#just a short fanfic lol

[keii]

Drew some Toji 💜

[television-overload]

The Most Popular Man in D.C.

(X-Files Fanfic)

[read on AO3]

-.-.-

In the months after Scully is returned from her abduction, Mulder starts getting catcalled on the street on an almost daily basis. At first, he doesn't think much of it, but after a few weeks, he finds it odd enough to mention to her.

She walks into the basement to find him putting pins in a map of D.C., hunched over his desk in concentration.

"Mulder?" she asks with an amused look on her face, paused in the doorway with her eyebrow arched.

With a brief glance up at her, he asks, "Scully, do you think I'm attractive?" Her hand almost slips off the door handle.

Her mouth falls open to answer, but she has no clue what words might come out. What is it he's wanting her to say? He doesn't look like he's joking. In fact, he looks deadly serious.

"I–"

"I just mean, if you saw me on the street, would you—you know—whistle at me?"

His question startles a chuckle from her throat, loosening her tongue. "Whistle?" She stares at him incredulously. Where is this coming from?

"Yeah," he says. "Whistle, wave, shower me with unsolicited compliments?"

Normally, she might laugh, assuming this to be one of the goofy bits he does when he's in a good mood, but something genuinely seems to be concerning him.

"Why do you ask?" she says, brows furrowing as she enters the room fully, shutting the door behind her.

He puts another pin on the map, near the grocery store she knows he goes to near his apartment in Alexandria.

"Scully, in the last month or so, I've been catcalled by random women nearly every day, all over D.C." he begins. "On my run, at the gym, even once when I went to pick up more fish food at the pet store. All over."

"Catcalled, Mulder?" she asks.

"Yes!"

"Is that so unusual?"

His brows slant in clear concern. He needs her reassurance.

"Look, you're a... not wholly unattractive guy," she starts cautiously. "And these places—the gym, the park where you run... You'd be covered in sweat, wearing that— that sleeveless Knicks shirt you have..." She trails off, blushing profusely and hoping her hair conceals it.

"But, the PET store, Scully," he insists, thankfully too worked up to notice her pink cheeks. He gestures wildly at the map before him. "All of these pins are places where I remember it happening. All in the last month."

Oh boy. "Putting that eidetic memory to good use, I see," she says. She surveys his slightly manic appearance, gauging how worried she needs to be about his state of mind.

"There's a clear concentration in certain areas," he says, ignoring her comment. "Look: about four blocks from my apartment, see? There's a cluster of them, all near this corner."

She looks where he is pointing, and indeed, there are six pins huddled close to each other while others are more spread out.

"Do you have a theory?" she can't believe she asks.

"I was hoping you would," he says, a little defeated.

Well, if she's not about to be dragged into a wild goose chase investigation based on some theory he's concocted, then she's back to finding this entire situation hilarious again. "Why should I have a theory?" she asks, suppressing a smile as she crosses her arms and looks up at him.

"I don't know," he says, shrugging awkwardly. "You're a... a woman."

She rolls her eyes. "Thank you for noticing."

"No, but maybe you have some insight. A different perspective."

"Some kind of womanly intuition?" she asks doubtfully, challengingly.

"Well, yeah."

She purses her lips. She has no immediate answer for him, so the office falls silent. He slumps back into his chair, looking far more bedraggled than he ought to at just past 8:00 am.

No, Mulder, she doesn't have some insider secret about the female mind to explain this so-called phenomenon away, but... Man, that is a lot of pins on the map. All in the last month, he says?

Why are her toes tapping incessantly on the floor beneath the desk?

"Mulder," she starts, hardly believing the words that are about to come out of her mouth. "If you're that worried about it, maybe we should go check out some of these areas of concentration."

He looks up at her, just as surprised to hear the suggestion come from her lips.

"Really?"

She wants to roll her eyes again, but there's a knot of something she refuses to acknowledge as jealousy in her chest that prevents her from doing so.

"Only if you're that concerned," she says, hoping she sounds firm and not at all interested in why her partner is getting hit on by women left and right.

He fumbles his way to his feet, stabbing himself in the palm with a pin accidentally in the process. He curses under his breath and shakes his hand out while eagerly shoving his arm in his jacket sleeve. "Okay," he says. "I think we should start by my gym, that's where it happens the most."

"Fine," she agrees stiffly, trying not to picture him breathless after a workout and surrounded by his loving admirers.

She drives, because she needs something to do with her hands. He navigates. It's his steps they're retracing, after all. He knows best what direction they need to head in.

They park on the street, exiting the car and getting a feel of their surroundings.

"There's my gym," he points out. She's not exactly sure what they're looking for, but she keeps her eyes peeled all the same.

After a few minutes spent wandering near the entrance, she's about to call it quits, but then a muscular little brunette calls out from across the street, grinning from ear to ear as she shouts, "Woo! I'd pay your dry cleaning bill just to watch you work out in that suit, handsome!"

Before either of them has time to respond, or even come to terms with what just happened, the woman disappears into a storefront. A yoga studio, Scully deduces from the sign out front.

"See?" Mulder says, swinging his hand out toward the other side of the street. The suddenness of his speech startles her out of her tense posture, and she forces her shoulders to relax.

"I give her points for creativity," she says, marching primly back to the car and throwing the driver's side door open.

The next place they drive is the grocery store, just a stone's throw away from his apartment building. Once again, she parks, and they wander about, but this time, their fellow pedestrians are blissfully silent. She looks around. There's the grocery store. Beside it, a pawn shop. On the other side, a place selling herbal supplements... and possibly also other "herbal" remedies. RadioShack across the street. Not much going on at—she checks her watch—8:47 am.

"Notice anything unusual?" she asks, watching as an older couple hobbles into the grocery store arm-in-arm.

His shoulders lift in a shrug. "It's quieter than usual," he says. "I'm not usually here this early on a week day."

She nods. This stop might have been a bust, but at least she didn't have to hear another cheesy one-liner directed at Mulder.

They're not so lucky at the next, and—she decides—final stop.

About a block down from the coffee shop in Georgetown that he frequents when he has to wake her at an ungodly hour, two women loiter outside a shop advertising high-quality tattoos and piercings. One takes a drag from her cigarette, then calls out, "Let's see a smile on those pouty lips!" The other woman chuckles, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

Mulder gives an awkward smile and nod in their direction, and Scully promptly grabs him by the arm, ushering him hurriedly back to the car.

