#white fox boutique | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rullakebu · 3 months ago

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The Fiendish Furrier 2: The Critic (F/M, tickling)

“Ugh, so boring,” Bruno burst out loud in disgust, scanning the screen before him.

…

Bruno Graham, a renowned yet infamous fashion critic in the city, had just heard word that some furrier had landed a major interview and a display of her new line of fur clothing in Vogue magazine. Bianca Nyberg, she was called. Having heard of her and seen some of her ads in the city, he had to check the section out.

The lean dark-skinned 32-year-old, sporting a well-groomed fade haircut, poured himself a glass of his favorite red wine and took a seat in his lofty office chair. The heavy rainfall poured against the massive windows of his penthouse, the loud sounding almost like drumming. The apartment offered a generous view of the city, its lights and neon signs illuminating some of the pitch-black midnight horizon.

“Let’s see, then…” Bruno thought to himself, pressing the power button of his computer.

The screen lit up and Bruno quickly surfed his way onto Vogue’s website, the white simplistic design along with the black logo lit up the dim room. The interview was on the frontpage, conveniently. “Fluff overload: Meet the furrier making waves in the fashion community,” the article heading read.

“Heh, big promises,” Bruno uttered, taking a sip out of his glass, twirling it and the wine swirling inside.

Click.

Displayed on Bruno’s bright screen was now a picture of a Nordic looking lady with platinum dyed hair in a shag cut. Her blue eyes were piercing, almost hypnotizing. For the photo she had chosen an all-black ensemble, consisting of a black sweater and a long leather skirt. Draped on her shoulders was a long black fox fur stole, flowing down and adding a touch of opulence to her outfit. Her lips were a bright shade of red and her nails were black and long. Her appearance dripped with elegance and sophistication.

“Meet Bianca Nyberg, the 46-year-old furrier from New Helsing. Known for her exquisite craftsmanship and eye for luxury, Bianca has made a name for herself in the world of high-end fashion. Her boutique, nestled in the heart of New Helsing's chic fashion district, is a haven for those seeking unique and meticulously crafted fur pieces,” the article read.

“Is that so? I’m not impressed just yet.” Bruno thought to himself, sipping the red wine.

“Bianca's journey into the world of fur began at a young age, influenced by her family's long-standing tradition in the trade. Over the years, she honed her skills, combining traditional techniques with contemporary designs.”

As Bruno scrolled through the article, a GIF of Bianca Nyberg played seamlessly, adding a dynamic element to the feature. Bianca gracefully lifts the luxurious black fox fur stole from her shoulders. With elegance, she brings the stole closer to the camera, its plush texture becoming more prominent with each frame. The soft fur envelops the lens, momentarily obscuring the view and creating an intimate, almost teasing experience.

“Bianca’s clientele includes a mix of local celebrities, fashion enthusiasts, and influential people who appreciate the artistry and timeless elegance of her creations. Beyond her boutique, she is also a vocal advocate for animal welfare, actively promoting and supporting sustainable fur practices within the industry. Bianca Nyberg is not just a designer; she is a visionary, continuously pushing the boundaries of fashion while maintaining a deep respect for tradition.”

“Ehh, whatever. Let’s see the line,” Bruno decided.

He scrolled down the long walls of text, looking for the photos of the new line. His eyes skimmed over the detailed descriptions and interviews, eager to catch a glimpse of Bianca Nyberg's latest creations. As he neared the end of the article, his anticipation grew. Finally, he reached the photo gallery showcasing the new line.

The first image was a stunning full-length finn raccoon fur coat in a deep emerald green, the plush material glistening under the studio lights. The model's elegant pose highlighted the coat's tailored fit and luxurious texture.

The next photo featured a sophisticated jacket with a modern twist—an asymmetrical cut and a mix of black leather and silver fox fur. The jacket exuded a contemporary edge while maintaining an air of classic refinement.

A series of images followed, displaying a variety of fur stoles in vibrant colors and unique patterns. One stole, in particular, stood out—a deep burgundy piece adorned with intricate golden highlighting on the fur, draped elegantly over the shoulders of the model.

In another striking shot, a model wore a sleek leather skirt with a fur hem, paired with a cozy fur-lined sweater. The combination of materials and textures created a harmonious and stylish ensemble.

The final photo was a group shot of models showcasing an array of accessories: fur hats, gloves, and handbags, each piece meticulously designed and crafted. The diversity in the collection was evident, with every item reflecting Bianca's signature blend of tradition and modernity.

Bruno would disagree, however. “Really? All this talk over this? Nothing new, nothing revolutionary, nothing special. These are like any other fur clothes. Not only that but fur is steadily going out of style,” Bruno thought as he leaned back in his chair with a visible expression of disapproval spread across his face.

He leaned back in, taking time to analyze every single piece with precision. “Ugh, so boring,” Bruno burst out loud in disgust, scanning the screen before him. He furrowed his brows, tapping his pen against the desk as he dissected the collection, unable to hide his disappointment. To him, the designs felt uninspired and lacked the innovation he had hoped for in the latest fashion trends.

Bruno quickly opened Word, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he prepared to voice his opinion on his popular blog. The familiar blank document seemed to invite his thoughts, and he started typing with a mixture of frustration and urgency.

Scrolling through Bianca Nyberg's new fur collection, I was struck by a profound sense of disappointment. Despite the considerable buzz, this collection fails to deliver anything remotely groundbreaking or noteworthy. Here’s a closer look at why this line falls short:

The first piece, a deep emerald Finn raccoon fur coat, is more about flashy materials than original design. The classic cut and color feel outdated.

The asymmetrical jacket with black leather and silver fox fur attempts a modern twist but ends up being a predictable blend of old and new with no real edge.

The fur stoles, including one deep burgundy with golden highlights, are meticulously crafted but fail to stand out. They feel like tired repeats rather than fresh ideas.

A model’s outfit featuring a leather skirt with a fur hem and a fur-lined sweater is similarly uninspired—just another safe, predictable mix of materials.

Finally, the accessories—fur hats, gloves, and handbags—are well-made but lack originality. The entire collection feels like an exercise in playing it safe rather than pushing any boundaries.

In summary, Nyberg’s new line is a disappointing showcase of missed opportunities. It fails to offer anything new or exciting in a rapidly evolving fashion world.

As soon as he had published the disheartening post, Bruno let out a deep sigh and closed his computer. He leaned back in his chair, the weight of his critique settling in. The quiet of the room enveloped him, offering a brief moment of reflection. The harshness of his words lingered in his mind, but he knew it was part of his role to be honest and critical. On top of that he had a reputation to uphold.

