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sopiao · 10 months

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the 141 boys (+ konig) with reader that's also a kandi kid.

They'd always find little beads or charms in the barracks. Always receiving kandi gifts from you. Each of them would have a plastic beaded bracelet on their wrist, their name spelled out in lettered beads, with their own unique color theme or style.

Price would have around 3 simple, single-band bracelets, black, navy blue, and baby blue, with star charms on his wrists. When you gave him his first bracelet he found the small gesture so adorable and sweet. Like a bird that gives rocks and twigs to someone they like.

At first, it always hid under his glove or sleeve, but when he noticed the small glances at his covered wrists and thought he wasn't wearing it, he started to ensure the pony beads were always in view. He's more than happy to follow you to your room to pick out colors or charms for his next bracelet when you ask him, whenever you can't think of anything new to do.

Soap had more charms than bracelets. He always looked forward to the star or cat charms. The Brit always proudly wore the bracelets or charms. He had a more diverse and colorful pallet than Price, who just had shades of blue and occasionally black, he had pastel pinks and yellows with animal and flower charms.

Always showing them off to the rest whenever he got a new one, wearing the charm dangling off his vest whenever they were out on missions, he treated it like some kind of contest of who got the most. It's quite hard to take him seriously during capture interrogations when there's a Gir charm hanging off his belt loop.

When Ghost got his first kandi bracelet he was ecstatic, but of course, he hid it under his usual poker face. He was one of the last people to get one since you were hesitant to give him one, worried that he won't like it or will just throw it away. But all those worries went away when you saw him slid it over his fingers to hug his wrist. It was a bit snug, but then again you were too scared to ask to measure his wrist beforehand. He would never admit it but he would proudly wear the black and purple beads on his wrist even in combat.

He acted like he wasn’t too fond of it and it would just be another nuisance, but when you offered to just take it back so it wasn’t so bothersome to him, he immediately retracted his hand and covered it with his other like you were gonna steal something valuable of his. Insisted that since he’s already wearing it he ‘might as well keep it’. After that he always lights up on the inside when he sees you walking up to him, pretending not to notice you as you tap his shoulder to get his attention and present the new accessory for his arms. It was quite a sight to get used to, a 6'4 man who's probably killed a hundred men, wears a friendship bracelet over his tatted arm.

Gaz was one of the soldiers that were the most into it (aside from Soap). After his first couple of bracelets and charms, he nervously approached your barracks during the free hour to ask you if you could teach him how to make his charm. You were more than happy to teach him. Of course, you were patient and slow, but he actually learned quite fast and with no errors or problems. His first-ever charm was a strawberry.

Since it was his first time, the strawberry was a little wonky, and the knot tensions were just everywhere. But for his first time, he did better than others and learned it in a matter of minutes. After that, he started to make some bracelets for you too! They never had the same amount of beads or were the same size since he never kept count of beads and just went on his intuition. His kandi looks the most like a scene kids', bright green with black, rainbow, and glittery beads.

König would be too stunned to say anything when you first present the small bracelet to him. It actually wasn't big enough for his wrist, but he insisted to keep it. Keeping it on his nightstand. Since he dealt with some severe bullying in the past, he never had a close real friend before, making this is first friendship bracelet. His beads were more a lighter and ocean like pallets, aqua, light blue, yellow, and oranges, with star and fish beads.

His enthusiasm never wore down with each bracelet or cuff you made him. Always excited to receive a new beaded accessory like it was the first one. Once accidentally broke one, ran to you in tears with the beads and strings in the palms of his hands, worriedly and bashfully asking you to fix it.

—

It’s quite hard to find the group of men intimidating, harder to believe that these men killed almost thousands when their decked out in scene kid kandi. Rocking colorful charms, bracelets, and cuffs like no one’s business.

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ronearoundblindly · 29 days

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you're right, we havent given mr jake jensen a lot of attention lately 😔🫶🏻 can we get an E for him?

We are all on the Jake train now, y'all...

From this dirty ask game, which is appropriately named and thus MINORS DNI.

I feel like I need to say this before we get started--

In regards to the previous discussion of his sexual routine: to be clear, you didn't make Jake cry because of attempting to set time aside for him. He just really didn't like the idea maybe not having already spent time--good time--together or romancing you, etc, that would make you feel the need to schedule things. Things that aren't a specific date out and so forth. He knows he over-reacted. He sees that now. He just had gotten a bit lost in work for a week. Instead of interrupting him then, you set aside some time, and then he kinda lost his shit thinking he'd neglected you or that you thought that...

It's fine. He's fine now. He still hates the idea of scheduling anything but trips though.

E - Extra Info

Jake really, really likes strip poker, but it's pretty obvious he just wants any excuse to be in his boxers. Dude doesn't really like wearing clothes (except he's perfectly fine still having his socks and boots on?? so definitely no foot fetish there). That might be a bit of a thing, actually. If you rock some awesome shoes--be it high heels or platforms or the chunkiest combat boot known to man-- you're not taking them off for sex; you're stuck in those till he's done with you. Period.

The question of if he seduces you back came up in the previous ask, too, and absolutely, yes. He's just...so fucking awkward about using pickup lines and stuff that Jake's seduction is more like...showing his enthusiasm instead of a well thought out plan. He'll take over, he'll take what he wants, but ultimately, he's very sweet about communicating what it is he's excited for.

Like you wearing his bulletproof vest. There's lots of straps he can hold onto. Or his leather gun holster, nothing underneath. That works both ways because he'll wear that for you and nothing else, too.

