#today-in-fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

danascullysjournal · 1 year

Text

If You Will Let Me

An X-Files Post-Milagro Fic

WC: 4,200

This is chapter is part of a larger fic on AO3. If you like, the full work is available here.

TW: Demonic possession, Demons, Physical Harm, Trauma, Medical Trauma, Mild Alcohol Use

____________________

Chapter 19: Protecting Us

Sleep had come in short, interrupted segments during the red-eye flight from Chicago. Though both were leery of letting down their guard, sleep deprivation had taken its toll, and Scully had found herself succumbing to the constant white noise and gentle vibration of the airplane as it carried them home. Instead of nightmares or demons, she was roused by turbulence and sporadic cries from a baby a few seats in front of them.

Through slitted eyes, she saw Mulder’s head cocked back, lolled to one side. His slow, quiet snores were strangely reassuring. Here, there was rest. A cautiously optimistic thought drifted through her tired mind. Maybe they really did leave the demons behind them. Sighing contentedly, she carefully lay her head on his shoulder and drifted back to sleep.

The plane landed in DC well after midnight, leaving both agents partially rested, but groggy and sluggish as they collected bags and headed out to the parking garage. Their footsteps echoed through the empty concrete cavern, closing in on the car. Each step was further from the calm security of the airplane cabin, further from the reassurance of other people around them.

“Just us again.” Mulder offered a thin grin. “Ready for more quality time?”

Scully pressed her lips together, looking up at him. “I can’t be that bad, can I?”

“Never.” He meant it, but somehow the sentiment caught in his throat and the word fell to the ground, hollow.

Weary, they headed home through empty downtown streets, uneasy silence between them. Bleak buildings towered above them, their shadowed facades sliced by dull blades of flickering street lights. The darkness was suffocating.

Neither dared to mention it.

____________________

The lights in Scully’s bedroom were on, but it did little to calm the anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach. The unease had only grown since leaving the airport. Since being alone with Mulder again. She sat up for what felt like the hundredth time, studying him carefully.

There had been no question, once they had finally landed in DC, of where Mulder would stay. His apartment was still drenched in the memories of her blood, and she couldn’t bring herself to sleep alone. But her bed felt smaller, shrunken down by their bodies prudently spaced apart. It was uncomfortable. Awkward. Mulder was doing his best, she knew. He was respecting her insistence on putting their relationship on hold… But it all felt stilted. Cold. The void between them was mere inches, but somehow insurmountable. It was a chasm she had created for protection, but it only served as a glaring reminder of her vulnerability, her loneliness. Her emptiness.

It ached to be filled.

She felt the pang just as much, if not more. Their breathing seemed magnified, echoing within the emptiness, reminding her of what should be. With each breath, she cursed the house. Cursed the demons. Cursed the chasm of her own making.

Cursed the breaths she took and let out, silent, too afraid to begin again.

Sleep wouldn’t offer her a reprieve. It kept its distance, just as Mulder did. Just out of reach. She fidgeted with the oversized comforter, examining the machine-made stitching that divided the blanket into thick patterned poufs. Stitching fabric, stitching skin. That was easy. But all of this… this was not.

The question of Padgett was layered thickly over the uneasy confusion between them. That man… or body… or spirit… She couldn’t reconcile the pieces. She had been held fast and attacked by a man she knew to be dead. But it had happened. Hadn’t it? Residual visions of the cold corpse strangling her, cutting into her, challenged the validity of her memories of the body. The autopsy. Everything.

It had been him. But logically, it couldn’t be.

Except…

Samantha hadn’t been real. Mulder had said as much. She coveted the certainty he seemed to possess. In the midst of insomnia and awkward tension, it seemed as good a topic to bring up as any. Anything to break this barrier of emptiness.

She cleared her throat.

“Mulder, how did you know it wasn’t her?”

He stared at her for a long moment. The silence was sharpened by the disbelief and hurt etched on his face. When he finally spoke, it was with the voice of someone betrayed. “How could you ask that, Scully?”

“I-”

“Don’t you think I would know the difference between my own sister and an evil spirit?”

She hurried to clarify, struck by the anger in his eyes. “Mulder, I do, that’s why I’m asking- what was your litmus test? How did you know? Because I really think that was Padgett… but that’s impossible. He’s in the morgue.” She licked her lips nervously. “Isn’t he?”

Her eyes screamed the fear she refused to admit.

Mulder’s glare softened.

“Oh.” He lowered his head, rubbing his forehead with his hands. “I’m sorry, Scully. I shouldn’t have thought-”

“It’s okay.” Her fingers touched his. “We’re just… both on edge.”

His hand closed, enveloping her small fingers in his palm. He squeezed softly, briefly, before his hand retreated back to his side of the canyon between them. He gazed toward the corner of the room, at nothing in particular, recalling the demons that had manifested the shell of his sister.

“It was almost her. Almost.” His voice was grim. “It looked like her, walked like her. Acted a lot like her. But the voice.” He nodded, as if to himself. “That’s how I knew for sure. Every time she- they- appeared, the voice would be close to what I remember, but not quite. It’s like… they could get every other part of my memory of her right, but something stopped them from having her voice.”

“Like they didn’t know how?”

“Or they couldn’t. I’m not sure yet, but I think it has something to do with possession. Owning. But the demons don’t have my sister, they don’t have her soul, or her voice. So they… try, with what they can get from our minds, but it’s a facsimile.”

Scully’s brow furrowed. “Like a bad photocopy.”

“Right.”

Crossing her arms, she straightened herself up. The implications of Mulder’s theory shook her. “If you’re right… they have him.” Her blue eyes were uneasy. “That voice… the body… it was Padgett.”

“You’re sure?”

She looked away. “I’m sure. I don’t know how they would have gotten him… unless he isn’t in the morgue anymore.”

Mulder thought for a moment. “What if it isn’t about the body at all? Maybe what they need is the spirit. The soul.”

The bedroom fell silent again, save for their breathing. She felt him watching her, carefully, like a parent watches a child who has just fallen hard. Checking for signs of injury, of fear. Ready to console and reassure. For reasons she didn’t quite understand, she resented it.

“I’m fine, Mulder. Really. And anyway, maybe they won’t come here. We’re so far from that place.”

Mulder studied her, the skeptical eyebrow she usually wore planted firmly out of place on his forehead. “How do you think demons travel, Scully?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Well, I don’t know.”

“I don't know either, but I doubt a few miles are too much for them.” He considered. “I should be thrilled you’re so open to demonic possession as a possibility, really. Never thought I’d see the day. Wish it was better circumstances though.”

She cast an irritated sideways glare.

“I’m not just open to anything. I know what I saw. This particular incident- it’s hard for me to refute.”

“But you could.” His tone was flat. He sat up alongside her.

She shrugged. “Anyone could. It could be hallucinations induced by psychosis, perhaps exacerbated by sleep deprivation, or-”

“That’s what you believe?”

His voice held a tinge of ridicule, but she chose to ignore it.

“Of course not, Mulder.”

He nodded, then looked at her pointedly. “You don’t believe it, but that’s what you’ll say to Kersh?”

Scully sighed.

“Not just that, no, but I do feel it’s my obligation to provide all the facts as well as offer plausible explanations. I’m aware of what Kersh will think if I only present one account with little or no verifiable proof.”

Mulder scoffed. “That’s my point. You’re good at that. Explaining things away. We were almost destroyed, and possessed, and you come up with some alternative, something that’s logical, and safe.”

“There has to be an explanation for what we experienced, Mulder. Supernatural or otherwise. I’m not denying what we saw, what happened. I was there too, remember?” She felt anger rising and tried to tamp it down. “And what’s so bad about being safe?”

“Safe isn’t always what’s right. Or best.”

She eyed him carefully, her lips sealed in a grim line, and stood slowly. Arms crossed. Shielding her heart. “This isn’t about the case, is it?”

He held her tired gaze with his own exhausted eyes.

“Maybe I should sleep on the couch.” He sighed as he pushed aside the plush comforter. His feet padded down on her floor.

She watched, pensive, caught between turning away in defeat and anger, or lunging at his hand in desperation. Her body failed her, and she stood dumbly, staring. As he turned and grabbed his pillow, she cleared her throat and found a quiet sliver of her voice.

“I’m trying to protect you. To protect us. All the I love yous in the world mean nothing if we’re dead.”

Mulder stopped short, pillow dangling from his unconsciously tight fist. He took a deep breath before he spoke. “I respectfully disagree, Scully. Every time I said ‘I love you’ to my sister, it mattered, every time you said it to your father. And to your sister. You can’t say death negates that- you’re the one with a good family. A nice, loving Catholic upbringing- how am I the one explaining this to you?”

His eyes bore into her, demanding an answer that she couldn’t give.

It was no easier for her to banish the demons herself than it was to admit to him: fully loving someone, anyone at all, was confusing. His idea of love in her family was so very opposite her actual experience. Much as the Scully household had lauded it, love was a word. A duty. What she found with him was different from any of the compulsory, sanitized definitions she had learned in childhood. She found herself possessed by it, but paralyzed by her own confusion and fear.

When she finally spoke, it was cautious. Timid. As if her voice carried words that would shatter, should she dare throw them carelessly.

In truth, the words couldn’t shatter. But she could.

“I think… you know more about love, believe more about it, than you say you do.” She drew in a deep breath. “More than I do… but I - I want to learn...” Suddenly she felt astoundingly ignorant. Love should be the first thing learned in life. But what she had learned, had experienced, seemed horrifically wrong. A shadow of what should have been.

If her assertion meant anything to him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he surveyed her thoroughly, almost clinically, studying the creases in her forehead, the thin, drawn line of lips pursed tight. The squeezed skin and fabric on her chest from protective crossed arms, wrapped too tightly. The blinking of pale eyes that fought emotion. He was a profiler at work.

Finally, his eyes rested back on hers.

“Do you feel protected?”

Scully pressed her lips together even tighter, the soft rose color draining from them in favor of nervous white. She lowered her gaze, well aware that he already knew the answer.

“Me either, Scully.” He ran his fingers through his hair and over his jaw, raking over scratchy beard stubble. “Listen. I’m tired, I'm frustrated and I don’t see a point in pretending there’s nothing between us when there is. And we know it. And I’m pretty sure the demons know it too, or I wouldn’t have ended up a possessed puppet on the floor.” His voice was rising, exasperated. “And then, after shoving me away the entire day, you try to tell me that love is meaningless? I don’t understand, Scully. I’m trying. But I don’t.”

“I didn’t mean that it’s meaningless. It isn’t meaningless.” She felt hot tears she had fought so hard to contain, and turned abruptly. “I’m getting us something to drink. That might help.”

She moved to the doorway, checking each corner carefully as she went as a matter of course. And paranoia.

Mulder looked at the clock on her bedside table. 2:37 a.m. He blew a heavy sigh. “I dunno if that’s the best idea, Scully. We have to be back at work in 6 hours.”

She shrugged and left the bedroom without looking back.

____________________

He should go after her.

He stood staring, his lips twisted in an uncomfortable frown. Maybe he had been too harsh… almost certainly, he realized. They were both haggard from the past few days, and he felt his patience stretched too thin, balanced precariously on the blade of a knife. He should go in, apologize, and be there for her. He tried to work himself up to it.

“Dammit, Scully… I’m no good at this either. I’m sorry.”

His muttering was nothing if she didn’t hear it, though. He tossed the pillow back onto her bed, moving toward the doorway.

The shuffling in the kitchen, opening of cabinets and drawers, made Mulder hesitate. He could hear her talking quietly to herself. Processing, or cursing him, he couldn’t be sure.

He huffed in irritation, wishing he could see inside her mind the way the demons had seen into his own. But he was not omniscient, and stood painfully aware of his inadequacies. Without speaking to her, he would remain woefully incapable of seeing or understanding what she truly needed from him.

____________________

Scully startled a bit, surprised by Mulder’s silhouette in the doorway.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you coming.” She shut the cabinet door with the back of her hand. The wine glasses made a pleasant clink as she set them on the counter. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. I won’t pour much. I don’t want a hangover any more than you do… I just… It’s been a rough week, we both could use this.”

She grabbed the corkscrew from the counter and twisted it into the top of a new bottle.

“We um… we didn’t have some amazing family, Mulder. Not like you think. Not- I mean we had everyone.” She kicked herself for being so callous. “I know it was hard for you, with your dad. And Samantha.”

The cork pulled from the bottle with a low, satisfied pop.