She stews in silence on the drive back to the Hoover building. She knows she has no right to do so, and yet...

"You see what I mean, Scully?" he asks. "You gotta agree that something's unusual."

Does she? He's an attractive man. YES, okay, she's attracted to him. Can she fault other women for noticing? Maybe they could do to keep their mouths shut and leave him alone, sure, but wouldn't most men kill to have that kind of attention given to them?

"I don't know," she answers, her hands gripping the wheel.

"I'm serious. I've lived here for years, and this has never happened before. Then all of a sudden..."

"You're reading too much into it," she snaps. Then, softening her tone, "I mean, if they won't leave you alone, tell them to back off. Tell them you're an FBI agent and can arrest them for harrassment."

"Scully..."

"It's not an X-File, Mulder," she says decisively. "We've missed enough work as it is. Just forget about it."

His jaw shifts like he's about to argue her point, but instead he says the words she's always longed to hear from him.

"You're probably right."

-.-.-

She tries to forget about it.

On Thursday, he cheekily informs her that he had been called a "handsome devil" that morning while stopping by the bank. Friday, the descriptive term is decidedly less work-friendly, but he saunters in looking quite pleased with himself.

Gee, she sure is glad she told him not to worry about all the attention he's getting. Now, he actually seems to be enjoying it.

The weekend can't come soon enough. At 5:00 on the dot, she bids goodbye to his boyish smile and wishes him a good weekend. At home, she finishes off half a bottle of wine and watches some trashy reality TV until it's bedtime, and she promptly passes out.

-.-.-

Saturday, she wakes up feeling stupid. After popping a few advil, she deep cleans her kitchen, tossing out the now empty bottle of wine and even dusting on top of her cabinets, a task that requires standing precariously on the countertop with a featherduster in hand.

As the clock ticks closer to noon, though, she begrudgingly pulls herself away from her work and readies herself for her afternoon commitment with her sister. On the way to Melissa's dumpy—temporary—apartment, she picks up lunch from her favorite Chinese place. It's been months since Melissa came to town. She's not the kind to stay put in one place for long. If Scully hadn't been abducted, or whatever it was that happened to her, Missy wouldn't have been there in the first place.

The apartment is one she'd found on short notice when she heard what had happened, and came to support their mother throughout the ordeal. It pays by the month, and has a serious ant problem in the kitchen, but otherwise isn't the absolute worst living situation Scully could fathom. She liked having her sister nearby, even if it was only for a while.

Now, the ceaseless call of adventure summons Melissa once more, and it is time to go. Scully had promised to help her pack her things this weekend, and now the day is here.

"You sure you don't want to stay?" she asks, loathing how the sentence makes her sound like her 15 year old self when Missy had first left home for her first (and only) year of college.

"You don't need me, Dana," her sister says. "Besides, you know I can only handle so much of Mom telling me what I should be doing with my life."

"She means well," Scully assures her.

"I know she does," Missy says with a smile. "And I know you're no stranger to doing the complete opposite of what she tells you, too."

Scully breathes out a laugh.

"Come on, help me take these boxes down to the moving truck." Melissa shucks her jacket off, tying it around her waist in preparation for the physical labor it would take to carry multiple loads of boxes down four flights of stairs. One of the worst features of this apartment building is it's permanently broken elevator. Moving in must have been a nightmare.

Bending to pick up her first box, Scully catches a glimpse of something on Missy's right wrist, visible now that her jacket has come off.

"What's that?" she asks, brows furrowing.

"Hmm?" her sister asks. Her eyes follow Dana's to the marking on her skin on the underside of her arm. "Oh, I got that while you were in the hospital. You're like 90% of my impulse control, Dana."

Her teasing tone does not negate the heaviness that comes from mentioning that horrific time for her family. That time when she was all but lost to all those who knew her.

"What is it?" she asks.

Missy sets her box back down, and Scully does the same. "Check it out," she says, drawing closer so Scully can see.

On her wrist is a small cross tattoo, remarkably similar in shape and size to the cross Scully wears around her neck.

Strange. She's fairly certain Melissa hasn't been to mass in years, much to their mother's chagrin.

"Why?" she asks, genuine confusion lacing her voice.

"Don't go all 'Mom' on me, Dane," Missy jokes, smacking her in the shoulder. "It's just a tattoo."

Scully shakes her head. "No, I mean, why that? Why a cross?"

"Oh." Melissa looks down at her wrist in thought, then back up at Dana. "It just... seemed to be the thing to do."

"Something to remember me by?" Scully tries to joke, though she's aware of how morbid that sounds, to live to see the way her sister planned to memorialize her.

"Actually, no," Melissa corrects. "It was your partner."

Huh?

"Mulder?" Scully asks, wondering how on earth her necklace—the symbol of Christianity—relates to her unbelieving partner.

"Yeah, it was— Look, it's not really my place to tell, but I saw the way he relied on that necklace of yours for strength while you were gone. Not once did I see him take it off. It was like, if he didn't let go of it, then he wasn't letting go of you. I admire that."

Scully still doesn't understand. "So, the tattoo..."

"Is a reminder to have hope," Melissa finishes. "To have that same belief in others that Fox had for you, even when things looked hopeless and we almost gave up."

Scully's heart twists painfully.

This marking on her sister's body is tangible proof of what Scully has known all along:

That her partner is something special. That his uncommon belief in the unbelievable leaves an impact, not just on her, but on others whom he interacts with.

She still finds it hard to fathom that there had been weeks and months where Mulder was out there, spending time with her mother and sister while she was missing, or lying comatose on a hospital bed.

"When you came back, and when you got better, I knew it was him that saved you," Missy says softly, as if she can hear her thoughts and doesn't want to disrupt them. "I know it's him."

Her sister's piercing eyes meet hers seriously, and she turns away, lifting the box back into her arms to serve as a distraction.

"We don't want to keep the movers waiting," she says, forcing her thoughts away from Mulder. Away from the dangerous thoughts that had filled her head all week.

Missy's eyes brighten, and she grins.

"Don't keep him waiting," she warns.

-.-.-

Scully hands her sister the last of the boxes, and Missy stands up in the back of the truck, brushing the dust off her hands with a satisfied sigh.

