#file loss

[couch-house]

little comic for disability pride month! HoH rouge is a headcanon i've had for a while but I never do anything with it... tragic... well now I've changed that :)

[kirshd]

Spent the day trudging through two partition images in the hopes of finding a fragment of that one project I had in SVG+JavaScript. Sadly, no luck. If anything it's another reminder that if you sink your time into any major project.

-ahem-

BACK THAT FUCKER UP OFTEN!

Seriously, cannot stress enough, once more.

BACK THAT FUCKER UP! OFTEN!

Do I need to say it a third time?

BACK! THAT! FUCKER! UP! OFTEN!

I think that's enough straight up shouting, I need a losange.

[katebeckets]

how to say “I love you” in x-files [98/?] ⤷ 2.01 — “Little Green Men”

[postmodernbeliever]

little darling- fox mulder x female reader (SMUT OH MY GOD…)

fox mulder knows how badly you want to be touched, to be taken care of, and he is obsessed with being the first and only guy to do it.

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my ao3 | word count: 6,071

content tags: smut, smut so good in my brain it came out poetic?, loss of virginity, virginity kink, dom fox mulder, protective gentle extremely horny fox mulder, embarrassment, sexual fantasy, plus size reader gets sooooo much love, im blushing just posting this aaaaaaa, oh some religious bits bc catholic girls are freaky and also his sex is THAT good, cross-posted on ao3

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fox knew it was wrong, and he didn’t care. he knew how he thought about you, how he touched you in his mind, how he wanted to possess you was culpable- but then again, how shameful could it truly be? how bad was it to want to take care of you, to teach you the right way, to want to show you how good love is supposed to feel? well, maybe it wasn’t completely pure, because he nearly came untouched just thinking about you sometimes, but he just couldn’t help himself. he wanted to. he wanted to be the one you chose to give yourself to. the only one. 

it was always in the most mundane moments, like this one, that he needed it most, which played into his guilt. soft moments where you were unaware of what you were saying or doing, clueless as to how you were making him feel. now, as you sat watching the sex scene from basic instinct while fox pretended to be filling out a case file at his desk, was one of those moments. you squirmed in your seat with a sweet blush on your cheeks, watching the slight caricature of sharon stone on top of michael douglas, pupils blown wide and trying to hide your interest. fox was doing his best not to move a muscle, but he felt like a vein would pop if he didn’t turn around to look at you. his stomach was twisting itself into hot, trembling knots just wondering what the scene was doing to you. 

you’ve been dating him for a few months now, and upon meeting him, you fell in love in a way you still didn’t understand. he did, too. he idolizes you, he holds you up above everyone else to his detriment. after the first few dates, you told him that you wanted to take the physical aspects of the relationship slow because you had personal obstacles to overcome; he promised to do so, because when you look at him, his entire world glows, and he refused to jeopardize that heaven you unraveled. but he’s learned a lot about you since then simply through deduction. the few risqué movies you’ve watched with him proved through the surprise on your face that you hadn’t seen much video porn, let alone been touched; the books you tried to hide in your purse had absurd covers with the lustful silhouettes of cowboys and prairie girls, corporate bosses and assistants, big looming over small against some dark backdrop– all of it meaning that when you were alone, you fantasized. but the most telling was when fox himself touched you, albeit innocently. it was like you’d never been touched by anything before. when fox’s fingers ghosted over your knuckles as he held your hand, you’d giggle like a schoolgirl, hiding your face in your shoulder. even better, when he brought those same hands to the soft, warm apples of your cheeks, you’d shudder, melting into his touch like you’d lost your volition. it didn't matter how he did it- if his hands were on you in some capacity, your breath hitched in your throat like a fool. 

you wanted to let him touch you. there wasn’t a thing in the world you wanted more than to let him give you all of the things you’d dreamed, all of the things he must be aching to, but it was difficult for you. it seemed no amount of love was enough to break down your walls– you’d never let anyone that close. you’d always struggled with your body and your worth, and the little dating experience you’d had wasn’t much to boast about. you weren’t what people wanted, even if you were deserving. you knew fox was different, and that to him you weren't too big or not pretty enough, but you had just about every anxiety about physical affection. he had no idea you were a virgin on top of it all, which only made the pressure greater. you just couldn’t get over the fear. but you yearned to have it, so much so that even the smallest instances set your body aflame. you had the most lewd things running through your head when fox did just about anything. once you watched the man reach for the cereal box on the top shelf in his kitchen, and his sleep shirt rode up to reveal the dark happy trail that disappeared down his pants, and you felt so dizzy you could’ve dropped dead. and whenever he was close, it was unbearable. you replayed the sensation of his strong, lean hands resting protectively over your hip at his friend’s house. you thought about the way his lips felt on your forehead so often you could’ve written a book based solely on the texture. it drove you insane, the way you wanted him, and you drove yourself insane every time you didn’t act on it. but what did you know of hands, of mouths, of letting someone see what you shroud in fabric every day? what did you know of making him feel good, too, of being worth the wait for him?

now, as you curled up on his couch, you watched michael douglas’ hand grip sharon stone’s leg. it was big, but not big like fox’s. you imagined it was your boyfriend on the television, dark and brooding, as you saw how the man dove between the blonde’s legs, starving; her back arched, propelling her hips forward into his face, and she let out a soft moan. in your head, you saw yourself on that bed, and fox as hungry. you squeezed your thighs together and gathered the blanket draped across your legs in your palms, trying not to look as overwhelmed as you felt. but the agent who listened to the heavy breathing on screen saw exactly what was happening to you. he saw the blood rushing to the tips of your ears, tinting them the color of your bitten lips; he saw the way you shifted rhythmically beneath the blanket, almost undetectable, but absolutely undeniable. fox looked up at the ceiling as if to thank the god he didn’t believe in for playing basic instinct on cable, and he stood up from the desk, stalking over to sit beside you on the couch. as his body made the cushions dip, you smiled nervously. through a cracking voice, you said, “i didn’t know this movie was all… y’know.”

