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darth-shado · 2 years ago

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3 times Tim tried to get Jon and Martin together, and 1 time he realised he didn't have to

Chapter 1

this fic is a collab between ma and @im-gonna-squeet

Summary: Tim knew about Jon and Martin's not so subtle feelings for one another, so he took it into his own (and Sasha's) hands. But little did he know, he didn't have to.

Tags: Established Relationship, Attempted get together, oblivious archival assistants, Jon and Martin being little shits, Post MAG: Fluff, Season 1 Archival Crew

Word count: 1,3k

Tim left Martin's office, which was now more like his room rather than a workplace. He wondered why his co-worker was so avoidant about the question regarding his quite obvious romantic interest in another person working at the institute. Tim would guess that the person didn't work here if Martin wasn't trying to avoid this topic and get Tim to leave his office immediately when it was brought up. It must've been someone who's his and Martin's mutual colleague. But he did ask about everyone which meant that Martin wasn't quite truthful with him, although-

Tim turned on his heel, to return to Martin's office. His suspicions of who might've stolen the heart of his friend grew as he saw Jon leaving the office he was heading to. They passed by each other in the corridor, Tim smiled at him but Jon remained the same, focused on work as if he didn't had time for being friendly towards his assistants. Tim just shrugged it off as it was pretty usual for Jon to act like that at work.

He soon stood in front of Martin's office. Tim (very) lightly knocked on the door and entered the room without waiting for an answer.

"Do you-" Martin said it softer than in his usual tone, until he looked up from the pile of paperwork and saw who entered his office. Just as he noticed his voice was back to the usual tone; if a louder, higher pitched negative attitude towards him could be called that. "Christ! Normal people knock Tim! How many times do I have to tell you this?!"

He would've joined this one-sided argument if not the more important thought he had in mind. "Is it Jon?" Tim asked overlapping Martin's rant about knocking at the door and causing him to immediately go quiet.

Only in a matter of seconds Martin quickly started protesting and his face slightly reddened. "W-what? No! D-definitely not him. Uh- Why do you think so?" He tried to cover up his embarrassment by poorly acting casually which he was aware of. "Y-you know what? Just go away." Martin tried to change the subject and get a few minutes to get to work rather than daydream about his boss.

"So it is Jon." Tim said through laughter caused by his friend's reaction to his theory being correct.

"Even if it is him, that's none of your business." Martin signed, being quite disappointed in the turn this conversation took. He didn't had the strength to look at Tim now so he tried to get busy with all the papers on his desk.

"It absolutely is, seeing you pining for him is quite tiring to watch."

"What pining?" He jerked his head upwards, surprised at what was brought up. Martin had been nicer to Jon but it was just casual 'trying to be a better co-worker' and didn't think it was noticeable from the outsider perspective.

"Come on Martin. Don't play dumb. Hold on, I have an idea!"

"Please don't." He responded quickly, not wanting to know what his friend had in mind.

"You're free on Friday after work, right?"

"Nope. I am not. I have a statement that needs a follow-up and it's about time I get back to doing those." He faintly smiled, as most of the times he was looking forward to seeing Jon this time he was glad to have an excuse of why he couldn't meet up with him.

"So a lovely weekend in the countryside. Got it."

"I've already made a reservation for myself." Martin still tried to stop talking with Tim about trying to set him and Jon up for a date. Which worked… for a few seconds.

Tim was about to leave defeated but just as he reached for a doorknob he was stricken by the idea of how to tease Martin more about his crush. He turned towards his friend and said with a smirk on his face. "Wait, you're not telling me there will only be one bed."

Martin felt his cheeks get warmer, imagining this scenario. He was struggling with words, while trying to form the best response to this suggestion. "Okay Tim that's enough, get out."

"Sure thing." He said just before exiting the room, still chuckling to himself.

Tim now just had to arrange a 'date' for the two of his friends. It wasn't going to be a huge problem, he knew Jon meaning he also knew how to make sure that he will be the only one available to 'help' Martin with a follow-up to one of the statements.

"Hey, boss!" Tim announced himself as he walked into Jon's office. And leaned against the side of the desk, next to where Jon was sitting.

He didn't bother to look at him due to him remembering each one of his co-workers habit's while entering his office. "What is it Tim?"

"I was just talking to Martin about his follow-up this weekend. And you know about his situation…"

'I'm pretty sure I've heard laughter but go on.' He wanted to say but that would only make the whole conversation longer. Instead he said: "Yes, I am well aware of why he is currently living in the institute."

"Right. He asked me or more likely implied that he would like to go with another person this weekend."

"Yes, you can also go." Jon said without putting much thought into his answer.

Tim audiably exhaled. "Afraid I'm busy on Saturday."

"What about Sasha?"

"Yeah no chance, she also can't make it. We both have plans. More accurately, we are going to her parents to celebrate their cat's birthday."

Jon looked up with an expression like he was questioning what Tim had just said. The assistant just nodded slightly to prove his truthfulness.

Although this reasoning was absurd, he didn't have the heart to stop his two co-workers from visiting a cat, especially on it's birthday. "And you're suggesting I go with Martin?"

"Yep."

He signed, being quite disappointed about the thought of spending the weekend with Martin. "I suppose I could. Let me just talk it through with him."

"Great! I'll be off." As usual before he left he snapped and pointed finger guns at Jon but this time he also winked at him, which indicated that something was up though he had no idea what that might be about.

Just as Tim returned to the assistant's office he slammed the door open and said cheerfully. "Sasha! I won! And guess what?"

A few days had passed by, and so had the weekend. Tim was rather impatient as he got back to the institute and tried not to immediately go to Martin and ask how his trip went but he managed to wait until he was done with his work. At least for now.

As he was walking past the corridor he noticed that the door to Martin's office was slightly ajar. Tim knocked and when he heard an answer that indicated that he can enter he did. "So...how was it?" Tim asked.

"It went surprisingly well." Martin smiled to himself, looking up from his laptop, setting down his mug back on a table when Tim just stared at him trying to get more information from him. "Well…. Nothing really happened but we did get a chance to speak to each other one on one and Jon seems to not be as much bothered by my company as before."

"That's a start." Tim went quiet and Martin went back to carefully trying again to drink his tea. "Really nothing else? No cuddling together before falling asleep?"

"W-what? Definitely not. W-why would we?" Martin laughed uncomfortably. Although when he looked at Tim he saw that he seemed rather amused by his reaction. "Oh get off it, we rented two rooms, no big deal."

"Lucky for you I have a few more ideas for your dates."

Martin wanted to say something against those words but he realized that thanks to that he had a chance to spend time with Jon on those occasions. Tim expected any kind of answer but he took silence as a win.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jmart

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charlotteswebbbbb · 5 months ago

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What's the vibe? #67

In the news...

Venice Film Festival has just ended. Top films to think about include

Babygirl ft Harris Dickinson and Nicole Kidman, Queer ft Daniel Craig, The Room Next Door - Almadovar's first English full length and Maria ft Angelina Jolie. LFF is also soon and we'll be running through what you need to buy tickets for maybe next week.

Here's a quick list: Anora (Baker), The Apprentice (Abbassi), Bird (Arnold), Conclave (Berger), Emilia Perez (Audiard), Hard Truths (Leigh), The Ballad of Suzanne Cesaire (Hunt-Ehrlich), Dahomey (Diop), The Seed of the Sacred Fig (Rasoulof), Pavements (Ross-Perry).

New York Fashion Week is here and there. Seems to be much bigger this time around and something to pay attention to in the future. Will New York have a cultural return - and I'm not talking about right wing adj Dimes Square.... Maybe rent needs to go down?

*by Elijah

Aside from that, shows to know would be Collina Strada, Willy Chavarria, Tanner Fletcher, Ralph Lauren... performance as presentation, the lines between play and fashion show blur.

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This all American feel during an election season....nationalism....what does it lead to when it's not fully fulfilled? Also after years of unbelonging/rejecting symbols of national pride why do young people want to feel a part of their countries even though their countries have made them economically disadvantaged? Olympics overspill?

Kendrick Lamar is the next artist to perform at the Super Bowl Half Time Show next year in Feb 2025.

Sarah Burton is the new Creative Director at Givenchy. Haider Ackermann is IN at Tom Ford and Clare Waight Keller is in at Uniqlo. Muy interestante.

Dyson are expanding on their product range of hair products to include haircare which include the special ingredient: mushrooms.

Crowd culture:

In the UK especially, there is the big event/cultural moment for the country to back. Next year will be the return of Oasis. The big concerts at Wembley/The O2 feel massive. The country is in a critical moment politically as much amends are to be fixed such as healthcare, culture, infrastructure etc. It's not very Parklife but I think niche culture is more modern and mono is older and people search backwards to find larger communities.

The Return of i-D:

Now owned by Karlie Kloss who will defang the publication politically, how does the relaunched publication show that it's different in a market of British based youth mags Dazed and The Face. In its absence, The Face has developed itself much more, its tone more cheeky, more casual, more friendly and its storytelling more niche and local.

A Changing London:

London is an ever changing city. But now post pandemic we know it's ebbs and flows a bit more. Fridays are now definite days for work from home - what opportunities does this leave for businesses? We have off peak travel advantages but I don't think that's enough to get back to the office. I think that this change works quite well if you're a club or pub or a cinema, people feel refreshed enough to get to your doors for 6pm but for maybe sandwich shop owners it's different.

With even the mention of a 4 day week (maybe albeit 5 days squished into 4) from the new Labour government, where does that leave the issue of British leisure?

The culture of London has changed. The suburbs thrive and localism is popular. (Could be gentrification in small pots and people bringing the small village vibe to London?) How do the big brands/stores survive? Surely, just fine. (They would love some tax free shopping though. Also Harrods customers getting advantages and free gifts from their Middle Eastern banks? *will update when I get photo from bus*)

Things are so bad with renting, they've conceptualised and commodified house parties.......and smoking possibly being banned in pub gardens, what will young people do now? (Live healthier lives perhaps?)

New places:

Ancestral Wines: Import, Wholesale & Retail of Natural & Artisanal Wine in Forest Hill.

Goen - Japanese Head Spa salon in London

Futur Shock at Fold -

Futur.Shock CIC is the not-for-profit multi-disciplinary art platform embedded within FOLD Night-Club.

It promotes, educates & explores next-generation techniques in interdisciplinary practices & expanded fields of club culture, electronic music, interactive design, architecture, audio-visual performance, & digital art production.

Things that people talked about this summer: Slave Play, Flooded Garden by Oscar Murillo and London general public at the Tate Modern, artist residencies at clubs (Lord Tusk, Little Simz at the Tate etc etc.)

