#tbh it was probably a throw away line | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bloatedandalone04 · 10 months ago

Text

Crossing that Line

➪the one where you and bradley drive each other crazy in more ways than one, but would do anything for each other, and all it takes is one confession to solidify your places in each others lives.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, swearing, fluff, hint of angst, pining to the max, a whole lot of smut tbh

Word Count: 6.1k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | Happy Birthday, Rooster !

The relationship you had with Bradley was…a weird one, to put it simply.

He pisses you off more than anyone you’ve ever met, and you drive him up the wall nearly every day, but you also couldn’t stand to be away from one another. He was your person, and you were his best friend; you would do anything for each other without an ounce of hesitation.

It was stupid, how hard you found yourself falling for him. The guy who had more confidence than he should, the guy who’s saved your ass more times than you can count, and the guy who’s taken hits for you during training, just so you wouldn’t have to hear about it later from the other guys.

The only thing is; you had no idea how he felt about you. He was cocky, confident and hid his feelings annoyingly well, you had no clue if the shared stares meant the same thing to him that they did to you, or if you were mistaking his comments for shameless flirting.

You couldn’t lose him, so you kept it bottled up for the last two years, and it’s been complete and utter hell. But you’d keep doing it. Because there was no telling what he was thinking sometimes, and if he was thinking about you.

The day was slowly coming to an end, and nearly everyone was heading to the barracks, but not you. Instead of going to your room, you made your way to the hangar, knowing who you would find in there. You turn the corner and lean against the wall, crossing your arms as you watch Bradley mess around with his F/A-18.

You tried not to focus on the way the muscles in his neck flexed with every move of his arm, the small amount of oil littering his skin making him shine a bit as the sun set behind you. “Hey, Bradshaw,” you greet before he could turn and catch you staring at him. “Nice flying today.”

You could see the way his body shifted in recognition of your voice, and when he turned to glance over at you, he was smirking. “Hey there, Y/n/n,” he said, wiping his hands on his flight suit. “Nice to see you haven’t crashed and burned yet.”

Shaking your head, you ignore the fact that it was just you and him left in the hangar now. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bradley shrugged, grabbing a cloth from off a table and wiping his hands. “Could be kinda entertaining,”

You gasp, placing your hand over your heart. “Wow, ouch,” you mumble. “And here I am thinking I’d probably be heartbroken if the same thing were to happen to you.”

He laughed, turning to face you. “Please, we both know you’d be the first one to poke fun at me for crashing,”

You press your lips together and shrug. “Yeah, probably, but I’d also be the first one to make it over to you,”

Really, you’d probably die of a broken heart if something were to happen to him, but he didn’t need to know that right now. Or ever.

Bradley’s smirk softened and he looked down at his boots. “I know you would,”

And now you were picturing what it would be like to live without him, and you could feel yourself beginning to panic a bit.

Smiling, you shake your head again before giving him a conflicted look, wanting nothing more than to walk over to him and press the neediest kiss to his lips and tell him you were so fucking in love with him. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Bradley,” you say quietly, watching as his brows furrow.

“Wait,” he said, making you hold off on leaving just yet. “Something on your mind?”

“No,” you say too quickly for it to sound true. “Nope. I’m fine, Rooster. I’ll leave you alone now.”

His eyes narrow and he throws the cloth somewhere behind him as he steps towards you. “Why are you lying to me?”

You let out a surprised laugh, pushing yourself off the wall. “I’m not,”

“Uh huh,” he hummed, moving so he’s standing right in front of you. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Your face heats up and you quickly look away, squinting as your gaze meets the bright sunset. “Okay,” you trail off, glancing at him one last time before stepping away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bradley.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, maybe continue to call you out on your awful attempt at lying to his face, but his shoulders dropped slightly as he nodded casually. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed, moving away from you and back towards his jet. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

Oh, how you loved and fucking hated when he called you that. It made you crave him even more than you usually do, and it also made you want to punch him square in the face for having such a strong effect on you.

“Don’t overthink too much,” he added, glancing back at you with a teasing smirk.

“I’ll try,” you whisper, and no more words are shared as you leave the hangar and quickly walk across base and towards the barracks.

Bradley knew you weren’t telling him something the second he saw your conflicted look before you tried playing it off right after. He wanted to push you on it more, but wasn’t sure if he even had the right to since it was pretty rare for things to become serious like that between the two of you.

He was still in the hangar, the arms of his flight suit now tied around his waist as he finally decided to stop touching his jet and leave it alone for the rest of the night. Like usual, his thoughts were taken over by you, and he wondered what would’ve happened if he didn’t let you leave so easily earlier. What could he have gotten you to say? Why did you suddenly become so closed off and serious in the middle of your usually playful banter?

He almost didn’t want to know, but he also kinda wanted to know.

It was late, but not too late for it to be deemed unacceptable for him to stop by your room before retiring to his for the night. So instead of taking the first hallway in the barracks corridor, he went past it and turned left a few feet down the hall, instantly recognizing your room without him even meaning to.

Bradley debated on whether or not he wanted to intrude on your night or save it for tomorrow, but with you he often found himself saying fuck it and hoping for the best. So he knocked.

After waiting for only a few seconds, the door opened and you poke your head out with guarded eyes, your gaze softened once you saw that it was him. “Bradley?”

He smiled, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame, mirroring your stance back in the hangar. “Hey,” he greeted. “Hope I’m not bothering you too late.”

You shake your head and smooth out your messy hair, and he knew you were probably in bed, trying to sleep but failing miserably to do so. During one of your thousand talk sessions, you mentioned how much you hated sleeping in the small, single beds here and couldn’t wait to start looking for apartments in the area. Bradley hated them, too, not because he couldn’t fit properly in them, but because whenever he laid down for the night, he was reminded of just how fucking lonely he really is. “No, you’re fine,” you give him a tight smile, one he knew was played up. Still, it was a pretty one nonetheless. “What’s up?”

Bradley’s gaze raked down your body, subtly checking out your attire of a loose, long sleeve button up and leggings. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You seemed off the last time we talked,”

“What, a few hours ago after a day of being in the air?” You laugh, running your hands down your face as you avoid eye contact with him. Now he knew you were hiding something for sure. “Yeah, I’m good. Great, even. I’m great.”

Bradley raises his brows, a huff escaping his lips after. “You are such a terrible liar,” he grunted, watching as you immediately looked down to the floor. “See, you can’t hide anything from me, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s up.”

You looked up at him with an expression he’s never really seen on you before, and it had him straightening up a bit. “You’re really not going to drop this, are you?”

“No,”

You glance down at the floor, pulling at the sleeves of your shirt. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” you confessed quietly.

Bradley’s gaze softened and he tried to get you to look at him, but you weren’t letting up. “What part?”

You shrugged, keeping your head down. “About how I would laugh if you crashed and burned,” you whispered. “I wouldn’t laugh.”

Bradley tenses up a bit at the sudden change in tone and atmosphere, looking around your small and neat room. “I know you wouldn’t, I was just messing with you,” like we usually do.

“No, Bradley,” you mumbled, still not looking at him. “I mean it. I’d be devastated if that were to happen to you.”

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching over to gently grip your chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I know…I know. I was just messing around…I didn’t expect…” He trailed off, suddenly aware of how close he had gotten to you. He had never touched you like this before, only ever going as far as a quick hug after a risky mission or a dangerous stunt in the air.

You furrowed your brows as you met his gaze with guarded eyes. “Didn’t expect what?”

Bradley inches even closer. “I didn’t expect that you’d care this much,”

Your eyes widen a bit as you look up at him. “Of course I care,” you gasped in disbelief, laughing after and breaking eye contact again. “Maybe too much.”

But he didn’t let your eyes wander far as he still had a hold on your chin, and he guided your face back to his. “What do you mean by that? ‘Too much’?” He asked, his eyes wide, any traces of his earlier teasing gone.

You give him a pleading look. “You know what I mean,”

Bradley held your gaze, noting your frustrated expression. “Maybe I do,” he murmured, caressing your jaw with his thumb. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“I can’t,” you shake your head and he could see the way you played with your fingers out of the corner of his eye.

“Why not?” He pressed, invading your space with another step. “What are you so afraid to tell me?”

You give him another pleading look, but he doesn’t step away. “I’m afraid of putting something out there that I can’t take back,”

When you moved to step away, Bradley’s hands reached for your hips, anchoring you in place. He had never been this close to you before, never touched you like this before, and it was driving him insane. “Tell me,”

“Bradley,”

His gaze intensifies, his head dipping down closer to yours. “Say it, sweetheart,”

Your eyes were wide with anxiety as you parted your lips to speak. “I…I’m in love with…you,”

Though he had a small feeling that he knew - or maybe hoped - you were going to say that, his breath still got caught in his throat. His heart was beating loudly in his ears, and his skin was on fire. No one had ever made him feel this way with a single sentence, and he wasn’t all that surprised that it was you. “You’re in love with me?” He asked, needing to hear it for confirmation.

A blush takes over your face as you shake your head and step away. “I-I didn’t…fuck, I’m sorry, I don’t-” you stuttered and he could see the tears gathered along your eyes. “I just messed everything up. I knew I would.”

Bradley’s eyes widen at the sudden loss of contact, and he shakes his head, too. “No, no, wait. Don’t…don’t apologize,” he rasped, running his hands through his hair. “Don’t be sorry. It’s…it’s okay.”

You stare at the floor and nod. “Okay,”

Your heart was on your sleeve now, and he knew he had to be careful. “Sweetheart…look at me,” he softly demands, stepping towards you and closing the distance you created.

“Can’t…I can’t,” you quickly shook your head but he lifted your chin with his fingers.

“Please,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

Slowly, your teary eyes met his and you looked like you were already building walls up to protect yourself from him, and that was the last thing he wanted. Seeing your eyes glazed over like this was damn near enough to break his heart, and Bradley took a step closer to you.

“There you are,” he whispered, gently stroking your chin with his thumb. He held your gaze, a mixture of embarrassment, vulnerability and uncertainty. “You have no idea.”

You furrowed your brows, trying to blink away the tears as you trembled in front of him. “No idea about what?” You asked, your voice barely above a murmur.

Bradley kept his eyes locked on yours, ensuring you knew just how serious his next words are. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited and wanted…hoped to hear you say that to me,” he confessed, watching as your eyes widened. “I never thought you felt the same way, so I never let myself think about it too much.”

Your breath audibly caught in your throat as you stuttered, “W-what?”

He smiled, his usual cocky and confident facade fading as the seconds went on. “You’re the one person, the only person I could never figure out fully. I could never tell if you wanted me as badly as I wanted you, or if you just saw me as the guy you bickered with all the time,” he continued. “You’re the one person who doesn’t care about how full of myself I am sometimes, you called me out on it. And ever since then, I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“Bradley,” you gasped quietly, and he could see your walls starting to come down again, so he pushed further,

“And hearing you say that…that you’re in love with me…” he trailed off, moving his fingers from your chin and tracing them along your jaw. “It felt like I could finally have the one thing I thought I never could.”

You swallow hard, your eyes wide and vulnerable as he closes the distance further, leaving a few inches between the two of you. His fingers curled around your jaw and his thumb tugged at your bottom lip, his gaze flickering down for a few seconds.

“God, baby,” he whispered in disbelief. “Hearing you say that…it’s all I ever wanted. You get under my skin like no one else, and you make me want to pull my hair out, but I can’t fight the way I feel about you anymore. Not after this.”

“Bradley,” you say again, at a loss for words as you reach up and grip his wrist, leaning into his touch.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “Will you say it again? Please?”

He couldn’t believe he was begging to hear your words again, but the way your expression softened had him not giving a single fuck. “Bradley, I’m in love with you,”

His skin heated up as you repeated your words, and his control finally snapped. “Fuck…fuck,” he muttered, not wasting another second as he leaned in and kissed you. He poured all the nights he lost sleep thinking about you into the kiss, all the times he held back his own confession after your usual playful banter turned serious, all the times he thought about doing just this with you.

You kissed him back desperately, a soft moan escaping your throat as you gripped his wrists tightly. Bradley wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your body right up against his as he deepened the kiss. He walks you backwards until your back hits the wall opposite from the door, pinning you to it as his hands roam all over your body.

He couldn’t believe, after all the nights he spent fantasizing about this, that he was finally touching you like this. Your quiet gasps against his lips had his touch growing more possessive as he felt your hands slide up to grip his shoulders. His palms were flat against your body, feeling the heat of your skin through your clothes. “God, baby, you taste so good. You feel so good,” he murmurs once he breaks the kiss and begins trailing his lips along your jaw, his body pressing yours closer to the wall.

“Oh, my God,” you moaned, your breath coming out heavy and uneven. “Bradley.”

He always knew his name would sound beautiful coming from your mouth like this, but actually hearing it was something else entirely. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled softly against your collar bone, his fingers lifting your shirt up so he could feel the smooth skin of your hips. “I’ve thought about this…about you for so long.”

Your fingers moved up to his hair, where you pulled gently. “You’ve thought about me?”

“Yes,” he answered, burying his face against your neck as his hands inched further up your body under your shirt. “I think about you all the time. I tried not to, but I was fucked from the second I saw you.”