‘oh, yeah, it’s pretty heavy,” fox nodded, attempting his best unassuming expression. “still good, though, huh?”

“i mean, sure,”

“yeah, i think so, too.”

fox sighed just a tad too loudly and let his hand fall on your thigh. nothing but the blanket was between his palm and your skin. you looked to him with a pleading pair of eyes, though you didn’t really know what you were pleading for. the moaning from the television got louder, and you felt so warm, and his hand wasn’t going anywhere. you had no idea what to do. fox grinned at you and let his head tilt back over the couch as he swallowed thickly. you stared at the curve of his stately neck, how his adam’s apple bobbed, and every inch of your body pined in his wake. fox gazed at you, lounged wide like a lion, and his hand slowly traveled up your thigh to the crease of your hip. he slid his fingers across the soft crevice, and you were still at a statue, stuck between craving the friction and terrified to feel it. 

“can i ask you something personal?” fox’s voice was gentle. husky.

“...mhm.”

“has anyone ever, uh,” you followed his gaze to the tv, where michael douglas was doing things that made your hands sweat. “have you ever done it like that?”

you prayed that a black hole would open up in the floor and suck you in, so you never had to admit the truth. but his hand was still in that soft spot, and his minty eyes were made of looking glass, and the image of him that fucked your mind was so boggling you were on the edge of giving up. 

“just out of curiosity,” he added, lips curling into a cheshire smile.

you ran a hand across your burning cheeks and murmured, “uh, no. no, i haven't.”

“it’s interesting, y’know, how they can make it look so real,” fox pursed his lips, pushing his hand back down your thigh to rest on your knee. 

before you could bite your tongue, you confided, “i wouldn’t really know.”

fox’s hand paused at the crest of your kneecap, a chill running down his body. he thought of you, his pretty, quiet, gentle girl, and he never once stopped to think why you were so reserved. he always blamed the little silver cross that hung from your neck and some guy from your past, but he neglected other options. but now, his mouth watered. 

“really?”

you tugged the blanket up to your face. “is that a bad thing?”

the man turned to face you, pulling your hands away to reveal the flushed face beneath. you were breathing so heavily. a need rattled his bones, one he wished he could stifle. pictures flashed in his brain- you, writhing beneath him, the feeling so new, making pretty faces as he did what the people in movies do. him, defiling you, ruining the girl you’ve been, clutching to your cross as your mouth bled with his name. maybe he was a monster, but his cock twitched in his dress pants at the humiliated expression you bore.

“no, baby, of course not!” he chuckled, “no, that’s– that’s a good thing.”

“but i-”

“everyone does things at their own pace,” 

“but…”

“but what, sweetheart? i don’t expect anything from you.” fox sweetly lied. he wouldn’t force it, but he wanted it. badly. 

“i just wish that, uh, that i had by now. sometimes. i guess.” 

your eyes darted between the television screen and the way his nimble fingers encased both of your wrists. it only took one hand for him to hold you down… what a career he could make with his other hand free. 

“have you ever tried?” 

“...no.”

“do you want to?”

you let out a nervous hum. something came over you like it always does, and you leaned over to hide in his shoulder; in a way, that was better than letting him see your face. his hand rested at the nape of your neck as he cooed, “awh, baby, it’s okay.”

“it’s not really okay,” you mumbled into his shirt. “it’s embarrassing.”

“i don’t think it is. i think it’s cute.”

you felt his hand run down your back, and you pushed yourself a little closer, so you could rest against his neck. fox kept talking since you were at a loss. 

“nothing embarrassing about that, i promise. truthfully, you’re better off. so many guys out there just wanna take advantage, y’know?” he reasoned, tracing little things at the small of your back, fingertips like pens. “probably would’ve wished you didn’t, because you’re so hard on yourself… i would hate to know you lost your virginity to some guy who didn’t care about you. not the way i do.”

the heat of your breath against his neck was maddening. everything about you was maddening. how you curled into him for protection, for reassurance, how your palms tugged at the wrinkled cotton of his work shirt because you didn’t know where to put them. the little nods of agreement you made with every opinion he voiced. he wanted to knock you on your back and fuck you right there, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t spring it on you. you had to want it, you had to let him. and he knew you wanted to let him because it was all over you. 

he asked again, “baby, do you want to?”

he raised his wandering hand to tuck your hair behind your ear, and you felt this urge inside you, an indulgence just begging to be released. acting selfishly, you pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, and beneath your lips, you felt the vibration of a little growl. fox tangled his palm in your hair, and as gently as he could, he pulled your head back so you had no choice but to look at him. 

“is that a yes?”

your stomach churned. “yes.”

“good. come on.”

fox rose from the couch and tugged you up with him. he watched the blanket fall from your legs to see that your sleep shorts had ridden up and tucked themselves in the chub of where your thighs and legs met, that sacred spot he’d touched before, and he rolled his eyes in ardor. with your shaky hand in his, the man led you into his bedroom, where he motioned for you to sit at the edge of the bed. 

“fox, i…”

“what, love?”

“i… i don’t know.”

you watched him walk over to his closet and open the doors, revealing the shuffled-around mess inside. with his back turned to you, you saw his hands disappear to unbutton the dress shirt that crumpled on his shoulders from a day’s work. as he pulled it over his head, the spotless skin of his sculpted back smiled at you. your hips were warm. 