Slave Play alone shows me young people want to watch something a bit scandalous, related to pop culture, and for the creator to be...a character. That doesn't necessarily mean it's good.

FKA Twigs???

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Good content?

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Question: How will femicide and growing misogyny across the world change the behaviour of men and women and what are peoples needs going to be for this?

Also are men becoming more savvy at shopping for their own beauty? - FT

#Youtube #Instagram #parsed #what’s the vibe #vibe

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yowwsoi · 7 months ago

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This deserves a journal writing

Dumping my random train of thoughts, bisan asa ra gyud ni mapadulong

A lot has happened in the last weeks. After being employed (and underpaid) for over a year at SDG, I finally got the best job offer ever, but lost it after 2 weeks of working there due to my permit to work being expired. But I kept on carrying on. I saw this as an opportunity to upskill and give myself a break for working too much. After all, I only have one body, and that it also deserves to rest. I have been having slow mornings, long days, and mindless doomscrolling. RIP my eyes.

BUT!!!!!! A wild thought popped into my head again. (I mean.. it has never left my mind. It's always been in my subconscious. Maybe I just have a better control over my mind compared before). After more than a year of not seeing each other, Jaen and I finally met again in person.

We always keep it casual and professional by communicating through emails. We have always maintained that mutual respect towards each other to never reach out unless anything about legal matters. But one random night, we found ourselves catching up over a late-night phone call that would then later on last for 2 hours.

And on a random Friday, two days after that call, being the bored bum that I am, I asked her out for coffee.

Honestly, I wasn't bored. Okay. Sige bored na lang. But it wasn't the boredom that actually pushed me to meet up. It's more of... testing my mental well-being if I can finally push the fact nga mag kita mi.

I am also tired of the fear nga what if mag kita mi somewhere and I am not ready? Makuyapan lugar ko?

I have been thinking about this for months. MONTHS. Sometimes my random subconscious mind would tell me, "Why not meet her again? You're ready." but then as soon as I think deeper, my mind just explodes into nothingness and then I realize that I am, in fact, not ready. Lol

But yesterday, on a random Friday afternoon, my mind just said, "Yes. You're ready. Let's test how far you've become."

Everything was just.. easy. I wasn't holding back on anything. It was just like before.. more like two lost souls who are coursing through life's ups and downs, catching up, just doing everything and anything to survive. We watched Inside Out 2 - and she remembers clearly when we watched Inside Out before with my sibs nga nakatulog sya. Buyag buyag wa man sad sya katulog gahapon sa sinehan.

But just when there are easy conversations, there are also hard conversations. And I am glad I pushed through, that I was able to surpass the emotions. Surpass? I don't think na surpass nako sya. More on gi suppress diay nako akong emotions. Now that I think of it... hmm. I felt like the avalanche of emotions were passing through pero wala nako gina pa daog.

I couldn't say that I am fully healed. Siguro I just became better at suppressing and hiding my emotions. We stayed up late and just talked. Talked like there's no tomorrow. Kung dli bitaw layo among gaulian, wala gyud siguro'y uliay. Haha, pero sa pag uli kay murag didto na dayun nag baha akong sadness. Ang akong pain. Akong mga kasakit. Pero it's not the same pain anymore. This pain is bearable naman.

One thing I learned - patience. Patience in the sense nga, your subconscious might say you're ready but in fact, you're not. But it will come. It will come on a random Friday afternoon, when you absolutely can't do anything but think about how this person has affected you in so many ways. Patience in a way nga dili mag dali sa pag move on. Sit with the pain. Cry with it. Let it flow through you.

I don't understand unsa akong gaka feel karon. Murag okay ra ko nga murag dili? in fact, gipangutana ko nya kung okay ra ba ko and how's my mental state (I appreciate this, a lot). Dili ko kabalo unsa akong itubag. I want to be honest with what I am feeling. but pati ako, unsure ko kung unsa akong gakafeel.

I would say better....? A lot more calmer. Siguro ana nalang.

Unsa pa man?

Wiw. Wala gani diay mi ka picture together. Hahaha. Unbothered kaayo, wala gyud mi tanaw tanaw sa among phone while gastorya. unlike before katong kami pa, we were always glued sa among mga phone. Funny.

Anyway mao ra to. At the end of the day, I am glad. After all, she's been my bestfriend before, during, and (maybe) after the relationship. I am glad. I am content.

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theprojectreneblogger · 1 year ago

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New Top, Accessories and Hairstyle for the Paramaker

24 mars

Happy Friday everyone! Sonia here for today’s fashion mag!

As some of you may already know, we’ve started to create new items and it has been a pleasure to play dress up with all of them. Now it is time to show some of the new additions with the help of lovely Parafolks who gladly took the pose for us!

Fancy

Here are some of the fancier items we added to the PAM:

Marvin feeling like himself wearing a brand new 3 piece suit. The jacket and vest are part of the same item but the shirt can be changed thanks to the layering system

Little Eli all fancy with his cute bow and matching vest. The shirt is the same as Marvin’s and it’s also using the layering system with the vest on top.

A very sweet elder Parafolk who took some time to pose for us. She’s wearing a brand new jacket and a V collar shirt below it.

Not only did Marvin get a new suit, he also got a new hairstyle, how lucky!

Casual

Now for some of the more casual looks:

Sebastian modelingodeling with his favorite leather jacket and a new shirt.

Maggie loving the new cap and round collar shirt that can be tucked in or out.

This Parafolk is wearing a new shirt as a jacket, a reversed cap and glasses. I honestly might steal this look.

I wish I could show you all the possible combinations and patterns but the post would be endless so we’re gonna end it here.

I hope you all enjoyed seeing more items for the Paramaker and I wish you all a lovely weekend!

Sonia （✿ ͡◕ ᴗ◕)つ━━✫・*。

Edit - July 6, 2023: This post is now public, feel free to share it!

#paralives

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motownfiction · 2 years ago

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it was always about you

Sam arrives at TGI Fridays early. It’s Friday, early evening, and he’s hungry. He figures he’ll start with the broccoli cheese soup and work his way toward that Jack Daniels chicken. It’s 1990, and chain restaurants are still pretty damn good. He’ll never live to see the day when they’re not anymore.

But today, Sam doesn’t know that.

He just knows he’s meeting with Charlie.

It’s been an unusually long time since Sam has really spoken to his little brother.

For most of their lives, Sam and Charlie have been what Sam calls casually close. He loves his brother. He admires him, even. Charlie’s the kind of guy who never knows how to quit, and more often than not, it shapes up to be a good thing. Lately, though, it hasn’t been such a good thing. It hasn’t been such a good thing at all.

Sam’s pretty sure he and Charlie would be more than just casually close if it hadn’t been for their mother. Charlie was her saint, and Sam was her imago. He’s read enough archaic psychoanalysis to know that it’s not supposed to be this way; that the parent is supposed to be the child’s imago, but Maggie Doyle has been doing things strangely since she was Little Mags Brady. Charlie is the version of herself that never stopped believing, like a damn Journey record. Sam is the version of herself that wasted his potential; locked it up in the attic with the Pat Boone albums and pressed orchids from the senior prom.

In other words, he’s just like her.

Charlie refuses to see any of that. He’s been lying to himself ever since he figured out he’s the only kid who gets a solid chocolate bunny on Easter (as opposed to the hollow jokes Sam and Sadie have had to contend with since they were old enough to chew). When he and Sam had their weekly phone call a couple of months ago, before Thanksgiving, Charlie mentioned their mother was taking him to New York to see Meet Me in St. Louis at the Gershwin. Never mind that Meet Me in St. Louis was Sam’s favorite movie when he was four, five, six, and seven. Never mind that Mom never took Sam or even Sadie on a special trip. Not when they were kids and not once they grew up. Never mind that they never once thought the whole family might want to be together on Thanksgiving. They just went. They just went, left everybody else in the dust, and never once cared about how anyone else felt.

When Charlie walks through the door, he looks older than twenty. Maybe not older, per se, but cooler. It’s that fucking leather jacket. Another purchase from Mom. She got it for him for Christmas this year. Never mind that when Sam wanted a leather jacket, he had to pull doubles at the little market to afford one. Charlie just got one handed to him. That’s what happens when you’re the miracle baby after difficult twins. You get stuff, and they get shit.

He sits down like it hasn’t been two months since he and Sam had a real conversation. Smoothly orders a Coca-Cola from the waitress like he’s really ordering a cocktail. Sam almost rolls his eyes. He knows exactly what he’s going to say to Charlie.

You gotta see it, man. With Mom, it was never about me. It was always about you.

But it’ll probably be for naught.

When it’s Charlie, it usually is.

#drabble #writeblr #ch: sam doyle #ch: charlie doyle #ch: maggie doyle #year: 1990 #asks #pelopides #thank you!

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nenan · 2 years ago

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Coughs for Casual Fridays Magazine

#coughs #casual friday #casual fridays #casualfridays #casualfridays_#casual fridays magazine #casual fridays mag #magazine #lonely star #lonelystar #lonelystar.us

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tbmunson · 2 years ago

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Sex Tape + Voyeurism - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader + Jonathan Byers

Day 8 of 31

Summary: Eddie asks to make a sex tape. Jonathan is the camera man.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! Swearing, Oral (fem rcving), Fingering, P in V sex, Voyeurism, just filth tbh.

WC: 1.8K

October Masterlist

If there was one thing other than music and D&D that Eddie was into, it was porn. He had a filthy, perverted mind, but you couldn't get enough of it. He had stacks of nudie mags and porno tapes in his closet, but they weren't being hidden away. No, they were being kept safe from the disaster that his bedroom was. The most recent addition to his collection was a photo session you had done for his Christmas gift. You were dressed in different lingerie sets, posed in many, many suggestive positions. There was also the collection of home made pictures taken by Eddie himself.

When the topic of making your own porno came out of Eddie's mouth, you weren't surprised in the least. You'd expected it, anticipated for a while. "That's fine baby." You'd agreed so casually over your morning cereal he wasn't sure you'd actually heard him. He brought it up a couple days later, saying how he was going to get a camera from the Byers kid he'd been selling to.

"Okay, tonight? Or another day?" You glanced down at him from where you'd been reading over his head, which was resting on your stomach as he laid between your legs.

"Friday." He answered, rubbing your thigh gently.

You nodded in affirmation before going back to your book.

Friday came and you pulled up to Eddie's house, surprised to see another car there next to the van. You walked up to the front door and let yourself in, as usual. "Eds?" You called out, not seeing him and the mystery guest in the living room.

"In here babe!" He called back from his bedroom.

You walked down the hall and pushed the door open, seeing Eddie and Jonathan Byers standing there with a camera on a tripod. What was more surprising was the room was clean, spotless almost. "Hey." You met Eddie half way and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "What's this?"

