Been seeing the horror fest stuff of the hot men and I got some ideas, so here’s something small. You can think of pretty much anyone with a cock in this.
Warning: Smut, Blood, Murderer.
Gripping onto to his chest as you tried to ground yourself as his arms hooked underneath you and held you against the hall. Blood covered his toned chest as black paint circled around his eyes along with the mask coving half of his face. His thicc cock thrusting in your hole was making you squeal and squeeze around him. “Such a fucking whore,” he smirked underneath his mask as his eyes kept themselves on your face. You squirm and tried not to fall as he fucked you in the air, it was cute that you thought he’d drop you.
You hit his chest and looked away from the murderer you had just met. The man had caught you trying to run away but he purred the right words to get you aroused. It was sick how you wanted him. Maybe you were just as fucked up as he was. “That’s it, look away from the monster. So pure and innocent right?” His hands pushed your legs farther apart as his cock hit as deep as it could go. You felt perfect around him, so warm and tight.
Your back slammed into the wall harder and the sounds of your body hitting it repeatedly made you even more embarrassed. “I think I’ll let you live, this hole is too good to give up. Use you as my own personal cock sleeve?” You dig your fingers in his flesh and tighten around him as you got closer to your organism. He chuckled at your reaction, “Though you would like that.”
Characters I thought of: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Ejiro Kirishima and more.
🍂 Fictober 🍂 Day 15: Baking (Gen fic - Clan of Two)
Din and Grogu bond as father and son while baking cookies.
Warnings: Fluff, found family, not beta read, a kitchen gets destroyed in the pursuit of cookies.
Word Count: 1465
Pairing: no pairing!! its father and son bonding time
a/n: "uh cy 🤓☝️ this is from your fictober prompt list in 2023 and its now 2025-" listen. lets just be glad I'm posting any fic at all at this point, ok? ok. Anyway, to get back into writing fics I decided to go through my wip folder and finish some things. Which means finishing some old wips for prompt challenges years later. And this fic is one of them.
There is a mention of a neighbour in the fic. you can use your imagination for who the neighbour may be. they may be a lowkey hint at a fic i've been working on for a bit now since s3 imagine being din's neighbour ahahaha (i have so many thoughts you dont even know) anyway. the neighbour isnt mentioned until the end and there's nothing really implied. its very much still focused as a family bonding fic for din and grogu. not beta read or really edited btw - if you see any errors no you dont (morning cy might deal with them but probably not lol)
The Mandalorian stood before a scene of destruction and chaos. The child giggled at his side, sitting on a tall stool, with not a care or a concern in the world for the massacre he had caused. While the man himself could only stare in dread at what laid out in front of them.
Cookie batter somehow covered not just the counter, but the walls and ceilings in splatters. Flour had been everywhere. He and the child were covered head to toe in it. He’d probably be finding it for days—hidden in every single nook and cranny around their little home. Dirty dishes were piled high like mountains in the sink—he didn’t even know that they had this many pots and pans until this moment—with the scent of burnt cookies filling the air like an all consuming cloud of despair.
“Well, this was a disaster.” Din had mumbled with a sigh, glancing down to Grogu who had only giggled again in return.
At least the kid is happy. He supposed.
Grogu had clearly enjoyed the assault on their kitchen. Din on the other hand, could only seem to look on in disbelief at the mess. Who would have thought that baking pumpkin snickerdoodle cookies with a toddler could have caused such devastation? Such mayhem? Certainly not him. He had never baked anything before, but he didn’t imagine it being that different from cooking. So when Greef Karga—of all people—had first suggested it as something to do for bonding with Grogu, he didn’t see a reason not to. What harm could truly come from making cookies with his son? Apparently though, it came at the cost of his nice clean kitchen and the last of his sanity.
This would probably be the only time he ever took the Magistrate’s advice on fun activities to do with the kid.
Despite the sorry state of the cookies, the child had still reached for one. And seeing this from the corner of his eye, Din had promptly attempted to shoo his tiny-grabby hands away. Though of course, even with all his father’s attempts at trying to stop him, the child had managed to grab one anyway. The little one’s neverending hunger, and curiosity, proving to be the mandalorian’s greatest enemy once more.
“You won’t like that.” Din had said, now trying to show Grogu just how charred the cookies were so he’d understand, hoping it would stop him from eating the damned thing. “It’s burnt and it won’t taste good.”