She looked him over, his tired, worn features darkened in the doorway, his eyes studying her. Part of her still wanted to hold back, to keep her emotions and experiences locked away, where they couldn’t be used against her.

So many people had used her weaknesses as weapons to break her down. Including Padgett.

But this was Mulder. If she wouldn’t take that chance on him, would she ever, with anyone?

She gathered herself. “We cared for each other. We still do, what’s left of us. But… Dad was military, you know. We had respect. Duty. Loyalty. I know he loved us, but he didn’t say it much. Didn’t show it.” She looked down, feeling small. Vulnerable. “Not like you do, I mean. Didn’t hug much…. He tried, did the best he could. But. It did hurt Mom… and us.”

Sighing, she turned from him to pour the wine.

“When I said you know more about love, I meant it. It’s… it’s hard for me. You’re different, and caring, and… I do want to protect you from them, if they come here, but I’m also just scared. Scared that I won’t be what you really want. That I can’t be, because… I don’t know how.” She took a small sip from her glass, letting the red wine warm her throat. “But I want to learn. I do.”

She turned back, regarding him cautiously. So much of herself had been laid bare, and she searched his face for signs of understanding. Anything that would help to unbind the thick knot in her stomach.

He nodded, his lips pressed in a thoughtful line. It was a small gesture, but encouraging. He took a step forward.

“Thank you for listening, Mulder. For being so patient with me.” She smiled softly, holding out a glass. “To learning what love is. With you.”

He offered a strange, tilted grin, stepping closer.

She felt a sudden chill on her skin.

“Love is complicated.” The voice rasped unnaturally through Mulder’s mouth, and the grin grew into a sadistic smile.

Scully’s eyes widened in realization. She shuffled backwards, running into the counter. The wine glass dropped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

His sneer stretched, shifting. Changing. Molding itself into the sallow face she had come to fear more than anything else. In her periphery, she could make out black, wavering mist filling the kitchen, dimming the lights. Pulling itself into pillars of smoke. Before she could think, the dark shadow of his hand clamped down on mouth, hard and cold, slamming her head against the cabinet.

Her stifled cry slipped through the blacked fingers.

“Dana wants to know how to love.” Padgett’s voice trickled through pale, cracked lips tinged a washed-out blue. “I could have taught you. But. The heart wants what it wants. Doesn’t it.” An icy finger traveled across her collarbone, fingernail raking across the path the scalpel had pulled through her skin.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, its rhythm mixing with whispers of ravenous souls that beckoned from the inky swells. She shook her head against the force of his hand, straining against his leaden weight.

Mulder… he was still in the bedroom.

Maybe he could hear.

She tried to scream, but only managed a muffled, gasping yell against the rotten skin of his palm.

____________________

The clattered ringing of broken glass made Mulder’s stomach drop.

He ran.

“Scully?” He barreled through the hallway and into the kitchen, driven by a panic that had become second nature. As he entered, the familiar, writhing darkness surrounded him.

Whispers called to him from inside the mass of smoke. Whispers that sounded almost like Samantha. And another voice, one he wished to never hear again.

____________________

“We can’t leave a story unfinished.” The words wavered, sung in a sickening chorus of voices, Padgett, and thousands more. His cold eyes stared, unblinking. “It’s time.”

She felt the licking of dark mist over her arms, beginning to grasp and tighten. Cold. The souls pricked into her pores. Opening her. Pressing in as Padgett’s body held her fast, his icy fingers digging at the flesh above her heart.

Her blood, a sacrifice to them.

Her heart, his possession.

Her soul, theirs.

A feral scream retched out of her lungs.

“Scully!” Mulder’s voice cut through the whispers around her.

Like a rag doll wrung by a child, Padgett’s head twisted backwards. He stared Mulder down, thin hiss began to rise from his throat. His eyes shone white, glowering at the interruption.

The inky swells of spirits drew themselves up into wavering pillars, pressing on the ceiling, pulling themselves toward Mulder.

It was a small distraction. But enough. Gathering all her strength, Scully pushed herself away from the counter, turning to shove her shoulder into Padgett, forcing him off. She met nothing but the chill of stale air and tumbled down, landing on the hard kitchen floor. The dull thud of her body was muffled by violent hisses of the demons around them.

The kitchen lights were obliterated by the masses filling the apartment. Scully tried to focus through the darkness. She felt dizzy from the gash on the back of her head, sickened by the oppressive smell of rotted flesh that hovered in the room.

“Mulder?” His name tumbled from her lips like a prayer.

“Scully, I’m here.” His eyes searched, frantic in the darkness that had filled the kitchen. “Keep talking… I can’t see you.” He was breathless. “Please? Scully!”

She answered with a weak, muffled moan.

Padgett’s form had dissolved itself into a thick, inky mass, covering the floor, enveloping her. Mulder plunged his hands down into the icy swells, searching desperately. His fingers met clammy, cold skin. Slick with blood.

“Come on.” Mulder’s hand traversed the wet skin on her arm, finding her fingers.

“I can’t.” The voice was small.

He squeezed her hand tightly as the towering forms that filled the room unwound themselves and poured over them.

“We can, Scully. We have to.”

But she didn’t want to.

Neither did he.

The darkness washed over, whispering. Calming. He felt ribbons of inky fingers wrapping around him, digging in. Beginning to enter.

A cracking, thunderous pounding shattered through black kitchen. Again. And again.

“Open the door!”

The apartment door shook with another fist.

“Ms. Scully? Open up!”

Ringing inside his head, Mulder heard the demons scream.

He screamed with them.

Metal jingled, then scraped and turned inside the deadbolt lock. The door flew open, slamming into the wall, doorknob crumpling the drywall behind it.

The demons released their grip. He could feel them in his skin, like a needle pulling from a vein, as they ripped themselves away.

The kitchen lights glared into his eyes, and he squinted.

He could just make out the blurred forms of four men before he lost consciousness.

____________________

The landlord stood near the doorway with the police officer, giving space for the paramedics to work.

Glass shards were strewn across the kitchen floor, sparkling in the incandescent light. In the middle of the room two figures lay still, hand in hand. Spilled wine and spattered blood marred the floorboards.

The blonde paramedic surveyed the kitchen, shaking his head. “Looks like it started as a fun time, anyway.” He stepped over the empty wine bottle on the floor, making his way to the bodies. “These usually do.”

“What do you mean?” The landlord looked irritated, while the remaining men exchanged looks.

“Off record,” the officer said blandly, “looks like domestic violence. Started as a good night, then things went wrong. And now there’s a mess, probably some charges to press when they sober up.”

“Pulse and respiration on both?”

The dark haired paramedic nodded to his partner. “Yeah. Barely.”

The landlord stared at the two forms on the floor. Behind the woman trailed a smeared path of wine mixed with blood, as if she had been pulling herself toward the man.

“Doesn’t seem like domestic violence to me.” He shook his head and looked away.

The officer squinted and surveyed the glass shards on the floor, the blood spattered on the cabinet door. “We’ll decide that. Tell me about this renter.”

“Well, she’s really quiet, but a good tenant. Pays rent early. Works for the government, I think. Takes great care of the place, it’s one of the best kept apartments in the building.” He shrugged. “She’s almost never home, but when she is home, there’s never complaints.”

The police officer nodded, writing in his notepad.

“Do you know the man here?”

“Not by name. I’ve seen him a few times, I think. Nothing unusual or bad that I recall.” The landlord sighed. “Sorry ‘bout all this. Just, Barbara never complains. She’s been here forever, so when she called so concerned at this hour, I figured there’s a problem.”

“Yeah…” Raising his eyebrows, the officer pursed his lips. “It looks like there was a problem, alright.”

“This one’s pulse is really weak. Let’s get her out first so we can start an IV, get her stabilized. Then we’ll move him.” The blonde paramedic rose to retrieve the gurney from behind him.

As if in response, the man on the floor gasped for air, arms flailing wildly. His eyes were wide and he growled, as if fighting something unseen.

“Whoa!” The dark haired paramedic grabbed an arm, pinning him back down. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.” He turned to other men, frantic. “Can I get a hand?”

The officer was already crossing the room. He planted himself firmly on the other arm while the paramedic tried to calm the man down.

“Sir, you’re safe-”

The man’s eyes rolled backward, and he stiffened, turning his head to the side.

The policeman looked to the paramedic, concerned. Just as they began to roll his body over to a safe position for a seizure, the man’s eyes refocused. He blinked, twisting his head back slowly to look up to the officer.

“Where… is she?”

The officer hesitated, but saw the panic in the man’s eyes. “We have her, sir. She’s safe. Who are you?”

The man’s body relaxed and he closed his eyes, satisfied that the woman he was with was alive. He licked his dry lips and drew a labored breath before he spoke.

“Fox Mulder… FBI. She’s Dana Scully. FBI… You have to… keep her safe. Don’t leave … don’t leave her alone…”

The men glanced at each other.

“What happens if we leave her alone?” The police officer’s eyes shot back to the bloody cabinet door.

Fox Mulder rolled his head toward the voice and cracked open his eyes. “If you leave her… if you leave us… he comes back… they… they come back.”

____________________

A huge thank you to all of you who take the time to read these updates, to encourage, and to wait while I take too long to write! You are so very appreciated.

#today-in-fic #txf fic #msr #msr fic #horror fic #mulder and scully #TW: demons #TW: trauma #TW: medical trauma #TW: seizure #TW: blood #TW: mild alcohol use #dana scully #fox mulder #the x files #x files

22 notes · View notes

dsmulder4u · 1 year

Link

Chapters: 12/12 Fandom: The X-Files Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner Additional Tags: MSR, Fluff, First Time, POV Dana Scully, casefile, love sick, Angst, RST, Romance, Complete Story, release one chapter a day Summary:

A call to Skinner brings our agents to Italy. The case has called for his intention, knowing that M and S are the only ones who could investigate it, because they already had experience with it. Along the way, Scully comes to terms with her feelings for her gorgeous partner.

#today-in-fic #thank you for reading #last chapter

6 notes · View notes

amplifyme · 2 years

Text

The In-Betweens

MSR. WC: 6,436. Mature. Read on AO3 . Tagging @today-in-fic

She hadn’t meant for this to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. There were rules, parameters they’d agreed upon from the beginning; lines they wouldn’t cross no matter how strong the need. And if they could do this, if they could ignore the accepted boundaries they’d set, then what other rules might be broken?

“Why,” she asks him now, “why are you always the one who sees?”

His hand smooths up and down the compact length of her body, his touch lighting like fireflies across her skin, ethereal and glancing. Never staying in one place long enough to satisfy. She tucks a knee between his and wedges it up, her palm brushing against the grain of the soft and abundant hair on his thigh. What he may be lacking on his chest is made up for elsewhere. He’s positively luxurious. All velvety skin under that fur, too, and perfectly masculine.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mulder murmurs, his breath warm as it whispers across her cheek. “I can see for both of us.”

“Just once I want to know what it’s like.” She moves her hand up and around and scrubs her knuckles against another favorite spot: the patch of hair at the small of his back. Mulder grunts happily in response. “It doesn’t seem fair,” she complains, running the pads of her fingers playfully into and around the shallow dimples that rest just above his spectacular ass.

“You’ve seen things, Scully,” he argues. “More than enough to believe your own eyes.”

“Not a sasquatch, though.”

“I can’t definitively say that’s what I saw. It was dark.” He finally picks a place to concentrate his efforts and folds low, tugging a nipple into his mouth. She rests a hand on the crown of his head and enjoys herself for a minute before curling her fingers under his jaw and tilting his face up. Her nipple pops from his puckered lips and he peers up at her with a wrinkled brow.

“Why are you being so rational, Mulder?”

“I’m trying to maintain our delicate balance here. If you’re going to be the one to throw caution to the wind and invite me to share your bed while we’re out in the field investigating a possible Bigfoot sighting, then I’m obligated to be the one thinking logically.”

“The fact that you were naked less than thirty seconds after I made the invitation belies your assertion of logical thinking.”

“Do you really want to debate this right now, Scully, or can I get back to what I was doing?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he pushes her onto her back and starts wetly kissing his way down her abdomen, his intended target obvious. She rubs her thighs together while she still can, relishing the sweet friction she can control now, before he snatches any chance of that away from her.

“Logic be damned,” she breathes and tosses her arms above her head, stretches out decadently beneath him. “This time.”