As we all know, Jake really likes to laugh. He enjoys those moments of levity even--and maybe especially--during sex, so if you do use something on him or make a game of it, it's a big turn on to him that he can be comfortable and goofy and you're still ready to fuck him because goodness knows that's all he wants in the world.

Does Jake have any dark fantasies or desires?

Hmm. Really good question.

I think what I'm getting at is that he is a real tit-for-tat man; if he has any desire to bring it to the bedroom, he's open to whatever it is being done to him. He would never ask you to go through something he wouldn't (degradation, humiliation, roleplay, anal, whatever). If I've said it once, I'll say it again: pure. switch. energy.

He's not the most articulate about these things. He still blushes and chuckles when certain things are brought up, no doubt, but he's just, idk, interested. If you wanna try it, so does he. He'll even research the fuck out of it and buy all the supplies and be ready.

Just. Don't. Schedule. It.

The only organic thing in all of life that Jake gives a fuck about is intimacy. That's gotta be organic or it takes the fun away. He needs the fun. He needs the laughter.

Thank you for asking!

I love him so much.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#ro answers #dirty asks #ask game #jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen smut #jake jensen x you #jake jensen imagine

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seraph5 · 1 year

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✨ Nacho with Tattoos ✨

I defos got a little lost in the sauce with this one. Honestly when I first got this idea I just wanted to draw Nacho looking fully extra with tats and fashion just decked out to the maximum. A hard gangster. Then @silvayme was like, and I’m paraphrasing a little here, ‘this is after Nacho has become a full Salamanca’ and I was like CANON 1000% ACCEPTED. So yeah may I introduce Ignacio Salamanca. Lalo not pictured salivating off screen.

Image description: There are two images. The first is a close up and the second is a full body shot of the same digital illustration. The illustration is of Ignacio ‘nacho’ Varga standing facing a little off centre with the viewer. He has his right hand tucked in his pocket and his left hand is hanging by his hip holding a silver gun. He is wearing thick gold jewellery chains and a gold watch. His pants are formal and high waisted with double buttons. They are made of a shiny navy material with white pinstripes. His shirt is white with a subtle paisley pattern. His collar is wide and points out toward his shoulders and the first few buttons are undone showing off his chest and neck tattoos. His chest is emblazoned with a glowing ornate cross as a nod to the Jesus symbolism in Nachos story. In the middle of his throat is a large blue desert flower. Two snakes on either side are about to bite down on the flower mouths wide. Above the snakes is Nachos lucky poker chip. Visible on his left hand is a flame tattoo engulfing his hand and running up his arm and under the folded up sleeve. End description.

Also worth noting I did sort of fuck up on having Nacho hold the gun in his left hand. He shoots with both hands in the series so I’m gonna say maybe he’s ambidextrous lolll. I’ll just have to remember for next time.

#myart #nacho varga #Ignacio varga #Ignacio Salamanca #nacho #better call saul #BCS #Michael mando #lacho #tattoo nacho

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jamdoughnutmagician · 10 months

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Ok but imagine a more casual tomboy reader losing abet with Eddie and having to wear the cheer uniform and Eddie fucking losing it and x finding it so hot. He doesn’t want you to change who you are. He just sees it as a role play sort of thing

I don't usually receive requests, but this came into my inbox at the right time! Hopefully I did it justice!

Cheerleader Spirit

Word Count:714

Warnings:Teasing, Allusions/Beginnings of smut, 18+ just to be sure, Uniform kink, (kind of, Eddie likes reader in the cheer-leading outfit), Dry Humping, don't think I'm missing anything but let me know if you do want something tagged.

Eddie x Cheerleader Masterlist

Masterlist

A bet's a bet. And it was one that you’d lost quite spectacularly, after a game of poker with Eddie had not gone the way you had hoped. Whilst you considered yourself not that bad at the aforementioned card game, Eddie had proved that night to be ever so slightly better than you. Presenting his winning hand of a straight flush of clubs.

So that led you to where you were now.

Holding up on your end of the bet, at Eddie’s request, he had very graciously provided you with an outfit to put on. But this wasn’t just any outfit, oh no. This was a Hawkin’s green, white and gold cheerleader’s uniform. Where Eddie got it from you’ll never know.

You had bet one another that the winner could have or do anything that they wanted to the loser, and Eddie had chosen for you to wear the cheer uniform.

The short pleated skirt and accompanying knee-high socks, could not be further away from your typical style if you tried. Normally more comfortable in an oversized graphic t-shirt featuring a metal band that you and Eddie had a mutual love of, usually pairing it with a pair of ragged ripped jeans and clunky black DMs

Yes, the sweet, innocent look of the high-school cheerleader was not something you were used to seeing look back at you in the bathroom mirror.

“Hey! You gonna come out or what?” Eddie teases from your bedroom “I wanna see what you look like!” he pleads jokingly.

With one final ruffle of your hair you gathered yourself before turning on your heels and making your way out of the bathroom.

“Tada!” you cheered, spinning around to give Eddie the full effect of the outfit on you. The skirt fanned out around you as you twirled.

Eddie watched wide wide eyes as he took in the sight before him. What had started as a joke, wanting to see you dressed in something completely different to your usual tomboy style, now had Eddie reaching for a stray pillow to place over his crotch and heated flush rising to his cheeks.

"You can't be serious" you said with scoff, eyeing your boyfriend from across the room.

