the fun stuff with these two.

One night/early morning, he finally grabs his laptop from his rarely-used office. He snuggles up under all the blankets he can find, turns on The X-Files, and gets down to business. 

—

“I’m sorry Scully—”

“Don’t.”

Her icy blue stare pins Mulder in place. His pouty lips close and his sharp jaw clenches as he looks down at his feet.

“You almost got us killed!”

“I wouldn’t have let you get hurt, you know that.”

Scully doesn’t know what comes over her, but she crosses what little distance is between them to grab the back of Mulder’s hair and tug.

His jaw drops and as hard as he tries, he can’t stifle the whimper that slips from his lip. 

“You were reckless with your own life. You can’t— Do you know what I would do if anything ever happened to you?”

Scully’s sharp gaze softens. Tears prickle at Mulder’s eyes, partly from Scully’s death grip and partly because of the way her voice wavers. 

“Scully—”

“Get on your knees.”

——

Dieter fights the heavy, sharp arousal in his gut as he writes Mulder on his knees for Scully. He just knows he’d eat pussy like a champ, what with those sunflower seeds he’s always got between those pillowy lips. He’d be great at sucking cock, too. Dieter thinks they would look so fucking pretty around his own dick.

Or Scully’s strap. 

Perfect.

He stays awake for way too long, writing about Scully trapping Mulder between her thighs for hours, and then making him choke or her strap, and then making him beg and whimper and cry for it as she teases his prostate with her fingers. 

Scully’s so dainty, but the idea of her fucking into her big, tall partner with fury has Dieter leaking into his boxers as he types away. It takes all of Dieter’s willpower to write the sweet aftercare scene. Scully gently cleans up his cum and sweat and tears, telling him what a good boy he was as she pets his hair and kisses his face. 

As soon as Dieter writes the last words, he’s fumbling for his lube and dildo in the bedside drawer. He’s too worked up to prepare properly, and it burns, and he hears Scully’s disappointed tuts in his head as he fucks himself into a mess. 

He whines her name, and Mulder’s name, as filthy images of the two fill his head. 

He comes without even touching his dick. He makes an absolute mess of his sheets and just grinds into the puddle beneath him as he fucks himself through the aftershocks. 

And if he cries a little bit at the thought of two beautiful FBI agents telling him how good he was as they stroke his sweaty skin, that’s between him and his open laptop. 

—

“Do you think I should post my fanfiction?”

His therapist’s perfectly shaped eyebrows perk up. 

“Do you think you should post it?”

“I dunno. Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t it be a little weird? An actor writing fanfiction about characters his peers portrayed?”

His therapist hums. He knows that’s his cue to keep talking, but they just sit in silence for a bit. 

“Do you want to post it?” She asks. 

He huffs. 

“I don’t know. What if everyone hates it?”

She shrugs and nods at him to continue.

“I’m afraid no one’s gonna read it. Or if they do, they’ll hate it. And leave mean comments.”

“Would that bother you?”

“Well yeah, duh.”

She hums again. Dieter rolls his eyes, half at her but half at himself. 

“I know, I know,” he sighs, “I’m a walking contradiction. I crave praise but I’m too afraid to put myself out there to receive any.”

“That’s not necessarily true. You’re an actor. It’s your job to put yourself out there and be consumed and reviewed.”

“Yeah but that’s not me, it’s just the guy they tell me to play.”

His therapist smiles. 

Shit. 

“I think you know what you need to do, Dieter.”

He does leave that therapy session crying, thirty minutes later. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs. 

It takes him six days to work up enough courage to even make an account. And then another two days to pour over every single word he wrote, change it, change it back, wash rinse and repeat. 

When he finally works up the nerve to post it, his laptop dies just as he’s about to press the publish button. 

You gotta be kidding me, he thinks, maybe this is a sign.

But then he thinks about what his therapist would say, that things that are worth it rarely come easy, and that he should probably stop assuming everything is a sign, and so he plugs his laptop in and waits for it to charge enough to come back to life. 

It’s the longest four minutes of his life. 

He stares at the black screen in silence. He blinks at his reflection as he listens to the storm brewing outside his window, only flinching slightly as lightning illuminates his dark room. 

His heart leaps up into his throat when the screen lights up again. Everything’s right where he left it. All he has to do is press that little button. 

He takes one, two, three deep breaths with his finger on the trigger and then—

CRACK

—

Everything hurts. Like, bad.

Dieter groans and tries to blink his eyes open. It’s bright. He’s no stranger to waking up in an unfamiliar place with a terrible headache and no recollection of how or why he’s there. However, he hasn’t touched a party drug in a year and a half, and hasn’t even been to a party for even longer than that. 

He finally blinks away the sleep in his eyes. He’s on the cold ground. The grass is plush and dewy under him. When he sits up, the world spins around him for a few moments and he just barely keeps his stomach from emptying. 

He checks his pockets. At least he has his phone on him. No wallet, though. And he’s in his pajamas, which is fine, not unusual attire for most of his outings. 

He goes to unlock his phone but of course it’s dead. 

Shit. 

He looks around a bit more and all this scenery does not look like Los Angeles. There are hills in the distance that are much more rolling than the jagged peaks in California. The smell of campfire fills the air and it’s humid, he realizes. Stiflingly so. 

He stands up. His joints ache even more than they usually do, stiff and popping. When he runs his hand through his hair he’s got wicked bed head. 

At least he can make out a dirt path amongst the grass and trees around him. He follows it for a while, and just as he thinks he might be wandering to his own death out in the boonies he sees a little shack in the clearing just by what seems to be a lake. 

It looks… Strangely familiar, despite the fact that he’s certain he’s never been here before. There’s a sign that reads “Bait & Tackle” that’s seen better days and a big giant inflatable… something tied down to the roof. 

He scratches his head as he stares. He has the feeling of something being on the tip of his tongue, but it’s on the tip of his brain instead. 

As he approaches, a high-pitched growl startles him out of his daze. His eyes frantically search for the source, and as he walks closer he spots it.

A tiny little yappy Pomeranian, tan and fluffy. 

It hits him all at once. 

He gasps and moves toward the fiesty little thing as his heart pounds. There’s no way…

It snarls and yaps at him as he crouches down to greet it— him. 

Once he starts giving the dog butt pats and head scratches, it warms up to him pretty quickly. He searches for the dog tag hiding under all that fur and gasps as he reads it.

QUEEQUEG

“Oh my god, Queequeg, I thought I’d never see you again, buddy.”

The pup wags his tail at the sound of his name and Dieter goes down on his knees to accept him into his lap. 

“How are you real? What’s happening?”

Tears well at Dieter’s eyes as he holds this fictional dog in his arms, who’s been dead since season 3. Sue him, he’s very confused and vulnerable and it was the most devastating death of the series by far.

As he pets the derpy little thing, he tries to wrap his head around everything that’s going on. Last he remembers, he was holding his breath and clicking the mouse pad and now he’s here, in the middle of nowhere Georgia if he remembers his X-Files trivia correctly. 

Which means this sweet little pup is going to die in this… episode? And if he’s in the episode, that means—

“Hey! What are you doing? That’s my dog!”

Dieter’s heart pounds, heavy and fast, like he’s done way too much coke. He looks up with wide eyes and it’s unmistakable, her bright red hair and sexy scowl and the lanky handsome man attached to her hip. 

“Scully?”

Dieter watches her face twist up in confusion, and watches Mulder’s eyebrows raise with a smirk on his face as he looks between him and his partner. 

“You know this guy, Scully?”

She squints at Dieter as they walk closer. He feels very warm under her gaze. He pets Queequeg’s head for comfort.

“No, I don’t. What’s your name?”

Dieter clears his throat. 

“You don’t recognize me?”

Mulder presses his lips together, trying to hide his amused smile as he nudges Scully’s side. 

“Should I?”

“Wait… what year is it?”

Scully’s face turns from annoyed to concerned. She kneels down in front of Dieter and looks into his eyes, and her gaze is too heavy, it spears right through him. 

“It’s 1995. Are you concussed?”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean— Maybe. Probably, to be honest. It’s 1995?”

“Has been for five months, now,” Mulder supplies. 

Dieter nods. 

“Do you know where you are?”

“I think so… listen. You guys aren’t gonna believe this— well, Mulder might believe it— But I’m from the future.”

Scully’s concerned gaze turns right back to annoyed very quickly, and she stands back up to cross her arms. 

Mulder just chuckles. 

“How do you know our names?” He asks.

Dieter feels a little weird on the ground while they’re staring down at him, in a horny way, so he gently places Queequeg back on the gravel to stand up himself.

“Would you believe it if I said I’m from an alternate reality where you guys are the main characters in a cult classic sci-fi television series?”

Mulder blinks at him. Dieter shrugs with a sheepish grin.

“Honestly? That’s more believable than the time travel.”

Dieter smirks. 

“That’s such a Scully thing to say.”

“That is such a Scully thing to say,” Mulder agrees. 

“Oh my god.”

“I can prove it! I swear. C’mon, let’s get this little guy safe and sound in your cabin and I’ll prove everything.”

Mulder shrugs, and gives Scully one of his looks, the c’mon, let’s see where this goes look that Dieter’s so used to seeing. 

She just scoffs.

“Mulder, we don’t have time for this. People are dying left and right, you’re on a wild sea-monster chase, and half the town is—”

“Wait, Scully, look at this guy. He’s going to tell you another body’s been found in the lake. Well— half of a body.”

They all turn to the man running up from the docks, and sure enough, it plays out almost exactly how Dieter remembers from the episode. Scully’s very focused on the legs floating in the lake, but Mulder keeps eyeing him in a way that makes him wish he was wearing something more than just flimsy pajama pants. 

“Scully…” Mulder mumbles as they walk back toward their car, “I think we should hear him out.”

“Hear him out!? We should be shoving him in handcuffs, he’s the only suspect we have that isn’t mythical.”

“I’d be into that, actually,” Dieter says, holding his hands out toward them, wrists pressed together. 

Scully grimaces and Mulder smirks but he drapes an arm around her shoulder in a way that seems suspiciously protective. 

“There’s not enough evidence to cuff him, but we can at least keep him close and see what else we can get out of him.” 

“Mulder—”

“If anything, he can just dogsit for us.”

The way they’re talking about him like he’s not even there makes the tips of his ears burn.

“I’d love to dogsit! I miss Queequeg.”

“What do you mean you miss him? He’s right here.”

Dieter winces. 

“Actually that’s a big plot point in this episode,” Dieter whispers.

They stop at the car and Scully glares at him, and Mulder looks a little bit like he’s just brought a stray dog home without her permission. Dieter kinda likes it.

“You never told us your name,” Scully grills.

“Dieter. Dieter Bravo.”

Mulder huffs. 

“What kind of name is Dieter Bravo? Do you do adult films?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Fox?”

The way the giggle bubbles up out of Scully’s chest makes him preen. 

“Alright. Where do you live, Dieter?”

He winces and scratches the back of his neck.

“Los Angeles.”

“Oh brother,” Scully grumbles. 

“How did you get here then?”

“Y’know, it’s the weirdest thing. I was writing a fanfiction about the two of you and when I went to post it, I think lightning struck my house and sent me here.”

The two agents stare at him in silence for so long that Dieter has the time to question every single moment that has led up to this. He determines that this is all his therapist’s fault when Mulder finally clears his throat. 

“You can bunk with me until we get everything sorted out, alright?”

Dieter straightens up and salutes him.

“Yes, sir, Agent Mulder.”

Scully rolls her eyes and turns to open the car door for him, but Mulder smirks.

“I think I kinda like this guy, Scully.”

——

Mulder’s nice enough to let him shower and lend him spare clothes that aren’t caked in mud and grass stains, once they’re back at the cabin. He cleans up in silence trying to wrap his head around this entire pickle he’s in, and how to go about making them believe him.

He’s got his work cut out with Scully, he knows this. But he works over every bit of information he can remember from each season, each episode, to remember something that couldn’t be denied. 

They’re doing their Scully and Mulder thing when he comes out with damp hair and Mulder’s clothes on. (He definitely had to will away a half-chub at the thought of being wrapped in his things.) 

They sit around the small living room with photos and paperwork all sprawled out and Dieter feels like geeking out a little bit. This is like the world’s greatest and most interactive X-Files museum. 

“Okay. I’m going to try to do this in the best way I know how. Just— Bear with me.”

They sit back in their seats, and Dieter lifts Queequeg onto his lap to take his place on the couch. He waits for them to give him a go-ahead, but neither of them are responsive. He tries not to feel so aroused by their focused gazes. Maybe he should have jerked off in the shower, as a precaution.

“Okay then… let’s see… this is Season 3, Episode… 22? So. You guys just went through the whole Skinner thing, right? With his— his bad dreams lady killing that prostitute?”

“How do you know Skinner?”

“I told you, it’s a TV show. Skinner’s always busting your balls. Big tough assistant director business. He’s actually just a softy though, I think.”

Scully looks disinterested and a little annoyed, but Mulder’s starting to shift forward in his seat.

“What’s the show called?”

“The X-Files.”

Scully snorts. 

“How creative.”

“Okay, okay, I know. It sounds whacky. But I’ve seen the show a billion times over, I’ve been unknowingly preparing for this moment since the pilot aired.”

He takes a moment to determine what to say and how to word it before he continues.

“Okay… Well… Your first case together was that weird kid in Oregon that kept helping aliens abduct his classmates. Scully conveniently missed the UFO though. Ever the skeptic. Then… let’s see… Deep Throat turns up in the next episode. Scully, he ended up dying in your arms and his last words were trust no one.”

“Mulder, we’ve been bugged for 90 percent of the time we’ve known each other, this doesn’t mean anything.”

Dieter huffs and Mulder shrugs. 

“Keep going. Give us a deep cut, man. You gotta try harder than that.”

“When did you become the skeptic, Mulder?” 

The agent shrugs and raises his eyebrows to urge him to continue. 

“Okay… Scully, when you were at your god son’s birthday party, you told your friend that Mulder is a jerk.”

“Hey, what the hell, Scully?”

“No, I said he was just—”

“Obsessed with his work, yeah. After you called him a jerk though.”

Dieter hates to see the way Mulder’s eyebrows draw up in the middle. It’s kind of funny to see Scully so embarrassed, though. He figures he’ll keep what else she said to himself, about him being cute, because it looks like she’s praying that he doesn’t blab about it.

“You wound me, Scully.”

“Oh, yeah, and there’s the time you shot Mulder in the shoulder.”

“You’re kind of a bully, y’know?”

Scully shoves at his shoulder to prove their point, and Mulder just laughs and leans into it. 

“Do you want to know what happens in the future? Wait, if I affect the future will the show be different? I dunno how I feel about that… new X-Files episodes in 2024 would be incredible. But what if the new episodes suck, though?”

“2024? That’s what year you’re going with?” 

Dieter nods. 

“It kinda sucks. We have smartphones and streaming services and stuff but also, you wouldn’t believe who the last president was if I told you. Also there was a global pandemic. Still kinda is one, but everyone’s just ignoring it. Actually, come to think of it, you guys would thrive in 2024.”

“Do we die before then?”

“Oh, no, no, the show just finished. And then came back and then— it’s a whole thing. But neither of you die.”

“Hmm.”

Mulder hums, and Dieter knows exactly what he’s thinking. Scully too, by the faraway look on her face. Total idiots. Why couldn’t he have landed at least after the first kiss. Or even the almost-kiss?

“Well, I’m tired, and this case isn’t going to solve itself. And Queequeg needs to go potty, so, I think we’re done here.”

Dieter’s whole body feels hot, like the time he was stabbed in the chest with that epi-pen. He shoots up off the couch so fast that Queequeg yelps and hops down to cower behind Scully’s ankles.

“Wait! It’s an alligator. Literally. It’s just an ordinary alligator killing these people. And if you let Queequeg walk into the woods he’s going to get eaten and if there’s one single thing you believe me about it has to be this, okay? For Queequeg’s sake.”

Dieter’s got his hands clasped in front of him, pleading. Scully looks startled and Mulder looks awed, but he’s desperate to drive this point home. 

“…Okay. I’ll keep him close. Thank you.”

They think he’s crazy. Scully does, at least. Mulder’s just quiet, uncharacteristically so. 

“Thank you.”

“Alright,” she sighs, grabbing Queequeg’s leash and hooking him up, “goodnight guys.”

“Goodnight Scully.”

Dieter sighs and sits back down. 

“She thinks I’m insane, doesn’t she?” 

“Welcome to the club.”

Dieter chuckles and looks to Mulder. He’s still got that pensive look on his face. It suits him, all brooding with that fucking jawline and those plush lips and sad eyes. He wants to kiss him so bad. He almost says it out loud, so used to his horny musings while watching this guy on TV that his filter is a little out of whack. 

Dieter doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Mulder tilts his head at him, confused. He opens his mouth and takes a breath but the door ripping open cuts him off. 

“Mulder, there’s something in the woods; Dieter was right. I think we should check it out.”

Mulder jumps up at her beck and call and seeing it in person is even more overwhelming, how he follows her without question and trusts her, so eagerly. 

“Queequeg?”

“He’s here, can you watch him?”

Dieter nods.

“Me? Yeah, yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

He doesn’t miss the amused look on her face just before the door slams shut behind them. 

He lies on the couch with Queequeg on his chest, enjoying the silence after the… everythingness of his day. He really wishes he could smoke some pot, but even if he could get his hands on some, he’s sure it would be weak as hell. And there’s the FBI agent thing. 

Dieter’s not sure how long he’s been staring at nothing and snuggling Queequeg when the cabin door finally opens again. 

“Did you catch the alligator?”

The eerie silence he’s met with makes him whip his head around. Scully and Mulder are staring at him. He’s pretty sure 80 percent of his X-Files fantasies have started exactly like this. 

“… We did. We caught it just in time to save Ted Bertram.”

“That’s the guy with the lake monster feet, right?”

They both nod slowly. 

Queequeg hops down from his perch on Dieter’s chest, so he sits up. 

“I told you. You guys believe me now?”

