#yeah lets violate even more of his boundaries and expose him further

[allblognamesaretakenso]

Why do most luke fans hate tif even though she’s is the only one who gives reality check to the shippers by saying luke and nicola are other people. She doesn’t disrespect antonia instead has called her luke’s comfort person and that they are a real couple.

idk maybe it has something to do with the fact that, at the height of the pt2 premiere hate train against luke, tif decided to construct a whole timeline detailing all of his social media activity in detail and offered it on a golden platter to his haters? or when she and her friends attacked him in antonia's comments for liking one of her posts before accepting a bridgerton post? or when she posted disgusting AI material of luke pregnant/in other sexualised positions on her discord? or advocated that people should be allowed to 'share their dissapointment' in luke, in public comment sections? or used antonia's story to stalk luke's location and meet him? should i go on?

she helped cultivate a campaign of hate against luke (and capitalised off of it, too), and now she's washed her hands of it, and expects luke fans to flock to her because she doesn't attack his gf/relationship? thats the bare minimum, i fear.

she consistently shows concerning patterns of behaviour before trying to cast herself as the stoic victim, rather than actually taking any accountability. she stoked these fires, and they’re still burning, whether she put the gasoline down or not. sorry if some luke fans don’t buy into her little redemption arc.

[sisterspooky1013]

Damsels, Chapter Twelve: You Deserve to Enjoy Your Body

By SisterSpooky1013 / Rated E

Read previous chapters here / Tagging @today-in-fic

He follows her up the stairwell that leads to her apartment. The complex has seen better days, but when she unlocks the front door he’s surprised to see that the inside is relatively nice. It’s small but tidy, which is no surprise for any place Scully inhabits, and the decor is decidedly young.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, make yourself at home,” she says, then disappears into the bathroom.

He looks around and has an odd feeling that he’s invading someone’s space. There are little trinkets on the shelves, magazines on the table, a stack of bills on the counter, but none of it is Scully. He sits down on the couch but it’s impossibly narrow and low to the ground, as though it were designed for a child. Or a child-sized woman, he supposes. The only other seating options are the table or the bed. The kind of conversation he wants to have with Scully shouldn’t take place at a dinner table, so he sits on the end of her bed, listening to the running shower. He wants to rummage through the drawers, to see the private details of her fabricated life, but he doesn’t. When the water stops running, his heart starts to race.

&&

She steps out of the shower, wiping steam off the mirror with her forearm. Desi has gone down the drain and Scully looks back at her. She frowns, feeling a sense of loss. She’s going to go back out there as Scully, and Scully is going to sidestep her way right out of having an actual conversation with Mulder, just like she always does. Tears prick at her eyes, and she remembers how it felt to be Desi, to be free. She wants to keep that part of her, but she doesn’t know how.

Just ask yourself, ‘what would Desi do?’ and then do that.

Magenta’s words echo in her head. She’s not going to let Desi go just yet.

She suddenly realizes that she hasn’t brought a change of clothes into the bathroom with her, and because it’s a studio apartment, Mulder will be just outside the door. She puts on the short black bathrobe that’s hanging on the back of the door and it hits her thighs just below her ass. She needs to at least have underwear on beneath this; it’s too revealing. Scully would go out, grab a change of clothes, and then come back in here to put them on. But what would Desi do?

She opens the door and is surprised to see Mulder sitting on the bed. His head snaps over to her and a grin blossoms on his face.

“What?” she asks self-consciously.

He shakes his head, but the smile stays. “It’s just good to see you.”

She gives him the eyebrow. “I’ve been gone for ten minutes, Mulder,” she replies dryly.

“Right, um, it’s good to see Scully is what I meant to say. You. Really you.”

Is this really her? She doesn’t want it to be. She walks over to her dresser and opens the top drawer, plucking out a pair of red panties. Her back to him, she steps into them and pulls them up under the robe. He doesn’t make a sound, but she can feel his reaction.

Staying casual so as not to betray her pounding heart, she walks over and turns on the lamp beside the bed, then flicks off the overhead light and lays down. He turns to look at her from his spot at the foot, the amber light casting him in a warm glow.