With a final glance at the still screen, Bruno shut off the light and headed to bed. The night ahead was filled with restless thoughts, but as he drifted into sleep, he hoped that his words, though stern, would serve as a catalyst for change and improvement in the fashion world.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” The alarm clock screamed, pulling Bruno from his slumber. Groggily, he silenced the alarm and dragged himself out of bed. After a quick brush of his teeth, he shuffled into the kitchen, where he poured himself a strong cup of coffee.

As he sipped his coffee and glanced at his phone, he noticed an influx of notifications. With a sense of anticipation, he opened his blog and saw that his latest post had taken off. The comment section was buzzing with readers’ reactions, and the post had quickly gained traction across social media.

Bruno’s eyes widened as he saw the surge in traffic and engagement. His critique was sparking lively discussions, with readers both agreeing and disagreeing, and his blog was being shared widely. He couldn’t help but feel a mix of satisfaction and nervousness as he delved into the feedback, eager to see how his words were resonating with his audience.

As Bruno continued to review the flood of comments and social media interactions, he noticed his email inbox was similarly inundated. Amid the sea of messages, one sender stood out: Bianca Nyberg.

His heart raced as he clicked on the email from the renowned fashion designer. The subject line read, “Response to Your Review.” Bruno opened the email with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Subject: Response to Your Review

Dear Mr. Graham,

I’ve read your review of my latest collection with great interest. Your feedback, though candid and critical, is invaluable. I appreciate your honesty and the points you’ve raised about my designs. Constructive criticism is essential in our industry, and I’m taking your comments to heart.

I would like to invite you to dinner at my house for a deeper discussion on my work and future directions. Perhaps a face-to-face conversation could offer more insight into the creative process behind the collection and allow us to address your concerns directly.

Looking forward to your response.

Best regards, Bianca Nyberg

Bruno reread the email, absorbing the invitation and Bianca’s thoughtful tone. He felt a surge of excitement and nervousness, knowing this could be an opportunity to engage in a meaningful dialogue and perhaps gain a new perspective on the designer’s work.

He accepted.

Bruno arrived at Bianca Nyberg’s elegant home at the outskirts of New Helsing, a sense of anticipation mingling with his nerves. The evening air was crisp, and the soft glow of the setting sun bathed the city in a warm, golden light. He rang the doorbell and, after a moment, was greeted by Bianca herself.

“Welcome, Bruno,” she greeted with a gracious smile, dressed in a black sweater, skirt, and stole that mirrored the ensemble from the magazine photos. “I’m so glad you could make it. Please, come in.”

Her home was a testament to her refined taste, blending modern art with classic furnishings. Bruno admired the carefully curated pieces as he followed Bianca into the dining area. The room was elegantly set with a sleek black tablecloth, surrounded by high-backed chairs. A tasteful arrangement of fresh flowers served as the centerpiece, adding a vibrant touch to the sophisticated setting.

As they settled into their seats and Bianca’s maid Marie brought out their meals, the tone of their meeting took a serious turn. Bianca leaned forward slightly, her expression thoughtful but tinged with frustration.

“Bruno,” she began, her tone measured, “I want to thank you again for coming and for your candid feedback. I must admit, I was quite taken aback by your review. I respect your role as a critic, but I was hoping for a more nuanced understanding of my work.”

She took a sip of her wine, then continued, “I put a lot of effort into this collection, trying to balance tradition with innovation and address modern concerns. It’s disheartening to hear that it felt so uninspired to you. And honestly, I’d like you to consider the possibility of deleting that review.”

Bruno’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, feeling the weight of her request. “I understand where you’re coming from, Bianca,” he said carefully. “But my intention was and is to provide honest feedback.”

Bianca sighed, her expression growing more serious. “I appreciate your honesty, but the review is causing real damage to my reputation and my business. In the fashion industry, perceptions can be everything. Negative reviews can deter potential clients and partners, and the impact on my brand could be significant.”

Bruno met her gaze steadily, his resolve firm. “I understand the challenges you’re facing and the impact my review might have. However, my role as a critic is to provide honest assessments. It’s important for my readers and for the industry that I remain transparent and fair in my evaluations.”

Bianca leaned in, her tone becoming more suggestive. “I see where you’re coming from, Bruno. But you know, opinions can change, especially when given the right perspective. I’m sure there’s a lot more to explore in the world of fashion. Sometimes, it takes just a bit more time to fully appreciate the intricacies.”

With a light chuckle, Bianca stood up, her demeanor shifting to a playful and inviting tone. “But enough about business for now. How about I show you around? Just for fun. I’d love for you to see a bit more of what makes this place special.”

Bruno raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sure, I’d love to see more.”

Bianca took a firm hold of his hand, guiding him with a sense of enthusiasm as she led him through her lavish estate. The warmth of her grip and the confident way she moved added a personal touch to the tour, making Bruno feel welcomed and curious about the spaces they were about to explore.

They walked through a grand hallway first, the same one she had led Denis down some time ago, lined with elegantly framed paintings. Bianca paused at each portrait, explaining the significance of her family lineage. This is my great-grandmother," she said, pointing to a striking portrait. "She was a pioneer in her own right, and I like to think some of her creativity lives on in my work."

She picked up her fur stole and adjusted it on her shoulders, the luxurious hairs catching the light. She moved closer to Bruno, her eyes locking onto his with a new intensity. "You know, Bruno," she said softly, letting the stole brush against his cheek, "there's so much more to fashion than just what meets the eye. Sometimes, it’s about how it makes you feel."

The caress of the fur against his skin sent a shiver down Bruno's spine. He felt the unspoken tension in the air, a mix of seduction and subtle persuasion. Bianca's attempt to sway him was clear, but he remained composed, aware of the complexities of their interaction.

"Fashion is indeed powerful," Bruno replied, his voice steady. "It can evoke strong emotions and create lasting impressions."

Bianca smiled, her eyes still locked on his. "Exactly. And I hope, in time, you'll come to see my work in a new light."

As the tour continued, Bianca led Bruno upstairs, their steps echoing softly through the elegant hallways. The walls were adorned with more portraits and tasteful art pieces, each carefully selected to complement the overall aesthetic of the estate. The air seemed to grow thicker with a mix of anticipation and curiosity as they approached a set of double doors. With a slight pause, Bianca turned to Bruno, a subtle smile playing on her lips. She pushed open the doors, revealing a spacious and exquisitely decorated bedroom, once the chamber of torment for one Denis Marsalis.

