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mochinek0 · 4 months

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Daminette December 2023: 25-Plain Clothes

Marinette sat on the hotel bed, easing her nerves.

'This is a simple mission; a test. Best outcome: we find ShadowMoth. Worst: Zero progress.'

Robin knocked on the door, startling her.

"How are you?" He questioned "Are you ready to leave?"

"Nervous." She answered with a sigh.

"Why? It's a simple mission, is it not?" he replied.

"It's my first mission, as myself. No one but Batman and Wonder Woman knows who I am." She called out.

"We can use an alias." Robin declared.

"Can't." Mari groaned, "I know people at the event. I was going to be here, one way or another."

"I take it that you are well known, then." Robin spoke.

"Yes and you?" Mari asked.

"Correct." he answered.

"Okay." Marinette said, before taking a deep breath.

Tikki shook her head a flew through the door, startling Robin. He quickly put his emotions back in order and glared at her. Tikki giggled.

'He reminds me of Plagg.'

"I am Tikki. I am the Kwami or Goddess of Creation." she spoke, "I am what makes the girl behind the door, Ladybug."

He nodded in response and looked back at the door.

"We will have somoene looking out for us in the shadows." he called out.

"Batman is here?" Ladybug asked.

"No, Superboy. Apparently, he saw your tiny companion here through a door once. His X-Ray vision works on her. Superman couldn't see her, at all." Robin declared, "I know his identity and he won't say anything, unless they have proper clearance. So far, that consist of you, me, Superboy, and Batman. We will have earpieces on and he will be able to communicate with us, if he notices anything."

"Meaning if ShadowMoth is in the crowd-" she stated.

"He should sense it." Robin answered, "If he tried to leave, he is capable of following him and giving us directions to his location."

Marinette walked out of the room, full of confidence and hope. Robin couldn't believe his eyes. Ladybug was a leader. She was strict. She reminded him of his parents, at times; dedicated. This girl in front of him didn't look deadly or commanding. She looked small and shy; she looked like an angel.

"You look.....beautiful." he spoke.

Mari smiled and tried to fight off her blush, "Thank you. How did the suit fit?"

"Um, well. Thank you for the suit." Robin replied, "Where did you get it?"

"I made it." she spoke, "I'm a fashion designer."

Damian looked down at his clothes. He hadn't appreciated them until that moment. He thought it had just been another suit. He looked back up before bowing to her.

"Damian Wayne." He announced.

She smiled back and curtsied, "Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Marinette walked in on Damian's arm.

"I can see you both. I am still able to see Ladybug. I can see your earrings glowing and your little friend in your bag."

Mari gripped Damian's arm after hearing the voice speak

"Thank you, Superboy." Damian whispered, squeezing Marinette slightly, "He's on our side."

She just nodded. Soon, everyone crowded around them.

"I can see two other people with glowing items in attendance, aside from her."

Damian felt Marinette tense up again.

"Where?" Mari asked, "Who?"

"An older gentleman."

"Must be ShadowMoth." Damian inquired.

"The other?" Mari pressed.

"Our age."

Marinette bit her lip confused.

'Could Felix be here? No; Hawkmoth got the peacock miraculous back from him two years ago. That's why I used Kalki to get into the Justice League's headquarters in space.'

"Heads up. Incoming fast!"

"Hey, Marinette!" Adrien cried out, "I didn't expect you to have a date."

"Watch him."

Damian felt the tiny Ladybug grip his arm like her life depended on it, but on her face was plastered a smile.

"F-Felix?" Mari whispered.

"Uh, no." the blonde answered, "It's Adrien, Adrien Agreste. Did you forget about me?"

"Why wouldn't my girlfriend have a date?" Damian demanded, moving his arm from to her waist to stabilize her better.

Marinette turned to him and smiled.

"His ring is glowing and he has a creature in his right breast pocket."

Marinette glanced at the familiar ring he wore throughout middle school. An image of it painted black with a neon print came to her mind.

'Adrien is Chat Noir!'

"There's something else. There's a....it looks like a feather inside of him. It looks like it branching out, like veins."

Marinette buckled, feeling faint.

"Mari!" Adrien shouted.

"Angel!" Damian cried out, catching her.

Adrien held her hand as Damian checked her over quickly.

"Are you okay?" Adrien asked.

"Do you think we can get some air?" Marinette questioned, "Still not use to these heels."

"Of course." Damian chuckled, "Did you remember to pack the bandages that Selina recommended?"

Marinette nodded, struggling to get to her feet. As she got up, she slipped the ring off of Adrien's finger, using her Guardian powers. Unfortunately for Adrien, Plagg was asleep and unable to warn him.

Once outside, Marinette burst into tears.

"Marinette?" Damian prodded, confused.

"Adrien is...was my partner." Marinette sobbed, showing him the ring.

"Why did you take it?" he questioned.

"The feather he saw." Mari declared.

"What about-"Damian began.

"He's a sentimonster! That's not the real Adrien and if it is.....who is to say he hasn't been helping Hawkmoth since the beginning?" she stated.

Marinette looked at the ring and placed it on her finger.

"Hey, Kid. What-" Plagg demanded, but once he saw Mari he changed his mind, "Where is he?"

"Did you know?" Marinette questioned.

"Know what?" Plagg asked, confused.

Tikki flew out of Marinette's bag, "Adrien is one of Duusu's creations."

Plagg's jaw dropped, "No!"

He floated down onto the Guardian's hand and sat down.

"You couldn't sense it?" Tikki asked.

"No." he answered shaking his head, "How big were the branches?"

"Large." answered Damian, "According to the half-alien who has x-ray vision and can see through people."

"It is possible that Adrien was never real." Tikki spoke, "For small times, it wouldn't be that much."

Tears poured down her cheeks. Adrien not being real opened up so many possibilities. She wiped her tears away.

"Bug?" Plagg questioned.