Mulder lifts his busy mouth long enough to proudly gloat. “Atta girl.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her father had taught her how to navigate by the stars. He’d shown her how to sail angry seas. Her mother had taught her how to love unconditionally. She’d shown her how to hold fast when everything around her was changing. Teachers and professors and instructors had taught her how to focus, to listen, and to learn. They’d shown her how to navigate the scientific world she’d chosen to live in.

But no lesson she’d been given had taught her what it would mean to love Mulder. No instructions could’ve taken into account his unpredictability; no studies could’ve anticipated his odd bouts of passion and melancholy, or the uncanny leaps his mind could take. There had been other men she’d loved deeply, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the exceptionality of him.

“Okay, Scully, I get it.” He stands before her in rolled-up sleeves, fingers holstered on his hips. “I do. I’ll be sure to perform like the dancing monkey the Bureau obviously thinks I should be.” His features are set to insolence, which includes the loose bottom lip.

“It’s a quarterly budget review,” she sighs with patience barely kept. “I did the last two – I’m not doing this one. Just complete the paperwork and turn it in. We’ll know soon enough if there are any discrepancies.”

“Scully, what we do can’t be quantified by a dollar amount. It takes whatever it takes. Money shouldn’t even be an issue.”

“I believe that’s where the problem lies, and why we get to do them four times a year instead of once. Just suck it up and get it done.” She returns her attention to the file in front of her, jotting a note in the margin of the tox screen she’s reviewing. She suddenly lifts her eyes and finds him right where she left him. “Mulder, are you implying that because I find a certain satisfaction in preparing and submitting complete and accurate reports in a timely fashion that that makes me a dancing monkey?”

“I would never imply anything of the sort.” Apparently satisfied by giving her pause, he pivots and heads back to his desk, where he scribbles something on a piece of note paper. “Although I do have it on good authority that you can dance.” He folds the paper into a small, perfect square. “And despite the simian noises you occasionally utter while in my presence, you decidedly do not look like a monkey.” Balancing a tip of the folded paper on the desk with one index finger, he cocks the middle finger of his right hand against the thumb, takes careful aim, and sends the parcel her way. Reaching up, she snatches it out of the air easily, and he beams at her.

“That’s very generous of you, Mulder; I’m touched.” Sliding a nail under the outermost fold of his note, she eventually works it open. He’s written: TLG, 7-ish? Taco Tuesday. Which means a couple of six-packs, brisk rounds of equal parts geekiness and bullshit, skewering Frohike’s newest attempts at seduction, and possibly edible food. And then, perhaps, a nightcap of protocol-defying sex.

Brow briefly knitted, she composes her reply and then refolds the missive and drops it on his desk as she collects their coffee mugs. “I’m going for refills,” she announces. She’s just made it to the tiny vestibule that serves as a coffee station when his scandalized response to her suggestion floats out from the open office door.

“Scully! Does your mother know you use this kind of language?” Grinning, she stirs creamer into her coffee.

They are naked in his bed and fully sated by ten o’clock that night. Mulder is lying beside her on his back, hogging the majority of the bed with his long limbs akimbo, absently scratching his chest.

“I have to say, Scully, yours was by far the tastiest taco of the night.” He’s already snickering as she smacks him on the hip. “What?” he demands indignantly. “You’re the one who used that very same euphemism in your response to my invitation. Or have you already forgotten?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she rejoins coquettishly. Taking another drink of the water she’d fetched for them, she sucks in a small ice cube, works it around, and then chomps down, breaking it into manageable slivers that gradually disappear on her tongue.

“Do I need to remind you that chewing ice cubes is very bad for your teeth? You know these things, Dr. Scully. What kind of example are you setting?”

“For you? Probably a better one than anyone else in your recent past.”

There’s a short silence as he thinks about it. “Okay, I’ll give you that one,” he declares, rolling over. He leans and blows noisy raspberries against her ticklish hip as she curls up laughing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You don’t have to be so careful all the time. With me, I mean. Sometimes I like things rough.”

She has no least idea why these words have left her mouth. And they are stuck in the car for the next twenty minutes. She knows she can’t conjure a do-over and keep her mouth shut for a second go-round, so she faces the situation she’s put them in head-on and forces herself to angle a glance at Mulder. She catches the edge of a look back before he refocuses on the road beyond the steering wheel. He lifts an index finger long enough to signal his need for a minute. Her chest tightens because she knows he wants to do this properly. She does too. This is the first time the more detailed aspects of their new intimacy have been brought up for discussion. They’ve been too busy catching up on lost time to dissect it. Apparently, her subconscious had taken up the slack some time ago and decided that now was the perfect moment to address a few things.

“I, uh, I - I didn’t know,” Mulder begins hesitantly and clears his throat, “I wasn’t sure how you’d react if I approached things more… aggressively. Or inadvertently did something that hurt you. Or even ask you to do something you might find crass or would make you uncomfortable.” He keeps flicking shy looks at her as he’s talking, and she’s charmed by his nervousness. “Need I remind you that sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain and proves my idiocy? And besides that, I mean, shit, Scully, I’ve got almost a foot and, what, at least 70 pounds on you. I don’t want to hurt you. I haven’t forgotten the things that’ve been done to you. I don’t want to be one more thing that hurts.”

She’s struck dumb for a moment, and it takes her a few more seconds to push the words past the lump that’s taken up residence in her throat. “If you weren’t driving right now, I’d kiss you.”

He shoots a brilliant smile her way. His relief is palpable. “I can pull over.”

“Not a good idea. We have a plane to catch.” She grabs his wrist and links her fingers with his. “Mulder…“

But he jumps in before she can finish. “Having said all that, if you’re interested in pushing the boundaries of our admittedly vanilla sex life a step or twenty, I’m… yeah, count me in. Let’s get our freak on, Scully.”

“With agreed upon parameters established in advance,” she adds as a caveat.

“Of course. I look forward to having that conversation with you forthwith.”

“’Forthwith’, Mulder?”

“I’ll feed you once we make it home. Tomorrow’s Sunday. Let’s stay up late and braid each other’s hair; share all our deepest, darkest secrets and hidden desires.”

“You’re not getting all of them tonight. I’d prefer to dole them out judiciously. I don’t want to risk overwhelming you.”

He yelps a succinct laugh. “I can’t express to you how much I’m looking forward to possibly being overwhelmed.” He yanks his sunglasses from the inner pocket of his coat as the sun begins to break through the cloud cover and tosses them on the dash within easy reach. “Hey, Scully?”

“Yes?” His face, when she looks over, has gone serious.

“I just thought you should know. You’re my best friend.” He tops this off with a wink and a saucy leer, but his deflection doesn’t work. She’s caught the roughness in his voice, heavy with the words they still don’t say. Words are inadequate sometimes. So she shines brightly at him with a toothy smile instead and knows that he feels it, too.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They’ve had this discussion a few times already, in one form or another, and neither of them is willing to concede much. Sometimes it’s casual and lighthearted, sometimes it manifests itself obliquely, slipping into disparate conversations. But there are rare times when it’s nothing like tiptoeing. When it’s more like stomping through a muddy field in combat boots. This is one of those times, and she’s infused with righteous fear and a deep frustration.

Mulder has once again sacrificed his well-being in the name of the X-Files, and for nothing any reasonably sane person could argue should take precedence over his own safety. But it’s obvious he’s still determined to risk it. “What more could you possibly hope to find?” she demands quietly. “What’s left?”

They are in a darkened hospital room well after midnight, and he’s slightly loopy from the codeine they administered before he was moved from the ER for overnight observation. The only privacy they have from his current roommate, who is noisily and wetly snoring away, are two utilitarian hospital curtains.

Painkillers tend to make him touchy-feely. She keeps having to push his hand off her ass and he just keeps putting it back. He’s not groping, just gently cradling the curve of her on his palm. He pitches his voice low like hers when he answers. “How can you even ask that? After all we’ve seen, Scully, all we’ve done. And we’ve just begun to scratch the surface.”

“Of what, Mulder? Of finding all the answers in the universe and nothing less than that? Well, then when does it end? Will there ever be a time when it’s possible to consider, I don’t know, something less lethal?”

“And what would that be? What is it you want, Scully, do you want a simple life, some kind of abject domesticity?” He’s blearily dividing his attention between her and whatever the hell is on the TV. She grabs the remote and turns it off.

“Oh, I see. So, your default position for anything less than what we’re doing now is that it would have to include living in a constant state of misery? Is that what you’re saying?”

He aims a dull gaze her way and she recognizes in his eyes an old pain unearthed, a fresh scrape across its surface. “Scully, have I ever told you about my childhood?”

She pushes her impatience away in a quick sigh. “Mulder, the sins of your parents are not yours to carry. You know that.” He sweeps his eyes over her face before turning back to study the empty screen of the television bolted high on the wall opposite his bed. “It doesn’t have to be that way for you. For us. And it’s not your job to save the world either, Mulder. It never was.”

“This is who I am. I don’t… I don’t know how to slow down. I don’t even know what that would look like.” He loosely shakes his head against the thin pillows stacked behind him. “No, that’s not completely true.” He shifts slowly and a bit uncomfortably on the narrow bed and angles himself toward her. “I have thought about it. I’ve tried to imagine what it might be like. But there are so many things still out there, Scully, so many remarkable, wonderful things that are just waiting to be found.”

“So let someone else look for a while.” She grabs his wandering hand and curls both of hers around it. “It’s statistically impossible in a world of five billion people that you’re the only one searching for these truths. Which is more important: the discovery of them or being the one to take the credit? You can’t find them all, Mulder. That’s incredibly selfish of you. Everyone deserves the chance to find their own miracles. You don’t get to hog them all.”

He studies her intently and his eyes are filled with something poignant and fiercely proud, but it’s too indistinct a thing for her to put a name to the emotion it reflects. She thought she’d seen all the faces he could show her. It’s a bit disconcerting and exciting to find out she hasn’t. It might be because of the narcotics floating through his system. But it might not. Still, she believes he understands what she’s trying to impart to him. That getting her fair share of miracles matters, too.

“Mulder, when you’re old and gray and on your death bed, will you wish you’d taken more time to chase down answers, or will you wish for more time with me?”

“That’s not fair of you to ask, Scully. Why can’t I have both? I’ll never stop looking – I can’t.” He holds her eye and then gradually drops his chin and sighs. “But maybe… maybe we can find better ways to do it.”

“As in safer ways? Less life-threatening ways? Perhaps a bit less global extraterrestrial conspiracy ways?”

He grins at her slyly. “It’s always gonna lead back there, Scully. You know that. But, yeah, I, I’m… I’m willing to dial some things back if that’s what you need. I’ll try not to be so selfish.”

“And I’ll come up with some ways to show you how to slow down a little. I think we should start with the art of a proper bubble bath.” She lets her eyebrow telegraph her inference. “Would you like that?”

He pulls his hand free, an impudent glint in his eye, and tugs her closer, his fingers spreading wide on her ass yet again, like it’s some kind of magnetic attraction. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Yeah, I think I would.”

It’s a small victory for both of them and she’s satisfied with that. If she’s learned nothing else the last several years, she’s learned to take the victories when they present themselves.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Scully, those aren’t leaving the office. No way. My work, my rules.”

That’s what he says, after she casually mentions wanting to pack up and store some of their closed casefiles to make room for the newer ones. They’re running out of usable cabinet space in the office. But he bristles, ever the packrat and wanting everything close to hand, and rebuffs her at once, in the worst way possible.

“What did you just say?” She spits the question, wheeling on him, suddenly rigid with anger.

They’re facing off in her kitchen. The bag with their take-out dinner sits forgotten on the table. Both of them are tired and frustrated. It’s been a long couple of weeks stuck in the basement, just the two of them. Skinner has been stingy with approved 302’s lately and neither of them bear the burden of extended office time well. He can’t sit still after three days, and she finds herself having to rein in the overabundant energy of the nine-year-old boy who shares his skin. It’s exhausting. They’re both edgy to begin with. And now this.

“I think you heard me.” He’s using that infuriatingly flat and emotionless tone with her. It seems to her, sometimes, that the more visibly angry she gets over something, the further he withdraws. And it’s almost like he’s goading her to lose her temper, inviting her venom. She’s determined not to play his game. But, once again, her mouth betrays her.

“Screw you, Mulder, you condescending, selfish asshole.”

“Is that the best you can do?” he dryly taunts as he gives her a sidelong glance. He starts emptying the takeout bag. “That’s like bullets fired at Superman.”