“you’re nervous,” he said, still facing away as he threw the shirt into the basket. “i know you are. but it’s not so scary. plus, you’re with me. i’m nice, aren’t i?” “you’re very nice,” you smiled, “but you’ve done this before. you… you know so much more than i do.”

“are you sure?” fox’s laugh rumbled low in his throat, “because i’ve seen the books you read. bet you’ve got all kinds of ideas i’ve never even tried before.”

you shifted on the bed, tucking your legs into a crisscross. “w-well, that’s different!”

“no, it’s not!” the man teased, shaking his head like you were hopeless. he crossed the room, back to you, where he stood like a pillar before the bed. when you didn’t meet his gaze, he tucked his finger beneath your chin and made you. “you’ve been thinking about it for so long, haven’t you, sweetheart? about me? must be so lonely, just thinking, never doing.” 

he passed his thumb over your trembling chin, admiring your starry eyes, how they reflected so much love. you were so pretty, a pretty he couldn’t have imagined if he’d seen all the most beautiful women in the world. none of them could hold a candle to his girl. “you’re so smart, so good at handling things when they’re hard. but you never let anyone handle you, do you? not even me, baby, and i could be so good at it.”

you couldn’t control how you let him sway you. you gave yourself over, basking in the rush. he settled on his knees, so you had to look down, and he pressed his hands to where your love handles dipped, passing the skin over in his hands. 

“i’ve wanted to let you,” you sighed, “i’ve… thought about it.”

fox’s eyes, eager as a puppy’s, looked up at you as he asked, “well, when we’re in your head, where do i start?”

you shivered. “you kiss me first.”

the man decided that you deserved to have your fantasies fulfilled; if in your pretty mind you’d dreamed up a routine, then he’d follow it, and he’d prove to you that nothing was as good as the real deal. he pushed up on his knees and leaned in, thankful for his low-set bed, as he pressed his lips against yours. you disassembled against his touch; he moved with a cadence that had your head spinning, fingers behind your ears, tongue swiping against your bottom lip. you’d kissed him plenty, but never like this. never so messy, so desperate. he tasted warm, and kind, sunshine in a mouth. you let out a soft whimper as he caught your bottom lip between his teeth.

“i think you’re a bad girl in that head of yours, angel,” he mumbled into your mouth. “what do i do next up there?”

you were too afraid to say it, and you didn’t want to pull away from his lips, so instead you reached for the wrist that held his hand to your face. fox’s throat tightened as you guided his hand down to your stomach, a place you didn’t let him touch often. 

“so pretty, baby,” he admired, knowing exactly what it is you needed from him. he paraded his kisses down to your neck, where he got so much sloppier. he licked a stripe over your throat, nipping at the soft skin of your jaw, and he passed the chub of you over in his devastating hands. you keeled forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder, and he littered your ear with little pecks. “so soft. i love your tummy, y’know. how it looks when you wear those pretty dresses, and how when you wear my shirts i can see the shape. fuckin’ adorable, you have no idea. prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

“fox,” you whined. he was barely even touching you, but the weight of his words anchored your lungs to the floor. 

he took a little liberty and leaned down to tug your shirt up, and began brushing his lips over you, spit for paint. you let your hands wander to his hair, and your stomach flipped at the noises he made. 

“now what, sweetheart?”

“y-you… agh,”

fox pulled away, and you swooned at the sight of his pretty lips already swollen. “forgettin’ already?”

“well…” you trailed off, feeling a mental fog roll in.

fox stood up and pushed at your shoulders, tilting you back onto his bed. laying down, he had more access to pushing your shirt up and seeing you for real. he sucked at his teeth, handsome face overtaken with want; you curved like a muse beneath him, and he wondered why you hid all this body beneath clothes. you felt his hands like a compass, mapping the cascading mountain ranges and slow, dipping valleys of your hips and thighs, as if his whole world was discovering you, as if his purpose existed within the endless confines of your flesh and bones. and his hands roamed freely, nomadically, through your land, committing every road that made you shiver to memory. 

“where do you touch yourself, princess?” fox smiled. you whined, and he clicked his tongue. “come on, show me.”

your hand shook, but you rested it over your shorts, and you curled your fingers in to prove you knew how. 

“good girl. bet you know just what to do, huh?”

“mhm,”

“but your fingers aren’t enough, are they?” fox pouted playfully as he hooked his thumbs beneath the elastic band squeezing your waist. 

“no,” you wheezed, “never.”

“fuck. you sound so pretty when you need me. let me see you.”

trying to stop himself from rushing, the man clambered on top of you and grabbed you by the back of your knees, pushing you up the bed a bit. when your head hit pillows, he tucked them behind you, and he crawled back down to your legs with a mission. gently, he tugged your shorts down, and beneath were little black boyshorts that cut into the skin of your thighs. he looked about as starving as michael douglas as he flattened his palms against your hips, adoring the sight. 

“y’know, most girls hide lacy things,” he teased, “i like this so much better.”

breathlessly, you said, “lace is itchy.”

“god, you’re just dying for it, aren’t you?”

you pushed up into his palms and whispered, “please.”

“please what?”

“do it,” you heaved, “i need it, fox.”

he didn’t need to be told again. he slid your panties down in one sweep and practically drooled over what you had kept from him all this time. he could’ve cried. this must be what people felt when they saw the mona lisa for the first time, or had a prayer answered. this was his very own da vinci original. this was god’s divinity trapped in your lower half. you were an irritated pink, your pussy plump as the rest of you; as he pushed your thighs wide, he found a sheen already coating your skin. “fuck, sweetheart, is this from the movie or me?”