Marinette took a deep breath and reached into her bag. She quickly fixed her makeup and grabbed Damian's hand. The ring change from its once silver color to a dark metal with a large emerald.

"You are my partner for this mission." Mari declared, "It is only fitting that you now wear Plagg."

"Will he not notice?" Damian questioned.

"No." the Guardian answered, "The magic of the miraculous will keep him for recognizing it."

"Are you coming?" he asked.

"I need a moment." she whispered.

He nodded and walked back into the venue.

"Marinette?" Tikki whispered.

"I may have to kill Adrien." she answered.

"I have eyes on another."

Marinette stood up and walked back into the gala.

"Male, 40's. Maybe 50's. White suit and glasses."

Marinette looked around and spotted Gabriel Agreste.

She took a deep breath and asked, "Where is it?"

"Under his tie. It's red and white."

'Yep. That describes Gabriel Agreste, perfectly.'

Before she could make her way towards him, Adrien jumped out of the crowd, in front of her. From his eyes, she could tell he was panicking.

"Mari, hey, did you see me drop my ring?" He pressed.

"Ring?" Marinette asked.

"The one I always wear. The silver one!" Adrien stated.

"No." she answered, "I'm sorry. I didn't notice it. We can go back to where we were and see if It fell off. Maybe, someone kicked it under a table or something?"

Adrien nodded and followed her towards where they had been. He looked through the crowd.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he asked.

"Talking with other people about his father's business." Mari shrugged.

"Oh." he answered, "So, uh, how long have you guys been a thing?"

"Oooh, maybe he likes you. Robin, you need to step you're game up. Someone is trying to steal Ladybug from you."

'Yeah, right.'

"Be silent. This isn't a commentary show."

'Thank you, Robin.'

"Two years." Marinette answered, quickly.

"Nice save. Using how long you have been coming to the League, I'm assuming."

"Oh, that's nice." Adrien replied.

"Incoming."

"Miss Dupain-Cheng." Gabriel spoke.

"Hello, Mr. Agreste." Marinette smiled back.

"I couldn't help but notice that you came in with young Damian Wayne." he declared.

Mari answered back, "Yes. He is my date for tonight's event. We figured since we were both coming, why not announce our relationship?"

"I see." he spoke, not noticing his son wilt at her answer, "I was hoping you would come work for Gabriel. I understand Audrey still has an invitation open for you, as well."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Agreste, but Damian has offered me my own studio." She announced, "Not an internship. He will be paying for the building and I will take care of the rest. My boyfriend has confidence in my work."

"Well, Miss Dupain-Cheng, good luck to you." Gabriel stated, "Will your studio be here in Paris?"

"No. I'll be leaving Paris at the end of the week to Gotham." Marinette declared.

Adrien quickly turned to her in shock.

"You're leaving?" the model exclaimed, to which she nodded, "Why haven't you said anything?"

"Adrien." Gabriel growled.

"I've been so busy and my apartment can't really contain my designs and equipment." Mari answered, "I've been working out of my place and have been so focused on my commissions."

Damian created a distraction by throwing five silver platters at the giant windows, as if they were shuriken. People began to scream when all the windows shattered at once. Many believed it was the work of an akuma and started to scream. Many began to push people out of the way to get towards a door, faster. Marinette took notice of Gabriel leaving during the middle of the chaos, leaving Adrien behind. Quickly, an akuma appeared out of one of the scared party-goers.

"I have him."

Adrien began to look around the room, after he lost sight of Marinette. He spotted her again, hoping to see her transform into his Lady.

'She had to of taken the ring!'

Adrien noticed bits of the ceiling beginning to crumble above her head. He watched through the chaos as the ceiling began to collapse overhead.

'Transform!'

Damian grabbed her arm and pulled her to his chest, as he dodged the debris. Marinette sobbed into his chest. Damian picked her up and ran out of the building with her. Watching his friend cry in the arms of her lover, he realized it wasn't her. She wasn't Ladybug.

'Shit! Where the fuck is my ring?'

Marinette jumped out of Damian's arms, as he moved them to the side of the building.

"You're positive you have eyes on him?" Marinette questioned, getting into Ladybug mode.

"Yes."

"Spots on." Mari spoke.

"Claws out." Damian whispered.

"Can you creep up on him and knock him out?" Ladybug asked.

Damian smiled, evily, "I was trained in stealth."

"Do it." she replied, "I'll deal with the akuma."

He nodded and followed Signal's directions. There stood Gabriel Agreste in another room of the building, transformed as Shadowmoth. Damian quietly snuck up on him and used one of the techniques his mother had taught him to temporarily paralyze someone. Shadowmoth was caught off guard as he collapsed to the floor.

"My apologies, Shadowmoth," a new cat like figure spoke, taking the brooches off of him, "but the hunt is over. I have acquired them, Ladybug."

Ladybug quickly destroyed the akuma and announced, "Shadowmoth has been defeated. This plan has been in the making for along time."

Paris began to cheer in happiness.

With help from the Batfam, they were able to clear out certain evidence out of Agreste Manor. They placed Emilie and Natalie into a hospital. Gabriel was still paralyzed on his right side; the doctors believed he had a stroke. Adrien was temporarily staying at the Bourgeois hotel. Gabriel lay in the hospital bed upset. At the foot of his bed was Ladybug and Chat Noir's stealthy replacement.

"Your days are over." he growled, "I'll come back!"

"The miraculous will be out of Paris, tonight." Ladybug replied.

"You-" he hissed.

"Do you realize I have to kill your son, Adrien?" She asked, causing him to freeze, "I know he's a sentimonster. The question is was he always a sentimonster or is the real one hidden away like your wife?"

"My wife wanted a child!" Gabriel declared, "We couldn't have one and that was all she wanted. I jus wanted her to watch him grow up."

"Adrien is sucking the life out of her." The Guardian stated, "It's one or the other; not both."

Gabriel paled at the news.