He watches as Mulder nods his head yes and Scully shakes her head no. All he can do is shrug and start wondering what’s next for him, in the year of 1995.

“Hey, do you guys need an assistant? I could tell you how to solve the next case! I think it’s the one with the mind control cable. Mulder, are you really red-green color blind? I think that was a major plot hole. How do you tell the difference between human blood and alien blood if one is red and one is green, then?”

“Mulder’s not colorblind,” Scully says. 

“Uhh… Actually, yeah. I am.”

“What? How did you pass the color vision test?”

“I’m colorblind, not an idiot. I can still tell them apart, they just look different to me than they would to you.”

“I— I can’t believe you’ve been colorblind this entire time.” 

Mulder shrugs. Then his brow quirks up.

“Why does that matter?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you. It might mess with the space-time continuum and— quantum physics, you know?”

Scully’s clearly had enough. She sighs and finally kicks off her shoes. 

“I’m grabbing a shower and clearing my head,” she says, “don’t— don’t let him out of your sight for now, Mulder.”

Mulder nods and half smiles at her. They both look pretty tired. He wants to remind them that he’s the one who traveled 29 years into the past today, but it seems like a pretty sore subject. 

They stand still and silent in the living room until Scully closes her bedroom door behind her, Queequeg in tow.

“You heard the woman. There’s a TV in my room.”

Mulder nods toward the other bedroom door and Dieter follows dutifully.

“Does it get the good channels?”

He hears Mulder chuckle and watches from behind as he sheds his jacket. He admires all those lean muscles in his back, now that he’s not wearing one of those god awful baggy suits. Maybe he should suggest a tailor, he thinks, and wonders if the later seasons would be filled with more eye candy if he did. 

“You know about that?”

“All the video tapes that aren’t yours? And the hotline lady that leaves messages on your answering machine? Yeah. You wouldn’t believe what porn is like in thirty years. You’re gonna love it.”

Dieter’s torn between looking away and staring shamelessly while Mulder unbuttons his fly. He settles for nonchalant, hoping his eyes don’t pop out of their sockets like a cartoon character when he notices the outline of Little Mulder. This is even better than the gray sweatpants in the Humbug episode. 

“I was hoping to kick the habit in thirty years’ time, actually.”

Dieter shrugs and his staring contest with Mulder’s crotch ends abruptly as he slides into a pair of pajama pants. Which is weird, because usually Mulder sleeps in his underwear. Must be the fact that he’s sharing a cabin with Scully.

Mulder throws Dieter the remote and settles onto the bed. There’s no couch in here, not even a cuck chair, so Dieter settles next to him. His whole body burns. God, if 20-year-old Dieter could see himself now, he’d ruin the pants he was wearing. 

The silence feels a little awkward, so he turns the TV on. Nineties TV is so simple. It’s easy to settle on a channel playing Invasion of the Body Snatchers and sink into the mattress under him. 

It only takes a few moments before he realizes Mulder’s staring holes into the side of his face. 

“What’s up?” Dieter asks. 

There’s so little room between them it’s making Dieter’s entire body throb along with his pulse. 

“You’re telling the truth.”

Dieter nods and tries to give him a reassuring smile. Mulder sighs and throws his head back onto the pillow. His eyes close and his brows furrow and his jaw does that sexy clenching thing again. It’s all Dieter can do to not bite at it and soothe the sting with his tongue. 

“What happens to us?”

Dieter clears his throat.

“I mean— I know, you shouldn’t affect the future, yadda yadda. I just…”

Fuck it, Dieter thinks, if I’ve already solved the case way before the episode is supposed to end, I’ve thrown everything off anyway.

“You end up together.”

Mulder lets out a big, long breath. His face instantly relaxes. His hands flex by his sides and Dieter goes out on a big giant limb and grabs one of them.

Mulder starts at the touch, but lets it happen. 

“When?”

“Way later than you should have shacked up, in my opinion.”

He grumbles. 

“My opinion, too.”

“You should make a move, then. I’m pretty sure at this point she’s only waiting for you to make a move.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Oh, it’s a whole thing involving a shapeshifting guy with a tail. Trust me. She’s got it just as bad.”

They’re still holding hands. Mulder hasn’t moved a muscle. An idea so bright pops into Dieter’s head that he’s certain there’s a lightbulb floating above him. 

“You know when you met Bambi on that cockroach case?”

Mulder nods. 

“She was so jealous. Didn’t you pick up on that?”

“I— I thought so. But I also thought she was just annoyed with me, y’know, how she usually is.”

Dieter squeezes his hand. 

“She was annoyed because she’s into you, dude. It was envy. Very, very clearly.”

He hums. 

“So? What now? Do I apologize for something that happened months ago? You apparently know Scully as well as I do, how do you think that’ll blow over? ‘Hey, sorry I made you jealous because you have a big fat crush on me.’ She’d deck me.”

Dieter shakes his head. 

“No, man. You need to make her jealous. So jealous she can’t deny why she’s upset with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and I mean, why not just start right now, y’know? Get a head start on the whole thing. I mean, you’re here, I’m here, there’s only one bed…”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were coming onto me.”

“I would love to come on you, actually.”

Mulder laughs, and Dieter deflates a little at the sound. But when he goes to pull his hand away, Mulder cinches it in his own. 

“Dieter…”

“Mulder.”

“We’re doing this, then?”

Dieter nods like an overexcited puppy wagging its tail. Oh my god. Oh my god. Fox Mulder in his prime, how fucking lucky can one guy be?

Mulder glances at the door to make sure it’s open. The faint sound of running water can be heard from Scully’s room, and he thinks he smells her shampoo wafting out with the steam. 

Like two nervous teenagers, they shift to face one another. Dieter brings their joined hands together on his own hip. Mulder’s palm is warm on his skin where his shirt rides high, and it makes Dieter’s breath hitch. 

Slowly, Dieter urges him to keep his hand still with a squeeze before mirroring Mulder’s, creeping his hand under his shirt and feeling his solid, trim waist.

Mulder hums into his touch and Dieter realizes this man is possibly just as touch-starved as he is. He starts swirling circles into his skin with his thumb and inches forward, but those beautiful hazel eyes hold apprehension in their timid gaze.

“What if this blows up in my face?” Mulder whispers.

“It won’t. I guarantee it. I’ll make sure of it. Trust me?”

A soft grin tugs at Mulder’s lips and he nods, and it’s all the permission Dieter needs.

Christ, his lips are soft. Soft and plush and exactly how Dieter imagined only a million times better. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good, not on any drug, and they’re just kissing. 

It’s chaste until he feels Mulder’s tongue prod at the seam of his lips and then it’s filthy. As soon as Dieter opens his mouth to him, Mulder takes it with a grunt. His blunt nails dig into the soft flesh at Dieter’s hip as he traces the arch of his bottom teeth. Dieter tries to keep up, but his brain constantly shorts out at the thought of who’s tongue is poking and prodding around in his mouth. 

He’s a great fucking kisser. His tongue tickles the roof of Dieter’s mouth and it makes him shiver, makes his cock swell against his borrowed sweatpants, against Mulder. 

He doesn’t seem deterred. Quite the opposite actually. He tugs Dieter by the hip and presses his own solid prick right up against Dieter’s, and they both groan into the sloppy kiss. 

“It’s been quite a while,” Mulder says. 

Dieter can’t tell if the huffed little laugh is directed toward the eager way he chases Mulder’s lips, or toward himself for being out of practice. He likes the thought of either. 

“For me, too,” Dieter mumbles. 

Mulder hums and rolls his hips. As their dicks press together and twitch, Dieter decides they are not naked enough by any means. 

He presses his hand up, up, bringing Mulder’s shirt with it and grabbing a handful of his sturdy pec, admiring how stiff it feels under his palm when his lungs inflate. He gets with the program, and Dieter pulls his own shirt over his head, then promptly salivates over all the lean muscles and wiry hair and pale skin in front of him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes.

It’s not until Mulder’s breath hitches does he realize he might actually be into this, not just their plan, but being here in bed with Dieter. His pretty hazel eyes are dark now, pupils blown out, and his chest is heaving, and the tent in his pajama pants is far too enticing to resist. 

Dieter reaches down to cup him through the flannel material and Mulder gasps and falls flat onto his back. His eyes close and his jaw hangs open like an invitation. Dieter wiggles and shifts to press up against the length of his side and to finally press his face into the crook of his neck. 

The hint of aftershave that’s been teasing him all day is now overwhelming his senses, sharp and spicy. Dieter is delighted to know that his skin tastes just as delicious as it smells, salty and heady under his tongue. Mulder’s prick throbs in his grasp and Dieter’s torn between wanting to tease him over his pants and feel the hot skin of his cock in his palm. 

“Feels good,” Mulder whispers. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

Dieter nips at his racing pulse first, then down to his jaw and the impressive five o’clock shadow he’s always been jealous and in awe of. The prickly hairs there tickle his tongue and lips, and he grinds into the outside of Mulder’s thigh for a bit of relief. 

“You think about Scully doing this?” 

The way Mulder’s dick jolts in his grasp is answer enough, but he speaks up anyway. 

“Yes.”

The admission is so hot it makes Dieter’s brain spin. He himself has thought of it many times before, Scully torturing him with teasing touches, her little sharp canines digging into his flesh, but the thought of Mulder thinking of it too… 

All those heated glances Dieter’s mulled over, he wonders how many of those were fueled by Mulder’s dirty thoughts about her. Wonders how many times he’s seen a flash of something in Mulder’s gaze and it’s been him fantasizing about getting Scully in bed. 

Dieter huffs against the heated skin of Mulder’s neck before he pulls back. His head his thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, and he’s fucking gorgeous. He lightens his touch, teases the underside of his cock with one fingertip, and delights in the pleasure scrawled across Mulder’s face. 

“How often?”

Mulder’s gravelly chuckle is cut off by a low groan when Dieter presses against his sac over his pajamas. 

“All the time,” he confesses, “every time.”

“In the office?”

Mulder whimpers and nods his head. 

“On the job, in the field?”

“God yes.”

Dieter hums, squeezes his balls to goad him into continuing.

“When she— when she’s so serious, it’s hot. She’s so smart, it turns me on.”

Dieter smirks. He completely sympathizes.

“You like it when she debunks you?”

Mulder whines and nods his head again. Dieter tries his hardest not to react to the sound of the water shutting off across the cabin, or Scully’s door creaking open. Instead, he shoves his hand down Mulder’s pants and hopes to god he keeps his eyes closed, hopes Scully’s ever present need to call out his name is tampered down when she inevitably hears him talking. 

Mulder gasps and raises his hips into the circle of Dieter’s hand, and his brows furrow as he shuts his eyes even tighter.

“Why?”

Mulder moans. 

“Because she— she balances me out. Makes me feel even. Whole.”

Dieter chuckles. 

“Aww, does she complete you, Foxy?” 

He scoffs but bites his lip when Dieter thumbs at his head and spreads his slick, sticky pre-cum all around. 

“Tell me what you think about, Mulder.”

His breathing is so ragged that Dieter thinks he should maybe be concerned. But he can tell things are about to come to a head, can hear Scully’s little footsteps inching closer to their room, pointedly quiet. 

“Her, I think about her body against mine. And touching her.”

As if on cue, fiery red hair peeks through the door frame. Dieter’s got his free hand up and a finger at his lips before Scully’s face can even twist up in concern and shock. He gives her a pleading look as she stands stock-still and wide-eyed. 

“Where would you touch Scully, if she was here?”

“Everywhere. Anywhere she wants me to. I just wanna make her feel good.”

Dieter turns his head back to Mulder to confirm that his eyes are still closed. They are, positively scrunched shut as sweat threatens to penetrate his brows and slip into his eyes.

“Do you wanna taste her?” 

Mulder’s breath hitches and his cock pulses and dribbles more against Dieter’s hand. 

“Yes, yes, so bad. I think about it every time I— every time I touch myself.”

Dieter turns back to Scully. Her hair is damp and her silky pajama top is unbuttoned more than it was just a moment ago. It just barely hides her heaving chest and he has a hard time not giving her away when he realizes his plan is working. Her lips are parted and wet, like she’s licked them, and god he really fucking hopes they don’t kick him out once this all comes to a head. 

“You do?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Mulder nods, “I could spend the rest of my life down there and die happy.”

Dieter chuckles then, and Mulder does too, but he opens his eyes. It takes him just a second to blink and adjust but, ever the vigilant one, his eyes jolt toward the now closed bedroom door and Scully standing in front of it. His body goes stiff and still, aside from his prick, which twitches wildly in Dieter’s grasp. 

Mulder’s voice cracks amusingly around Scully’s name. She crosses her arms and lifts one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows as she shuffles to the foot of the bed. 

“Boys.”

Dieter smiles sheepishly at her. Mulder’s staring and gaping like a fish out of water, all tense now, one elbow on the bed so he can prop himself up. Dieter doesn’t miss the way Scully’s eyes trace over his naked torso or the activity going on at the front of Mulder’s pajamas. 

“Is it true, Mulder?”

He’s nodding his head before she can even finish the question. 

“Yeah, Scully. I—” 

He cuts himself off when Dieter squeezes and strokes him, and Scully’s gaze is locked on the movement.

“It certainly feels like the truth,” Dieter supplies. 

Mulder whimpers under him and Dieter swears he sees Scully’s ears perk up at the sound, like some kind of predator. 

“Mulder, c’mere.”

God, the way he follows so readily, like he always does, it warms Dieter’s heart just as much as it makes his dick throb. He kneels on the edge of the bed right in front of her. His cock is protruding obscenely out in front of him, but Scully doesn’t seem to care about that. 

No, she’s focused on his face instead where it’s settled gently between her dainty hands. God, the way they look at each other is so fucking intoxicating. Dieter’s bound by it, physically stuck on the mattress as he watches. 

Her brows furrow slightly as she looks at him, but Mulder’s face is slack, almost dazed as he meets her eyes. 

“What did he tell you, Mulder?” 

Mulder shifts awkwardly from knee to knee. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and she giggles under her breath. 

“You’re not in trouble.”

Dieter laughs, and god, it’s so fucking weird. It’s like he’s watching a director’s cut. 

Mulder sighs, though. 

“We end up together, Scully. You and me. And I— I believe it. I believed it long before this guy showed up, and it… Out of everything I believe, everything I’ve been working toward… it might be the only belief I have that keeps me going.”

Scully’s gaze grows soft as his confession, and Dieter refrains from squealing in delight at how sweet Mulder sounds and how Mulder it all is.

“Why now, then?”

Mulder huffs and tries to turn away, but she keeps his face tight in her grasp. His cheeks are so pink. 

“Just worked up the guts, I guess.”

Dieter doesn’t miss the quick flicker of Scully’s eyes down to his lips. His fingers twitch with the urge to smash their faces together. 

She sighs and brushes some errant strands of hair from Mulder’s forehead. 

“Well,” she says, and her voice wavers with a heavy breath, “I’m glad one of us did.”

Mulder visibly melts. His shoulders slump and he leans forward into her touch. His face loses all of that tension from earlier, and his lips look loose when Scully’s own finally brushes against them. 

He’s so gentle with her, in a way he definitely wasn’t with Dieter. His hands are nearly hovering over her with how lightly he places them on her waist. His lips stay slack and still as he lets her control the kiss. The only thing giving him away is the comical bobbing of his prick disrupting the front of his pajamas, and there’s no way Dieter can blame him for that. 

One of Scully’s hands tangles in Mulder’s hair and produces a beautiful, high pitched sound that Dieter and Scully both react to. 

She pulls away. Mulder chases her lips, but her grip on his hair tightens. He curses under his breath with a face more flushed than Dieter’s ever seen on him.

Her eyes flicker over to Dieter and he feels like a deer in headlights. Why is he still here? Is this weird, is he being a creep for staying? 

“C’mere,” she mumbles, tipping her head to urge him to kneel right beside Mulder on the bed. 

He does, of course he does. He wants to be good for her, for them.

He kneels, shoulder to shoulder with the man panting beside him. He grasps his hands behind his back and waits patiently as she looks the both of them over. 

“What did I walk in on, Dieter?”

The way his name sounds coming from her low, rasping voice makes his spine tingle. 

“It was my idea, Agent Scully. I was trying to make you jealous. I’m sorry.”

She clicks her tongue and the noise makes his cock throb. 

“And you went along with this plan?”

She looks back to Mulder and Dieter shivers. He instantly misses the warmth of her gaze. 

“I— yeah. I did... It worked, didn’t it?”

Scully’s eyes narrow, and Dieter can’t tell if Mulder’s an idiot or a genius for riling her up. He should have known Fox Mulder would be a brat. He thinks if he plays his cards right, maybe Scully will forget the whole plot and he can be her good boy while Mulder gets punished for his smart mouth. 

A whimper falling from Mulder’s parted lips knocks him out of his daze and he notices Scully’s grip all tight in his floppy hair. 

Fuck, he wishes that were him. Maybe he should mouth off too, maybe then he’ll get the attention that he craves. 

“Get on your knees, Mulder.”

“I am on my knees.”

Dieter gasps as Scully tugs on his hair and leaves him no choice but to scramble off of the edge of the bed, lest she rip all that perfectly coiffed hair out of his head. His shoulders rise and fall with baited breath when he’s finally sunken his knees on the gaudy rug on the hardwood floors. Dieter whimpers and no one’s even touching him. 

“You too, time bandit.”

Dieter gets whiplash with how quickly he gets on his knees for her. He breathes out a labored ‘yes ma’am’ and Mulder throws him a look of disbelief. He shrugs, what can I say?

They’re both rock hard for her, on the floor, staring up at her. She looks like an angel, or the devil, or maybe like God herself. Her breathing is suspiciously calm compared to their own, even though her nipples create tantalizing nubs at the front of her silk pajamas. 

“Keep your eyes forward, both of you.”

Dieter nods at her commanding voice. He wants to look to Mulder for— direction? Comfort? Some kind of trauma bonding? But he doesn’t. He wants to be good. 