“y-you.” you kicked yourself for all your stammering, but the glow of his cheeks soothed the embarrassment. 

“oh, yeah?”

you didn’t know how easy it would be to let yourself be touched before you just tried it. here, with the one man who might be the direct work on god on earth, you wanted to spill every secret now that you knew something of hands. your heart beat against your ribcage relentlessly as you admitted, “was imagining it was you on tv, fox, you and me,”

“jesus christ,” fox grunted, eyes dirty and dark. “i can fuck you better than he ever could.”

fox pressed his thumb to the bundle of nerves that throbbed between your legs, and just the pressure alone drew a dangerous moan from the back of your throat. he relished in the sound as he began to circle his finger, leaning down to kiss the searing skin. you rolled your hips against his touch, begging for more friction, and he wordlessly rewarded you with a new motion, one that needed two fingers for rubbing. you grabbed at his forearm as it came into reach, and he felt like he could explode from how you tugged at him. you held onto his arm like it was a lifeline. any other girl would’ve grabbed the bedsheets or touched her body, but your inexperience meant you were acting on instinct, and that quite possibly was the best thing he’d ever seen. watching you feel so good for the first time in your life had him panting like a dog. you were all his now, his pretty girl under his spell. an angel who knew only one name. 

“good, baby?”

“mm-nngh,” was all you had to say. 

“what a pretty girl.”

“fox…”

“good girl. only i can make you feel like this, right? not those guys in your books, none of those movies. just me, my hands, baby, my mouth,”

you used your grip on his arm to try and get him to go faster, but he refused. he wriggled free from your grasp and left a ghostly kiss on your stomach, tutting, “oh, no, angel. i’m gonna make this last. want you out of your mind when i’m done.”

you’ve felt powerless all your life, and you do even now, but this is the first time you’ve ever needed more. you were engrossed in being taken. you’d been too afraid to pray for this because you weren’t sure how the man upstairs would feel about you breaking his technical rules, but you had to have yearned to let fox take your virginity every night since you met him. you knew he’s done this before, but you didn’t know he was so gifted; but even he could tell you that it wasn’t so much his experience as it was how he wanted to ruin every other guy for you. and how could you want another when his hand– that which wrapped around the neck of a pistol, that which choked the air of men’s throats– circled your clit so gently, working a new kind of love into you that you never thought imaginable?

“been dreaming about this, y’know,” fox drawled, leaving stinging kisses on your waist. “been thinking about how our first time would go. and you’re doing so good, you’re taking it so well right now.”

you couldn’t speak. every word got caught in your chest. so instead you tugged at his hair, trying to get him to kiss you. he giggled, hovering over you and slowing his fingers so he could give you what you wanted. you moaned into his mouth, lips gnashing against his teeth in your eagerness, and just when you felt like you were starting to have some control, you felt two of his fingers push between your folds. they went so much deeper than you’ve ever gotten your own, and as he curled them inside you, your entire body shook. gasping against his cheek, you exhaled, “oh my god,”

“be careful, baby, you don’t want him to hear you,” fox warned, voice thick with lust. 

you grabbed at his chest, fingers running through the little curling hairs that grew in a thicket over his heart, and you felt it beating, keeping time with his hand. you wondered if sex felt like this for everyone the first time around, but then again, how could it? unless fox was there for them all, they could never have had it this good. 

“you’re so pretty,” fox cooed, “so pretty on my fingers. d’you feel pretty, baby?”

“mmm,”

“tell me you feel pretty,”

“i- i feel pretty.”

“mhm. what about me, love, you think i’m pretty, too? my hands feel pretty?”

“fuck,” you squeaked, “fox!”

“i know you do. say it.”

“you’re so pretty,” you droned, trying to catch his lips in a kiss, but he rerouted to your neck. 

you ground into his palm over and over again, and he felt you burning up on his fingertips, contracting, squeezing, shaking. he moaned into your shoulder, “do you wanna cum, baby?”

your hands scratched at his arms, and to his surprise, you shook your head violently. “not yet,”

“really?”

“mm-mm. not… not time yet.”

fox’s pupils swallowed the green of his eyes. the man licked his lips and slowed to a stop, letting his fingers rest inside of you, and he asked, “what comes next, then?”

even in a position so lewd as this one, you were too embarrassed to explain. so you reached up to his mouth, swiping your thumb across his slick bottom lip, and with pretty little doe eyes, you popped your finger into his mouth. you watched as he wrapped his lips around it, swirling his tongue over the salty taste of your skin, and you whispered, “i need you.”

fox pulled off your finger with a pop. “how?” 

he followed your lidded gaze as it traveled down to the bulge in his pants, and he nearly passed out. 

“you sure you’re ready for that?” his eyebrows knit together in true concern, but he knew he was the one who had to answer the question, too. he wanted to do right by you– you couldn’t regret this, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you did. “i can wait, you know. this is about you.”

“no. i’m ready,”

“positive?”

“mhm,” you sighed, “just… don’t hurt me.”

the man above you melted like putty, and the hunger he’d touched you with went soft. you saw that toothy grin again, the one that gave you butterflies, and he promised, “i’d never hurt you, angel.”

the scruff of his jaw even tinted a lovesick pink as he kissed you. your fingers scratched at the back of his ears like you would a dog’s, and you confessed between breaths, “i love you, foxie.”

his hands flew to his waist and he rushed to undo his belt and shimmy the slacks down. he wanted to scream, he wanted to stand at the edge of the world and tell every soul about the way you coated his entire existence in sugar, but right now, it was just you. he was alone with his girl, and if he couldn’t tell the world, he could at least make you sick of hearing it. 