But his father’s urging did not stop the young child. Once Grogu had his mind set on something, especially if that something was food, it was hard to dissuade him. The mandalorian had learned that quite early on. And so, despite Din’s attempts, the little creature took a giant bite of the scorched cookie with a beaming and devious grin that had immediately soured. His face scrunching at the bitter and dry taste. His little tongue sticking out in disgust, while trying to spit out the crumbs he had in his mouth from that stubborn bite.
“I told you, and yet you didn’t believe me.” Din had chuckled, patting the child’s back softly in a soothing manner, before pinching one of his large ears gently. “Stubborn womp rat.”
Grogu had frowned at him and his affectionate words. His large ears lowered and pout set high, as he finally set the burnt cookie aside. The little one had huffed, all giggles and glee gone, as he looked disappointedly at the others before sending a pleading look Din’s way. A silent question that the child already knew the answer to, but still asked anyway.
“No, those ones are also burnt, you can’t eat them either.” The Mandalorian this time took the whole tray away, dumping the burnt cookies into the waste bin. “No cookies today I guess, maybe some other time we can try again.”
When he turned once more, he found the child looking devastated, as if the man had just delivered the most heartbreaking news. Din sighed.
“Grogu it's getting late—it’ll be dinner time before you know it.”
The child only continued to sulk.
“I promise we can try again another day.”
The child had only pouted deeper.
“We still need to clean all this—and wash those pans—we can’t bake in such a messy kitchen.”
The child looked to be on the brink of tears.
Din let another defeated sigh. “Alright, you win, how about we clean up and then we’ll try baking them just one more time today, ok?”
“Patu!” The child had at last grinned back in agreement.
So, after some much needed cleanup of the kitchen, the father and son quickly got back to work. This time making sure to follow the instructions much more closely, especially the cooking time. And soon in doing so, the Mandalorian had once again found himself stood before a room of baking destruction with the child at his side.
But at least this time the cookies weren’t burnt.
They smelled amazing in fact—mouthwatering in every sweet waft as they cooled—and they were the perfect shade of brown. Not a trace of burning or charred crumbles in sight. When picking one up to break in two, he couldn’t help but notice how the center seemed just to be the right amount of chewy softness, with the edges crisped just enough.
These cookies seemed like they’d be far more delicious than the previous ones. Although, they'd really only know how they’d turned out once they had a taste of them. Din didn’t really need to convince Grogu to try them. The little one had already been trying to reach for one of the halves from his hands, much to the mandalorian’s amusement.
“Here you go kid.” Din chuckled, handing one to the child. Who had taken it and nibbled at it. This time far more cautiously—still clearly a bit scorned from the earlier burnt one he had tried. Though quickly that little nibble had turned into happy glee as the child nearly inhaled the rest of it, before reaching towards the man for another one with grabby hands.
“That good huh?” He reached to the pan to give the child another cookie, this time a full one. The kid took it without hesitation, immediately chomping away at it like it was the last thing he’d ever eat.
Din couldn’t help but laugh a bit watching, before finally lifting his helmet to give a bite to the other half of the cookie he broke earlier. A pleased hum of approval following. “These are much better. Perfect even.”
Grogu had also hummed in agreement between his mouthfuls, and when he asked for another, Din would let the child have one, and even another after that. Cookies were always best when fresh out of the oven after all—only someone cruel would deny a child of such joy—before finally cutting the child off from having any more.
“Alright I think that’s enough, we’ll save the others for later.” Din said, shooing the child’s hand away, this time for good. “You’ll ruin your appetite for dinner at this rate.”
The child had pouted but didn’t protest. Silently watching as the Mandalorian began to put the now cooled cookies away into a container to finish off at a later date, before the kid’s attention seemed to stray to the kitchen’s window. A gentle tug at the man’s shirt soon following.
Din had glanced down at Grogu—preparing to deny the kid’s request for another cookie after already saying no earlier—before catching himself as he noticed the child pointing to the kitchen window. The gears in his mind turning to try and understand what the little one was asking.
“You want to give some to the neighbour?” He asked once he clued in, a bit confused.
Grogu had beamed at him. Nodding excitedly.
“Ah, well…” Din’s voice trailed looking to the window again, a bit shy this time, before finally giving a shrug to the kid. “Well I guess I don’t see why not.”
Grogu had practically squealed, much to the man’s surprise, as the child leaped down from the stool. Quickly scurrying his way to the door to practically fling it open.