Fine. He wants a fight; she’ll give him one. “How the hell can you say that to me? It’s not just your work, Mulder, it’s mine too, it’s ours! That office is ours, despite the fact that my name still isn’t on the door. Those files are ours! This fucking partnership is ours – yours and mine. My blood is on those X-Files just the same as yours. Why am I even here if you still don’t believe I’m just as invested as you? Why do I bother to stick around?”

His eyes are dark and the tiny lines at the corners of them telegraph the arrogant smirk that raises the corners of his plush mouth. “I can’t answer that for you, Scully, but you know where the fucking door is.”

She closes the distance between them, and they would be nose to nose if he wasn’t so goddamn tall. Waves of heat scented with his late-day musk are coming off him like a lava flow, and she tries to stand firm against the onslaught. She thinks she’d like to slap him across that smug face he’s wearing and even raises a hand to do it, but he doesn’t let her, grabbing her wrist tightly, painfully. She raises her other hand and now he has that one, too. He backs her up against the counter, and its hard edge digs in as he looms over her.

“I should,” she hisses up at him, struggling to break free. Searing heat flares low in her belly and she locks her knees to stay upright. “I should walk away and leave you down there all by yourself, just the way I found you.”

“But you won’t, will you? You can’t.” She glares at him and something he sees in her face causes one corner of his mouth to lift, and he presses closer. “Yours, mine, ours; it’s all the same thing.”

“Then why is everything that comes out of your mouth ‘My, my, mine’ and not ours?”

“Habit. It doesn’t mean anything.” He lets go of her left wrist and pulls the right one tight against his chest. She shakes feeling back into her hand as he bends low and coos close to her ear, “You know what else I call mine, Scully?”

She’s allowed this to happen. A single, short conversation in a car a few weeks ago, followed by a longer one later, had precipitated this. She’s shared parts of herself with him that she’d never voiced to anyone. She’s trusted him to keep her secrets. Gifted with these tidbits, he’s put his gigantic brain to work and profiled her yet again, integrating the new information. She’s known he would. He’s been profiling her all along. She’s been doing the same with him, albeit without benefit of his uncanny speed and intuition, but well enough to suit her needs. She trusts him not to hurt her.

Still. Her objection stands. Her anger is righteous.

“No. No, Mulder. You are not gonna fuck your way out of this one. This is a conversation we need to have.” Her free hand is flat against his stomach, fingers digging in, but she doesn’t remember placing it there.

“Yes. Later. C’mon, Scully, you know you want it. You have since you called me an asshole.” He grinds his burgeoning erection into her. Her breath quickens and raggedly leaves her lungs. “Want to work out some of those aggressions, do you? Yeah. I’m your man. All you have to do is ask.”

“Fuck you.”

He groans and dips, planting his hands possessively on her ass and lifting her against him. “Oh, and you were so close.” She’s on tiptoe now, her feet barely skimming the floor. “Try again. Ask me.”

He buries his face at the join of her neck and shoulder and her head lolls back heavily as he nips and sucks at her flesh. Goddamn him. Shoving him just enough to get her feet under her and ease her way out, she slips away, passing the refrigerator into the short hallway there. He catches up with her and yanks her arm, swinging her around and trapping her again, her back flat against the wall. His hands are all over her. Not mindlessly or with haste, but still urgently. He sucks an earlobe between his teeth and bathes it with his tongue.

“Mulder, don’t do this.” Her words invalidate what her body is doing, how it’s responding. And her hands, the way they’re mirroring his. She wants this, just as he’s claimed she does.

“Then tell me what to do instead. Tell me what to do,” he rasps against her mouth. “Ask me for what you want.”

She wonders briefly if they are talking at cross purposes, each set on their own path of meaning and circumstance. But it occurs to her that they’re in exactly the same place. And this isn’t so much about the work and who gets to claim it, no more than it was about a desk back in the darkest days of their partnership. She’s asking to be seen. To be acknowledged, and heard, and appreciated. And Mulder is asking how best to do it. He wants to give her that, and in the way she most needs it right now. That he’s couched that request in the context of sex this time around is simply a buffer. A way to protect them from the cutting edges that wounded them at the beginning of this thing they started years ago; this newest step in the dance they’re learning move by move.

She jerks him down by his tie and covers his mouth possessively, pushing past his lips with her tongue and sliding it across his. Her body thrums with the need of him. Of his hands, his mouth, his thick cock. She’ll ask for what she wants, and he’ll give it to her. All she has to do is say the words. So she breaks the kiss and gives them voice.

Later, as he perches on the edge of the bed and collects the warm washcloth he’s brought her to clean up, he aims an affectionate look her way and combs back her unruly hair with gentle fingers. “I’ll put in a requisition for another shelving unit for the hallway first thing tomorrow morning. We can reorganize things and move some of the files out there. Sound good?”

“I think I can work with that.”

He ducks his head and murmurs, “I’ll add a name plate for the door to the list too, if you’d like.”

She waits until he looks back up and takes in what she sees there. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll requisition one myself if I change my mind.” She doesn’t need her name on the door. Not now, anyway. It’s enough to know it’s hers if she wants it.

Mulder responds with a slow nod and a tender smile and seals the deal with a kiss.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“If you were trying to turn the heat down on Frohike’s unrequited love for you, I’m pretty sure you failed.”

She tosses a cheeky grin his way. “Who says it’s unrequited?”

They’re in the Gunmen’s tiny kitchen. Mulder’s wrist deep in soapy water, washing the last of the dishes. She’s rinsing and stacking them in the drainer. They’re both a little drunk.

“Scully, is Melvin your backdoor man?” He playfully bumps against her as he asks. “A guy might wonder, you know. You never made me a birthday dinner.”

“Mulder, I’ve lost count of the times I’ve cooked for you.”

He pouts at her. “Not on my birthday.”

“Don’t whine,” she chides, and he yelps when she pokes him in the ribs. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“And how come we’re stuck here in the kitchen washing dishes? They’re not our dishes.”

“Because the gift was dinner and cleanup,” she reminds him.

“Okay, now I’m sure of it. I’m gonna kick his ass.” The birthday boy takes that moment to stick his head around the doorway.

“Hey, you two, you about got this wrapped up? We’re setting the table for poker.” He has two small pointy birthday hats on his head, resting low on each side and facing out, so he looks like a demented mountain goat. The elastic bands of the hats make thin white stripes down his cheeks and under his chin.

“Speak of the devil,” Mulder says. Frohike’s eyes are glazed behind the thick lenses of his glasses. Mulder notices, too. “Fro, were you guys indulging in the wacky tobaccy while we’ve been in here slaving away? We are federal agents, you know.”

“Fuck off, Mulder, it’s my birthday. Besides, we took it outside. Wouldn’t want to be responsible for any contact high.” His eyes slide over and meet hers. “Pardon my language, Agent Scully.” She chuffs softly at the formal apology, and he offers a smile both shy and lecherous. “That was a splendid meal you prepared tonight.” He places a gloved hand over his heart and sways drunkenly in the doorway. “The depth of my gratitude for your exquisite birthday offering cannot be expressed adequately with mere words.”

Mulder blows a long, wet raspberry. “Oh, please.”

Langley yells from the large main room, “Frohike, where’d you put the poker chips last time we played? I can’t find ‘em.”

The little man looks back over his shoulder and one of the hats slips down to cover his ear. He shoves it back into place and bellows, “In the cabinet under the oscilloscope, right where they belong, dumbass.” He turns back, muttering, “Kids.” It takes him a second to refocus on them. “You’re staying for a few hands, right? ‘Cause it’s my birthday. Double nickels, y’know.”

“I found them!” Byers shouts.

Langley, who’s been designated DJ for the evening, drops the needle on the next record in Frohike’s requested rotation and The Doors open with Roadhouse Blues. Mulder at once launches into his version of stationary funky dance moves, and she snickers into her shoulder. She raises her voice so she can be heard over her partner’s toneless singing. What he lacks in talent he makes up for in volume.

“We’ll stay for a while longer, birthday boy,” she tells Frohike. “Be there as soon as we finish up.”

Now Mulder is playing an imaginary harmonica, bent at the waist, shaking his rump. Frohike makes a disgusted face at him and pushes past, grabbing a couple beers from the fridge and offering them to her. She silently declines for both of them.

“Suit yourself,” he tells her over his shoulder as he exits the kitchen. “Just means more for me.”

As soon as the song ends and they’re alone, Mulder takes the dish towel from her hands and pulls her into his arms. She stiffens for a moment, until he soothes her with long strokes of his hand down her back, and she gradually relaxes. It’s just the boys and they know, even though they’ve never been offered definitive proof.

“Ask you a question?” He buries his nose at her temple.

“Depends. What do you want to know?” She waits for him to pull back, but he stays where he is. And now that she’s paying more attention she feels a slight difference in the way he’s holding himself, a tension that wasn't there before. “Mulder, what is it?”

“Have you ever thought about…” He hiccups softly near her ear. “Do you ever wonder… I mean… do you think we could ever live together, or would that be too much for you?”

He obviously doesn’t want to move so she does it instead, leaning away until she can see his face. He peers back at her, shy and boyish. “Mulder, is this you asking, or the beer you’ve consumed?”

“I can handle three beers, Scully. So… have you ever thought about it?”

“No, I haven’t, not seriously. And frankly I’m surprised you would even entertain the idea. I mean, unless you have no problem handing the Bureau the perfect reason to separate us. Why would you even consider such a thing?”

“But if we didn’t have to worry about that, if protocol and regulation didn’t factor into it, is it something you’d consider?” He gazes at her earnestly.

“Mulder, where is this coming from?” He blinks long at her, and his face undergoes an almost imperceptible change. But she reads him just fine.

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He starts to turn away, but she grabs his hand to stop him.

“Have you thought about it?” she asks.

He shoots her his ‘Well, duh,’ face. It’s not as sharply defined as it usually is. He’s softer from the alcohol in his system. His edges are smoother, less prickly than normal. It looks good on him. She stills and takes a minute to consider what she’s been handed.

“All right. Well, if things were different,” she cautiously begins. She has to get this right because she knows if she doesn’t, he might not ask again. “If circumstances were to change and we were no longer bound by Bureau standards of conduct… then, yes, I would give it serious consideration. Even so, it’s a huge step. In or outside of the FBI.”

That seems to satisfy him, as he takes that moment to lean in and kiss her a bit sloppily. She opens one eye to squint at the doorway and, finding it empty, sinks into his embrace. She’s a little dizzy by the time they break apart.

“Why now, Mulder?” she asks quietly.

“Oh, you know. Never hurts to plan for the future.” He pulls out the sink plug and rinses away the stray bubbles once the water’s drained. He dries his hands and says, “C’mon, Scully, let’s go take Frohike’s birthday money.” He grasps her elbow and leads her out of the kitchen as Jim Morrison wails You Make Me Real from the other room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She knocks on the door of his motel room at a quarter till ten, a fine mist kissing her skin and making her hair spring up curly around her face. She’s in pajamas and her trench coat. Her feet are bare. She’s cold and wet but she needs him; needs the comfort he can offer.

Mulder swings open the door, clad in an undershirt, the belt on his slacks unbuckled and the ends hanging loose. “Hey,” he greets her.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” He takes her arm and leads her in, shutting and locking the door behind them. “Are you okay, Scully? What’s wrong?” She sheds her coat and sits on the end of the bed, and he drops down beside her. “Scully?”

“It’s stupid. I don’t know why I’m so upset.” He hops up and brings back a towel from the bathroom. “Thank you,” she tells him, patting herself dry. “Mom called me earlier tonight.”

He drops to a crouch in front of her and covers her knee with a hand. “What happened? Is everybody okay? Is your mom – “

“No, she’s fine, everyone’s fine.” She takes a deep breath. It’s Mulder, she reminds herself. She’s safe with him. It’s alright. He deserves to know this part of her, too. “Mulder, Bill and Tara are expecting again.”

“Oh, Scully,” he breathes softly. He settles back beside her and pulls her into his arms. “I know this must be hard for you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m happy for them, I am. They’d almost given up before she got pregnant with Matthew. And now to be blessed with a second miracle and so soon after the first…” Despite her efforts to hold fast, tears begin to replace the rain on her cheeks, and she can’t swallow down the sob that’s wrenched from her chest.

He tucks her closer and rides out the storm with her, his palm cupping the back of her head as her tears dampen his shirt. He whispers a litany of reassurances and apologies. She doesn’t have to explain her pain or try to make excuses for it. This is part of their shared history, this rough landscape littered with their various ghosts.