"What?" Eddie replies, trying to hide the nervous crack in his voice.

"This cheerleading get-up is really doing it for you, huh?" You smirk, nodding your head towards his strategically placed pillow.

"Alright you got me!" He says, removing the pillow from his lap and making his way towards you.

"I don't know what it is, just seeing you in this short skirt…it's different, y'know?" Eddie shrugs. "I love seeing you in your own clothes, you know I do, but there's just something about this little outfit that's getting me going" he tells you honestly, kissing his lips against the crook of your neck.

'Well, perhaps you can show me how much you like the uniform.." you offer with a sly smile, tugging him by the hand before gently pushing him back down on the bed and straddling the spread of his thighs.

Eddie wastes no time in settling his hands over the curve of your ass in the skirt, his lips curving up into a cheeky grin.

"Come on then, you're the cheerleader, show me your best moves" Eddie smirks, using his hands to encourage you to roll your hips over the growing bulge underneath his jeans.

You gently reach out to pull his shirt over his head and then push against his chest, getting him to lie his back flat on the bed. Keeping your hands settled over his tatted chest you begin to circle your hips in a slow swivel.

Rubbing over his jean-covered cock with your pussy, hidden behind the thin layer of your cotton panties, you take the opportunity to lean forward and capture his lips in a deep kiss.

You pull back, your lips connected by a string of saliva, as you do.

"Just remember, this whole costume thing was your idea, alright. I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself in to" you tease, raising an eyebrow at him.

His large ring-adorned hand delivers a playful spank to your ass, before he chuckles confidently.

"What are you waiting for, Sugar? Show me some of that cheerleader spirit.."

@sunflowerdaydreamer

#eddie munson x reader fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader smut #Eddie Munson imagines #eddie munson fanfiction

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inkyquince · 1 year

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Patreon Post: Wren's Unionising Perks (Wren)

content warning: Cheating, Cucking, Nasty Wren really into Remy's spouse

Wren always got what he wanted. Not while he was growing up, no, never then. But when he reached his twenties, he found out there’s a lot he could get, either with his winning smile, or with quick hands. Then his tongue could worm himself into some good graces in more ways than one. He liked getting what he wanted. Suddenly, he could put food on the table. Suddenly, he had a favourite leather jacket. Suddenly, life was a breeze and nothing could bring him down.

So, all in all, fuck you.

Fuck you.

God, he’d love to fuck you.

Regular little love story, you and Remy. Horse Ranch meets Riding School. Horrible father meets Horrible Future Husband. Married within 6 months.

Wren didn’t hate a lot of things. Bad hair days. Shit hands when playing poker. Maybe when those shark teeth cut his fingers when spending his Friday lunches at the prison. But fuck, he hated you. He really hated you. He hated you till his stomach was painted with his own cum, his cock sore as his fingers gripped the base too tightly.

Cute townie, trotting in here. Can’t ride a horse, looks lost when Remy rattles off facts about why his cows are the most excellent, didn’t even own a pair of boots until you ruined a pair of your fancy shoes in the mud. Real cute. The kind of adorable where if someone like you, with a face like that, Wren would definitely have you in his bed after a charming little riding lesson and some flirting. But he couldn’t. Because of that fucking golden ring adoring your finger.

He did do his best at first, keeping away from you, real polite, only sometimes swinging by to help out when you got lost on the stupidly big estate. One of his winning smiles, a squeeze of your elbow, and then he could disappear back into his work, only sometimes glancing over to see what you were up to. Sweet little thing. Sweet thing that he won’t lure into his bed at all, god no, because he will be fired at best, killed at medium, and turned into one of Remy’s best bulls at worst.

Which was annoying. He didn’t even pay attention to you. It’s like that one time when he was a wee sprog, his somewhat friend had a toy that they hadn’t played with in a while, and then acted so annoyed when he stole it for himself. Like, what did he expect? When people put stuff aside, Wren will usually take it and be halfway out the door before they realise it was gone.

He just happened to think that the same rules should apply to you. Get left in the corner too long, and he’s allowed to step in. No one puts baby in the corner and so on and so forth. But apparently Remy and the Church of England were against his very reasonable thought process.

Luckily, you seemed to agree with his thought process. Somewhat.

You were obviously bored. Leaning against the bedroom balcony, watching the cows be led out. Wren looked up from his horse, the scene mocking Romeo and Juliet as you barely looked at him, and he was getting a lovely view of your legs. But you did notice him. Soft brown eyed boy with the wicked smile. You didn’t get to meet him properly, only formally. Remy just vaguely gestured at him, called him Wren and moved on, with one gloved hand pressing against your back.

A gesture Wren also liked to do with you.

Spotting you, bored, petting one of the horses. Hand against your back. Inviting you to a poker game. You accept.

The others worry. They can’t have fun like they usually do. Nothing scandalous or perverted, not while the boss’ spouse is sitting so pretty at the table. You were fun, it turns out. Only got more fun as the others became drowsy and passed out from all the shots. Only you and Wren awake.

How could he resist?

Tit for tat, he offered. Which you countered with “Tits for Tattoos?”, which amused him. You pull off your shirt, in return to see one of his tattoos. He likes you naked, and you like him… Showing off to you.