“You want to go right now?”
“Patu!!” Grogu replied, dashing out the door in unbound delight.
“Wait-” Din yelled and hurriedly tried to shove some cookies half hazardously into another container, before trying to follow the kid out. “Grogu, I said wait!”
Grogu would not wait. He’d run all the way down the path to where he’d find the neighbour in their garden. Babbling in long winded gibberish until Din would finally arrive—out of breath and trying to explain himself while handing over a container of pumpkin snickerdoodle cookies to a very confused, and quite concerned, neighbour.
What may have happened while they were staying at The Falls when Mulder left the bedroom telling Scully that the thrill was gone.
Fictober day 4 prompt 9: I wouldn't do that if I were you.
The thrill is gone.
The words Mulder had said when he left the room kept repeating in her ears as she straightened up while she waited for her face mask to dry.
The thrill is gone.
How could it be gone when it had never even started? At least not in the way he was implying. Not how Rob would mean it if he was speaking to Laura.
She knew he was teasing her, acting the part of a hurt husband, but still…
Picking up his shoes, she placed them on a shelf in the closet. Seeing his sweatshirt had been left on the bed, she sighed as she snatched it up to hang it in the closet.
The thrill is gone.
Is that what he wants? she wondered, placing the sweatshirt on the hanger. A thrill? Something that isn’t who we are? Does he want to be someone else? For me to be someone else? Or is it our thrill that’s gone?
“Hey, Scully,” Mulder said, poking his head around the corner.
“Jesus Christ, Mulder,” she said, dropping his sweatshirt and looking at him in exasperation.
“Sorry,” he said, tapping his fingers against the doorjamb. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Yeah, well,” she huffed, picking up the sweatshirt and hanging it with a bit more force than was needed. “Did you need something?”
“It’s still early,” he said rather sheepishly and she raised her eyebrows, waiting. “I know I won’t be sleeping anytime soon. You wanna watch a movie or something?”
She stared at him, crossing her arms and drawing in a breath.
“You don’t have to, but-”
“No, I…” she said with a quick nod. “I will.”
“I mean I don’t know what’s on, but…”
“It’s still early,” she finished and he nodded, tapping his fingers on the doorjamb again. “Maybe we could see what’s inside that gigantic basket Pat gave us.” He grinned and she attempted to smile back, but her skin felt tight. She touched her face and nodded. “You go open it, I’ll wash this off and join you.”
“You got it, Mrs. Petrie.”
“Shut up,” she said, pushing him out of her way as she walked to the bathroom. She heard him laughing as he left the room and she smiled slightly.
Ten minutes later, she walked into the kitchen to find the contents of the entire basket laid on the counter as Mulder looked at it dubiously.
“Nothing good?” she asked and he sighed.
“I don’t know. It’s all so… frou frou-y.”
“Frou frou?” she teased.
“Yeah. They’re not brands I recognize. Look at this one, what’s that name? I can’t make it out. Solare’s? Sss… Salane’s? I can’t tell.”
“They’re crackers,” she said, looking at the box and then at him. “Take them, the salami, and that cheese and I’ll grab a knife and a plate.”
“The wine too, or no?” he asked and she shook her head with a slight frown.
“No, the wine at dinner made me feel… I don’t know. I don’t want any. But you go ahead if you want.”
“Nah. It’s not exactly my first choice, especially this one from… Zairess? Seriously, what is this? Where did Pat get these things?”
“Probably some hoity toity shop somewhere. Gotta keep up with those appearances, right?” she asked as she opened cupboards and drawers searching for what she needed.
“I would hate to live in a place like this,” he said and she snorted. “No shit,” she said, rolling her eyes. Shaking her head, she finally found what she was looking for and grabbed a large plate and a sharp knife.
“But you wouldn’t mind it.”
“Living somewhere where neighbors help each other out? That’s not so bad.”
“But dinners at their house? Tuna casserole dinners, Scully? ZZ Top wine?” He gestured to the bottle he had put back into the basket and she laughed. “From the finest little shop in San Diego, but still…” His eyes widened and he stepped backward out of the kitchen as she followed.
“At least the tuna was dolphin safe,” she deadpanned and he grunted.
“Not as safe in my stomach. It definitely did not agree with me.”
“Proper food can have that effect on a body used to only eating takeout and microwave dinners.”
“Are you knocking my frozen meatloaf meals, Scully? How can you when it’s made for hungry men like me?”