"That's the last of it," she says proudly. "Oh, wait—"

She turns quickly, rummaging through a few boxes before triumphantly extracting a small piece of paper.

"Here, give that back to Fox, will you?" she says, handing it to Scully.

"What's this?" she asks, turning the glossy paper in hand to look at it properly.

In her hand, she holds a photo of Mulder from one of the times he'd been locked up on trespassing charges that ultimately wouldn't hold. He'd gotten a kick out of getting his mugshot taken, and so had requested a copy of it upon his release, and the small sheriff's department in Idaho had granted his wish.

But why did Melissa have it?

"I stole it from his apartment," she says, answering her unspoken question. "Made some copies, spread them around."

"You— you did what with them?"

"Just gave them to some friends," she says, smirking as she plops down on the edge of the truck bed. "You know I make friends wherever I go."

"Yeah, but why?"

The conspiratorial smile on her sister's face comes straight out of their childhood.

"Has Fox been getting an unusual amount of attention when walking around D.C. lately?" she asks nonchalantly, concealing a wider grin.

"Missy, you didn't!" Scully says, her jaw dropping.

"You didn't see him, Dane! He needed a pick-me-up!" Melissa raises her hands in defense, smiling at her sister's reaction.

Scully scoffs, but only to prevent a burst of astonished laughter from escaping. "A pick-me-up, not someone to pick him up," she says in as chastising a voice as she can manage.

Only Melissa would do something like this. She should have known.

"So it did work after all," Missy surmises. "Good. He needed a confidence boost. Has his ego inflated terribly?"

This time, Scully does laugh. "Sure, maybe after he got over the paranoia of suddenly being the most popular man in Washington, D.C."

"I guess it would come as a shock," Missy says, eyes bright with mirth.

Scully smacks her sister in the arm. "He was convinced it was some kind of conspiracy!"

"Oh, well," Missy says. "The real conspiracy is how you won't hit on that man yourself."

She's going to miss her sister, she reminds herself. Just be glad she's been in town this long.

Nope. She still wants to throttle her.

She shakes her head.

"Melissa..."

-.-.-

The compliments—because Scully refuses to call them catcalls—continue for the next few months, though with decreasing frequency.

After thinking it over for the weekend, she decides not to tell him. Maybe some day, years from now, when they can laugh about it.

For now, she lets other women say her thoughts aloud, and delights in the way his cheeks turn rosy when she's with him to hear their cheesy pick-up lines.

She wonders how she didn't notice before, the way these women look just like people Melissa would hang around with. Choker necklaces around their necks, Doc Martin shoes... Mulder was onto something with his map. The gym: across the street from a yoga studio that Missy had gone to a few times. The herbal supplement place, one that Missy had definitely stopped by on occasion. The tattoo parlor. Self-explanatory.

Now that she's in on the secret, whenever it happens, it's like Missy is there for a second. It makes her feel less far away. She thinks of these women being handed a photocopied flyer with Mulder's face on it, and wonders what on earth Missy had specifically told them to do.

Whatever it was, it had been effective.

Funny. She never really pictured introducing her sister to her partner, but now she wonders how she didn't see it before. She's glad Missy stepped in to look after him while she was gone, even if it involved a prank of questionable taste. She wouldn't have expected any less from her sister. And maybe that was just what Mulder needed.

She tells him at the funeral.

It's too early to find the humor in it, like she'd hoped they would someday. But his lips do curl into a small smile. Remembering.

It still happens on occasion after that. And when it does, Mulder takes Scully's hand and whispers, "See? She's never really gone."

Melissa Scully had left her mark on Washington, D.C., even in the short time she'd been there. She left her mark on Mulder in the same way.

Years down the line, when the number of Mulder's admirers has dwindled to one, Scully lies awake, picturing his face as he whispered sweet words to her. His constant. His touchstone.

"You were right, Missy," she breathes into the still air of her lonely apartment. Sometimes it feels haunted by her ghost. Tonight, that brings her comfort. "You were right."

She thinks she hears the echo of a sultry whistle.

-.-.-

Tagging: @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @teenie-xf

[heartbreak-sandwich]

Because I can't stop thinking about Billy eating you out on the hood of his Camaro at Lover's Lake in the middle of the night when no one else is around (thanks Billy anon 🫠) NSFW incoming ~

Billy was shocked that you didn't have to sneak out your window or side door with how late it was. He picked you up at your front door with the porch light still on, and the look on his face when he laid eyes on you said it all. The two of you sped straight toward Lover's Lake...

The sound of your heavy panting drowned out the crickets and the frogs and harmonized perfectly with the soft humming of the radio inside Billy's Camaro.

The car's hood was only slightly chilly against your exposed skin, just barely resting on it now as Billy's warm, veined hands pressed your thighs back further, your knees bent against your chest, hips spread open wide for his ease of access.

You were overcome with every sensation as Billy pushed you closer and closer to the edge of cumming all over his velvet tongue. He licked, and sucked, and growled softly at the taste of you, only taking a break once to smirk up at you, your slick shining in the moonlight as it dripped down his chin.

"You're making a real mess, you know that? One more drip on the hood of this car, and we just might have a problem."

You whimpered softly at his husky words which hung in the air and sprinkled down around you like golden confetti as he dove back in, quickening the pace of his tongue against your swollen clit.

We just might have a problem.

You didn't know what that meant, but you were sure it would be be succulent torture for you, and you wanted it more than anything in that moment. Feeling your stomach tighten, you tangled your fingers into Billy's curls, pushing him further into your desperate pussy, grinding your hips into his tongue over and over again until you couldn't stay quiet anymore.

"I -- I'm gonna cum," you almost whispered as it hit you. Your vision went white, and you felt a familiar explosion hit your core. To your surprise, Billy thrust two fingers into you as he sucked harder on your clit, and you let out a high pitched moan as your back arched and your head dropped back against the hood of the car.

If there was pain, you didn't notice. Every color blended into the next as you rode out your orgasm, barely able to make out the sweet sounds emanating from Billy as he cleaned up every last drop from between your legs.

Still breathing heavy, staring up at the sparkling night sky, you felt a hand smooth your hair away from your eyes.

"You okay?" Billy's cerulean eyes examined your face as he let his thumb glide down your cheek.

"Never been better," you replied, still trying to steady your breathing.