He hears Scully behind them, bed creaking under her weight, sheets ruffling underneath her. There’s a pregnant pause where all of their heavy breathing can be heard and the anticipation is so much Dieter might explode on the spot. 

“Strip.”

Twin breaths release from both Dieter and Mulder and he swears he hears her giggle behind them. He’s quick to comply, tugging at the drawstring of Mulder’s sweats he’s borrowed and awkwardly shuffling them off while he tries to stay kneeling. 

He notices Mulder still motionless beside him. 

“Scully…”

Idiot, Dieter thinks. 

“Good boy, Dieter, doing exactly what I say.”

He can’t help the satisfied smirk that twists his lips up, or the way the back of his neck burns at the praise. In his peripheral, Mulder hastily shucks his pajama pants. 

He has a pretty cock. Dieter knew he would. Everything else about him is pretty. It’s long and lean, just like he is, and the upward curve of it makes him jealous. It’s going to feel so good for Scully, if she lets him fuck her. 

There’s more shuffling behind them, and he flinches when a pair of satin pajama pants land on the floor in front of both of them. He has to dig his nails into his thighs to resist the urge to turn around. Something nudges his arm. He doesn’t dare move his head, but from the corner of his eye he sees a pale, smooth leg and his breath catches in his chest. 

He hears Mulder curse under his breath and can nearly feel the tension in him vibrating out energy into this rickety old cabin. Dieter feels a gentle hand in the short curls at the back of his neck just a moment later, her nails scraping his scalp just right, and his leg may just start shaking like a dog’s.

“You want to taste me, Mulder?”

“Fuck yes, Scully, please.”

She hums. Her hand in Dieter’s hair stills. 

“Go on, then.”

A lightning flash of movement stirs beside him, but Dieter keeps dutifully still. He’s twitching in anticipation but he doesn’t dare turn to look. 

Scully sighs, all breathy and high-pitched, and Dieter’s never heard a more beautiful sound. Then Mulder whimpers, and it’s muffled by Scully’s thighs, and there’s a wet smacking noise and Dieter thinks this obscene music could be a platinum album. 

Scully gasps, and Mulder groans, and Dieter aches. He can smell her, a sharp and tangy scent of arousal underneath the flowery soap and shampoo. Her hand is still in his hair and it hasn’t moved since Mulder got down to business and he feels forgotten about but in the best way.

“Dieter, honey, you can watch.”

He breathes out with relief and shifts to get a good look of the action. She’s perfect, gorgeous, breathtaking. Her silky pajama top hangs open on her pointy shoulders and her perky breasts rise and fall with her breathing. Her nipples are a brownish pink that stand erect in a way that makes his mouth water like a leaky faucet.

Her toned, porcelain legs spread wide enough to accommodate Mulder’s shoulders. The man is greedy, and Dieter can’t see a thing aside from the triangle of copper curls on her mound. He wants to nuzzle them so bad, he wants to feel them tickle his nose, smell the arousal that catches there. 

“You taste so good.”

Mulder’s words are squished against her center. Dieter whimpers at the thought of her flavor. Her hand soothes through his hair. He wants to touch his cock so badly, but Scully hasn’t told him that he’s allowed. Instead, he balls his hands into fists and bites his lip. 

Scully moans, and Dieter watches her face fall slack with pleasure. 

“Feels good, just like that.”

Dieter can’t help the sounds that eke out of him, desperate and a little pained. He’s so hard that he’s lightheaded, but Scully’s firm grip on his hair grounds him just enough. 

“Don’t be selfish, Mulder.”

He makes a questioning noise between her legs. He looks up at her with wide eyes, mouth open, tongue out and flat against her slit. 

“Give him a taste.”

“Oh fuck, please.”

Dieter can see the reluctance in Mulder’s motions, like he’s struggling to break free from her orbit. He looks so fucking hot, absolutely wrecked. His plush lips are red and shiny and his chin is dripping and his pupils completely usurp his irises. Drunk, drugged off of Scully.

He leans away from Dieter to make room between her legs but she tugs his hair. Then she tugs Dieter’s hair, and their noses are bumping together before either man can put two and two together. 

He can smell her on his breath. It’s so intoxicating that he loses any crumb of decorum he may have had left. He licks a broad swipe from Mulder’s chin to his Cupid’s bow and groans at all the slick he’s able to lap up. 

Mulder’s mouth opens up to him, and he chases the taste of her off of his tongue, his teeth, his gums, anywhere. They’re both panting into each other's mouths, exchanging breath. Dieter feels a big, strong hand on his jaw and neck, and the contrast to Scully’s smaller, gentler touch has him leaking all over the rug underneath him. He feels like he’s drowning, and he just wants to go even deeper, like even death won’t be enough. 

He waits for Scully to say anything about Mulder touching him. When she doesn’t, he takes it as permission to reach up and find purchase in his hair. His fingers tingle when they find Scully’s still there, and his whole body shudders and twitches when she links her fingers with his. 

“You want more?” 

It’s depraved, the way they both pull away from the kiss so fast. Dieter’s nodding and looking toward her, her glistening cunt, her smooth skin and her mischievous gaze. 

“Please, Scully,” Mulder mumbles. 

His head lolls back against Scully’s thigh so he can look up at her. He looks like he’s just run a marathon, the way sweat is beading at his forehead and his chest is heaving. 

“Yes, please, Agent Scully.”

She chuckles. The sound is torture and it’s bliss. She ruffles Dieter’s hair and he hums and leans into it. Mulder whimpers at the lack of attention, so she ruffles his too. 

And then she spreads her thighs even wider, like, gymnast levels of flexibility, and both of their eyes are drawn to the way her lips spread open in invitation, puffy red, her clit all swollen while she drips onto the old comforter under her.

“Think you can share?”

Dieter curses. Mulder whimpers against her thigh.

“Play nice, boys.”

Mulder looks at him with a heated gaze that makes him a little bit scared but really really horny.

“Yes ma’am,” Dieter says, but he’s staring at Mulder. 

Be good, he’s trying to tell him through telepathy, we’ll get rewarded if you’re just good.

Mulder glances up at her, bats his pretty little eyes, and licks his slick lips. 

“Yes ma’am.”

It sounds more teasing than anything, but Dieter doesn’t miss the way she squirms when Mulder says it. He just has that effect, doesn’t he? Such a charming little shit. 

He and Dieter look at each other, assessing, when Mulder finally goes low. It’s a little bit awkward, at first. Dieter’s jaw prods at Mulder’s sharp cheekbone as they find a good position. 

He traces around her clit with a pointed tongue, delicately, so eager to work her up. He can hear Mulder’s tongue fucking in and out of her, a wet cacophony of sounds that make his ears ring. So much so that he nearly doesn’t catch the sounds of Scully’s breath hitching, her soft little mewls as her hips cant up into their faces. 

He’s hyper focused on her pleasure, so lost in it that he doesn’t even recognize how turned on he is until a heavy, warm hand wraps around his cock and he nearly blows his load. His tongue presses broadly against Scully’s clit when he groans. She curses and her hand tightens in his hair and it’s so much. 

He reaches out for anything, really, but Mulder’s cock is there, hard and proud and twitching when he wraps his hand around him. He finds solace in the fact that he’s leaking just as much as Dieter is, sticky and slick all the way down the underside of his shaft. His noises get breathier, and his tongue seeks higher ground just as Dieter’s travels lower. They lap at her folds together, briefly, trapping them between their tongues, trading their tastes as she whines above them. Dieter doesn’t even realize his free hand has grasped Scully’s slender hip until she squirms against it. 

All of a sudden, Dieter feels her go stiff under his grasp. Her hand tightens in his hair just shy of enough to make him lose it. She lets out stuttered little sounds and Mulder hums below him. 

“You like that, Scully?”

“Oh my god, Mulder.”

He groans and shifts and she begs and Dieter’s aroused haze clears enough to make him realize that he’s eating her ass. 

He makes a pained sound himself and sucks Scully’s throbbing clit into his mouth. She shakes, and her stiff body loosens just enough for her to roll her hips into them. 

“Don’t— don’t stop, I’m so close. I’m gonna come.”

Neither of them would dream of stopping, not for anything. Dieter works his tongue in pulses against her clit as he suckles, and he feels Mulder slip a finger in between them just as she cries out, loud, and falls apart against their tongues. 

Dieter drinks up the way her clit jerks and pulses between his lips. He drinks up her gasps and breathy noises. He drinks up the way Mulder’s cock mirrors his own, twitching with pure arousal at the way she’s coming just for them.

They’re both humming satisfied sounds as they work her through it. Their hands on each other’s cocks have stilled completely, just a loose grasp as they coax every last bit of pleasure out of her until she’s lax and shying away from them. 

Dieter pulls away first. He watches with a sticky feeling in his chest at the way Mulder kisses her holes gently, and the skin around them, nuzzling between her thighs so tenderly. Both his hands free, now, Mulder soothes them up the outside of her thighs as they tremble in her aftershocks. 

Mulder’s babbling, Dieter realizes, once the ringing in his ears finally subsides. Just under his breath, a chant, over and over.

“So perfect, Scully, thank you, thank you, Jesus Christ, Scully…”

Dieter settles back on his heels to keep gazing at them. Scully’s hands both pet through his hair as he leaves wet kisses that make her pale thighs glisten in the dim cabin lighting. He’s panting harder than she is, and his prick dribbles and twitches, and he looks up at her through misty eyes. 

“Oh, Mulder,” she sighs.

She bends down at the same time he arches up and their lips meet in a kiss so blindingly passionate that Dieter debates whether or not he should look away. Only for a split second though. Because Scully moans into his mouth and licks herself out of it and Dieter grabs his throbbing dick at the base to chill himself out. 

Mulder’s fingers run through her damp hair so gently, but his jaw works and his mouth takes from her in stark contrast. They look so goddamn good together, it’s insane. He’s torn between holding off to see how this plays out, or coming all over himself in three strokes or less as he watches them together. 

“Come up here, Mulder.”

Her voice is intoxicating, it sounds so fucked out and blissful. She shuffles up the bed some and Mulder chases her, always touching at some point, until she’s lying back and he’s covering her body with his own. 

He dwarfs her. It’s cute, in the show, the way she’s always looking up at him with a craned neck. Now, it’s just filthy, how Mulder’s cock looks so fucking huge lying hard against her small frame. The way he has to scrunch himself up to kiss her so his prick doesn’t go anywhere it’s not supposed to, yet. The way her tiny feet rub up and down Mulder’s calves, only half their size. 

The way his hand eclipses her face when he cradles it and pulls away. How his thumb sweeps so easily from her lips to her cheekbone as he sighs. 

“Scully…”

She hums and closes her eyes and smiles, a sated and relieved grin that makes her look so serenely beautiful. 

“I know, Mulder,” she sighs, “me too.”

Dieter huffs. Chris Carter himself couldn’t have created a more Mulder and Scully-esque love confession. It’s precious. He might cry. 

Unfortunately, the sound makes them both look over. Scully’s all relaxed but Mulder’s hackles are all raised, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Dieter slowly moves his hand away from his leaking cock and feels himself blush from his face down to his nipples. 

He’s caught in their crosshairs, stuck, eerily still and silent. Should he offer to leave? He really doesn’t want to leave. Maybe he can just peek through the keyhole of the door and leave them to it. 

“You too, Dieter,” Scully says, “get up here.”

Relief floods through him and makes his limbs all tingly. He’s nervous as he stands, gently making his way to the side of the bed and settling one knee on, then the other. Mulder shifts to the opposite side of Scully, their legs still tangled, as he watches Dieter with emotion he can’t quite put a name to. 

Dieter practically purrs when he slides right into their space. His cock drags a sticky design onto Scully’s smooth thigh and he apologizes, but she just chuckles and gently scratches her nails along his scalp. 

“Are you both going to be good for me?”

The tone of her voice makes them both shiver. Mulder huffs out a laugh but Dieter gasps as she tugs a little at his messy, sweaty curls. 

“Yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

Dieter’s voice completely betrays him. He’s so turned on. There’s so much blood pumping to his cock that there’s a real and serious threat of him passing out. He hides his face in her shoulder and tries to even out his breathing and not hump her leg like an unruly dog. 

“I’ll be good for you, Scully.”

Mulder sounds a lot more in control. His deep, syrupy voice is just shy of even, only cracking on the second syllable of her name. Dieter feels the way she starts giggling before he hears it, her shoulders jostling with it. 

“You’re going to play by the rules, Mulder?”

He chuckles and it sounds dark, and Dieter opens his eyes to watch him smirk that irresistible smirk. 

“Hell, Scully, I’d write the rules over and over on the chalkboard to keep this going.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but she’s still grinning. His eyes flicker to her lips and there’s no hesitation this time when they kiss again. It’s tame and loose, until Scully wraps her dainty hand around his cock and he groans. Dieter matches his sound, and he just can’t help it, he rolls his hips into Scully’s thigh as he watches Mulder melt into a puddle against her. She bites at his plush bottom lip before she pulls back. 

“Fuck me, then.”

“Jesus,” they both say in unison. 

Scully bites her lip to keep in her giggles and it’s cute and debauched and insane. She’s insane. She’s going to kill them both, and Dieter’s going to return to his reality with 8 less seasons of The X-Files, and a season finale where Scully gets locked up for double homicide.

Mulder shuffles to straddle her. Dieter watches his heavy eyelids flutter and his jaw hang open and knows he likely looks the same. His cock twitches heavily where it hangs below him, and Scully teases the underside of it with her fingertips. He shivers, and so does Dieter, where he rocks his hips gently into Scully’s smooth skin. 

“You’re sure, Scully?” 

Dieter turns away and hides his heated face in the duvet. It’s too tender and raw and he doesn’t deserve to watch them love each other like this. 

“Positive, Mulder.”

He hears them kissing, wet, smacking sounds that give Dieter goosebumps. And then a whimper, a huff, muffled into Scully’s mouth and he drags his face away from its hiding spot. 

Mulder’s inching inside of her slowly, so slowly, with patience Dieter couldn’t even dream of. He cranes his neck to watch her take him, inch by inch. She looks so tight, and he bets she is, if the way Mulder’s eyes are squeezed shut is any indication.

Scully’s head tips back and breaks their kiss. Her eyes roll into the back of her head before she closes them. Her chest is heaving now with shallow breaths, her nipples taut and inviting.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. 

Mulder’s hips stay flush once he’s all the way in and he pants too. It looks like it takes all the strength he has to just flutter his eyes open and look down at her. His brows furrow and he licks his lips and gasps. 

“Scully,” he whines. 

She smirks, and christ, Dieter knows she’s clenching around him like a menace. Poor Mulder. He’s got the restraint of a god, he thinks, Dieter wouldn’t have made it even halfway inside of her. 

She soothes him by brushing the hair from his forehead, all damp with sweat. She does the same to Dieter and he hums as her fingertips massage his scalp. 

Mulder pulls out just as slowly as he entered her. She‘s soaked. He can hear it so well in the stilted silence of the room. When he pushes back in, she sighs and tightens her fist in Dieter’s hair and he needs something. He rocks against her again, and again, and the steady friction makes him gasp. 

Her hand slides down to the back of his neck and guides him to her breast. His cock throbs, deliciously trapped between his stomach and her silky skin. His tongue tests the waters, swirling around the pronounced peak of her nipple. When she sighs and arches into it, he takes it into his mouth and sucks. 

The noises she’s making are perfect. High pitched, breathy, needy. She’s letting herself go to Dieter and Mulder and it’s gorgeous. He presses his cock against her even harder and closes his eyes and whines around the bud in his mouth. 

Mulder’s starting to pick up the pace. Dieter can tell by the way her breast is jiggling just slightly under his mouth. And the sounds, god, the filthy slick sounds coming from her cunt. He’s leaking all over her just thinking about what it must feel like, how snugly Mulder must fit inside of her, how warm it is. 

As if Mulder could read his mind, he gasps out and his hips stutter against her. 

“It’s so good, Scully.”

Scully arches her back to grind down onto him and moans his name and tells him she needs more and Dieter bites down on her tender skin. 

She jolts and tugs his hair and curses and he looks up at her as he soothes it with his tongue. 

She’s the poster girl of pleasure. Her face is twisted with it, every beautiful feature dripping with tension. The length of her neck is so apparent with her head thrown back, and her skin is pink and looks hot to the touch. She begins to bounce when Mulder fucks her faster and harder. Dieter wants to do something, anything to make her feel good. 

He replaces his mouth with his hand, squeezing her flesh and teasing her nipple with his fingertips. He trails kisses up her chest, little love bites and suction until he reaches just below her ear. Her pulse is fluttering rapidly under his tongue, and she keens just as she turns her head and presses their lips together. 

They’re kissing. He’s kissing Scully. Oh god, her lips are so fucking soft against his. Her tongue ripples in his mouth and it tastes so good, minty with a hint of her arousal straight from Mulder’s lips. He whines and rolls his hips against her like he’s in heat, and he’s so close, and he wonders if she’d be mad if he came all over her warm, smooth, freshly showered skin. 

She jolts against him, against them, and bites down on Dieter’s lip with an almost pained noise. She turns away from Dieter and they both look to Mulder, who’s circling her puffy clit with his thumb as he fucks her. 

He’s looking to her for direction with a glazed expression. He looks like he’s hanging by a thread. 

“Here,” she whispers, and takes two of her fingers into her own mouth. 

Christ. The way her lips look wrapped around her two digits is sinful and debauched. Mulder must think the same, because he grabs her wrist and makes her stop. 

Dieter holds his breath as he waits for his next move. Is he going to pin her arms to the bed? Is he going to stretch them over her head and make her squirm on his cock, make her beg? 

It’s sweeter than that. Of course it is, with these two. Mulder brings her hand to his lips and kisses her palm, and then her knuckles. She sighs his name, and watches Mulder smile.

That soft, dopey smile gets an edge to it. 

“Let me, please,” he whispers. 

Dieter only gets the chance to be confused for half a second when he slips those two fingers into his own mouth. 