She laughed again as they sat down on the couch and she set the plate and knife on the coffee table. He added the salami and cheese, opening the box of crackers and then the bag inside. Placing some on the plate, he picked one up and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.
“Not terrible,” he stated, chewing again. “But definitely dry. I’ll go get us some water.”
“Hmm,” she hummed with a nod as she opened the salami and began slicing pieces of it and laying them beside the crackers.
Mulder came back and snatched a piece as he set the glasses of ice water on the coffee table.
“Hmm. That’s good. Zany Tony makes a good salami.”
Scully laughed as she opened the cheese and started slicing it.
“Who makes this cheese?”
“It said Wandering Willows Farm on the package.”
“The fuck it did,” he laughed, reaching for the wrapper and looking at it. “Tira’s Cheese. Tira.” He looked at her and shook his head as he dropped it back onto the coffee table. “Your name was better.”
“If I ever decide to throw all this away,” she said, waving the knife to indicate the room at large. “I’ll become a cheese maker and call it Wandering Willows, just for you.”
“It’s a solid plan. People do love cheese.” He tried to take a slice, but she stopped him by blocking his hand.
“I have a sharp knife in my hand. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“But, Scullyyyy,” he whined. “Tuna casserole.” She shook her head and snorted out a laugh. “With white wine, need I remind you.”
“No,” she said with a shiver. “You don’t need to remind me. I think Tira’s vineyard made that wine too.”
“Ha!” he exclaimed, bumping her with his shoulder and laughing quietly. “Cheese and wine. You’ll have some stiff competition at ol’ Wandering Willows.”
“I can take her,” she said, finishing with the cheese and setting the knife down.
Picking up two slices of cheese, she handed him one. They nodded as they tried it, watching each other as they chewed.
“It’s… cheese,” he stated and she nodded in agreement. “It’s not bad.”
“But it’s not great.”
“Better than tuna casserole.”
“Hell yes it is,” she said, reaching for another piece as well as a cracker and a piece of salami. “Let’s see how all three are together.”
He prepared a cracker for himself and they nodded once again as they took a bite.
“Oh, that’s good. Much better as a combo,” he said, shoving the rest of it into his mouth.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Much better.”
“Does it need mustard? I think there’s a jar of Zoreli’s in that basket. Or Tortoroni’s Tangy Mustard.”
“Is it Zoreli’s and Sons? Because I really prefer that brand over just Zoreli’s.”
He laughed as he began stacking the salami and cheese onto another cracker and she smiled as she did the same.
“Wandering Willows will have to speak to the Zoreli’s about an exclusive deal to work with them.”
“It’s in the bag. One of my employees is sleeping with the boss of the Zoreli family. They made an offer they couldn’t refuse,” she said in her best Brando voice and he choked on his cracker when he started laughing.
He reached for his glass of water, choking and sputtering, as she thumped him on his back and chuckled softly.
“Scully,” he said in a strained voice after he had taken a few large drinks, shaking his head and coughing as he laughed again.
“You want into the Willows… you’re then in until you die.”
“Or you’re given a pair of cement shoes,” he said with another cough.
“Meh…” she said with a shrug. “You gotta protect the family.”
“I never knew the cheese/wine/mustard business had such a dark side.”
“Why do you think you don’t recognize the brands we’re eating tonight? The others…” She ran her thumb slowly across her throat and his eyes widened. “We don’t play at the Willows.”
He smiled slowly, shaking his head as he stared at her. She smiled back and then looked at the television.
“Are we still going to watch a movie?”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling as he set his glass down and reached for the remote. “Yeah, we are.”
He flipped through the channels until he landed on something, glancing at her for her approval. She nodded, not really caring what they watched. He set the remote down and made up another cracker to eat.
They watched the movie in near silence, eating their snack and drinking their water.
But every once in a while, he glanced at her and shook his head as he laughed through his nose. She smiled and shrugged, an entire conversation being spoken without saying a word.
What do you think now, Mulder? she thought, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Is our thrill still gone? Do you-?
“Is being bedfellows the only way into a place of employment at Wandering Willows?” he asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“Not always,” she said, carefully considering her words. “All options for employment are taken into consideration.”
“So if it’s beneficial to the farm…”
“Or if the person is just really good looking…” she said with a shrug and he smiled.
“And they own a mustard farm…”
“Or a fruit farm. We’re always looking to expand. And if we can lock down jellies… well…” She sucked air in through her teeth and he threw his head back as he laughed.