“Your couch is tiny; for a second there I thought I had fallen into Gulliver’s Travels,” he says by way of explanation.

She has the thought that it had sat her and Angel just fine, but she doesn’t tell him that. She shifts to get more comfortable and winces at her sore ribs.

“He get you pretty good?” Mulder asks, crawling up to lie on his side next to her.

Scully would tell him, but Desi would show him. Pulling her robe open beneath her breasts, she exposes the developing bruise on her belly, just below and to the left of her sternum. Mulder sucks in a little breath that she assumes is in response to how bad it looks, but when she looks at his face his eyes are trained much lower, maybe on her scar. It seems as though he’ll never be able to stop blaming himself for that.

“No broken ribs or any internal injury, thankfully,” she says, watching him look at her. “I rolled away right as he kicked me, so it wasn’t as much impact as he was shooting for.”

“How long have you had that?” he asks, and her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Um...a few hours?” she offers.

“No, this,” he replies, reaching out and touching her belly ring with an index finger. She blushes.

“Um, a couple years or so. I got it after my cancer went into remission.”

“Why?” he asks, all curiosity, no judgement. He’s still fingering the ring gently and she stifles a shiver.

“I guess...I guess I wanted to decide what happened to my body for once,” she answers, and he looks at her face with some mix of pain and admiration.

“This assignment,” he says with a regretful voice, “it took that away from you again.” His hand has come to rest on her belly, his palm covering the gold hoop.

She shakes her head gently. “In some ways yes, but in other ways it was actually...kind of empowering.”

They look at each other for a beat.

“How many times did you come to see me, Mulder?”

He averts his eyes sheepishly. “Too many,” he says. “I’m sorry.” It’s clear that he counts himself among those who violated her autonomy.

“Why?” she inquires further. “Why did you come?” Her tone is all curiosity, no judgement.

He meets her eye again. “Do you want to hear the lie I told myself, or the truth?” he asks, and she knows he’ll be honest if she asks him to.

“Tell me the lie first.”

“I knew you didn’t have your weapon, because I went to your apartment and checked your gun safe. So I needed to be there to protect you, in case something happened.” He says it flatly. He’s not even trying to convince himself of that anymore.

“And what’s the truth?” She knows her voice is on the verge of trembling.

His thumb is now gently stroking the flesh of her belly, his fingers mere inches from the hem of her panties. Now seems like a good time for honesty.

“At first, I just needed to know where you were. I couldn’t stand the idea of not knowing. And then once I found you, I just…” he stops and swallows, letting his eyes drift down, skirting over her chest to where his hand lies.

“What?” she encourages him, needing to know. Needing to hear it.

He turns his head abruptly, facing her again. “You looked so fucking good up there, Scully.” His pupils are huge and his breathing is quickening.

She smiles demurely. “Yeah?”

He huffs a big breath. “Yeah.”

She screws up her mouth, embarrassed by the compliment. “Thanks,” she finally says, and then they are quiet.

His hand still rests on her stomach, and he looks around the room, rather than stare at her awkwardly. She can hear the clock ticking in the living room and a horn honking somewhere nearby. This is the point where she will say how late it is, how tired she is, how early they will have to be up in the morning to continue the investigation. This is the point where she pulls open the escape catch and slips through.

What would Desi do?

She reaches up to his face, slipping her cool palms onto his stubbled cheeks. He turns to look at her, and she blinks slowly, letting her lips fall open slightly. She remembers the VIP room, and how desperate he’d been to touch her.

You deserve to enjoy your body, Angel had told her. She wants it to be true.

She pulls gently, bringing him to her. He closes the distance between them slowly, pressing his lips to hers. This is not a searing kiss, not frantic or desperate or unbridled. This is her and this is Mulder, and this is real. His kiss is tender and sweet, and he sighs deeply against her mouth with a little hum. Relief, release, finally finally finally.