"Will you kill her son, who she did everything for, just to bring her back? Or will you give him the life she wanted for him?" Ladybug questioned, "She will remember everything."

"We will find them again." Gabriel stated.

Ladybug sighed, "No, you won't. I've asked the Justice League to take them off planet and onto another. They could bury it on the center of Pluto or send it to another planet that Earth could never reach. No one will ever find them again."

Hawkmoth sagged in defeat.

"Adrien doesn't know." he spoke, "He had nothing to do with this."

"Then, let him live his own life, like your wife would have wanted." The Guardian whispered, "Spend time with him. The Justice League will be keeping an eye on you and your movements from now on."

Ladybug walked up to Adrien Agreste.

"Ladybug, I had no idea-" he began.

"Chat, I'm sorry." she whispered.

"Huh?" the model stammered, "Did you steal away from Plagg? You replaced me?"

"I had too." She answered.

"When did you find out?" Adrien asked, "Did you-"

"You know we've been getting help from the Justice League." Ladybug spoke, "At one point I had to recharge and someone was able to sense Tkiki. They came along hoping to sense ShadowMoth's kwamis. I had to take him from you; they sensed you were in danger."

"I don't understand!" he cried out.

She sighed, "Your father was Hawkmoth."

"No!" Adrien exclaimed, "We ruled him out!"

"He got smart. He threw us off his trail." Ladybug continued, "He won't go to jail, but he will be under Justice League surveillance. They will know every keystroke on his computer and be able to listen to every phone call. You can still have your father; be thankful you are not losing him too."

Adrien sagged in defeat, "What happened? Did he really have a stoke?"

"The temporary chat snuck up behind him and knocked him out. We think realizing he lost the miraculous caused the stroke." Ladybug declared.

"Why?" Adrien asked, "Why did he-"

"Your mother is very ill." She admitted, "He wanted to heal her."

"That's it?" he shouted, "All these years? All of Paris' pain and suffering, the nightmares.....it was for my mother?"

"I'm sorry." The Guardian apologized.

"Can I know who you are?" Adrien questioned, "You promised."

"I wish I could, but you're too close to him." Ladybug answered, causing him to pale, "Plagg is in good hands for now. I will be giving up my mantle today. I won't even remember you; I don't want to cause you anymore pain. Can you really handle seeing me everyday when I won't be able to remember my own name?"

Adrien's eyes began to water.

"I wish you a good life, Chat." She smiled, "Find love. Be happy. Your father can no longer design. Gabriel will likely fall so you won't have to model anymore."

He smiled through his tears.

"Do what makes you happy." Ladybug declared, before leaving.

"Are you sure that was a wise thing to do?" Damian questioned.

Marinette nodded, "He deserves to be happy. The Justice League will have him under heavy surveillance and if he starts to follow in his father's footsteps, I'll use the Peacock to undo him."

"I thought I was meant for the Kwami of Destruction." Damian smirked.

"Oh, shut up." Mari scoffed.

TAGLIST: @maribat-calendar-events @animeweebgirl@a-star-with-a-human-name@meme991001@vixen-uchiha@abrx2002@alysrose-starchild@fandom-trapped-03@dood-space@moonlightstar64@saltymiraculer@marveldcedits20@09shell-sea09@icerosecrystal@animegirlweeb@insane-fangirl-of-everything@blueblossombliss@nickristus-dreamer@megawhitleycalderonpaganus@missmadwoman@meira-3919@princessdaisysolosyourfaves@blep-23@fangirlingfanatic@darkhinauniverse@ravenr22@im-a-satanic-ritual@ravennm84@bianca-hooks123@a-slytherinish-gryffindor@starling218

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xplainthexmen · 3 months

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Jay & Miles X-Plain the X-Men, Episode 438 - The Man of Harsh Business

In which Gambit knows how to make an entrance; Rogue and Gambit only have relationship conversations during superhero fights; Wolverine fights a shark; and we have opinions on how to handle certain aspects of backstory.

X-PLAINED:

One way to take over Madripoor

Uncanny X-Men #361

X-Men #81

Wolverine: Black Rio

The X-Men’s rapid slide back to the status quo

Steve Comicraft

The fork of loneliness

Cyttorak (again)

Black Tom Cassidy (again)

Peacocks

Sarasota Jungle Gardens

What’s sticking out of Juggernaut’s pants

Favorite versions of the Danger Room

Floriography

Kali (kind of)

Mary Purcell (a bit)

Rio Carnival

An outfit

Detective Antonio Vargas and his mustache

Saint Cyrus Leviticus

Ezra

Comparing mutant and Inhuman culture

Demonic homage

NEXT EPISODE: The Hunt for Xavier begins!

Check out the visual companion to this episode on our blog!

Find us on iTunes or Stitcher!

Jay and Miles X-Plain the X-Men is 100% ad-free and listener supported. If you want to help support the podcast–and unlock more cool stuff–you can do that right here!

Buy rad swag at our TeePublic shop!

#X-Men #XPlaintheXMen #Jay and Miles X-Plain the X-Men #podcast #Jay and Miles #Wolverine

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vlidy · 6 months

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Skullgirls matching icons

I love marie x peacock<3

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honey-minded-hivemind · 7 months

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Main X-Men and Brotherhood Members Avian Species (Part of the 🪶Avian AU):

(P.S.: Keep in mind this is just for fun.. Part of it is matching them to a fitting bird species, part of it is color-matching, and part of it is just personal opinion. Enjoy💛🧡😊)

The X-Men:

• Charles Xavier/Professor X: Cockatiel

• Ororo Munroe/Storm: Grey Crowned Crane

• Logan Howlett/Wolverine: Greater Spotted Eagle

• Hank McCoy/Beast: Great Horned Owl

• Anne-Marie/Rogue: Ruby-throated Hummingbird

• Remy LeBeau/Gambit: Cardinal

• Scott Summers/Cyclops: Blue Tit

• Jean Grey/Phoenix: Sun Parakeet

• Jubilation Lee/Jubilee: American Goldfinch

• Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler: Indigo Bunting

• Kitty Pryde/Shadowcat: Western Bluebird

The Brotherhood:

• Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto: Gyrfalcon

• Raven Darkholme/Mystique: Magpie

• Victor Creed/Sabretooth: Golden Eagle

• Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver: Merlin

• Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch: Eurasian Hobby

• Fred Dukes/Blob: Turkey

• Lance Alvers/Avalanche: Hairy Woodpecker

• St. John Allerdyce/Pyro: Baltimore Oriole

• Mortymer Tonybee/Todd Tolansky/Toad: Malard Duck

Avian Options For The Reader:

• Barn Owl

• Kinglet

• Swan

• Common Grackle

• Bluejay

• Common Redpoll

• Northern Saw-whet Owl

• Mourning Dove

• Cooper's Hawk

• Peacock

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #🪶Avian AU

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vampire-exgirlfriend · 2 years

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Dancing in the Dark

Paring: Eddie Munson x femreader x Steve Harrington

Rating: E

Words: 7k

Warnings: smoking/recreational drug use, smut (semi public, mmf threesome, mlm oral, fingering, unprotected p in v).

a/n: the band is back together. And both of us were feeling pretty slutty for Eddie Munson (Alex) and Steve Harringotn (Mary - @jadore-andor). So we did what we do best and made them bang. Beta'd by the word goddess herself @magpie-to-the-morning

masterlists: mary & alex | ao3

The van bumped the curb as it rolled to a stop outside your house, Holy Diver blaring through the speakers. You squealed excitedly, feeling like a kid, flying out the door and down the steps. The volume lowered as you approached and Eddie clutched his hands over his heart dramatically.

"Well, if it isn't the Queen of Hellfire herself."

"Eddie Munson, as I live and breathe."

You threw yourself into the passenger side and pressed a smacking kiss against his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your lips and you smiled at him, a little dopily. He looked all grown up now, his hair was longer and he'd filled out, but he still smelled like weed and Irish Spring soap and something familiar, something that was just him.

"And how is college? Do you have all kinds of super cool friends?" He gave you a sidelong glance as he pulled away, speeding down the quiet neighborhood street, his tone mocking.

"You're such a dick. College is whatever. It's cool not living at home, I guess." You rifled through the cassettes he kept in the glove box.

"Do you miss me?" You looked up, but he was staring at the road, the fading evening sun glinting off his rings. Snatching a Talking Heads tape, you bopped him on the head with it.

"Of course I miss you, idiot." You missed him so much that it made your chest hurt whenever you thought about him for too long. You turned the volume dial down to a reasonable level and looked out the window. Nothing about Hawkins had really changed and yet it felt different, smaller somehow now that you were away from it. Eddie swerved down still familiar streets, winding deeper into the suburbs and farther away from where you had assumed you were going.

“No Hideout tonight?”

“Nah, I’m gonna pick up a friend.”

“You don’t have friends, you have minions,” you said, watching him incredulously before staring back out the window. You hadn’t been in this neighborhood for years. Who the hell did Eddie know that lived here?

"I have you," he said with a shit eating grin. You snorted at that.

“Minions and little lost sheep,” you muttered as the houses got nicer and nicer. He peeled around another corner and a figure waved from up the street, blurry against the setting sun. The van slowed and your eyes went wide.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Fucking Steve Harrington is your ‘friend’?” You couldn't help but stare at him like he was an animal in a zoo - some peacock with too bright feathers and a too pretty face.

Eddie just grinned at you, his smile taking up his whole face. “It’s a long story. Trust me, okay? He’s cool as hell.”

You snorted indelicately. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

The van came to a stop and you rolled your window down, sliding your glasses down your nose and assessing Steve. “What’s up, nerd?” You snarked. He just stared back, seemingly unbothered and you blinked first. He smirked then and heat crawled up your neck at the sight, leaving you shifting in your seat.

“Get in the goddamn van, Harrington,” Eddie snapped and you turned to glare at him. He rolled his eyes at you and when you looked back out the window, Steve had walked around the back, pulling the doors open and throwing himself down on the blanket nest Eddie had back there.

“Who’s your little friend, Munson?”

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but you cut in before he could start.

“I’m his best friend," you snapped, looking over at Eddie. "Munson here was the only kid that would speak to me when I moved to Hawkins in 5th grade.” Eddie laughed, the sound setting off a strange fluttering sensation in your belly. It was hard to keep looking at him through your lens of nostalgia since he'd gone and gotten stupid handsome while you'd been away. He glanced over at you, smiling wide again, and told Steve your name.

Steve considered you for a moment, repeating your name, catching Eddie’s eye in the rearview mirror. He turned his smirk back to you, sticking out his hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Steve. Steve Harrington.”

Looking down at his outstretched fingers, you rolled your eyes.

“You’re also a fucking idiot. I know who you are. Or did you forget that I sat right next to you in O'Donnell’s Algebra class freshman year?” Steve had the good grace to look apologetic for a moment and you almost felt bad for snapping at him. That is, until the cool mask of confidence slipped back over his features and the cocky grin returned. Then it was all you could do not to break out in derisive laughter. Eddie grinned, an amused expression lighting up his face, his eyes never leaving the road.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, pulling his sunglasses down his sharp nose just low enough to gaze at you over the lenses. “I feel like I would have definitely remembered you.”

“Oh come on, Harrington.” Eddie smacked a palm against the van’s steering wheel, prompting you to turn your attention to him and distracting you from the heat spreading up your neck. “I had just convinced her that you weren’t a creep and you wasted no time in making me a liar.”

Steve’s hands flew up in surrender and he settled back into the cushions, folding them over his stomach as his eyes closed behind his RayBans. You glanced back at him, studying his features and the easy grace with which he carried himself. His confidence had always intimidated you, had always filled you with a heady mix of desire and envy. Especially when you considered that you’d spent most of freshman year desperate for him to notice your existence.