“i’m so fuckin’ in love with you,” he swore, marking your face with invisible prints of his mouth. “i’m all yours, princess.”

“oh, god,” you groaned, watching how he spilled out of his boxers with glazed eyes. you had no idea where he was hiding all that. you felt a little dorky for the surprise, but who could blame you?

fox was too far to reign in. he grabbed your wrists and pulled you up, and he made you scoot up against his headboard; you pressed your back against the cold wood, and you yelped as he raised you in the air, pinning you to the wall. 

“fox, i-”

“you’re not too heavy,” he stopped you, knowing what you were going to say. “you’re perfect.”

you couldn’t complain- truthfully, you didn’t even get the chance to think about it, because he was all over you. with one hand holding you up by the leg, and the other gripping the headboard with white knuckles, he pushed himself between your legs, and you knocked your head into the wall at the way he stuffed you. 

“fuck, fox!”

it didn’t hurt, but god, was he big. pinned to the wall like this, you had no bearings. he had you suspended, stapled down by his sheer strength;  you never thought you could be fucked like this, some little ragdoll he could throw around, but clearly you underestimated how much he could handle. you felt the wind leaving your lungs as he pulled out and snapped back in, pelvis rolling hard against your swollen clit. he moved like a wave crashing down, managing to soak every part of you with his skin.

“fuck, sweetheart, so much better than i imagined,” he croaked, “feels okay, right?”

“s-so… so big…”

“oh, baby, i know,” he babied, leaving pinprick kisses on your jaw. “you can take it, pretty girl.”

his big hand tangled itself in the hair at the base of your neck as he fucked you into the creaking headboard. you were an endless machine of moans and profanities, head lolling, trying to keep your eyes open to watch the way his lips parted at the feeling of you encircling him. he tugged at your hair, and a guttural groan escaped your lips. 

“always wanted to get fucked like this, huh, baby? you’re such a good girl, you deserve it,”

“fox, please,”

“such a pretty girl,” he moaned, “jesus, you sure you’ve never done this before?”

as you bucked your hips against his swelling length, you offered a drunken grin. “only in my… dreams.”

“oh my god. you’ve got no idea how hot you are.”

he was everywhere, he was heaven, he was the pounding in your head as you collapsed against his body, letting him use you like a toy. you scratched at his shoulders, mouth all over his sizzling skin, and he flooded your ears with pretty praises. you hoped to god that by the time he was done you’d have the print of his hands tattooed on your hips, or that he’d never be done and you could float on by in this bliss forever. but his hips were thrusting hard, and falling out of time, and you felt your tummy squeezing like it was running out of air. he drowned in you, mouth full of dirty whines and strings of i love yous, and you knew you couldn’t hold back.

“f-fox… oh- oh god…”

“gonna cum for me, princess?”

“i… i’ve never…”

the feeling in your stomach was foreign and hot, and it was backing up all the functions of your brain. all you felt was fox between your legs, terrorizing this little spot that short-circuited all your nerves, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, trapping his mouth with yours– and when he hit it one last time, with eyes rolling back, and you let everything go. fox felt the warmth of you spilling over him, and the silent scream you let out had him unraveling in seconds. his hands were all over your face, fingers on your teeth as he came inside you, feeling himself mixing with you, and nearly bursting again just knowing he was. 

“oh, baby,” he fussed, “good girl, atta girl!”

pulling out slowly, so you didn’t feel too shocked, he slid you down the headboard softly and helped prop you up against the pillows again. you couldn't see straight, and everything twinkled, but you did catch a glimpse of him sneaking back down the bed. the man admired the mess he left behind. the smallest dribble spilled out of you, and all of a sudden he was lapping it up with his tongue, thirsty as a castaway. your entire body buzzed with overstimulation, and in what felt like screams but only came out strangled, you exclaimed, “fuck, oh my god!”

his tongue split you open, collecting all the juices between your hips and smearing the inside of your thighs, the pretty little mound of your pussy, making you shimmer like an angel. he sucked, and he swirled, and he dug his tongue between your folds like a freak, and you grabbed at his sweaty hair, so full of him you wanted to thank your angels for sending you someone so perfect.

“come on, i know you’ve got more,” fox coaxed, “one more, baby, one more.”

black spots crossed your line of vision as you watched his face disappear in your legs, and the tidal wave rose again, drowning you in a feeling that had you bucking against his tongue like a rogue horse. you’d never been able to make yourself cum, but all it took was fox mulder to pull two loads right out of you. you felt disgusting, you felt drunk, you felt so good you could’ve died this way. you didn’t ever want to leave the bed. fox made his way back up, heaving, and he kissed you with milky lips. you tasted yourself on his tongue, and you needed his palms to pin your hips down as you trembled, stuck on your high. 

“good girl, didn’t that feel good?” kiss. “you did so good, baby,” kiss, “so good for me,” kiss, “m’so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“mm… agh,” 

“i know, love, take a deep breath.” you felt his hand press against your warm tummy, and he told you again, “take a deep breath for me.”

you smiled, trapped beneath him, and you breathed like he wanted you to. anything he wanted, for the rest of his life, he would get. through fuzzy vision, you saw his glittery eyes, the grecian curve of his face, the little white strip of teeth behind his handsome smile, and you felt so in love you didn’t know what to do with yourself. he started to blush under your gaze, so he laid down on top of you, resting his head on your chest to listen to your racing heartbeat. 

“foxie,” you whispered.

“hm?”

“m’not a virgin anymore,” you giggled, the joy bubbling out of you. 

his warm laugh echoed in your ribs. “not anymore.”