She slides her tongue along his bottom lip and his body jerks a little in response, electrified and activated. A swell of confidence courses through her. Bringing one hand down from his face, she pushes the top of her robe open to reveal her bare chest, her nipples already tight with anticipation. His hand snakes up her ribcage, fluttering over the bruise and coming to rest at the spot where her underwire lies each day they work together in the office. Where sweat collects when the air conditioning in their rental car is out. Where her body becomes Her Body, and they are crossing this boundary together. Even though they already crossed it, obliterated it, when he took her into that VIP room. This feels more significant. This is real. This is them.

He trails kisses along her jaw and down the side of her neck, slow and delicious. His tongue dances across her clavicle and his lips brush the skin of her chest. When he takes her nipple in his mouth, she feels it so deeply, in a place she’d forgotten existed. A place that she’d so rarely let herself go. The rough of his tongue drags across the sensitive bud and she arches into him, letting her head fall back and her eyes close.

You deserve to enjoy your body.

His mouth is back on her neck and he kisses his way up to her ear. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers huskily, and she feels a surge of arousal dampening her panties.

He gently covers her bruise with his hand, kissing her lips whisper soft, so soft it makes her ache. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, and at first she thinks he means emotionally.

“You won’t, Mulder.” It would have been the same answer either way.

She laps at his mouth and he reciprocates, deepening the kiss. As with all things, he’s exploratory; tasting each corner of her mouth, changing speed and pressure, discovering what she likes. Their slow, liquid kisses are the type she hasn’t experienced since she was a teenager and kissing was all that was permissible. She’d forgotten how erotic kissing could be. But she definitely wants to do more than just kiss.

“You can touch me,” she says. Even though he already is, already has. It’s as close to a request as she can manage.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he returns, and she remembers the way his hands had flexed and his body arched, seeking contact with her.

“Yes,” she breathes, “please.”

A low moan rumbles in his chest and his hand leaves her bruise, brushing over the skin of her belly as he continues to kiss her, the featherlight touch tickling her and making her jump.

“Sorry,” he says, and she can feel his smile against her mouth.

He plays at the hem of her panties, tracing the border across her stomach, the edge at her leg until it disappears under her ass. He follows it the other direction up and over the front of her leg until it takes him between her thighs. She moves one leg aside, resting it against him, and he continues to trace the trail along the seam of her thigh and vulva, so close she’s sure he can feel the heat coming off her. Maybe even feel how wet she is. He lifts his finger and places it low, on top of her panties near her opening, and drags it up over her cotton-covered slit. When he bumps up over her clit, she makes a little sound. He does it again.

“Can I…” he grumbles into her ear, “...I want to taste you. Please.”

A throb. Whatever she had previously thought to be the sexiest sound in the world is obsolete. Fox Mulder begging to eat her pussy is it, hands down, no debate. She wants to hear him say it again.

“You want to?” she asks rhetorically, baiting him. Her breath is ragged. If she somehow talks him out of this by accident she will die.

“So bad,” he drags his teeth over her earlobe. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about it.”

A throb. She might come just from talking about it. “Okay,” she says, as though acquiescing.

He moves to hover over her, kissing her several more times as though he can hardly tear himself away from one area to kiss another. If only he had a second set of lips to kiss her with. He makes brief stops at her breasts and belly along his journey, sucking the gold hoop between his lips, which produces an oddly pleasurable sensation. When he’s on his knees between her thighs, he hooks his fingers into the fabric at her hips and tugs, peeling them slowly down her legs. She lifts one leg and crosses it over his body so that he can pull her panties free and toss them on the floor. When that last scrap of fabric is gone, he gently pulls her leg back over and his eyes come to rest on the one part of her body he has not yet seen. She watches him intently, the mesmerized look in his eye as he commits her pink, swollen vulva to memory. He’s looking between her legs as though the answers he’s always been searching for are right here, and he can’t believe he’s only finding them now. He licks his lips.

When he lowers his body, laying on his belly and placing his palms on the outsides of her thighs, she feels the anticipation throbbing so hard she wonders if he can actually see how much she wants him. He dips his head and she is trembling, desperate, now now now.