As if he could feel you staring, one of his eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath the hair that flopped over his forehead. He spoke again, not bothering to open his eyes, “See something you like?”

You snorted, a sound of faux revulsion, as you faced forward in your seat. You didn’t dare look at Eddie for fear of him sensing the flush that had begun to crawl up your neck, settling in your cheeks. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth when you propped your chin in your hand, watching as the cookie-cutter houses blurred into nothing through the van window.

“Where are you taking me, Munson?”

“Into the shadows of Mount Doom,” he answered cryptically. You just looked at him, your brows pinching in annoyance. He looked over at you, cheesy grin firmly in place. “We’re going to get wicked high. Calm down and enjoy the ride, sweetheart.”

The boys began joking back and forth and Eddie switched the Talking Heads for Metallica, ignoring your grimace. You tuned them out, watching the neighborhood disappear as he drove farther out of town. He bypassed Lovers Lake and you smiled, suddenly knowing exactly where you were going. You turned in your seat, poking him hard in the ribs.

“Lookout?”

He smirked. “Only the best for you.”

You did a happy dance in your seat and turned back to face Steve. “You’re in for a real treat, pretty boy.”

He grinned, tilting his head as he watched you, and your heart actually skipped a beat. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re ridiculous,” you grumped, turning back to face forward and crossing your arms over your chest. Eddie reached over, his large hand squeezing your knee, and when he didn’t move it, you relaxed into your seat.

“You don’t have to flirt with every babe who breathes, dickhead.” Eddie was joking, but you heard the edge in his tone, his fingers tightening on your thigh. “And trust me, your charm won’t work on this one. She’s a stone cold fox.” You took it for the compliment it was. Heat settled between your legs, and you found yourself fighting the urge to spread them slightly for him. Steve’s gaze lingered on Eddie’s hand for a moment, a puzzled expression ghosting over his features before he dropped back against the old, flattened pillows and sighed.

The rest of the drive passed painlessly, the boys bickering while you dug through Eddie’s tapes. You did a happy dance when you found exactly what you were looking for. Ejecting Metallica, you shoved in Fleetwood Mac. 'Big Love' filtered through the speakers and Eddie rolled his eyes. You reached over and pinched him on the arm.

“Don’t give me that shit. You own this tape, Munson. And I know for a fact you know every word to Tango in the Night.”

“Oh, a Tango man, are we?” Steve piped up from the back, sitting up straighter at the opportunity to poke fun at Eddie. You shifted to face him, gripping the seat, happy to indulge him.

“You have no idea. He won’t admit it but he’s a total Buckingham fanboy.” Eddie reached over and tugged on your hair.

“Shut up now, okay?” He griped.

"You looked over at him, a wicked grin spread across your face. “Isn’t that right, Eddie?”

“Get in the back, you little monster.” He threw the van in park, climbing over the center console, flopping beside Steve and pulling a joint from the pack of Camels he kept in his vest pocket. You scrambled to the back and threw open the van doors, holding your arms out in an aha motion.

You could see all of Hawkins from up here, the lights delicate and twinkling before they were swallowed up by the dark mass of trees that surrounded the city. Being up here was like staring into a snowglobe, and it was one of the things you missed most about your hometown. You glanced up to find Steve staring out with a sense of awe, his full mouth open slightly as he took it in.

“See? I told you, a real treat,” you said, dropping back to sit beside Eddie. He was warm against your arm, familiar and safe as you plucked the joint from his fingers and inhaled. It tasted like earth and fire and sat heavy on your tongue, a haze spreading through the van before drifting out the open door. You handed it over to Steve, watching the way his eyes narrowed as he sucked deep, the flame of the cherry throwing shadows over the sharp planes of his face. ‘He really is a pretty boy,’ you thought, resting your head back against the metal paneling.

“I told you she was fun,” Eddie breathed out in a cloud of smoke, nudging your shoulder with his. Steve smiled, big and goofy, his eyes already red.

“You nerds spend a lot of time talking about me?” The joint made another trip around the circle and you pulled deep, huffing it out in a plume.

“Well, up until recently, you were one of the most interesting things about Hawkins,” Eddie said, leaning across the circle to hand the roach off to Steve. You watched through hooded eyes the way their fingers grazed, lingering just this side of too long.

“What bumped me from the top spot?”

“Long story,” Steve mumbled, his jaw going tight as he ran a hand through his hair. An uncooperative strand fell across his forehead and your fingers twitched with the need to brush it away.

“I’ve got the time." You leaned forward, smacking Steve across the knee and gesturing for him to hand over the last of the roach.

“Trust me, you don’t.” There was a finality, a knife sharp edge, to Eddie’s voice that told you not to push it. Something had happened. You weren’t sure what, but you trusted that they would tell you in time if they wanted to. You killed the joint and tossed it out the back, sliding a cigarette from Eddie’s pack and sparking it. He slid an arm around your shoulder, propping his chin against the crown of your head and looked out over the city. You nudged Steve with the toe of your sneaker and handed it over. He watched you, his brown eyes sharp - like you were a problem he was trying to solve, or a picture he couldn’t fully see. Your eyes narrowed in response.

“So am I really supposed to believe the two of you haven’t had sex?” He asked it so simply, like you were liars and the answer was full of delicious promise.

Your eyes went wide and you felt the drag of Eddie’s chin across your hair as he turned to look at his friend.

“What the fuck?” You choked out, face going hot.

“This is just all very cozy.” He gestured to the two of you, smoke curling around his face. You leaned forward and snatched the cigarette, glaring at his presumption.

“No, asshole, we haven’t had sex,” you said primly. He just stared at you, waiting. Again, you went hot under the intensity of his stare. “It’s not like I never thought about it or anything, it just…”

Eddie cut you off, pulling back to look down at you. “You what?”