Billy smirked down at you with a scoff. "Good. Now, about that mess..."

[gothfeedergf]

This is a fetish fic, includes feederism and weight gain stuff dni if you're not into it !!!

Where Miguel gets captured n force fed, includes funnel feeding, NSFW just gross in general lmao enjoy

He crouched atop a rooftop, watching a facility below. He had received a tip that there was someone conducting dangerous experiments on innocent citizens, and he was determined to gather evidence to expose their crimes.

The night was shrouded in darkness, with only the occasional flicker of neon signs casting eerie glows across the cityscape. Miguel's heightened senses allowed him to detect faint murmurs from within the compound. He knew he had to proceed with caution.

Silently, he descended to the ground and made his way through the complex's labyrinthine corridors. His advanced suit granted him enhanced vision, allowing him to see clearly in the dimly lit corridors.

Miguel was on high alert, but as he reached what appeared to be a secure lab, a blinding flash of light engulfed him. He cried out in pain as searing energy surged through his body. It was a trap.

Disoriented and weakened, Miguel tried to fight back, but the room was filled with guards clad in high-tech suits. They immobilized him with energy restraints that sapped his strength.

With their mission accomplished, the guards swiftly moved in, securing Miguel to a sturdy chair in the center of the room. Thick, unbreakable restraints bound his wrists and ankles, rendering him powerless. His enhanced senses, once his greatest asset, were now a cruel reminder of his vulnerability.

One figure emerged from the shadows, a sinister smile on her face. A brilliant but morally bankrupt scientist, she had developed technology capable of nullifying Miguel's powers and had long been obsessed with capturing him.

"Welcome"her voice was just as hypnotic as her gaze. "You're here just in time for the experiment"

Miguel's muscles tensed as he strained against the restraints, his frustration growing with each passing second. "You're delusional if you think I'll ever help you with your sick experiments!"

She leaned in closer, her voice dripping with a twisted sense of excitement. "You see, you have no choice in this matter. And who knows, perhaps you'll even come to enjoy the experiment. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." The scientist chuckled, her fingers tapping on a sleek, futuristic device resting on a nearby table.

A sense of unease crept over him as she continued to speak. Her words were cryptic, hinting at a twisted agenda that sent shivers down his spine.

"I have studied the human mind extensively. And I believe I have found a most intriguing pathway to one's desires," She mused, her tone dripping with malicious intent.

The scientist motioned to her guards, who brought in a peculiar-looking device.

It consisted of a large cylindrical container, filled with a thick, creamy liquid. His eyes narrowed as he recognized its potential implications, and despite the surreal nature of the situation, the liquid's decadent aroma made his mouth water involuntarily.

Connected to the container was a long, flexible tube, its surface cold and slick to the touch.

The container itself was adorned with a series of dials and knobs, displaying the ominous power that she had over the flow of the liquid. He knew that once those dials were turned, there would be no going back. He would be subjected to the scientist's cruel experiments.

"Allow me to introduce you to my newest creation" She said with a sinister smile. His heart sank, realizing the predicament he was in.

With a swift motion, she fastened a strap behind his head, securing the tube in place. His lips wrapped around the tube, stretching slightly to accommodate the device. Panic surged through him as he realized that his protests were falling on deaf ears.

"Please, don't do this," he pleaded, he voice muffled by the tube.

The room fell silent, the only sounds being the rhythmic pumping of the liquid through the tube and his labored breathing.

As the minutes ticked by, his resistance waned, and his senses grew increasingly disoriented. The combination of the liquid's taste and the mounting pressure in his belly began to wear down his willpower.

As the experiment pressed on, Miguel found himself forced to keep up with the relentless speed of the machine. The thick, creamy liquid flowed steadily through the tube, and he had little choice but to gulp it down as quickly as it arrived. This left him breathless and unable to mount any meaningful protest.

The taste, initially strange and unfamiliar, had evolved into something oddly satisfying. It was a peculiar blend of sweetness and richness, reminiscent of melted ice cream. He couldn't deny that he was growing accustomed to it, and with every swallow, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of craving. It was as though the taste had become addictive, compelling him to keep drinking despite the unsettling circumstances.

He couldn't help but steal a look at his own body, and his eyes widened in shock. Miguel had always been in impeccable physical condition.

His suit, which had once hugged his form with precision, now appeared stretched and taut across his midsection. His normally flat and toned abdomen had swollen slightly, causing his belly to protrude more than usual, it was distinctly different from his usual athletic physique.

 A flush of warmth spread across his cheeks, and he tried to ignore the unusual and, at times, arousing sensations that were coursing through him. 

He found himself increasingly frustrated with his own inability to resist the strange allure of the situation. Miguel had always maintained his composure, but now, he felt like he was losing control, both physically and emotionally.

With renewed determination, he attempted to pull away from the unyielding restraints once more. However, this time, the bonds dug into his noticeably bloated belly. The pressure against his expanding midsection, combined with the sensation of the liquid inside him sloshing around, sent an unexpectant surge of heat through his body.

A low, involuntary whine escaped his lips, and he felt his belly resting on his lap now, lightly brushing against his crotch. He couldn't help it, his hips instinctively bucking in search of any semblance of relief. 

The scientist couldn't resist the opportunity to taunt and tease Miguel as he sat helplessly restrained in the chair.

She circled him slowly, her hair cascading like a dark curtain around her. Her slender fingers traced a maddeningly slow path along his arm, sending a shiver down his spine.

He shifted and writhed in his restraints, his movements becoming increasingly erratic as he sought to alleviate the strange tension building within him

The sensation coursing through his body had become overwhelming, and his heavy, swollen belly, pressed firmly against his cock, seemed to beg for attention.

The scientist leaned closer, her voice, as hypnotic as it was malicious, whispered in his ear with a seductive undertone. "You're so strong, so capable," she continued, her voice dripping with condescension, "And yet, here you are, stuck in a chair, grinding against your own belly. How pathetic"

She trailed her fingers down his chest, before reaching out and gently lifting his chin with her slender fingers, coaxing him to look up at her.

"Tell me, Miguel," she whispered, her lips just inches from his, "Are you really that desperate?"

The scientist, fully aware of Miguel's inability to respond with the tube still in his mouth, leaned in closer, her lips curling into a sinister and knowing smile.