"I was thinking, you know, if it's alright with you," he was leading you towards the bed as he spoke. "Maybe Jonathan could be the cameraman? He knows how to work the thing and he knows about angles. He wouldn't tell anyone." Eddie gently sat next to you on the bed, watching curiously as your eyes widened.

You glanced past him to the other boy, Jonathan. "And you want to?" His comfort was just as important as your own.

He went red and opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it one more time before finally speaking. "I don't- don't not want to... like if you- you're okay I'm okay." He stumbled over his words, nodding lightly as he spoke.

You nodded at him and looked back at Eddie.

"Only if you're comfortable, sweetheart." Eddie rested his hand on your thigh, circling the pad of his thumb over the material of your jeans.

You nodded and rested your hand on his neck, nodding at him. "Yeah, I'm okay. It's okay."

He leaned over, kissing you gently for a moment before pulling back. "You're a fucking angel." He sighed before running through the game plan, which started with you laying on the bed in the black lingerie set he'd gotten you for your birthday last month.

You ran your hands over the lace, looking into the eye of the camera as Jonathan ran it down your body, showing more and more of you.

Eddie walked over in only his ripped jeans, boxers poking out of the top. "So fucking pretty." He mumbled, lining your glossed lips with the tip of his finger before tapping the bottom one a couple times with his ring and middle fingers.

You opened your mouth, accepting both fingers and sucking them lightly. You moaned around them, a little dramatically just for effect. You ran your own hands up and down your body, pushing your boobs together. Just putting on a show for Eddie and Co.

You'd be lying if you said having Jonathan watch wasn't fun for you. You enjoyed the attention. You loved it. Craved it. Thrived on it. The feeling of the extra set of eyes was like none other.

Eddie removed his fingers, making sure Jonathan caught the string of saliva on camera before tapping the side of your face.

You opened wide and stuck your tongue out, waiting.

Eddie bent over you, grabbing your jaw and letting his spit drip into your mouth.

You swallowed and looked up at him with innocent, begging eyes.

"You're fucking filthy babe. Fuck." He leant his head down, licking from the base of your neck to your chin as you whined beneath him.

"Baby, please." You didn't know what you were asking for, but you needed it.

He smirked and reached down, skimming his finger along the seam where your thigh met your pussy, teasing you. "So needy for me huh? Tell me what you need baby." His finger trailed up the wet lace before he pushed his finger against your clit.

"Touch me." You gasped and whined as the feeling took you over. You ground against his finger, chasing the friction. You looked past the camera, which was trained on your core, taking in the look of pure lust plastered across Jonathan's face. Never had you thought that someone watching you have sex would turn you on, but here you were getting wetter and wetter.

Jonathan turned pink watching the scene play out, even more so when you locked eyes with him for a few seconds as Eddie pushed his finger inside of you.

You moaned and looked down at Eddie's smirking face. He bent down to whisper to you. "You like being watched, huh?" He nipped at your ear and chuckled.

Chills raced over you and you nodded. "Yeah." Your voice was coated in lust and need.

"Then let's put on a show, princess." He removed his finger from your pussy, make sure Jonathan caught the glimmer of your arousal.

Jonathan couldn't help the tent that was forming in his pants, but he tried his best to ignore it as he did what he was being paid to do.

Eddie made quick work of stripping you from the lace confines of the lingerie, making sure to press sloppy, wet open mouthed kisses against your skin as he did so. "Taste so good, sweetheart." He mumbled as he kissed down your body, settling between your legs.

You whines at the feeling of his warm breath against your dripping core. "Eddie, baby please. I need you."

Eddie kissed the insides of your thighs before looking at the camera, making sure it was on him, before going in on you with his tongue, licking and sucking loudly for that dramatic effect.

You moaned out, hips rolling against him on their own. You gasp when his tongue pushes into you leaving his nose to provide the friction you need to your clit. "Fuck, Eddie." Your eyes squeezed shut and you gripped the sheets with white knuckles.

Jonathan filmed up your body as your back arched, giving new angles to be filmed until he got to your face, which was tinted pink with hazy eyes. It was one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen.

Your eyes focused on him, scanning him down to his dick, straining hard against his jeans. Your eyes rolled back in your head and you released an animalistic moan at both what you'd seen and the feeling of Eddie working you open with his fingers.

Jonathan bit back his own moan at the sight of your arousal basically dripping down Eddie's arm as his fingers pistoned in and out of you.

"Such a dirty little whore. Fuck, baby. Ready for my cock?" Eddie asked, not stopping the punishing pace of his fingers.

You nodded, moving your hands to your tits to squeeze them. "Fuck. Please. Please fuck me on your cock Eddie please." You whimpered, rolling your hips to meet his fingers until they stopped, leaving you nearly in tears.

Eddie stood, shoving his jeans and boxers down his legs. His hand wrapped around his base, giving himself a couple of pumps before he climbed onto the bed.

Jonathan angled the camera to get a good shot of Eddie pushing into you the first time, making you moan out. He wasn't sure if you were bring dramatic for the camera anymore or if you were actually this into it. He liked it either way.

Eddie set a quick pace, still managing to plunge deep into you. "You love my cock baby? Need it everyday, hm?" He reached down, slapping your cheek just enough to make your eyes widen.

"Yes, yes. Eddie fuck. Need your cock everyday. Need you to fuck me like this." You were nearly in tears as his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing sinfully well, like he'd been doing it his whole life.

"That's right baby, tell 'em who's fucking you this good." He demanded as Jonathan focused on your redding face.

"Eddie. Eddie feels so fucking good." You choked out, looking into the lense with that innocent, fucked out expression. The one that let Eddie know you were done for.

Jonathan had no idea what he had signed up for when he agreed to do this. He knew he would be filming you and Eddie, but he didn't know it was going to be like this. He would like to think he would have said no, that this was far too much. He knew deep down though that he liked this, so much so that as you began coming undone, orgasm wracking your body, his own cock was twitching in his pants.

A chant of Eddie's name mixed with multiple profanities left your lips like a prayer as you shook beneath him.

Jonathan couldn't stop himself from reaching down, palming himself through the rough fabric of his now uncomfortably tight jeans, which he all but regretted as he felt an orgasm of his own jolt though his body, leaving a wet spot in its wake.

Eddie let his own hot thick release shoot into you, coating your walls as his hips stuttered to a stop. Once he was still he smirked at the camera, pulling it and Jonathan closer to get a good shot of your pussy leaking his seed down onto his sheets. "Get a body shot of her like that, then you can go clean up." Eddie smirked, standing from the bed.

Jonathan did as instructed and filmed your body, twitching in a few places still as you came down. He didn't notice Eddie had walked out until he returned with a warm cloth.

"Bathroom's on the left. Thanks again for that." Eddie said, lifting and spreading your legs to clean you up a bit.

"Yeah, no problem, man. Tape's yours from here." Jonathan replied, ejecting the tape and sitting it on the nightstand.

Eddie nodded at him as he left the room, not caring where he went after. "You did so fucking good, Sweetheart." He smiled, looking down at you as you whimpered. His gentle cleaning almost too much for you.

"We could do it again." You replied, biting your lip as you looked down at him.

Eddie's smile went from tinder and caring to wide and entertained. "Dirty little minx. I can't believe you like being watched. I love you so fucking much." He lent slightly, pressing a kiss to your knee before helping you off of the bed and to the bathroom.

#kinktober 2022 #kinktober #stranger things #eddie munson #jonathan byers #eddie munson smut #jonathan byers smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!Reader x jonathan byers #stranger things smut

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ymnfilter · 3 years ago

Note

i love your stories so much !!! i would love to read more about a jealous/ hurt hyde like in the context of "why did u sit on the couch when u can sit on my lap" sort of thing, like jackie not knowing how that affected him and then him telling her ya know

anonn!! that's a really freaking adorable ask aldajdaslkk. i hope this lil' ficlet is what you were hoping for:

Jackie's Real Estate (900~ words, 1/1 chapters, completed)

Hyde was a chill dude most of the time. He was the kind of the guy who went with the flow. He was aloof. Zen.

Except when it came to Jackie Burkhart apparently. That chick irritated the hell outta him. He couldn't believe she had tricked him into going ballroom dancing with her. When she had gushed about booking them a class last Friday, Hyde had been resolute. He had scoffed and told her plainly that hell would freeze over before he took part in any of her frou frou activities with her. And he’d been especially proud of himself when he’d resisted the big guns- the bambi eyes, baby talk and pout combo. That in and of itself had been a miracle.

But then she’d started playing dirty. Bringing up Fez and telling him that if he wouldn’t go with her, then she’ll just ask their foreign friend, who would no doubt jump at the opportunity to spend an afternoon dancing with his cocoa tanned goddess. And like hell Hyde was going to let that creep anywhere near his chick for that long without being there to keep an eye on him. Especially not in a couple like setting like slow dancing which perverts like him only used as an opportunity to feel chicks up. And dammit, Jackie knew it. Her face was so fucking smug as he scowled and agreed to go instead.

Her ‘thank you thank you thank you, puddin pop’s and soft ass kisses didn’t melt his anger one bit.

No sir.

And so he had been roped into spending the coming Saturday dancing in a stuffy ass room with stuffy ass people just to keep his girlfriend from getting molested by their pervert foreign friend. Didn’t mean he was going to go down easy. Hyde was pissed, and he’d made no show of hiding it. The guys were having a grand ol’ time mocking him, and Donna kept giving him disbelieving looks and teasing him about ‘being in luurve’, which, you know, he might deserve after his own numerous comments about the ‘scrawny neighbor boy’, but then again, doesn’t mean he was just going to take it.

And so, here he was, arms crossed and shades on, hiding in the basement and watching Little House on the Prairie alone while the rest of the gang played street ball on the driveway. Or well, at least, he was alone until the basement door opened and Jackie entered, throwing him a casual little ‘hey’ and calmly taking a seat on the couch.

For some reason, that pissed him off even more.

He scowled at her, no longer watching the tube, but Jackie’s attention was on the show as she was absently twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

He started tapping his foot.

Valiantly, Jackie kept her attention on the show for one more minute. She knew he was mad at her, and childishly, she was mad at him for being mad at her. Another moment passed before she sighed and turned to give him a deadpanned look, “What?”

That’s not where you usually sit.

Hyde didn’t say anything, but pointedly kept looking at her. His legs were splayed, thighs unoccupied and his back leant against the chair. He was in his prime ‘Jackie Burhart’s Personal Chair’ position. And she’d decided to sit on that lumpy stained couch instead.

The audacity.

“Seriously Steven, what?”