Scully gasps and moans and wiggles against him. Fuck, it’s beautiful. Mulder’s full lips take her all the way to the last knuckle and he hollows his cheeks as he sucks them. Scully’s hips squirm and rock and the way she moves against him is a sight. Mulder groans when Scully begins to thrust her fingers in and out, just a little, not enough to choke him but enough to make him close his eyes and sigh and start slowly fucking her again. 

They leave his mouth all wet and shiny. Mulder’s tongue tries to follow them and it makes Scully huff out a weak laugh. 

“You’re too good at that, Mulder.”

He hums, tries to hide his sheepish smile by ducking his head. But Scully grips his chin with her wet fingers to prevent it. His eyes struggle to focus on her, Dieter notices. He can’t blame him, it’s like staring into the sun. 

“Why don’t you show off to your little time traveler, huh?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. His eyes dart nervously from Scully to Dieter. 

“I— what?”

“Don’t be dense. Make him come. Make me come. You can multitask, can’t you?”

Dieter lies as still as the dead, afraid that if he moves maybe Mulder will snap out of this horny daze and tell him to get lost. He wouldn’t blame him one bit, either, but god he really wants to see this man’s lips wrapped around his cock. 

Scully chuckles at Mulder’s frozen stature. Or maybe she’s chuckling at the way Dieter’s heartbeat is pulsing through his dick against her thigh, dribbling all over it. 

“I bet you’re so good at it,” she continues to tease him, “with these pretty lips?” 

Mulder huffs and squirms when she rubs the pads of her wet fingers against his mouth. His tongue peeks out to taste them, coax them back inside him, but she doesn’t let him. 

“For me, Mulder?”

And Dieter can’t help but grin, because he’s never seen such a visceral loss of resolve so clearly before. Mulder closes his eyes and whines and nods his head. 

Scully makes a satisfied little noise, and her free hand sneaks down to squeeze Dieter’s slick cock, and he has to bite his own lip really hard to keep from losing it before the fun even begins. 

Then there’s some awkward repositioning and shuffling, mostly on his end. He kneels just above Scully’s head, and when he looks down she’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat from under his cock. He has to reach down to collect some of the pre-cum oozing out of him to keep it from dripping onto her gorgeous face, but she grabs his wrist and licks it from his fingers anyway. 

And then there’s Mulder, who’s slowly thrusting in and out of his partner like it’s second-nature, like auto-pilot, as he surveys the scene in front of him. 

“Mulder,” Scully mumbles. 

The deep, breathy, commanding tone of her voice makes Dieter shiver. 

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Make us come. Then you can.”

He groans, and his hips stutter then slam into her. Dieter’s torn between looking at the blissed-out look on Mulder’s face or the mischievous look in Scully’s eyes. 

“Are you— are you sure?” Dieter asks. 

Like an idiot, looking a gift horse in the mouth. But how can he not? They’re so perfect, so made for each other, and he’s just some weird fucking guy. 

But then Mulder’s expression turns into something darker, determined, and he nods with glassy eyes. 

“C’mon, McFly.”

And that’s all the encouragement Dieter needs, really. He widens his knees to line his cock up with those shiny, plush lips. Mulder gives Scully one last glance before he’s craning his neck forward and closing his eyes. 

Scully and Dieter gasp at precisely the same time, just as Mulder’s tongue swipes at his frenulum. Dieter’s eyes lose focus as he watches Mulder open his mouth wider, then looks past to see Scully’s icy blue gaze fixated on everything going on above her. It’s like an erotic kaleidoscope, the way they’re all blending together in pleasure. 

He suckles on Dieter’s head, a little too hard, but he thinks it might be on purpose. He hisses and grabs Mulder’s hair in one clammy, shaking hand. His tongue works the underside of his cock as he fits more into his mouth, and Scully was right, he is way too good at this. 

Scully curses under them, and only then does Dieter notice she’s touching herself as Mulder keeps pumping into her with a shaky, stilted rhythm. 

“So good, Mulder.”

His responding moan turns into a whimper as Dieter’s prick slides across the back of his tongue and hits his throat. 

“Fuck, yeah, so good,” Dieter agrees. 

It’s more than good. It’s incredible, unbelievable. He watches Mulder’s shiny, puffy lips wrapped around him, so in awe of how gorgeous he is. His pretty eyes are closed, half concentration and half bliss as he slides in and out of Scully’s dripping cunt. 

It takes him a while to find a rhythm that works, but when he finds his groove he fucking finds it. Of course he’d be good at this, too. He fucks in and out of Scully once, twice, and then sinks his mouth down as far as he can on Dieter’s cock (all the fucking way— Jesus christ) and holds there while he pumps in and out of her some more. 

And Dieter’s so, so torn. He wants to be good for Scully, wants to challenge Mulder for her and keep up the show. He wants to hang on so she can crumble as she watches her partner taking and receiving so perfectly at the same time.

But he wants to be good for Mulder too. He wants to come in his mouth and give him the satisfaction of satisfying. He wants to let Mulder prove to Scully how good he is, let him make them both come and writhe under his skill and rapt attention. 

And it’s like Scully can sense it. With her free hand, she reaches up and cups his balls. It makes his fucking toes curl, makes him cry out her name and slam his eyes shut to stave it off. He’s being tagged teamed by the objects of some of his earliest sexual fantasies and it takes him biting his lip so hard he draws blood to keep it together. 

He realizes the noises he’s making are borderline embarrassing. He’s mewling and gasping and whimpering as she squeezes and strokes, as her fingers meet Mulder’s lips every time he takes him deep. He’s shaking with the effort it takes to not fuck Mulder’s mouth. And he’s sweating, and he hopes to god it doesn’t start to trickle down and land on Scully’s blissed-out face.

And then it doesn’t much matter, because those dainty fingers and well-kept nails travel back, across his taint, and press. 

“I can’t— I can’t, oh my god.”

Mulder hums around his cock in an echo of the noise Scully makes under him. He’s teetering on the edge, tensed up, out of his mind as Scully massages that spot and Mulder swirls his tongue around the head of his cock. 

And in sync, like they always are, in a way that takes him completely off guard but should be absolutely predictable, they unravel him. 

Mulder takes him down his throat and swallows, and the pad of one of Scully’s fingers taps his entrance, and he’s done. 

He might scream, if he’s being honest. There was never any hope for a warning, the way they ganged up to play him like a fucking fiddle. Mulder groans as the first explosive spurt of Dieter’s cum shoots down his throat. He pulls back as Dieter continues to spill with each spasm of his muscles, as he tries but fails to suck Scully’s finger up inside him. He writhes and curses and clenches Mulder’s hair a little too tight as he works through his orgasm. 

Mulder dutifully collects every last drop, extremely intent on keeping it from spilling down across Scully’s face. He is such a good boy for her. Mulder whimpers when she tells him so in her breathy, sexy way she does. His hips stutter inside of her just as Dieter slips from his swollen lips. 

He doesn’t get reprieve yet, though. Mulder’s long, lean body arches up, and his arm reaches to grab a fist full of Dieter’s hair and tug and oh, god, he might just come again.

Their lips crash together, and before Dieter can think of how metallic the taste is, Mulder’s pushing his own load into his mouth forcefully. Dieter takes it all, sucks it down and swallows as he pants against Mulder’s mouth. 

Then he thanks him, and he thanks Scully, over and over with baited breath until he collapses to the side of them, completely spent and overstimulated. 

“You did so good,” he hears Scully say. 

Only she’s not talking to him. 

She’s got both her hands on Mulder’s face. Her lips just brushing against his own as she whispers. He watches her hike her legs up to wrap around Mulder’s waist, watches Mulder sag into her so he’s plastered against her front. 

“Scully,” Mulder whines. 

“Harder, Mulder. Make me come.”

He kisses her one last time before he buries his face in her neck and obeys, pulling nearly all the way out of her before driving back in. She’s really vocal now, now that she has Mulder’s undivided attention, now that he can focus on fucking her steadily and deep and fast.

Her head is thrown back and she looks so fucking beautiful. Mulder should be looking at her, shouldn’t miss a moment of the way she looks as he’s making her fall apart. But Dieter can’t blame him, or the concentrated, almost pained look he has on his face that’s just peeking out under her chin. 

It’s crazy how she seems to be fucking him from under all his weight, but she’s doing exactly that. Her toned legs pull him into her, her hips arching to meet his, so frantic and hot. One of her hands is leaving red marks down his back and the other one is petting through his hair, scraping his scalp and pulling so many gorgeous noises from him. 

Dieter couldn’t look away if he tried. His spent cock is twitching, trying it’s damndest to steal what little blood is left in his brain. He wants to help them along, maybe take Scully’s nipple into his mouth, but they’re both crushed under Mulder’s body in a way Dieter’s extremely jealous of. He could touch Mulder, could grab his pert little asscheek and squeeze. But he resigns to the sidelines instead, lets them share this intimate moment with only the intrusion of his eyes and heavy breathing. 

It’s over pretty quickly, anyway. Mulder starts babbling again, a great fucking look on him, there where he’s hidden in the pale crook of her neck. 

“Please, Scully. Come for me— I wanna make you come. I wanna be good, let me make you feel good.”

And she’s grinding her hips up as her back arches off the bed, no doubt catching her swollen clit on that enticing patch of wiry curls above his prick. She’s panting and gasping and then she’s shouting.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, Mulder, oh my god! So good, good boy— I’m gonna come—”

And she does. Beautifully. She tenses up and then she shakes, convulsing under him, around him. She moans and mumbles through it, with her eyes shut tight and her cute little nose all scrunched and her mouth hanging open. 

It’s so beautiful that she outshines Mulder. Dieter barely even catches his groans, the curses under his breath as his hips stutter and grind into her. They both ride it out for a while, it’s like it’s never going to end. They writhe against each other and Mulder’s panting into her mouth as she tries her best to kiss his open lips. Their rhythm takes forever to slow, and even longer to come to a stop. 

It’s better than anything Dieter ever could have imagined. He’s already half hard again, just watching them be together, and that fact only makes him want to leave, disappear, let them play this out without some stranger in their bed. 

But christ he wants to stay and watch just as bad. 

Their eyes flutter open at the same time, and the smiles on their faces are as nauseating as they are precious. Scully looks like the cat that got the cream, and Mulder has the audacity to look sheepish. 

“I uh—” Mulder’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat, “I didn’t pull out.”

Scully giggles. 

“I noticed.”

He huffs, and she smooths his sweaty hair from his forehead.

“I’m on the pill.”

Mulder sighs. 

“That’s— that’s good.”

Idiots, Dieter thinks. The situational irony is off the charts. His huff alerts them both, snaps them out of their little bubble to look over at him. 

He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes to mind. Scully gives him an amused little smirk and reaches over to pet his hair. 

“You were so good,” she muses. 

He shivers at her words and her fucked-out gaze. 

Mulder shifts on top of her, and they both gasp a little noise when he slips out of her, but they’re both focused on him. 

Mulder looks him up and down and for a moment he isn’t sure if he’s about to kick him out of bed or kiss him within an inch of his life. 

He does neither, it turns out. Instead he holds the side of Dieter’s face in his big, sweaty palm and it’s so soothing that he closes his eyes and leans into it. His thumb strokes Dieter’s cheek while Scully plays with his hair and he could die happy here. 

“Yeah man, thank you. That was good— you were good.”

Dieter’s eyes open wide at that. They’re both looking at him with fondness— appreciation. His chest swells with a heavy feeling just as his eyes begin to sting. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

He just barely catches the confused looks on their faces before he hides his own, rolling over into his stomach to let his pitiful tears fall into the blanket below him. Scully ruffles his hair with a sympathetic coo and Mulder pats him on the back of his heated neck before he hears rustling and feels the bed shift. 

“Oh my god.”

Scully’s voice sounds horrified. For a quick moment, his tiny little pea brain thinks of Queequeg— is he alright, did he get out while they were occupied?

“What the hell?”

Mulder’s voice sounds much more amused. 

Confused, Dieter wipes his wet eyes in what he hopes is an inconspicuous move before he looks over his shoulder at them.

Scully and Mulder are both standing at the foot of the bed, looking equal parts mortified and puzzled. And they’re staring at Dieter’s bare ass. 

His bare ass that he now remembers is tattooed. Tattooed with Mulder and Scully’s face on each cheek, respectively. 

“Oh, ha— yeah. Maybe that could have proved it faster?”

His face feels hot. He’s had these asscheek tattoos for so long he sometimes forgets about them. He was young and drunk and high when he got them, but they still hold up. Full color portraits of his favorite FBI agents. 

“What do the words say?” Scully asks. 

Mulder takes one for the team and leans in closer to Dieter’s ass, and he wonders if his blush goes all the way to his buttcheeks. 

“Mine says the truth is out there, and yours says I want to believe.”

Dieter lets out a nervous chuckle and shifts, a little scrutinized, a little embarrassed, a little bit turned on at the way Mulder’s gaze settles over his body.

“When did you get these?”

“1998, right after the movie came out.”

“There’s a movie?”

“Two, actually.”

Scully shakes her head and looks from Mulder to Dieter’s butt, back and forth a few times. 

“I’ll give you this one, Mulder. Only because there’s no lake monster for you to boast about.”

Mulder preens, a satisfied smirk settling on his handsome face. 

“Finally,” he and Dieter say at the exact same time. 

She rolls her eyes. 

“Brag about it in the morning. I’m tired— and my bed’s clean,” she throws her voice over her shoulder as she leaves the room. 

Dieter stays put. His ankles roll around in an attempt to hide his hesitation. He stares at the empty doorway and avoids Mulder’s lanky form. 

“You coming, Doc Brown?”

He’d be stupid not to follow like an eager pup. 

They all nestle into Scully’s bed. She’s in the middle, wrapped up in blankets, and the guys take either side of her. Dieter rests his head on her naked breast as she kisses Mulder goodnight, as Mulder’s fingers intertwine with his own over her smooth stomach. Their pillow talk lulls him to sleep and he goes to bed happy for the first time in years.

He wakes up alone, on his couch, in his own clothes, with his face smashed against his open laptop. 

A dream. It must have all been a crazy, weed and hormone induced dream. Best dream he’s ever had. He sighs, scratches his head and takes in his surroundings. 

Everything’s normal, exactly how he left it. Except, when he moves to his bedroom to mourn the loss of the day he never had, he sees a red and white trucker’s hat on his nightstand. 

Show us your bobbers

[4urvalidation]

A CASE OF LIMERENCE | Chapter Thirteen

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A/N: Phew! Well - this is a long one. Mainly because I went insane and decided to put two chapters into one instead of splitting them like I originally planned on doing. Anyways what's done is done and what I've done is.... well - a mess. Incredibly proud of how everything turned out obviously, but things got messy in ways only a summer finale could do.

Hope y'all enjoy.

That being said, I'm going on a work trip in a little over six hours. My flight is in the early hours of the morning and doing what I do, I'm not sure just how much free time I'd have to write. I will be taking my notebook with me, just so I can jot down ideas for future scenes and dialogues whenever I can, but I don't believe any actual writing will be done. At least not until after I come back.

I'll still try my best to remain as active as possible on here. Relax reading fanfics and looking at pretty pictures as well as chatting with y'all - that is, if you'd be into that. I'd love to get to know my readers more; see what they think of ACOL so far (forever grateful to the anon who gave it this nickname) and whether they have any questions, ideas for future works or just in general.

Okay. Tuning out now because this author's note has gotten as long as this chapter. Love y'all. Thank you for reading the shit I put out.

T/W: I'm gonna be fully transparent, the smut part of this gets DARK - I'm talking borderline DUBCON so please read at your own risk. And ofc MDNI!!!!!

Mentions and slight graphic descriptions of vomiting, as well as violent unruly behavior; alcohol, drugs; sexting, implied masturbation, graphic sexual content (grinding, dirty talk, slight choking). Characters being horny and fantasizing about weird questionable things because of it.

Three am and Leni can barely fall asleep. Her mind is restless, constantly reminding her of the texts Rafe has sent her. The mysterious contents of the voice message. And the photo. Fuck, the photo - it’s the thing that’s torturing her the most; forces her entire being to itch with curiosity and robs her of much needed shuteye. Weary and frustrated, she tosses and turns - annoyed at herself for not letting Cleo sleep well, but judging by the soft sound of her even softer snoring, her friend seems to be having a good enough rest for the both of them. 

Her phone lights up just then - illuminating half of the pitch dark room and grabbing Leni’s attention for god knows what time in the past couple of hours, but unlike all those other times before, now she reaches for it immediately. 

The bright screen burns her eyes. 

A text from JJ.

Tons of texts from JJ. 

Sweet, caring and considerate JJ.

Who looks after her.

Who never has and never will do anything to scare her. 

And yet, her entire being aches to find out what Rafe said in that voice message. 

Suddenly exasperated, she storms to the bathroom, back pressed against the tightly closed door; the tips of her fingers prickling as she finally opens his text.

Leni’s throat goes dry. 

Her heart raging against her brittle ribcage. 

Swallowing, she presses play. 

“Fuck… Leni… don’t you dare ignore me again… please… baby… don’t do this to me… don’t send me shit like that and ignore me… let me make you feel good…” The sound of his rough, bated breath vibrates through the speakers of her phone and straight into her ear. Her heartbeat quickens at the rasp in his voice; the way he’s so obviously struggling… Probably - no - most likely touching himself over the fabric of those grey sweatpants. Desperate. Needy. Aching. 

Now he knows how Leni’s felt all along. 

She exhales. 

The thought of Rafe being driven mad by lust makes her weak in the knees. The thought that she’s the reason why he’s sending her all of these intense borderline whiney texts forces her legs to give out and before she knows it, Leni finds herself sliding down the door and falling straight onto the cold tiled floor. 

She presses play. 

Again and again and again. 

Closes her eyes. 

In her mind, a half naked Rafe is straining against stark white rumpled sheets; one hand clenched tightly around his phone while the other runs over his face before slowly moving towards-

No. 

With a slight quiver in her knees, Leni pushes herself off the floor. 

She’s done. 

She’s done with this.

She’s done with him.