“all yours now,” you swooned, “are you happy?”

you felt his hand slither behind your back, and he scratched at your spine, making you squeal at the ticklish feeling. then he attacked your neck and shoulders, mercilessly going after all the spots he knows are most sensitive until you lost your breath again from his innocent touch. “stupid question!”

“ah!– fox– agh, stop!” you swatted at his hands, a blissful wreck.

“‘course i’m happy,” he chuckled as he relented. “are you?”

in a huff, you rested your spinning head on his pillows and blushed. “mhm. very.”

“worth the wait?”

“definitely. thank you.”

“my pleasure,” he teased, flopping down beside you and lacing his fingers with yours. and when a comfortable silence fell, he couldn’t help himself: “you know i’m never gonna stop thinking about this, right? i’m ruined for life.”

“shut up,” you laughed. 

“no, seriously. get ready for a life of me drooling over you doing absolutely nothing.”

“i’d like that life, i think.”

you curled up in his side, and he drew you close, letting you hide in the crook of his neck the same way you did in what felt like a lifetime ago on his couch. there was still a little devil on his shoulder, applauding him for taking a piece of you that no one else could have now, but more than anything, his heart ebbed and flowed in his chest, blossoming each time he looked down at your pretty face. he meant it when he said he was ruined. you ruined everything by letting him fall in love with you, and he has never felt so lucky. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

inspired by this ask ;)

[larapaulussen]

[lexcat-11]

lostfield students zero roads & jay ??? found beating the shit out of the founder at local arcade. more at 6

or chronicle 0 but they’re the sapphic final girls we deserve

[tenrose]

[dammit-tazmuir]

I have been working on this for nearly a month but FINALLY finished my first TLT fanart. I have a lot of feelings about these three.

I also needed to draw the rainbow-black of John's eyes okay.

[stardotnet]

"goodnight my dearest friend"

poem in the first image by me. a small memorial for my digital camera that has slowly broken down after years of love & was finally put to rest today

(rip little red, 2009ish - 2024)

[mytardisisparked]

Shirts

Scully wakes up one morning to realize her usual shirts don't fit anymore.

Read on AO3.

She’s at Mulder’s apartment when she wakes up one morning and realizes that her blouse is way too tight to wear to work. The buttons at her middle are fit to pop and the whole thing is pulling until there are sizeable gaps between the strained buttons that show… well, everything.

With a sigh, she wrestles herself out of the shirt and silently bemoans the hubris that kept her from accepting her mother’s offer to help her shop for maternity clothes last weekend. She thought she had more time.

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Always thinking we have more time…

She swallows hard and digs through her side of Mulder’s closet for a different blouse. Everything there is the same size as the one she just tried to put on. She considers, for a moment, just re-wearing her shirt from yesterday – Sunday – but it’s more casual than she would prefer, especially since she feels she has an image of professionalism to maintain in light of her increasingly-evident condition.

She hasn’t heard any of the rumors – she suspects she may have Agent Doggett to thank for that – but she knows they’re circulating. She’s seen the shared looks and not-so-subtle glances when she walks through the upstairs offices. Most of the bureau must know by now that she’s pregnant and have a solid idea of who the father is.

Her skin crawls to think of what people might say, not because she’s ashamed in any way, but because she knows that no one will ever understand the depth of her relationship with Mulder; no one can grasp exactly what he meant to her and what she meant to him. They will think of tawdry nights out on the road or locked doors in their downstairs office, rather than the encompassing love and comfort and friendship that lay between them. The rumors will make their relationship sound cheap and dirty when it was anything but. 

And then there are the people who will romanticize it, who will imagine her grief and try to sympathize when they have no real idea of how large the gaping hole in her heart is. They will never fully understand that Mulder had become her whole world, their lives entangled in a beautiful and painful and confusing way that even she isn’t sure how to define. She loved him, and still does, but they were so much more than just love. They were more than any simple word in this language or any other. The hollow sympathies and the cards and the flowers will mean nothing, if they ever come. They can never fully encapsulate who she and Mulder were, together.

And so, she isn’t sure what’s worse – the scorn or the pity. She’s glad she hasn’t heard any of it. She hopes she never does.

Her eyes slide from her own shirts to Mulder’s. There are a few missing; she has been slowly taking them out to sleep with, one by one, as Mulder’s cedar-y scent wears off. She grabs a light blue one and slides it over her arms and shoulders, starting to button it up. 

It fits. Not perfectly, but it lays over her stomach and breasts comfortably. The shoulders are a bit large and she will certainly have to roll the sleeves, but the fit reminds her, in a way, of the looser suits and blouses she wore when she was younger, when she first started working in the X-Files.

She stands in the mirror, taking in the shirt and her face and the bump at her waist that is becoming more and more apparent. The shirt might be reminiscent of her younger days, but the rest of her is not; there are dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks look more hollow than they ever have. Her mother would say she looks haggard, if Maggie Scully weren’t too kind to make any comment on her appearance at all, aside from the occasional “you look a bit tired, darling,” or “I think you’re starting to show, dear. I can tell if you turn just the right way.”

Scully sighs and rolls the sleeves, sliding her jacket over it. She turns in the mirror and decides that her appearance is acceptable.

When she arrives at work, she sees Agent Doggett do a subtle double-take at her outfit. He seems to consider it for a moment before turning back to his work without comment.

She lets out a breath as she sits at her desk and opens a file.

—

Despite her mother’s repeated offers to help her shop for maternity wear, Scully continues to wear Mulder’s shirts. She washes them in his washer and dryer, using his brand of detergent and dryer sheets in the hopes of making them smell more like him. It helps, she thinks. Maybe.