Hyde stood up, walked over to the tube, and shifted it. Angling it so that only he, sitting on the chair, could see it clearly. Then, walking back, he sat back down, taking his previous position.

Jackie scoffed. “Oh, that’s so mature.”

Hyde didn’t say anything. Jackie glared at him, then pointedly grabbed the abandoned Rolling Stones magazine from the coffee table and began flipping through it. Steven narrowed his eyes at it, then, lifting up a little, grabbed the magazine from her hand, sat back down, and began flipping through it himself.

“What is up with you?” she protested.

“I just want to read it.” he shrugged.

“You’re watching the TV!”

“I can do both at once.”

“No, you quite literally can’t, Steven.” Hyde didn’t answer, and Jackie crossed her arms, pouting. A moment passed. He looked at her discreetly from the top of her magazine. She looked like a riled up kitten. Fucking adorable.

“If you want to watch the tube, or read the magazine, you can just sit here and do it.” He offered nonchalantly.

“Where?” She asked bitchily.

Pointedly, he looked down at his lap. A moment passed before comprehension cleared the pissy look on her face.

“Is that what this is about?” She sounded exasperated. But she did walk over to sit on his lap. Hyde opened his arms, then brought one to circle her waist, the other holding the magazine so that the both of them could read it.

“I thought you were mad.” she said after a while, her posture languid and her voice soft, breaking the peaceful silence that had enveloped them. Hyde was good at that. Softening her. Almost just as good as he was at riling her up.

“I’m pissed.” he corrected. Then placed his chin on her shoulder, flipping another page of the Rolling Stones he’d placed on her lap. “You’re just a really comfortable chin rest.”

Jackie smiled softly, turned her head to place a kiss on his unruly curls.

“You’re so full of crap.” She told him sweetly.

“A really comfortable, really mouthy chin rest.”

#jackie/hyde #zenmasters #burkhyde #jackie x hyde #that 70s show #jackie burkhart #steven hyde #fanfic #ficlet #that 90s show

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kasha-formerlydrabbletastic · 4 years ago

Text

Ranking

Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1,967

Warnings: Food mention. Possible secondhand embarrassment trigger.

Author’s Note: Fluffy stuff.

You had never been one for rag mags - celebrity gossip is simply uninteresting at best and horribly cruel at worst - but the bold headline this week on People Magazine catches your eye as you absentmindedly place your groceries on the belt at the supermarket.

“Seriously?” you mutter incredulously, your fingers wrapped around a bottle of orange juice.

Is it worthy of a chuckle? Should you keep moving, pretend you didn’t see it? Or... and you can’t believe this thought has even occurred to you... would it be worth the six bucks to bring it back to the compound and share with the rest of the team? The options occupy too much of your brain space as the cashier tells your total, distracting you from the inane tug-of-war in your head.

“How much?” you say, shaking away the silly predicament for a moment.

The cashier, hardly older than 16 it seems, points at the screen instead of answering. Before you pay, however, you glance back at the magazine, finally coming to a decision.

The magazine slaps the counter top, its glossy front page gleaming as you unload the rest of the groceries; it gets lost in the vegetables and fruits, the cereals, the junk food... and for a while you forget it.

"Back with the grub, eh, Y/N?" Tony says, swiping up a bag of Doritos and popping it open. "I gotta say, you've done shopping trips quicker than that."

You laugh, gathering all the reusable bags into one and putting them away and say, "Maybe you should don your supersuit and fly over all the New York City traffic if you want it quicker.”

"I believe that would be an unnecessary trip," Bruce mentions from the kitchen table, sipping his tea.

“Hey, I offered to send someone out to do it,” he replies. “You insisted on doing it yourself, remember? If I recall correctly,” he continues, feigning concentration as he puts on a teasing mocking tone, “you said that you didn’t want to let the fact that you’re an Avenger now make you too... what was the word.... bougie.”

“At least one of us needs to be grounded, Tony.”

Your gaze shifts to Steve as he passes, a subtle smile on his face when he meets your eye; your tummy flutters, having nothing to do with the hunger pang you’re feeling and everything to do with the way Steve’s eyes sparkle in the soothing lighting of the kitchen. You smile back, hoping the burn in your cheeks is obvious to no one but yourself.

One by one, the team trickles into the kitchen, looking for a lazy Sunday lunch or ingredients for a post-workout smoothie. Your voices mingle together, a pleasant hum in the early afternoon of a rare mission-free, drama-free weekend.

Or so you thought.

"I'm not number one?!"

The incredulous shout draws every eye in the room; Tony sits on the counter, eyes wide as he stares into the open magazine in his hand. You giggle, turning back to your lunch, relieved to know you don't have to live with his over-inflated ego for the next century.

"What are you on about?” Thor says, looking up almost mid-bite.

“This,” Tony replies, shaking the magazine; he flips through the pages, apparently intent on finding his ranking. “It’s the Top 10 Sexiest Male Superheroes, and I’m... not even second... I’m... how am I fifth?”

At this point, you bite your knuckle to keep from bursting aloud with laughter. You lock eyes with Steve, who mirrors your amusement.

“Lang is ahead of me? Are you serious? He’s a goddamn ant! An actual bug!”

“Who’s number one?” Natasha inquires after swallowing a bite of her sandwich.

Tony looks up, annoyed or crestfallen, you can’t tell.

“Thor, of course,” he answers with a shrug. “Can’t beat a demigod, I guess.”

Thor jumps up from his chair, his arms raised in victory, Clint giving him a congratulatory high five. The kitchen descends into loud chatter, and after many demands to know the full list, Tony gives the magazine up to Natasha, who reads off the ranking.

“Cap,” she says with a nod to him. “Good job, you’re second.”

“What?” he laughs; if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear it was humility that makes him say it. There’s no chance that his ranking would go to his head.

“It’s gotta be the beard,” Clint laughs. “Otherwise you would’ve been eighth or worse.”

“It’s definitely more than the beard,” you answer.

Biting your tongue might have been the better option, as now you find yourself the center of some very intrigued attention. Perhaps your tone was a little too defensive, or the blush that certainly feels infinitely hotter now has finally caught flame on your cheeks. Whatever it was that garnered such smirks from around the table, whatever your intentions, your immediate wish is for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Care to elaborate on that, Y/N?” Tony asks, seeming to forget his fifth place ranking for a moment in favor of someone else’s total humiliation.

You clear your throat, glancing down at your food, bereft of your hunger.

“Well,” you begin. “Maybe it has a lot to do with the way he carries himself, you know? There’s a lot of dignity there, a lot of virtue. He’s respectful and honest, stands up for what he believes in. He’s definitely not hideous, either. You know... he’s a - ”

“Y/N,” Steve says, leaning forward in his chair. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s really sweet of you, of course, and I do appreciate it, but - “

“No, Cap,” Tony interrupts. “I think we should let Y/N keep going.”

Your throat closes in panic and you clear it again, getting to your feet as you say, “I’m actually just gonna go.... uh... make a phone call. I’ll catch you guys later.”

Steve chastises Tony as the rest of the team breaks into discussion, but you don’t hear any of it. Soon, you’re in the elevator, bumping your head against the wall over and over, wondering if it’s too soon to pack your bags and leave the team with no notice as to where you’ve gone. You barely register your surroundings until you enter your room, locking the door behind you and requesting that FRIDAY ensures that you remain undisturbed until further notice.

---

Each time your knuckles meet the leather of the punching bag, your mind gets a little clearer. It’s almost as if all the big and little things plaguing your thoughts settle on the surface of your fists, only to be smashed to pieces when you punch. The nervous energy that settled in you at lunch drives your fists forward, burning off into nothing with every movement you make.

Midnight was the perfect time to sneak into the gym, to get a workout in without anyone bothering you; everyone usually slinks off to do their own things a little earlier in the evening. Perhaps some have fallen asleep by this time. It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing as long as they weren’t around to say anything to you about Steve.

“Y/N?”

Then again... sometimes you’re wrong.

You halt in your activity, breathing heavily and dreading turning to look at Steve. Your hands drop to your sides as you pluck up your courage, facing the man with a deep breath.

“Hey,” you reply as nonchalant as possible.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants; his eyes fix on yours, drawing you into their depths as usual as he slowly approaches you. “Can we talk?”

The pit in your stomach grows exponentially, making you regret ever leaving your room in the first place.

“We don’t have to,” you answer quietly. “It’s just a silly magazine. It’s not like it’s about anything important, right?”

Facing the bag once more, you resume your activity, hoping against hope that Steve just leaves it there, that he doesn’t press the matter. The very last thing you want to do is spill your guts about what you thought was just a casual crush to the very man you’re crushing on. You hadn’t expected to become so flustered in such a situation, but with the spotlight on you at lunch, it had really sunk in just how much you feel for him.

“Y/N,” he continues, but you evade him.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, deciding to give up your workout for the night and hit the showers; he’d never follow you there.

Before you can get too far, though, he says, “That’s why you’re running away from me, right?”

The anger is a surprise, bubbling up as you turn on your heel; perhaps it’s your shield in this moment, a veil to wear to save face.

“Don’t push it, Cap,” you insist, making one more attempt at escape. Again, however, you’re stayed by his response.

“You’re definitely not hideous, either,’ he says, and you turn to face him once more; he stands there, wringing his hands, an earnest expression on his face. “You’re funny, and whip smart, and you don’t take anyone’s shit. There’s compassion and a goodness that I haven’t seen in anyone in a long time.”

Perhaps you’ve hit your head and you’re dreaming this. Maybe there’s a chance you inadvertently ingested some kind of hallucinogen at an enemy’s lair. Whatever it is, there is no way that Steve Rogers is standing in front of you, singing your praises like this. Not in the real world. Never once had you imagined the feelings reciprocated, so this must be a figment of your deepest desires.

“What?” is all you manage to say.

Steve’s brows knit over the bridge of his nose, desperation threading through every feature on his face.

“You can’t possibly think I wouldn’t fall for you, can you?” he asks gently. “That I haven’t noticed you? Y/N, you’re almost the only thing I notice anymore.”

"Well, that's a good way to get yourself killed during a mission."

You didn't mean to say it, and the moment solidifies around you, even the molecules in the air coming to a stand still. Steve’s eyes sparkle, blinking in slow motion as he moves forward. The corner of his mouth twitches upward in a sweet smirk.

“What a way to go, then,” he says, within reaching distance of your hand.

“So much for our selfless leader,” you giggle.

He hesitates for a moment, but when you move to offer your hand, he reaches out with his, his fingers curling around yours. The blue in his eyes glints in the low light of the gym, hinting not a single bit of insincerity.

“There is something wrong with your ranking, though,” you say after a moment, amused at the almost-surprise in his expression as he straightens his posture.