The room featured plush velvet furnishings that exuded comfort and elegance. Delicate lace curtains draped gracefully around the large windows, allowing soft, filtered light to seep into the room. Dominating the space was a king-sized bed, lavishly dressed in fur sheets and adorned with an array of fluffy pillows, promising an indulgent retreat.

The most striking feature, however, was the walls, which were entirely covered in rich wine-red fur. This unconventional choice created an atmosphere of opulent extravagance, enveloping the room in a warm, tactile embrace. The fur's soft, velvety texture not only added a unique visual appeal but also invited a sense of touch, making the space feel both sumptuous and inviting.

“Wow, that wall sure looks sensual…” Bruno uttered, his voice tinged with awe and curiosity. The unexpected richness of the fur-covered walls had captivated him, drawing his attention more than any other detail in the room

“I’m a very sensual person, Bruno…” Bianca said, closing in next to his ear. “Now that we’re here, I’d like to confess something. I like you, Bruno. Remember what I said about how fashion makes you feel? I meant that literally… and I’d like to explore… with you,” Bianca said, brushing the stole against his hot red cheek.

Bruno gulped, but he couldn’t deny the allure Bianca had on him. Her presence, the room's opulent setting, and the intimate atmosphere she had crafted all combined to pull him into her world, making it nearly impossible to resist her bold invitation.

As he stared into Bianca’s piercing blue eyes, he felt himself being drawn in further. She stepped closer, her heels clicking loudly with each step. Bianca began to guide him towards the fur-covered wall. Her touch was firm yet gentle, sliding from his chest down to his wrists. With a subtle but commanding grace, she lifted his hands, pressing them against the plush, velvety fur, then…

Click.

Bruno’s hands were firmly secured in place by hidden shackles on the wall. He looked up in surprise, the initial shock of the metallic snap giving way to a mix of confusion and realization. “What?!”

Bianca’s smile widened as she let out a low, soft giggle. Her eyes danced with mischief and anticipation as she reached into a nearby nightdrawer and retrieved a pair of scissors. With a practiced hand, she began to cut away his clothes, her movements precise and controlled. The sound of the fabric ripping and the feel of the cool metal against his skin added to the intense atmosphere of the room.

“What do you think you’re doing? This suit cost 4,000 dollars! Let me go!” Bruno yelled out, enraged by his unexpected predicament.

Bianca paused for a moment, looking up at him with a calm, almost amused expression. "Oh, Bruno," she said softly, continuing to cut away at his suit. "Consider it a small price to pay for a new perspective." The fabric continued to fall away, piece by piece, as she worked with a quiet, determined focus.

“A new perspective?! What on Earth are you talking about?!” Bruno questioned, his voice a mix of anger and confusion.

Bianca looked up again, her eyes locking onto his with an intense, almost hypnotic gaze. "Sometimes," she began, her voice smooth and controlled, "you need to break away from the norm to truly understand something. To appreciate the texture, the experience, the sensation." She continued cutting, the scissors moving effortlessly through the fabric. “And sensations are exactly the topic which I’m going to educate you on, Bruno…”

Bianca cut every inch of Bruno’s designer suit off and tossed it aside, leaving him completely exposed. Bruno felt the cold breeze on his skin, sending a shiver through his body, and the plush fur of the wall caressed his back, its soft texture a stark contrast to the intensity of the situation.

Bianca adjusted the fur stole, draping it elegantly over her shoulders like a loose scarf. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to Bruno, her eyes locking onto his with a mix of dominance and curiosity. She began to walk towards him, her heels clicking menacingly with each step, the sound echoing through the room like a countdown.

As she got closer, she raised her hands, her fingers wiggling as if ready to touch him. The air between them crackled with tension, a palpable mix of power and vulnerability. Bruno’s heart raced, his mind struggling to process the surreal intensity of the moment.

And then, when her nails finally met the exposed skin on his sides, a sharp sensation shot through him. Bianca's touch was both electrifying and unnerving, her nails tracing slow, deliberate lines along his ribs. Bruno’s fate was sealed. He was no longer just a critic observing from the outside—he was now completely entangled in her world: a world of tickle torture.

“WHAHAHAHAHAT AHAHAHAHARE YOU DOIHIHIHIHIHIHNG?” Bruno exclaimed, his voice breaking into uncontrollable laughter, completely taken aback by the unexpected attack.

“Tickling you. Isn’t it obvious, Bruno?” Bianca replied with a sly smile, her fingers dancing across his skin with precision. “I told you I like to explore… and I think you’re going to learn to appreciate my work as well.”

Bruno twitched and squirmed in his binds, his body instinctively trying to escape the relentless tickling. Each movement made the soft fur on the wall brush against his back, heightening the sensation and adding another layer of stimulation.

“HNNGH, FORGEHEHEHEHEHET IT! YOU’REHEHEHEHEHE DOHOHOHONE!” he managed to shout between gasps of laughter, his voice a mix of defiance and desperation. But his protests only seemed to encourage Bianca, who continued her playful assault with a mischievous grin.

“You’ll find that I can be quite persuasive, Bruno…” Bianca purred, her voice dripping with a mix of seduction and control. She stepped in closer, the soft fur stole pressing against his chest. Her nails continued their slow, torturous journey, traversing down to his twitching hips, each touch sending jolts of electricity through his body. “I’m quite the tickler, sweetheart.”

Bruno’s laughter became uncontrollable, his body betraying him as it quivered under her touch. The combination of her seductive tone and the relentless tickling was overwhelming, breaking down his defenses with each passing second. His mind raced, but his body was lost in the sensation, every nerve alight with the duality of pleasure and torment. Bianca’s grin widened as she watched him struggle, knowing she had him completely under her control.

“Tickle, tickle~”

Those words. Those damn words. Those words, spoken so sweetly, echoed in Bruno’s mind, amplifying his helplessness. Each syllable seemed to intensify the sensation, as if Bianca’s voice itself was a tool of torment.

“You have no idea how much I like tickling… how much I like tickling you, Bruno.” Bianca’s voice was honeyed, dripping with amusement and something darker. “I see you trying to make sense of it all, but you can’t, can you? You’re confused, perplexed…” She leaned in even closer, her breath warm against his ear, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent a chill through him. “And scared…”

Bruno’s breath came in ragged gasps, his laughter finally tapering off into exhausted panting. The intensity of her touch and the weight of her words had left him disoriented.