And then her finger finds the button again. When she’s finally had her fix, Leni notices there’s a brand new message waiting for her on the bottom of the screen.

She swallows. 

That’s not true.

The only person Leni has ever enjoyed torturing is herself. But since he seems so desperate for it - there’s nothing more she wants in that moment than to show him what actual torture looks like. To burst out of that stuffy bathroom, put on her skimpiest, tightest, borderline fuck me dress and head on over to Tannyhill where he is desperately waiting for her. 

Yes, she can see it all oh so clearly now. Her dark silhouette standing still in the entrance of his large home; the upstairs bedroom, the one she never dared stepping foot in ever again beckoning her and like under some kind of spell, Leni finds herself walking towards it. An expectant Rafe waits for her inside in the dimly lit room; grey sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips as the sight of her makes that perfectly sculpted chest of his rise quickly. 

“You came.” She hears him exhale. His voice identical to the one from the voice message and he’s getting up now - slowly, slightly - just enough so she can stand there, right between his open legs. Her breath catches when his hand brushes against her bare leg; travelling lightly over her thigh, under the hem of her dress before finally stopping at her hip. 

Rafe sucks in a breath - she’s not wearing any underwear - and he grins: widely, wolfishly; like he wants to fucking eat her alive and there’s nothing more in the world Leni wants than for him to do exactly that, but that’s not what she came here for. 

She climbs on top of him, straddling his lap and he’s barely even touched yet and she’s already soaked in need. Practically dripping down her thigh, she starts riding him; fingers dancing along his chest while his ragged breathing heats the crook of her neck. He starts kissing her; leaves a trail of wet, desperate kisses all along her chest and collar bones as she moves her hips in a tantalizingly slow manner. 

“I want you. I want to be inside you.” His pleading turns her on more than she could ever imagine and Leni realizes she quite likes this version of Rafe. “Please baby, please.” Moaning, she lets him run his hands under her dress; grasping at her skin like he’s holding on for dear life and pushing her body further into his own. 

Groaning, he kisses her lips and it’s such an aggressive sound, she can almost feel it in her throat and she’s throbbing; dripping senselessly over the material of Rafe’s sweatpants but she cannot let him win. Not now. Not when she has him practically eating from her palm. Grinning, Leni pushes Rafe onto the bed. The blue in his eyes has disappeared completely and all she can see now is a pair of pitch black holes and her very own reflection looking back at her.  

“You want me?” She whispers into his ear and feels his fingers dig harder into her flesh. 

“I want you.”

“I don’t believe you.” 

Rafe’s eyes narrow, but then her fingers begin moving down his chest and he almost immediately relaxes. Teasingly, she plays with the hem of his sweatpants; his hard cock straining against the rough material. She grinds her body against it; lets it linger against the place where she wants him the most and then just as she’s about to set him free, Leni stops. 

Slides herself off of him and then finally off the bed. His haunting gaze burns holes in the back of her head and she stops - suddenly eager for one last round of taunting when suddenly, she feels herself being pulled back by her hair. Her body drops onto the mattress with a dull thump; Rafe’s perfect body hovering over her, while his fist is still wrapped tightly around her loose braid. 

“Where are you off to Sweetheart? I don’t remember telling you to leave just yet, did I?” He pushes her harder against the bed; his weight and hardness pressing into her. “Did I Elena?” She swallows, shaking her head. The corners of his lips perk up - forming that leering, shit eating smirk that instead of turning her on, suddenly has Leni recoil in fear.

Rafe moves, brushing his hips against her own and eliciting a moan from her throat that she should’ve swallowed a very long time ago. “You are such a good girl. Such a good fucking girl. I really dunno why you keep trying not to be. Is it cause you like torturing me? Do you like torturing me Elena? Cause two can play that game, but just so you know, I’m a real competitive guy.” He whispers the last sentence directly in her ear and Leni hates the way her body reacts to it. 

She’s on fire, leaking with desire and so needy and desperate for him to fill her in, she’s almost on the verge of tears. “Fuck. You.” The words scratch at her throat, propelling out of her mouth in a sound that can barely be registered as a whisper and Rafe grins; thrusts his hips even harder against her own. 

“Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me that your sweet little cunt doesn’t throb for me. Tell me and I’ll let you go.”

Their eyes meet.

Leni knees him in the stomach, but it doesn’t do anything. 

She kicks him again and again and again, but all it does is make Rafe chuckle and the low, rumbling sound makes the butterflies in the pit of her stomach flutter in fear.

Her breath catches - he’s got his hands pressed against her throat now, choking her and pushing her further deep inside the mattress, “You think it’s that easy? You think leaving me is this fucking easy? Well news flash baby, I make the rules now. I tell you when you get to leave. And if you pull this shit again, next time you wake up, it’ll be with your braid in your cunt!”

Thick, bitter tears cloud her vision, her entire body lurching forward and before she knows it, Leni has spilled her entire guts all over the bathroom floor. Slowly, she drags herself towards the toilet; the entire room echoing the awful, guttural sounds that rip from her throat.

The next time she opens her eyes, Leni’s in her bed again - last night’s thoughts only a horrible product of a very bad dream until she notices the awful taste in her mouth. Every single muscle in her body aches as she pushes herself off the bed. The place where Cleo slept is empty and she searches for her, hoping to find her friend in the bathroom, but all that’s there are remnants of Leni’s shame-filled vomiting session. And that god awful stench. 

She almost throws up again, but decides to suck it up and get rid of it all until Cleo comes back. If she comes back that is, because if Leni were to wake up to a bathroom full of sick, she too would probably be disappearing in the middle of the night.  

Except Cleo is nothing like Leni. 

Not even ten minutes later there she is - coming through the door, her face alight with a smile and her hands full of coffee and pastries. “I see you’re having a busy morning.” She chirps, gaze focused on the mop in Leni’s hands. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry you had to see all of…  this.” “No! I’m sorry! I should’ve been there! I should've been holding your hair back! (“Cle, it’s okay.”) No it’s not! I’m usually a very light sleeper. I genuinely dunno what happened to me last night, like - I slept like a literal corpse.”

The entire room smells like coffee - a nice change from the previous wafting stench she woke up to and her head throbs, from both the wine and ever encompassing guilt that comes from the way she behaved last night. Not to mention all the messages from JJ she willfully ignored and she can see it - him crying to Kie about it; sending a myriad of texts that will most likely be brought up once their shift starts today. 

Maybe she should just end things now – rip the band aid off until the wound hasn’t started festering or whatever. The last thing she wants is for JJ to hate her or have Kie break her back or worse - ruin her friendship with Sarah, Cleo and the others just because she woke up one day and decided to blow up her entire life. 

“What do you wanna do today?” Cleo asks, plopping onto the bed beside her, a half eaten croissant steadily between her fingers. 

“Die.” 

“Oh come on! You didn’t even drink that much!” 

“I know,” Leni groans, the memory of Rafe’s rumbling, borderline needy voice playing in the back of her head like some kind of a broken record. With a lump in her throat, she reaches for a cup of steaming hot coffee; burns her tongue on it and continues, “I did something bad last night.”

Silently, Cleo stares at her; brows raised so high, they’re practically reaching her hairline and that’s when Leni pulls out her phone: Rafe’s messages on full display - raunchy photo and all. She swallows the lump; her gaze steadily focused on her friend; on the way her eyes grow bigger and bigger with each passing second before, “No, no, no - don’t press… play.” 

But it’s too late. 

“Fuck… Leni… don’t you dare ignore me again… please… baby… don’t do this to me… don’t send me shit like that and ignore me… let me make you feel good…”

Leni shuts her eyes in embarrassment. Hides her face in the heels of her palms as Rafe’s labored breathing and rough whining echo across the entire room. 

“Girl.” Cleo sucks in a breath.

“I’m gonna kill myself.” 

“Girl.” 

Their eyes meet. 

Cleo’s brows have now become one with her hair. 

“It’s all I can think about.” 

“Well - let’s get you a distraction then. Let’s go out. Have fun!” 

“I can’t.” Leni cries, “I have work in like two hours.”

“Call in sick! Tell Mr. Carrera you have a migraine or something!” 

That’s not actually a bad idea. 

She texts him almost immediately and as expected his response is cold and lackluster, but Leni really doesn’t fucking care. She hates her job. She hates how bad the tips are and just how much Kie and her dad expect from her. Getting fired would be a blessing, even though she desperately needs the money for that plane ticket back home. 

“So, what are we doing today?” Cleo’s bright smile is contagious. The joy radiating from her face even more so and Leni can’t help but mimic it. 

“Polly invited me to join her and Tess at the Island Club today, but-”

“Oooh, I’ve never been there! Let’s do that.”

Leni grimaces, “I dunno, Cle. Tess and I are not exactly on best terms right now and Polly-” She sighs, memories from the day they spent together shopping on Mainland flashing before her eyes. “She posts everything on her stories. Like, literally everything.” 

“And that’s a problem because?”

“Rafe follows Polly.”

“And?”

“He’s gonna know where I am. And most likely show up.”

The corners of Cleo’s lips tug into a smirk. “Oh yeah, we definitely don’t want that happening now, do we?” 

Another rumbling sigh tears through Leni’s throat. Every single atom in her body aches to see Rafe, but she’s not sure if she’s ready to face him. Not now. Not yet. As a matter of fact, she’s not sure if she ever will be. At least not until her brain stops sticking him in the spot between lust and fear. 

“Look,” Cleo says, taking her hands into her own. “If Rafe shows up and you’re still not feeling it, we’ll just get up and leave.” Leni nods. Her friend is right. She is always so painfully right. “Don’t let this tiny power he has over you control everything you do. If you don’t wanna see him, no one is forcing you to. It’s not like you live with him.” 

Leni’s brows perk up at this. 

She smiles. 

“Speaking of,” She chirps, both out of curiosity and desperate need of a topic change, “How did that happen? You and Pope living together?” 

“Long story.” Cleo groans. “But basically, Terrance - my adoptive dad - and Mr. Heyward are old friends. When I got into ECSU, he offered I stay with his family instead of, y’know, bunk with a bunch of strangers… Which, now that I think about it, is super ironic considering how before that I’d only met Mr. Heyward twice.” 

“And Pope?”

“Pope was… ugh. He was weird and scrawny and even then super obsessed with Kie. I remember him talking my ear off about the dumbest shit like - just silly childish things and…  Okay, do you know he wants to be a coroner? (“What?”) Yeah, he wants to work with dead people when he grows up and he was telling me about it constantly! Day and night, all he talked about was how fascinated he was by it and I was like: this kid is so fucking weird. Anyways, flash forward to last year. I come home from spring break and there he is: shirt unbuttoned, braces off,  gold chain round his neck and I’m like fuck - when did I start having a crush on Pope?”

Leni laughs, “Probably when you realized he got hot.”

“But he wasn’t supposed to get hot! He was supposed to stay scrawny and awkward! Just like he was supposed to be having a crush on me! Not the other way around!” 

“Well, maybe he did.” Leni says innocently and almost immediately, Cleo looks up at her - eyes wide and sparkling. “Think about it - why else would he have spent so much time talking to you about stuff he liked? He was probably trying to impress you, but you were too busy dating cool college boys.” This makes Cleo groan again except this time it’s a far more dramatic one; the kind that has her throw herself against the mountain of pillows and bury her head in them in what can only be described as sheer embarrassment. “But hey - if it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty much in the same boat as you.”

Their eyes meet. 

“Yeah. But like I said - at least you’re not living with him.”

As expected, Tess is giving her the cold shoulder; ignoring her questions and rolling her eyes everytime Leni does something as little as breathing, but at least she’s nice to Cleo. 

“You go to ECSU? No way - that’s where I’m going this fall! What’s your major?” 

“Aviation.” Cleo grins. 

“Shut up! I have my eye on Psychology, but my dad’s pressuring me into doing Sports Management instead.” Tess rolls her eyes, “Wants me to take over the family business once he retires, but I literally don’t give a fuck about sports.” 

“What are you talking about? You’ve literally won the golf state championship two years in a row.” This earns Leni a particularly icy stare from her so-called friend. Slightly defeated, she sighs, turning her attention to Polly, but Polly is too busy taking photos of her cleavage. 

And then she squeals. Slaps Leni’s shoulder so hard it actually stings, “Rafe! Rafe Cameron is here!” Her whispered shouts grab Cleo and Tess’ attention and now, all four of them are watching him saunter towards a deck chair right across from them. Topper’s right there too, but no one seems to be paying attention to him. Well, no one other than Tess. “Wanna go and say hi?” 

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” Tess replies coldly, her gaze suddenly pointed towards Leni. 

“Oh come on! You can’t be mad at him forever!” 

They go back and forth for what feels like ages - Polly with her whining and Tess with her stern headshakes and Leni… Leni is so fucking grateful for her dark shades because all she can do in that very moment is stare at the person she not so long ago swore she didn’t want to see. 

He’s not in his suit today. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of teal colored shorts and a polo that hits the ground as quickly as Leni’s guard does every time she sees him. His skin is golden; practically glistening in the hot July sun and no matter how hard she tries, she simply cannot stop herself from ogling at him. 

“God he’s so hot!” Polly takes the words right out of her mouth, “Why does he have to have a girlfriend?” 

“Girlfriend?” Cleo quickly glances over at Leni, their gazes meeting for a brief fleeting second, before turning back at Polly. 

“Yeah! Didn’t you see? He soft launched her the other day on his story! (“I… don’t follow him.”) Ohmigod, wait! I’ll show you, I took a screenshot.”

“You took a screenshot you psycho?” Tess barks.

“Yes! I had to make sure it wasn’t Sofia!” Polly exclaims all wide eyed and exasperated, before shoving her phone straight in Cleo’s face, “Here, look. She’s even wearing his blazer so they must be serious.” 

Tess rolls her eyes, “You do realize that doesn’t mean shit, right? Topper lets me wear his clothes all the time and still-”

“Won’t leave his girlfriend for you?” The tone in Polly’s voice is uncharacteristically cold. They’re glaring at one another now; the sudden silence between them - violently deafening and feeling like it might go on for ages. “We know, Tess. But this is different.” She turns to Cleo again, that unexpected iciness completely melted away, “Do you think you might know her?” 

Leni feels her friend’s glance pass through her once again, “No. Sorry.” 

“What would happen if I start telling people it’s me?” Polly chirps, sticking her tongue out, “Do y’all think that maybe then Rafe will finally text me back?”

“Yeah, with a restraining order.” Tess deadpans and Leni can’t hold it in for much longer - she guffaws. Their eyes meet just then and suddenly there’s an appreciative spark dancing behind the gaze of her now maybe-friend.

She can feel the weight of Rafe’s persistent stare even through those dark shades of his. It’s distracting; borderline bothersome and she can’t help but wonder whether others can sense it too. If Cleo, who never in her life has given two shits about him can, Tess and Polly certainly will, but the latter would most likely think all that gazing is meant for her. 

Leni sighs, slumping further into her deck chair and doing her best to ignore Rafe while the trio next to her chatter about nothing and everything. She wants to join in on the conversation, she really does, but her head is pounding and she’s far too hungover to be basking in the sun like this. Her phone is blowing up: packed with hoards of unread texts from both JJ and Kie and she wishes she could just throw it in the pool and never think about anything ever again. 

Rafe removes his sunglasses - stormy blue eyes blazing straight in her direction and Leni feels her heart skip a beat; the thousand of many he’s caused ever since she’s stepped foot on this godforsaken island and perhaps leaving isn’t such a bad idea after all. 

But what if it is? A trail of shivers run down the parts of her body Rafe’s gaze has lingered onto the most, causing that funny feeling between her thighs to spring up back again. Heart racing, she purses her lips; ignoring the rotating images of daydreams in which he does the most heinous, most godawful things to both her and her sanity and fuck-

Leni stares at the message. Feels a surge of heat rush straight into her face, painting her cheeks rosy red and making her heart beat faster than before. She tries not to let his empty words get into her head; tries to keep them away from erasing every bad thing she has ever heard about him. Tries not to fool herself into thinking he’s worth it. But then she looks at him; sees the way the corners of his lips perk into a small, gentle smile; those stormy blue eyes and wide perfect shoulders and… melts. 

Fuck. 

Her chest feels heavy; heart rabid and she turns - swiftly and in one single movement, plops herself down on her stomach. Away from the distractions. Away from Rafe’s gorgeous, sullen gaze…

She types and deletes, types and deletes at least a dozen replies, but simply can’t settle on a final response. It’s a rare thing - having someone leave her completely speechless and yet Rafe seems to be capable of doing it over and over again. 

She sighs. 

Puts her phone away and turns to the side - that way her gaze is now focused on the girls, but every now and then, the corner of her eye catches movement. Him walking around, stretching and slapping Topper’s shoulder. When the chatter dies down, she can hear his laugh - low and rumbling echo in the near distance and her heart predictably skips again. 

“Guys, I’m literally going crazy. He won’t stop staring at me!” Polly says in a whispered squeal. “Should I text him? Or should I just go over there?” 

“Please don’t go over there! Or text him! (“But, Tess!”) Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough? He doesn’t like you. Never has and never will. He just used you for sex. End of discussion.” Tess slams her back against the deck chair, covering her icy glare with a pair of dark designer shades while Polly just sits there, shaking. 

“Used me? You think Rafe used me for sex”? 

“I told you - I’m done having this conversation.”

“Why? Cause Topper does the same thing?” The uncharacteristic chill in Polly’s voice has returned, prompting a confused glance from Cleo and a shrug from Leni. They will talk about this later; tell Sarah all about the explosive fight the two had and gloat quietly, but for now they suffer silently in the awkwardness. “Face it, Tess. What you’re doing is far worse than mine. At least when I fucked Rafe I wasn’t all buddy-buddy with his girlfiend.”

“Ohmigod, how many times do I have to tell you! I am not replacing you with fucking Ruthie!”

“This is not about fucking Ruthie! It’s about you judging me and then doing the same exact things that you judge me for!” 