“What do you mean?”

You grin before replying, “You should definitely have taken the number one spot.”

Steve relaxes, chuckling as he glances away. His free hand combs through his hair.

“Over Thor?” he says. “No way that’s happening.”

“Please,” you answer, finding your gumption and pulling him closer; the two of you are close enough to feel each other’s breaths on your faces, “There’s no contest.”

One more tug on his hand and his lips meet yours, hesitant at first, but with a sigh, the pair of you relax into each other. Lips parting, you taste his breath, minty and clean, as his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against his front.

“If you say so,” he says as he pulls away, gazing into your eyes as he smiles, his expression a little dazed, a little satisfied.

“Oh, Cap,” you reply, your hand above his wildly beating heart. “I do say so.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america #captain america fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #steve rogers fluff #avengers fluff #captain america fluff

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skinks · 5 years ago

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u KNOW eddie sees went and mags as parental figures. some days he’ll come home w richie and they’ll be like “hi eds, we’re having roast chicken for dinner so feel free to stay but make sure your homework is done or no TV afterwards” and he almost cries

ohhhHHHH BABIE boy. U know he notices how casually and happily they welcome him in their house, where his own mother is always hovering like a disapproving vulture when he brings his friends over. How nobody at the Toziers’ even mentions allergies when making dinner, and everything tastes good, even the stuff full of herbs and spices his mom never uses, just in case.

How nobody but Richie and Maggie and Went call him Eds, and that, Eddie realises with a funny flip in his stomach, means that Richie must talk about him to his parents. And he can’t POSSIBLY snap “don’t call me that!” to Mr and Mrs T. so he just has to blush all through dinner and acknowledge internally how nice it makes him feel to have a special nickname, how included and close. It’s like they’re his family, too. If he and Richie stayed friends forever then maybe they would be like his family? Like, if Richie got really famous and had his own show like Jay Leno and bought a big house, they could all live there together, with the Losers too. It’d be like sleepovers every night, Eddie wouldn’t mind sleeping on the bottom bunk bed as a grownup if Richie was there, dangling upside-down over the edge until his face goes red and Eddie’s goes redder from laughing.

Richie helps him with the really tricky math problems and they finish quicker than Eddie ever manages alone, and that’s even with Richie getting distracted by catapulting erasers across the room off the desk with a ruler, slapping his belly and singing sometiiiimes i feeel i’ve got to [slap slap] square the root, i’ve got to, solve for x and help my Eddie paaaaassssss

They actually finish quicker than Eddie might like because he loves it when Richie changes and jitters through songs all the time like he’s got a little DJ chopping and screwing inside his throat, and especially when he jams Eddie’s name into them. It feels like being friends with Max Headroom. But they finish and play leg wrestling and watch Star Trek reruns in the den for so long that it’s dark outside when Went knocks and says it’s bedtime.

Eddie’s throat seizes up around his mouthful of Oreos because jeeze, he was supposed to be home hours ago, he’s screwed, but before he’s even coughed out his first panicked mouthful of black mush, Richie is rubbing his back hard in the right place with the heel of his hand, the place Eddie told him about months ago that helps your lungs, and it soothes something right through his back and out through his chest. Like drinking hot cocoa. He breathes out, and swallows his mush. Richie squawks along as Dingo Dan, yah beauty, neahly cawt ahselves a real rippah of a shahkthmarattack - get it, Eds? shark asthma attack? - luckily Dingo Dan, hero of the bush, was heah to save the day! It makes Eddie laugh and topple him over, and Richie is pretending to take big Crocodile Dundee bites out of Eddie’s screeching side when Maggie comes in to say she phoned Eddie’s mom earlier, because it’s a Friday and you boys seemed like you were having so much fun.

Eddie loves his Ma, but in his house it’s just the two of them. It’s too easy to be sucked into her gravitational pull, and forget there’s a whole big universe of different people who love him and who he can love in return. And if he climbs up into the top bunk in the middle of the night, it’s just so Richie won’t have to whisper so fucking loud, and they can keep talking undetected and under covers until the sun comes up

#ficlet

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scullymakesmefeelautopsyturvy · 5 years ago

Text

Several Times Scully Got Locked Out Of Her Motel Room In Her Scanties (First Time Smut Ensues) Chapter One

Space (Season One)

They sat on the city steps in the midday sunshine awaiting another of Mulder’s mysterious informants. She, eating a sad little excuse for a sandwich: cucumber-dampened white bread encompassing roast chicken lovingly Saran-wrapped and pressed into her hand after Sunday lunch at her parents’ house. An awkward lunch, during which her father had accomplished the stellar feat of not asking her about her work once. I should have cheered everyone up by asking if anyone had heard from Charles lately, Melissa had joked, darkly, over the phone afterwards.

The sandwich stuck in her throat a little as she swallowed, and out of nowhere, everything felt so… insufficient.

Was this really her life now? Crackpots and conservative suits and no sex since Jack? Reading journals alone on Friday nights and eating her mother’s leftovers?

She was still stashing a fastidiously initialed brown bag in the Bureau staff kitchen fridge each morning, as she had been in the habit of doing at Quantico.

Dana Katherine Scully, you’re hardly a schoolgirl anymore, she told herself.

Perhaps it was time to graduate to lunch in the cafeteria, like one of the big kids.

Mulder nibbled on his inescapable sunflower seeds. Rental car cup holders. The top drawer of the basement desk. The bottom drawer, and the middle. Even loose, once, inexplicably, in her suitcase when she arrived home from a three-night case in Iowa. They were everywhere, pervading her entire life with their woody scent and their easy charm just like the man who unceasingly consumed them.

He was close, now, his knees spread wide and swinging with casual rich-kid confidence as he began to lose patience with his anonymous NASA tipster. Scully kept her stockinged legs primly pressed together, her well-lined heavy linen skirt draping over her kneecaps, preserving her modesty. His fingertips brushed her own as he handed her the informant’s note, and she was glad of the excuse to break his gaze, to look down and away from his face; the inevitable thrill she was coming to know so well shooting through her body from tip to toes.

When the Space Program whistleblower did arrive, it was a she; a development Scully could well have done without. Especially one as… developed as this.

Long and lean, blonde, finessed; Michelle Generoo looked exactly like the full-sized version of the girls Scully imagined Mulder growing up with on Martha’s Vineyard, summering in Rhode Island, picnicking on lush lawns by sparkling waters while she herself played hopscotch with scavenged pebbles on Navy base blacktop, or avoided cracks in uneven paving slabs as she skipped along in hand-me-down pleated skirts and fraying hand-knitted sweaters. This was probably exactly the WASP-y horsewoman type Mulder’s parents had always envisaged him marrying, with her tweed jacket and her long silky locks and her mirror-lensed aviators.

Not a squat, pale, Irish Catholic Navy brat with full cheeks, wiry russet hair and stubborn freckles that were probably popping exponentially with every second spent sitting in this sunshine. Who still brought homemade sandwiches to work.

Michelle Generoo: Mission Control Communications Commander for the Space Program in Houston. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for me now, for I must have sinned, and am being punished with the early-afternoon arrival of Fox Mulder’s ideal woman, sent from heaven to enact my own personal hell.

Scully hated this feeling: this creeping sense of little sister inferiority. It was the mid-semester first day at a new school all over again, having been transplanted with her father’s latest deployment; Bill laughing and joking with the jocks or the prettiest clique of girls he could find, she hiding with a book in the library. It was enviously watching Melissa tame her curls into elaborate braids when all she could manage was a stubby ponytail with lumps at her crown, aged seven, twelve, twenty-nine.

What was it about prepubescent inadequacies that made them so infuriatingly unassailable? Successfully reinterpreting Einstein and near-perfect pistol qualification scores had only ever compensated for so much.

At the mention of a fiancé - a Shuttle Commanding astronaut fiancé, no less - Scully relaxed somewhat. For once, she was glad that Mulder’s particular obsession with certain matters of the universe was a little less than impressive to the casual observer.

Mulder disappeared off into the city on some unspecified errand, and sent her back to the Hoover Building to arrange flights and accommodation, agreeing to meet her at the airport.

On the plane, he seemed disappointed when she didn’t want to read his brand new copy of NASA: A History of American Space Travel, and peppered her with trivia instead.

“Did you know, all twelve men who walked on the moon agree, the surface smells like spent gunpowder?”

“Oh really,” Scully said. “And what did the women say?”

Mulder looked a little uncomfortable. Having made her point about why she might, perhaps, feel a little excluded from his spaceboy enthusiasm, Scully pondered this fact.

“They can’t remove their helmet on the moon; there’s no atmosphere.” She countered. “How do they know what it smells like?”

“From the dust left over on their spacesuits,” Mulder was clearly happy to be able to inform her.

Scully frowned at him.

“You think they’re so cool, don’t you Mulder?”

He looked personally injured. “Scully, how can you be the one person in the universe - a physicist, no less - who doesn’t think space travel is cool?”

She turned her torso in her narrow seat to face him.

“Mulder, when I was five years old, for Apollo 11, I was just as excited as you are now. My older brother and sister and I followed the news of the mission; we watched the moon landing just like everybody else. Bill and Melissa dressed up as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin for Halloween that year; they made me be the Stars and Stripes so we could all pose for photos together. I had to stick my arm out and wobble the flag. We were just as space crazed as anyone. And over the years, as the missions continued, I read everything, I mean everything-” Mulder nodded, he could surely believe that of Scully at any age - “and I found out some trivia of my own.”

Mulder titled his head, curious.

“You know, a spacesuit is a sealed environment. It has to be airtight, right?”

Mulder nodded.

“And spacewalks last between five and eight hours on average.”

Mulder was listening intently.

“Well, there’s… nowhere to… go. When you have to go,” she gestured euphemistically. “And in a zero-gravity environment - or any environment, in fact - you don’t want to just relieve yourself inside the suit.”

Mulder frowned.

“So they wear these… things. It’s called a MAG: A Maximum Absorbency Garment,” she enunciated carefully. “You just… let it go, and it… absorbs it.”

Mulder looked perturbed.

“So basically, underneath that cool, space-exploring exterior,” Scully continued, “you’ve got a bunch of highly trained, hero-worshipped men - and now, women - floating around wearing adult diapers.”

Mulder swallowed hard.

“You know, I have a little brother. Charles. When he was still wearing Pampers I would watch my mom changing him, and I’d smell those foul odors and witness the frankly terrifying contents in some detail, and I just - I could never look at astronauts in the same way again after I found out about the MAG. I don’t know, it just ruined it for me.”

Her partner sat back quietly in his chair, more than a little disturbed.

Scully smiled at him weakly, and decided to take a nap.