“Jesus, Scully. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry.” He is solid around her. He’s her foundation. She can get through anything so long as he’s there to put her back up against.

“It’s okay,” she sniffs, brushing away a last tear and squaring her shoulders. “I’ll be okay. Stop apologizing, Mulder. You didn’t do anything.”

He chuckles darkly. “Uh, yeah, I kind of did. I dragged you into all this in the first place, didn’t I?”

She pulls away and scowls at him, met with his guilty visage. “No. You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself right now, Mulder. It’s my turn.”

“Shit.” He’s instantly repentant and mumbles in acknowledgement, “Okay, I am officially a self-centered asshole. Come back here, Scully. Let me do better.”

She allows him to tug her close again and he pulls her into his lap and braces an arm behind them, inching them up the bed until he can lay her down. He unfolds and joins her, turned so they’re facing each other. He takes her hand and knits their fingers together. His eyes are full of storm clouds as he studies her.

“I wish I could give you this one thing, Scully, more than anything else. And I am sorry that your involvement with the X-Files has cost you so much.”

“It’s cost you too, Mulder. Just as much. Neither of us have a claim to victory on that front. And you know I’m here because I want to be. Every day I wake up and make that choice. But I think it’s okay to grieve for the things we’ve lost. It has to be. It’s the price we’ve agreed upon. And I still wouldn’t change a day.”

He stays quiet beside her and eventually untangles their hands, reaching to lay his in the dip of her waist. She moves closer and tucks her knees up a little and he throws a leg over hers. They both heavily sigh their relief in tandem and their eyes meet, mouths lifting in tiny secretive smiles.

“We certainly are something, aren’t we?” she continues. “It’s beginning to look more and more like we’re stuck with each other. No one else could ever understand what we’ve been through. And, I mean, let’s be honest, Mulder. Who else would want us at this point? We’re damaged goods.”

He chuckles and rubs the tip of his marvelous nose across her forehead. “We are deeply fucked up. That’s true enough.”

“But we fill in each other’s scars well, don’t we? I don’t think I could ever find anyone else who fits me so well.”

“Yeah, all your parts seem to mesh very nicely with mine.” His nose is replaced by his lips, and he covers her brow with firefly kisses. “Especially this part.”

“We should be terrified by the idea, Mulder.”

“Who says we're not?”

They lose themselves in the kind of laughter no one else could make sense of. It’s all part of their unique partnership, the one-of-a-kind flavor of their shared experiences. Of their mutual grief. And their love. It occurs to her that as isolated and odd as their lives may have become, they are inexorably entwined and stronger for it. She wouldn’t want it any other way. There are still miracles to be found. And she knows them to be sweeter when they’re discovering them together.

They’re going to be fine. She refuses to accept anything less than that.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Till next time...

#msr #xfiles #x-files fanfic #the in-betweens #today-in-fic

17 notes · View notes

iamanartichoke · 9 months

Text

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

#fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fandom things #tumblr things #i may have said this at some point #i'm sure i have #but whatever - just in case #i don't say this with the presumption that i'm so amazing and people are clamoring to save my fics #but just if anyone is so inclined that's all #ftr i don't intend on ever removing my fics from ao3 or deleting fandom things from this blog #i've always shared my fandom things with the intent of keeping them shared bc that's the whole point of posting #but the fandom atmosphere and ao3 constantly being under attack who knows what can happen #not that this applies to anyone but should all else fail you can also reach out to me and i will personally give you a copy #at least of fics bc i save everything #not so much the tumblr things but this is a good reminder to myself that i should do that for the things i care about #that i've made or done and only posted here #anyway sorry i have now used up my quota of the putting words into sentences doing for today #i have plans to stare into the void now

21K notes · View notes

rafeandonlyrafe · 5 months

Text

a bet's a bet

rafe participates in no nut november

words: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, female masturbation (with toys), p in v sex, unprotected sex

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs

nov. 1

“this is the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard.” you cross your arms over your chest, but your boyfriend doesn’t give in, remaining steadfast.

“i already agreed to the bet, baby. you can’t change my mind.” rafe simply says, focusing on looking out the window instead of at you, avoiding your glare.

“i have needs too rafe! i can’t believe you’d agree to this without talking to me first.” you stand up from the couch, tired of this conversation. you grab your laptop and head up to your shared bedroom.

if rafe was going to make a stupid bet to not cum for the entire month of november, then you are at least going to repurchase a vibrator and dildo that rafe threw away when you first started dating, claiming you’d never need them again.

you pay for rush shipping and use rafes credit card, because fuck him.

nov. 3

“come on, just eat my pussy.” you groan, legs spread wide open on the bed, trying to convince rafe to pleasure you, but he just shakes his head no.

“baby, if i eat you out, i’m going to fuck you too. i can’t cum and break the bet, it’s only november 3rd. it’s been three days, we can do this.”

you close your legs as rafe lays down in bed next to you. you shouldn’t even be particularly needy yet. it’s not like you haven’t gone this amount of time before without having sex, but knowing you can’t have him is torture.

you can’t imagine a world without rafes cock, you’ve gotten so used to being stretched out by him on the regular that an entire month without is giving you withdrawal symptoms, increasing your horniness to unbearable levels.

nov. 5

look what just arrived. you attach a picture of your opened package, pink dildo and vibrator sat inside the box.

rafe reads the message but doesn’t deem you a reply, too busy doing whatever with barry. you honestly doesn’t care as you cunt pulses, needing to feel something inside of it, knowing it won’t be anywhere near as satisfying as rafes cock, but it will do. for now.

you strip yourself free of clothing and lay down on the bed, not even needing to go into the hidden album on your phone of nudes rafe has sent you, or when he snatched your phone off the nightstand and videoed you getting fucked, you simply imagine rafe being there, being the one touching you.

you send snaps to rafe, hoping to entice him into coming home and giving you his cock, but when you send him a video of you coming on the dildo, he simply replies with good try princess.

nov. 6

“aren’t you jealous of my dildo?” you ask, purposely leaving it out on the bed, but rafe doesn’t say a word as he lays down for the night.

“of course i am. this is hell for me too, y/n, but a bet is bet.”

nov. 7

“they won’t even know. just fuck me, i need it.” you whine, rocking against the seat that you’re sat on, not even caring that you’re out on rafes boat, and anyone could see you, not when he’s shirtless, muscles gleaming in the sun, a slight sweat sheening his skin from the high temperature.

“i can’t lie, princess. besides, they’ll know.”

“please, i’m desperate.” you beg, sliding off the stool to sit next to rafe on the captains bench as he effortlessly steers the boat towards deeper water.

“sorry baby.” rafe just tsks.

“can we make out at least? you’ve barely kissed me at all this month.” it’s true, in an effort to keep himself from growing a boner and losing self control, rafe has kept all of your kisses brief.

“fine, but keep your hands away.” rafe says, also missing your lips against his.

you were hoping you could press your body against his, at least get some relief, but rafe does make you keep your distance as your lips glide over his.

nov. 9

“i think this counts as girlfriend cruelty.” you cross your arms over your chest after another unsuccessful attempt at begging rafe to fuck you.

“i’ll make it up with a shopping spree.” rafe offers, and it’s not as good as his dick, but you still agree to it.

nov. 10

“does it feel as good as me?” rafe whispers in your ear, resisting the urge to reach down and help you out as you’re sat on the bed, fucking yourself with your new dildo as he tries to ignore the pulsating erection, forcing himself to think about things that turn him off, even as you’re laid out masturbating in front of him.

“fuck no it doesn’t.” you grunt, desperate for an orgasm even though you hate doing it solo, especially when rafe is right there, able to help. “which is why you should give up on this stupid bet and fuck me. need your cock, baby, i miss it.” “sorry.” rafe kisses your cheek, but still watches you in fascination as you cum.

nov. 12

“miss you.” you tell rafe, snuggling into his side as his arms are wrapped around you, keeping you tight to his body as you cuddle, having just enjoyed a lazy day together.

“miss you too baby.” rafe kisses the top of your head, letting his hands touch your, rub over your back, but never venturing into dangerous territory.

“want you so bad.” you complain. you don’t mean to ruin the sweet moment, but you really are beyond desperate for rafe.

“18 more days, we can do it.” rafe says, but you’re really not sure that you can.

nov. 13

“maybe i’ll go sleep with topper.” you say, hands on your hips, finally getting rafes attention as his head snaps up.

“fuck you will not.” he grunts.

“well, this bet is between you topper and kelce, right? maybe i’ll just go make them cum and then you can finally fuck me. i would also get some new dick out of it.” “you’re being a brat.” rafe says, knowing they’re idle threats, there’s no way you’d ever cheat on rafe, you just want to get him to break.

“well what are you going to do?” you taunt. “it’s not like you can punish me.”

rafe just smirks.

nov. 15

“what are you working on?” you ask rafe, placing your hands on his shoulders as he types away on his laptop. you bend down and give him a kiss on the cheek as he hums about whatever project he’s doing. you rub your hands over his shoulders, mumbling something about tension and working too much.

you let your hands move forward against his chest, and then lower and lower, until rafe is pushing your hand away from his crotch.

“come on, please.” you pout.

“you’re halfway there, baby. we can do this. a little bit longer and i’ll make you cum every day in december.” “multiple times a day, i think i’ve earned it.” you argue back.

nov. 16

you’ve had it. you’re sitting watching rafe work out, pussy dripping into you’re underwear, and you’re done with the games and the stupid bet, you’re getting your boyfriend to fuck you today.

you leave the home gym, rafe asking you where you’re going as he lifts the weight, but you ignore him. you head into your bedroom, changing into rafes favorite pair of lingerie and a tall pair of heels that still don’t cause you to reach his height.

you walk back down the stairs, heels clicking on the hardwood floor as you reenter the gym.

“fuck, baby, don’t do this to me.” rafe drops his head into his hands, physically unable to look at you.

“no. fuck this bet. it’s so stupid, rafe, i’m about to explode. i need you to fuck me. i don’t care what you lose.” “fine.” rafe says, and you think you misheard him at first.

“what?” you question.

“get the fuck over here before i change my mind, god i need you.” rafe stands, meeting you halfway as your bodies clash, lips pressed hard against each others as you paw at rafes clothes, needing to see him in all his naked glory.

you don’t even care that he’s sweaty from the gym, or that he’s lowering you onto the tiled floor instead of your bed. you’re not going to take the time to move even a foot.

“take your shorts off, fuck.” you groan, hands slipping as you try to push them down his hips.

rafe pauses his assault on your mouth to push his shoulders and underwear down, his hard cock springing free, tip already leaking with his balls hanging heavy down, filled with need from going without an orgasm for so long.

you pull your underwear to the side, revealing your soaked cunt. all it took was rafe agreeing to have sex that you got a rush of wetness.

rafe doesn’t waste time fingering you to open you up. you’ve been consistent enough with your dildo that it doesn’t hurt at all as he slides in, his warmth pressing against your walls as rafe groans, eyes fluttering shut as he cums before he even gives you one thrust, spurting into your pussy.

it’s too quick for you, but you still moan, clit pulsing as you finally get your boyfriend inside of you again.

“fuck, forgot how fucking tight you are.” rafe moans, and despite just cumming, he begins to snap his hips again already, fucking the cum further into you.

you reach down with one hand to rub your clit, pulling your boobs out of your bra with the other, letting them bounce with every hard thrust rafe delivers, not going easy on you despite it being 16 full days since you last had him.

“never doing no nut november again.” rafe promises you, pressing your lips back together in a searing kiss as you wrap your free arm around his shoulder and pulling him into you, his chest pressing against your sensitive nipples.

“i love your cock so much.” you moan, knowing when this is over you are going right upstairs and throwing that dildo away again.

“cum for me baby.” rafe begs, already feeling a second orgasm build, somehow having more cum to give you.

“yes, rafe!” you shout, back arching up off the floor as you cum, rubbing your clit to completion as rafe finishes inside you again, the excess of cum spilling out even as he keeps himself deep inside of you.

rafe collapses on top of you, twisting to the side so all your weight isn’t on him. he flinches when his bare skin hits the floor. “fuck, it’s cold.”

“it’s tile, dummy.” you giggle, causing rafe to groan when your pussy tightens. “take me upstairs, please.” you press your lips to rafe.