You dug an elbow into his chest, pushing him away, rolling your eyes. “What and you haven’t? Spare me the bullshit, Munson.”

“I just wasn’t aware that it was an option.” There was a question in his voice and the look he was giving you, like he was seeing you for the first time, made an all too familiar heat creep into your face. You held eye contact for a beat too long, before glancing over at Steve, once again aware of his presence. He was watching the two of you closely, a look of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place on his face.

“See something you like, Harrington?” You threw his earlier words back at him with a sneer, desperate to diffuse whatever the hell had just happened between you and Eddie. He smirked, running a hand through his hair and taking off his sunglasses to study you further.

“Are you sure we had a class together? I’m having a hard time believing I wouldn’t have noticed you.” His eyes trailed over your body, leaving you feeling laid bare, vulnerable.

“It would have been a wonder if you did,” you said, an unintentional bite to your tone. “You couldn’t stop staring at Tina Simpson’s ass long enough to notice anything else.”

“I can attest that you two did, in fact, share a class together,” Eddie chimed in. You both looked at him curiously. “I had to spend an entire semester hearing about you and how much she-”

“Okay, Eddie! Enough.” You cut him off before he could go any further.

You remembered vividly how you would spend every afternoon sprawled on Eddie's bed, lamenting to him about the crush you had on Steve and how he’d never date you because you weren’t popular enough. You cringed remembering how bad you’d had it for him. Over the years, your hurt feelings had evolved into resentment and you had convinced yourself that you’d never actually liked Steve Harrington in the first place. It was easier that way.

But Steve was turning out to be more observant than you initially thought. He could read the embarrassed look on your face and easily put the pieces together with a mischievous grin.

“You had a crush on me.” He said it so matter of factly, but there was a sweetness there - something you hadn’t anticipated. “Who could have guessed?”

“Oh don’t act so surprised, Harrington,” you leaned forward, snatching the cigarette from him and taking a long drag before exhaling and passing it to Eddie. “Everyone at Hawkins High had a crush on you at one point or another.”

“That’s true,” Eddie said, nodding through a cloud of smoke, his hands flourishing with his words. “Even I couldn’t resist the pull of your perfectly coiffed hair, dude.” Steve’s eyes grew wide as he looked at Eddie, mouth dropping open. You couldn’t help but giggle into your hand. Eddie leaned forward, passing the cigarette back to you as you exchanged a glance and turned back toward Steve. “You’re a handsome man, Harrington. What can I say?”

You choked on the exhale of the smoke, nearly dropping the cigarette as you passed it to Steve and collapsed into Eddie in a fit of giggles, the weed making the situation funnier than it really was. Steve looked at you incredulously.

“You knew about this?!” He pointed at you, the look of pure shock on his face only making you laugh harder. You clutched your sides, hiding your face against Eddie's chest as you snorted. “So what, Munson, are you like bi or something?”

Eddie turned his gaze to Steve, the amusement slowly replaced by one of restraint, desire banking in his eyes like smoldering coals. “It’s not like I advertise it or anything. I just… find my pleasure in many places.”

Steve sat back against the cool metal wall of the van, his eyes focused on a small stain by the toe of his Converse, and took a long drag from the last of the cigarette. He flicked the butt out of the back of the van, his gaze lingering there for a moment, lost in his thoughts.

“So how do you know?” He said it softly. Eddie leaned forward as if he hadn’t quite heard him and you followed, pulled like a compass toward due north. “How do you know if you… like a dude?”

You couldn’t help the giggles that still caught in your throat. “Easy. Kiss one, then you’ll know.”

“You say that like you know from experience.” He was pouting, insecure now that he'd lost the upper hand.

You shrugged. “I’ve kissed my fair share of girls.” Two pairs of brown eyes zeroed in on you, interest piquing, and you scoffed. “Don’t look so surprised, you dorks. I go to an arts college, remember?

“So what, you just kiss someone? And if you like it…?” Steve was nervous, pink slapped across his cheeks and you liked it. The way his confidence wavered sparked something a little dominant in you and in that moment you wanted to sink your teeth into him.

“I, for one, would love to watch you two make out.” You weren’t entirely joking. There was something primal about the way Eddie watched Steve and the pretty boy facade seemed to vanish under his attention. Steve’s sharp eyes softened, like melting honey.

Eddie sat forward, his gaze snagging on Steve’s mouth. “No time like the present, man.”

He shifted, running his hands down his thighs to relieve some of the tension that had settled inside the van, a jittery sort of energy that you just knew would dissipate into something aching and heavy and delicious if someone would just make the first move. You dropped your head on Eddie's shoulder, looking at Steve from under your lashes. Your fingers played with the ends of Eddie’s hair and Steve’s eyes darted between the two of you, unable to decide where to settle. His pulse jumped in his neck and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. All you wanted in that moment was to reach over and run your thumb over his mouth, see if he would open up, see what his tongue might feel like wrapped around you, tasting you.

Steve cleared his throat. “Yeah…,” he stuttered. “Yeah, okay.”

You scooted over, slamming the doors of the van shut, knowing Steve wouldn't want an accidental audience. Eddie moved then, approaching him like you might approach a cornered animal. His movements were clear, slow, as he closed the space, dropping to his knees in front of Steve.

“Hey,” he breathed.

“Hey,” Steve said back, whisper-soft, his voice shaking.

“I’m gonna…”

And then Steve’s hands were fisting in Eddie’s vest, pulling him closer, crashing their mouths together and moaning like he was letting go for the first time in his life. Eddie’s hands found Steve's hair, tugging his head back, pressing against his chest as he rose up on his knees to loom over him. Steve pushed the jacket from Eddie’s shoulders, and Eddie released his hold on his hair just long enough to shrug out of it. You caught it, holding it tight to your chest as you tried not to melt into the floor of the van. The way Steve moaned, low and throaty, had you aching.