The surprised laugh you let out had his touch growing more urgent, the only thing on his mind being more ways he could get you to make those pretty sounds again. “Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

Bradley lets out his own laugh, lifting his head from your neck as he raises a brow at you. “I could ask you the same question,” came his teasing reply as his hands slid up your back. “But really…you terrified me. I didn’t want to ruin things and mess up our friendship if you didn’t feel the same way.”

“So,” you trailed off, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “What does this mean for our friendship? For us?”

He lifts a hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing against your bone as he answered, “It means that I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want you. That I don’t need you, sweetheart,” he leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours. “It means we’re not just friends anymore.”

The smile you gave him had goosebumps forming on his skin and a wave of relief washing over him. “We’re not?”

Bradley shook his head. “No, baby, we’re not,” he confirmed, pressing his hips against yours as he placed a soft kiss to your lips. “You’re mine now, and I’m never letting you go.”

Your smile grows as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Bradley…I love you,”

He wraps his arms around your waist again as a warmth spreads all throughout his body. “I love you, too. So fucking much,” he mumbles before capturing your lips in another desperate, needy kiss. His tongue pokes out and nudges your lips apart, a deep groan leaving his throat as you pull at his hair. “Fuck, baby…been dying to taste you like this.” He breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper against your lips before going back in, his fingers moving to the buttons on your shirt.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you say against his lips. “This is happening, right? This is real?”

Bradley pulls away to be able to look you in the eyes. “It’s real, sweetheart,” he said softly before beginning to unbutton your shirt. “I can’t believe you feel the same way about me.”

“You can’t believe I love you?” You tease, biting down on your wet, swollen lips.

His gaze darkens as he gets the final button undone, and then he lets the fabric slide off your shoulders. “Yeah. Been wanting to hear you say that for years,” he grunted, sliding his hands up your bare arms. “Been wanting to touch you like this.”

“And now that you can?” You asked in a breathless voice, staring up at him with a look he knew would be permanently burned into his mind.

“Now that I can,” he started, his hands tracing the curve of your hips as his eyes raked over your chest. “I’m going to do everything I've been dreaming about doing to you...and then some.”

You moan, nodding quickly and making his lips turn upwards into a smirk.

His hands move to the front of your leggings, his fingers teasing the thin fabric as his tongue runs along the smooth skin of your neck. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this...about having you like this,”

“I think I might have an idea,” you mumbled, tugging at his undershirt.

Bradley grinned, feeling that warmth return and take over his body again. He pulled away to tug off his shirt and toss it to the side, then he was close to you again. “Yeah? Have you thought about me, too, baby?”

“Nearly every day,” you confessed as his hands moved back to your hips, his thumbs slipping past the waistline of your leggings as he slowly pulled them down. “Nearly every night.”

He groaned at your confession, helping you kick off the flimsy fabric before he was grabbing your hips again. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’ve been driving me crazy for so long,”

Your head tilts back and rests against the wall as his lips pepper kisses all along the base of your throat. “You’ve been making me go insane for years, Bradley,”

“You’re not the only one who’s been losing your mind over this,” he laughed, sliding his hands up your body until he was caressing the underside of your bra. “I hoped that this would pass, but it never did. The more time we spent together, the more impossible it became. I had this burning need to have you, touch you, taste you.”

He emphasized his words by gripping your hips and spinning you around so your back was pressed against his chest. Your gasp had his boxers tightening, his tongue tracing random shapes onto the skin behind your ear.

“The way you smile, laugh, and those fucking looks you give me,” he ranted, his breath fanning across your neck. “All the time we’ve spent together, I had to stop myself from taking you right then and there.”

When his hands slid down your body and pulled you closer to him, you moaned loudly, leaning your head back to rest against his shoulder.

“The sounds you make for me, fuck,” he moaned, tugging on curve of your ear with his teeth. “All I’ve been wanting is to see you fall apart for me, to hear you scream for me…beg for me.”

“Bradley,” you moaned again, leaning into his touch as his hands found the fabric of your bra, his fingers toying with the straps.

“I’ve needed you so badly,” he rasped, pulling the strap off your shoulder before leaning down to kiss the newly exposed skin. “I finally have you all to myself. I’m never letting you go.”

“Don’t let me go,” you begged, gripping his forearms tightly. “Please.”

“Never,” he said in a deep voice. “You’re mine now; mine to taste all over, to make scream.” He grabs your chin, gently turning your head so he could place a firm kiss to your mouth.

You moan, reaching behind you to tug on his hair as you pressed your body against his. “I want that,” you whine and he kisses you deeper, brushing his tongue against yours.

His fingers played with the clasp of your bra, and soon enough he had the lacy fabric sliding down your arms and landing on the floor. “I need to see you,” he nearly begged, breaking away from your lips as he groped your breasts with dark eyes.

“Well?” You asked, breathless from his touch as you rolled your hips back against him.

“Damn, baby, you’re so beautiful,” he commented, leaning down to suck a mark onto the side of your neck. “Been dreaming about how gorgeous you’d look all bare for me, how sweet you’d taste and how pretty you’d sound.” His thumbs slid over your nipples, the devoted attention he was giving them making you whimper.

“Oh, God,” you bit your lip to stifle the sounds that were coming out of you more frequently now.

“Don’t hold back, baby,” he mumbled, softly pulling at your nipples with his thumb and index fingers. “I wanna hear all those sounds you make for me.”

You oblige almost immediately, moaning as he continues to worship your chest. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this,”

“Believe it,” he grunted, smoothing his palms over your hardened nipples as he placed open mouthed kisses on your neck.

Your body started to shake against his, your perfect lips parting as you let out a string of whimpers. “Feels so good,”

“I’ve barely started,” he cooed, pressing his hardness against your lower back. “You feel perfect in my arms, baby.”

“I want you,” you whined, squeezing your legs together. “I want you so bad.”

“I want you, too,” he groaned, slowly rolling his body into yours, his cock growing impossibly hard. “So badly.”

His hands caressed your breasts in a feather light touch, and he felt goosebumps against his palms as you gasped. “Your hands…I’ve always wanted to feel them on me,”

“Yeah?” He teased, tracing his fingers around your nipples again, slowly but surely working you into a whiny mess for him.

“Yeah,” you huff, shaking even more. “Holy fuck, you feel so good.”

“So do you,” he growled, pinching your breasts before sliding his hands down your body. “I love touching you like this, but I need to feel more of you.” He murmured, turning you around in his arms so he could get a good look at you.

The way you were pressing your thighs together and the lust he could see in your eyes had him biting down hard on his lip, the sight of you only in a pair of lace panties doing things to him. “Please,” you whined, guiding his hand down your body.

His eyes rolled back slightly as he leaned his head down and began kissing your shoulders, his hand sliding down your damp panties. “You want me to touch you here?” He asked, knowing damn well what your answer is.

“Yes, please,” you gave in so sweetly, kicking the ruined fabric aside as you stepped back into his arms.

He presses kisses to your shoulders as his hand reaches out, his fingers running along your core. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he groaned, his cock throbbing as he felt just how worked up he made you.

“All for you,” came your instant reply. Bradley’s eyes darkened as he circled your clit with his middle finger, the way you were trembling against him being the hottest sight he had ever seen. “Oh, my God, yes.”

“There you go, baby,” he praised, sinking his fingers into your heat. “Give it to me, let me hear you.”

You let out another loud moan, reaching for his flight suit and practically shoving it down his legs. “I need you,” you said desperately. “I need you so bad.”

He could tell. Your wetness was dripping onto his hand as you spoke.

Bradley kicked off his boots and added his suit to the pile of clothes on the floor, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs as he picked you up and carried you over to your bed. He set you down on your back, his lips pressing to yours as he rolled his hips. “I need you, too,” he promised, pulling away from your lips and settling his head in between your legs. “But I need to taste this pretty pussy first.”

Then he was licking a stripe up your folds and making your back arch off the bed. “Fuck!” You called out, the slick sound of his tongue against you bouncing throughout the room. “Oh, my fucking God, Bradley.”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he slid his tongue inside your wet walls, his eyes rolling back at your taste. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he moaned, sucking and licking at you like a starved man. “You taste so fucking good, baby.”

“Bradley,” you moaned loudly. “Please, fuck me. I need you…right now.”

His eyes darken even more as he crawls back up your body, and you push his boxers down quickly. You wrap your legs around his waist, bucking your hips up so your core brushes against his aching cock. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,”

Your brows furrow as he grips his base and guides himself inside you, your back arching again as you wrap your arms around him. “I love you,”

Bradley groaned, your wetness allowing him to sink all the way inside with one thrust. “God, I love you so much,” he said back, holding you against his body as he began to rock his hips against yours. “So much.”

He moved deep inside you, the feeling of skin on skin with nothing in between making his head spin. He hadn’t even asked if you wanted him to use a condom - and he knew it would’ve been a hard task to tear himself away from you and go to his room to get one, but he would’ve done it willingly - but you both seemed too lost in each other to think about it right now.

You felt so good. Bradley has never been this hard in his entire life, and he knew it was all because of you. “You feel so perfect,” he praised, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt you clench around him. “So tight…fuck.”

“Bradley,” you moaned, wrapping your legs tighter around him as he slowly fucked you against the matress. “You’re so big.”

Your words went right through him, a sense of pride filling him as he looked down at you with lust filled eyes. “You’re so tight,” he echoed his previous words, fucking into you harder but still keeping his pace slow. “So tight for me.”

Your eyes widened and you dropped your head against your pillow. “My fucking God, Bradley,” you gasped, shifting your hips to meet his thrusts. “Yes.”

“Say my name again,” he softly demanded before leaning down to suck a mark onto your neck. “Tell me who’s making you feel so good right now…who’s stretching you so good right now.”

“Bradley!” You cry out, pressing your chest right up against his. “I’ve wanted this for so long…knew you’d feel so good.”

“Baby,” he rasped, fucking into you faster. “You feel so much better than I could have ever imagined.”

Your arousal was dripping onto his thighs as he fucked you harder, his hips hitting yours harshly as he let all the pining and desire he’s felt for you pour out of him. “Don’t stop, please please please,” you begged for him just like he wanted, your hands pulling at his hair.

He grunted, his eyes flickering down to where you connected. “I’m not stopping, sweetheart, I can’t,” he huffed, watching the way his cock became more and more coated in your wetness with each thrust. “You feel too good, I need you.”

“Yes…yes,” you cried, digging your heel into his lower back and driving him even deeper inside you. “Oh, fuck.”

“Say my name,” he mumbled against your skin, not caring that the walls were pretty thin and anyone who may be in the hallway would definitely be able to hear you. “Say it again.”

“Bradley!” You moaned, scratching your nails down his back.

His movements were fast, uneven and uncontrolled now as he hiked one of your legs higher around his waist, angling his body so he could push himself impossibly deeper. “That’s my girl,” he cooed, feeling the way you clenched around him at his words. “My girl.”

“Your girl,” you repeated, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

“Yeah,” he whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed against yours. “My girl.”

He kissed you deeply, fucking you hard into the bed meant for one person, the sound of your muffled moans filling the room. “God, Bradley, you feel so good…so full,”

Your words were slurred as if you were drunk, but both of you were completely sober right now as you gave into your need for one another. “You feel so good, too,” he mumbled. “So perfect…so tight and wet for me.”

His words were as equally as filthy as yours were, and he couldn’t remember the last time he let himself get this lost in someone; to the point where he couldn’t care less about how dirty his mouth was.

“I’ve never felt anything better than you, baby,” he swore, reaching down to rub your swollen and puffy clit. “Nothing compares.”

Your jaw goes slack as you let out moan after moan, his words clearly having an effect on you. “I’m so close,”

“Yeah, I can feel it,” he groaned, rubbing and fucking you harder. His voice was rough and thick with desire, his breaths coming out ragged and uneven. “I want you to come for me. I need to feel you come.”

“Bradley! Right there,” you nearly screamed, clinging onto him with a death grip. “Right there.”

He hummed, “Just like that, baby,” he circled your clit faster, watching as you began to shake. “Come for me.”

Your body jolted and trembled under him, your release flooding around him and soaking his cock. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!” You cried, squeezing your eyes shut as you dug your nails into his shoulders.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he cooed, kissing all over your face as he felt his own release creeping up on him. “God, I never want this to end.”

You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck and messily kissing him. He could feel you shaking still, but you didn’t ask him to stop or pull out, instead you just pulled him closer to you and whined against his lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, kissing you softly as he got closer and closer. “So perfect.”

“I want you to come for me,” you mumbled in between kisses.

Bradley groaned, licking along your lips. “I want that, too,” he said. “I wanna come for you…only you.”

“Only me,” you whispered with a lazy smile, slowly rolling your hips to meet his thrusts.

He nodded, his eyes nearly shut as he managed to ask, “Where? Where can I-”

“Inside me,” you answered, your heel on his back keeping him from pulling out too much. “I want it inside me.”

Bradley’s eyes squeezed shut as he felt his control snap. “Fuck…fuck, I’m coming, baby,” he groaned deeply, fucking his seed into your abused core. You moan quietly, running your fingers through his sweaty hair as his body shakes from the intensity of it all. He had never come that hard before, and when he slowly came to a stop, he could feel it seeping around him and dripping out of you. He also never came that much before. “That….that was-”

“I know,” you beamed, kissing him softly as you kept your legs wrapped around him. “I love you so much.”