On the tarmac in Houston, the cabin lights, dimmed for landing, switched back to full brightness as the seatbelt indicator dinged off. Mulder sprang out of his seat, already reaching up for the overhead bins to retrieve their luggage.

Scully sat calmly with her forest-green briefcase on her lap, not willing to pointlessly stand for ten minutes while the passengers in rows A-R filed interminably slowly up the aisle, huffing and checking her watch as though that would change the physics of the aircraft and hurry anything along.

No, patience had always been her friend; she would await her turn peacefully, could wait for anything forever, so long as she knew for certain it was coming to her.

Alighted, they bypassed the checked baggage carousels, Mulder carrying the suitcases and Scully toting only her leather satchel. The pair walked to the Lariat desk, where Scully hung back, and Mulder flirted with the smiling clerk working the night shift.

In the car, Mulder questioned her again about the arrangements.

“Intercontinental, Scully? It’s probably the furthest possible airport from the Space Center.”

“...and all requisitions would let me book at such late notice. The flights into Hobby were almost double the cost. It would be a waste of taxpayers’ money.” She signalled right, checking both directions.

“Are we heading further North, Scully?” Mulder asked, checking the constellations through the windshield.

She tsked and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “It’s late. If you want to make all future travel bookings, be my guest, Mulder. But as it stands we’ll stay up here tonight, drive down for our eight-thirty a.m., and stay down there from tomorrow.”

At the mention of the morning meeting with Lt. Belt, Mulder brightened, and stuck his head back in his book for the remainder of the journey to their motel.

When they arrived at the Spring Creek Mercury Motorlodge, she threw him a look. A warning shot.

Don’t say a word, Mulder.

The motel took shabby to a whole new level: the paintwork was more chips than oil-based matte; the blown bulbs outnumbered the working ones, the woodwork of the bare-bones portico looked like it should have been condemned alongside the Rosenbergs.

The sign on the office door declared, ‘Desk open 7 a.m. - 10 p.m. ONLY ring bell outside of opening hours for ABSOLUTE EMERGENCIES.’

Scully checked her watch. It was approaching midnight. A handwritten Post-It stuck at an angle underneath read, ‘Scully booking, rooms # 8 & 12. Doors open. Keycards inside.’

“Always nice to experience that famous Southern hospitality,” Mulder deadpanned, peeling the note from the glass. They moved along the walkway, counting up as they went.

The door to number eight was propped barely ajar with a rotting two-by-four. Scully could see the square of exposed woodwork where an old lock mechanism had been removed: replaced by a newfangled electronic keycard system. She ran her eyes over the crumbling porch roof and thought, Really? This is where they chose to invest their refurb budget?

Mulder pushed the door open for Scully and held her gaze as she stared at him momentarily. He looked like he was about to follow her into the room.

“Thanks,” she gulped, taking her suitcase from his hand.

But he stayed put outside, grabbing the handle to pull the door shut, double checking their plans for the morning. “See you at seven-fifteen then? All checks complete and ready to strap ourselves into the command module?” He grinned.

Scully dropped her case onto the bed and sighed. He was going to be insufferable tomorrow.

***

After showering, hanging up her burgundy pantsuit for the next day, then losing a fight with the room’s overactive heater, Scully unravelled the tightly rolled pink satin pajamas from her suitcase. You get fewer wrinkles if you roll rather than fold, her mother had taught her.

Stepping into them, she could already feel herself perspiring lightly, and wondered if it would be better to do without the pajamas or the comforter. Her mind flashed to the various possible emergencies that might see her fleeing her room in the middle of the night: a fire, a tornado, an intruder.

Keep the pajamas, lose the comforter, she decided.

But she suspected she’d need more to keep herself cool. She remembered passing an ice machine a few doors down, and grabbed a metal bucket left on the dresser for just such purposes, tucking her keycard into the breast pocket of her nightwear as she went.

She was so warm and the ice machine was so close, she didn’t even bother with shoes as she tiptoed the few feet along the walkway. The machine hummed and clanked as she lifted the front and noisily plunged the bucket into the crisp, dry cubes.

Ice.

The Arctic Ice Core Project. Alaska. A sparsely appointed supply closet. Mulder crouching down to her level and hissing his balmy, furious breath directly into her face.

I don’t trust them. I WANT to trust you.

He’d been angry and sweaty and ripe, and it had been the two of them against the others. They’d made what felt like a binding pact, whispering conspiratorially; sealing it with their laying on of hands.

If she’d been asked prior to that about the most intimate part of a person’s body, she might have given the same answers as anyone else. Reproductive organs her studies had given her medical names for. Mammary glands meant for feeding young but warped by western culture into symbols of sex and shame. Perhaps the cushiony swell of the gluteus maximus, so favored by jocks, and creeps in bars.

But she’d finished that case on the Icy Cape with the discovery of more than a new species of worm; she’d learned for the first time about the deep, heady, overwhelming intimacy of touching another person at the back of the neck.

Jesus, she’d already been so wet when he’d grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back to inspect her spine. She feared her unguarded gasp had given her away. And when he’d brushed aside her hair and lain his whole palm against the nape of her neck, awaiting the telltale wriggle of the homicide-inducing parasite, it was she who had squirmed beneath the hot, unrelenting pressure.

Oh god, what he’d be able to do to her with those big, strong, capable hands.

Alaska at that latitude had average winter temperatures of less than zero degrees Fahrenheit. November on the North Slope saw little more than three hours of sunshine a day. They regularly experienced impenetrable blizzards that could freeze a person to death in under an hour.

But when Dana Scully thought of the Icy Cape, all she could feel was searing, blazing, pulsing heat.

She filled the ice bucket, slammed the machine shut, and carried her personal cooling system back to her room, balancing it on her hip like an infant as she swiped the keycard for entry.

She got a red light.

Furrowing her brow, she swiped again.

Red.

Again.

Red.

Sighing her frustration, she ran the card through the slot several more times, resting the bucket on the floor and jiggling the handle as she tried over and over for green, listening for the buzz of the latch electronically pulling back.

Nothing.

She threw her hands up in the air and tried twice more to no avail.

She looked about her for assistance, finding none. No one was about. She started off towards the office and slowed as she reached the door. She re-read the sign.

ABSOLUTE EMERGENCIES.

Well, she couldn’t get into her room. Surely that was an emergency. She pressed the bell and waited, but no one came. She pressed again, and again, nothing. This was ridiculous. She tried once more with the bell, and after two minutes, sighing furiously, strode back along the walkway, her bare toes starting to go numb. She’d successfully cooled off, at least.

She continued past room eight, doubling back to try the lock three more times then kicking the door with great vexation before jogging up towards number twelve, wrapping her arms around her breasts to warm herself. The ice bucket stood sentry, dripping condensation.

She lifted her knuckle to knock on Mulder’s door, then hesitated slightly. She stole a glance down at her pajamas. They were not thick, and clung to her curves, puckering at her bare nipples. Mulder had seen her wearing far less - had checked her for mosquito bites clad only in what her maternal Grandmother would have called her smalls on their very first case - and remained professional, but that had been a rare exception, borne of her neophyte panic. She worked so hard to be taken seriously, to be seen as a colleague and an expert and a peer, and not as a sexual object. It was hard to project an air of authority in pastel pink satin with your breasts announcing themselves to anyone within five hundred yards. But Jesus, it was freezing out, and she had to be up and dressed in less than seven hours. She wasn’t about to spend a frostbitten night out in the cold and give herself hypothermia for the sake of avoiding a little embarrassment. She was a fully grown woman; Mulder, a fully grown man. They were both adults here. They could be mature about this.

She knocked, hugging her chest again afterwards.

Mulder opened the door still in his shirt and tie, although his jacket was hung over the desk chair in the corner. The NASA book lay face down, open on the bed. He chewed on one of his infernal seeds.

“You okay, Scully?” he asked, frowning. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Couldn’t get back into my room,” Scully explained, huffing. “I went out for ice and my… the keycard doesn’t work.”

“You should ring the bell for the owners,” Mulder suggested, unhelpfully.

“I did,” Scully said, pointedly. “No answer.” She looked up at him and pressed her lips together apologetically. “Can I come in?”

“Of course, of course,” Mulder said, standing back to let her enter. He stood with his back to the door after it was closed. “You can sleep in here; it’s no bother. I’ll crash on the floor.”

“Thank you,” Scully said, perching on the desk. Mulder sat himself on the end of the bed and gazed over at her.

“You cold?” he asked.

Actually, Mulder’s room was as toasty as hers had been, and her toes were already thawing out.

“Warming up,” she said, thankfully.

“Just that you’re… hugging yourself,” he explained, gesturing at her arms, still clamped across her unsecured bosom.

“Oh,” she said, self-consciously, but let her arms drop slowly to her sides, gripping the edge of the desk with both hands for security. “I’m not… wearing very much, is all.”

“Oh,” he echoed softly, his eyes scanning the length of her nightwear all the way to the floor and back up again. Yes, she was certainly feeling some heat once again.

“What you are wearing is… very nice though.” His eyes settled on her own for a few seconds, then flicked down to her breasts, and she inhaled sharply, silently, she hoped in retrospect. When he looked back at her face, her mouth was hanging slightly open, and she caught herself, licking her lips for discipline, her chest heaving. He looked down again.

She felt her cheeks burning, and averted her eyes to the book on the bed, a change of focus for her mind, which was racing with thoughts of candlelight and shower-wet hair, of thermal shirts and platonic supply closet fumblings: Mulder and his fingertips the common denominator in these scenarios.

She forced herself to look back at him. He was comfortably staring now, his face giving nothing away, but she knew he was quite aware she’d seen him appreciating her exposed form. He was leaving this up to her.

She wrestled with her conscience.

She shouldn’t do this. They were partners. It was against Bureau policy. It was unprofessional. It could ruin her career if it ended badly. Worse, it could come between her and Mulder, drive a wedge between them and prise apart their newly cemented friendship.

But…

She thought of Oregon and hands and Alaska and ice, and she knew what she wanted.

You’re hardly a schoolgirl anymore...

She stood up slowly, wordlessly taking a few steps towards Mulder on the bed. Yes, they were both fully grown, and she had some very adult ideas about what they could do together.

She paused one or two paces from his knees, and held his gaze for a moment. She let her lips fall open once more, her breathing labored, and she saw his breath was keeping pace with her own.

She thought of Michelle Generoo, and of her own jealousies and insecurities, and second guessed herself momentarily. She’d always suspected she wasn’t Mulder’s type. Yes, he had moments ago brazenly taken in the sight of her nipples brushing against the silky confines of her pajama top, but he was a red-blooded straight male, and they had been right there, still standing at attention from her time out in the cold. And yes, he was looking at her intently now as she crossed the room, the propulsion of months and months of unverbalized, unresolved sexual tension at her back, but his expression was blank, and he might be nervously wondering how the hell he was going to abort this mission.

