Oh, not very

I’m not drunk anymore, but I really like the challenge of writing exactly 100 words, so I’ll fill the rest of the requests I got! (: thanks for the prompt!

Cranky

“No one else I know wears matching sleepwear.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Mulder pulls her over to him on the bed, seated behind her.

“It’s simultaneously the sexiest and sweetest thing I know. Just like you.” Despite herself, Scully hums. Mulder rests his lips on her neck, pressing small kisses between words spoken into her skin.

“I mean it, Scully. I love that about you.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m cranky.”

“Not true,” he insists, tightening his embrace. “I love you, cranky or not.”

Awww, that’s so sweet! Thank you, I’m really exited to use them to experiment with my writing! I’m so glad you’re liking them! 

He didn’t really even have time to dust the cobwebs off his flirting skills before he was trying to use them on Scully. He didn’t even take the time to consider the possibility that maybe he shouldn’t in the first place.

A suspect they’d apprehended was aggressive, he was angry, he was clearly an idiot. Mulder could think of any justification as to why someone could ever possibly say something so obviously, ludicrously wrong about Scully.

“Ugly fucking bitch.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little rough with the suspect as soon as the man shot the words at Scully like a dart of venom poised at her heart. Mulder was too busy to take out the dart before the poison spread, but now, as they were walking back to their car after handing the perp over, he could see she was infected. That the words ugly, fucking, and bitch were building a temporary home at the forefront of her mind.

His desire to say something, anything, was just so blinding, like looking into a light dead on and seeing the silhouette of the figure imprinted on everything you tried to look at afterwards. Blink. The downward tug of her lip. Blink. The way she wasn’t meeting his eye. Blink. Her little nonverbal responses to him. Blink. The way she tugged self consciously on her skirt. Blink. The subtle way she was trying to catch her side profile in reflective surfaces they passed. Blink. The way she was fixing her hair as if she was trying to hide herself. Blink. He needed to say something.

6x15, ARCADIA

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like. imagine scully trying desperately to adjust to suddenly being a foot taller i.e. she keeps banging her head on things and mulder’s like “bE CAREFUL”. she also keeps forgetting she doesn’t have to do a manly voice and so mulder just occasionally sound like he’s really sick. she finally gets to sit at the desk and she point blank REFUSES to let mulder sit there and is a smug little shit the entire time

and MULDER is just trying to ruin scully’s credibility to entire time. he forgets that he has to brush his hair everyday. he also tries to bullshit his way around a lab and almost throws up before an autopsy. he’s only saved by a call from “agent mulder” in the station and he’s like “OH MYGOD HOW DO YOU DO THIS ALL THE TIME IT’s SO GROSS AND YUCKY”

scully’s like “mulder why is your back always fucking sore??” and he just. “scully i don’t have a bed”

She comes out of the bathroom in dark leggings and thick woolen socks and his shirt, the red flannel one the same shade as her hair. The same shade as her cheeks when he—

“Any word?” She jerks her head towards the TV currently playing the weather channel and drags a towel over her hair.

The screen is all purple and white. Snow and ice, and a lot of both.

“A day,” he says. “Maybe two.”

The motel heater is on full blast, but the room is still chilly. Scully frowns and hangs her towel over the back of one of the chairs by the window. She peaks through the curtains, and he takes a moment to appreciate the way his shirt hangs from her slim shoulders, the tails reaching almost to the backs of her knees.

He shoves himself up off the lumpy mattress and crosses to her, wrapping her in his arms and nuzzling his nose into her damp hair.

“See anything good?”

She hums and lets the curtains fall shut again, leaning back into his embrace. She’s warm through the thick flannel. He undoes one of the buttons over her navel and slips a hand inside.

“Just snow.” She tips her face to the side and rubs her nose against his neck, raising goosebumps. “Did you call Skinner?”

“Mm.” He kisses her eyebrow, the straight line of her nose, her cheek. “He wasn’t happy, but what can he do?”

The hand in her shirt dips down, his pinky inching under the waistband of her leggings. She’s so small. He can hold her from ribs to pelvis just like this.

“So we’re good then? For a day, maybe two?” Her voice sounds sleepy, but the subtle push of her ass against his hips is wide awake. 

My partner and I are still going through financial difficulties, as I am unable to work due to other medical reasons as well (epilepsy/mental illness)and they haven’t been called in to work for weeks because of lack of hours despite being an amazing support worker (in disability).

We can just afford rent but are struggling with bills (electricity is due on the 21st) and we are supposed to be driving to see family for Christmas (fuel). A few kind souls on here helped me back in March when I was struggling to pay rent and bills when I was living at home that I am forever greatful for, so I am hesitant to post something again but I don’t know what else to do.

I have been living with my partner for a few months now and I am worried that our power is going to get cut off. If anyone can help out a young couple struggling this Christmas, it would be the best present we could receive.

Also, if you want repayment l am happy to return it as soon as i can. (via paypal or otherwise, pls message me). Or if you have a minute to send me a positive message, I would be so very greatful. I need good vibes right now, not guilt or judgements.

[While doing required fitness tests at the gym, a man pulls some dirty tricks while sparring with Scully, and Mulder is not having it. MSR]

Sometimes Mulder worried Scully’s association to him prevented her from being able to make more friendships within the bureau. He wondered if, before being assigned to the X-Files, she was the type to go out for drinks with friends after work, hang around the office with people she enjoyed, laugh when jokes were made about the spooky guy in the basement.