“Jesus Christ, you two really know how to put on a show,” you mumbled, your breath catching in your chest, your ribs squeezing tight. You shifted, pressing your thighs together, the heat pooling low in your belly now bordering on uncomfortable.

Eddie pulled back, cradling Steve’s jaw in his large hands. Steve stared up at him, dazed and dreamy. “By all means, feel free to make Pretty Boy more comfortable.”

Your heart stuttered at the implication and you took a moment to decide what lines you were willing to cross. But then they both turned to you, borderline obscene desire painted across their faces.

You were so screwed.

Your stomach clenched with the power you felt, the near staggering longing, and you pushed off the van wall, scooting across the floor toward their tangle of limbs. Reaching for Steve, his warm hand found you in the dimly lit space.

“Wait,” Eddie murmured. He pulled you back to your knees and spun you to face him. His mouth was soft against yours, gentle until it wasn’t. His tongue brushed yours and he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently. You knew this is what your first kiss with him was always supposed to be; his hands tangled in your hair, his teeth marking you - a little dominant, but mostly tender. He knew just what you needed, like he always had. And then he let you go, pushing you lightly toward Steve with a grin. You swayed a bit, a silly smile on your face as you blinked away the haze of emotion and turned to face Steve.

“Hey there, Harrington,” you said softly, your mouth just inches from his. You reached up to push a bit of hair back from his forehead and his eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into your touch. God, he was unfairly gorgeous and you were almost hesitant, nervous, now that your freshman fantasies were coming true. “I think you got your answer.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, swallowing hard, his breath still a little shaky. You pressed your lips to his, gently at first, allowing him to take it at whatever pace he was most comfortable with. His tongue ran along the seam of your lips and you parted for him, granting him permission to explore. He grabbed your hip, pulling you down so you were straddling him, his grip hard enough to bruise. As his tongue tangled with yours, he shifted your weight on top of him, dragging you along his hardening length. You felt a solid mass at your back and fingers danced along your ribs, Eddie’s rings cool against your overheated skin as they trailed over your stomach.

“Is this okay?” His breath was warm against your ear and you just nodded, not breaking away from Steve’s mouth until Eddie pulled you back, tugging your t-shirt up and over your head. Steve leaned forward, dragging his lips over your collarbone and sucking a bruise against your skin. Eddie’s hands found your breasts, kneading them gently as he ran his nose over your pulsepoint. “You feel amazing,” he whispered, nipping at your jaw.

You could only sigh, leaning back against him as Steve’s hands came between you, deft fingers quickly undoing the clasp of your bra. His mouth was hot as he pulled a peaked nipple between his lips, sucking gently. You felt Eddie’s teeth graze the back of your neck and you softened in his arms, moaning loudly.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “I’ve thought about what you might sound like a thousand times.”

You whimpered, arching into Steve’s touch and dropping your head back against Eddie’s shoulder. His eyes were so impossibly dark, so liquid soft, you thought you might actually drown in them. “How does the reality hold up?” You asked.

“So much better than anything I could have come up with.” He caught your lips with his, his tongue brushing yours. “Maybe we should let Harrington have another turn.”

You turned back to Steve, capturing his lips once again and tangling your fingers in the hair at his neck. Your hips moved on their own now, grinding against him at an almost desperate pace as you swallowed his broken moans. Tugging on his hair, you pulled back, memorizing the expression on face; his eyes were hooded, the black of his pupils swallowing up the warm brown, and his lips were parted.

“What do you say?” You rolled your hips again, marveling in the way his face contorted with need. “Want to let Eddie make you feel good?”

He licked his lips, glancing over your shoulders, meeting Eddie’s eyes with determination, and nodded. You tugged against his hair once more, his gasp of pleasure snapping through you.

“Use your words, Steve.”

“Y-yes…” he stammered, unable to form coherent sentences with you grinding on him like that.

“Good boy,” you smiled, tapping him gently on the tip of his nose as you lifted yourself off of his lap. The whine that escaped his throat shot straight through you, and you ached from the sudden loss of friction. You toyed with the hem of his shirt, your lips grazing over the shell of his ear as you whispered. “Take this off.”

In one fluid motion, the shirt was flying across the van and landed on the passenger’s seat headrest. His mouth found yours again, his hand gripping your neck and holding you there as his tongue twisted with yours. He pulled back suddenly, his eyes darting between you and Eddie.

“Okay,” he breathed.

You looked back at Eddie, watched the way his chest heaved as he pulled in a breath. His cheeks were pink, his mouth parted, as you turned back and tugged at the hem of his shirt. He pulled it over his head, tossing it behind his head and then he was kissing you, his hands cradling your face. Steve groaned at the sight and Eddie broke away from you, an almost predatory gleam in his dark eyes. You shuffled around, pushing Steve’s shoulder forward to squeeze between his back and the wall before pulling him back to rest between your legs. He was warm, solid, and you could feel his heart thundering when you draped your arms over his shoulders. Eddie kneeled between his spread legs and Steve’s hands shook as he undid the button of his jeans, lifting his hips to let Eddie tug them off. Your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting his head to the side to press hot, open mouthed kisses along the column of his neck. Eddie tossed his jeans back into the corner, gently running his hands along the dusting of hair across Steve’s thighs before lowering himself to lay on his belly.

“Eddie’s kind of a pretty boy too, isn’t he, Harrington?” You murmured in Steve’s ear, pulling the lobe gently between your teeth just as Eddie wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. He was long, not any thicker than average, and his shaft, roped with veins, had an almost elegant upward curve. You didn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes rolled back when Steve bumped the back of his throat, his groan muffled, hands spreading over Steve's thighs. Steve arched his back at the feeling, his fingers digging into the blankets as he ground out Eddie's name from between clenched teeth.