The sweet slip of his tongue through her folds simultaneously ignites and extinguishes her. Release on top of heightened desire. Scratching the itch while tickling forth a new one. He is tentative, trying different levels of pressure and length of strokes, licking her long from bow to stern then short just across her clit. Every single point of contact is an entire fireworks show in a millisecond, one on top of the other, and she doesn’t even realize at first that she is crying out. Moaning and panting, making so much more noise than she ever would have permitted herself to make in the past. He slips a finger inside and she feels the beginnings of an orgasm begin to take shape. He laps her in short strokes, flicking up and over her clit over and over, and every synapse in her brain is firing. He slips a second finger in and she’s there, right on the edge, ready to fall over.

“I’m gonna come,” she whines, and he groans, keeping pace and pressure, not changing a single thing.

It’s slow, so slow the way it overtakes her. Her toes curl as it creeps up her legs, wrapping around her hips and pulling her under. She reaches the crest and hangs there, clamped tight around him at the peak of pleasure for so deliciously long. Then the waves hit her, pulsing and pushing and expanding and contracting, and he keeps going. It’s so good, so fucking good that she thinks she might cry, or maybe she already is, she doesn’t know. She’s still going, still pulsing around his fingers, but now that the most intense point has passed she wants him close, she wants more.

“Mulder,” she says with a thick, dry-mouthed voice, “come here.”

He crawls up over her body, still fully clothed, and she pushes his shirt up quickly, tossing it aside before her hands go to the fly of his jeans. She can see a question pass over his eyes, a worry that it’s too much too fast. Not for him, but for her.

“I want you,” she assures him, and he helps her push his jeans and boxers off, discarding her robe when he briefly stands. Then they are both fully nude, his stiff cock nestled between her thighs.

“Please,” she begs, because she means NOW she wants him now, right now, while she’s still riding the coattails of her orgasm.

He grips his cock and slides it over her, collecting her wetness, and then slowly pushes inside. He’s perfect, big enough but not too big for her petite frame, and she hooks her legs around his buttocks, pulling him deeper.

“Fuck,” he moans, but takes the cue and begins long, firm strokes.

The new sensation of the head of his cock sliding against her insides sets off another series of little waves of pleasure and she’s not sure if she’s still coming or coming again, but it’s so damn good she doesn’t care.

“You feel so good,” she moans against his neck, and he can feel him stiffen and grow even harder in response.

“Oh my god, Scully, oh my god.” He can’t find more eloquent words than that, but she doesn’t need them. She knows.

He kisses her while he slides in and out, groaning and growing more frantic. He’s close.

“Fuck, should I...pull out or something?” he asks breathlessly, a bit late in the game but she can appreciate that he thought of it at all. She remembers the box of condoms in the bathroom, but this is Mulder. She knows he hasn’t been with anyone else, and she can’t get pregnant anyway.

“Come inside me,” she commands, and that does it. His eyes clamp shut and his breath catches. He continues thrusting into her in stony silence, a living statue until he falls apart.

Words tumble from his lips as he pours himself inside her, a stream of consciousness he isn’t even aware of while dopamine is flooding every cell of his body. “Oh my fucking god, Scully, oh my fucking god, I love you so much.” She watches his face raptly, marveling at the blissful way his eyebrows stitch and his mouth hangs as he lets go, lets himself feel good for once. He collapses, falling to the side and taking her with him so he can remain inside her, nuzzling her neck as he rides out the final dredges of pleasure.

She traces her fingers over the sweat-dampened skin of his back, feeling whatever the opposite of regret would be. She’s never been so sure that a decision she’s made was the right one as she is now. He sighs deeply and then tips his head up to look at her, a sated smile on his lips that she returns.

“Hi,” she says in her very own voice, and he gives her a squeeze at the familiar greeting.

“Hey,” he replies, and her heart swells with affection that she cannot rightfully ignore.

“I love you too,” she says, and a flash of surprise disappears from his expression as quickly as it arrived. Maybe he doesn’t realize he said it, but he knows he feels it.

“Does that mean you’re not gonna kick me out?” he asks, and she can’t be mad that he’s ruining the moment with humor. He wouldn’t be Mulder if he didn’t.

“Stay,” she replies, and reaches up to switch off the lamp. They fall asleep just like that, his sticky cum on the insides of her thighs something she’s not ready to let go of just yet.