Bradley smiles down at you, kissing you back. “I love you, too,” he promised as he rolled you onto your sides, still buried inside you.

“Stay with me?” You asked as you kissed along his salty skin.

After years of wanting to experience this with you and have you all to himself, he was finally able to, and he wasn’t planning on ever leaving your side again. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,”

You smile, trailing your hand up and down his back. “So…what does this mean for us?”

Bradley tangles his fingers in your hair, holding you close to him. “I want to call you my girlfriend, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Will you let me?”

You close your eyes, letting out a quiet groan. “I want to be your girlfriend so badly,”

“Then it’s settled,” he stated, pulling you even closer as a grin tugged at his lips. “You’re my girlfriend.”

Your hands slide up to his shoulder as you kiss him. “And you’re my boyfriend,”

Bradley smiled as he kissed you back. “And I’m going to make sure I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had,”

“You better be the best and last,” you warn playfully, laying your head on his chest.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he laughed, running his hand along your lower back. “You’re stuck with me.”

A blush takes over your face as you kiss the scar on his neck. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,”

They fucked again after that btw. Happy Birthday, Bradley Bradshaw!

440 notes · View notes

rinhaler · 2 years ago

Text

NOTSCAREDNOTSCAREDNOTSCARED!

✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ⁭frat boy!oliver aiku x f!reader

Genre: college!au (mostly shameless smut tbh) Notes: first fic on my new blog and it's absolutely disgusting, enjoy. Warnings: 18+, noncon, somnophilia, drugging, virgin killer!oliver, implied virgin reader, tit sucking, pussy eating, biting, fingering, marking, love bites ♡, creampie, spit, alcohol consumption, lmk if I missed any!! Words: 5.3k

What a naïve little thing you are.

That’s the first thing Oliver thinks when he sets his sights on you. A shy, sweet girl wearing the one and only cocktail dress you probably own. It’s so simple but makes a loud statement. You don’t look like the other girls here. You aren’t wearing designer clothes that fit you like a glove, no. The ill-fitting garment you’ve chosen to wear speaks volumes to your innocent nature and your lack of confidence. You don’t have friends, do you? You’re here, alone, in the sleaziest and most prolific fraternity on campus. Of course, it’s a party, and anyone is welcome to attend. But the fact that you decided to come here, alone, makes him think you might be a little stupid.

But that suits him just fine.

He doesn’t approach immediately, for fear of giving the game away too soon. He bides his time and observes your behaviours and mannerisms as you wade through the crowds. His eyes have followed your longing gaze a few times and noticed how you keep looking towards the kitchen. It’s the busiest room in the house right now, he assumes. That’s where the keg and all of the alcohol is.

But almost as soon as you look that way, you avert your eyes and look elsewhere in search of a place to belong. You’ve tried starting a few conversations with the girls, but Oliver knows how catty and mean they can be. Poor thing, fresh meat like you doesn’t stand a chance.

You’re lonely, aren’t you? You’ll feel better with a little company, yeah?

He carefully walks by you in a way that will cause you to spill the drink from your grasp. And with that, this sinful game can begin. The one in which he tells you how sorry he is for causing an accident and ruining your dress. He’s so apologetic that you just can’t help but forgive him right away. And his attractiveness doesn’t go amiss. The kindest person you’ve met thus far just so happens to be so deliciously handsome.

“Let me get you a refill, it’s only fair.” he winks. And you hate yourself because your stomach flits at the casual gesture. It’s probably a line that he uses on all of the girls he meets at parties like this. It’s plain to see that he’s confident. You’re sure there won’t be a shortage of girls throwing themselves at him after a gesture like that.

But you aren’t stupid enough to be the same.

He seems older, by at least two years. He seems comfortable enough here to get you a drink so maybe this is his party. He could have a girlfriend for all you know that is in another room and completely oblivious. You don’t want to make waves before you even experience your first day of class.

People seem friendlier towards you when they notice you with him. Is it genuine? Or could they be laughing at you? His hand resides in the small of your back as he guides you far into the kitchen; until you’re standing between an island counter and the fridge. Your body is warming, and, fuck, he can feel it. You’re so shy. He hasn’t seen a girl like you in a long time. The slightest bit of attention and touching and you’re putty in his hand. What a good girl you are, he’s going to have so much fun with you.

You watch him, carefully, as he rummages through the fridge and grabs a can of beer.

You’re a little deflated as he cracks it for himself and begins to chug.

“I didn’t catch your name.” he states as his unmistakable eyes watch you intently. He has eyes you’ve never seen before, and you’ll have a hard time forgetting. Mismatched purple and green. They’re dull, but not uninteresting by any means. They’re the eyes of a man who always gets what he wants. Those eyes beautiful eyes… they’re bored because they are a prestigious, all access key to gain whatever his heart desires. You hum, hesitating for a moment until you decide you’re too awkward and uncomfortable to hide your name from him. “Oh, that’s a real pretty name. I’m Oliver.” he introduces himself.

“Hey… Oliver.” you smile, unsure of how to respond. You’re so on edge. His peculiar eyes are examining each and every movement you make like you’re being graded. And your heart is pounding… you can’t help yourself. Nobody here has extended so much as a pitying smile. You want to pass his test, he’s the only person being remotely nice to you. But still, there’s a gnawing feeling eating away and corroding your insides and it makes you feel like a criminal, like you’re doing something wrong.

Like you absolutely should not be talking to him right now.

“You’re pretty too.” he smiles, brazenly. His voice is so deep and charming, a sonorous lull as he knows all he needs to do is utter these three simple words to get a girl like you to be completely and utterly captivated. It’s such a pathetic, insipid sentence and you can’t stand that it’s working on you.

You get a full view of his wide, toothy grin and you sense that he’s trying to extend a gesture of trust to you. And you’re encapsulated by it. Pristine pearls almost blinding you and short circuiting your brain as you arrive at the realisation that he might be perfect. His features nothing short of perfection and accentuate his beguiling persona that you can’t get enough of. You haven’t even noticed the way your chest is heaving as you devour a mind-altering cocktail with him as the main ingredient.

And he can’t help but chuckle when he notices how flustered you’ve become from his words, you adorable thing. Three little words are making you squeeze your thighs together and fold your arms over your chest. And don’t think he hasn’t noticed the quickened breaths you’re taking and the dampening forehead you’re suddenly trying to wipe away. He’s noticing everything about you and making mental notes in his mind he will use later.

Do you know how vulnerable you’re being?

You should know better than to be so visibly rattled by him. He may be handsome but he’s hardly screaming upstanding citizen at you. It’s the facial hair. It’s so grotesque and sleazy and wholly unpleasant. And still, the only thought swirling around your tiny, tipsy mind is how it would feel against your skin as you kiss. How would the scruff feel between your inner thighs as he devoured your petalled flesh. You shouldn’t be thinking like this, you aren’t sure what’s wrong with you.

You don’t know how to act, do you?

“Don’t be so nervous, sweetheart.” he tells you, getting closer. The smell of his cologne invading your senses. It’s familiar, it smells expensive and suits him just fine. The type of fragrance you’d save for a special occasion to make an impact and impress people you’re around. Your nostrils flare as you inhale more. More of it. More of him. You need more.

He angles his head as he monitors your response to his proximity. He grins when he notes that you aren’t sure where to put your hands. Moving them a few times before you decide to grip the overhang of the counter behind you until the skin covering your knuckles are taut, turning white. You want to feel his chest, don’t you? It’s so broad and muscular and peaking under his shirt, he doesn’t blame you. You probably haven’t had much experience with a guy like him.

He's more than happy to show you.

You’re starting to think your heart is packing up its belongings and preparing to flee from your own chest as you feel it beating rapidly against your ribs. He’s so intoxicating, you feel lightheaded and overwhelmed by the mere presence of him. His body is trapping yours against the counter. He’s so damn tall, taller than you could have possibly imagined now that he’s pressed against you like this. Your cheeks fill with heat, and you think you might actually faint against him if he doesn’t move away. “There are bad guys at places like this, y’know? Dangerous place to be so pretty.” he warns you, whispering gently in your ear. The tone rushing through your veins and forcing you to shiver. His eyes meet yours after he speaks, his stare willing you to understand what he’s saying.

“T-Thank you…” you mumble.

“Hey, don’t worry so much. I’m the house president, I’ll keep an eye on you.” he assures you, moving away ever so slightly while keeping a lingering hand on your shoulder. A commanding touch to make your body and your mind focus on him. His hand is cold to the touch and you realise it’s from holding the metal can, cold from the refrigerator. The cooling caress of his fingers is polar opposite to the warm smile he’s offering you. You aren’t sure what to do or say, but you need not worry about yourself anymore. He had intended on doing all of your thinking for you tonight, anyway. “Oh, shit, you wanted a drink, right? Let me get one for you.” he speaks, his body moving to act before you can even answer.

“U-Um…” you hesitate, seeing him grab a bottle of rum and a mixer. You hate spirits because they always get you embarrassingly wasted. There are four prominent occasions in the forefront of your mind as you reminisce on the states you’ve found yourself in after drinking spirits. The smell alone is enough to make you gag, but you do all you can to ignore it. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself, you don’t want to do something humiliating that will be talked about for years to come.

You aren’t a prude; you aren’t opposed to getting drunk. You just don’t think it’s a good way to introduce yourself.

He’s moving so fast, and his back is to you as he pours your drink, the red solo cup obscured from your vision as he fills it to the brim for you.

You dumb little thing.

Isn’t this something you’ve been warned about? Not letting your drinks out of your sight at any point, ever. Of course you have, it’s rule number one of going to parties or nightclubs or anywhere that your drink can be tampered with.

You just aren’t thinking straight.

And why would you?

You’re so out of place in this big, intimidating environment. You’re hardly going to suspect the first person to show you a bit of kindness is actually the shadiest guy at the party. But deep down, you know you should consider everyone a suspect after hearing what he had to say. If the guys here are so shady, why does he stick with them? If he’s the president, why doesn’t he tell them to do better?

These few fleeting thoughts have been nothing but. Passing ideas that you thought of and discarded as quickly as they arrived. You can’t live your life in fear or you’ll never make any friends here. And he’s going to all of this trouble for you. You’re nobody to him, and he’s still finding it in his heart to extend a benevolent demeanour to you and making sure you have a drink and a friendly face to keep you company for the night.

So you aren’t going to think twice that he’s slipped something in your drink, you can’t see what he’s doing, but for some reason, you trust him. Would you trust him, still, if he wasn’t so good looking? Would you trust him less if he hadn’t announced he is the fraternity president? He knows you’d never have trusted receiving a drink from him if he just offered it to you out of nowhere.

He’s happy he didn’t have to work too hard, you aren’t completely stupid, but you’re still dumb enough to accept a drink from him like this. You barely even think about it as he flashes you a beaming smile and hands it to you. Hell, it might even loosen you up. You knock half of it back in three seconds and you giggle after the fact.

He’s laughing too.

But it’s at your expense, you poor, sweet thing. You’re going to be seeing so many stars tonight, a sight reserved for Oliver’s favourite angels.

“You’re crazy, huh? You like to party a lot, baby?” he wonders, taking another swig of his drink as he rests against the fridge beside him.

“No, never! This is my first big party.” you confess, and he doesn’t miss the way you slightly cringe at yourself for saying something you must think is a little embarrassing. “I mean, I’ve been to parties… this one is just—”

“You’ll get used to it.” he tells you. “The first one is always memorable, though.”

“Really? How come?” you ask, curiously.

God you’re so cute, it’s killing him. Even he can’t hide the smirk forming on his face as he tries to conceal it with his beer. He decides to not answer. Instead, he admires the way you look disappointed at the prospect of him losing interest in you. He thinks he could bathe in the watery sheen glossing over your eyes as you worry that you’ve said something so stupid that he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.

He's such a disgustingly vile man. All he can think to do is refuse to put you out of your misery. Instead, he revels in the way you knock back the rest of your drink. The way your eyes widen paints a perfect picture in telling him it was too strong for you. Stronger than anything you’ve ever drank in your life. And that’s without the added ingredient he decided to slip in.

“I— do you have a girlfriend?” your question is abrupt as you wipe the excess liquid from your plump lips. Your watery eyes watching him keenly as you do your best to decipher his intentions.

“No.”

You scoff and shake your head. “I don’t even know why I asked you that, as if you’d tell the truth.” you mumble to yourself, but it’s loud enough for him to hear. And just as you’re about to walk away, he responds.

“I don’t care if you know whether I have a girlfriend or not. I would only care if I was trying to fuck you.” the sentence rolls off his tongue with ease. Like he knew exactly what you were going to say before you even thought of it. And you feel a wave of humiliation crash throughout your body; you feel a current trying to drag you under and suffocate you under the foaming sea.

“Y-You aren’t?” you need to stop talking. You need to stop embarrassing yourself like this. For his benefit. For the other people in the kitchen with you. It feels like everyone is staring at you and laughing at your expense. Maybe you’re just drunk and being paranoid. You should go, you should sprint out of here with whatever small scraps of dignity you have left.

He shakes his head, his hand reaching out to yours to pull you closer to him. It trails, up your side and to your chin as your eyes fixate on his. His thumb smooths over your chin, encouraging you to open your mouth for him. He tilts his can of beer onto your lower lip. The golden, yeasty liquid spills from the metal container and onto your tongue. Your eyes don’t leave his as all you can do is stand there and take it. Your little throat expanding with each glug of the disgustingly bitter drink.

