thinking about mulder and scully and how gentle he was with her when she was lying there in the hospital dying. he walked into the room with a wide grin and held her hand and kissed her cheek, and spoke to her in hushed, conspiratorial tones, and everything was life or death but it was so quiet, so unimportant, as he sat by her side and looked at her. mulder looked as happy as he’d ever been, sitting there with her, and it wasn’t because he was; he wasn’t. he knew that she was dying, that they were coming upon the moment when she was no longer going to be with him sooner rather than later, and he was crushed by the weight of it, by the impossibility of it. when he came to see her again and she was sleeping, looking pallid and defeated, he slumped against her bed and cried on his knees in the dark—quiet, body wracking sobs she never knew about, because he never wanted her to know how weak her being weak made him. with the weight of impending death, mulder gave scully the most of life, all that he wished she could’ve received but hadn’t: that coddling, that affection, the beautiful mundaneness of domestic bliss. he listened to her—really listened to her. and he really loved her, loved her like a husband, or a boyfriend, loved her the way a better man would’ve.
and then when scully got better, when the cloud of death evaporated and she appeared before him with color in her cheeks and flirtation on her tongue, he took it back. gone were the days of all that soft love and affection and back was the mulder and scully of old. he sidetracked their team bonding workshop, pointedly ignored the glaring fact that scully agreed he needed to work on his communication, and got them stranded in the depths of the floridian forest. even better, he let her coddle him, let her hold him close to her chest and made her sing him a song as they shivered through the night and watched out for monsters that could kill them, because he couldn’t handle it. the idea of being anything to scully other than what he had been before — a nuisance, a challenge, a partner — terrified him so badly he went into overdrive trying to reinforce those uncomplicated roles again. it wasn’t that he didn’t love her. he did — he loved her to the point of insanity, to the point of self destruction (something she so worried about). he just didn’t know how to love scully when it wasn’t dire. he loved her so much that he could not stand the idea of failing her with anything inadequate and half baked. he was glad to give it to her when it was dire, but when it came to life long devotion, he needed a few more years.
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I like Serizawa a normal amount (lie) I don't think about him and his backstory and his development all the time (lie) I don't think about how he's one of the first people to truly understand what Mob went through after getting all of Mob's emotions and memories blasted at him in the Culture Tower (lie) I don't think about how he might be the only person besides Dimple that knows everything about Mogamiland (and he actually knows more than Dimple because he saw EVERYTHING) (lie) I don't ever think about how he would have ended up being so different if he'd had a good support system growing up (this is not to say that I hate his mom she was trying her damnedest and the claw thing isn't really her fault she just wanted the best for him) (lie) I never ever think about serizawa and his mom reconnecting and how emotional that must have been (lie) I don't think about him growing his confidence while working at S&S and finally growing to be more independent after relying on Toichirou and Claw and his umbrella for so long (lie) I don't think about how he still uses an umbrella as a shield in the last/second to last episode (THE PARALLELS BETWEEN HIM DEFENDING REIGEN WHEN SERIZAWA FIRST MEETS HIM AND HIM DEFENDING HIM IN THE LAST FEW EPISODES. ALSO I WISH SERIZAWA HAD HAD A MOMENT WITH MOB LIKE EVERYONE ELSE UGH THAT WOULD HAVE MADE ME BAWL SO MUCH HARDER THAN I DID) (lie) Yeah I'm so normal about him I don't think about him that much (lie)
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Reonagi is one of my favourite Blue Lock ships and always has been. I just have never been able to properly see then as a romantic couple. Like yeah fanarts and headcanons are always fun to see for me, but the more I think of it the more I see them as queerplatonic. Like, there's something deeply emotional between them and they love each other but not necessarily in a romantic way. Just in their own way that can't be categorized into romantic or platonic love. They're so queerplatonic in my eyes.
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Becca the way I ran over here is insane I have to share this with you. Dbf ceo Bucky tying his tie around your throat pulling it back as he rails into from behind on his desk while he calls you his favorite cock warmer.
Wtf that’s so hot 🙃 like a really frantic, filthy, desperate quickie over his desk because you just couldn’t help yourselves and he needs a little relief
Maybe he’s had a long day and it's really taken it out of him. Some days just don't go smoothly for him and you know to expect that but the second you see his face, you know it's been a rough one.
He looks tired. His frown lines seem a little deeper set than usual and his jaw is clenched but apart from that, it'd be hard to tell he's had a long day because he hides it well.
"Everything okay?" You keep your voice soft, encouraging him to relax and you notice his shoulders drop ever so slightly.
"Bad day." He confirms but it's impossible to miss how he seems to focus on the hem of your dress. Your dress stops just above your knees, leaving your legs exposed for him to appreciate and he doesn't say much more before doing exactly that.
As soon as you're settled on his desk, his hands are drifting up that bare skin, starting at your ankles, roaming confidently up the back of your bare legs. You know he needs this. He needs an outlet for all that frustration and a warmth settles in your stomach because even when he wants to be rough with you, he's still awfully considerate.
He kisses the insides of your knees, trailing the tip of his tongue gently up the inside of one of your thighs until he's able to place a chaste kiss to your clothed sex. He gasps softly, marvelling at how slick the thin lace is under his lips, knowing he's hardly even touched you and you're already desperate for him.
"Bend over the desk." He orders and while you follow his instructions, he unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers before freeing his cock. "You're so fuckin' wet." He grunts, rubbing his stiffening length against the drenched fabric of your panties, giving himself a moment to admire your ass.
"You." He begins, loosening his tie before tugging it off, keeping the knot intact. "Are just a hole for me to fuck for the next hour. You got that?"
"Y-yes." You whimper, pressing yourself back on his cock, shame burning in your cheeks when he laughs at how pathetic you are.
"You're a fucking cocksleeve." Oh God, he needs this. Everything in him is screaming at him to bury his dick inside you and he can't ignore his need any longer. "I don't care if you get off on this. I don't give a shit if you cum." You know that's not true but believing this is just a rough, frantic fuck for his pleasure makes it even hotter somehow.
"Use me." You whine, gripping the edge of the desk. He pulls your soaked panties to the side, slipping the loop of the tie over your head, keeping a nice tension in the length of it as he slides slowly into you.
"Christ, you're tight." He grunts, tugging on the tie so the pressure on your neck makes you yelp. The first glide of his length into your body is always pure bliss for you but it's that little bit better when you pretend that he doesn't care.
"Stupid. Little. Cockslut." He offers sharp, shallow thrusts with each word and there's no stopping the way your eyes roll back. His tip nudges the soft, velvety spot inside you with each thrust and you know if he keeps that up, you're going to cum, whether he cares or not.
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