“i need a little bit of a break, baby.” rafe says, and you can tell from the way his cock is steadily softening inside of you.

“nope, you can eat me out until you’re ready to go again. i absolutely deserve this.” rafe laughs softly, “okay, you do.”

nov. 17

“you didn’t tell me this is what you had to do if you lost!” you shout at rafe as he looks at himself in the mirror.

“would it have changed how crazy horny you were?” rafe asks.

“i mean- no.” you sigh. “but you could have told me! i probably could have made it 15 more days if you just fingered me or something!” “do you wanna do it for me or do i have to do it myself?” rafe asks, causing you to snatch the clippers out of his hand.

“i’ll do it.” you run the blade over his head, watching as the gorgeous blond strands of hair fall off your boyfriends head, having to buzz it because he couldn’t resist fucking you for an entire month.

#tumblr has been glitchy with me today so if theres like layout errors im sorry #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #outer banks smut #rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe imagine

6K notes · View notes

bicheetopuff · 5 days

Text

I guess it’s this kids birthday so I’m gonna remind you what character development can do to a mf

He deserves to be happy

#bakudeku #bnha #bkdk #bakugou katsuki #bnha spoilers #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #I had so many other examples #I literally spent an hour trying to narrow down all the panels to just ten #I’m also posting a fic later but I still have to edit so I thought I’d post something incase I don’t get the fic done today oops

2K notes · View notes

katy-kt-katie · 9 months

Text

“Bar Confessions”

Unrated / MSR

Tuesdays were slow; a small handful of regulars asking for a standard American draft beer, tipping a dollar here or there. He’d started coming in on Tuesdays a few months ago—not every Tuesday, but enough of them that it had become predictable, enough that I looked forward to his visits breaking up the monotony of the shift.

He’d sit at the bar, usually with a few files in his hands. At first, I thought he was a lawyer, given his suit and tie, but I’d learned a few weeks ago that he was an F.B.I. agent; he’d stepped in and helped when a woman had gotten drunk and rowdy and started to threaten the regulars.

I liked him—he was smart, often talking about science and space, and he was handsome, with a chiseled chin and stormy green eyes. When I talk, I feel like he’s really listening. He’s not arrogant like many of the men I serve; he was quite sweet, actually. He always asks me to surprise him with whatever drink I want to make, saying he doesn’t care; he just needs to be somewhere on Tuesdays.

***

The bar bustled with people on Fridays , groups of colleagues and friends drunkenly laughing and smiling as they shuffled in and out. Buckets of beers and rounds of shots giving a sense of community to all the patrons filling the walls.

Except for her, I noticed her the first time she came in—several months ago. She sat at the bar and kept to herself, always ordering a gin and tonic and quietly swirling it with the stirrer while she read journals—medical journals, I’d learned. I’d seen man after man attempt to buy her a drink or strike up a conversation—and I understood why. She’s beautiful, with soft blue eyes and striking red hair; I don’t think she realizes just how stunning she is since she always seems surprised by these advances. She always turned them down.

***

Last Tuesday , I got up the courage to ask him if he wanted to grab a drink with me on some night other than a Tuesday at some bar other than here. The awkward smile on his face answered my question faster than his lips could. “That’s so kind of you, but I’m really busy with work and,” he’d stopped talking and sighed.

“You have a girlfriend?” I asked. “It’s okay.”

“Not exactly,” he’d said.

And then, in a tale as old as time, he bared his soul to a bartender because that’s what people do. He loved his coworker. She’s incredibly smart and so sexy, and I always think about her , he’d said. He told me he came in on Tuesdays because that was the night she went to church meetings with her mother, and he hated being home alone, knowing he couldn’t call her and she wouldn’t call him.

“Have you told her how you feel,” I asked, serving him the martini I thought he needed tonight.

“No,” he laughed, “Absolutely not. There are rules against us being together like that—at work—and I don’t think she feels the same way.”

“And nothing has ever happened?” I asked.

He looked reluctant, his eyes shooting from mine to stare into his drink. “One time, I almost kissed her, and she looked terrified.”

“So you stopped?”

“No,” he scoffed. “A fucking bee stung her before I even had the chance.”

“A bee?” I said, grabbing a refill on a draft for a regular as I continued to talk. “What are the chances.”

“And now my ex-girlfriend is working with us, and that’s causing friction too.”

“Ah,” I said. “And you aren’t interested in your ex-girlfriend?”

“I’m only interested in one woman—my partner. That is why, as sweet as you are, I can’t agree to hang out in good conscience. My heart is with her.”

“I get it,” I smiled. It was okay; it truly was. “You’re just cute, is all.”

He blushed and smiled, throwing a twenty on the bar. “I wish she thought so.”

***

Two Fridays ago, she came in particularly alive—feisty, combative; I didn’t know her quite well enough to put a name to it. She drank her gin and tonic in half the time as usual and quickly ordered another one.

I filled a bucket with beers for a bachelorette party in the corner, cleared some cash off the bar from a group that had just left, and then headed back to her with drink number two.

“So what’s the occasion,” I asked, “you seem to be hitting it a little hard tonight.”

“It’s a long story,” she said.

“Try me,” I offered. She sighed. “Hey, Ralph, I’m taking my break,” I yelled to the other bartender.

I offered her a hand, and she followed me to the back alley. “So what’s going on? You alright,” I asked as I pulled a cigarette from my shirt pocket.

“I’m in love with my co-worker,” she said, looking at me shyly as if to check for any judgment.

“Okay. And something must have happened today?”

“His ex-girlfriend is back in the picture and trying to get back together with him.”

“Okay. Hold on. Back up. Does he know you like him?” I asked.

“No, definitely not,” she chuckled. “We aren’t allowed to be together like that anyway, it’s against our work policy.”

“Aren’t you a doctor?” I said, taking a drag off the cigarette. “If so—one, please don’t judge me for this habit,” I teased, holding up my cigarette. “And for two, I thought all the doctors were in relationships like on E.R.” She smiled and reached her hand toward mine, asking for a puff. I grinned and offered it to her.

“I am a doctor,” she said taking a long drag. “But I don’t work as a doctor, and also, I share this habit…very occasionally, when I’m stressed,” she smiled.

“What do you do?” I asked.

“F.B.I. Agent,” she said as if it was a regular job like a banker or a teacher.

“F.B.I. Agent?” I repeat. “Wow. You are very hot, do you know that? No offense, but all these men hit on you Friday after Friday. I wondered why you were never interested,” I take another drag, “it turns out you are into your co-worker, but it also turns out you are even hotter than I thought or these men thought because you are a doctor and work for the F.B.I.?”

She laughed. “I guess so. But it’s not enough for him. He’s never really tried anything with me—it’s been years.”

“Never? I find that hard to believe,” I said. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out, actually. But I get that your mind is on someone else.”

She smiled, not answering, but it was clear to me that her answer would be no. “He tried to kiss me once. I thought it was going to happen, and the whole thing felt like slow motion. I was so nervous, after all these years, panicking about how I wanted to make it good. I wanted it to be the best kiss he’d ever had.”

“And?” I ask.

“And I got stung by a bee just as his lips were grazing mine,” she reached her hand up and stroked a finger across her lip, almost like she could recall the feeling.

“And now his ex?”

“Well, she was back before that happened, but now she’s really back and around more, and I’m pretty sure he’s spending time with her.”

“Why do you think that?” I asked.

“These Friday nights—he says he’s going to his friends, but I’m guessing he’s with her. That’s why I come here—I don’t want to be alone.”

“Maybe you need to talk to him about it?” I offer.

“Maybe,” she smiled, taking one more puff on the cigarette. “Thanks for this—the chat, I mean. I’m going to take off.”

She handed me a twenty and walked off.

***

During football season, Sundays at the bar were packed; tons of Washington fans filled the walls, chanting the fight song for hours on end. I started to clean up as the masses dwindled, a close loss taking the air out of the party. Marty, a friend for years, was on shift with me that day, and we hadn’t caught up in weeks.

We bantered as we washed pilsner glasses, him reminding me of our pact to get married if we were both single at thirty-five.

“There was a regular that I see, that I had my eye on,” he teased, handing me a freshly cleaned glass to dry and put away.

“Oh yeah?” I joked back, “Looks like a Barbie?”

“No,” he chuckled. “Pretty redhead, brilliant, but she’s in love with her co-worker. Guy hasn’t made a move on her, and it’s been years. Tried to kiss her once, but you won’t believe this—a bee—”

“Stung her?” I asked, shocked. My hand flew to my mouth in surprise.

“Yeah!” he said. “You’ve heard this story?”

“Funny enough, a regular I have a little crush on told me the same story,” I squinted at him, curious. “Your girl—the redhead—she isn’t an F.B.I. agent, is she?”

His eyes grew wide.

****

And that’s how Marty and I found ourselves the following Sunday , anxious with anticipation after we’d talked his regular and my regular into coming in. He told her his mom desperately needed medical advice. I told him my ex-boyfriend planned to stop in town and usually gave me trouble. We felt bad for the lies, but they were necessary. They agreed to show up around noon.

Luckily, the football team had a late game, so the bar wasn’t too busy yet.

She walked in first, taking a seat on her normal stool. Marty was right; she was beautiful, and I see why my regular was into her; she didn’t even realize it. Marty told her his mother was running a few minutes late and made her a gin and tonic on the house.

He walked in about five minutes later, and the absolute heat, the friction, the intensity that bounded between them when their eyes connected was like nothing I’d ever seen.

“Mulder,” she’d said. “What are you doing here?”

“My friend Kim,” he gestured to me, “Needed help with a problematic ex. What are you doing here?”

“Marty,” she pointed at him, “his mom needed medical advice. Mulder, do you come here often?”

He sat beside her, the question unanswered as I distracted them with a shot of tequila each.

“Drink this. Trust me,” I said.

They both shrugged and downed the amber liquid before Marty, and I started in on our explanations.

“See, I have this regular,” he held his palm toward her, “sweet girl, very smart and sexy, but when I showed her a little interest, she’d admitted to me that she’s in love with her co-worker. There is no one else she could be interested in.”

The girl—Dana, I’d learned—looked like a deer in headlights, so I jumped right in, grabbed her hand, and talked to her directly.

“And I have this regular,” I nodded my head towards him while I held her eyes. “Smart, handsome guy. I asked him out once, but it turns out he’s also in love with his co-worker.”

They both took deep breaths, neither looking at the other.

“Mine said her co-worker tried to kiss her once, then a bee stung her,” Marty continued.

“And mine said when he tried to kiss her, she looked scared, and then a bee stung her.”

“I wasn’t scared, Mulder; I was just so nervous,” she admitted, finally turning to him. “I wanted it to be perfect because it’s you.”

He looked at her with a big smile, but they were both silent. “Another shot of tequila?” Marty asked.

“No,” Mulder said, staring into her eyes and taking her hands. “I want us both to be sober when I kiss her,” he smiled as he turned to us and threw forty dollars on the bar, “There aren’t any bees around here, are there?”

“No,” Marty laughed.

“Then forgive me; I don’t want to waste another second,” he said, his eyes back on hers. He leaned into her slowly, like something out of a movie, and her lips parted and eyes closed just as their noses brushed. It was a passionate kiss—it felt so private, almost elicited a feeling in me like I was watching a peep show, but I understood these two just needed to get the ball rolling and stop pushing their feelings down.

Marty and I turned to wash dishes just as I saw his tongue push inside. I could still hear the smacking of their lips and a small moan from her.

“You really like me, Scully. Like, like me, like me?”

“Yeah. So much,” she whispered. “But I thought…”

“What?” he asked. So sweetly.

“I thought you and Diana.”

He chuckled. “No. No, I want this. I want you. I’ve been coming here on Tuesdays to drown my sorrows, worried that your mom would finally find some accountant at church that would steal you away.”

“No one could steal me away,” she said. I heard them kissing again, the sounds changing like maybe he was kissing her neck now. “So you are really with the Gunmen on Fridays? That’s when I’d come here, worrying you were with her.”

“Really with the Gunmen,” he said, and Marty and I shot each other a confused glare about why he hung out with gunmen, but then again, they are F.B.I. agents.

“Mulder,” I heard her say in a sweetly seductive voice.

“Scully, can I get you out of here? Go to your place or wherever you want?”

“Yeah, my place.”

I turned at that, hoping to say goodbye. Mulder smiled at me as she whispered something secret in his ear. “Me too, I want that too,” he said to her; she was glowing.