Your body is once again pressed against the counter. He snickers when he feels your body jolt against his as you hear the sound of the beer can he was holding clattering against the tiled floor. And he takes great delight in the way your body melts against his touch as he places a hand on your hip. The other, smoothing the shell of your ear before he levels his mouth with it.

“I don’t need to try, I’m going to fuck you.” he whispers, he kisses against your ear a few times and the sound rushes straight to your clit. You squeeze your thighs together again hoping to alleviate the brewing tension. You pray you were discreet enough for him to not notice.

You weren’t.

And it’s worse as he kisses your neck so openly in front of everyone. He sucks and sucks and sucks until his name is signed in blue and purple blooms against your skin. You bite your lip, internally cursing him for forcing you to have to wear a scarf for the coming weeks until it fades away.

“S-Stop it.” your legs buckle and there is something wrong with your eyes. The room won’t stop spinning. You didn’t drink that much, did you?

“Woah!” Oliver exclaims as you fall into his hold. “You don’t know how to handle your drink, hm? I think you need to sleep it off.”

“T-Tax—”

“No, no. I’d be a terrible host if I made you get a taxi all by yourself. C’mon.” he lifts you with ease, your entire body limp in his arms. And he just can’t believe how lucky he is. How blessed he is to be born so genetically gifted. Because he knows there is no way in hell he’d be getting away with this if he wasn’t attractive. Girls looking at him like he’s some kind of hero coming to your rescue. Him, a hero. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

There’s no way you’re forgetting your first frat party.

He’ll make sure of that.

As he passes a few of his brothers on the stairs, they all share a knowing look. Like this isn’t the first time Oliver has been in this predicament. And it surely won’t be the last. He winks at them as he walks by, and he puts you down as he reaches his door, your body dropping like a stone as he lets you fall with no care.

You can do nothing but groan as he drags you by your underarms and into his room. God you want to go home. Not to your student accommodation. Home. You want to be with your parents and under your own roof, sleeping in your own bed. It’s hard to even tell where you are. Are you still in the kitchen? No, there’s no way.

All you can think about is how tired you are.

Suddenly, you’re in the air, being flung onto a nearby bed. You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you. You’re no longer in control and you can’t move your limbs how you want to. You want to use your legs and walk right on out of here and into a taxi.

But you’re lucky, really.

Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. It’s all his. His to do whatever he wants with. You can’t move, and yet Oliver is going to be kind enough to move you however he likes. Maybe you don’t feel so lucky about it. But you’re just confused right now. Oliver knows you wanted this. Wanted him. The pill in your drink was just a little insurance policy to make sure everyone got what they want.

He prefers girls like this anyway.

Nice ‘n pliant.

“Said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” he smiles, lecherous hands feeling each and every inch of your body. A curious hand reaching up to touch the fat flesh of one of your tits as he massages it over your tiny little dress. “Think you can wear something like this and expect me not to fuck you?” he whispers.

“Mmmpf…” you hum, there’s still a little defiance in you. At this point, he wouldn’t mind if you were on the cusp of sleep. There’s something so special to him about extracting salacious moans from unconscious bodies.

“’m just getting you out of this little thing… gonna find a comfy t-shirt for you to wear to sleep.” he assures you. He wonders if you believe him. He almost believes himself. But as he pulls down the strapless bust of your dress and your supple flesh is revealed to him, the thought of covering it again dies an instant death in his mind. “Fuuuuuck, gorgeous fuckin’ tits.” he moans, his bulge straining against his jeans as envisions himself sucking them until they’re puckered and raw.

He climbs over you, your tiny frame beneath his domineering one. He’s sure you hadn’t neglected to notice how muscular he is before you passed out, even beneath his clothes. He must be some kind of athlete. He’s too beefy not to be. And boy, does he use his weight and size to his advantage when he’s dealing with delicate things like you.

His head practically falls from his shoulder as he decides to let his fantasy come to life. He licks and laves over your tits individually until he gets a little rougher. Softly nibbling the tender buds until they are aching and so sore. His teeth bruise your flesh as he marks them. An assortment of canines and molars as well as decorative love bites.

Any chance you had of forgetting this party are gone.

You’ll know what happened to you.

You might even remember who did it.

But there’s no way a sweet, timid freshman like you is going to have the courage to tell such an unbelievable tale. You might think there are steps in place to protect innocent things like you. You’re a victim, after all. You need protecting. But once again, that would just be so telling as to how naïve you truly are. Drugging pretty girls at college parties is never going to end. The staff, the students, even the police are never going to side with you.

And why would they? These false statements issued by the board, talks of ‘standing with victims’ and offering a listening ear are nothing but lip service. The institution you have found yourself in will say anything to seem like a worthwhile choice. The right and most beneficial choice to you and your future.

But the harrowing truth is that they don’t have time to protect girls like you when they are too busy covering up the messes of men like him.

He pushes your dress up to your midsection, exposing a pair of white lace panties.

“Awe, for me? You knew you were gonna get lucky tonight, didn’t you?” he asks. But of course, you’re unresponsive. His finger prods at the thin material, an involuntary laugh leaving his lungs as he is greeted with the feeling of your soaked underwear on the pad of his digit. “Too dumb t’speak right now… good job your cunt is telling me how much you want me.”

His thumb circles your clit over the material. And even he’s a little dumbfounded at the way your body betrays you. You squirm and your brows furrow as you try to stave off the pleasurable feeling. But for all he knows, you could be trying to fight him off.

He doesn’t care, though, your pussy already gave your true feelings away.

Even he can’t ignore the way his cock is leaking at the sight of your tight heat becoming exposed as he peels away your panties. A slick string connecting your sex to the material.

You must be a virgin, he thinks. Virgins get wet so easily. He suspected it from the moment he saw you. You’re so awkward and uncomfortable around people, but especially guys. You fumble over your words, and you can’t flirt to save your fucking life. But he didn’t care. The thought of your first time being with him was enough to make him want you. And even if you have fucked before. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need to know. The very thought is enough.

He pins your knees to your chest, and he begins to feast on your dripping cunt. You shudder as your body feels the tension building with each suckle and slurp against your clit. It’s unrelenting, he can’t get enough of you. He’s fucking addicted to the taste of your slick and he doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without it. Your left leg ragdolls as he lets go, opting to slip a finger into your unprepared hole without stopping his assault on your swollen clit.

And without hesitation, he’s adding another. He takes his time scissoring you open, and by now he’s convinced you’re a virgin. You’re so fucking tight. There’s no way you’ve had a dick inside of you. Or if you have, it must have been small.

You won’t have to worry about that with him.

Even unconscious, he’s sure you’ll feel how he’s gonna stretch you.

Your lazy groans are like a cheer to him. Your body is telling him what a great job he’s doing. How close you are. How badly you want to cum in his mouth and douse his thick, calloused fingers in your syrupy sheen.

The tip of his tongue lashes over the throbbing button at the apex of your thighs. He doesn’t particularly care if you take him well or not. You’re going to take him regardless. But he isn’t so heartless he won’t try and make it a little less painful for you. He’s urging you to cum for him, his free hand pressing down on your abdomen in a bid to enhance your pleasure. With each whip of his tongue against your clit and every press of your spongy insides with his fingers, he’s trying to drag you over the edge.

Your lifeless body surprises him once more.

He pulls away and observes the way your pussy pulses and your walls tighten around his fingers as you begin to cum for him. Your spent little cunt drooling around his thick digits and coating them in your slick. You even moaned for him. Not loudly, of course. A few tell-tale grunts to let him know you were happy with his work.

His eyes ogle your tits once again, admiring the way your chest rises and falls as he sucks his fingers clean. You’re so fucking cute. You must be heaven sent, the way you stepped into the frat may as well have been a gift with a garish bow from Santa Claus himself.

He unbuckles his belt with one hand whilst squeezing and pinching your nipples once again. They’re so pretty, the prettiest pair of tits he’s ever seen. He’s rock hard in his jeans, leaking like crazy and desperate to be buried to the hilt in your sweet little snatch.

And his heavy cock springs free, the tip leaving evidence of just how desperate he is on his v-neck shirt. Pearly pre shimmering against the black material that is soon to dry and harden and meld with the cotton fibres. But he can’t find it in himself to care. He pulls it over his head and throws it into the corner of his room, he’ll deal with it another time. There’s something much more entertaining lying atop his sheets right now.

“Mmm… think this is gonna hurt sweetheart. But you’re gonna be good ‘n take it f’me, yeah?” he lines himself up with your entrance and gives your still body one final look before breaching your insides with his thick cockhead. “Fuckin’ hell you’re tight. You’re so fucking tight, might cum just from this.” he speaks.

He knows you can’t understand him, but he can’t stop himself from communicating with you anyway. He needs you to know how special you are. That out of all of the girls at the party, he chose you. Don’t you feel special? He’s sure you will when you’re stuffed full of his cum. It’ll all dawn on you tomorrow and you’ll feel so honoured that the one and only Oliver Aiku fucked you open and covered you in so many pretty patterns and was even kind enough to pump you full of his cum.

You have no idea how much restraint he’s showing by not instantly splitting you open on his thick, heavy cock. He can’t help but feel that slowly plunging into your virgin walls is a better display of claiming your body. It’s almost torture for him, easing in inch at a time at an agonising pace.

And when he’s fully sheathed inside your suffocating walls, the pleasure is almost too much, he could shed a tear at the feeling. But, of course, he won’t. He’s prioritising the task at hand.

He holds under your knee and pushes it further into your chest and begins to slowly roll his hips. It’s hypnotising, the way even out of consciousness your eyes can still roll back into your skull. He takes note of how he’s moving when your eyelids begin to flutter.

“Oh baby… right there? Like it when I fuck you there?” he wonders, experimenting with his movement and speeding up ever so slightly. His cockhead is nudging your g-spot so perfectly. It’s so deliciously soft, and those saccharine expressions you’re donning are about to drag him to an early demise.

His grip on your thigh is harsh. Another galaxy of purple bruises forming under his fingers on your doughy skin. He hasn’t noticed. It’s second nature to him to be a little rougher than intended. But it’s part of the fun, right? More little discoveries for you to find in days to come.

He’s entranced by the way his cock vanishes inside of your cute cunt. He’s being swallowed whole by your sticky lips. The sound reverberates throughout the room. The suctioning sounds of you pulling him inside and the tackiness of your pussy and his cock meeting again and again and again.

Your eyes squint as he yanks down your jaw until he sees your tongue. He’s so abhorrent and even at this point he knows this to be the truth himself. He just can’t fucking help it. He wants to do anything and everything to you. He wants to humiliate you because you’re just that special to him. With a cartoonish ‘ptuh’ sound, a glob of spit has landed on your tongue and is slowly sliding down your throat.

With a few more presses of his tip against your sweet spot, you’re spasming around him again. Maybe you liked it after all. You wouldn’t cum if you didn’t. Do you like being taken advantage of by reprehensible scum like Oliver Aiku? Do you like being unconscious while getting your insides pummelled? This might warp your tiny little mind. Maybe you’ll think this is love and this is what you’re meant for. It is, as far as Oliver is concerned. He doesn’t let up humping into your tiny hole. He spits in your mouth again, and it’s the final straw to pull him into his oncoming bliss right along with you.

“Little slut,” he pants, his hips faltering as he feels himself reaching the precipice. “Mine. My little slut. My fuckin’ cunt. H-Hear me? Mine.” he practically growls as he shoots load after load into your unprotected womb. “Ah— fuck. Fuuuuuck—” he finishes, fucking his viscous seed back into you.

He pulls out immediately after, admiring the way his sperm drips and squelches out of your spent cunt. You’re clenching around nothing, poor thing. You must miss him.

But you don’t have to worry. You won’t have to miss him for long. You’re not done, after all. He just needs some time to recharge. He wasn’t just going to fuck you once and be done with you. Not a perfect little pussy like that, no. Those drugs will be in your system for a few hours.

He’s far from done with you yet.

#oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku smut #oliver aiku x you #aiku x reader #aiku smut #aiku oliver x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock smut #bllk smut #tw noncon #tw somno #tw drugging #tw biting #tw marking #tw spit #tw alcohol

2K notes · View notes

haartemis · 18 days ago

Text

THE ALCHEMY | PART V

pairing: kylian mbappe x fem!reader

word count: 5.1k

warnings: smut

summary: working at real madrid is a dream come true— until kylian mbappe, football's biggest star and the last person you ever want to see, joins the club. as tensions rise between you two and the lines between frustration and fascination blur, you wonder: can you truly resist the man you've sworn to hate?

A/N: apologies for the delay, had a serious case of writer's block and tbh i don't feel like this is my best work but alas 🥲. lmk what yall think!!

"see that cafe? that’s where my first girlfriend dumped me" kylian points to the establishment across the street, swirling the ice in his glass.

you squint, not missing a beat. "what a queen"

"says the girl who sleeps in my bed three nights a week" he says, grinning. "you’ve got no ground to stand on"

you can't even come up with a retort - because, honestly, what could you say to that? he’s completely right. so instead, you grab a napkin and throw it across the table at him.

"it's two nights actually" you mumble under your breath as he expertly dodges the napkin.