Yeah, she thought with a smile. The thrill is definitely still there.
Summary: Scully and Mulder make it to her apartment but… something feels off. (wc: 1,701)
Tagging @today-in-fic
Their cab drive home to her apartment might have been the most awkward moment she and Mulder have ever shared. Neither knew what to say. Whenever they caught the other one glancing over, they giggled, blushed, and looked away again. They held hands until his got too sweaty and he let go to covertly wipe it on his pants. Their cab driver, if he spared them any thought, must have believed they’d only recently met each other.
Mulder’s hand landed on the small of her back when they got out and walked into her apartment building. The snow had stopped by then and merely a few flurries remained.
The elevator ride upstairs felt just as stinted and Scully began to wonder if maybe they’d made a mistake after all. Inside her apartment, it was warm and she asked Mulder for his coat, the smell of cold winter air and their first kiss woven into the fabric. She closed her eyes, breathing it in, convinced Mulder wouldn’t notice. Except he had. She had blushed, offered him a coffee, and disappeared into the kitchen. And that’s where she still is, hiding.
“Must be entertaining,” Mulder says, walking into the kitchen, startling her. He points at the coffee machine, where the dark liquid slowly drips into the glass carafe. “Is it okay if I join you?” His smile is disarming and welcome, so she nods. They stand side by side, watching the machine work its magic. Silence settles over them again, uncomfortably. Scully wrings her hands, trying desperately to think of something to say. There are days when they talk with their mouths open, half chewing their lunch because there is so much to say. Now, after their first kiss, when there should be nothing but elation, there’s only this.
“I should have gotten you a new coffee machine,” Mulder says, and Scully turns around, slapping his chest in the process.
“Gifts!” she exclaims. “We can exchange gifts like we were… we were going to do that last night.”
“Um, I didn’t think of bringing it with me,” he admits, touching his neck and giving her a sheepish look.
“I can wait,” she says softly and for the first time in a while, she feels normal around Mulder. She touches his wrist and the same electricity she experienced earlier today rushes through her. Her eyes find his and once more, all her worries evaporate. Only Mulder has that effect on her. The anxiety falls from her shoulders and she finds herself laughing.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, sounding amused.
“This,” she says, gesturing between them. “Come on. Let’s do something that feels normal.”
“I hate to break this to you, Scully, but no one would describe either of us as normal,” he jokes, his breath tickling her neck because he’s that close.
“Shush now,” she says, taking his hand and dragging him into the living room. The Christmas lights bathe him in a soft, golden hue and she catches herself losing focus for a moment. He’s grinning, removing a small Santa hat from one of the reindeer figures she’s displaying on her mantle and putting it on his head.
“I’m ready for my present,” he says, sitting on the couch with his hands folded in his lap. She wonders if that’s what he looked like as a child. Curious and excited to unwrap a treasure. The thought warms her heart. And it breaks it, too. One day he lost it. The excitement vanished from his eyes much like his sister had. Yet, here he is, his eyes once more full of wonder and happiness.
“I, um, have three,” she says, blushing slightly. She reaches for one that she’s put under the Christmas tree. It’s the one she was going to give him yesterday. “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” he says with a sweet smile before he tears the wrapping paper. The smile on his face never leaves, not even when he sees what she got him. He laughs out loud, unfolding the tie with the tiny alien heads on it.
“They’re gray,” Scully says.
“I can see that,” Mulder replies, his finger tracing the heads. “I love it, Scully. I can’t wait to wear it at work. Skinner is gonna love this.” He lifts his head and she sees that his joy is genuine. It’s one of two silly gifts she got him. She’s not sure she’s quite ready to give him the other one yet. Lost in thought, she barely notices him leaning over and pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. This isn’t the first time he does this, but it’s the first time his lips linger. Her eyes fall shut and her lips seek out his, craving the connection. They don’t need to talk. They’ve had seven years of verbal foreplay. Now it’s all about this.
When his hand sneaks under her sweater, she shivers and moans into his mouth. He said he didn’t bring her any presents. She begs to differ. This here – him – is the only present she wants and needs. And she can’t wait any longer. She breaks off their kiss, temporarily mesmerized seeing his lush lips she’s just tasted, and which he licks.