“Thanks, you two,” Mulder said as they stood from their stools, and he wrapped his arms around her. “We owe you.”

“Ain't love grand,” Marty said as they stepped through the door and onto the street.

“For some,” I teased.

“Why haven’t you let me take you out? Remind me?” he said, reaching his hand to find mine in the hot soapy water.

“We aren’t thirty-five yet,” I answered.

“Why wait?” he said, stroking his fingers along the inside of my palm.

***

We hadn’t seen them in months; we hoped they were happy and healthy and onto a new start together. Finally, one stormy Sunday , they walked in together, hand-in-hand, and sat at the bar.

“Hey,” I said, happily. “We were wondering about you two. It seems all is well?”

Marty came around the corner and seemed just as excited.

“Hey, Kim. All is really good,” Mulder said. “Listen, this is a secret because of our work, but we felt you two should know. We are eloping. It just feels—” he turned to look at her.

“Feels right,” she said, completing his sentence. “We just wanted to thank you, it’s all because of you.”

“I have a feeling you two would have figured it out eventually,” I teased.

“Just like we did,” Marty added.

Mulder’s head turned in interest. “Wait, you two?”

I smiled and showed off the diamond ring on my finger. “We eloped a month ago. You two are taking it too slow; I guess,” I teased.

“Congrats,” they said to us. After a celebratory shot, they left. I realized we might never see them again, but alls well, that ends well, I thought, as Marty leaned in to kiss me.

Link to comment

#the x files #fox mulder #dana scully #msr #todayinfic #today-in-fic #today in fic #mulder and scully #bartender

65 notes · View notes

cultureisdarkbeer · 8 months

Text

9/11/01 - Fox Mulder - From out of the Ashes

From the files of Rooted in Friendship

It was September. Mulder had spent the summer wandering aimlessly. Using the identities The Lone Gunman had given him he roamed from one menial job to the other in one town to the next. Every day was spent looking over his shoulder and every night dreaming of Scully and William. Hesitant to make contact, he hadn’t even checked his email for fear of a trace. It didn’t even matter. There was nothing for him to say that wasn’t already said. He wanted to come home. To be with them again. The only positive, if there was any, was that he was meeting different people from all kinds of backgrounds and philosophies. There were more people out there that believed than he had realized. Some circles had even mentioned him by name as a crusader. If they only knew. If he was on a crusade it was to return to his family. The only way to do that would be to discover what destroyed human replacements and stop them before it was too late.

Mulder opened one eye and squinted at the time. He thought it read 10:37. He was thinking that it must be A.M. as there was sunlight shining into the window. Sometimes it was an arduous task to simply discern one day to the next. Today was Tuesday. He knew this since his last day at the mill had been yesterday and the guys had gathered at the local bar for a going away bash. The last thing he remembered was being dropped onto the couch by Randy after having too many drinks to maintain the ability to walk let alone drive a car. His head was still buzzing, but he did recall crying into a beer or two over Scully. He slowly rolled into a sitting position on the most recent couch he called home. Rubbing his neck, the stiffness reminded him that he needed to buy a pillow. Thinking of stiffness, he stared down at ol’ reliable standing at his usual attention. Not that he had much use for it. The times he did partake he usually ended up in a worse depression than before and he wasn’t in the mood for tears today. He rubbed his face and the scruff that had formed cut into his calloused hands. Blindly, he turned on the small picture tube in the room and went to the bathroom to empty his bladder. When he returned he had a toothbrush hanging from his mouth and disbelief in his eyes. The news showed smoke rising from where the World Trade Center once stood. There had been an attack on the Pentagon as well and in Pennsylvania. The next couple hours he spent glued to the television absorbing everything in front of him. His first instinct was to contact Scully, but he knew he couldn’t. The FBI had to be heavily involved at this point. Thoughts of human replacement involvement crossed his mind although most evil didn’t land from the sky, but that from within. It was then he decided his next destination would be east to NYC. If nothing else, they could use his help.

As he got dressed he accidentally glanced at himself in the mirror. He usually avoided mirrors as they reflected his heartache. Today he looked at himself as if from afar. It was the first time in a while he felt he might have a purpose again. Tanned from working in the sun, his skin glowed golden and his abs had a harder cut to them than usual. The muscles in his arms and chest were wider. Scully would be impressed he thought as he ran his hand over his chest. The pain of her absence began to culminate in his heart and he quickly resumed getting dressed frantically trying to push his mind onto another track. Any thoughts of Scully resulted with tears, anger and unending sadness. He walked outside and flung his bags into the back of an old Buick sedan he had purchased for a couple hundred dollars. The plates and registration were phonies Skinner had retrieved from FBI storage, but they got him wheels. He sat the picture Scully had given him in the corner of the instrument panel wishing he had one of William as well. Straightening his rear view mirror he gave the rural landscape one last look, put on his shades, and headed out.

A few days had passed before he had reached New York traveling from Kansas. He had stopped to visit Sheila and Holman. At least there he got to share good memories, eat some home cooking, and be the proud papa as he told them about William. He had given Holman a package to mail to Scully so she knew he was still alive and took off for New York.

As he entered NJ, he took heed of the solemn atmosphere. There was an eerie quiet looming. When he finally pulled the car into a parking spot he was near Liberty State Park. The air was cold, a frigid day with no wind, the only breeze being from the echoing of voices from the dead and the screaming hearts of the living. He came upon a spot with candles burning. Pictures and cards hung everywhere. There were notebooks too. He picked them up and read them. Poems and prayers, wishes and requests, all to missing loved ones. They were beautiful and he felt his anger rise up with the sadness. The monster inside him was winning. He spun around when he felt a tap on his arm. It was a woman with tears in her eyes. She hugged him without words. A total stranger holding him, greeting him like family. They cried in each other’s arms for each of their losses without sharing words. Others came to pray, share hugs and photos, and leave messages. Everyone was leaning on the other. Mulder had witnessed many things in his life, but such a beautiful reflection of humanity he never would have guessed to find in the vicinity of so much that was corrupt.

“Hi. My name is Lauren.” A tall slender woman dressed in what might be considered hippy attire held out her hand for Mulder to shake. “Do you have missing loved ones?”

“No… I, uh. I came to help.”

“Yes. It seems there are people from all over the country some from other parts of the world that have traveled to help. I’m from Long Island myself. There’s a group of us meeting here in a while to make the trek over into the city. From there we will meet up with the firefighters.”

“What will we be doing?”

“You’ll see.” She replied with a warm smile.

For lack of any ideas, Mulder wandered into the city with them. The streets were covered in ash. What looked like snow was more ash falling from the sky. A post-apocalyptic feel gripped at his fears. This was not cruelty from an alien force, but only that capable of man. They walked the streets. Lit candles covered every street corner accompanied by flowers, cards, letters, and poems. The walls of every business and billboard filled with pictures of loved ones.

Children, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, friends, wandered the streets searching. Some came as he did. From a pull that they did not know. From a pull to be together, for comfort from the sadness. To mourn the loss, embrace each other. When they finally settled on a street corner they waited. The firefighters were changing shifts. The truck stopped at the corner and the firemen got out as others piled in. They carried with them shovels and masks. The news stated it was an attempt at a recovery mission, but Mulder knew better. It was to dig up the dead. To find evidence of who had died, to attempt proper funerals. Most would remain where they died, their tombstone a memorial and another skyscraper to once again reach out to the heavens on the backs of their souls. The returning firefighters had it all in their faces. The people cheered them like superheroes upon their return. Those people were there for one purpose. To hug those men, to give them their strength back through their love. Total strangers giving the only thing they had to give to the men that had lost so many of their brothers. The firefighters in turn cried into the embrace. Falling apart in their arms. Real giants did exist and they walked the streets that day. It was the men in red and those in blue that ran towards their impending doom as others ran away. To now be represented by those from all over sifting through the ashes, not giving up on a chance of resurrection. If there was a place Mulder felt at home since leaving D.C. it was there among the mourning. They gave him strength to go on. To know that he was blessed to have Scully and William still alive waiting.

After sharing handshakes, more prayers and kind words, he left as soft music played bouncing off the resilience of the tall standing buildings of downtown. The Empire State Building glowed red, white, and blue for all to see that we still stood tall. People had brought their instruments, boom boxes and whatever they had, playing the music throughout the night to let everyone know they were not alone. The spotlights boomed into the sky like a signal to batman calling for a savior when the only one to answer was from inside. Mulder continued to wander the streets, like he was searching, but for what he had yet to know. He got to a large rock near central park and sat down. His heart started to race as butterflies beat furiously in his stomach. “Scully.” He said to himself out loud.

“Mulder” Scully said as butterflies grew in her stomach at that familiar feeling.

“What is it Dana?” Monica asked concerned at the upset look on her face.

“Nothing. I… I just got a strange feeling like Mulder was here.”

“Maybe he was.”

“Maybe. I miss him Monica. Not a second goes by….”

“You have to stay positive.”

“I know.”

Scully and Monica were two blocks from Mulder’s rock in Central Park. They had come to see the tragedy with their own eyes and unknowingly came within steps of Mulder. Monica waved down a cab and got in. Scully paused for a second longer, the butterflies still beating in her stomach. “I know you’re out there Mulder. I hope you feel me too.” She whispered more to herself than anything else. She joined Monica in the cab and they headed to the airport to return to D.C.

Mulder got up from the rock looking for the subway to take him back to his motel room. A kid in his twenties in a gray hoodie came up behind Mulder and tapped him on the shoulder startling him.

“Excuse me. You’re Fox Mulder!”

“What? No, I’m sorry you have the wrong person.” Mulder picked up his pace taking longer strides to get away from the attention this guy was bestowing upon him. The kid only ran to keep up.

“No, I know you’re him. You were friends with Max from NICAP. I’m from NICAP too.” The kid said extending his hand to Mulder as they walked. Mulder kept his hand in his pockets and didn’t slow his pace.

“Look I’m kind of undercover. I’m not really able to talk right now it could compromise my position.”

The kid nodded, but didn’t back away. “My name is Josh. We’re having a meeting tomorrow if you’re interested. The topic… alien hybrid kryptonite.”

This stopped Mulder in his tracks. “You’ve figured out how to stop them?”

Josh looked hesitant. “Well that’s what the meeting is about. We have reports that some of the members have seen them turn into one of those magnetic desk sculptures. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Not exactly. They might have thought they killed them, but these things rejuvenate. I’ve seen them crushed into a tiny cube and come back to full capacity.” Mulder countered.

“According to our latest reports, this destroys them. If you come to the meeting, you can speak with these men yourself. Ask all the questions you want. It would be quite an honor to have you there. You’re kind of a celebrity in our neck of the woods.”

Josh handed him a small NICAP business card with an address and time. “See you then”

As Josh walked away, Mulder looked around nervously. If I guy from NICAP could locate him, anyone could. He wouldn’t be able to stay much longer.

After a restless night’s sleep in a rundown motel, Mulder went back over to ground zero and put in some hours helping with the recovery. At a little after 7 he headed over to 8th avenue where he found a building with windows nailed shut by wooden planks covered in Broadway posters. He went down a dark alley, down a flight of stairs to a locked door. He knocked on the door and a 400 lb. man with a Spiderman t-shirt answered. “It’s the second star to the right” He said to Mulder. “And straight on ‘til morning” Mulder answered.

“Please turn around and expose your neck.” The heavy set man answered. Mulder turned around and lowered his jacket so the man could observe the top of his spine. He then handed Mulder an alcohol swab and a disposable blood lancet. Mulder punctured his finger so the man could witness that his blood was red. Lastly he ran a wand over him for evidence of weapons, tracking devices, or taps. When he was satisfied that Mulder was clean he let him proceed. The man opened the door to let Mulder in. “It’s an honor to meet you Fox Mulder” the man winked and smiled. As Mulder looked around he realized he had found the greatest collection of outcasts the planet earth may have ever known. Once everyone was checked in, the meeting commenced. There was a lot of formalities, new business, old business until finally they got to eyewitness accounts. Each person would go up front and speak of their experience. It was nothing new and all things Mulder had heard several times before.

“And now the moment we’ve been waiting for.” Said the meeting head. “Eric will be reviewing his latest information on Hybrids.”