"You are, right? Look at you," she cooed, her fingers lifting his softened belly slightly, revealing a damp spot on his clothes, "Seems like you've been enjoying my experiment a little too much"

His response was immediate and instinctual. Despite the humiliation of his situation, he couldn't deny the strange allure of the scientist's touch. He leaned into her touch, pressing his bloated belly against the palm of her hand, seeking more of the strange sensations she was provoking.

The tension that was building in Miguel's tummy was undeniably one of arousal, a potent and almost intoxicating sensation that pulsed through him with each teasing touch from the scientist.

"¿Te gusta esto?" she purred, her fingers tracing patterns on his bloated belly.

Miguel, still unable to speak as the liquid continued to be pumped into him, could only nod in response, his cheeks burning with a mixture of arousal and humiliation as he struggled to find a comfortable position.

She decided to give him a little break, and a faint, wet sound echoed in the room as the tube came free from his mouth.

Miguel, his lips now free from the tube but still feeling the lingering effects of the experiment, couldn't help but pout, letting out a soft, needy whine. The abrupt interruption of the experiment left him frustrated and confused.

The scientist, momentarily taken aback by his reaction, felt a flicker of surprise. Her usually steely demeanor softened, and she couldn't help but ask if he wanted more, her voice carrying a hint of genuine curiosity.

"Yes, please"

[marchtooctober]

Twilight finally steps into Loid Forger's home. It was late at night and he thought for sure that everybody was already asleep, save for Bond who might get overzealous and wake everyone up. But the moment he closes the door, a figure appeared through his vision.

It was Yor, putting away laundry. She put them down and walked over to Loid.

"Loid! You're finally back!" She says in quiet surprise. Bond circled around them.

Loid pat Bond's head who then went back to his spot right away. Then he turned to Yor.

"I'm home. Sorry, I'm very late... I must have made you worried."

"Uhm... No! It's okay... You must have been very busy at work. " Yor asked.

"Well..." Loid's voice trailed off.

If only she knows what this man just went through.

"Yes... I had a very tough patient I had to deal with." He finally said.

Yor's eyes went wide.

"Did you have another concussive session with a patient?! Did you get hurt anywhere?! Oh, look! You have bruises! Let's treat you! Sorry, I didn't notice right away. It's dim." Yor stared at him with obviously worried eyes.

Loid couldn't stare back at her, feeling that he might end up letting his guard down.

"N-No! There's no need for that. My bruises are not that bad. I'm just... really tired with dealing with my patient today."

"Do you want some tea before you rest?"

Loid was very ready to retire to bed and sleep away the pain of his arm's gunshot wound. But chances of peace with Yor are ever so rare that he willed himself to stay.

"Ah... Sure."

"Okay. I'll pour you a cup."

Yor seated herself beside Loid on the sofa. The closeness made Loid all tingly but in a very comforting way. For the most of time, they were silent. Then Yor gave repeated glances at Loid.

"Is there something bothering you, Yor?"

"A-Wha-What? Sorry! It's just..." Yor emptied her cup and placed it on the table before continuing.

"Seeing that you can get hurt like this for treating a patient... Are you still okay with it?"

Loid seemed to be caught off guard, he only stared right back at Yor.

"Don't you regret being a psychiatrist?"

The silenced prolonged. The question gave a deep impression to Loid, to Twilight. As if asking if he regrets being a spy.

"Sorry! That was rude of me to ask! I'm not even the one to speak. I'm really sorry! You don't need to answer that, Loid."

Loid also placed his own empty cup on the table. He leaned back and stared up the ceiling.

"No. I don't regret it. Even when I get hurt doing this proffession. Because it's something that I have decided a long time ago. So there's nothing else for me but to stick with it, even during the hard times."

Yor fell silent, her eyes glinting as if understanding Loid's words very well.

Loid closed his eyes and recalled right away what he just said. It was something he just blurted out but it's true. Not only for him, but also for everyone else who decided their own path.

He drew his head back, almost hanging to the side. His mind is in total disarray. His eyes fluttered open in time only to see Yor leaning over him. Too tired and slow to react, his mind suddenly went blank when he felt a kiss on his forehead.

"You did well." Yor said and sat back.

Her calm demeanor quickly turned into surprise, and she covered her face with her hands.

Loid fixed himself in an instant, sitting properly. He faced a very embarrassed Yor. Internally, he was just as embarrassed because of their proximity just now.

"N-No! It's not what you think it is! I just..." Yor said and waved her hands.

"C-Calm down, Yor! Speak slowly." Loid said with a similarly frantic gesture.

After a few breaths, Yor continued.

"My coworkers told me that... a... w-welcome home kiss is a common thing between couples. B-But I couldn't do it earlier and you're too tired from work so I... just wanted to comfort you instead." She said and shyly looked at Loid.

Loid took a deep breath.

"Thank you, Yor. And I'm sorry." He said.

"What? You have nothing to apologize! I'm... the one who should say sorry."

"I'm sorry because I..."

His words trailed off once more as his body started moving on its own. It was as if his arm was no longer in pain and reached out for Yor's face. In an instant, Loid closed off the distance and pulled Yor into a kiss.

It was a kiss that was warmer than the tea they just had. Loid closes his eyes and thoroughly felt Yor's lips, his hand gently holding the base of her head. Yor was wide-eyed for a second before she let herself be pulled in deeper. To her, this first kiss doesn't taste like lemon. It was the sweetest thing there ever was.

All thought is lost, only this moment remains. And perhaps, it's just what Loid really needed as a reward after a hard day's work.

[goomens]

I've had an idea but I won't get around to writing it think.. I imagine Crowley being drunk on wine, taking to Nina after *the event* and just word vomiting, telling her everything about who he is. And then Nina ist like "so when you said 'angel' you actually meant..." maybe you can do something with that? 😂

such a cute idea!!! fic under the cut <3

It’s nine in the morning and Nina is jolted from her sleepy reverie by the violent tinkle of the front door bell; a figure in black slithering into a nearby seat and thunking his head down onto the table. Crowley, she thinks, watching him carefully from behind the counter. Without Mr. Fell in tow, tense around the shoulders, and creating quite a sad display, she feels a pang of something like pity inside her chest.