“But don’t you worry. I will take such good care of you, Coochie coochie coo,” she said softly, planting a kiss on his cheek before stepping away. The warmth of her kiss contrasted sharply with the coldness of his situation. She moved toward her closet, her heels clicking against the floor with every step.

“Now…” Bianca began, reaching for something inside the closet. She pulled out the deep emerald green finn raccoon fur coat. “Remember this? Remember what you said? ‘The first piece, a deep emerald Finn raccoon fur coat, is more about flashy materials than original design. The classic cut and color feel outdated.’ Hmpf.” Bianca mimicked in a mocking masculine tone, whilst rolling her eyes.

“I pant stand pant by pant what pant I said,” Bruno replied, his voice shaky as he struggled to maintain composure. The coat's opulence seemed almost to taunt him now, its richness a stark contrast to his current predicament.

Bianca threw her black stole onto the bed and reached into the closet once more. This time, she pulled out the burgundy fur stole with golden highlights, her movements deliberate and theatrical. “Remember this?” she said, draping the stole over her shoulders, layering it atop the deep emerald green coat. “You said: ‘The fur stoles, including one deep burgundy with golden highlights, are meticulously crafted but fail to stand out. They feel like tired repeats rather than fresh ideas.’ Blah blah blah.”

With a slow, deliberate grace, she walked back towards Bruno. The sight of her, adorned in the lush green coat and the vibrant reddish stole, gave her an almost mythical presence. She looked like a glamorous, fluffy, tickle-torturing version of Poison Ivy, her elegant attire contrasted sharply with the intense situation.

The rich textures of her outfit seemed to amplify the tension in the room, creating an almost surreal atmosphere as she approached Bruno, who was now visibly sweating and nervous, his earlier bravado completely gone.

Bianca’s movement was menacing yet elegant as she stopped abruptly at her bed. She knelt down and reached beneath it, pulling out two boxes with an air of anticipation. The soft rustle of the boxes being dragged out created a subtle yet charged sound, adding to the heightened atmosphere in the room.

One box was plain and unadorned, its simplicity a stark contrast to the other. The second box, however, was ornate, its surface richly adorned with intricate patterns and delicate filigree: The Fluff Box. The contrast between the two boxes hinted at the possibility of something both intriguing and mysterious awaiting inside.

Bianca picked up the two boxes and set them beside Bruno with a measured movement. The plain box landed with a soft thud, while the ornate box made a more pronounced sound as it settled onto the floor. She stood up, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and authority as she glanced at Bruno.

She opened the ornate box. “Now, Bruno,” she said with a teasing smile, “let’s see which one you find more... appealing.”

Bruno’s eyes widened with curiosity and a hint of anxiety as Bianca’s hand reached into the box. She lifted up a large, luxurious powder brush with a handle adorned in intricate patterns. The bristles were soft and fluffy, casting a gentle sheen in the room’s light. Alongside it, she pulled out a bundle of feathers attached to an ornate stick, which resembled an exaggerated feather tickler toy.

“I wonder which one you would like to be tickled with…” She twirled the powder brush lightly, letting its bristles sway in the air, and then waved the bundle of feathers playfully.

Bruno’s eyes flickered between the two, his breathing quickening as he felt the tension rise. “T-the brush,” he stammered, a mix of apprehension and curiosity in his voice.

“Alright,” she said, her voice soft but laced with a playful edge. “But don’t think for a second you’re exempt from the other one, my ticklish little critic…”

With a teasing smirk, she set the feather bundle aside. The bristles felt almost too soft to be real as she gently brushed it against her palm, letting the anticipation build. Bruno’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he watched her movements.

“What’s in the other box?” Bruno asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

Bianca’s eyes gleamed with playful mystery as she replied, “You’ll find out soon enough.” She then shifted her focus back to the powder brush, her tone taking on a blend of menace and indulgent affection. “Ready for your brush tickling?”

As she stepped closer, Bruno’s heart pounded in his chest. The bristles of the brush hovered just above his skin, their soft promise mingling with the room's charged atmosphere. Bianca leaned in, lifting the brush slowly and inching it towards his right wrist. Her head was just by his ear, and she blew gently, sending tingles down his spine. The fur of the coat and stole brushed against his chest, while the plush fur on the wall caressed his back. He was squished in between a fluffy cocoon of furs.

Her lips brushed against his ear, sending a bolt of anticipation through him. “Tickle, tickle, Bruno…” she whispered softly.

The brush began its delicate descent from his wrist down his arm, the bristles soft yet tantalizingly ticklish against his skin. Bruno could barely focus on the sensation before Bianca's left hand moved with swift precision, her nails striking into his armpit. The contrast between the gentle brushing and the sudden, sharp tickling sent a signal of ticklish alert to his brain.

“OH GAHAHAHAHAHAD!” Bruno cried out, his voice cracking between fits of uncontrollable laughter. He couldn’t help himself; the sensation was too intense, too overwhelming. Every nerve in his body seemed to be on fire as Bianca’s relentless tickling pushed him to his limits.

“You’re so sensitive, Bruno,” Bianca purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she watched him squirm helplessly against the plush fur and her ticklish ministrations. “Do you like being tickled?”

The soft brush traveled down his arms, over his chest, and back up his other arm, each stroke sending a new wave of tingling sensations through his body. Bruno’s laughter echoed through the room, his voice broken and breathless as he tried in vain to resist the overwhelming ticklishness.

“I like tickling you, Bruno. I like how you squirm and laugh and you can’t resist, can you? No matter how much you want to.” Her nails lightly trailed down his side, just enough to keep him on edge.

Bianca let out a sultry giggle as she brought the big brush to Bruno’s face. With a teasing flick, she brushed it lightly against his nose, causing it to twitch involuntarily. A soft giggle escaped her lips as she traced the bristles along his jawline, the tickling sensation making him squirm even more.

Bruno’s laughter was uncontrollable, his head twisting in a futile attempt to escape the relentless tickling. The brush then moved to his ears, the soft bristles grazing the sensitive skin on each side, driving him wild with the ticklish torment.

“Does my big fluffy brush tickle?” Bianca cooed. “I love how you laugh for me. It tells me just how much it tickles. You don’t have to say a word.” She moved the brush down his neck and twirled the brush lightly over his nipples, before trailing down. “I know it tickles…”

When the brush began to traverse down his right side, Bruno’s anticipation grew. He tensed as it stopped just above his exposed manhood, his breath catching in his throat. But before he could brace himself, Bianca’s nails struck his left side, eliciting another burst of uncontrollable laughter.