Call him selfish, but getting all her attention for this past year of partnership had been more than he could ever ask for. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d been so openly comfortable around another person, let alone someone so incredible. Now he wasn’t just excited to come into work to investigate, but more often than not, his excitement stemmed from the fact he was able to see her. The guilt couldn’t help but gnaw at him, though, when he realized while she finally gave him the human interaction he so craved, he was probably keeping her away from all the potential interactions she wanted.

It was times like this that solidified that was probably not the case.

msr | mature | words: 1k

merry christmas (a few days late & dollars short)!

this started as a response to @alienbaby-babymama’s prompt (from months ago oops) about charlie scully catching m&s playing tonsil hockey, but it only vaguely brushes against that. (sorry!)

— — —

He’s drunk. Just a little. It turns out Mrs. Scully makes very good (very strong) mulled wine and, well, it’s Christmas. ‘Tis the season to indulge.

Which is also why he is currently pressed against shelves of canned tomatoes and boxes of cereal and rice in the Scully family pantry while a certain merry redhead climbs him like a tree—indulgence.

“Mph,” he grunts as she wriggles against him, pushing up on her toes to get closer, her soft belly brushing against the bulge behind his zipper.

He cups her ass in both hands and lifts, spinning so she’s the one knocking against the nonperishables, and thrusts his tongue between her lips. She groans and squeezes him around the waist with her thighs.

He’s dimly aware, through the fog of alcohol and lust, that there are a lot of people in the other room. A lot of people related to the woman currently latching on to his neck, working the flesh beneath his ear with her hot breath and smooth teeth. A lot of people who have been very kind in welcoming him to their family celebration and who probably wouldn’t be too happy about him accosting one of their own in her mother’s pantry.

(Though it’s really not his fault. Really, it isn’t. He was just on his way to the stove for another cup of wine, maybe a leftover dinner roll or two, when a tiny hand shot out and tugged him in here. He has always been helpless against her.)

“God,” he groans, pulsing his hips against hers. “Baby.”

“Mmm.” She kisses his earlobe, his jaw, his hungry bottom lip. One hand tangles itself in his hair while the other slides down the back of his shirt. “You feel so good. Want you.”

He nips at her, and she moans softly into his mouth. She’s warm and sweet and sensual in his arms, and if this is what it means to feel the holiday spirit, he never wants to feel anything else.

He skates a hand up her skirt and fingers the edge of the purple satin panties he watched her put on just this morning. “Here?”

She nods, heavy-lidded and open-mouthed, her breath puffing hot and cinnamon-scented against his lips. His hand slips under the smooth fabric to squeeze one firm globe of her ass.

“Please,” she whines, wriggling against him, and he’s never been able to deny her anything when she asks for it like that. He’s never been able to deny her anything, period.

He’s about to yank her underwear aside when a voice on the other side of the door freezes them both.

“Charlie?” Mrs. Scully calls. “Would you grab that other bag of oranges from the pantry while you’re in there, please?”

Mulder glances down. The oranges are in a mesh bag right beside his feet. Footsteps approach, and he blanches. Scully’s lipstick is smeared, half kissed-off. The other half, he’s sure, is on his own face. A perfect complement to his dick currently straining—and, he has no doubt, staining—the front of his pants. There’s no good excuse.

He opens his mouth to say—what? “Sorry, occupied?"—but Scully stops him with a finger to his lips.

"Locked,” she mouths, and sure enough, they watch as the doorknob jiggles a quarter inch to the left, a quarter inch to the right.

Charlie huffs on the other side of the door, and then the footsteps recede.

Mulder turns to her with wide eyes and she giggles, leaning in for another kiss.

“Naughty!” he mumbles against her lips. “Naughty, Scully.”

“Mmm,” she agrees. “Mm-hmm.”

She takes his hand and guides it under her sweater to roll a taut nipple. He groans at the heat of her and marvels at how reckless this is, how reckless she is. His good little Catholic girl, wanting to get fucked in her mother’s house on Christmas Day.

“You’re so bad.” He tweaks her nipple, bites her neck.

“Uh-uh.” Her hand slips down between them and he bucks, groaning into her sweat-damp flesh. “Good.”

It’s quick after that. He shoves her sweater up to get his mouth on her pretty little breasts while she works him out of his pants. Her panties—drenched, and it still makes his head spin—slide easily to the side and then he’s there, and God, if she isn’t the hottest, tightest thing.

He buries his face in her bunched-up sweater to muffle his groan, and she kisses his temple. Then she reaches a hand up to grip one of the shelves for leverage and squirms impatiently around his cock.

“Please,” she says, and he feels her words aaall the way down. “Make me come, Mulder. Wanna come.”

No less than six cans end up dented on the floor, and a half-empty box of spaghetti spills everywhere. She scores his back with her festive red nails, and later tonight, he will kiss the blooming purplish bruise on her tailbone where he’s pounding her into the crackers-and-cookies shelf. He manages, only barely, to seal his mouth over hers just as she shatters, swallowing her little gasps and squeals of pleasure before gifting her with his own.

His thighs ache when he finally sets her back on her feet, and she sags against him for a moment, spent and giggly. She tips her face up and he pecks her on her swollen lips.

“Merry Christmas,” she mumbles, then giggles again, and he finds himself laughing, too. Merry Christmas, indeed.

She cleans herself up with a stack of happy birthday napkins she finds shoved behind paper plates and plastic cups while he tucks his soft, happy cock away. He kisses her once more, a deep, lingering kiss, before letting her go. She cracks the door open, takes a peak, and, in a motion he’s more used to seeing in Kevlar with his gun drawn, signals that the coast is clear.