You win a hand, he has to share embarrassing stories, tattoos, see if he can tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue. He wins one…

He gets to taste that pretty little mouth. Lick your teeth as his lean hands grip your thighs, pressing you close. Wren gets to grope and squeeze and touch, feeling his thigh get warmer from where you are perched so cutely. Best of all, he could tell that Remy had yet to do his husbandly duty and fuck you like a whore. You were his, and the thought of shoving your face into the pillows of the marriage bed to fuck your hole raw never crossed his mind.

Idiot.

Well, Wren was his right hand man for a reason. Pick up the slack where Remy can’t.

It isn’t the marriage bed, but it’s his, and fuck, you look good. Debauched and spreading your legs just for him. To be fucked, a couple of paces down from your mansion, in his little cottage. He couldn’t breed you, obviously, but the thought of keeping you full, sated and a happy little spouse for his friend had him stroking at your stomach greedily. All his, at least for most nights in the week, and maybe every other midday break.

Yes, Wren settles on, as he fucks into your hole roughly, enjoying the arching plane of your back as you grip his thin pillows and covers. Yes, this is how it should be. Enjoying a tight little thing in his own bed.

#wren the smuggler #dol #degrees of lewdity #quincewrites #patreon posts #nsft

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a-gay-old-time · 2 years

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An anthology of works by @the-sinking-ship

Volume I includes: Stupid Love, Quicksilver and Phoenix Fire, Criminal, Sweet Indulgence, Like Gold, Intention, Sugar Sweet, ‘Tis a Far Better Thing

Volume II includes: Things We Do, Dwelling on Dreams, On Target

Happy birthday, Sly! When you asked me the other day what project I was working on, I was so glad we weren’t face-to-face because I have a terrible poker face and the truth was I was working on this surprise birthday gift for you. Your writing is brilliant--sharp and witty, imaginative, vivid, full of tension, angsty, hot, tender, and everything else you could wish for--and it’s so amazing to have it all collected in these two volumes for you (minus the two other stories you’ve already got on your shelves). I hope you have a day that’s as lovely as you are!

I got to have more fun with edge speckling, bookmark charms, and multi-volume spine painting for these books which are three of my favorite things to do with books right now! I also went a little wild with water and ship imagery inspired by Sly’s username, The_Sinking_Ship. Like with Tit for Tat, I had the amazing opportunity to work with the incredibly talented @babooshkart on these books--they did the gorgeous wave art that’s found on the spines and on each title page and a whole new piece of art for Intention (more on that in the art post for this book because wow was there a lot of stunning art to include in these volumes)! These two books were made in a whirlwind in the last 2ish weeks, and I’m really happy with how they turned out! Fun fact: the first volume is officially the longest book I’ve bound so far at over 600 pages.

#fanbinding #ficbinding #bookbinding #drarry #happy happy birthday sly #i love making surprise books bc i get to feel sneaky #while also being nice lol

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yuurei20 · 11 months

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Deuce Info Compilation part 6: Unique Magic

Deuce discovers his unique magic by accident when defending Epel. He does not realize what it was at the time, or even after he uses it intentionally for the first time at the end of Book 5 to take out Vil.

He seems to understand what he did—“that spell stores up all the damage from someone, then hits back with it all at once”—but he did not realize it was his unique magic and cannot remember what he called it.

Deuce’s unique magic is pronounced “Bet the Limit”, has been localized as “Double Down” on NA and its Japanese-language meaning is something like retaliation/tit for tat/payback, etc.

The spell enables him to "pay back" damage that he has incurred back onto his opponent. If we include the NA localization, Deuce is saying three things simultaneously:

1) Shippe Gaeshi 2) Bet the Limit 3) Double Down

1) Shippe Gaeshi: in modern Japanese the actual meaning of what Deuce is saying, “shippe gaeshi”, is just an expression that basically means “payback,” in the way that if someone did something to you (like tell a secret that you entrusted to them to someone) and you get them—back for it (by immediately telling someone one of their secrets in retaliation), that would be “shippe gaeshi”.

I read that shippe gaeshi originally comes from Zen Buddhism. If you become distracted during meditation and start slouching, you might get corrected by someone smacking you with a bow-shaped stick of bamboo to get you to straighten your posture called a “shippe”.

The role of smacking people to make sure they stay focused is rotated, so someone who gets smacked can eventually find themselves in the role of the smacker. The act of smackee-becoming-smacker became known “shippe gaeshi” (“gaeshi” (or kaeshi) meaning “to return” or “to give back”). More here!

(Interestingly, Deuce says “payback time” at least once outside of his unique magic spell—foreshadowing, perhaps?)

2) Bet the Limit: a poker term, betting the limit means to place the maximum bet allowed during a game of poker. It is a risky and dangerous move, but one that can pay off in spades (ww) if you do it right. More here!

3) Double Down: “When you double your bet in the middle of a hand in return for only one extra card. Yep, it's risky. But, it can also increase your payout.” More here!

#twstdeuce #twstfacts #deucefacts #Deuce Spade #twisted wonderland

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roughridingrednecks · 1 month

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#massive man #poker tats #bald #bear #hairy #tats #redneck

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rainbowmess823 · 1 year

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Part 2 to this

----

Steve: Ok this is insane, I'm finding out more new things about Robin, things even I didn't even know about.

Jonathan: Are you talking about the scar on her neck?

Argyle: She said she got it surfing.

Eddie: That's a lie! She hasn't told anyone how she really got it. Everything someone asks its always something new.

Jonathan: That explains why Will and El were arguing about how Robin got her scar, it was either a mugging or a fight club.