"yes, two" he corrects. "last week it was three though"

"yes, but usually it's two, so-"

"it's three nights we’re together anyway, if you count the night i sleep at your place" he says smugly.

you just give him a deadpan look, defeated.

"what?" he winks. "i keep track of everything on my calendar"

it’s true. kylian is intentional with his time. he has to be. his days are usually planned to the minute. sometimes, his schedule is packed so tight there’s barely room to breathe, let alone time for himself. so when he does have free time - real, uninterrupted time - he doesn’t waste it. he spends it with purpose.

these days, that purpose is you.

right now, it's him whisking you away on a weekend getaway to monaco, the place he spent most of his adolescence in, the one that still holds a special place in his heart. you're seated on the terrace of his favorite restaurant here. it's dusk, and the sky is painted in a swathe of beautiful dark blue. in the distance, you can hear the hum of yachts and the occasional rev of an engine. monaco, in all its grandeur. kylian’s monaco.

he’s sitting across from you wearing a white shirt, slightly unbuttoned, a silver dior chain peeking through, and a barely noticeable sheen of sweat on his tanned brown skin. his phone is flipped over on the table, gaze locked on you, fully focused and unwavering, because again, he’s intentional.

"why did she dump you then?" you take a sip of your water.

"i was moving to paris" he shrugs. "didn’t want to do long distance. it was mutual, really. we both knew it wouldn’t work"

"oh i bet you were relieved" you say, laughing, but there’s tension underneath that you’re trying to hide. "probably counting down the days till you could be in your fuckboy era"

"no" he says with a frown. "that was my first heartbreak"

you scoff instinctively, but the light fading from his eyes makes you regret it immediately. there’s something unexpectedly earnest in his face, and you wish you could take back your words, or at least make them sound less tactless.

“i meant..” you laugh awkwardly. “i guess it’s hard to imagine you being heartbroken, it’s easier to picture you as the heartbreaker”

as soon as the words leave your mouth you realize you’ve made it worse.

he studies you for a moment, swirling the ice in his glass again.

"we should go" kylian says after a few moments of awkward silence where you’re cringing internally at your blunder. he pointedly avoids your gaze. "paps are bound to show up soon"

back at his house, neither of you says much, the heat of the day leaving you both sluggish. yet the air between you is brimming with something unsaid, something unresolved. eventually, wordlessly, you step into the shower together, letting the water rinse the day away.

you hum absently, lost in the sensation of warmth, of his presence, of the way kylian’s hands settle lightly on your hips as if anchoring himself. his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, sending a shiver through you despite the heat of the water.

"i was actually heartbroken, you know" he says suddenly, and you stiffen.

"it hurt a little, the way you were dismissive" he continues.

kylian lifts a hand, fingertips ghosting against your arm before tucking a damp curl back into the loose pineapple ponytail atop your head. your stomach churns with guilt, but you don’t respond.

the silence stretches until he speaks again. "do you still not trust me?"

you turn to face him then. the water is beading against his skin, clinging to his lashes in delicate droplets. his deep brown eyes search yours, unguarded and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest tighten.

you think back to years ago, when the only version of him you knew was the one on your tv screen. back then, you’d thought the phrase ‘everything is uglier up close’ was especially true for celebrities, who you’d always heard lost their polish and perfection in mundane, everyday life, revealing themselves to be just as ordinary as everyone else. but here, in the middle of the intimate activity of showering together, you realize that can't be more false. kylian doesn’t hold the same carefully controlled presence he does in public, yes, but he’s beautiful. breathtakingly beautiful, in a way that makes you feel like your heart might burst if you think about it too much.

"no, i do" you murmur reassuringly. "of course i do. i'm sorry i reacted that way. i guess... old habits die hard"

his gaze lingers on you, assessing, as if weighing the truth in your words. a quiet exhale escapes him, almost like relief, and he pulls you into his arms. chest to chest, the heat of his skin against yours, the steady rush of water cascading over you both. your hands skim up the hard ridges of his spine, feeling the way he relaxes under your touch. his lips find your temple, a soft brush that speaks of the adoration he has for you.

"we can’t keep going in circles" he murmurs against your forehead, and you know he’s right.

afterward, you lie in bed together, legs tangled in the sheets. kylian sleeps soundly beside you, his arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of his breathing the only sound in the room. he holds you close even in sleep, almost instinctively.

you, on the other hand, are wide awake, your mind restless, thoughts spiraling in endless loops.

you’re self-aware enough to know that your earlier reaction, the thoughtless way you brushed him off, came from a place of hesitation. a tiny part of you, buried deep but still present, is still wary. old habits really do die hard.

it doesn’t help that you’re seeing each other, but you haven’t defined what that really means. your first date in paris has come and gone, and there’s an unspoken understanding that you like each other, that this is something. but nothing has been made official. no labels as of yet.

still, the man is practically cohabitating in your space. just last week, he ordered a playstation console just for your apartment. you’ve started leaving clothes at his place, your yoga mat tucked in the corner of his bedroom like it belongs there. you spend so much time together, wrapped up in each other’s lives. sneakily, without you even realizing it, he’s become your best friend.

and now, lying here in the dark, with the warmth of his body against yours, you realize - you want to be his girlfriend. really be his.

yes, his life is very complicated. yes, it would mean stepping into a world that isn’t always kind. but you like him. more than that: you want him. and you want him to want this, too. but the problem is, you don’t know if he does. the thought has been lodged in your head for a while now, and sometimes, the part of you that’s a tiny bit insecure wonders if you’d inadvertently gotten yourself into a situationship, if just you’re a placeholder in his bed until he gets bored of you and he moves on to someone new.

you stir awake early the next morning to the sound of kylian’s voice, low and murmuring into the phone. for a moment, the only thing you can focus on is how sexy he sounds with his groggy, just-woke-up morning voice.

he notices you stirring and shoots you a small smile, but it fades almost instantly as the person on the other end speaks. he lets out a quiet groan in frustration.

"are you sure we can't do this another time?" he says, thumb running over the pendant of the necklace he gave you as you snuggle closer.

a pause. his brows knit together. "yes, i'm upset" he replies. "this whole weekend was meant for me and y/n. i specifically asked you not to schedule anything. you know what i had planned for tonight specifically, i-” he stops, biting his tongue. his eyes nervously flicker to you, as if checking for something.

another pause. he sighs. "i know it's not your fault”

after a while, he finally hangs up, exhaling sharply as he tosses his phone onto the mattress. you watch as he rubs a hand over his face, the tension in him unmistakable.

"i have to go to caen” he says after a beat, turning to face you. "i need to meet with the new coach and the team. something came up, and they need me there in person"

you yawn, still caught in the haze of sleep. "caen" you repeat, processing. cm caen - the club he owns. of course.

"yeah" he sighs, rolling onto his side to face you properly. "i'm really sorry. i didn’t plan for this, but i have to handle it" his fingers find yours beneath the sheets, tracing over your knuckles. "i wanted this weekend to be just us”

disappointment washes over you. you’d both had a long, exhausting week - him with training and a match, you adjusting to your new job. time together has been scarce, and this trip was supposed to be a chance to just be with each other without interruptions. something that’s starting to feel more and more like a luxury. last night, you even decided you were finally going to bring up the “what are we?” conversation today. but now the weekend is getting cut short, because he has to get on a stupid plane, to fly across the stupid country, to deal with his stupid clu–

"come with me," he says suddenly, like the thought has only just occurred to him.

“to caen?” you scrunch your nose. "wouldn't that be a bit unprofessional? me tagging along on your business trip?"

he smirks as he hops out of bed. "my club, my rules. i can bring whoever i want"

your brain short-circuits slightly at the sight of him, all long limbs and sculpted muscles. he’s standing in nothing but his boxers, which hang low on his hips and draw attention to the sharp v-line cutting down his abdomen. your hands itch to slide the fabric lower, to reveal what’s underneath.

"right," you murmur, dragging your gaze back up. "and what exactly will you be doing there?"

he shrugs, already moving between the closet and the bed, laying out his clothes for the day. "mostly talking to the players and management. rallying the troops, boosting morale. making sure everything's running smoothly"

you snort. "rallying the troops?"

he grins, dimples flashing. "what? i can be very persuasive"

"mhmm" you hum, unimpressed.

he disappears into the bathroom, and a second later, you hear the water turn on. "so, you coming?" his voice carries over the running shower. "or do you wanna stay? pool’s nice here, you know, the jacuzzi is even better” he says, then sighs dramatically. "shame i won’t be around to see you in a bikini, but hey, can’t have it all"

"no,i’ll come" you interrupt, already swinging your legs over the bed.

"perfect" he says. then, teasingly "come in here, the water’s nice. i’ll rub your back the way you like"

you don’t need to be told twice.

club president kylian is different from regular kylian in the way he carries himself. his voice is a touch deeper and subtly authoritative, his gestures more deliberate, his posture straighter, like a man who knows he’s in charge. but club president kylian is also very much the same as regular kylian in one particular way - he keeps a possessive hand on your lower back at all times during the introductory meeting with staff.

the introductions give you an odd sense of deja vu, and for a while, you can’t figure out why. then it clicks - your first meeting with kylian at the real madrid offices. the coffee stained white shirt, your less than subtle jabs at him, the way he’d pretended to forget your name even though your boss had (re)introduced you properly.

funny, really. because right now, you catch the briefest flicker of panic in his eyes as he actually forgets someone’s name. the kitman, standing right in front of him, who had been introduced to him barely an hour ago.

kylian prides himself on his memory, because it’s one of the things he’s obnoxiously good at. which makes this moment even more entertaining, considering you (who admittedly have been half dissociating through most of this meeting) still remember that the guy’s name is hugo.

you watch, thoroughly amused, as kylian stumbles over his words, realizing too late that he’s blanking. then he subtly flicks his gaze to you in silent plea, as if saying help me out here.

you simply raise an innocent eyebrow, offering no lifeline. and with no other choice, he awkwardly continues the conversation while skillfully avoiding using the poor guy’s name.

when hugo finally walks away, you lean into kylian’s side, fighting the urge to laugh. “it was hugo, by the way”

“yeah thanks for nothing” kylian says through gritted teeth, fake smile plastered on his face.

you grin. “anytime, président”

a little while later, you and kylian find yourselves in conversation with the new coach, casual small talk filling the gaps before the two of them sit down and get into the real discussion. the coach mentions his love for camembert cheese and how cheese making has been a long time hobby of his, one that has recently turned into a small business.

kylian, ever eager to engage, nods along. “oh yeah, i love camembert. one of my favorites”

you blink. “really?” your voice is all innocent curiosity, but the glint in your eyes says otherwise. “i thought you said you hated it. something about the smell being too strong?"

he shoots you a sharp look, subtle but immediate. the coach chuckles and graciously makes a passing comment about camembert being an acquired taste, but kylian’s focus is solely on you. his fingers tighten slightly on your back, just enough for you to notice.

“that was years ago” he says smoothly, not missing a beat. “tastes change”

you nod slightly, unconvinced, but drop it.

his hand lowers to your ass, fingers squeezing for just a second before sliding back up to your back. the touch is quick and discreet, but you know it’s a warning. somehow, that only spurs you on.

“you told me that two months ago, actually” you blurt. from the corner of your eye, you catch kylian’s assistant look at the ground, trying not to laugh.

kylian's eyes narrowing slightly. you can practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to remember whatever damning statement he made about camembert two months ago.

"did i?" he asks, voice light.

you nod, feigning innocence. "mmhmm. you said, and i quote, ‘it smells and tastes like feet, people who like this stuff need their taste buds snatched away from them’"

a small, strangled sound comes from his assistant, who’s still avoiding eye contact. the coach chuckles, amused. kylian, on the other hand, is less entertained.

“i..don’t really recall saying that” he finally chuckles awkwardly.

"funny how your taste changes when you're trying to impress people" you murmur under your breath, just for him to hear.

he exhales sharply through his nose, shifting on his feet. "careful" he warns, voice low.

you merely smile.

you keep going, intentionally ramping up the awkwardness in every interaction he has with his staff members. when one of the team nutritionists curiously asks if you’re his girlfriend, you simply turn to kylian and leave him in the hot seat. he stammers through half a sentence before awkwardly changing the subject. when another staff member comments on his surprising punctuality for the meeting, you seize the moment to casually remark (loud enough for everyone to hear) that he was irritatingly late the first time he visited the real madrid offices.

and when his assistant hands him a folder and absentmindedly says “don’t lose this please”, you gasp theatrically, turning to kylian with wide eyes. “wait, you actually read documents before signing them? that’s new”

kylian only clears his throat.

when it’s time to speak to the players, the coach mentions that they’ve just finished training and are in the locker room. there’s an unspoken understanding that you won’t be joining for the pep talk, and you have no intention of protesting, because honestly you have zero desire to be in a room filled with sweat and testosterone. kylian’s face immediately lights up in relief too, as if he’s thanking his lucky stars you won’t be able to embarrass him any more. it makes you smile.

before you know it, the locker room talk is over, and so is the trip. you hop on the plane, and just like that, you’re back in madrid. a small part of you wonders if you should feel overwhelmed, maybe even be put off by kylian’s lifestyle. after all, how many 26 year olds spend their sundays flying across the country to check in on the football club they own ? how many times has kylian pushed aside the needs of his personal life to attend to his professional one?

but the truth is, you’re not put off at all. if anything, you’re grateful for the glimpse into this side of him, for the way his relentless ambition makes him even more attractive to you, and most of all, for the opportunity to get under his skin. yes, especially that last part.

when you get to kylian’s house, he’s understandably exhausted after a full day of nonstop conversations and meetings. there’s no need for words; you both fall into a comfortable quiet, the kind that comes naturally after spending enough time with someone.

the evening starts innocently. the tv plays softly in the background, tuned into your favorite reality show, though neither of you are really paying attention. kylian is stretched out on the bed, his head resting in your lap, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers move idly over his scalp. he hums in relaxation, the tension from the day slowly melting away under your touch.

his breathing evens, his body growing heavier against you, and for a moment, you think he might have fallen asleep. but then, without opening his eyes, he murmurs, “you had fun annoying me today, didn’t you?”

you grin, nails scratching lightly at the nape of his neck. “i don’t know what you’re talking about”

he lets out a quiet laugh as his fingers tighten softly against your thigh. “you’re lucky i was too busy to deal with you properly” he muses, voice low and drowsy.

you tilt your head. “oh? and what exactly would dealing with me properly look like?”

you reach for the remote to turn off the tv, the movement causing your camisole to dip just enough to give him a perfect view of your braless cleavage. from where his head rests on your thigh, kylian’s gaze flickers downward shamelessly.

his exhaustion seems to evaporate in real time, because suddenly he lifts his head from your lap and grabs your waist, effortlessly laying down on the bed properly and hovering over you.

you barely have a second to breathe before his lips are on yours, hot and demanding.