Scully tugs at his sweater, begging him to help her. He’s just as eager as she is and his sweater comes off. As soon as it’s gone, her mouth is back on his, and her hands are on his naked stomach where his undershirt has ridden up. Her hand is on its way to his jeans when the doorbell rings. Their mouths come apart and they stare at each other, their hair as wild as their eyes.
“Are you expecting someone?” Mulder asks her and she shakes her head.
“My mom isn’t going to be here until tomorrow morning.”
The doorbell rings again and Scully uses Mulder's shoulder to get up from the couch. She gets on tiptoe to look through the peephole and gasps when she sees who it is.
“It’s Skinner,” she whispers, panic in her voice and on her face.
“What is he doing here?” Mulder gets up and joins her, checking the peephole just in case. The doorbell rings again and they both startle.
“You need to hide,” Scully says.
“Why? We’re not doing anything.” She tilts her head and gives him a look. “Well, we're not doing it at work.”
“You really want to greet Skinner with that erection, Mulder?” They both look at the prominent bulge in his pants and finally, he relents.
“Fine,” he grumbles and she watches him disappear into her bedroom. Only when she’s sure he’s hidden does she open the door, hoping she looks presentable.
“Sir,” she says, faking a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk,” he says, sounding serious and Scully’s heart plummets. “Can I come in? It won’t take long.” She closes the door behind Skinner and hopes Mulder will behave for another five minutes.
“May I ask what this is about?”
“It’s a somewhat delicate topic.” Skinner clears his throat and she notices the small bag he has in his hand. “As you know, the FBI has organized a Secret Santa.”
“I know,” she says slowly. She was his Secret Santa. She got him a bottle of expensive whiskey, not knowing what else to get him. But how did he find out the gift was from her?
“Well, I know they are supposed to be secret but… I think there was a slight mix-up.” He reaches into the bag and takes out a very familiar garment.
Oh, fuck.
“I don’t think this was supposed to be for me.” And he’s right. He hands her the pair of boxer shorts that she got for Mulder. They’re a deep forest green with a few paw tracks on them and the word “Sascrotch”. She thought it was funny and she knew Mulder would, too.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she says, trying to hide the shorts away from sight. “I don’t know how this could have happened. Wait… that means your actual present is still here.” She throws the shorts behind the couch, unable to look at them any longer, and grabs another present from under her tree.
“This is for you.” He is reluctant to take it from her. “I promise it’s the right one this time.” She’s crimson, her whole face on fire. So is Skinner’s.
“Thank you, Agent Scully.” Ever the polite Walter S. Skinner. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you as well, Sir.” She opens the door for him and luckily, he seems just as happy to be leaving.
“And Merry Christmas to you, too, Mulder,” he says a bit louder. Scully thinks she might start hyperventilating. She finds she can’t say anything or deny Mulder’s presence so she just puts on another smile and gently but firmly ushers him out of her apartment. When the door falls shut, Mulder peeks his head out of her bedroom.
“You think he knew I was here?” He’s grinning. “Hey, it’s okay, Scully.” He walks towards her, taking her into his arms. “I think he knew about us before even we knew.”
“It’s not even that, it’s- it’s the gift.”
“What gift?” So he hasn’t heard everything.
“There was a mix-up with the Secret Santa gifts,” she says, walking to the couch and picking up the discarded boxer shorts. “I got Skinner a whiskey bottle but I must have confused it with your other gift.”
“What is it?” Mulder is too curious to stay away.
“Please keep in mind it was supposed to be funny.” Scully hands him the shorts and watches his face as it turns into a beautiful grin.
“’Sascrotch’?” He beams at her. “Thank you, Scully.” He leans forward and kisses her softly. No corners this time, but fully on the lips. It ignites her fire again, making her quickly forget about Skinner. “Do you want me to model it for you?” Mulder asks with a waggle of his eyebrows.
“Later,” she says quietly, kissing him again. She takes his hand and leads him back into her bedroom. Before she sees him in those boxer shorts, she wants to see him without any clothes at all.
fictober day 2 | m | this list | ao3 | @today-in-fic | @xffictober2023
Oh it would be so easy to slip the clothing that separates them down, for him to slide into her. To actually have sex felt like too much of a commitment, too big a step forward, she wanted it to be more than just a quick rut on the couch- as pathetic as that sounded. Besides this- the way he moves slowly against her core- to change this all of a sudden might mean they’ll both wake up and stop.
[Mulder and Scully partake in some dry humping]
Day 2: Dry Humping.