Steve: Hello!? Me talking about the betrayal I am currently experiencing from my best friend!

Eddie: Sorry Stevie, what did new thing have you found out about Buck?

Steve: Did you know she has a tattoo?

Eddie & Jonathan: *eyes wide* Tattoo

Argyle: Niiiice.

Steve: YEAH! A TATTOO!! I never saw it but the other day she spilled some juice on her shirt and so she asked for one of my shirts and there it was! A dragon! A. DRAGON. TATTOO.

Eddie: A dragon tattoo? Buck?

Jonathan: Where?

Steve: It was on her hip, just the dragon's head was peaking out so what I'm thinking is if that's the head peaking out of her pants then that means her entire right leg is tatted with A DRAGON!

Nancy: *walks in with Robin* Who has an entire dragon tatted on their right leg?

Steve: *points at Robin* YOUUUU! TELL ME HOW AND WHY YOU HAVE A DRAGON TATTOO THAT I DIDNT EVEN KNOW ABOUT?! HOW DID YOU EVEN HIDE THAT IN OUR SCOOPS UNIFORM?!

Nancy: You have a tattoo?

Robin: *smirks* Yes I have a tattoo, I got the tattoo a month before scoops, and hid it was a lot of make-up. *lifts her shirt a little and shows the dragon. Head peaking out from her pants*

Jonathan: *frowns* That doesn't answer the why you have it.

Robin: *smirks wider* Poker night with a tattoo artist.

Eddie: Is that the real answer?

Robin: Ask me again.

Steve: Why do you have a tattoo?

Robin: I got bored and gave myself a tattoo with stick and poke.

Steve: THATS NOT THE REAL REASON!

Robin: *smirks*

----

Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

#robin buckley #nancy wheeler #eddie munson #steve harrington #jonathan byers #argyle #stranger things #spicy six #ronance #steddie #jargyle

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sculkcensor · 8 months

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pac e mike for the tattoos??

OOOH ok so. I have a very specfic vision for Mike and that is. He is a stick and poker who is just COVERED in this patchwork of tattoos. Like he did almost all himself, maybe Pac helps with some he can't reach well, but he's just covered in these various random designs from head to toe.

Pac on the other hand I don't think has many, maybe he has a Tazercraft themed one somewhere lol, like a little mini ankle one or smth. Just like super itty bitty fineline ones, maybe retro style. I like these liquid text/lines styles on him too, I think he could have smth like that. Also ccPac's armband tats! They're great on his cubito too.

#qsmp #qpac #qmike #tazercraft #all the brazilian ccs have awesome real life tats i think we should start drawing the cubitos with those too

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sisterspooky1013 · 1 year

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Never Before

Rated X | 2401 words | Read it here on AO3

He shouldn’t have called her.

Calling the Gunmen would have been worth the years of relentless teasing just to avoid having to see the look on her face when he stepped into the lobby of the police station, his wallet and keys in a plastic bag and his head hung in shame. She’d led him wordlessly out of the building and to a waiting cab, and his questioning look was met with a level of vitriol that seemed to be heightened by the bruises on her face.

“I had a long day, Mulder, forgive me for having a few glasses of wine. I wasn’t aware you’d be calling me at midnight to bail you out of jail.”

He’d physically recoiled at the weight of her anger, then climbed into the cab behind her and gave his address to the driver.

The ride to Alexandria was painfully quiet, her eyes carefully trained outside the window and her body pivoted away from him. But then, to his surprise, when they’d arrived outside his apartment building, she’d exited the cab and followed him up. He watches now as she strides purposefully out of the elevator and down the hall, a force even in her little white sneakers, jeans, and oversized sweatshirt. She unlocks his door with her own key before he catches up to her, and when he passes through the threshold she’s standing by the table, hands on her hips, rage coloring her beautiful face. A face already marred by what she’s just been through, what he harangued and maybe even shamed her for.

He’s never been so confused by his response to another person’s actions as he was today. Perhaps if he’d spent his evening pondering that instead of going down to Little Richard’s and getting shitfaced, he wouldn’t have found himself in his current predicament.

“You do see the hypocrisy, don’t you?” she spits, her voice quavering with emotion. “After the way you spoke to me—”

She stops and swallows, her eyes glistening, and his belly twists with guilt. He walks into the kitchen and fills two glasses with water, his mind thick with the haze of alcohol but not numbed enough that he doesn’t see this for exactly what it is. He is a hypocrite; she’s right. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Maybe if he did the same thing she did, it wouldn’t hurt so much. Tit for tat. The only problem with that line of logic is that she didn’t do anything that called for retribution. What she did had nothing to do with him at all. And that is precisely what hurts so much about it.

He sets her glass on the table and sucks down three quarters of his own. She takes a few sips and then leans heavily against the doorframe into the living room, defeated.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks out as he sets his glass beside hers. “I won’t offer an excuse for any of it. I’m an asshole.”

She chews on her bottom lip, examining him for clues regarding the parts he’s not saying. He carefully arranges his poker face.

“Is this a habit of yours, Mulder?” she asks bitingly. “Was this just the first time you got unlucky enough to proposition a cop?”

He drops his head, shaking it slowly.

“No. Not a habit. And despite the circumstances, I actually feel like it was lucky she was a cop. Otherwise maybe I’d have gone through with it.”

She scoffs, and he lifts his head to look at her.

“Why, then? And today, of all days?” she asks, incredulous. “Please, help me understand how you all but called me a common whore this morning, and then went out to hire a prostitute barely twelve hours later. Explain it to me like I’m stupid, Mulder, because I don’t get it.”