“two months ago” he murmurs against your lips, voice dripping with mockery “you told me that two months ago”

“just keeping you honest” you murmur, savoring the feeling of his mouth on yours.

he starts nipping at your bottom lip before dragging his mouth down your jaw, your neck, making his way lower.

his hands are everywhere at once. palming your waist, slipping beneath the hem of your camisole, spreading warmth across your skin with each touch. his mouth follows the path his hands don’t take, lips pressing open mouthed kisses down your chest.

"you love running that mouth don’t you?" he murmurs, breath hot against your skin. he moves back up to scrape his teeth lightly over where your pulse is, making you shiver. "love embarrassing me in front of my staff"

you can’t even pretend to deny it, not when his hands are pushing your shorts down your hips, and his voice is low and possessive, just the way you like it.

"didn’t think you’d mind" you tease, albeit in a breathy and uneven voice.

kylian chuckles, lips pressing against the sensitive skin just below your ear. " no i don’t mind" his fingers tighten around your thighs, spreading them apart effortlessly. "might like it actually, because when you get on my nerves i always want to fuck you right after"

and then he palms you through your underwear, hand cupping you possessively before he drags his fingers over the damp fabric of your underwear, just barely applying pressure, enough to have you arching into his touch instinctively.

you make a sound of protest as he increases the pressure, something between a whine and a sigh, but kylian just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your jaw before pulling back slightly, his fingers still tracing slow, torturous circles over you.

“what’s wrong?” he says smugly. “why so quiet now?”

you don’t reply, at least not with words. instead, you guide his wrist from your crotch to the hem of your camisole. he gets the hint and he quickly tugs the top off you. his breath hitches, eyes darkening as they flicker over your bare skin. you’ve done this a hundred times, maybe more, but it still knocks him off balance. still makes him pause, like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

his hands find your waist, thumbs brushing over your ribs as he leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss between your breasts before tilting his head up to meet your gaze.

“i want to be on top” you say, fingers tightening around his shoulder in anticipation.

“no, you’ll get tired eventually” he says conversationally as he slides your panties down and tosses them aside.

“are you saying i’m weak?”

he rolls his eyes. “no, i’m just saying you’ll get tired”

you don’t give him the chance to argue further. you just grab his face and kiss him, slow and deep, swallowing whatever smug remark he was about to make. he groans into your mouth, momentarily distracted, and that’s all the opening you need.

with a swift shift of your weight, you flip yourselves over, catching him off guard as his back meets the mattress. he blinks up at you, startled, and you can’t help the triumphant smirk that grows on your lips.

“you were saying?” you tease, settling over him.

he exhales a sharp breath in frustration, hands gripping your hips. then a slow grin spreads across his face. “fine. you're feeling obstinate today” he says, fingers trailing up your spine. “let’s see how long you last”

in no time, you strip off his boxers and guide him to where you want him, lining him up to enter you. but before you let him in, you drag him against your folds, slow and deliberate, letting the anticipation build. back and forth, again and again, until he lets out an impatient groan, his grip on your hips tightening.

you only smirk, rolling your hips just enough to keep him on edge. “what’s the rush?” you murmur, leaning down to press a teasing kiss to his lips.

he exhales sharply, and before you can push him any further, he tightens his grip and thrusts up, burying himself inside you in one smooth motion.

a sharp gasp escapes your lips, your fingers clutching his shoulders as your body adjusts, stretching to take him in. his head falls back against the pillow, a low, guttural “putain” spilling from his mouth as he sinks deeper, reveling in the way you wrap around him.

and then you start moving. slowly at first, because you don’t want to expend all your energy at once. but an impatient tap on your ass from kylian lets you know he’s not satisfied, so you pick up the pace and set a steady rhythm. he feels good, really good. and you know you feel good too, just by the way he’s fighting not to squeeze his eyes shut, by the way his mouth is slightly parted and letting out quiet grunts, the way his hands can’t decide whether to stay on your hips, grab your ass, or squeeze your breasts. it makes you feel powerful.

soon enough your thighs begin to burn, muscles straining under the effort. you try to push through it, but the ache grows too much to ignore. the pace falters, and you finally slow, catching your breath.

kylian pulls out and flips you over. you groan in frustration, missing the sensation of being full of him.

“i fucking told you so” he says as he diligently arranges a pillow for your lower back. he’s nothing if not an attentive lover. “sometimes just do as i say”

when you’re positioned in a way where the angle is just right, he slips back into you with a hiss.

he immediately starts pounding into you, the pace so quick and powerful it makes your movements while you were riding him feel like a snail’s pace. your hands grip his back for dear life, moans spilling out of your mouth almost involuntarily.

he stills for a moment, a shudder running through him briefly before spilling into you. you follow suit straight after, a wave of toe curling pleasure washing over you. it’s so profound, it makes your ears ring. what happens next, though, punches through any heightened sensations:

“i think i love you” kylian says into the crook of your neck as he collapses onto you.

the audacity of this man.

“think?” you snap. “don’t open your mouth if you’re not sure, kylian”

his breath is still uneven against your skin, body warm and yielding against yours, but your words make him lift his head.

he bursts out laughing. “you’re unbelievable”

“semantics matter” you say seriously. “you either love me or you don’t”

his fingers trace slow patterns against your thigh, arching his brows at you with an amused look. then, with that same infuriating certainty he always carries, he leans in and kisses you.

“i love you” he corrects as he pulls away. “ i know i love you. never been more certain of anything, actually”

your heart stumbles over itself at his words, your grip on his shoulders tightening instinctively. suddenly, you’re hyperaware of the way he’s looking at you, waiting. you could tease him, make him sweat a little, but for once, you decide against it.

“good” you whisper. “i love you too”

“good” he repeats playfully as he carefully pulls out of you, settling next to you with a satisfied sigh.

a contemplative silence settles over you, until he blurts: “this isn’t the way i’d planned to say it you know”

“what do you mean?”

“i had this whole dinner planned for tonight” he starts, voice quieter now. “romantic and everything. I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend” he clears his throat, like saying it out loud makes him self conscious. “but then caen happened, and-” he shakes his head, laughing softly, almost to himself.

“you should know…this is how it is with me” he continues. “my life is crazy. plans change, things come up, and I don’t - I don’t know if i can be the perfect partner, at least not in the traditional sense. i can’t always be there, physically. my career takes up so much of my time. and to be honest i think, deep down, I was afraid that might scare you off”

he sighs as you turn on your side so you’re face to face. “I was meant to say all of this at dinner, explain it properly. but I guess I’ll just say it now. i love you” he pauses, as if gathering his thoughts. “you’re my favorite person, and if we’re really going to be together, because i want to and i really hope you do too, i swear i’ll do everything in my power to make it work. but I won’t lie to you, it won’t always be easy. there will be things you’ll have to sacrifice. your privacy. maybe even your sanity sometimes” his lips twitch, but his eyes stay serious. “and I know that’s a lot to ask. but even with all that… do you want to do this with me?”

the second the words leave him, he exhales deeply, like he’s been holding them in for too long.

you don’t respond for a few seconds, processing his words. then, finally, you chuckle. “If i’d known all of this, i would’ve been much nicer to you at caen”

kylian playfully kicks your leg under the sheets. “i knew you were pissed about something”

“i was” you admit. “i thought we were in this weird limbo, and i didn’t want it to be like that”

“i get it” he assures, hands softly stroking your cheeks. “i wish i was more communicative with you”

“me too” you murmur. “and by the way, i do want to do this with you. you’re worth it to me. you’re worth whatever craziness comes with being with you”

your gaze drops to his lips which are still slightly swollen, glistening and unbearably tempting. and as if drawn by some invisible force, you lean in and kiss him. it’s slow, languid, unhurried, the kind of kiss that lingers and stretches time. you wonder how many evenings like this you have to look forward to - ones spent wrapped up in each other, basking in the quiet intimacy of just being. The thought fills you with something light, an overwhelming feeling of excitement.

when you finally pull back, you give him a pointed look. “don’t think you’re off the hook. i expect that romantic dinner to be postponed, not canceled”

kylian brushes his lips against yours again, already chasing more. “never said otherwise”

“i have conditions too” you say in between kisses. “if you want me to be your girlfriend”

“and what are they?” he chuckles.

“first of all, you need to get a driver’s license” you say in a serious tone, even though your eyes betray that you’re joking. “i can’t have a boyfriend that can’t drive. like optics wise, that’s kind of embarrassing for me. sorry”

“right” he huffs out a laugh. “what would people say?”

“exactly” you deadpan.

“ok. driver’s license. noted” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “anything else?”

“TBD” you say. kylian gives you a mock-understanding nod, playing along. you fall into a spell of silence for a bit, the only sound being your heartbeats drumming in tandem.

“why did your bodyguard lie about your height?” you suddenly ask.

“huh?” he sounds taken aback at the unexpected question.

“the night we met, your bodyguard said you’re 6 feet tall”

he shrugs. “i don’t know. maybe he thought he was doing me a favor” he laughs. “but it clearly didn’t work”

“didn’t matter anyway, i still ended up sleeping with you, didn't i?” you say, shaking your head. “and i know we got off on the wrong foot, but i’m still grateful, you know”

he kisses your forehead lovingly. “good. because you’re stuck with me now”

a sense of serenity washes over you at his words because, you know, deep in your bones, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

THE END

tags: @idontknowwhatthisvis555 @nowrosesaredead @iuoiyr @acarolnzinhaa-03 @ynkfreeastheocean @scottishthistle @user6373738 @loonworld @whateveryouloser @greyishbach @ajsboys @kyliansonlygf @lucysantos6-blog @tuliptopiasstuff @kennasutopia @cinderellawithashoe @akiracim @kymb-10 @germanapples @heartbreakylian @ishaaglobus2002 @flawlessdiamond1 @ouiouibaguettei @kylianmb9 @peaceiswonderful @maricciardo @monodolan @borikenlovee @rmadridcore @nngkay

#kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe smut #kylian mbappe angst #kylian mbappe x y/n #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian x reader #kylian x you #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian mbappe fluff #kylian mbappé imagine #kylian mbappé smut #football fanfic

86 notes · View notes

vaguesxrrow · 1 year ago

Note

can u plsss write one about charles with an american reader? like the inspo is the olivia rodrigo song so american lol. like maybe him making fun of her accent and her doing the and back and like the differences between the two cultures?

ACTUALLY INSANEEE bc right before seeing this i was singing that song in my head (i dont listen to olivia but i probably should tbh). alsoo i wasn't sure if you wanted a fic or hcs, so i kind of made a 2 in 1. hope you dont mind! xx

a/n: im not american nor british and ive never been to the usa or the uk... so excuse any inaccuracies pleaseee

tags: g!n reader, american!reader, alive!reader

you shivered and exhaled sharply, your breath misting out in front of you. the moment you stepped outside, you knew you should have piled on more layers, but edwin had been eager in whisking everyone out the door to carry out an investigation for your current case.

you burrowed closer to charles. obviously, he couldn't provide any real body heat, but being near him was a boost in morale to keep going despite the temperature.

"alright?" he asked, putting an arm across your shoulders.

"i should've put on more layers," you grumbled.

charles laughed as he kissed the top of your head. "you can have my jacket."

shaking your head, you declined. "it's fine, it's not that cold. and besides, i wouldn't want to strip you of your british glory and your british coat."

charles snorted. "so it's my british glory, now? who was the one making fun of my accent literally just yesterday?"

"litch-rally," you parroted, grinning. "why is it that all your t's turn into ch's?"

"hey, you're one to talk - what is it you were ordering at the restaurant yesterday? a glass of wa-der, was it?"

"bite me, charles."

he raised his jacket up and engulfed you with it in a bear hug. you shrieked with laughter and wriggled in his hold, but didn't protest when he demanded you hold your arms out so he could put the jacket on you.