There was one way to be sure. He had done his fair share of looking; it was her turn to be brazen.

She dropped her gaze to his lap, seeking a different kind of green light.

In the dim glow coming from the slightly open bathroom door, she found exactly what she was seeking. The bulge that tented Mulder’s pants cast a promising shadow. She was go for launch.

She took another step, and found his eyeline once more.

His pupils were dilated, his lips pillow-soft and pouting, the ridge growing noticeably larger even in her peripheral vision.

She reached down for his left hand and brought it to her breast, pressing it against herself over the pajamas.

“Make me see stars, Mulder,” she whispered, breaking into a lazy smile.

His momentary expression of disbelief gave way to a grin, and he looked up at her with reverence. She let go of his fingers, dropping her arm to her side once again, and his palm moved with feathery softness over her breast, centering her nipple in the smoothest spot, where you’d clutch a baby’s fist, or a prized possession. The heat of his hand radiated through the satin, the friction of skin on fabric even more erotic than direct contact. Their gazes were locked. His mouth fell open a fraction, mirroring hers, and he raised his other hand to work both breasts, his fingers held up and away from her body as he traced circles with her hardened peaks against his deep volar arches. She closed her eyes and moaned, low and soft, letting her head fall backwards. Her knees went limp, and Mulder steadied her with one hand, docking her at the hip.

His grip sent shockwaves to her core, her pulse now strongest between her legs. She knew she was already leaving a damp mark on her pajama bottoms.

She lifted her head back up and looked down at Mulder, still seated on the edge of the comforter. They panted together in the quiet, each awestruck by the other, and Scully reached up to her top button, deftly pushing it through the opening with her delicately manicured fingertips. She did not avert her eyes from Mulder’s as she worked her way down to her waist, finally letting the shirt hang open at the front.

She took his left hand once more and tucked it inside the front panel, his massive palm easily encompassing the entire fleshy mound there. He squeezed her hip gently, cupping her and pulling her towards him at once, guiding her between his knees. Checking her eyes for continued consent, he brushed the center of her shirt to one side and revealed half of her chest to his vision for the first time.

“Oh, Scully,” he said in a hushed voice, and - permission silently granted by Scully’s hungry gaze - lifted his mouth to her nipple and latched on, sucking, circling his tongue around her hot, pink bud. She moaned again and grabbed the back of his head, twisting her fingers into his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp.

His mouth broke contact with her delicately pale skin, and he pushed the satin from her shoulders, letting it whoosh to the floor.

He was gazing up at her again, and she leaned down to kiss him now, finally allowing herself to experience in the flesh that which she had longed for, imagined, fantasized about for some time. Their lips met; wet, fervent, ravenous. Their shared craving drew them together, suctioning them to one another at the mouth as though they could consume one another entirely, and meant to. His salted breath mingled with her own, and their tongues tangled and danced. He ran his hand up her naked back, and her breasts pressed against his collarbone.

He pulled away, and she held the side of his face tightly to her bare chest, breathless, eyes closed.

“Scully,” he ventured, “are you sure about this?” He looked up at her with his soft, beautiful, hazel eyes. She didn’t know what had possessed her for so long, being able to resist those eyes all these months.

She straightened up, and took his hand once again, reaching behind herself to slide it down the back of her waistband, over her rounded ass, and into the molten cleft of her body. She spread her thighs as his fingers found her desire, parting and probing her on their voyage of discovery. He dipped a single digit inside her body, and she exhaled on a low moan.

“I’m sure, Mulder,” she murmured, smiling again. “Take me to the moon and back.”

He relaxed a little, his shoulders dropping, “Oh is that the game?” he teased, “Space puns?”

She shrugged playfully.

He smiled wide at her, or she thought he did; it was hard to see with her eyelashes fluttering closed. Her head dropped back once more as he pumped into her, his thumb resting fortuitously against the base of her perineum, that dark, forbidden, blissful spot. She felt alive, animal, raw. She let her breath come out ragged, allowed her rasps and moans to escape unbridled. Mulder paused his efforts for a second or two, leaving two fingers curled inside her, using his free hand to yank down her pajama pants. She helped, kicking them loose from her ankles as he grabbed a handful of her ass with his spare hand and pulled her toward the bed, reclining face up on the mattress and encouraging her to crawl on her knees up to his shoulders and sit back. Only then did he remove his fingers from inside of her, and her body sucked at them as he did, protesting their departure.

Scully was giddy with want, and Mulder looked up at her just then with such veneration that her heart burst with renewed affection for him. She’d never been made to feel more worthy in her life. This was so Mulder. She had not specifically realized it before, but this was how he often made her feel, in his best moments.

At the insistence of his hand pressing gently on her lower back, his fingers sticky with her own yearning, she lowered her sex to his mouth.

As soon as his velvet tongue met her clit, she cried out, almost lifting herself up on her knees at the shock of it. He held her steady, lapping at her hardened bundle of nerves with the flat of his tongue, softly at first, then applying more and more pressure as she sunk further down onto him, his chin pressing up into her heat, her slick juices gliding her inner walls against his light stubble. Oh Jesus, it was divine, and she called out his last name as she rode his face, her breath hitching in her throat as her trajectory was set to climax.

Scully chanced a glance downwards and saw that he was watching her in her ecstasy.

She was wanted. She was valued. She was enough.

She smiled down at him, not halting her movements, and reached up to pinch her own nipples with her dainty, expert hands. Mulder groaned his pleasure into her body, sucking and licking and holding her down so she could not get away.

“Fuck,” she gasped, and was lost; her face lifted to the heavens, her body and mind spinning and soaring in concupiscent formation, her voice clamorously invoking two thirds of the Trinity with various, stertorous monikers as she rocketed into her own private orbit.

Mulder massaged her hips and kept his chin tilted up into her as she twitched and panted and called out for God, and she felt her inner muscles contracting around his way-past-five-o-clock shadow. The humid air of his heavy breath rushed from his nose, tickling her pubic mound as his lips remained clamped over the hood of her clitoris. She exhaled the last of her shudders and sat back on her haunches, resting on his solid pectorals, running her tongue over her lips, wetting them with exhausted delight. Mulder’s chin glistened in the dim room, drenched, and she laughed, reaching down to wipe him off.

He let her, but then caught her by the wrist and held her soaked palm against his mouth, kissing it, hard, and smearing the residue of her arousal all over his lips once again. He licked them clean, unblinking.

She buried her face in her other hand and laughed shyly.

Mulder chuckled along with her, resting his hands on her still-spread thighs, his thumbs dipping close to her parted labia. She bit her lower lip and looked him in the eye once again, unable to hide her happiness.

“Luckily, out here, no one can hear you scream,” he joked, a question in his eyes suggesting he was worried he might not get away with this, and she pushed him away teasingly but giggled as she climbed off the bed. She picked up her pajama pants from the floor.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Mulder asked her as she stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” Scully responded, flinging the bottoms over her shoulder and sauntering off to the bathroom, looking back at him to make sure he was getting a good look at her receding form. “Don’t move.”

She glanced down at the enormous bulge in his pants once again, and knew she needn’t worry. He wouldn’t be going anywhere with that thing.

She returned a few minutes later, now wearing the satin pants, and sporting a dark gleam in her eye as she crept across the carpet towards him. When she reached the bed, he leaned up on his elbows and reached for her to pull her onto the bed, but she shook her head. Instead, she reached for his belt buckle and deliberately undid it, sliding the leather through the metal loop before reaching for his fly. As she unzipped his pants, Mulder lifted his hips, and his erection bounced up, pushing the flaps of the zipper to either side, straining against his boxer briefs. This was one shuttle she wouldn’t mind watching blast off, and she was ready to fire up the booster rockets.

She helped him remove his pants, then tugged at the waistband of his underwear. He removed it and lay himself back down on the bed, looking almost anxious.

“Mulder,” she reassured him. “Relax; I want this. I want you.” She whispered the last part, lowering herself to kneel at the foot of the bed.

His manhood loomed large, worryingly large for such a petite person, but Scully had never met a challenge she didn’t want to face. And face it she did; this hard, quivering invitation to wantonness inches from her mouth. He smelled like the Mulder she had come to know, only stronger here; that musky, spicy pheromone blend that brought her to her knees - now, finally, literally - and she breathed him in with abandon.

She gripped him in her hand, taking his tip into her mouth, sweeping her tongue around the head of his cock as he exhaled forcefully. She slid her closed palm up and down the base of his shaft, letting her saliva drip down to lubricate her ministrations, then working him further into her jaws so that the top of his penis rubbed just against her soft palate. She bobbed her head against him. He filled her mouth easily, and she thought of all the times she’d surreptitiously stolen a glance at his lap. Her curiosity had been satisfied, and then some. He was every bit as big as she’d always suspected, and her small oral cavity made for a snug fit as she worked him into a frenzy on the bed.

He clutched at the covers and murmured her name, encouraging her efforts all the while. He slowed her at one point, just managing to explain through his moans that he wanted to enjoy it a little longer, but his thighs were soon flexing again and she accelerated her pumping with her fist, sucking a little harder, working the tip of her tongue against his popping veins.

Mulder reached out and grabbed at her shoulder, clumsily pushing her back. “T-minus... T-minus five seconds and… and counting…” he sputtered, and she risked another tongue swirl, another deep thrust towards her throat.

“Scully!” Mulder choked out, and she pulled her mouth away. She kept her hand in place and he wrapped his own around it, working his erection skillfully as he delivered his impressive payload over their ten conjoined fingers and down onto his stomach. A coy smirk plastered itself across Scully’s face as he collapsed back onto the bed.

She raised herself from the floor, rolling her neck from side to side, and grabbed the box of tissues that was sitting on the nightstand. She held them out and sat on the mattress, one foot tucked under the opposite thigh, her breasts sitting proudly on her chest with the pert insouciance of youth.

Mulder cleaned himself up and aimed the balled up tissues at the wastebasket, missing. He sighed, but didn’t get up, so Scully laughingly dragged herself over and retrieved the errant missiles, dropping them into their intended target. She returned to the bed and lay herself down in the crook of Mulder’s arm.

He kissed her temple, a peck, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, then lifted her chin with one finger so that he could plant a full kiss on her mouth. She breathed in the scent of herself on his lips, their musky scents intermingling on both their tongues.

“Wow Scully,” he smiled. “That was fun.”

She nodded, grinning herself.