Tess springs up from her seat, “Pauline, I’m not judging you for sleeping with someone’s boyfriend! I’m judging you for sleeping with Rafe Cameron!” Her whispered shouts rattle in the small space separating their deck chairs, “And yeah, Topper is a piece of shit too, but at least he didn’t kick half his family out on the street! Isn’t that right Leni?” Their eyes meet and a chill runs down Leni’s entire spine. She swallows. “Isn’t that junkie is the reason why Mrs. Cameron is now slumming it in some random shed in Greece?”

What?

Every single drop of Leni’s blood goes cold. The words replay in her head in hopes of making sense, but instead, all they do is lose their meaning as she hears herself repeat the question out loud, “What?” She hears herself croak, a sudden bitterness gathering in the middle of her throat along with a large festering lump. 

“Go on. Enlighten us. Maybe if Polly hears it from your mouth, she’ll finally believe all the things Rafe did to Sarah and Mrs. Cameron when his dad died.” 

“Maybe this is not the right place to do all of… this.” Cleo’s voice echoes and even though she is right there, sitting mere inches away from Leni, for some reason she feels like she’s miles away. 

Leni swallows. 

Rose is in Greece?

She blinks. 

Her left temple is pulsating. 

She feels sick. 

Dizzy. 

“What did he do?” Polly says, quivering. “Leni, what did Rafe do to Sarah and Mrs. C?” 

“He kicked them out, you dumbass! Left them on the street! Froze all of Mrs. C’s bank accounts! She had to ask Jessica for money! Remember?” 

Of course. 

Her eyes meet Tess’. 

Of course Tess would know where Rose has been all along. Her stepmom used to work with her. They were practically attached to the hip. The closest friend Rose has had since Leni’s mom. 

Shaking, Leni jumps from her deck chair. 

How could she forget?

How could she forget that crucial fucking detail?

“Hey,” Cleo’s got her fingers gently pressed against her elbow and when their gazes meet, hers is drowning in concern, “We can leave.” 

“No.” Leni shakes her head, making herself even dizzier and puts on her shorts. “I just… I have a headache. I’m gonna go splash some water on my face.” 

“You want me to come with you?” 

“No, I’ll… I’ll be quick. I promise.” She manages a smile, but that doesn’t wipe away the worry in Cleo’s eyes. “And maybe… maybe then we can leave?” 

With her heart in her throat, Leni sprints towards the closest bathroom; grips the edges of the sink for balance and stares at her pale reflection. She looks ghastly; worse than the cadavers Pope wants to work with when he grows up and there it is again - the bile rising up her throat; that incessant need to vomit all her worries and stress away, except when she tries - nothing comes out. 

She stands there - pulsating with both sweat and panic; fingers numb from all that prickling; knees shaking; throat dry and she feels so stupid. She never should’ve come here. She should’ve listened to her mother and bought that train ticket to Paris and let Rose find someone else to use as a scapegoat. She should’ve been stuffing her mouth with croissants and reading badly written books in parks; head free and empty from Rafe Cameron and those haunting blue eyes of his. 

Yes, not having Sarah around would’ve hurt, but having her so close by and not being able to see her all the time hurts even more. 

Sighing, Leni splashes ice cold water all over her face and neck - letting its chillness sooth her. 

She’s leaving. 

She doesn’t know how and with whose money, but the moment September comes rolling in, Leni is going to board that plane and never ever look back. 

“Hey,” The sound of a familiar, rumbling voice startles her and before she knows it, Leni finds herself face to face with the only person she both wants to avoid and spend the rest of her life with. “Been looking for you.” With her breath catching, she watches the corners of Rafe’s lips tug into an easy smile as he saunters towards her, closing the distance until the only thing separating their bodies is tension. “Grab your stuff. We’re getting outta here.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“You and me.” 

Leni sighs, “Rafe-”

“There’s this really cool place on Mainland. Been meaning to take you there for ages.” She feels the tip of his thumb brush against her hand. His touch sends a shiver across her entire body; causes goosebumps to erupt on every inch of her skin as she stands there, hopelessly drowning in his gaze.  

“You need to stop.” The words tear at her throat. 

“Stop?” Rafe blinks, “Stop what?”

“Stop this.” 

“This?” 

“Yes! This. Whatever you’re trying to make happen here!”

“Whatever I’m trying to make happen here?” He nods, chuckling bitterly, “Last time I checked, you were pretty into this too.” 

“Yeah. I was… And then I found what you’ve done.” 

“What I’ve done?” 

 “Jumping Pope, bringing a gun to a party, blaming Sarah for your dad’s death… kicking Rose out in the street-”

“Look, those other things, especially the way I treated Sarah… I don’t feel good about it. Okay? I’m never gonna feel good about the shit I said and did to my sister, but I’m working on it. I’m working on it with her and I’m working on it in therapy, but Rose… that bitch deserved it.” 

“Don’t call her a bitch!”

“I’m gonna call her whatever the fuck I want, Elena!” Rafe raises his voice, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring. “For all the shit she and my dad put me through for years… for all the beatings she turned a blind eye on… I should’ve done more than just kick her out of Tannyhill. But hey… it’s nice to finally know where your loyalties lay.” 

“Where my-?” Leni scoffs, her distress suddenly replaced with cold, blind rage, “Where my loyalties lay? What the fuck is wrong with you? Of course my loyalties lay with Rose, Rafe! She’s my Godmother! (“Your Go-”) Don’t interrupt me! Don’t you dare interrupt me - cause… cause if you think that a couple of shirtless pics and calling me baby is what’s gonna get me on your side you’re dead wrong!”

Chest heaving, she watches him take a single step backwards and the sudden distance between them is killing her. It shouldn’t be; she’s supposed to revel in it or perhaps even hit the ground running and yet, there she is - standing still with her gaze permanently glued on his slightly parted lips. 

“Okay.” Rafe nods. Runs a hand through his buzzed head and the next time their eyes meet, a flicker of something alien; something borderline desperate flashes across his eyes. “Tell me, then. Tell me what I gotta do to get you on my side.”

Leni’s heart leaps inside her chest. Cartwheels between her ribs and stumbles - breaking a little. She swallows. The thumping in her left temple increases. So does the prickling in her fingertips. 

“I think it’s a little too late for that.” She whispers. 

“No!” Rafe’s voice bellows across the empty hallway, “It’s… It’s not. Ba- Leni, listen. Please.” He closes the distance again, allows for his hands to hover over her arms, waiting for her to push back and when she doesn’t - he touches her. He feels warm against her skin; comforting almost and if this were any other scenario; any other boy Leni would completely allow herself to melt in him. 

But no other boy will ever make her feel the way Rafe Cameron does. 

Never in a million fucking years. 

“I’ll tell you everything, okay? Even the shit those Pogues don’t know about. I’ll tell you everything! Just… please.” 

Leni swallows. Nods. And finally, watches as every single one of Rafe’s defenses begin to crumble right there in front of her. In a matter of seconds he’s somehow managed to turn himself into the awkward scrawny boy she met nine years ago. The one with the messy, greasy bangs and a forehead full of pimples he cleverly hid underneath all that unkempt hair. The bloodied knuckles and fading bruises. The way he never gave her or Sarah the time of day and yet there he was, constantly hovering around them. 

Rafe sighs. 

And then begins. 

He tells her about the bender. About being in such a complete shock over his dad’s death that he spent the days following it with his face pressed against the coffee table, snorting line after line and drowning himself in whatever he could find in Ward’s old liquor cabinet. He tells her about the funeral; about how he barely remembers a thing, except the fight he had with his ex; about the bottle of whiskey he threw right next to her head; about the way it shattered against the wall and had her running away from the house in tears. He tells her about the cheating; the girls and the sex he barely remembers having with any of them. About how he almost ruined his friendship with Topper and how his stupid, erratic behavior made his ex leave without even saying goodbye. 

And then… 

Then Rafe admits to hurting Rose. Admits to pushing her so hard, her entire body slammed against the neighboring wall. “But you gotta understand Leni… she grabbed me. She had her fingers in my hair the same way Ward used to. Yanked my head back so hard, she ripped pieces of it. When I went to help her off the ground, there were clumps of my hair in her fist… kicking her out… it just… it felt like the right thing to do.”

“And the gun? Why the fuck did you bring a gun at the Chateau, Rafe?”

“The Chateau?” 

“John B’s house!”

“Is that what he calls it? Y’know - never mind, I… I actually don’t remember any of it. Sofia had just left me and blocked me from everywhere and I… I just remember doing drugs. Loads of them. And then Sarah was suddenly there yelling at me about doing it in front of Wheezie and I… all I know is next thing I’m waking up at a hospital and my sister and her dumbass boyfriend are hauling my ass to rehab.”   

Leni’s heart skips a beat. 

Wheezie. 

“You did drugs in front of your baby sister?” 

“Leni… I was so fucked up, I…” 

“But you did, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Rafe nods, his entire face basking in shame, “I did.” 

She scoffs, “And you still think Rose had to come up with some bullshit story to drag her away from you? Newsflash Rafe, people don’t need to be told you’re bad news in order to leave you!” The words leave Leni’s lips before she barely has any time to process them. Her callousness startles her, but she’s not the only one.

Right in front of her, just a mere inch away from her, Rafe blinks - looking like he’s just been slapped across the face. Suddenly filled with guilt, Leni says his name; listens as it leaves her mouth in a form of an embarrassing croak and watches as his gaze shifts from hurt to stone cold. 

“Alright.” He dips his head, “What are you waiting for then? Leave.” His breath feels warm against her cheek; sends heat between her unexpectedly quivering thighs and leaves her lingering in his touch. For a brief moment he looks like he’s finally going to let go of her. Either that or she’ll eventually come to her senses and fuck right off, but neither seem to be doing any of that. “But before you do. I’m gonna need you to tell me something.” 

Rafe pulls back, lets his stormy gaze clash forcefully with her own and for the millionth time, Leni’s heart skips a beat. 

“What?” She whispers. Flicks her eyes towards his pink, sexy lips and then back towards those haunting blues. “What do you want me to say?”

“To tell me that you don’t want me.” The sound of his deep, rumbling voice courses through every inch of her body. “Say it, and I’ll leave you alone forever.”

Leni’s breath catches in her throat.  “I don’t…” She swallows, “I don’t want you.” 

For a moment there she thinks her response would elicit a similar reaction to the one he had mere seconds ago, but for some strange reason all her words manage to do in that moment is have a strange flicker pass through Rafe’s suddenly bright blue eyes. 

“Alright.” He nods, finally pulling away from her and she can’t help but notice the slight perk that rises in the corner of his lips. “Call me when you learn how to lie.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

[forlorn-crows]

And You Know That It Takes Two

Rating: E for Explicit

Relationship(s): Copia/Dewdrop

Tags: transitional period between era iv and era v, banter, slice of life, first time, first kiss, handjobs. beta'd AND correctly translated italian!

Words: 3731

Summary: “Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar.

special thanks to @miasmaghoul for beta'ing and @foxybouquet for the italian translations ♡

EDIT: now with ART from the fabulous @noahl-art. merci beaucoup, nono!! find his full artwork here

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

Caro: dear

Stai bene?: (Are) you okay?

Ti piace?: Do you like this?/Does this feel good?

Merdaccia infernale: (roughly) infernal fucking shit. Closest to "unholy shit".

Proprio così: That’s it.

“D’you think Lucifer would want us to have black mass every Saturday?” Dew pokes the wooden arm of Copia’s chair with the toe of his boot. “Shouldn’t we be exercising our sinful wiles instead of listening to you drone on about the Dark One?” 

Copia tugs on a scrap of paper trapped beneath the ghoul’s thigh. “You do plenty of that on your off time, my ghoul,” he teases. He looks over his reading glasses, offering a smirk. Dew can hear the unspoken eh? at the end of his sentence, so much so he can’t help rolling his eyes and smirking back. 

“How would you know, old man?” Dew fires back, flicking the hem of Copia’s trousers with his tail. He leans in closer. Elbows resting on his slightly spread knees until his face is level with the anti-pope’s. “Listening in on your free time?” The fire ghoul smiles wickedly, giving him an obvious once over. He cocks his head and bites his tongue between his teeth, waiting for an answer. 

Copia’s face rosies a bit, but he returns to his chicken scratch. He jots down a few words before he mutters: “I am sure you do not fantasize your Papa spying on you, caro.” 

“Maybe I don’t.” A lie. “Anyway, I think Rain’s loud enough to hear across the fuckin’ abbey. Probably have a soundtrack of water ghoul moans to lull you to sleep every other night,” Dew snickers. 

Copia just shakes his head with an amused sigh and continues taking notes. Little chunks of writing in the margins of photocopies of Latin texts, scrawling in both Italian and English in a little notebook off to the side. Dew’s struck with just how patient this man is, endlessly so. He can get crabby on tour, just like any of them, restless and tired, but he really is kind to him and his pack. 

The fire ghoul hums thoughtfully and returns to his upright position. Leaning back into the circles of bare desk he cleared earlier for his hands. “Do you get tired of putting up with us, Papa?” he asks casually. 

“Dewdrop,” Copia says with a measured tone. He puts his pen down, and his glasses too, looking up at his lead guitarist and steepling his fingers. They’re devoid of gloves, Dew notices in passing, his nails neatly trimmed and his skin smooth and humanly wrinkly. “We have been working together for how many years now?”

Dew shrugs. “A few.”

“Si, quite a few, hm?” Copia agrees. He swivels his chair so his body faces Dew more directly and places a gentle hand on his knee. “Why then, my ghoul, would you think I am ‘putting up with you,’ as you put it?”

“Don’t tell me you actually like us,” Dew says sarcastically. But Copia’s hand is warm on his knee, and he’s trying not to focus too much on how he’s looking at him right now, all soft eyes and a worried crease in his brow. 

“Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar. 

He’s quiet for so long that Copia clears his throat and gives his knee a polite pat before taking his hand away. He makes to go back to his notes, but Dew mourns the loss of his hand immediately. His pen barely touches the pages before the fire ghoul sobers up and inhales sharply. 

“Uh,” he blurts out stupidly, shaking his head and squinting his eyes at Copia. Unsure what to say but determined to say something. “You mean that?” Immediately he wants to crawl back into himself—back into the Pit, even—for sounding so small. Vulnerable. 

“Yes, I do,” Copia says quietly, genuinely. He taps his pen against the paper, little dots of black littering the line beneath his skip this? note. Instead of resuming his annotations, he sets the pen down once more, looking up at the ghoul perched atop his desk. His white eye is suddenly piercing in the lamplight, and he’s looking at him like he can see more than just the ghoul sitting in front of him.

“Well, I guess we’re . . . fond of you too, or whatever you wanna call it,” he mocks, aiming for levity. Dew’s tail flicks, ruffling the hem of Copia’s pants again.

Copia chuckles. “Well, that is good then,” he smiles.

Dew hums. Offers a one-sided smile in return. Easy. He could leave it at that; resume the relaxed banter about sermons and his new duties as Papa while Copia gets increasingly tired and/or annoyed and shoos him away with a chocolate truffle in hand (the ones he keeps stashed in his desk drawer for evenings like this). 

He could. But in the same moment, he decides he’s tired of tip-toeing around the idea of what this man is to him. He wades out into the waters, throwing a line.

“Is that . . . the only thing you feel for us?” he says at length, quieter. He scoots his thigh closer to the anti-pope’s hand. Encouraging him to touch again, if he wants. The sudden heat in his belly hoping he does. He wades a little deeper. “For me?” 

Now it’s Copia’s turn to falter, fingers twitching at the fabric of Dew’s trousers. He looks down at Dew’s thigh, then back up to his face. Searching his copper eyes for something, anything, his thoughts as loud as if Dew were a quintessence ghoul. 

“I . . .” he trails off, a failed start. He clears his throat. “I am, as they say, only human. So there are, perhaps, other . . . things. Si.” 

Dew grabs his hand gently, placing it just above where it was moments ago, confidence building. “Fantasies, maybe?” 

“Dewdrop—”

“For how bold you are on stage, you sure are fuckin’ shy in private, Papa.”

Copia huffs a laugh, moving his hand tentatively along Dew’s thigh. “Eh . . . reserved, maybe. But I don’t know about shy, my ghoul.” He shuffles his chair so he’s situated back between the fire ghoul’s dangling legs. 

Dew smirks. “See? Can call me motherfucker in front of thousands of screaming girls, but it’s my ghoul in here.”

“Ah, but that is the difference. They do not get the privilege of seeing you offstage.” A beat.  “Though, I imagine they would do a lot of things for that privilege,” he mutters. 

Dew bites his tongue in asserting that he is, in fact, a motherfucker offstage too. Instead, he tilts his head so his ashy hair cascades over his shoulder and spreads his legs further, hooking a foot in the arm of Copia’s chair and tugging it closer. He’s baring all of himself now, literally and figuratively. Potentially risking his position, too, if this goes south. 

But by the look on the anti-pope’s face, they’re both too deep to swim back now. 

“And what’re you gonna do with that privilege, Papa?”

“You’re asking?” he deflects, putting the other hand on the opposite thigh.

“If you don’t touch me in the next five seconds, old man, I swear to Satan—”

“Like this?” Copia smooths his hand up the inside of Dew’s thigh, running along the seam of his pants until he reaches where the ghoul’s started to chub up. His breath hitches, head tilting back. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. He looks back down at his hand, tucking chin to chest as he watches those fingers press just so, right where the tip of his dick sits already sticky in his boxers. He bites his lip with a stifled noise.

“Long time we’ve danced around each other, I think,” Copia says. Dew just nods, flexing his hips into his fingers to get more friction. Copia presses more firmly, taking the hint. Drawing a firm line down the ridge of his clothed shaft. 

“Humans and ghouls, well . . .” he trails off, looking up at Dew.

“You’ve thought about it,” he replies simply. 

“Of course. Of course I have, caro. I–” he laughs, shakes his head in disbelief. “I mean, look at you.” He stops himself, color rising to his cheeks. He drops his gaze, focusing back on the hand on Dew’s fly.

The fire ghoul watches him trace a finger around the button before reaching down himself, popping it open. “What about me?” he asks softly, inviting. Shifting his hips again to encourage him to continue. 