"what are you, a soccer player? i thought i was your [boy/girlfriend/partner], not your competition," you teased.

"soccer?" he mocked, outraged. "soccer? it's football, mate."

"mate?" you scoffed incredulously, although you were smiling. "way to friendzone me after months of dating."

"oh, come on, you know you could never get rid of me." charles pulled you in again, this time by your hand. "and for the record, you look cute wearing my clothes."

a few beats of silence, in which you two looked at each other with similar expressions of fondness and exasperation.

"yeah, okay, now get away from me, you victorian fossil." you shoved him playfully, and sprinted away to catch up with the other three. niko waved you over, giggling at charles, who was jogging to keep up.

"victorian fossil? i grew up in the 80s!" he exclaimed. "you know this!"

⌦ ---

- you do know very well that charles grew up in the 80s - you frequently ask him what it was like back then, because naturally, you'd take an interest in your boyfriend's life

- however, charles loves how you're genuinely interested, and get how watching times change can feel a bit lonely for him sometimes

- you're a great listener when it comes to this (which you think you should be greatly accredited for; charles' good looks can be very distracting at times)

- imagine: you and charles in your room as he looks around, inspecting the decor you have on display as he rambles about life in the 80s

- he tells you about a huge movie premiere he went to:

- charles: "get this, right - a ridiculously long line outside the movie theatre. the weather is absolutely miserable, and so are the people. no one's talking at all. i think everyone was just hungry - i saw this lady have tea delivered.

- you: 'i keep forgetting you have stuff like tea times. and did everyone really have the patience to wait for that long, in silence?'

- charles, with a fake american accent: yeah, dude. in silence.

- you throw a pillow at him.

- you also like telling hilariously bad jokes relating to his accent

- you: psst. charles.

- he turns towards you, already expecting another jab at his british-ness

- you: what day do british people eat the most?

- charles, in a deadpan: what day.

- you: chewsday, innit-

- he yells 'NOPE' and walks through the wall, leaving you to wheeze-laugh on your own

#charles rowland x reader #charles rowland x you #charles rowland/you #charles rowland/reader #charles rowland #dead boy detectives headcanons #dead boy detectives x reader #dead boy detectives fic #dbd #dead boy detectives

203 notes · View notes

spicypotatoesofttaco · 22 days ago

Text

I'm so embarrassed but it's fine

I REALLY don't want to post this. but it's fine. IT'S fine. It's stupid and lame, but I'm committing. While this may be a brain child of mine (honestly someone could've already made this and I have no knowledge of this) I'm not particularly attached to it, so construct as much criticism as you want. or kill me, either one works.

just a small warning, this is like. soooo not professionally written (or proofread) at all. it's just a bunch of different types of notes slapped on a page. good luck soldier.

@dreamweave01 this is for you

so the main thing i remember is that it's mainly donnie and mikey angst

OH OH i just got something BIG

so it started out with donatello being replaced by someone else for years and the other turtles had no idea. then it was him replacing himself and then it was leo instead and a few other different versions that i plot holed away. i ended up with raph, leo AND donnie being replaced by robots BY the real donnie (who had died along with the other two) for years and mikey had no idea. then i was like, hm another plot hole, robots dont bleed. and THATS where it all came together.... (evil hand mushing)

boom, bop, bam: they're from another timeline/multiverse

and then the angst started. (side note: i personally dont think i have a good handle on their characters/relationships with each other. i need to rewatch the show and watch the other ones tbh, please take this with the finest grain of salt you can find)

scene 1: mikey finds out

right now, it's just him and donatello in the lair, the other two are out or something. he overhears don talking about "day 1,100, didn't think we'd make it this far without michaelangelo finding out, etc."

"who are you? where are my brothers? what's going on?"

"get away from me. don't touch me"

"don't call me that, you don't get to call me that. not mikey, not mike, or mikester or angelo or anything, none of it!"

he's freaking out. 3 years? his brothers aren't even his brothers? initially he's flipping his shit, trying to get away from donnie(?). for all he knows they could be robots, shapeshifters, anything.

scene 2: leo finds mikey (on a rooftop)

"hey bud"

"GET AWAY FROM ME" he's got his kusari-fundō spinning, pointed at leo(?)

leo(?) raises his hands "okay! okay! it's okay dude, i'm not gonna hurt you i promise", he reaches to lift his swords out and throw them to the side.

michaelangelo, breathing so heavily, lowers his weapon yet still spinning it. he's leaning side to side, lightly pacing but never turning his back to his brother(?)

"listen, uh. buddy, just come back home and we can talk about this. we'll explain-"

"no! i'm not going anywhere with you"

"do you really think we would wait this long to do something to you if we were going to?"

that stumped him. would they play the long game? tello would. but the others wouldn't and honestly, donnie would get bored eventually anyway.. maybe he should hear them out.

scene 3: the explanation

they all sit down together and donnie explains what happened.

at first, he tells mikey the truth and leo and raph immediately berate him for not going through with their inital plan to lie so that mike doesn't flip again. buuuut then I thought it'd be angstier to go through with the inital plan 🫢

Donatello explains:

"So say," he draws two lines on a hologram, one purple, one orange. he points to the orange one, "this is your timeline and this is ours," pointing to the purple line

"In our world, you died. You weren't strong enough, too young maybe, to handle the ooze. As time went by things were normal for us, then out of nowhere a portal brought us to your timeline."

(context dump: the three completely grew up without him, mike has no memories of the portal why? idk yet...trauma response probably..)

L: "We were all confused at first but eventually we figured out that you had brought us here because your us's were gone."

R: "So we figured out the routine, the rhythm. Played the parts that you expected."

M: "So this is...my fault? I took you from your home and you, you just let it happen?!"

D: "I obviously have been trying to figure out a way back but alas, even the most genius of geniuses have trouble with multi-versal travel.

scene 4: emotional damage

(an: i know, i didn't write much here. i got a little lazy, its literally just the climax)

big crazy scene, like wild colours (lots of orange and yellow) and destruction and stuff like the movie type shi.

D: "MICHAELANGELO, MIKEY, PLEASE. please. I know you're still in there. I- I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. It was me, I lied to you, Mikey."

spell breaks (yippee)

M: "what?"

D: "You didn't pull us away from our timeline. I-" deep breath

"I pulled you from yours."

M: speechless, confused. vulnerable.

D: "You were all alone! You had nothing, no one left. I couldn't just abandon you."

"I thought it'd be perfect. We didn't have you, you didn't have us. It was the perfect puzzle!" sigh "and then we had to go and mess it all up by not telling you the truth."

#rottmnt #rottmnt movie #rottmnt au #rise of the tmnt #dreamweave01 made me do it

31 notes · View notes

lagunaseca2013 · 1 month ago

Note

how does pecco tell his parents that he's pregnant in the teen pregnancy au? how awkward is the eventual valentino safe sex talk for both luca and pecco? Do they eventually have another kid way later in life luca unintentionally having kids that have the same age gap as him and valentino?

hi anon! this ask honestly got me to open a google doc for this thing which is more than I can say for half the wips I’ve talked about here lmao. as always things kind of got away from me so I hope I’ve answered your questions but tbh I feverishly wrote half of this in the actual tumblr app bc I was so inspired so. apologies if it’s not that good! but cheers <3

—

“Pecco?” Carola picks up on the fourth ring of his ninth attempted call. She sounds groggy and confused, like she’s just woken up, probably because— “It’s four AM,” she groans, “you just woke me up. What’s wrong?”

Pecco swallows against the lump in his throat, the words getting stuck in his mouth. He can’t think of a single thing to say, though he’d spent the entire five-hour drive to Turin agonizing about it. In his defense, he couldn’t really do his best thinking when he kept having to pull over to throw up. Most of the time he wasn’t dry heaving on the side of the road, he’d spent going 200kph and trying not to have a panic attack.

He’s breathing heavily, trying desperately not to burst into tears again. Pecco knows if he’s silent for much longer, Carola will either hang up or call the firing squad, the best big sister ever, even if his skin is crawling, just thinking about facing her right now. In his. . . .state.

“I’m outside,” he croaks, finally, his voice sore from disuse and crying and, god, so much throwing up. “But I forgot to bring my keys.”

Carola is silent for a moment, but he can hear her taking slow, steady breaths through the crackle of the line. “Stay there, I have to turn off the alarm for the gate.”

—

His mama nearly has an aneurysm when he slinks down the stairs, late in the morning. He’d slept tucked into the corner between Carola’s bed and the wall like he hadn’t since—well, probably before he moved to Pesaro. Or hit puberty, whichever came first. After his sister had tugged the explanation out of him, she’d refused to let him go to sleep alone. They'd huddled together under her soft floral sheets and she’d pressed a curious hand to the slight swell of his belly that he couldn’t even really look at without getting nauseous, an expression of wonder on her face that he hadn’t yet encountered from anyone who knew about the—

“Francesco!” His mama interrupts his downward spiral, pressing two warm hands against his cheeks. “Is that Valentino not feeding you properly? You have to come sit down and eat, eat piccolo! You’ve gotten too thin!”

For once, his stomach doesn’t rebel at the plate of brioche, and his mom happily flits around the kitchen tidying up in the way she does when she’s trying to figure out how to approach a conversation. She frowns when he pushes away the espresso she’d left for him, and asks for warm milk, but carefully hasn’t asked him what the hell he’s doing here, why he hadn’t told them he was coming home. Why he’d shown up in the middle of the night and couldn’t bring himself to face her. Since he was little, Pecco has always been. . . .different, when it came to emotional matters, and his mama had learned long ago to let him come to her when he was ready.

Pecco doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready for the conversation they’re about to have. In fact, he barely gets down half a slice of bread before he’s running to the bathroom, hacking it all back up, the thing inside him rejecting it all anyway. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until his mama pulls him in, rubbing soothing circles into his back and reaching up to brush tears off his cheek. “Oh, bambino,” she sighs, heavy with concern. “What’s going on?”

—

He’d insisted on waiting for his papa and Carola to return, mostly because he was pretty sure he was only going to be able to handle the conversation once, and he really needed his sister’s support to even attempt it. His mama had fussed over him for the rest of the day, forcing him back into bed with bowls of broth he’d thankfully been able to keep down. She’d even taken his temperature, humming thoughtfully when it was perfectly normal, though Pecco thought, uncomfortably, that they both sort-of knew he wasn’t that kind of sick.

Unfortunately, crushing Carola’s hands like a lifeline and staring back at his deeply concerned parents, it feels even worse than he’d imagined.

His papa is the first to break the silence. “Francesco,” he says, slowly, like he’s afraid Pecco might bolt if he’s too loud. “What’s wrong, piccolo?”

Pecco swallows hard, his fingers trembling where they grip Carola’s. He feels like a child again, sitting at this very table, confessing to crashing his scooter into the neighbor’s mailbox when he was fifteen. But this is so, so much worse.

“I—” He chokes on the word, his throat tight. His mama’s face is open, patient but worried, while his papa frowns, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Carola wriggles one of her hands out of his deathgrip to pet the curls at his nape reassuringly.

“I’m pregnant,” he finally blurts out.

They all freeze for a moment, pure disbelief. His mama’s breath catches audibly, her eyes widening in shock. His papa blinks at him like he’s misheard.

The silence stretches unbearably. Pecco’s heart is hammering so hard he thinks he might actually pass out. There's a high possibility he's going to throw up again.

“Scusa?” His papa’s voice is strangled.

Pecco licks his lips, his mouth dry. “I’m pregnant.” His voice wavers slightly, but the words come out clearer this time. “I found out a few weeks ago.”

His mama makes a soft noise, pressing a hand to her mouth, her eyes shining with something unreadable. “Oh, Francesco. . . .”

His papa, on the other hand, looks confused and concerned. “But—how? That’s not possible, that’s not—you were tested, at birth, they said—you were not. . . .” He gestures vaguely, like he’s searching for an explanation in the air.

Pecco shrugs weakly. “Turns out I am.”

Silence again, Pecco's shoulders are tensed up nearly to his ears. Carola's free hand grips the back of his neck firmly, like she thinks he'll try to make a run for it.

Then, suddenly, his mama’s chair scrapes against the floor as she stands. For a split second, Pecco braces himself for yelling, but instead she kneels down, pulling him into her arms. “Oh, bambino mio,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “You must have been so scared.”

As soon as she says it, Pecco finally shatters. He crumples into her, sobs tearing from his chest, months of anxiety and fear draining out of him all at once. His mama holds him tightly, rubbing soothing circles against his back, whispering soft reassurances into his hair.

Carola reaches over, rubbing his shoulder, and even his papa, still looking completely out of his depth, awkwardly places a hand on his back.

“It’s going to be okay bambino,” his mama says firmly, pulling back just enough to cup his face. “We’ll figure this out together.”

Pecco sniffles, his breath hitching. He’s exhausted, terrified, still fucking nauseous, but for the first time in weeks the knot in his chest loosens, just a little.

—

It’s terribly hard to focus on what Valentino is saying when Luca looks this good, Pecco realizes with dawning horror, the third time he zones out of the lecture, staring at Luca’s hands. His long fingers are folded neatly in his lap, the perfect picture of proper and respectful, if Pecco couldn't see that he was still sporting a semi under the table.