“I never said that,” he defends softly, taking one step closer to her. “I don’t think that about you, Scully.”

She holds up one hand, and he halts.

“I am well aware—painfully aware—of the double standards for men and women when it comes to casual sex. I wouldn’t be surprised by that reaction from someone else, Mulder, but I expected more from you.”

She’s angry, angrier maybe than he’s ever seen her. But more than that, she’s hurt.

“It’s not like that, Scully,” he tries, lifting his hands and then dropping them to his sides helplessly. “I never would have done this if not for what happened to you—”

Her eyebrows shoot up, her chin jutting forward, and he clamps his mouth shut. Fuck, he can’t think straight. He’s still too drunk.

“So you’re saying that you went out to hire a prostitute because I had a one night stand?” she asks, flabbergasted.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“I guess—I just—I was jealous, in a way,” he says, the tiny bit of his brain not soaked in bourbon telling him to shut the fuck up, kick her out, and try again tomorrow. He’s in no shape to spin this in the way he needs to.

“Jealous?” she repeats, her tone softening.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god.

“Maybe that’s not the right word,” he deflects, walking past her into the living room. “I was drunk, it’s…been a while, it seemed like a good idea at the time, and it obviously wasn’t.” He leans against his desk and rubs his hands over his face. “Look, I said I was sorry, can we just drop it? I’m an asshole, we’re all on the same page about that, and I think it would be best if we talk about this some other time.”

“Some other time,” she repeats, still in the doorway to the dining room but turned to face him. “Some other time we’ll talk about how me having a one night stand made you suddenly realize that you hadn’t been laid in too long, so you ran out to hire a prostitute?”

Her tone is perplexed, disbelieving. Her words are thick and slow, and he is reminded that he is not the only one under the influence. Maybe, if he’s lucky, she won’t remember any of this tomorrow.

“Scully, please,” he says with a sigh, feeling small and out of control.

She walks toward him slowly, an unfamiliar expression on her face that makes his blood hum. There’s something challenging there, something naughty. Something he wonders if Ed saw in her back at that bar, that tattoo parlor, his apartment. It makes his dick feel heavy, and his heart feel sick, and his head feel like it’s taking a ride on a Tilt-A-Whirl.

“Jealous,” she says again, now less than a foot in front of him.

Their eyes meet, and he wants to cry. Because she’s so beautiful, and she smells so good, and he never before realized how much he wants her. Never before today, when he was forced to confront the fact that she isn’t his, not in the way he wants her to be. That her life is hers alone, her position by his side one she fills voluntarily and might vacate at any time.

Somewhere along the way he let himself believe that her devotion to him was something he could always depend on, like the sun returning over the horizon each morning, even after the darkest night. When he found out that she had within her the capacity to share her time and attention with someone else—not to mention her body—he felt betrayed by her, though he had no right. She never signed up to be the sun at the center of his universe, never consented to holding his heart in the palm of her overburdened hands. The hurt was so big he buried it in anger, and hurled it at her with a force she didn’t deserve. She should hate him, but she doesn’t, and that makes him feel even worse.

“I’m gonna call you a cab,” he says, reaching for the phone, but her hand around his wrist stops him.

He won’t look at her, can’t bring himself to, and she’s still holding his wrist when she speaks.

“There’s something you’re not saying,” she accuses him, more curious now than angry.

She’s right, there’s so much he isn’t telling her. Things he hasn’t had a chance to understand himself, things that could destroy their friendship.

She takes another step forward so that her feet are between his on the floor, her thighs bracketed by his knees. She’s so close he can smell the wine on her breath, and worries that she’ll hear the hammering of his heart.

“Please, Scully,” he tries again. “Please just go home and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

She releases his wrist but stays close, and he picks up the phone and dials the local cab company from memory.

“4620 Hegal Place, please. They’ll be headed to Georgetown. Thanks.”

He replaces the phone on the receiver and steals a glance at her. She’s watching him with great interest, her lips parted and her eyes glassy. Her body is listing towards his slightly, swaying, and he reaches out to place one steadying hand on her hip.

“Come on, I’ll walk you downstairs,” he tells her, but she doesn’t move.

“I—,” she starts, then closes her mouth and runs her tongue across her bottom lip. “I get lonely sometimes,” she says softly.

Her voice is low and raspy, her eyes wandering over his cheeks and his nose, his mouth, his chin. The tension crackles in his veins, his want of her so overwhelming he feels nauseous. Finally her eyes lock on his and she’s so vulnerable, so open, and he’s struck by the fact that he’s going to hurt her again. Somehow he always does. Maybe he always will.

“I do too,” he admits, and she nods softly, like he’s confirming something that she already knew to be true.

“Maybe we don’t have to be,” she says in a near whisper, leaning so heavily into him that his arm buckles, though his hand remains planted on her hip.

He holds her at a distance. Physically, so she won’t feel that he is hard as a rock beneath his jeans. Emotionally, so she won’t know that he thinks he might be in love with her, and he’s not sure what to do with or about that realization. Maybe she’s open to extending their relationship beyond the platonic, blowing off steam with a quick fuck here and there. But he knows himself well enough to predict that he won’t be happy with that, won’t be satisfied with anything less than loving her with every ounce of his being, wrapping his heart so tightly around hers that they cannot be separated without one or both of them losing their lives.