Then Bianca knelt down, her eyes glinting with mischief as she brushed lightly around his most sensitive area, her touch deliberate and teasing. The delicate bristles barely grazed his skin, yet the sensation was enough to send shockwaves of ticklish torment through his entire body, leaving him utterly at her mercy.

Bianca’s voice was a sultry murmur, filled with a mix of dominance and satisfaction. “It must be agony,” she continued, her tone smooth and seductive. She gently circled the fluffy brush around his sensitive area, her movements precise and teasing. “The never-ending intense tingling sensation all over your body. The way your vulnerable spots are exploited like this. The way you’re forced to laugh until your lungs ache.”

She watched him with a smirk as he writhed under her touch, her eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and control. “The overwhelming, tantalizing tickle torture…” she purred, each word emphasizing the cruel pleasure she derived from his helplessness.

Bruno’s cock began to twitch slightly in response to the ticklish brushing. Bianca noticed the slight twitch in Bruno’s crotch, her smirk widening as she continued her tantalizing torture. “Yet, I find that you’re enjoying this more than you let on,” she teased, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Typical.”

Bianca rose gracefully from her position, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and anticipation. She walked back over to The Fluff Box, where she picked up the large feather tickler she had set aside earlier. The feathered bundle, now even more tantalizing in the context of the ongoing play, promised a new layer of sensation.

She turned back towards Bruno with a sly smile, the feather tickler held confidently in her hand. “Now that we’ve explored the brush, let’s see how you handle this,” she said, her voice tinged with playful menace. The feathers fluttered gently as she moved, casting a light, teasing shadow across his exposed body.

With deliberate slowness, Bianca approached him, the feather tickler poised to add a fresh dimension to his ticklish ordeal. She gently caressed his cheek, her touch soft and teasing. As she leaned in, her fingers tickled lightly under his chin, sending delicate, tantalizing sensations across his skin.

Whispering in his ear, her voice a velvety mix of seduction and control, she murmured, “It’s going to tickle. The feathers softly dragging on you, leaving tingly whispers of tickling on your skin.” The gentle promise of the feather tickler was almost as torturous as the anticipation itself. She positioned the tickler near his exposed skin, the delicate feathers poised to begin their torment.

“N-no… please…” Bruno whimpered, pleading her not to torture him again.

“Aww,” Bianca cooed, before caressing his cheek again. She moved from his side to a position in front of him. “I’m sorry but…”

Bruno stared deeply into Bianca’s piercing blue eyes.

“I’m going to tickle you.”

The feather tickler made its first contact, brushing gently against his inner thighs, and the sensation was immediate. The soft, teasing feathers danced along his sensitive skin, forcing him to laugh and moan in his fluffy binding. Each light touch of the feathers against his inner thighs ignited a fresh wave of ticklish torment, making him writhe and squirm against the fur wall.

Bianca’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she observed his reactions. She gently moved the tickler up and down his inner thighs, varying the pressure and speed to keep him on edge. Bruno’s cock began to react quickly, rising into a full erection before long.

Bianca lifted the tickler, allowing it to rest between her thumb and index finger as she shifted her attention to his armpits. Her fingers danced with masterful precision, scribbling her nails in the sensitive hollows. The sudden shift from the soft, teasing feathers to the sharp, intense tickling of her nails created a jarring contrast, amplifying the torment.

Bruno’s laughter erupted into desperate, uncontrollable guffaws, the combination of the sharp tickling and the lingering sensation from the feathers leaving him overwhelmed. He much preferred the soft, teasing and gentle tickling of the feather tickler to her scribbling.

“Do you want the feathers back?” Bianca asked, having knowingly lifted the feathers from his manhood to tease him and leave him craving for the more bearable form of tickle torture.

“YEHEHEHEHES! PLEAHAHAHAHASE!” He begged in between his ticklish laughter.

“Then say it. Say you want me to tickle you with my feathers,” Bianca demanded, her eyes squinting in mischief.

“PLEAHAHAHAHASE! TICKLE ME WITH YOUR FEATHEHEHEHEHERS!” Bruno cried out, his voice breaking as he struggled to keep his composure amidst the relentless tickling. His laughter was a desperate plea, a mix of embarrassment and relief as he eagerly awaited the return of the gentler form of torment.

“Aww, of course, tickle boy,” Bianca’s smirk widened, clearly pleased with his submission. She let the feathers descend back to his sensitive skin, their soft touch meeting his needy twitching manhood, resuming the teasing strokes that made him laugh and moan uncontrollably.

The feathers fluttered up and down his shaft, tickling his sensitive skin. Bianca momentarily paused at his tip, giving him a quick flurry of feathery tickles. Her spidering nails met his quivering stomach, forcing the balance of laughter and moaning to tip in favor of helpless giggling.

Pre-cum oozed from his throbbing penis, as Bianca began to twirl the feather tickler on his balls and reaching for under, tickling his taint. He jolted as the soft feathers met the sensitive skin behind his balls. Bianca giggled in response, making sure to properly tickle him and providing long, teasing, ticklish strokes.

Bianca took a moment to relish Bruno’s relieved laughter before gracefully moving towards the plain box. Her heels clicked softly on the floor as she approached, creating a stark contrast to the earlier chaos.

With calmness, she lifted the lid, revealing the contents inside. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of anticipation and satisfaction as she glanced back at Bruno, whose curiosity and exhaustion were palpable. She lifted up a massive fur mitten and placed it on her right hand. “Remember? ‘Finally, the accessories—fur hats, gloves, and handbags—are well-made but lack originality. The entire collection feels like an exercise in playing it safe rather than pushing any boundaries.�� Remember?”

Bruno’s pleas reached her ears, a mix of desperation and desire in his voice. “I-I-I’m sorry. Please let me cum…”

Bianca’s smirk softened into a more contemplative expression. “You know, I think you might have learned something today. But I’m not quite done yet.” She positioned the fur mitten near his sensitive areas, her movements deliberate and slow.

The fur mitten hovered near his sensitive areas, its soft texture promising a new kind of soft sensation. Bianca gently grabbed his cock into the fluffy embrace of her fur mitten. The soft fox fur enveloped his throbbing manhood, covering it in a warm, comforting and pleasurable cocoon. Gently she began to flick her wrist, caressing the fur up and down his sensitive privates.