“Not just fishing for compliments, I hope,” Copia teases lightly, a little bit of that stage persona shining through as he drags the zipper down.

“That’s not what—hh-oh.” He cuts himself off with a stuttered breath of a moan, Copia’s hand having reached past his fly and into his pants to pet at the dot of wetness sticking his boxers to his tip. The look of pure curiosity—wonder, really—on the man’s face as he feels him up has his stomach flipping. “Fuck, keep doing that.”

“You tell me what you like, my ghoul, and I will do it,” he whispers. 

Dew groans as another bead of precum blurts out into his boxers, wet at just his words. “Keep teasing it,” he breathes. “Shit, see how wet you can get it.” He twitches under Copia’s fingers as he wraps his hand around his clothed cock, thumb swiping back and forth over the head. Firm, but just light enough that it makes Dew keen for more. 

Copia continues the little motions, over and over until Dew’s underwear clings to him, saturated with pre. The friction of it and the intensity of Copia’s gaze on him has him dizzy, wanting. The man’s thumb presses over his slit, and he can’t help his eyes rolling back, thighs twitching towards each other. 

“F-fuck,” he stutters. 

Copia rubs his other hand over Dew’s thigh, soothing. “Stai bene? Good?” 

The fire ghoul nods, hair falling off his shoulders to frame his face. “More than,” he groans. He bites his lip, bucking into Copia’s hand. “Again—do it agai—yes, Satanas, yes.”

The anti-pope presses into his slit again, this time dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridge with even pressure. Humming as he works it back and forth. It’s so sensitive, so instantly overwhelming that Dew has to consciously restrain himself from gouging his claws into the wood. He lets his head drop back, facing the ceiling and biting his lip to stave off the rush of arousal that threatens to make him spill in his pants. 

Below him, Copia sighs. “Beautiful, caro,” he comments. 

Dew half-snorts, half-groans, bringing his chin back down to his chest. “You flatter me,” he says with an eye roll. 

“They say it gets one everywhere, no?” 

“If by ‘everywhere’ you mean ‘in my pants’.”

“If that is where you want me.”

Dew sucks his teeth, scoffs a little in disbelief. Eyebrows twitching upwards when Copia fingers the elastic of his boxers, blunt nails scratching at the peach fuzz on his stomach. He can’t get a grasp on the anti-pope’s tone, switching so fast between charming and soft it makes his head spin. He’s seen both moods separately, of course, fired back his own quips with a silver tongue or begrudgingly accepted praise and a head pat for a productive rehearsal. But having a cocktail of both leaves him with mental whiplash.

The hand making his dick wet probably isn’t helping in that department.

So he nods instead, helping the man shimmy down the waistband of his boxers to snuggle it under his balls, freeing his aching length. Dew hisses at the cool air of the room breezing over the slick-coated head—though, it’s replaced with a puff of hot air when Copia breathes: 

“May I?” 

Dew nods again, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows as a silent duh. Copia chuckles at that, scooting a little closer. He smooths his other hand up the fire ghoul’s thigh, up, up, up until he stops at his hip and rests his palm there, forearm dropping to sit on top of his leg. Dew’s stuck watching its ascent and misses the moment the anti-pope reaches for him, wrapping his fingers gently around the base of his cock and stroking upwards. 

“Lucifer,” he chokes out. He snaps his gaze to where their skin meets and watches his dick kick hard in Copia’s fist, more precum welling up in the slit. 

“Ti piace?” Copia continues to stroke slowly, not immediately translating as earlier. His accent curls around Dew’s eardrums, the Italian twisting with foreignness and short-circuiting his language synapses. He shakes his head, begging the small box of Italian in his brain labeled ‘Papa’s Nonsense Words’ to make sense of the phrase.  

He blinks at Copia’s expectant gaze. “Huh?” he asks eloquently, forcing the word through an embarrassing moan.

“Does this feel good?” he supplies, nodding toward his hand. 

The fire ghoul stares at the man’s hand, now wet with his own slick as it glides up and down. When his brain finally catches up to him, he barks a bewildered laugh. “I’m gonna have to learn more fuckin’ Italian for this,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” Copia laughs too, realizing his little slip-up. Dew’s shoulders shake with his own renewed laughter. Giggles passing between the two as if they were twelve-year-olds who just pulled off a prank on their teacher, not a fifty-something leader of a Satanic church jerking off a near immortal hellbeast turned quasi-human. 

But the shared laughter is familiar. Comforting, in a way. Something to dissolve that final layer of caution that sat like oil on water between them. 

“You are an endless delight, my ghoul,” Copia sighs, huffing out a last chuckle. 

“I’ll give you an endless—uuh-nholy ff–fuck.” Copia runs his thumb over the slit of Dew’s cock, and his sentence is reduced to an eye-rolling moan. He grabs hold of the anti-pope’s forearm that rests on his leg, fingers digging into the muscle as he drools out a fat roll of precum. 

Copia hums and smears it around the head, pulling down the foreskin to rub at the sensitive underside. It’s all the courtesy he’s granted before the man goes back to stroking him in earnest, skirting over the head with each downward pass and tightening around the base when he pulls up.  

Dew grips his forearm tighter, thighs jumping with each tease of his frenulum. “Faster,” he begs. “And tighter. Fuck, feels s’ good.” 

“Merdaccia infernale, are you always so . . .” Copia shakes his head, letting the room fill with the lewd, creamy sounds of Dew’s slick-soaked cock.

“Wet?” Dew supplies as a choked-off noise. “Not al–hah–always. Not since—” his eyes roll back again, too caught in pleasure to be completely coherent. “The–shit–the—” Dew flails his hand in some nonsensical gesture. 

“Si, si.” The man understands without further elaboration that he means his elemental transition. That, despite the effective evaporation of his water, the born-again fire ghoul still carries traits from his original alignment—including dribbling pre like a leaky tap.

But Copia knows, doesn’t need him to explain or elaborate. Just tightens his grip and speeds his hand, looking up at Dew with a gaze that cuts him right down to the core. Intense, yet soft and admiring. Desire flickering just behind that. 

“Shit,” Dew hisses, letting his eyes close fully. Sinking into it. His hips are moving of their own accord now, little twitches that meet each downstroke, just barely fucking into Copia’s fist. It’s so much better than it has right to be, but Dew doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way Copia’s hand feels on his dick, the way his other hand grips his hip, the way his breathing grows heavier and tickles the fine hairs at the base of his dick, how it chills the wetness at the tip only to be warmed by his fingers within the same second. 

“Oh, oh, ohhhh fuck, Papa, fuck.” His pleasure heightens suddenly, the backs of his thighs going pleasantly tingly and his toes curling in his boots. He can feel it starting to build, balls drawing closer to his body with every stroke. 

“Close?” Copia whispers, gripping Dew’s hip tighter and shifting in his chair. He grunts a little, no doubt filled out in his slacks too. Dew can’t confirm from this angle, especially not with the way his vision blurs, doubles even. But he has to be, if his wavering voice is anything to go by. 

Dew throbs at just the idea of his cock straining against his zipper, balls heavy and squished between his thighs as he watches the fire ghoul come apart. Neglecting it as he showers Dew with undivided attention. He’s assaulted with the mental image of Copia in those tight, white pants from his Cardinal days, absolutely everything on display, and he groans. 

He’s shaking now, stomach jumping as his breath starts to quicken. He’s sure his eyes are wild as he looks at the man below him, whining through his teeth as his hand moves faster, faster. Dew watches Copia bite his lip and look down at the movements of his hand, and the sudden fantasy image of that mouth kissing the tip of his cock makes him grip the anti-pope’s forearm until it threatens to bruise, nearly doubling over with the swell of impending orgasm.

Dew needs him. He needs him so badly. 

“Gonna cum—fuck, please,” he moans, breath quickening to shortened gasps. “Kiss me—please, m’ gonna—Papa—” Dew grasps at the man’s shirt collar, pulling at it to get him to stand. Dragging him in by the shoulders and kissing him fiercely, whining when Copia groans into his mouth and pumps him even faster. The scent on him is instantly intoxicating; notes of neroli and patchouli, dull wax from the black patches of makeup, the barest hint of incense smoke underneath. All pressed directly into his nostrils where Dew’s nose smushes against his. 

“Proprio così,” Copia mumbles, encouraging. His other arm loops around to cradle him between the shoulder blades, hand threading through his hair to grasp and hold as he kisses him deeply. That little bit of tension on Dew’s scalp sends a zing of heat right to his dick, and he’s moaning like a whore as he scrabbles at Copia’s shirt, ready to fall over the edge.

“Fucking. Fu–uhh, uh, uhh—” Dew loses all sense of words as he clings to him, mouth dropping open and tongue drooling over Copia’s lips. He cums hard, spilling over his hand with a shuddering groan, bucking into that wet fist until he’s risking sliding off the edge of the desk. He doesn’t, of course, braced and embraced by Copia’s body as he is. 

Dew’s head drops to his shoulder as he rides out the seemingly endless spasms. Far too many for a handy, if he’s being honest. But the anti-pope works him over until he’s milked dry, whispering more words into his hair that he doesn’t understand and rubbing a soothing hand over his back. 

“Shit,” he rasps. After a few more moments he peeks down at his lap—lucid enough now to mind his horns—where his black pants are now streaked with white, Copia’s hand resting on his fly also coated in the stuff. He shakes his head softly and laughs. 

“Got me good, old man.”

“Dewdrop . . .” His tone is pleading, breathless. Dew lifts his head and the hand on his back migrates to the side of his face, caressing softly. He leans into it as he looks at Copia, his face flushed and a look of pure want and adoration in his eyes. “Please, caro.”

He doesn’t need to ask what he needs, eyes flicking down to the tent in his pants and back up again. Dew nods. Moves the hands around Copia’s neck to the back of his head, pulling him in. 

It’s less feverish this time. Softer and slower, but far from chaste. Idly he wonders if any of the others have had him like this: privately in his office, a mere exchange of something fleeting, or hot and heavy in a storage closet after a show, frantic and adrenaline-fueled. 

If any of them have, they’ve never told. He’ll go back to the ghoul wing smelling of him, unless he runs straight to the shower. Douse himself in scalding hot water until he can barely smell himself.

But he won’t. 

Dew slides into the space in front of Copia, ignoring the mess on his dick as he presses close to the man. Licking into his mouth and sliding their tongues together as Copia’s hands start to roam. The fire ghoul slots a thigh between his legs as his palms reach his waist, pressing against his crotch. 

Copia whines in his throat, twisting his fingers into the fabric of Dew’s shirt. He’s hard as steel against his leg, throbbing when Dew presses harder and tugging at him like he could still get closer than he already is. 

“Sit down,” Dew rumbles. He breaks the kiss and holds his gaze as he presses on his shoulders, easing him back into the desk chair. Down, down, down until Dew looms over him. He smirks slightly, confidence and ease returning to him as their positions switch. Running his thumb along the painted upper lip then dragging down to the bare one. 

Wordlessly, the fire ghoul sinks to his knees. Scoots Copia to the edge of his chair so he can spread his legs. He smooths his palms up his thighs, his infernal heat seeping through the trousers. He watches Copia’s face as he pets at him, cupping and rubbing at his cock through the layers of fabric. The man’s chest heaves. Hands gripping the wooden arms of his chair. Exhaling shakily as Dew traces a claw around the button on his fly.

“Allow me,” Dew purrs.

[erinwantstowrite]

Erin I have a question ⁉️

How did you start writing LoF? Like,.not writing it in general, I mean like how did you get—or learned—or studied—all the information regarding the Batfam and their backgrounds, and also about Peter and the Avengers, etc.

Currently, I'm honestly planning on writing a small fiction about Peter ending up in Gotham (You must know your words hold a very dangerous power to inspire) but unfortunately, I don't have the right information to actually START writing it TT_TT. Do you have any tips on how I can start?

(P.S Apologies if this sounds a little confusing, I am not entirely the best at explaining 😞🤞)

There's one person to blame for getting me into DC, and it's @alighterwood

I've always been a fan of Spider-Man. He was my first hero, I wanted to be him soooo bad. I had gotten around to sort of writing my own fic for it with my own version of Peter around last year? (Very much inspired by ITSV, LoF Peter came about because he's his own universe and is based on Spider-Man lore from multiple media versions). I had never thought about writing a Spider-Man fic until ATSV, but at the time I was pretty much dead set on rewriting VLD. I got inspired after rewatching ITSV and then watching ATSV.

But it wasn't until alighterwood got me reading their favorite Batfam fics (specifically Tim) that I started to enjoy Batfam or DC in general.

(My favorite Batfam fic is "The Lone Ranger Never Had to Deal with Bruce Wayne" )

From there I started branching out into learning more about Batfam, what is and isn't fanon, and forming my own opinions. It was a natural progression into "I want my favorite characters to meet each other" and alighterwood's evil genius plan ended up working.

I've read a few comics (mostly the Red Robin series, because Tim was my intro to Batfam so I figured I'd start there) but most of my information?

Wikis, reddits, forums from years (a few of them from decades) ago, my father (who was a Batman fan as a kid) and his friends (my uncles, who were all DC and Marvel nerds), my own friends- basically anything I can get my hands on. If I had a question, it was (probably) answered somewhere, or there was someone else with the same question that made me feel better for not getting it. The internet has a BOATLOAD of information about both Marvel and DC.

It's a LOT of research and note taking, to be honest. I have a physical notebook where I take notes on lore so I don't forget it. I comb through fanon AND canon and I decide from there what I want and what I don't want/what doesn't work and what does work for what I'm writing.

But here's something to keep in mind: at the end of the day, you're not writing FOR anyone else. You're not out to please people who are 100% canon, all the time, nor are you trying to accommodate people who only read fanon material. You're writing for YOU. This part is fun for me, but could be very tedious for other people. I'm a little weird like that (I started writing essays for fun since I learned about them in school).

I like doing research. Like a lot of writers, I go down multiple rabbit holes a day. I start by googling a simple question that should take five minutes and then I see something and go "oh! What's this!?" and pick it up, and the cycle continues when I see something else and eventually remember that I was writing.

I enjoy the research and figuring out the balance. Because DC and Marvel do the same shit with their own works! Shit gets retconned, or they bring characters back from the dead, blah blah blah. The fun part for me IS going insane trying to figure out the Flash Family and their STUPID family tree, or learning about characters that were basically forgotten by everyone- even the writers. The best part is that since it's my fic I'm writing, I can go: "What's the most entertaining way I can use this?" And no one can stop me.

But if YOU don't enjoy that part, and you try to do it, you might lose your spark!! Your inspiration!! You might not have fun, and that's what writing is all about!! My thing is, is that basically every fan interpretation, whether they try to stick to the original source as closely as they can or not, IS FANON. And fanon is fun!!

Basically it all stems down to: it's your sandbox and you can play in there however you want to. And sometimes, people see what you're doing and they're like "Can I play too?" and you're like "Yes that'd be awesome!!"

If you find that you do enjoy the research, I think it's well worth it. It's very satisfying to put together all that work and then get a comment from someone where they say "OMG!! I know that reference!" or "I love this interpretation of this very obscure thing!!"

My advice for writing a Peter in Gotham fic is to know where YOU are starting at, before you start writing your fic. If you're a Spider-Man fan and you don't know much about the Batfam, try reading a comic about them, or find some favorite fics and base your information on that. It works vice-versa, if you know more about Batfam and not a lot about Peter.

Imagine there are two people sitting in front of you. One is a Marvel fan, the other is a DC fan, and they know NOTHING about the other comics. But they both want to hear your story where you have combined them. It's important that you don't lean too much into either side: you keep both of their interest by appreciating the details from both DC and Marvel.

The Marvel fan will be happy to see Peter reacting to a new world and situations, even if they don't know everything you're referencing. But the DC fan will be excited because you care about the place that Peter is interacting with enough to make a joke that maybe only they would get.

So: have fun, explore everywhere you want to, and get a little crazy. Don't worry too much about not knowing everything there is to know. I don't know everything about DC or Marvel either!

[r0syr3a]

Blue fingertips

Kirk Hammett x Reader

Words: 548

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Swearing

Requested by: @luvdenj

Author note: I apologize for disappering and this taking forever to come out, but I hope you guys enjoy.

Kirk was lying on his side at the head of your bed as he wrote in his notebook, as you were sitting at the foot of your bed, watching him. He never let you see his writing until it was finished, but you kept trying to take quick peeks. He noticed your head slightly inching towards his notebook before moving it to face his chest.

"You know the rules, darling. No reading-"

"Until it's done. I know, I know." You cut him off and he laughed.

"Why don't you turn on some music? It's too quiet in here." Kirk asked. You nodded before walking over to your collection of records. You grabbed your copy of "Fear of Music" by Talking Heads and started to play it.

"I don't think I played this one for you yet." You stated as you sat back up on the bed.

"It's no Black Sabbath, but it isn't horrible." Kirk joked at you as he started to write again. You laid down, your head on his legs and your own legs hanging off the edge of your bed.

"Can I at least know what you're writing about? Like what's the inspiration?" You turned your head to look at him and he smiled at you.

"How about I tell you the title? Hmm?" You quickly nodded your head in response.

"Just know, this is not gonna be a Metallica song. This is just gonna be for us." Kirk looked down at you with a smile.

"I don't mind, I just want to know." You whined and he chuckled at you.

"Warm Heart, Cold Skin." He looked down at his notebook again. "Inspired by the most beautiful girl I know. She's always cold to touch but she's the warmest person I know." He slowly turned his face back to yours.

Kirk had asked you out about two months prior and the most common thing he said about you was how old your hands and feet were.

Your face heated up and a smile appeared on your lips. "And who would that be?" You asked, trying to get more information out of him.

He sat up slightly and put a hand over yours. "You're cold again." Was all he said before his eyes went slightly wide and he whispered to himself. "Oh shit."

You look down at your hand and notice the blue fingerprints on the top of your hand before turning to look up at him and bursting out laughing. "Your pen exploded!"