“Although, it was a bit of a close encounter, if you know what I mean,” he said, and she buried her face in his shoulder and laughed, any residual worries she’d had about this changing the fundamental nature of their relationship flying away on her huffing breath and disappearing into the vacuum of the mattress.

Mulder lifted his head. “Oh god, it’s past two,” he announced. He must have been checking the display on the alarm clock. “You should get some sleep Scully; you gotta drive us down to the Space Center in the morning.”

“Hey, it’s your turn,” she whined, sitting up and pulling the covers back to climb beneath. Her pajama shirt lay forgotten on the floor. Tornadoes and fires be damned, she’d already had her ABSOLUTE EMERGENCY for the night. It was too hot for more clothes, especially with Mulder’s intense body heat so close. And she did intend to hold him close tonight. And other nights, if he wanted her.

“Talk about a waste of taxpayer’s money, Scully,” Mulder droned, sitting up and shaking himself alert. “The two of us sharing a motel room while another sits empty.”

“Oh,” Scully replied sleepily. “Believe me, I’m demanding a refund on my room.”

“Demanding a refund, Scully?” Mulder queried, now folding his pants and setting them on the chair by his suit jacket. “You weren’t happy with the level of service you just received?”

She squinted one eye open to look at him. “Mmm, you? You did good, Mulder. I’ll be sure to leave a generous tip for you at check out.” She patted the mattress next to her.

“I’ll be right there,” he assured her, disappearing off into the bathroom.

She was asleep before he even turned out the light.

***

Scully had witnessed Mulder ejaculating for the first time at the Spring Creek Mercury Motorlodge, but she genuinely worried she might see an impromptu repeat performance when they arrived at the Space Center the following morning. Walking to their meeting, they bantered for the benefit of their NASA escort, Mulder practically bouncing off the walls and once again bombarding her with facts and figures.

“You remember all that stuff?” she asked, wearily, suppressing a yawn.

“You never wanted to be an astronaut when you were a kid, Scully?”

“Guess I missed that phase,” she sighed, mouthing ‘adult diapers’ at him behind their guide’s back.

She couldn’t help but make fun of him for his adulation of Lt. Belt, either. “Didn’t you want to get his autograph?” she teased as they left the Space Shuttle Program Director’s office, and when Mulder caught up with her he tapped her lightly on the ass in retaliation.

At some point in the afternoon, Mulder slunk off and made some phone calls, and when they drove to their accommodation after the successful launch that evening, it wasn’t the motel Scully had booked but a ritzy hotel with bellhops and room service. They finally made it back there in the middle of the night, following the complications with the mission and Lt. Belt’s questionable press conference.

At the reception desk, Mulder retrieved two keys, but when he held one out to Scully and she grasped her forefinger and thumb around it, he didn’t let go. She looked up to meet his smoldering gaze.

“What’s the matter Houston; do we… have a problem?” She managed to keep a straight face, just about.

“What do you say we waste some more taxpayer’s money tonight, Scully?” he grinned, his voice hushed, seductive. “Maybe we can cross... the final frontier?”

She halfheartedly rolled her eyes at his pun, but her insides were already aflame. She drew her mouth into a tight, shy smile, and nodded her agreement.

nb. I want everyone to know that I watched the Falcon 9 launch and I managed to refrain myself from using the phrase ‘good orbital insertion’ in this fic. And that was a struggle.

AO3 link here.

#xfsmut2020 #mulder and scully #mulder #scully #the x files #x files #x files fanfic

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dvp95 · 5 years ago

Text

step into the light

pairing: dan howell/phil lester rating: teen & up tags: uni au, sort of? they're both in uni but this is not about uni, it's about two idiots meeting in the middle of the night at a corner shop where one of them works, and also heelies are involved, fluff, humour, meet-cute word count: 1.4k summary: Dan works the night shift at a corner store and Phil needs a sugar fix.

this was written for @cactilads in october, but i kept it on my back burner in case i wanted to come back to it and make it a whole Story. i've decided that i like it the way it is and i don’t want it on my shoulders like a gargoyle anymore. vivi drew GORGEOUS art for it already, which you can see and reblog here!

read on ao3 or here!

Dan doesn't mind the night shift. It's eons better than when he started his Asda shifts at five in the fucking morning - that was basically actual torture. Sure, it kind of sucks to go to classes at regular times throughout the week when his sleep schedule is swapped for work, but he'd be lying if he said he'd be asleep on Friday and Saturday nights anyway.

It's just boring, most of the time. The owner, a no-nonsense Indian woman a little older than Dan's parents, doesn't give a shit if Dan plays on his DS all night, as long as he doesn't nod off or let anyone break anything. He's been expressly forbidden from dealing with shoplifters in any way but to call the police, which works just fine for Dan. He wouldn't know what to do, anyway, always feels a little tongue-tied and awkward when he sees people shove candy bars and sodas into their jackets. He never calls the police, because, well, it's a fucking Mars bar.

There are a few moments of interest, usually in the form of drunk students livening up the place or exhausted parents stood in front of the baby food for so long that Dan worries they've fallen asleep, but for the most part his weekend shifts go by in quiet Pokémon battles and half-assed studying.

Tonight, though, Dan gets his favourite distraction. He's folded up on his chair in a way that increases his chances of tumbling off it and struggling not to fall asleep on his property law textbook.

Dan glances up as the door of his shoddy little corner shop dings. It's nearing three, which means he's either dealing with someone drunk, high, or very tired.

The guy who comes in is none of the three - at least, not obviously so. He gives Dan a jaunty, familiar sort of wave before he makes a beeline towards the slushie machine. Dan is sufficiently distracted, because this guy is the most bewildering part of his nights.

He doesn't come in every night that Dan's working, but it's often enough that Dan has developed a kind of fixation. Why does he always need an extra large slushie between the hours of two and four in the goddamn morning? Why does he mix all the flavours together and act like it's good (Dan has tried it, many times, and it's awful)? Nothing about him makes any sense at all.

Dan likes a good mystery, especially when it distracts him from property law, so he sits up a little straighter and lets his eyes follow the guy around the store.

And - okay. Okay. Maybe the guy is cute, in addition to being bemusing. He's always got glasses on and his dark hair shoved haphazardly off his forehead, a smile that reaches his sparkling eyes, long legs that always end up catching Dan's gaze.

He's looking at them now, actually, half wishing Hot Slushie Guy could be wearing his usual grey sweats, because the Star Wars pyjamas just aren't doing his thighs justice, when Dan notices the shoes at the end of the nice legs.

At first he just thinks, huh. Weird of a guy who looks uni age to be wearing light-up sneakers, but whatever. He's seen much, much weirder in this corner shop alone. Hell, he's seen weirder from this guy alone, since there was that one night that he'd come in wearing animal slippers of some kind or the other time he'd come with a beret on his head at 4:15 in the morning or the time - the point is, the sneakers themselves don't really give Dan any kind of pause.

Not until the guy goes to get a straw, and instead of walking like a regular person, he shifts onto his heels and glides over.

Dan is dumbfounded. Heelies still exist? What the fuck? He has not thought about them in literal years, not since people collectively decided they were mildly dangerous and very uncool.

This guy doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. He glides back over to his slushie and Dan has a moment of total certainty that he's about to eat shit before he does so, smashing into a rack of magazines with a small yelp and knocking it all to the floor. He manages to stay upright, but just barely.

Dan sighs. At least he didn't spill his stupid drink everywhere.

"Alright, mate?" Dan calls over, coming out from behind the counter. He knows that this doesn't count as letting someone break things, but he still wants to clean it up before Ms. Gujar magically appears behind his shoulder and scolds him.

"Uh," the guy says, his eyes wide and apologetic. He crouches down to start picking up the mess of magazines and Dan, not wanting to look like he's slacking off, joins him. "Yeah. Sorry."

"It's okay," says Dan. He shrugs a bit, stacking the mags into neat piles. "I've had people do stupider shit."

The guy's voice is much brighter when he asks, "Really?"

He's just grabbing magazines at random. Dan has to reach out and take them from him before he puts the Good Housekeeping beside the Cosmo.

"Really," Dan assures him. "I have a spray bottle for breaking up chav fights."

The joke makes the guy grin at him, wide and sparkling and so contagious that Dan has to duck his head to hide his own.

"Well, it doesn't look like much of value was lost," the guy says, holding up a magazine by the corner with his finger and thumb like he doesn't want to touch it. Dan can't stop the embarrassing bark of a laugh that comes out of his mouth when he gets a good look at the cover.

"Bikinis don't really do it for you, huh?" he asks, taking the magazine and shoving it at the back where it belongs. He stands and, after a beat, thinks to offer his hand to help the guy up as well.

His hand is a little smaller than Dan's and soft, like he actually moisturizes. He squeezes Dan's hand before he stands up and again before he lets go. Dan wonders, a little ridiculously, if he's trying to communicate in Morse code or something.

"No, Dan, they don't," the guy laughs, reaching for his slushie like he hadn't almost broken his neck for it.

"How," Dan starts, and then looks down at himself as he remembers that he's got a name tag on. "Oh. Well, that's not very fair. I don't know your name."

The guy takes a long drink of his slushie and then winces. "Ugh, brain freeze. I know your name, but you know that girls in bikinis are boring to me," he laughs, "so I think we're even on the personal information front."

That's not fair. Dan wants to know, wants to stop calling him Hot Slushie Guy in his own mind, wants to find out what he's always doing here to get early morning sugar rushes. Dan feels his mouth twist into a sulk before he can think too much about how uncool that makes him look.

"Well," says Dan, putting his hands on his hips in a way he hopes looks casual and not awkward. "I'm not big on girls in bikinis, either."

He swears he sees those blue-green eyes sparkle. "No?"

"So now we're uneven," Dan says. "And you should tell me your name. Also, why you get a disgusting drink almost every weekend at a time most humans are asleep. Also, also, why you have heelies."

"Wow, that's a lot of questions," the guy says, but he doesn't seem bothered by it. He's still grinning. "You're gonna owe me some stuff, too, y'know. To even it back out. So why don't I pay for this, and I'll keep you company for a bit."

Alright. Dan can work with that.

"As long as you don't use those anymore," he says with a gesture down at the light-up sneakers. "I don't want you destroying the place."

"That's fair. I'm Phil, and I do tend to destroy places when left to my own devices." Now Dan just has to focus on actually calling him that and not just accidentally saying Hot Slushie Guy out loud.

"Nice to meet you, Phil," he says. "You should teach me how to make all the flavours taste good together."

Phil grins around his straw. "It's a science."

"We've got all night," says Dan, a little more hope in his voice than he really wants there to be. Phil grins even wider and grabs for an empty slushie cup.

#phanfiction #phanfic #dnp fic #words words words

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