“Gretel,” Nina calls quietly to one of her newer baristas after a moment of consideration, “Take over for a bit, please?” And she makes her way over to Crowley, not bothering to say hello as she pulls out the other chair and sits down in it. He doesn’t lift his head. By all means, he seems lifeless. Completely still. Eerie, like he isn’t breathing. Her heart stutters in fear for a second, thinking he’s just up and died in her coffee shop, but—

“Oh, calm down.” Crowley retracts his forehead from the cold plastic table with a grunt and glares at Nina—she thinks, at least—through the impenetrable black lenses of his sunglasses. “I would like a mug of coffee with four measures of vodka, please and thank you.”

“It’s not even half nine yet, you know,” She scolds him, not really meaning it, but not willing to serve him alcohol so early either. He’s a bit of an odd fella (or, whatever) but Nina draws the line at serving a customer four units before noon. “No boozy breakfasts here. You’ll have to wait ‘til later—on Saturdays we have a boozy brunch. There’ll be cocktails.”

Crowley doesn’t speak for a moment. Then, “Pity.” He sighs. Snaps his fingers for some reason. He reaches into his blazer, pulling out an entire litre bottle of ABSOLUT and uncapping it. Nina opens her mouth, ready to tell him off, but he holds a finger up and guzzles down half of it before she can get the words out. When he sets the bottle down, she raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Thirsty?”

He ignores her, choosing to scowl instead, and looks off out the window of the shop looking a bit lost. “Your advice was shit. You and that—that vinyl seller. Thought you should know. Don’t go trying to influence anyone else’s ‘love’ lives, eh?” His words are full of forced humour, but his voice shatters a bit at the end, and suddenly Nina feels like some kind of villain. She looks at Crowley and sees someone in mourning. He’s grieving. He’s heartbroken.

“Fuck,” She says with feeling, and motions for Gretel to bring over two mugs.

Hours later—in the midst of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death’s boozy brunch—Crowley is drunkenly taking Nina step-by-step through his and Aziraphale’s extremely long history. They go back much, much further than she ever thought. Than she ever thought possible, actually. It’s all quite strange. And sweet, and sad, the way he talks about Aziraphale. “He’s so smart,” He says. “He’s good. He’s lovely. He’s the one I love. He’s only gone and returned to Heaven and left me on my own.” He also says, “I’m a Demon, I know I don’t deserve him,” and “He’s an Angel, he doesn’t want me. He could never want me.” And Nina is suddenly putting the pieces together, making sense of it all, her stomach—full of the buttered bagel she’d had for breakfast, half a bottle of vodka, and not much else—turns and swoops, threatening to expel its contents.

Crowley watches her then bursts into a startling laugh. It’s low and surprised. “There’s no way—no way—you’re just now realising what I am. What he is.” She just blinks and stares, and his laugh dies down but the lines of amusement remain etched on his face. “Oh, brilliant. You humans are brilliant. So bloody obtuse.”

“Oi!” She protests, reaching out to push at his shoulder. But she misses on account of being a bit more tipsy than she thought, and he laughs at her again. “I am not obtuse! ‘M quite clever, actually.”

There’s a smile on his—the Demon’s—face now, which is nice, much better than the frown he sported earlier, but when he gestures to his face and grins fiendeshly, she only stares confused for a second before realising that, ah, maybe she is a bit obtuse. His eyes are bright and a little bit playful, without the sunglasses. Big and yellow and snake-like, and oh, that’s what the Eden story had been about. It hadn’t been a metaphor or a weird figure of speech, but the truth. She’d been so busy listening to him she hadn’t noticed the moment he’d pocketed his sunglasses.

Instead of crippling fear or mortal terror, Nina just laughs and laughs. She orders them both a creamy coffee and some malt biscuits, even at his weak protests, and she lets him tell her all about the planets and the stars, Mesopotamia, the crucifixion, the Seven hills of ancient Rome, the burning of witches in the fifteenth century, the Armageddon-That-Wasn’t…

[kasper7489]

I kinda hopped into the dc fandom by reading fics (I know I know lmao)

But as I've read more comics and looked into different characterization and analysis I now have a more developed idea as to how I view a lot of the characters and have preferences to how their written. I'm def the type to click out a fic if I find myself thinking 'he would not fucking say that'

Anyway this is just to say it's very funny to me when I go thru some of the fics I bookmarked at the begining of my interest and find myself going Uh Oh! I don't think I can read this anymore!

[sasanka-27]

It’s real

| Fandom: supernatural | Pairing: Dean/Castiel | Words: 7k+

| Type: oneshot | Rating: Teen and up | Author: Sasanka27

Summary: Morning of his birthday Dean wakes up alone doubting if he hadn’t dream the good parts of his life.

Link:

[lenievi]

First TOS thingie written this year \o/ It was written as mckirk.

prompt: signal

Could be longer, but I really wanted to make it only one hundred words.

---

The signal isn’t coming.

Jim grips the fabric of his pants. “Come on, Bones.”

The planet visible on the viewscreen is blue like home. Even now, Jim feels the wave of longing, but it’s quickly drowned by dread and worry.

“Two minutes to the eruption,” Spock says, and Jim holds himself back from snapping.

McCoy’s still on the surface! Doesn’t Spock care?

Uhura’s urgent calls for “Doctor McCoy” are the only sound on the bridge.

“One minute.”

Jim stands, fists clenched, seeing nothing but blue.

A noise in the intercom. “Enterprise?” McCoy. “Three to beam up.”

Jim exhales in relief.

[mermaidsirennikita]

sometimes it drives me literally insane to see romance requests that are like

--I want a romance wherein it's basically the happy epilogue throughout the book

--I want a romance that has great communication and they never withhold anything from each other ever

--no "miscommunication trope"

The last thing is just a general gripe about how so many of the things people say are tropes are not tropes, and it's pedantic and snobby but like. Miscommunication is so broad. It's not a trope. People are miscommunicating. WHAT are they miscommunicating about? Is one of them keeping a secret identity from their partner? Because a secret identity romance iS a trope. Is one of them withholding their feelings out of fear of rejection?

Because people DO miscommunicate. Often writers do write it clumsily. If people miscommunicate for no reason, sure, whatever. But if they miscommunicate BECAUSE of a REASON--like, often it's not even miscommunication lol. It's the hero keeping his dire supernatural secret from his wife because she'll die if she finds out (honestly, valid to me, but whatever). It's the heroine finding it difficult to trust the hero with her heart because her dad left when she was young (maybe cliche in theory, but actually a very real thing that happens).