Bruno began to moan, the fur feeling so good after the tickle torturing of his life. His eyes rolled back in pleasure, as Bianca’s fluffy hand stroked him. He felt the fur caress back and forth. Every single hair, every single strand of fur trailed on his sensitive skin, tickling him ever so slightly yet pleasurably.

As Bruno began to savor the soft, luxurious sensation of the fur job, his body tensed in anticipation of what was to come next. The gentle tickling was soothing in its own way, but suddenly, he felt a new wave of sensations.

Bianca’s fingers began their intricate dance, spidering lightly across his armpits. The touch was both delicate and insistent, creating a contrast with the fur mitten’s plush caress. Her fingers moved methodically, tracing a path down his sides and to his hips, before climbing back up his torso.

Bianca’s tone was firm but laced with a lingering trace of amusement as she spoke. “I said I’m not done yet,” she stated, her eyes gleaming with a mix of authority and playful intent.

As her fingers resumed their intricate dance, traversing from his armpits to his sides and hips, the tickling became a complex interplay of sensations. The fur mitten’s caress complemented her skilled fingers, creating a relentless and tantalizing experience for Bruno. His laughter, now a mix of desperation and reluctant enjoyment, filled the room as he struggled against his bonds.

Bianca’s eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and authority. “Repeat after me and I’ll let you cum,” she bargained, her tone a mix of seduction and control. She leaned closer, her breath warm against Bruno’s ear as she prepared to make her demands. “I love getting tickled by you, Ms. Nyberg.”

With a strained voice, he finally gasped, “I LOVEHEHEHE GEHEHETTING TICKLEHEHEHED BY YOU, MS. NYBEHEHEHEHERG!”

“Am I the meanest and sexiest tickler you’ll ever have, Mr. Graham?” she asked, her tone both commanding and playful.

Bruno, breathless and overwhelmed, finally managed to gasp out, “Y-YES, MS. NYBERG! YOU’RE THE MEANEHEHEHEHEST AND SEXIEST TICKLER I’VE EVER HAHAHAHAHAD!”

“Is my tickling intense and addictive, leaving you begging for more?” she asked, her tone both commanding and seductive.

Bruno, still gasping for breath, managed to shout out in all caps, “YES! YOUR TICKLING IS INTENSE AND ADDICTIVE! I CAN’T GET ENOUGH!”

“Am I the best furrier? Are my furs the most elegant and the softest? Will you remove your review and write a follow-up praising me?” she asked, her tone leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.

Bruno, caught in the whirlwind of ticklish torment and fluffy pleasure, could only respond in a breathless plea, “YES! YOU’RE THE BEST FURRIER! YOUR FURS ARE THE MOST ELEGANT AND SOFTEST! I’LL REMOVE MY REVIEW AND WRITE A FOLLOW-UP PRAISING YOU!”

Bianca’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she heard Bruno’s plea. She paused her tickling, allowing him to catch his breath, continuing to gently stroke him with the massive fur mitten, a soothing contrast to the earlier intense sensations.

With a soft, triumphant smile, she leaned in close, her voice a whisper filled with both dominance and affection. “Good boy. I’m glad you’ve come to appreciate the art of tickling and the elegance of my furs.”

Bruno began to feel his orgasm building up as Bianca flicked her wrist slightly faster now, pleasuring him increasingly. She began to blow gently into his ears, adding another teasy pleasurable sensation to his fur job. Bruno scrunched his neck in response.

Bianca smiled warmly as she continued her gentle strokes. “I really liked tickling you, Mr. Graham. I’ve teased lots of ticklish guys, but you’re one of the most memorable. Your laughter was music to my ears.” She kissed his cheek. “And you liked being tickled by me, didn’t you?”

Bruno looked down and moaned, as he watched Bianca work her fluffy magic on his throbbing manhood. He nodded in response to Bianca’s teasy words. Bruno took all the pleasure in, watching the mitten glide up and down, up and down. He couldn’t even see his manhood. It was lost in a sea of maddeningly pleasurable fur.

“You know, I’m still kind of tickling you while I’m doing this, Bruno,” Bianca giggled, her eyes dancing with seduction. She let her fingers lightly graze his sensitive spots once more, adding a touch of teasing to her words. “Tickle, tickle.” She observed as his breathy moans quickened, a clear sign of the effect her playful touch had on him. “And the fur?” she continued, her voice soft and teasing. “Isn’t it a bit ticklish too?”

Bruno nodded, his eyes rolling back as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. The combined teases and tickle talk from Bianca and the soft brush of the fur against his manhood was almost too much to handle. Each touch, each whisper of the fur, seemed to intensify his experience, leaving him in a state of helpless ecstasy.

“Cum for me… Cum for your tickling fur goddess, Bruno…” Bianca urged, sensing the critic's orgasm was close.

And so Bruno let himself be taken over by an explosive ticklegasm. His back arched in response, as his entire nervous system tingled like fire and his muscles spasmed in pure pleasurable ecstasy. Streaks of hot sperm shot out of his throbbing red cock and he screamed as his entire body joined together in a harmony of pleasure.

Bianca stroked his hair gently, her touch soft and soothing after the intense ordeal. As Bruno panted heavily, his head hung low in exhaustion, she offered him a tender smile. Her fingers ran through his hair with a caring rhythm, a contrast to the earlier playful torment.

“You did so well, Bruno,” she murmured softly, her voice a blend of satisfaction and genuine care. “I’m glad we understand each other now.” Bianca turned to the door. “I sincerely hope you keep up your promise, because if you don’t.”

She turned back.

“I’ll personally make sure you’re tickled and tortured until passing out. Then you’ll be tickled again. And again. And again…”

#fur coat #women in fur #fur stole #fox fur #fur #tickle content #tickle fic #tickletorture #tickle tickle #f/m tickling #tickling #tickle scenarios #furfetish

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jodithann827 · 2 years ago

Text

Pretty Woman 6/11

Rating: Explicit /posted on AO3 / tagging @today-in-fic

Waldorf Astoria

Penthouse

Sunday

9:05 am

She hears him moving around the room, his feet clomping around, though she can tell that he’s at least attempting to be quiet. She can smell his cologne as he moves closer to where she lay on the bed. Settled face down, the soft sheets tickle her bare and sensitive skin, having not bothered putting pajamas back on after their third round the previous evening, or rather early this morning. Her sex has never been this sore, and she has had a lot of sex, so that’s saying something. She feels the bed dip, her eyes still closed, holding onto the last bit of sleep she can. She feels Mulder’s soft hand against her cheek.