“You should go, Scully,” he says, terrified. Because what if he just kissed her? Would the whole universe collapse around them both? “We’ve both been drinking, and—you should go.”

“Mulder,” she says tightly, her eyes welling with tears. He’s going to hurt her again. Again and again and again.

He takes his hand off her hip. He opens his arms and wraps her up, carefully keeping space between her body and his pelvis. She feels at once as fragile as a bird and as mighty as an oak tree, his Scully. He could inadvertently snap her in two, or she could come crashing down and end his world as he knows it. The risks are innumerable, and he can’t bring himself to take them. Not yet.

He stands and walks her slowly backwards to the foyer, their shuffling feet on the hardwood barely masking her agonized little whimpers. He opens the door and releases her, stuffing one hand in his pocket to conceal his inappropriate arousal. She is crying, and he is hard, and he’s such an absolute piece of shit it disgusts him. She steps out into the hallway and turns back, her eyes wet and her lip trembling, and he wishes she’d just shoot him again. He wants her to hurt him, because that’s what he deserves. But she already did, though not on purpose, and here he is getting her back twofold.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” he says, with an attempt at a hopeful smile.

She nods, then turns and walks down the hallway in a daze. He waits until the elevator doors slide closed behind her, then closes and locks his apartment door and leans heavily against it, rubbing his hands over his face like he can somehow wipe away his trespasses.

Without allowing himself time to think about it, he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them, and his boxers, down to his knees. His dick flops out, half-hard but quickly stiffening, and he wraps his fist around it snugly at the base. He closes his eyes and thinks about her, stroking in quick, short pumps up towards the head.

He pictures her at the bar, tipsy and laughing that glorious bark of a laugh he attempts to pull from her every single day. He pictures her at the tattoo parlor, gasping in surprise at the sting of the needle and reaching out for a hand to hold. He pictures her at the apartment on all fours with her hand tucked between her legs. He imagines her coming, the look on her face and the sounds she’d make, and the way she’d feel.

But it’s not Ed with her, it’s him. It’s him buying her another gin and tonic, him holding her hand when the pain becomes unbearable, him thrusting into her sharply while she spasms around him, her orgasm squeezing him so tightly he sees stars behind his eyes.

He groans softly as cum runs down his shaft and over his fingers, dripping onto his jeans and the hardwood floor. The second the final throb subsides he’s overwhelmed with shame and grief, and the ache of knowing that he’ll never be what she needs. Even if she thinks she might want him, she could do so much better. He cares about her too much to allow her to settle for him.

He cleans himself up, sucks down another glass of water, climbs into bed and begs for sleep to relieve him of this misery. Never before has he felt so hopeless. So frustrated. So confused. Never before has he felt so in love.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#x files fanfic #the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles

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forthesanityofstorytellers · 1 year

Text

Hah, I forgot I wrote this. Trying to clean out my hard drive and found this tucked away. Enjoy. 😁

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WC: 1603

Summary: Jules is 'suffering' the consequences of her misdeeds. And apparently being bored out of her mind while being forced to wait in café for her ride is one of the consequences. Good thing she's got someone she can easily annoy in the meantime.

“Why did you come to me, Hansel?” I asked, tipping my head slightly as I stared at him. He glanced up at me for a second then back down at his coffee, continuing to scribble.

“I was on assignment,” he answered. “I told you that.”

I shook my head, letting my fingers hover over the steam wafting into the air. “That’s not it, darling, and we both know it by now. Let’s not play games.”

With a sigh, he set his pen down, folded his hands, and looked back up at me over the rims of his glasses. “Alright. Let’s talk true. Why were you down in the Keeper archives?”

I blinked, only mildly taken off-guard. “I tore off the doors and descended to the file room. Only an idiot could think I wasn’t after information.”

“Call me an idiot then,” he said with a short smile. “You could have gotten that information someplace else, from someone else. You didn’t need to raid the Sanctuary for it...and you certainly didn’t need to announce your presence by starting a riot.”

A smile creased the side of my mouth. I wrapped a hand around the edge of the mug and leaned ever so slightly forward. “You know, I can’t tell if you’re very smart or very dumb.”

“Cheeky,” he answered. “Some people would call me cheeky.” He gave a short shrug. “Not now, of course, and not you. But others have called me that and worse.”

“I notice you still didn’t answer.” I gave him time to consider through a sip of the black bean-water humans love, his eyes rolling over words for a moment.

“Well,” he finally sighed, adjusting his glasses, “tit for tat. You don’t answer my questions and I won’t answer yours.” With that he flashed me a little smile and picked up his pen. The little scritch-scritch-scritch of the tip scarring ink into the paper filled the space in the same energy as a loudly-clicking clock, despite the hum of human activity buzzing around us.

I shifted slightly enough to get an eye on the iron shackle subtly wrapped around my ankle, a thin silver chain leading from the cuff to a copper loop around his belt. Hanging underneath the loop was a small signet depicting two golden scales inset into a copper circle; a sign of his station in life, apparently. As if the white robe-like jacket wasn’t enough of a tip-off, the signet was supposed to mark his ill-gotten authority over non-human lives, those who dubbed themselves “Keepers” as in ‘Keepers-of-the-law-we-made-up-to-separate-humans-and- non-humans-forever-and-ever-more’.

Of course, in this case ‘non-human’ basically was anything magical and/or non-terran...like me.