If all you want is plotless nothing wherein everyone is happy and nobody makes mistakes, I personally have a hard time thinking of it as a book, because there is no story. It's just vibes. And essentially EVERY time, people have to mess up and make mistakes in order for there to be a plot.

I just don't understand the point.

[thesmollestsnek]

Someone is about to have his weekend go from good to great, if you know what I mean. 👀

Inspiration: https://www.tumblr.com/clockwayswrites/728541282761392128/you-all-dont-see-this-nope-didnt-write-it

@clockwayswrites behold: half of a bribe I totally didn’t offer you!

I was originally gonna wait to post this drawing with its partner, but I’ve been sitting on this for a month and haven’t had time to sit down and draw, so… yeah.

This piece was actually really fun for me, as my first real foray into nsfw themes! I've drawn non-sexual nudity before, but it was really fun to see how much I could imply without directly showing the act. I might've gotten a bit carried away adding the hickies, but what can I say it was surprisingly enjoyable. The face was also a nice challenge, since my asexual and extremely sex-repulsed ass has no idea what is and isn't a sexy facial expression. When I asked my allo sister she said I did well, so imma have to take her word for it. And of course, the slight freckles and lichtenberg scarring were super fun.

[getosugurusbangs]

i need to grab him and throw him against a wall repeatedly

[anonymoususeru]

A Comforting Memory (Draft?)

A Costume Set Story for Bittersweet Choco Cookie's Young Princess and Dark Choco Cookie's Young Prince.

Aka, Pas gives some silly lore drop on Tumblr for once about the idiotic siblings that have daddy issues but copes with it differently fr.

Dark Choco Cookie was going about his day, looking and helping all the other citizens in the kingdom as much as he could. Unlike his father, all he wanted was to help the people in the Kingdom he would eventually rule. The people needed help and Dark Choco Cookie was willing to go against his father's words for it.

However, there's a strange sense of nostalgia in mind whenever Dark Choco Cookie helped any young cookies from being slain. A young Milk Villager seemed to look up to him greatly and wanted to be like him, a hero. It's strange, he always saw himself as a great person but to see someone looking up to him..it was almost like back then. When she was still around.

As Dark Choco Cookie went to retire to his room in the Black Citadel one day, he wanted to go to her room, in a restricted area. The room that belonged to someone who had run off all those years ago. Dark Choco Cookie always wanted to seek his older sister out but was never given the chance to.

It was almost like Bittersweet Choco Cookie was still there when Dark Choco Cookie entered her room, now abandoned but well kept. A small smile as he saw a portrait of her wearing the royal robes. Just by looking at the portrait, Dark Choco Cookie couldn't help but smile and remembered fondly about the words of her cheering him up every time when he was down. Looking around in his older sister's room, he couldn't help but remember a fond memory he has of her.

It was just after the two finished their classes. Dark Choco Cookie was summoned by Dark Cacao Cookie to talk about it. While he could not remember what it was about now, Dark Choco Cookie knew he was sad from whatever his father said. But it was like Bittersweet Choco Cookie knew when he was sad and when to come to his side because she walked to his side almost right away after Dark Cacao Cookie finished talking to him.

"Oh..did he scold you again?" The way his older sister spoke to him made Dark Choco Cookie go to hug her immediately. Dark Choco Cookie couldn't remember what Dark Cacao Cookie said, all he remembered was how the words made him sad. He remembered how his older sister hugged him back and made sure he's okay.

"Shhh, it doesn't matter what he says about you, you know. You'll always be more than enough to me. Always."

The words back then felt like the light that Dark Choco Cookie needed to be cheered up. As he looked at his older sister, who always gave him a gentle smile, wearing the royal robes and making sure he's okay.

As Dark Choco Cookie snapped out of it, he quickly realized a peculiar thing about the portrait. It was like his own mind made him see the portrait the way it should be. Who vandalized the portrait? Why was his older sister's face not there anymore?

Maybe…he should try to seek her out when he can.

[blackjackkent]

(Touch Prompts)

Third prompt from @astreamofstars from this ask.

“Karlach/your choice - 5”

5. touch with an apology

-----

"Karlach? Karlach! Hey, wait!" Hector has to break into a run, so quickly does Karlach stride away from the exit of Wyrm's Rock with her longer gait. "Wait up!"

Karlach doesn't wait up, doesn't even slow her pace until the fortress is out of view and they're back inside the walls of the Lower City. Then she stops abruptly below the arch of Basilisk Gate and just stands there, her shoulders heaving, fists clenched at her sides. Flickers of flame move over her shoulders and down her back.

"Hey..." Hector reaches her side and moves to put a hand on her shoulder, but she jerks away. He frowns. "Hey - are you all right?"

"Fuck, no, I'm not all right," Karlach snaps, not looking at him. "Ten years I've waited to see that bastard again. Ten years I've wanted to plant a fist between Gortash's smug fucking eyes. And there he is, right out there in plain sight, and you hold me back! You and Wyll both, just making me stand there and watch while he's crowned king of the bloody city!"

"Karlach--"

"And all that noise he was making about cutting a deal. Like we were another of his fucking arms clients, like we'd want to control that thing..." She laughs brokenly. "Same as ever, manipulative bastard..."

"Karlach..."

She falls silent, and he waits a moment before stepping a little closer. Cautiously he slips in front of her into her line of view and reaches up to rest his hand on her cheek, and this time she doesn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," he says softly. "Truly I am. And we will get him, in the end, and when the time comes I will hold him while you flatten him to the floor. It... it wasn't the right time."

She scowls, but her head tips to the side to press her cheek more heavily against his palm. He can feel the heavy pulse of heat from her engine under her skin. "I don't care about the right time. I need the bastard to pay, Hec."

"He will." Hector's voice is low, soothing, but it vibrates with an undercurrent of echoing rage. "After everything you've told me... everything he did to you... I was never going to ask you to let him live. Believe me..." He swallows, and a flash of fear breaks through his steady expression. "But Wyll's father was there, and those Watchers, too... they would have been on us in an instant. And if they'd taken you... I don't know what they would have done." He runs his thumb along her cheekbone gently. "I couldn't bear for them to hurt you, not if we could find another way by waiting."