“Good morning,” she whispers, arching to stretch her sore muscles. Mulder bends down and kisses her shoulder. “Good morning,” he replies. She opens her eyes to see him grinning down at her.

“Either I was dead to the world and didn’t feel you move, or you stayed in bed all night,” she observes, sitting up and pulling the sheet around her bare breasts. She knows she shouldn’t be self-conscious, especially after the things he did to her body the previous evening, but at the moment she feels like the bedding is her armor.

“I haven’t slept that well in years,” he admits. She smiles, secretly proud that she was able to help him, at least for one night.

“Time to get up,” he informs her. “It’s time to go shopping.” He hands her his credit card. “I’m surprised you didn’t get more things yesterday.” Scully’s heart drops some, along with her affect. Seeing the change, Mulder raises an eyebrow, as if to ask her what’s wrong.

“It wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be,” she tells him honestly, shrugging her shoulders. He waits for more of an explanation. “They were mean to me.” Her voice and demeanor are slightly childlike.

“Mean to you?” he repeats, softly. She nods. He shakes his head, unable to understand how anyone could be mean to this magnificent creature. He stands and goes to the bedside table, picks up the phone, dials, and waits.

“Diana,” he says after a pause. “I wanted to let you know that I’ll be in a bit later this morning. If I need anything, I’ll call you.” He hangs up abruptly before giving the person on the other end a chance to respond.

He goes back to the bed, takes Scully’s hands, and tells her, “Come on. Shower and get dressed. We’re going shopping.”

Beverly Hills

10:30 am

Mulder reaches for Scully’s hand as they cross the street. She feels confident and safe, knowing Mulder is with her this time. She’s known him for such a short amount of time, but she somehow intuits that he would not let anything happen to her. She’s wearing her same miniskirt, but this time she also has one of Mulder’s crisp white button-down shirts, tied at the end for a better fit on her tiny frame as she walks confidently next to him.

“Stores aren’t nice to people,” he explains to her, “they’re nice to credit cards.” He pauses outside of a well-to-do-looking shop, much bigger than the small boutique from the previous day. “Stop fidgeting,” he instructs. A nervous habit dies hard. As confident as she feels, she can’t shake the jumpiness that usually overcomes her.

Upon walking into the store, Mulder immediately asks for the manager. A man approaches, somewhere in his early forties, with thinning hair and short stature.

“Good morning,” Mulder extends a hand. “You’re the manager of this shop?” he asks, getting down to business.

“Melvin Frohike,” the small man replies.

“I’m Fox Mulder-” Mulder begins.

“Yes sir, of course, sir, I thought that was you,” Frohike interrupts.

“See my friend over there?” Mulder asks, pointing towards the door, where Scully is still standing awkwardly, picking the cuticles on her nails. Frohike looks in the direction Mulder is gesturing and nods. “She’s hot,” he lets slip, then, turning beet-red, he profusely apologizes.

Mulder gives him some version of the stink-eye but glosses over the comment, secretly proud to have such a beautiful woman on his arm, so to speak.

“Well, Mr. Frohike. I would like you to know that we will be spending an obscene amount of money in your store and will require a lot of assistance.” Beside him, Scully grins like the Cheshire cat.

“Yes sir, of course, sir,” he responds to Mulder. He snaps his fingers and two assistants, both women, saunter over with catalogs. Scully is escorted to a chair, a woman flanking her on each side, showing her pages in the catalogs.

Mulder watches Scully with adoration as salesperson after salesperson brings her clothes. Solids. Patterns. Pieces of cotton. Silks. He can tell she is slightly overwhelmed, although she hides it well. At one point a saleswoman plops an oversized hat on Scully’s head, which evokes a giant belly laugh from her.

Sometime later, while Scully continues to be fawned over by multiple individuals, Frohike approaches Mulder, who is leaning against a display counter.

“How are things going Mr. Mulder?” he asks, curiously. Without lifting his eyes from the paper he’s engrossed in, Mulder replies, “I think we’re going to need a lot more sucking up.” Without missing a beat Frohike replies, “I knew from the moment you walked in here you are not only a handsome man but a powerful one…” Mulder’s eyes leave the paper and travel up to Frohike. With a quizzical look on his face, he tells him, “Not me. Her.” Frohike nods, blushing, and makes his way back over to Scully.

Placing the paper to the side, Mulder reaches into his pocket and withdraws his cell phone. Punching in a familiar number, he waits.

“Diana, I wanted to check in and see how it’s going.”

“Fox, where are you? When you called and said you would be late I didn’t think you meant this late,” a disgruntled Diana spits out. Mulder smiles, secretly enjoying getting a rise out of her.

“Don’t worry, Diana, I’ll be there soon. I had something to take care of this morning. How are things over there?”

“Well I spoke to Mr. Spender this morning and he is starting to get impatient. He would like an answer to his question. What happened last night?”

“He made me an offer I need to decide if I want to refuse,” Mulder replied, vaguely. When he was met with silence from the other end, he added, “I’ll explain when I get there. I’m leaving now.

He ends the call and places the phone back in his pocket, then walks over to Scully. She gazes up from her chair, a radiating smile on her face.

“I have to go to work,” he announces to everyone. “You look wonderful,” he tells her, as she is currently wearing a pin-striped suit jacket with a matching skirt. He bends to kiss her cheek. Standing, he looks at Frohike and tells him, “She has my credit card.” Then he bids them adieu and makes for the door.

Scully continues to try on various outfits over the next few hours. She is showered with scarves, hats, dresses, blazers; any type of clothing she could want. At one point a salesman is helping her into a pair of shoes while Mr. Frohike looks on.

“That’s a fantastic tie,” Scully tells the man. “I think Mulder would love that tie. He would look amazing in it,” she continues. Frohike snaps his fingers at the man.

“Take off the tie,” he instructs him. The salesman, dumbfounded, puts the shoes down and begins removing his tie. Handing it to Scully, she thanks him, explaining, “I think Mulder would love this tie.”

**********

Three hours later, she leaves the shop with several employees trailing behind her, per Frohike’s request, carrying several different-sized bags filled to the brim with clothes and shoes. She struts down Rodeo Drive, much more poised in her step than when she was there last time, her head held high in a wide-brimmed black hat and white gloves that reach midway up her arm, a distinguished aura surrounding her. Her dress is cream-colored and held closed by six vertical black and white buttons, and her red hair is pulled into a low but sophisticated ponytail.