A kind coworker from the fingerprinting lab gifts her a couple of maternity shirts that she had purchased but never worn during her own pregnancy. Scully smiles and accepts them, but they never leave her closet.

The material of some of Mulder’s shirts is a bit stiff and scratchy. She wears them anyway, over a tee or a tank on the days when her skin feels too sensitive. 

Her stomach itches now from the stretching. At night, she sometimes imagines that it’s Mulder’s warm hands applying lotion to her abdomen instead of her own. She can almost feel his breath brushing her neck and tickling her hair if she closes her eyes.

Though she’s been able to feel the baby kicking on the inside for a bit now, the first time she can feel it from the outside is during one of the times she’s applying lotion. A tiny foot presses against her fingertips and she immediately falls apart, thinking of how excited Mulder would have been to feel that first kick.

She still uses lotion after that, but she refuses to think of Mulder while she applies it. She can’t.

She still wraps herself in his shirts every day.

Her mother stops offering to help her shop. Instead, she brings by a bottle of Mulder’s brand of detergent.

—

Eventually, Mulder’s shirts no longer fit.

She’s almost through her seventh month now, and his shirts fit almost as poorly as her own did the first day she started wearing them. 

On the weekends she wears his sweatshirts, which are still mostly loose. During the week days, she wears sweaters.

She calls her mom. They go shopping. It’s a quiet affair, but they come home with a good handful of pants, blouses, and casual shirts for just about any occasion.

She still wears his sweatshirts on the weekends, even as they grow tighter. The material is soft and the fabric still smells faintly of him. Something about it holds the scent longer, she thinks. Or, perhaps, it’s just her imagination –the ghost of a scent lingering around the Oxford lettering.

Who cares? It feels good. It feels better.

She’s never heard the office gossip, not even a whisper. She does hear Doggett snapping at a pair of agents in the 3rd floor breakroom once, not long after she starts wearing sweaters instead of Mulder’s button-ups, but she never finds out what they had said to invoke Doggett’s anger. She doesn’t ask, and he doesn’t say.

He brings her hot chocolate sometimes. And ginger tea for her stomach. She remembers one day, as he hands her a mug of cocoa with extra marshmallows, that John Doggett was a father once. She wonders if her own impending parenthood brings up any painful memories for him. If it does, he never gives even the slightest indication. Instead, he asks her things like how she’s feeling, how her checkup appointments go, and if she’s still craving green olives. (“I picked up a jar last night. In case of emergencies.”)

She takes the olives appreciatively and eats the whole jar in one sitting.

—

When Mulder returns, she gives back his shirts. He gives her a small smile and lets her help him rehang them in the closet next to hers. 

Things are a bit tense. He’s still not fully back, still feeling discombobulated from missing almost half a year of his life. Of her life. 

She can see the flashbacks in his eyes. He’s remembering things – slowly, painfully – from his abduction. He flinches at the sound of a saw from the construction site across from his apartment complex. He pulls away when a nurse tries to grab his wrist to check his pulse. He won’t lace his boots around his ankles. Unpredictable sensations threaten to overwhelm him and she feels terrible that she can’t even fathom how to protect him from it.

She feels even worse that he seems resistant to letting her try.

They sleep apart for a few days. She cries and doesn’t even try to blame it on the hormones. 

He calls her in the evening on his fourth day home from the hospital and asks if she’s seen his favorite Oxford University sweatshirt; “the blue one with the boxy lettering.” She realizes it’s still in her bag of things she had her mother bring her at the hospital, and she offers to return it to him that night. 

He invites her into his apartment. She settles on the couch and gives the sweatshirt back, feeling a bit of loss as the treasured, Mulder-scented fabric leaves her fingers. Still, he smiles genuinely and thanks her, and she supposes that’s a sort of recompense.

He puts it on and freezes, looking down at it. The middle is stretched out a bit from Scully wearing it.

“Mulder, I’m so sorry. Maybe with a good wash and dry we could fix-”

Mulder shakes his head and takes it off. “No. No, it’s-” He swallows and Scully tilts her head at him, brows furrowed. 

He offers her a hand, helping her to her feet and then, a bit awkwardly, he lifts her arms up and slides the sweatshirt over her head and down her arms until its snugly fitted over her and her belly. 

He swallows again and blinks. “Yeah, that’s, um. That’s better.” 

In a second, she’s wrapped securely in his arms and wrapping him securely in hers. Between them, she can feel their baby kick. Mulder gives a watery laugh and hugs her more tightly.

And she thinks, for a moment, that he’s more comfortable than any shirt.

[the-unconquered-queen]

I had a realization about my Blades MC x LI dynamics which means absolutely nothing but has been living rent-free in my head all day regardless. Here goes:

TyrilMC/AerinMC - Lovers who happen to be best friends

MalMC - Best friends who happen to be lovers

Ramble I had to add under a read more because it was originally going in the tags before I realized I was approaching 30 tags with no end in sight (it's gonna show):

Look, I can't speak for y'all's MCs and pairings and playthroughs, but that's literally how it is in mine. And I'm not favoring one type of dynamic over the other, it's just a difference I've noted and this is how I finally put it into words. And I can't speak for all LI/MC dynamics either, which is why I'm limiting this to the LIs I personally romance.

I was just thinking that Mal's scenes often feel like they have a bit more of a friendship element to them even when they're romantic compared perhaps to the others, if that makes sense? I mean, MC is literally said to be Mal's best friend regardless of whether you're on his route or not, whereas for my other two LIs, there is definitely a strong friendship, but it feels like it is strengthened by their relationship with MC.