I let my finger carelessly and annoying tap on the edge of the warm mug as I looked around; the ‘cafe’ wasn’t much to look at, honestly, which may be why he picked this spot for us to take our little vacation. We had been holed up in a shack somewhere in Spain, just until the heat died down on a few of my little...misadventures. Turns out we didn’t need to hide for very long. Someone killed a very big name in a very short amount of time, and I had nothing to do with it. My Keeper-friend had decided to be all noble then, caught me with the iron cuff and told me he was turning me in.

To be honest, he had a terrible poker face. This was a farce, and so I leaned back to take in the scenery and wait for the other shoe to drop.

Humans milled around and barely noticed us. The air was dry but pleasant. The sun shone out the windows and the birds sung somewhere off in the distance. It was all very...muted. Domestic.

Boring.

This is taking too long, a voice whispered in my mind. Something is wrong.

Relax, mother, I tried to sooth her agitation despite my own wonderings. He wouldn’t turn on us after working hard to save us.

This isn’t right Jules, and you know it.

She wouldn’t stop fidgeting, the agitation echoing down my arm and into an increased tempo drumming out my fingertips. He glanced back up at my mug for a second, the pen-scratching hesitating as he cleared his throat.

“Oh dear,” I said as innocently as I could. “Is my agitation bothering you?”

“Mildly,” he said with a shrug, looking back up at me. “Is there anything in particular you’re allergic to?”

“Iron shackles, peanuts, and bad liars.”

He thought for a moment before returning to his paper, muttering about peanuts. “Alright, then. Do you have anything to say for yourself regarding your attack on the Keeper Sanctuary?”

“Plenty, darling, but I’m not going to say it to you.” I tapped the edge of his paper to indicate why.

“So...silence on the matter,” he muttered, glancing down and checking off a box. “Any relatives you care to mention?”

I flashed him a thin smile. “All dead,” I lied. “Some missing, several killed by over-enthusiastic rule-followers.”

This isn’t a game anymore, Jules, the voice whispered again. He’s taking notes to turn us in.

He wouldn’t do that, I insisted. Humans aren’t that complicated in nature.

Humans aren’t phae, she insisted back. And this one isn’t as stupid as you think.

My fingertips beat out a faster rhythm.

He glanced up, then around. Something shifted in the environment, very subtly and softly. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but someone or something magical had just noticed us and was trying to make its way here.

The edge of the pen joined my irritated tapping as he turned back to me. “Final talks, then. Are you sick in any way that you know of?” I shook my head. He didn’t write it down. “No disease or illness you’re aware of?” Again, a shake of my head. The pen continued to tap. “What planet do you come from?”

I tipped my head. “Why?”

“Do you know?”

“I do,” I answered, cocking an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Another pulse of some magic, transportational I think. It rippled through reality like a snake through water, heading right for us. His pen tapped faster.

“Jules,” he said, eyebrows and mouth pressed downward into a serious expression, “why are you here on Earth?”

“I was trapped here,” I said, forcing myself into nonchalance. His agitation was matching my own, his pen replacing the rhythm of my fingertips on the tabletop. “Through decisions and forces that were not my own. I don’t want to be here anymore than anyone wants me to be here.”

He leaned forward, pen pressed flat between his hand and the table. “What if I told you that’s not the whole truth?” he said, lowering his voice. “What if I told you there’s a way in and out of this world?”

I laughed. He stayed serious, leaning in. I stopped.

Is he serious?

I can’t tell.

We sat there for a moment, staring at each other. Something magical landed nearby with a whomp, causing the table and all the glasses around to shake. The humans glanced around and towards the front windows, looking for the cause out in the street. The Keeper and I looked to the back of the cafe, where we knew the origin to be.

He glanced back at me, crumpling the paper in his hand and shoving it in his pocket as he stood. His other hand was held out to me. I gave him a look, shrugged, and allowed him to help me up. I preferred to not be dragged towards our destination by my boot.

We stayed in step with each other, arm in arm to disguise the chain linking us, my skirt brushing up against his jacket as we made our way down the short hall leading to the bathrooms. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at each before selecting the one with the biggest magical aura. He pushed the door open and started through, with me on his heels.

The mood changed in a flash. I stepped out of a small cafe somewhere between Spain and France with open windows and soft music to a blue-lit bar, glittering bottles of alien drinks, and a jazz band set up on a stage at the back of the wide lobby. I glanced back at the door we had come through only to watch it swing closed and disappear, a wood-paneled wall taking over the space.

I glanced at Hansel who kept his eyes forwards, shoulders relaxing a hair as he sort of slumped into the person I had come to know instead of the straight-laced Keeper. He waited a few beats of the jazzy music before turning back to me with a short crooked smile, reaffirming his elbow-on-elbow grip and leading me forwards.

This is Sting’s bar, mother whispered. Why are we in Sting’s bar?

Dear sweet mother-Raven, I thought back, life would be less fun if we knew absolutely everything.

You can say that freely, she thought back bitterly, as you are not mere consciousness trapped in someone else’s shell.

As you say. I turned my attention back to Hansel as he wove us around a collection of eclectic round tables, past the throng of enthusiastic dancers, down the side of the bar and into a small curtained-off area. Only once the music began to fade through the curtains and the padded walls did we stop, facing a dark-wood door embellished with gold and bronze trimmings. Hansel knocked once and the door opened.

I flashed a smile at our host and said simply, “hello again, friend of a friend.”

#my work #writeblr #Random drafts #hard drive cleanout #snippets #Jules #Hansel

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