In their defense, Valentino had walked into the apartment unannounced in the syrupy hour after lunch, but before Pecco’s third daily nap, when he had the best chance of seducing Luca into messing around on the couch. He’d then decided, seven and a half months into the unplanned pregnancy, that catching his brother with his hand up Pecco’s stretched out tshirt was cause for the safe sex talk he’d been “meaning to get around to” for the last five years.

Valentino, completely oblivious—or maybe just choosing to ignore the heavy tension radiating between them—leans forward, elbows on his knees, and clasps his hands together like he’s about to deliver the most important race strategy briefing of his entire life. Pecco wonders, idly, if this is what he looks like when Uccio shows him “telemetry” on his iPad.

“Look, I get it,” he says, nodding sagely. “You’re young, you’re in love, you’re horny—”

Pecco makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Luca chokes on his own spit.

Valentino waves them off and keeps going. “But you clearly haven’t been careful enough, considering. . . .” he gestures vaguely at Pecco’s belly, which is currently both peeking humiliatingly out the bottom of his tshirt and pressing up against the edge of the table.

Pecco glares. He knows he's gotten huge recently, and he's been feeling particularly sensitive about it. “Wow, grazie, Vale. Really, I hadn't noticed.”

Luca, to his credit, looks genuinely sheepish. “It’s not like we didn’t try to be careful,” he mumbles, scratching at the back of his neck. “We didn't know Pecco was a carrier.” Pecco feels his face heat up at the reminder.

Valentino levels them both with a sharp look. “Clearly, you didn’t try hard enough. Even if Pecco hadn't been a carrier, it is still the safest to use a condom!”

Luca groans, tipping his head back against the couch. “Mio Dio, if this is your way of giving us the condom talk, you’re about seven months too late.”

Valentino ignores him, finally in the rhythm of his tirade. It's an interesting look on him, considering it's usually Uccio who attempts any kind of lecturing about the behavior of the Academy. “You know, there are many ways to be safe. Barriers, timing, communication—”

Pecco shoots Luca a sidelong glance. Luca, who is still, inexplicably, half-hard in his boxers. Luca, who just an hour ago had been shoving his tongue down Pecco's throat against the couch cushions, murmuring things that had absolutely not been about barriers or communication. Things much more aligned with how they'd ended up here in the first place.

Pecco swallows hard. This is kind of his second worst-nightmare, just below getting knocked up mid-season on the list. He hasn't even let himself think about how Valentino said they were, jesus, in love, and neither of them even protested it. Pecco has been in love with Luca for as long as he can remember, but he's always known Luca just saw him as a friend. Luca, of course, is just having sex with him out of convenience.

Meanwhile, Valentino is on a roll. “And don’t think that just because you’re already—” another vague hand-waving gesture at Pecco’s belly. It's kind of amazing that they're this far along, and he's in his thirties, and can't bring himself to say it. “—That you shouldn’t still be careful. Pregnancy hormones can make you want to go at it like rabbits, but you need to be mindful of—”

Pecco shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and his gigantic belly jostles the table enough to knock over the sad vase of dead flowers he'd gotten Luca for Father's Day. He's spent approximately ten minutes in one position, so his back aches enough to make him want to scream. “I am not listening to this anymore.”

Valentino raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You think I wanted to be here?” He throws his hands up dramatically. “You think I enjoy this? But I’m responsible for both of you!”

“Vale,” Luca interrupts, desperate. “We get it. Be careful, use protection, don’t fuck up again. Lesson learned. Can we please never talk about this again?”

He squints at them for a long moment, weighing his options, then sighs, rubbing his temples. “Fine. But if I find out you’ve been reckless again,” he points an accusatory finger between them.

Luca glares. “What, you’ll ground us?” He gestures at Pecco's belly. “Bit late for that.”

Valentino pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am just trying to make sure you know how to have safe sex,” he sighs. “I don't want either of you to have to sacrifice more than you already have because of another—” he stops himself, just in time, but Pecco knows he was going to say, what he was going to call their baby. A mistake. He sees it reflected back in his eyes, in everyone’s eyes, lately. His skin crawls every time he visits the ranch, seeing Mig and Franky’s looks of pity. Nicolo’s barely-hidden derision. Bez hasn’t been able to look him in the eyes since he started showing for real, months ago.

The second Valentino finally leaves, after he gives them the dish of food from Stefania that he had come to deliver in the first place, an excruciating round of hugs, and a parting shot about prenatal vitamins, somehow managing to keep his set of keys in the rush to kick him out—Pecco lets his head thunk onto Luca's shoulder with a dramatic groan.

“I will never forgive you for giving him a key. We aren't having sex again until you get it back from him!”

Luca snorts, reaching over to place a warm palm over the silver of belly not covered by the tshirt. “You say that now, tesoro.”

Pecco lifts his head up, raising an eyebrow.

Luca smirks. “Where were we?”

#sorry for cheesy mom dialogue btw #i have whatever the opposite of an italian mom is #the nicest and also only pet name she has for me is literally ‘puppy’ so i really was just relying on stereotypes for pecco’s mom lol #also like. i so rarely respond to asks w actual writing im like a little nervous about it lol #very sorry i didn't end up writing about their second kid........my honest answer is i haven't decided if they have one yet lol #ALSO i am aware of how severe the em dash abuse is in these scenes #believe it or not i am absolutely working on it #i just like it…….. — is my friend :((#anyway #anon mail #fic talk #pecco/luca #man this probably means i should make a tags for this fic right #teen pregnancy au #lol #my writing #happy #wip wednesday #i guess lol #pecco bagnaia #luca marini #motogp fic #ummmm am i missing anything important

33 notes · View notes

fickleminder · 1 year ago

Note

Tbh I was rereading your ficus “the years start coming and they don’t stop”, for probably the thousandth time, and I was thinking

What if the brothers want to be in MC’s life again and MC, who is now more accustomed to being alone

Minus their interactions with Solomon, Satan, & the angels(from time to time)

Is just like “do what you want, it’s fine/whatever” and they just go about their life and the brothers start seeing how MC has changed.

And so does Lilith, like MC is kind to Lilith but they keep almost everybody at arms length. Like they’re stronger but they also don’t miss that MC doesn’t smile as much around them anymore

They see MC’s growth, like someone or thing tries to bother Lilith and the brothers get there in time to see MC licking ass. When someone asks if MC’s alright they’re like yeah and maybe later find out that MC was hurt but didn’t and still do not want their help and Solomon and/or Satan come in and MC’s fine with them helping them.

Damn this turned into a thing.

But

Just a thought yeah?

💖💖💖

Aahhhh I love this so much! There can never be too much angst in a replaced!MC AU, and your idea reminds me of one of my favorite lines in TYSCATDSC part 2: Maybe you eventually learned to live without them, while they took for granted that you’d always be there.

But you’re absolutely right though; while the MC in this fic doesn’t really hold a grudge against the brothers, it’s always satisfying to think about karma biting them in the ass when they realize that MC doesn’t need them anymore. Sure, MC came back to see them again and check on their well-being, but they’re far from being as involved in their lives as they once were.

And that mini scenario is just *chef’s kiss*! I can just picture it: the whole family out for dinner at a restaurant or something, Lilith excusing herself to use the washroom, MC doing the same not long after…

Lilith rushing back with rips and tears in her dress and her hair all mussed up, crying for her brothers to help MC, not me! I’m okay but you need to help them—

The brothers seeing red and ready to completely annihilate the scum who dared to touch their baby sister and precious human, only to find MC standing over a lesser demon seemingly none the worse for wear, fists clenched and face blank.

“The binding spell should hold for at least another minute,” MC tells the dumbfounded brothers before stepping aside and dusting their hands. “Have fun, boys!”

It isn’t until much later, when Mammon and the others take turns to peek into MC’s room after getting chased away, that they see Satan gently bandaging MC’s hand and casting healing spells. Solomon is on speakerphone, chiding them for forgetting to keep their thumbs out when throwing punches.

MC sighs at all the fussing but allows themself to be taken care of. Satan presses a kiss to their knuckles when he’s done, and as they turn towards their phone to banter with Solomon, they miss the way the demon’s gaze darts towards their door with pity.

#ask #writing #obey me #obey me replaced mc au

181 notes · View notes

sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now · 2 months ago

Note

Ohohoho, I see more stp related character ask games. In which case, thoughts on Hunted? Could always use more Hunted content out here

(Ooooo Hunted!!! The silliest of fellas)

(And as I’m writing this my appreciation for him just skyrockets ten fold. He makes me. Let’s just say. Feral.)

(Ask is here!!! vvvvvv Sorry that it looks like this, I’m on IPad🗿)

(Also the reply is getting too long (again), sooo gonna put a cut somewhere here…)

FAVORITE THING ABOUT THEM

Probably how reliable he is in general. I feel like he’s probably the voice that is the most loyal to Quiet alongside Hero. He just really doesn’t seem like the type of character to have any hidden agenda underneath his actions. He’s just, when he thinks of something, he’d just do it instinctively. I love how he just focuses on the now and what’s happening around him, and doesn’t rely on what he sees only. He’s a really simple guy and all he really wants is safety. And I really like that about him. (The contrast between him and Oppy is glaring here)

And also despite the fact that instinct is a big part that makes him “him”, he’s not completely feral and still holds that humanity inside of him. I think he’s pretty darn neat.

LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT THEM

It’s how little he had appeared 😭😭😭

He needs more chapter 3 appearances aside from his own

Both him and Skeptic need more chapters actually.

(And honestly I don’t have much “””bad””” stuff to say about him. He’s just overall a very likeable character to me)

FAVORITE LINE

“Does a cat lie to a cornered mouse just to play with its freedom, or is it acting out its own nature?” (You’ll see this line again)

“The Look. We’ve all used it.”

“Looking at her makes me sad.”

BROtp

Gotta say Hunted and Witch. Hunted pairs well with many other voices and vessels, but the thought of two semi-feral characters interacting with each other is kind of adorable to me. Just. Similar brain wave signals. Vrrrrrrrr. Y’know.

Witch would just sniff Hunted and be like “hmmm he doesn’t smell like a liar to me” and she would just be chilling with him with half an eye closed and half of it open. Just in case. And Hunted just sees her as someone who’s gotten hurt. And had to fight back like a scared animal. So I think he would empathise with her. Idk.

Stubborn and Hunted is a good one too. I could imagine Stubborn and Hunted just sparring with each other whenever they could. The battle always ends in a stalemate though, since Hunted just dodges Stubborn’s attacks most of the time. And by the time Hunted is tired dodging Stubborn is tired as well. But knowing Stubborn he would try to throw a punch at him anyway. And then failing cause they have bodies now. Stubborn takes it as a challenge and is thrilled to see what other stuff Hunted could do. Unstoppable force vs Immovable object.

And the mental thought of Stubborn throwing Hunted like a Pokeball and be like “Hunted I choose you” is just so funny to me. And. Just. Hunted riding on Stubborn’s shoulder. So cute.

OTP

He honestly pairs well with a lot of them tbh, so I don’t think I can choose an exact one.

NOtp

I have none hehe

RANDOM HEADCANON

He would sometimes bite the other voices to show affection. If he is feeling really bite-y that day he would just find something to chew on just so he won’t accidentally hurt the others.

Also, the current smaller form you see of him is not his full form. That’s just him holding back his more feral side, and hence why he looks so tiny. He’s way taller and stronger than he looks.

(Sneak peak of his feral form!!!)

A more antsy head canon I’ve got for him is that a part of him always have this urge to consume the other voices since they are technically parts of the same guy. He feels really guilty about feeling this way. When that feeling is too strong he would lock himself away from the flock until it passes.

UNPOPULAR OPINION

(This is becoming less of an unpopular opinion and more of a ramble as I’m writing this, but I’m just gonna keep this here because I think this is pretty interesting)

I feel like he would take an integral role in helping the other voices in fighting against their nature, since he is so used to doing that himself. Many of the fics I’ve read where the voices are starting to become more complex and more than their nature often doesn’t mention Hunted at all. He would definitely take a role in helping the voices manage their own urges in a way that doesn’t hurt anyone, knowing how he empathises with Den despite everything she has done to them.

He shines the most when he is paired with Oppy regarding this. Oppy embraces his own nature, and often times to his own detriment. Hunted wouldn’t trust him, but he would still protect and look after him anyway since he is still a part of the flock. If Oppy ever shows an ounce of genuine interest in fighting against his urge to betray people for his own benefit, Hunted would be one of the first ones to help and encourage him.

“Does a cat lie to a cornered mouse just to play with its freedom, or is it acting out its own nature?”

Nature vs Nurture baby!!!!

SONG I ASSOCIATE WITH THEM

Butcher Vanity, specifically him in Den where he goes completely feral

youtube

And also Kaibutsu/怪物. It can be a shared song between Hunted and Oppy, but mostly Hunted.

youtube

FAVOURITE PICTURE OF THEM

(I love it when I just draw him like a fu@king creature)

(He’s so derpy-looking here)

#slay the princess #black tabby games #stp #stp voices #slay the princess insight #stp ask #stp voice of the hunted #voice of the hunted #stp hunted

52 notes · View notes

qveerthe0ry · 6 months ago

Text

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

#pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #the x files #mulder x scully #dieter bravo #mulder x scully x dieter bravo #the x files fanfic #the x files smut #mulder x scully smut #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfic

82 notes · View notes