The more obvious example of the two is Aerin. Lbr, who is his best friend if not MC. And I feel like being on his route emboldens his being intimate with MC, and I'm not even referring to physical intimacy, just in an opening up kind of way, an expressing himself more freely kind of way. 'Cause if you're not on his route, there's no real reason for him and MC to be particularly close as a duo within the larger group, and they are not portrayed as one by the book either. MC is often not even particularly nice to him outside of his diamond scenes. So while my MC does genuinely enjoy Aerin's company, I know their bond is harder to justify on canon alone if they're not dating.

And then in Tyril's case I think his romantic relationship with MC really propels their specific Kilvali, even though I think there'd be a special kinship between them regardless if he and MC are the only elves in the party (which is the case in my pt) and they nevertheless would grow closer by virtue of him being a link to MC's lost culture and heritage that he enjoys teaching her about, but I think their love is what makes them such a close duo and therefore reinforces their friendship. I mean, consider how long it took for Tyril to recognize his relationship with MC as Dinvali vs how much longer it was for Kilvali, even though they had a blossoming friendship before it turned sexual.

Meanwhile, with Mal, it's like their relationship was the natural progression to their friendship, making it the other way around for MalMC—as in, their friendship strengthens their relationship. Because if I take away all romantic elements of my MC's relationships with them and leave only the platonic—and also strip personal headcanons about their dynamics and personalities to focus on what the books actually wrote (because, for example, you can hc an MC who has basically the same personality as Tyril/Aerin which is why they get along so swimmingly, so maybe a sarcastic, blunt MC for Aerin or a cool, sort of stoic MC for Tyril, who then is a perfect fit for their respective LI, but that doesn't mean that's how the writers wrote MC, who, like it or not, does still have a canon personality that is closer Mal's and not much like the other two), anyway yeah, so strip all of that and Mal would likely be the one of the three MC is closest to. I think that canon MC personality is a big reason why the MalMC dynamic is pretty effortless, while I feel like if I don't make the active effort to include TyrilMC/AerinMC in my playthrough (with romance being the more effective method imo, bc it leads to coded moments instead of just vanishing entirely as soon as a diamond scene is over), the game will not do it for me and they will not be as prominent.

And this is something that I think works for these LIs' personalities! Because Tyril and Aerin are more reserved characters who need to be close to someone (in this case, through a relationship) before they are comfortable letting loose and truly being themselves. As in, you have to get past their initial lack of charm to get to their actual charm. Whereas Mal is the opposite because he is very charming and charismatic right off the bat, so you don't need to tease that out of him, but it's within the relationship that he can be more real, such as him admitting to MC after a b1 hookup that (before her) he wasn't used to wanting certainty, a home, and someone to share it with, plus the rest of that vulnerable conversation. So then, instead of Mal starting out more serious and having the relationship show him how to let loose, he starts out casual and the relationship emboldens him to be serious, I think is a way it could be put.

Aside from personalities, it's possible that the timelines play into this as well, when you think about it. Yeah, all three of these LIs have stated at different points throughout the series that they were attracted to MC upon meeting her, but Mal was the one who was a friend the longest before the dynamics took a turn for the romantic. Because while Mal's and Tyril's relationships with MC were both taken to another level that night they had their first kisses in the lodge, Mal had been traveling with MC longer (consider how long it takes the group to get from one location to another off-screen) and therefore had more time to grow platonically before something else was added to the mix.

And Aerin, of course, took the fastest track, given that MC could kiss him the very day they met, and, if romanced since book 1 (which is the case in my playthrough) at no point has their relationship ever been solely friendly as a result, and even when they grow back together in book 2, MC learning to be friends with him post-betrayal happens simultaneously as MC and Aerin rekindling their past romance. Considering his characterization, I'd like to point out that Aerin seems to have an easier time with romance than friendship, as (so far—shoutout non-VIPs) he doesn't really show hesitance when it comes to being with MC romantically (aside from worrying—completely reasonably, may I add—that she wouldn't want him after the stuff he's pulled) and does often take the lead in that regard, but it's the idea of budding friendship that sent him running for the hills. Even now, as of b3 ch 11, he's said he's "not there yet" about his closeness to the party, but didn't even hesitate before proudly introducing MC as the "love of his life" to his mother. In his case, it's definitely the relationship helping the friendship progress.

To finish this off, I'm not saying all of this stuff I've been pointing out is exclusive to the romance routes. Certainly someone who's not romancing these LIs can have moments in their playthroughs where they let down their guards to their MCs, but I feel that, within my playthough in which they are romanced, this is how their dynamics appear, and this recontextualizes scenes and dialogues that any player can get outside of their romances. So yeah, I'm not trying to minimize whatever friendships other people's MCs might have with these LIs and I'm definitely not implying that either friendship or romance is inherently better or more profound than the other. But just that ever since I came to the conclusion that the MalMC friendship feeds and elevates the MalMC romance while the TyrilMC/AerinMC romance feeds and elevates the TyrilMC/AerinMC friendship, I feel like I'm seeing their dynamics in a new light.

[fuumiku]

Day 1 : healing Redraw of that Treasure Planet scene

[silmecicle]

its’s just slime... right?

Generation Loss: The Social Experiments (Episode 2) The Mastermind of the Warehouse

Generation Loss has been so fucking cool so far and I’m so excited to see where things go from here !!

I’m losing my damn MIND /pos

[escyn]

Perma-wip: Hunter and hunted (id in alt)

[therapeuticmonologues]

Nick Cave, The Red Hand Files

[desultory-suggestions]

I got literally screamed at by a professor at my college today who overheard me speaking to another student about the pro-Palestinian protest on my campus. I am blown away by the absolute lack of professionalism and the completely offensive things she said. She can scream her head off, she isn't shaking our students. Palestine will be free.