Suddenly, realizing where she is, she makes a sharp right turn, entering yet another shop. Inside, several customers look at her in awe, admiration on their faces, no doubt envious of her attire.

“Excuse me,” Scully announces, confidence exuding from her. The sales lady looks up.

“Can I help you?” she asks, appropriately and respectfully.

“Do you remember me?” Scully asks. The second sales lady approaches.

“I’m sorry I don’t,” she responds, her eyes looking over Scully, trying to place her.

“I was in here yesterday,” Scully informs her. “You wouldn’t help me. You work on commission, right?” she asks. The woman nods, the knowledge of the previous day sinking in. Scully holds up her many shopping bags, looks the woman in the eye, and informs her, “Big mistake! Huge. I have to go shopping now.” Scully turns on her heel and walks out the door. She feels light, and dare she think it, happy.

Scully makes her way back to the hotel, courtesy of Langly, Mulder’s limo driver. She strides confidently through the lobby, hotel employees following her with her many bags. Walter Skinner, talking to a colleague, notices her and smiles, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

In the penthouse, she pulls money out of her clutch purse and tips the bellboys. Once they retreat, she flops on the chair and takes her hat off, smiling because she is amazed and proud of herself at the moment.

The Grill on the Alley

Beverly Hills

2:00 pm

Mulder and Diana sit opposite each other. The restaurant is busy, filled with the hustle and bustle of customers and staff. They chose a small secluded table in the corner, though most likely for different reasons.

“I don’t know that much about him,” Diana tells him, digging into the salad she’d ordered. “I have heard that he is ruthless and does what he needs to get what he wants.”

Mulder gives her a slight raise of his brow, knowing the lengths Diana would go to accomplish the same thing. “I’m mulling some things over,” he finally says with a neural, don’t worry about it, tone.

“Well, whatever it is he wants from you, give it to him so we can close this deal and be done with it,” she insists.

“Trying to get rid of me?” he asks.

“Oh Fox, please, you know you can’t stay away from California too long. You’ll go back to New York for a bit, but it will only be a matter of time before I see you again. You always come back.”

“It seems like it’s getting harder and harder to leave,” he admits, resigned.

“You could stay, you know,” she replies, her voice filled with elation and hope.

“Maybe…”

Diana looks to where Mulder is gazing, at nothing in particular. “Fox, what is wrong with you? You are acting… I don’t know, but you’re not acting like yourself; you’re acting bizarre,” she confronts him.

“I have a lot to think about, Diana. I’ll have an answer for Spender soon.”

“The money,” she tries to argue, one last time.

“It’s not always about money,” he replies, flatly, which shocks an almost unflappable Diana.

“You’ve never felt this way before,” she states.

“People change,” is his only retort.

Waldorf Astoria

Penthouse

4:00 pm

Scully sits on one of the dining room chairs, one leg crossed over the other. She is stark naked, save for the tie she got for Mulder. She hears his key in the door and braces herself, knowing this will either be a hit or a miss. She’s starting to know Mulder and not just in the physical sense. She understands him, she thinks.

“Hello, dearest,” she says in a deep and sultry voice as Mulder rounds the corner and comes into view. He’s looking down at the stack of papers in his hand, but at the sound of her voice, he looks up, drops them, and develops a shit-eating grin on his face. Scully smiles, knowing she made the right choice.

He’s on her in an instant, wanting to touch her everywhere. After being with him for just two days, she can’t believe how much she has learned about him, physically. She’s amazed at how much of a tactile person he is, touching her even outside of sex. His mouth descends on her breasts, sucking and tugging a nipple between his teeth. Scully thinks about their encounters the previous evening and how she was a bystander for much of the night, letting Mulder assault her in the best of ways. She knows she doesn’t want to sit idly by this time. She moves her hands to his shirt, gripping it with all her strength, and pulls it open, buttons flying everywhere. Mulder lets go of her breast, moving his hands to undo his pants. He is already hard, straining against his suit pants. In that instant, she knows this is going to be quick.

Master Bathroom

4:45 pm

The welcoming sounds of soft music flood the heated bathroom. The lights are dim, some natural light peeking through the large window. Scully takes a washcloth and moves it gently side to side over Mulder’s masculine arms, arms that are wrapped around her small frame. They are soaking in the tub, completely sated after their coupling. He places tender kisses down the side of her porcelain neck. Mulder is pondering what to say to her. Tell me about your family, she had said minutes before. She’s waiting patiently for him to start talking.

“There’s not a lot to tell,” Mulder confides in her. “My family was never the same after Samantha’s diagnosis and eventual passing. My mother was a music teacher; piano,” he tells her proudly.

“Mmm,” Scully responds, encouraging him to continue.

“Following Sam’s death she tried to keep teaching, but being around all those kids was too painful. After she left teaching she tried giving piano lessons, but again, after a while, it made her too sad.” Mulder pauses thoughtfully. “She didn’t have that spark anymore.”

“Well,” Scully starts, shifting to face Mulder. She dips the washcloth in the warm water and brings it to his chest. “She must have excelled at one point because she taught you.” Mulder blushes slightly, red hues creeping up his neck. “What about your father?” she asks cautiously, remembering Mulder mentioning that he hasn’t seen him in over a decade.

“My father was always wealthy. Grew up in it and then made his own. He met my mother and fell in lust, I guess you could say. I know they were fond of each other, but I don’t know if they were ever in love. He uh, I guess he tried to be a good father and husband, at least he attempted to do what he thought he needed to. He provided for his family, but there wasn’t a lot of warmth.” He stops for another second to gather his thoughts. “The most outward display of love was when Sam was diagnosed. He was home more, and attentive, not just to Sam but to me, too. But then she got worse and so did his behavior; his drinking. Not long after Sam died, he left my mother for another woman and he took his money with him. They divorced when I was fourteen and my mother passed away when I was sixteen. I had to spend two years with that man before I could leave and go to college. It was nice to finally get away; I felt freer then than I had in a long time. I still think about them, Sam and my mom, often, but their memories don’t hold me hostage as they once did.”

Scully goes back to running her gentle hands over Mulder’s arms. Content, she thinks, warmth in her heart. However, deep down she worries, ever so slightly, that she’s possibly becoming too attached.

#au fanfiction #dana scully #fox mulder #the x files fanfic #x files #msr fanfic #you know the song #sing it loud #melvin frohike #walter skinner

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