He started his speech telling of first accounts of hybrids being birthed from human mothers using mutated eggs. He told of stories of embryo implants through abductions and contaminated water supplies. Most of it Mulder was aware and some seemed skewed or misguided. Finally, he got to what Mulder really wanted to hear. “We have some exciting news today. It’s been confirmed. We have dead hybrids. They were turned into a metallic dust. It happened at ground zero. What we believe is that when the twin towers fell, they exposed the Manhattan bedrock which is millions of years old. Folded into that bedrock is an iron ore, remnants of an old meteor. We believe that if we could mine meteors that contain this same iron, we may be able to build a weapon to combat these hybrids.”

“So where do you find this iron and how are you going to test it?” Asked one of the members.

Eric turned on the projector. “This is a Map of all the meteor dustings in the past two million years. As you can see the largest concentration is in Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada. This is where we should concentrate our efforts.”

“But how do you know this iron stuff will kill them?” Asked another member.

“Because we have it on video and we have the dust sample.”

The room became silent as he hooked up his video camera.

The video took place after the first tower fell. There was a considerable amount of smoke and it was apparent the video had been taken by someone in law enforcement. Two men with FBI jackets were running into the smoke and the camera was shaking widly. You could see them enter the building and go down steps where the mall once stood. Ash was everywhere and smoke filled the hallways. It appeared they were in search of something inside the mall. Then one of the FBI agents froze like he was magnetized to the floor. With tremendous force the two men crumbled as if from the inside out like a huge magnet drew them downward. You see the man holding the camera yell and pick up their clothing which now contained only dust. He let out a few expletives and the camera shut off.

Even this made Mulder miss Scully. He wished she was there to witness the tape. He wanted her opinion. He also wanted some of that dust. She would be able to dissect it in the lab and find the answer. Not this time. This time he would have to prove it on his own.

“What happened? It was like terminator was struck with a light saber.” Shouted Josh, the kid he had met in the street.

“We don’t know. This is all we have, but the rock that was scraped up from the site had a high concentration of a form of magnetite. If we could fashion a weapon, we may be able to use if against them.”

Walking back to the motel Mulder didn’t know what to make of any of it. Was there a way to stop them? There had to be. Nothing was invincible. Except maybe Scully. He went to put the key in the door and it creaked open with a push. Someone had already been there. The place had been ransacked, but from what he saw nothing was taken. His first instinct was to ensure the intruders had left, but they were gone. His suitcase full of cash was still intact. He searched his luggage finding a tracer. He also found a bug inside the lamp on the nightstand. They had located him. His time in NY had run out. He grabbed his stuff, packed it into the car, placed the picture back on the instrument panel, and headed west in search of magnetite and an old friend.

#txf #xfiles fanfic #xfiles #mulder and scully #txf fanfic #todayinfic #today in fic #today-in-fic #xf fanfic #the xfiles #xf fandom #fox mulder #dana scully #the x files #rooted in friendship

5 notes · View notes

qdkdraws · 3 months

Text

... okay, charlastor, bcs I'm weak person

#keydidraws #hazbin hotel #radiobelle #charlastor #heavily inspired by “Calling All the Monsters” fic that I reread today

2K notes · View notes

dsmulder4u · 1 year

Text

Hey everybody out there,

I recently received a comment on my latest story, accusing me that my story might be on ChatGPT. This is so freaking mean. My stories are my originals, written straight from my heart. Whoever you are, this is a very personal accusation and borders on defamation in a fanfic community. I checked that and my story cannot be found on that stupid AI. I hope nobody in here receives those mean comments. But of you have maybe we should something against that together. This is getting pretty bad.

#today-in-fic

0 notes

mrghostrat · 3 months

Text

404 ERROR BRAINCELL NOT FOUND

They froze as soon as he pulled back from it, looking dead at each other, close enough that Aziraphale could see his shock-wide eyes through his tinted lenses. “Nggk— yep. You remember how to get back here?” Suddenly breathless, like he must have left his voice all the way over there on Crowley’s cheek, Aziraphale nodded far too quickly and turned to leave the room. [BNF]

#another one i sketched on stream today!! tysm for the requests btw 😍#fake dating fic!!!#falling into character for crowley is just wayyyyy tooo easy #bnf au #gomens #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #rat draws #rat writes #good omens au

3K notes · View notes

altschmerzes · 2 years

Text

gen fic appreciation post. i love you gen fic. i love you serious, plot-heavy gen fic. i love you funny, lighthearted gen fic. i love you angsty whump and h/c gen fic. i love you emotionally complex and intimate gen fic. i love you super long chaptered gen fic. i love you oneshot gen fic. i love you strictly canon adherent gen fic. i love you alternate universe gen fic. i love you crossover gen fic. i love you gen fic about queer identity and relationships. i love you found family gen fic. i love you gen fic.

(edited to add: by ‘gen fic’ this post is NOT referring to rating. it is referring to fic that is not about and does not prominently feature romance, regardless of rating.)

#gav gab #thinking abt the way people talk about gen fic today #and it's often so....... reductive even when they're trying to be complimentary #'gen fic often has so much more PLOT and REAL CONCRETE EVENTS' like sure i guess sometimes #but heavily emotional character relationship based gen fic also exists and deserves attention #it just feels like a reflection of the way people talk about aro people having 'so much more time to get things done' without romance yknow #anyways. gen fic is so many things and i love it.

19K notes · View notes

starrystevie · 10 months

Text

steve's desperate, okay?

he's officially running late for his first date with linda because he couldn't find his car keys and the shirt he wanted to wear just wasn't working so he had to grab something out of his hamper and throw it on blindly which then messed up his hair and he almost forgot to brush his teeth again but remembered as he opened the front door and-

he only realizes he forgot to put on cologne once he makes it halfway to her house and smells himself. the shirt from the hamper smells stale, not bad, just stale. and steve in his normal, non-rushed state wouldn't have noticed because his trusty calvin klein would have covered it up but today is apparently not a day for things to go right.

with a sigh of frustration, steve pulls into the hook's drugstore a little too quickly and it makes his stomach lurch the tiniest bit before sliding into an open parking sport at the front door. he rushes in, pushing the door open with too much force and books it to the fragrance aisle.

"this is so fucking stupid," he mutters to himself, unable to be heard by any surrounding shoppers over the annoyingly loud jingle playing through the speakers.

steve skids to halt in front of the cologne section, crouching down and scanning quickly over the tester bottles for obsession. once he spots the amber bottle, he yanks it towards himself, spraying as much as he can onto his chest given the awkward angle he's at. as he stands back up, steve pulls his shirt collar up towards his nose and the ball of nerves in his stomach loosens at the familiar smell. he may be late but he feels like he's back in the game.

checking his watch, he sees just how late he is and makes a beeline for the door, nearly running into an older lady with far too many rolls of toilet paper in her tiny arms. as he dodges around her and extends his arm to push open the door, he hears a loud voice over the intercom.

"you're not going to buy anything after stealing cologne?"

steve stops, freezes where he is and frantically turns his head around to spot the cashier grinning at him. he has long hair and a bright red hook's drugstore vest over a denim vest which doesn't look very comfortable. he has chains in his jeans and handcuffs holding his belt closed and a smirk that is trying to kill him and oh-

"wait, stealing cologne?" steve shakes himself back into existence as the old lady pushes by him without dropping a single roll on the way back to her car. "you're going to call me putting on a few sprays stealing?"

the cashier's smile just gets bigger, like a cat hunting down a canary. steve's never felt like a canary before but can't deny that it's an exciting feeling.

"well, on a good day i wouldn't. but i'm bored and you didn't buy a single thing so technically, yes. you're stealing, pretty boy."

steve fights the urge to roll his eyes and put his hands on his hips, so instead he crosses them over his chest, cologne wafting up from the movement and reminding him that he doesn't have time for this no matter how cute the cashier may be.

he makes his way over to the counter, grabs a pack of gum and slams it on the counter. without breaking eye contact with eddie, as his nametag suggests, he throws him a salty smile of his own and pulls his wallet out from his back pocket.

eddie's eyes are a deep brown with a glimmer of something behind them and his hands are covered in rings making his fingers look long and strong. the jeans he has on are ripped on one of the the thighs, showing a hint of a tattoo to match the ones crawling up his arms. steve's no stranger to thinking men are attractive but this guy? he's on a new level. his heart thumps painfully in his chest when eddie's grin grows larger as he watches steve give him a once over. it thumps even harder when eddie gives him a once over of his own.

the clock above the register shows that he's officially 20 minutes late to picking up... laura? lisa?

no, linda. damnit.

eddie looks down at the gum and then back up at steve, quirking up an eyebrow. "i hardly think this monetarily equates to a bottle of cologne but-"

"oh come on!" steve huffs. eddie laughs and it's clear and bright, ringing off the cinderblock walls louder than the annoying jingle that's still playing. whatever fight steve may have had left in him drains away at the sound and suddenly he isn't thinking about the clock anymore. he feels his shoulders fall down to a more relaxed state, feels himself shift his weight on his feet to look more natural than ready to run at a moments notice.

"just kidding, man." eddie rings up the gum quickly and hands it back to steve. "sorry, you looked like you were in a rush. i shouldn't have created a scene just because i'm bored."

steve chuckles. "i'm already supremely late for my date so what's another five minutes. especially if it gets me..." he looks at the gum packet to look at what he even picked up in the first place. "... spearmint freshen-up gum."

"well there you go," eddie says, grin smaller than before, "a perfect thing to get for a date. everyone likes their date to be minty fresh for that first kiss."

it strikes somewhere in steve that he isn't expecting. the beemer is still out in the parking lot running so he didn't have to waste time, his watch on his wrist feels heavy, the scent of obsession overpowering. but he can't make himself move. he wants to stay and talk to eddie, wants to learn about what makes him tick.

"can i borrow your phone?" steve asks. eddie's eyebrows furrow but he reaches for the store phone and places the console on top of the counter.

"for what?"

steve look through his wallet, finding the piece of paper with linda's number on it. holding the receiver between his shoulder and ear, he dials in her number and holds his pointer finger up at eddie, signaling that he'll need a second. steve then brings the finger to his lips and shushes with his cheek pulling up in a smirk. eddie's eyes zero in on the motion and it feels like steve's gone from being the canary back to the cat.

"linda? hey it's steve."

he watches as eddie mouths steve back at him and then nods to himself when he gets the confirmation that it is indeed his name. steve throws him a wink for good measure.

"i know i'm late and i'm really really sorry to cancel last minute but-. oh. yeah, sure. have a good time. okay bye li-."

on the other end of the line, linda slams down the phone without waiting for steve to finish talking and it makes him wince with how loud it is in his ear. he gives eddie a sheepish smile, all toothy and guilt-ridden, and gently puts the receiver back down.

"what was that?" eddie asks with a disbelieving look on his face. steve shrugs.

"she got tired of waiting so she already had another guy lined up to come pick her up."

eddie sucks in air through his teeth and mimes getting shot in the heart. it has steve laughing as he falls over on the counter, hair covering his face. he turns his head to peer up at steve through the curtain of curls, the one brown eye that's visible twinkling in the harsh overhead light.

"was it true love? are you just absolutely heartbroken?"

steve thinks about it for less than a second. watches how eddie curls back up one vertebrae at a time before placing his elbows on the counter and leaning over. watches how eddie's eyes flit between his own and his lips. watches how he focuses on the latter for a little while too long.

"why would i be heartbroken," steve starts. he's being too forward, too brash, but with eddie looking at him that way, he knows he can be. "when you'll probably be on break soon and can make it up to me? you know, for making me even more late and all."

eddie's grin grows wide again. "oh really?"

steve shrugs once more with a playful look of consideration on his face, resting on his elbows to match eddie on the counter. "yes, really. this is your payback for being bored and taking it out on me."

it's later when eddie's on break and steve hasn't left the drugstore in over an hour and they're sitting in his car with bowie playing through the speakers that eddie looks up at him with a look steve knows well.

"you do smell really good, y'know." his voice is softer than steve's heard it all day.

"so are you glad i came in to steal cologne?" steve leans closer over the center console to get into eddie's personal space. there's a hand curling over his bicep and pulling him even closer, their faces only centimeters apart.

"i guess i'll let it slide this time, thief."

and when they kiss for the first time, it tastes like the freshen-up gum they both had been nonstop chewing ever since steve paid for it.

#did drugstores back then have fragrance aisles let alone samplers? who's to say just go with it #inspired by me looking cute for work today and forgetting to put on my perfume and wondering if i should stop in to target on my way in #steddie #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #steddie fic #is this realistic? absolutely not but ignore that for the blorbos sake #stranger things #stranger things fic

3K notes · View notes