She nods slightly. "You and your fucking monk patience in a tight spot," she mutters, but there's a weak smile in the words now. "Gah, fuck. I know you're right. I don't like it, but I know."

He tugs her head gently forward so her forehead rests against his. "My monk patience only goes so far," he murmurs ruefully. "I will deeply enjoy watching you wreak your vengeance on him when the time comes."

She grins crookedly, then tilts her head and brushes her lips against his. "You better believe I plan to give you a good show."

He rests his hand at the base of her neck and pulls her close, deepening the kiss. He can feel her relax into him, and his own tension eases slightly in response. "I would expect nothing less..."

[saintstars]

Our Antlers Tangled Interlude 4

Rules & Revelry for @feast-of-horns

The residents of Utumno want to host their own Feast of Horns ... the famine of ... hair?

Follow the full fic on AO3

Rating E

Chapt Warnings: spiders, kidnapping

Utumno echoes with unease. Melkor stands from his obsidian throne and reaches his senses beyond his hall, down into the vast and peerless tunnels. None labour at extending the ever growing maze of caverns. Neither do they slumber. The strangeness persists.

He moves through the empty chamber and into one of the passageways that lead deeper into the bowels of the fortress.

All is dim, brilliant with subtle colour, pleasant to his Void-touched eyes. It is as it should be. Still, his spirit prickles with foreboding.

A wraith of wolfish nature runs suddenly past his legs, fear palpable in the air around them.

Melkor is unused to fear that does not originate with him. He flings out a commanding thought to Gothmog, but his Lieutenant does not answer his summons. All his subjects are cloaked in darkness, their minds shuttered. The threat is not apparent.

Something has occurred without his notice. He has been distracted, withdrawn in his thoughts of late. He has allowed his domain to govern itself. It is not a fit state for a king to linger in. This melancholy must be cast off.

Melkor walks through a hall of shallow water, hardly noticing the chill of it as he seeks out any servant of his. Drops fall from the stalactites, sending a slow song ringing through the chamber. He can sense living creatures all around, but they have hidden the detail of their positions and their anxiety.

There is a faint shuffling in the depths of the cavern ceiling, animal in nature. He turns his penetrating gaze on it and makes out a familiar shape. At his call, she descends upon him.

Ungoliant lands lightly on his shoulder, crawling down his arm for a better vantage point.

‘What stirs Utumno?’ He asks her.

‘We are playing our own Feast of Horns.’ She croons, beady eyes reflecting his own face back at him.

It is not all the answer he expected. Melkor wonders how exactly that appeals to his subjects, since every day in Utumno is given to excess and base desires. Unlike Almaren’s productive drive.

Ungoliant chuckles at his raised brows.

‘It is similar to what I understand the Ainur devised.’ Ungoliant explains, though she is no umaia and has never run the Feast of Horns.

As she clarifies the game, Melkor sees the connection. Everyone has a collar and horn, no binary divide in Utumno, if they collar someone, that being must grant what they ask. Here the similarities end.

The horns of this game are not mere decoration but weapons of defence. If the target of a collar manages to wound the chaser they gain the ask instead. But a horn cannot be used to instigate a fight, the first approach has to be with a collar.

An additional condition is that there is only one collar and thrall to a creature until the boon is granted.

‘That rule was imposed after Thuringwethil made her thralls collar others for her and everyone simply ended up under her control.’ Ungoliant complains, sounding very fond of the vampire and not all that concerned by her minor dictatorship.

Melkor, notes his chief adversary.

He finds it ironic that his Feast of Horns seems to have more rules than the original. Manwë is so fond of rules and order. But here Melkor’s beasts of chaos have outdone him.

‘Whoever I catch, I eat.’ Ungoliant claims proudly.

A visceral shudder passes through the spirits around them.

Melkor thinks of how great her appetite is known to be. The imposition of rules begins to make more sense to him.

‘Well, my Lord, would you care to join our Hunt?’

Melkor considers. The thought of blood-letting does cheer him. It may be exactly what he needs to reinvigorate himself and find momentum. It would also be pleasant to Hunt without the threat of other valar to ruin the fun.

He senses his hidden creatures eyeing him from their sheltered havens. Water drips steadily, whispers just audible beneath it.

‘I wonder if any will attempt to challenge and trap their king.’ He speaks loudly, his voice echoing through the cavernous space.

Several voices jeer and taunt him. The mood leans more towards excitement. Shadows split apart chaotically and phantoms careen in and out of the chamber.

Ungoliant lets out a shrill peel of laughter and sends it echoing after them.

‘It seems there are more than enough fools among our number.’ She sprints down Melkor’s leg and hops up onto a large boulder. Shadows shift away from her many-eyed stare.

‘I have no patience for fools.’ Melkor replies. But there is one he knows will be able to match him and provide ample entertainment. ‘But I will join the Hunt, as shall our guest.’

‘Careful none seek to steal your pretty little prize from you.’ She chitters, gnashing her mandibles at him.

‘I should like to see them try.’ Melkor warns.

Ungoliant lets out a dark chuckle and scurries away after a fleeing wraith.

‘Do not devour my forces entirely, Ungoliant.’ He calls.

‘I make no promises, my Lord.’

He watches the shadows seethe to life in her wake, lesser creatures emerging. They eye him nervously, those with the form to do so bobbing quick bows and curtsies.

Melkor strides past them. He crosses the shallow water, wades through sludge and then snow as the temperature drops with his descent into Utumno. At last he walks over a river of ice towards two imposing doors of white stone.

Jubilant, Melkor throws them both open. His guest does not stir from the nest of heaped furs at the centre of the chamber.

‘Come, my precious,’ Melkor coaxes, ‘Let us play a game.’

At that, Mairon’s head snaps up, his entire body alight with rage.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Parahumans Series - Wildbow Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Marissa Newland | Sundancer, Luke Casseus | Ballistic, Alec | Regent, Aisha Laborn | Imp, Lisa Wilbourn | Tattletale, Brian Laborn | Grue, Francis Krouse | Trickster, Taylor Hebert | Skitter | Weaver, Jess | Genesis Additional Tags: Poker, Fluff, Fluff without Plot Summary:

The Travelers and the Undersiders meet up for game night. Somebody suggests they play poker. Brockton Bay's most infamous supervillains turn out to be suspiciously good poker players.