He immediately stood up and went to wash his hands. Thankfully, the only thing that got ink on it was just Kirk. The notebook and bedspreads were in the clear.

"I am so sorry, I didn't notice-" Kirk started to say as he walked in but you quickly cut him off

"It's okay, nothing got stained." You stood up and walked towards him. "My sheets and your notebook are fine, your hands are another story." You giggled as you grabbed his hands. "Blue Boy."

He wrapped his arms around your waist. "Blue Boy and his Little Snowflake." He held you close to his chest and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

You both just stood there for a few moments, wrapped in each other.

"Can you show me the song now?"

[dreamwatch]

Breaking The Law

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #1 - Prompt: Firsts | Word Count: 999 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Eddie | Tags: school shenanigans, Eddie is a little shit, first band name + first gig, two for the price of one! | AO3

****

“Mr Munson, Mr Williams, my office. Now!”

It’s not that he’s not used to being called out in the middle of the hallways of Hawkins Middle School; Eddie’s academic career has not been without drama. But the principal calling him out? That’s not normal. And here’s the thing: he hasn’t done shit wrong lately. The talent show is in a week, and he’s not doing anything to jeapordise that. Wayne’s taking the evening off work and everything. His nose has never been cleaner.

He and Jeff share a look before following Principal McKenna into her office. They’re both clueless, and Jeff is about as cleancut as they come. 

She slaps a piece of paper on to her desk. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Uh,” Eddie starts, but he’s so lost Jeff butts in.

“It’s the sign up sheet for the talent show, ma’am.”

“I’m aware Jeffrey, but I want to know what is the meaning of this.” She points to their entry.

“That’s us,” Eddie grins.

The old bitch glares at him; he wasn’t even being smart-assed! 

“I will not have students performing under this name in this school, do you understand?”

“What’s wrong with the name?” asks Eddie innocently.

“Your band is called Jock Itch, Edward. That’s entirely inapropriate. I will not have that on our posters and I am not announcing students on stage to…” she gestures furiously to the sign up sheet, “that. You have until noon tomorrow to change it, that’s when the posters are printed. If you don’t change it, you’re not playing.”

“What?!” wails Eddie. “That’s not fair!”

“Don’t push me, Mr Munson.” She gives them both another firm stare. “And I want to know what song you’re performing. It needs my approval. You’re dismissed.”

Eddie kicks just about everything he can find all the way back to Jeff’s house, Matt and Shawn straggling behind them.

“It’s so fucking unfair, man. Bitch hates me.”

“So we’ll change the name, it’s not that big a deal,” says Matt. “It’s just a name.”

Eddie whirls around to face him, continuing to walk backwards up the hill. “It’s a good name! Fuck jocks, man, who cares about offending them.”

“Well, Mrs McKenna clearly,” adds Shawn.

They spend the rest of the afternoon on the floor of Jeff’s garage scribbling away in notebooks, the ocassional shout of a potential name the only thing breaking the silence.

“What about Blood Monkey?” offers Shawn.

“Hate it,” replies Eddie.

“Blood Sacrifice?” Matt. Jesus.

Jeff cuts him a look. “She didn’t like Jock Itch, dude, I don’t think she’s going to like Blood Sacrifice.”

“Blood—”

“Nothing with blood!” shouts Eddie. “Okay, no one say anything for ten minutes. Just write names and then we’ll share, okay?”

The sound of scribbling and scratching, pens and pencils on paper, is interspersed with quiet mutterings while they all concentrate. Eddie doesn’t even work this hard in class. 

Jeff slaps his pen down. “Okay, what have we got?”

They huddle together, notebooks and scraps of paper sprawled out on the floor. Eddie’s eyes flick up and down the pages. 

Steel Funeral

Evil Primordial

Dark Cadaver

Astral Cannibal (Shawn’s suggestion, honestly Eddie’s getting more and more worried about that dude by the day)

Lords of Hate (Not bad)

Demonic Candle

Fucking hell.

Eddie runs his hands up and down his face because he needs to do something to stop himself from going off half-cocked. He takes a breath.

“Look, these are… I mean, some of them are okay, but we can’t use these. These are way worse than Jock Itch.” He’s handing notebooks back when he sees it, in Jeff’s neat handwriting. 

Corroded Coffin. 

“I like that one.”

Jeff smiles shyly. “Thanks man.” He shrugs sadly. “Shame we can’t use it.”

They all deflate because he’s right, there’s no way that’s getting past McKenna. But Eddie is a godamn genius, if he does say so himself.

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat.” He grins at his brothers in arms. “I think we have a name.”

***

“The Tigers of Roane County? That’s your name?” Principal McKenna raises an over-plucked eyebrow as she stares at the slip of paper Eddie hands over.  She looks at them sceptically, her eyes on Eddie just a little bit longer.

Eddie rocks on his heels. “Yeah, well, you know. It’s like, rock and roll but also ‘Go Tigers’ right? Like, school pride?” He can feel Jeff’s eyes boring into him, they’re probably on stalks, but he can’t look.

“Fine,” she says on a sigh. “And song?”

“Make Your Own Kind Of Music.”

She leans back, hand to her chest. “Oh gosh, I love that song!” And then she’s writing their band name on the sheet and adding the song title and they’re on the bill. 

Fucking. Yes!

On the night Wayne gives him a hug and wishes him luck, and it’s the best feeling in the world. They head backstage, which is now full of cheerleaders and like, what the fuck? How is that a talent? It’s just shit they do for school. But then some cute kid with pigtails is waving pom poms and wishing him luck and he’s so tongue tied he can’t even reply to her. He can feel the blush all the way to his toes.

And then they’re next.

They huddle together. “Okay,” begins Eddie. “Remember. No matter what happens, stick to the plan. We’re fucking awesome and one day that’s gonna be Madison Square Garden. Got it?”

“Got it!” they reply.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen. We have a rock and roll band for you now. Please give a round of applause for The Tigers of Roane County.”

They walk out onto the stage, Eddie sweating buckets; it’s different when there’s a room full of people. But then he sees Wayne. “You’ve got this,” he mouths at Eddie. And he has.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are Corroded Coffin, and this is Breaking The Law!”

Principal McKenna is a problem for later.

[lostfirefly]

Buggy x Reader Masterlist

I had to reorganize my masterlist a little because Tumblr doesn't allow adding new links) Sketches, OC's stories are here :)

• Heart of Courage You and Buggy are being held hostage by pirates (based on my dream) • Make my heart a better place, give me something I can believe You're a cook on the Buggy Pirates crew. During the year you have feelings for the captain, but you don't dare to say it, but you write about your feelings in poems. One day he finds your notebook (based on my personal poem) • If you wake up in your bed, alone in the dark, I'm sorry I gotta leave you before you love me You're the owner of a bar where one evening a blue-haired pirate comes and you both play a drinking game. Just a random shitty shit :) • Please don't say you're gone forever, 'cause I can't hurt no more

You're the flower shop owner who has a long-standing relationship with Buggy. You haven't seen each other much in the last few months. He finally arrives to see you, but he's overtaken by fit of jealousy during the dinner.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

• Thank you, driver, for getting me here, you'll be an inspector, have no fear, I don't want to cause no fuss, but can I buy your Magic Bus? You and your sister are taking the bull to the farm. You board the only bus that can transport bulls, the driver of which is Buggy. Just a random shitty shit again :) • Can't find my peace and quiet, some things are better left in silence You were tormented by nightmares, you came to Buggy's bed. • Make my coffee sweet and warm, just the way you used to lie in my arms (nsfw!) You were sitting in a coffee shop for work. The barista was Buggy. • I need you here till the very end, so stay here with me Buggy had a hard day. You comb his hair and wash off his makeup. Fluffy shitty shit. • I will lay it at your feet, and I won't hold back anything, 'cause what you are is all, what you are is all of me You haven't seen Buggy for several days, he's throwing you a candlelit dinner. Fluffy fluff! • Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought, maybe I just wanna be yours You throw knives together with Cabaji. Buggy joins you. • If you sit down with this old clown, take that frown and break it, before the evening's gone away, I think that we could make it Your sister took you to a bar so she could meet someone. She saw Buggy, but he clearly showed interest in you. • Now hush little baby, don't you cry, everything's gonna be alright You and Buggy have a little daughter. The ship is moored, and you go to rest, leaving Buggy with the child. • Baby, baby when you're looking deep in my eyes, I know you're seeing past my make-up Buggy asks you to help him apply makeup. • They say it's your birthday, we're going to have a good time Buggy's birthday. You want to cheer him up. • But what am I gonna say, when you make me feel that way? (nsfw!) You came to visit Buggy in his office. • Storybook endings, fairy tales coming true, deep down inside we want to believe they still do Buggy tells a fairy story to children.

• Maybe You're My Enemy

You're the captain of the ship, and Buggy stole from you the map that you stole from him earlier.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

[maxinemaxmayfield]

Twelve Days of Stranger-mas (5/12)

I'm using the twelve days of Christmas prompts from the @strangerthingswritersguild to create an ongoing fic with a short chapter for each day! steddie | teen&up | temporary character death

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

Day 5 Prompt: Five Handwritten Notes

Robin had suggested it. Steve had scoffed and shook his head and sworn he wouldn’t try it. But here he is, pen in hand and notebook in front of him on his desk. Closure, Robin had said he needed.

Dear Eddie Munson, 

Steve scratches that out immediately, feeling like a twelve year old girl writing a diary entry. It’s not like Eddie’s actually going to fucking read it anyway. He tears out the whole page and tosses it into the trash can across the room. 

It takes another week before he tries again. 

Hey Eddie. It’s been two months since you didn’t come back from the Upside Down. It feels like so much longer and yesterday at the same time. It’s not like you’re the first person we’ve lost, so I don’t know why this has hit me so much harder. Maybe it's because of the kids. They talk about you all the time. Sometimes I act like it annoys me, but honestly it’s kind of nice to learn more about you. Those kids idolize you, man. They really do. 

Steve hides the journal under his mattress when he’s done, feeling even more like a twelve year old girl, but he can’t risk it falling into the wrong hands, especially with Dustin hanging around all the damn time nowadays. 

Eddie – Fucking hell, I wish you were here to take Dustin off my hands for a while. I know he’s grieving but holy shit, dude. I wake up to him checking in on the walkie every morning, can’t go to work without him stopping by every single day. I can’t even go to sleep without telling him first, otherwise he’ll come banging on my door in the middle of the night, convinced I’ve been attacked by Vecna. 

Time keeps dragging on, and Steve starts to find comfort in writing his stupid little notes to Eddie. He finds himself sitting down most nights, just updating Eddie on his day, however boring. 

I’m sick to the gills of Hawkins, Eddie, I really am. I always thought I’d live my whole life here, settle down with a little family, all that shit. But it’s day after fucking day rewinding tapes, seeing the same kids and same couples and same assholes coming in to rent the same rotation of movies and I think I might lose it, Eds, honestly.

And when things in his life change, when there’s big news or something to vent about, Steve finds himself counting down the hours until he can write an update and get all his thoughts out on paper. 

Robin has a girlfriend. I don’t know if you knew Vickie? Played clarinet in the marching band? Anyway, she’s nice enough, and I’m happy for Robin, so happy for her, she deserves a girlfriend after everything. But… I’m also kind of lonely. We used to moan about being perpetually single together and now all Robin wants to do is talk about Vickie. Or go see Vickie. Or call Vickie on the phone. And I’m left feeling like a pathetic third wheel. 

Do you think we would be friends, if you were still here? I know you can’t answer me, I’m not fucking stupid, but I don’t know. I think we could have been. Surviving that shit does something to you. Bonds you or something. Maybe we would have been close. Sometimes I feel weirdly close to you, just writing these. I don’t know. Maybe. Guess we’ll never know.

PART SIX

[tofulikesmala]

hii!! how are you? i hope good, could you write a draken x fem reader, maybe smut if you feel comfortable with it, where reader is a shy nerd and since she met draken she changed completely and you do the rest!! sorry for bad english but its not much first language!!😭

At the flip of a coin

Draken x fem reader

author notes: hello, thank you for requesting! Unfortunately, I am a MINOR, so I don’t write smut. I apologize for the inconvenience. ANDAHHHB I TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE THIS IM SOS SORRY

It was time for midterms. Again. This time, Draken finally mustered enough motivation to study for it the first time in his life. The cold breeze of the aircon caused his long hair to sway a little. The quietness of the library was in contrast to the noisy environment of the Tokyo manji gang. Observing the tables—which were mostly packed with people, he sat himself down at a table which only had one person.

You watched as this tall and muscular guy sat down on your table. Looking back at the three assignments that was due the next day, you sighed. Well, you can’t do anything about it, might as well not complain, it’ll be beneficial for you anyways! Hey, it might even teach you to write faster! Looking at the guy who was flipping through his notebook, creases forming on his eyebrow, glaring at his notebook as he scowled. PleasedonttalktomePleasedonttalktomePleasedonttalktome

Placing his very clean textbook on the table, he begun flipping through the pages, not understanding a single thing at all. Staring at the girl in front of him, he sighed, before nudging her and placed his textbook in front of her. “Hey, if you can, can you explain what it’s trying to say?” The girl took some time to process his words, but after that she read the pages of the textbook, flipping here and there quickly. “This is my curriculum for next year…but be glad I still studied one year ahead.” She mumbled quietly. Draken jaw internally dropped. Which motherfucker would want to study a year ahead? The girl sitting in front of him, apparently. The girl started mumbling words Draken couldn’t even make up. “Can you speak up. You’re too soft.” A tinge of red appeared on her cheeks as she cleared her throat. “Alright….sorry…” Speaking a little louder, she explained the formulas, how to solve it, scribbling all over his textbook. Draken had to stretch his ears to be as long as a Buddha’s in order to hear her clearly. But Draken didn’t ask her to speak louder, since she seemed to have social anxiety. Shaking her leg, hand shaky, eh Draken decided not to push any further. After like half an hour of explaining the chapters tested for the exam, she put down her pen and sighed. “W-well, I hope you understood everything…..sorry if my explanation isn’t the best, I’m not very good at teaching, I mean I can understand the topic but I just can’t teach I’m really weird and all, so sorry. I’m so bad at teaching I hope you understood if it was too complicated just tell me….” As the girl went on and on, her voice got softer and softer, until she stopped speaking all together. “It was great, thanks.” Draken replied. The girl blushed a deeper shade of red. “T-thanks, it means a lot….” “Let’s be friends. You can help me with math and shit.” A deeper shade of red appeared on her cheeks. Friends….? Dang, she didn’t have a lot of that…. “I take that as a yes.” Draken stared at her before packing his things and walking away.

Time Skip. The young couple falls in love…

Dating Draken while being shy and nerdy would include….

Due to your shy personality, he feels an even more overwhelming sense of protectiveness over you

bring you to meet toman when your comfortable, of course

would 100% bonk anyone on the head if they try to make a dirty joke, he’d rather keep your innocence

A lot of times you rant about the topic your interested in to draken, although he doesn’t know what your talking about 90% of the time, he’ll listen anyways

remembers the stuff you rant about. He would see something related and would be like “hey don’t you like this”

very caring, protective and accepting! 10/10

if anyone bullies you, he’d beat them up, immediately

You groaned as your classmates who are a waste of oxygen forcefully pushed you against the locker again, slamming a hand beside you, causing all your books from your hand to fall to the ground. The smirk on his face only grew wider at your scared expression. What’s he gonna do next, beat you up? Like every other day? “If it isn’t the ner-” blood splattered on your cheek as your classmate fell onto the floor, blood trickling down your nose. Huh? What just happened? A tall figure loomed over you, as he placed his hands on your shoulders, a gentle but firm voice rang out. “Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?” You nodded your head, you were perfectly fine, after all. Draken nodded, before straddling the guy and beating the shit out of him, saying some curse words you didn’t even know, spitting insults here and there. As you were bullied quite frequently, more beating occurred. More shouts. More blood. More gore. More swears. Of course, it started to affect you in some way!

Three missing assignments, two exams, and 7 worksheets to complete by tomorrow. You were pissed. Very pissed. Things really decided not to go your way. You were sick, absent for only TWO days, and your asshole of a teacher decided to release all the homework that was meant for like, a fucking week. You weren’t even given an extension! Oh the urge to stab a knife into your teachers stomach and twist it, see her beg for mercy as more blood flowed out— “Ah!” You collapsed to the floor, scraping your knees on wooden floor somehow. “Oh! Isn’t this the WHORE who’s dating Draken? How did you even pull him, he’s so out of your league! Hahahah! I know, maybe it’s because you’re such a SLUT!” Of all days, she decided to piss you off today. Fuck. You were so done. Standing up, you launched right at her, pushing her onto the ground as you slammed her head against the locker. Screams sounded as both her and your classmates were shocked. Several others from other classes begun peeping their heads in, curious about the commotion. Grabbing her hair, you forcefully lifted her head, before slamming her head down again. You’ve seen draken do it many times, it was pretty easy to imitate. You lifted up her head tearing her hair. “I hope you get raped. Multiple times.” Taking your scissors, you brought it to her stomach, running the blade through her clothes. “I’m gonna make sure all the yellow fat from your stomach flows out.” Pressing a bit harder, the girl screamed and kicked, but the immense unknown strength from your body kept her down. Blood began to flow, but before you could continue, somebody picked you up, throwing away the scissors from your hands and pulling you into a hug. As you the scent of Draken’s shampoo filled your nose, you relaxed and leaned into his arms.

Draken went to the classroom too because, firstly, it’s your classroom, secondly, there was screaming.

But instead, he found you slamming your bully’s head on the floor, blood spilling everywhere.

He knew you would usually cower behind your own hands, but this time you didn’t even flinch.

“W-wha…?” Draken is SO confused, what happened to his cutie potootie pookie wookie sweet honey bear gentle girlfriend?

he can’t even MOVE. That’s until you started going a little too far

Back at the brothel, Draken used some wet wipes to gently scrub off the blood off your face. “So…who taught you all that….?” “You…?” You replied bluntly. Draken gulped. Guess there’s no turning back now