The movie had ended ages ago, she was supposed to leave ages ago yet instead Scully finds herself laid back on the couch, limbs all tangled, a tongue down her throat and its owner laying on top of her.
She wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.
Mulder was hard. She could feel it even through the many layers of clothing. Even she was feeling the effects of their make-out session and the way he was grinding so perfectly against her centre.
Oh it would be so easy to slip the clothing that separates them down, for him to slide into her. To actually have sex felt like too much of a commitment, too big a step forward, she wanted it to be more than just a quick rut on the couch- as pathetic as that sounded. Besides this- the way he moves slowly against her core- to change this all of a sudden might mean they’ll both wake up and stop.
“Will you stay tonight?” he asks, his lips against hers. He asks her this every Friday. They’ll be no funny business, he sometimes adds. I’ll even sleep on the couch. And each time she has an excuse. I have to finish that report, or, My mother’s coming round. She was telling him the truth each time but none of those things stopped her from staying over necessarily.
“Yes,” she answers taking the chance. And maybe it was because enough time has passed, maybe it was the fact that they were responsible, mature adults who could spend the night simply existing next to each other. Or maybe it was the way he was grinding on her, the pressure and feeling making her brain all fuzzy that influences her answer.
“Oh my god,” he whispers in awe. His hands yank at her hips, pulling her even closer. Scully yelps which turns into a sigh and then a moan as he presses himself even harder against her. There was no ignoring what they were doing now, no pretending that they were simply kissing.
It happens all of a sudden. She feels the pressure building before she explodes, softly, almost like snowfall or very light rain. Her body stiffens and she clutches him a little closer, hanging on.
She just came, she thinks.
Mulder has also stiffened in her arms. This wasn’t supposed to happen, she was supposed to leave.
A hot redness creeps over her cheeks and neck.
“Um…” she says, lost for what to say, sitting up. Mulder moves automatically. She chances a look at his face and it seems to be one of shock.
“I’m sorry,” she says, feeling a sudden need to get out of here. With enough space cleared, she is able to stand and she begins heading towards his front door. “I’ll- I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Scully—”
But she is gone before he can utter another word. Mortified and embarrassed for reasons she can’t explain she runs as far away from Mulder’s apartment as fast as she can.
Time for this blog to be reborn. If you're in the xf fandom and are participating in fictober this year then please tag this blog in your posts as we'll be less likely to miss them and your fic will be reblogged :)
Blank bingo card!
I used this for my fictober card and decided to give you guys the fully blank in case you wanted to use it.
Tag me if you use it because I’d love to see what you’ll be doing!
Notes: ever since reading stormbringer a few months back i've had thoughts on how to fit the pre-15 arc events into bspverse and this fic is the beginning of that! this fic is set during what would be like... the events right after chuuya was taken from the facility. except this is in BSPverse, so paul & arthur never fought over chuuya but the explosion still happened. hence the coma arthur is in
Words: 353
Arthur Rimbaud has been in a coma now for two weeks, five days, ten hours, and thirty-five minutes, and not once during that time has Paul Verlaine - his husband of barely a month prior to that incident occuring - left his side. Even now, he sits next to Arthur's hospital bed with both of his trembling hands wrapped tightly around his husband's single one, his head resting on the cot next to him as he stares with empty eyes.
To say that he is "sad" would be to severely underestimate and misunderstand Paul's feelings. There is no word strong enough in any of the languages he knows to describe how he feels. After all...
Arthur is the only link to his humanity that he has left. He is the only person who can affirm what little scraps of it he has within him, the only one who can prove to him that he is more than just lines of code, arranged in a believable-enough humanoid shape.
The heart monitor beeps monotonously, serving as a hollow metronome. Paul's grip tightens on Arthur's hand.
"...I know that- the statistics say, there is only a 2% chance that you will come back to me," he says. His voice is heavy and rusted from disuse (he hasn't spoken much over the past two weeks, five days, ten hours, and thirty-eight minutes, after all, as the one person he'd ever really spoken to of his own free will cannot respond to him), but he thinks now that there might be some therapeutic use in speaking to the man right by his side and yet so far away at the same time, anyway.
Paul swallows heavily. "Statistics are numbers which govern our lives, but they are numbers nonetheless. If there is anything you have taught me after all these years... it must be that humans are more than just numbers."
He tilts his head up just a little from its position on the bed.
"I cannot wait for you- to come back to me. To prove the numbers wrong- just as you have done to me so many times, before."