Fuck. You wanted to touch him, wanted to know what he would feel like pressing inside you, still wet from Eddie’s mouth. Eddie’s eyes snapped to yours, big and black and depthless, and you knew he was thinking the same thing, imagining you split open and begging for more. Shifting your hips to try and relieve some of the ache, you bit down on the spot where Steve’s neck met his shoulder, his rough groan vibrating through you. One of his hands wound through Eddie’s hair, tugging almost aggressively as he turned his head back for a kiss. You gave in, licking at the seam of his mouth and tightening your grip on his hair. Your other hand traveled up his neck, fingers resting at his jaw to hold him exactly where you wanted him. He whimpered, the toned muscles of his stomach flexing as Eddie took him deeper, moaning around his length.

“That’s good, isn’t it, Steve?” You whispered, your voice husky with desire. “You like that, don’t you? The way Eddie makes you feel?”

He groaned, his back bowing, your hands on his jaw and in his hair the only thing anchoring him. Eddie dragged his blunt fingers down Steve’s thighs, his hips rolling against the blankets that covered the floor.

“Yeah, I like…fuck, I like it.” Steve’s voice was hoarse, jagged from the smoke and the pleasure and the overwhelming realization of just how good it really was. You licked a stripe up his neck, salt and skin warm on your tongue. Eddie pulled off his length with a wet pop, his eyes meeting yours again.

“My turn,” you sighed, catching Steve’s lips in one last kiss before wriggling out from behind him. Eddie tugged you forward by the waistband of your jeans, pressing his mouth to yours. It felt right, being in his arms like this, being between the both of them, even if you had never imagined yourself here - maybe especially because you’d never imagined yourself here. But here you were, feeling as if they would burn you to ash and put you back together just to do it again. Those quick guitar players fingers undid the button of your shorts, pushing them over your hips to drop around your knees and then he was cradling your jaw, his tongue demanding as it swept through your mouth. Steve had leaned forward, his fingers curling under the band of your underwear, dragging them over your skin as he pulled them down. His lips were against your back, peppering your spine with soft kisses as he rose to his knees.

You shuffled forward, dropping to lie back against the mass of pillows and situating yourself so that you were on display for the both of them. Parting your legs slightly, you took in the sight of them on their knees before you, their eyes burning trails across your naked body. Locking eyes with Steve, you pulled your lower lip between your teeth, beckoning him with a crook of your finger.

He inched closer, hovering over you as if you would break under his touch. His hands ghosted over the curve of your knees, trailing up the length of your thighs, stopping just short of where you needed them the most. Anticipation thrummed through you and you squirmed, desperate for any sort of contact. He looked down at you, a question lingering behind his eyes, as if he was seeking permission to touch you.

“Steve,” your voice was a small, pathetic thing. You cupped his jaw, brushing your thumb along his plush bottom lip. “Please.”

He braced one hand against the seat behind your head, the other cupped you, running a finger through your wet folds with a moan. He did it again, and again, savoring the way each drag drew soft gasps from your lips. His nose brushed against yours, his lips hovering as he pushed two fingers inside. Your back arched as he curled them against that spot that sent you reeling, digging your nails into his arms in a futile attempt to anchor yourself.

"Fuck,” his breath shuddered hot against your neck, sending sparks down your spine. It was overwhelming, knowing that you had done this to Steve Harrington, rendered him speechless and wrecked.

His thumb brushed tight circles against your clit as he continued to work you with his fingers, the coil in your belly beginning to tighten. If he kept this up, you weren’t going to last long. Suddenly, Eddie’s hands were on you, the cool brush of his rings trailing across your heated skin. His fingers danced across your sternum, tracing the underside of your breast and tweaking your pebbled nipple between nimble fingers. He shook his head slowly, his hair wild around his face.

“I am a total fuck up for not telling you more often how gorgeous you are,” he said, kneading your breasts. You groaned, realizing how badly you had actually wanted to hear that from him.

Steve nodded, curling his fingers again and your back bowed off the floor. “An absolute idiot, man,” he agreed and you huffed a laugh, breathless. Steve shifted, angling himself between your spread legs. You hooked an ankle around his hip, pulling him closer and knocking him off balance. He caught himself, bracing his weight on one hand, his breath warm as it fanned across your face. “Hey, beautiful,” he said with a smirk, leaning forward to nip at your jaw.

“Hey, pretty boy.” You wrapped an arm around his neck, your other hand drifting up Eddie’s thigh. You glanced up at your best friend and frowned. “Get these off.”

He laughed but quickly complied and then he was naked and your eyes went wide. There was a smattering of new tattoos across his chest, a map you wanted to trace with your tongue. His skin was still pale and a light dusting of hair trailed from his bellybutton to his cock; thick, with a blunt tip, and already a bead of precum gathered at the tip. You reached out to stroke him and his head dropped back at your exploratory touch.

Suddenly, Steve pulled his hand from you and you whined with the loss, rolling your hips to follow him. He stared down at you, his lip pulled between his teeth. “I would really like to fuck you now.”

“God, finally,” you breathed, pulling him back down and crashing your mouth to his. Your teeth knocked together but you didn’t care, finding his hair and fisting your fingers in the strands, holding him tight to you.

He notched himself at your entrance, shifting forward slightly, teasing you with shallow thrusts until you were sure you would combust. You hooked your ankles around the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer in silent demand. With a roll of his hips, he obliged, sheathing himself inside of you fully.

He stayed like that for a moment, dropping his forehead to yours and capturing your mouth in a sloppy kiss. He pulled out torturously slow and pushed back in with a groan,h setting a languid pace that stoked a flame low in your belly. He hitched your knee over his hip, the change in position causing him to brush against that spot that felt like heaven as you cried out, sinking your nails into the toned muscle of his ass. It was better than anything you could have conjured up on your own, better than the freshman fantasies that you tentatively touched yourself to. The way his weight felt on top of you, the way he moved in you, had your eyes rolling back.

His pace picked up and you hissed in pleasure, holding on tighter, biting into his shoulder to keep quiet. This seemed to spur him on and his hips snapped wildly, desperately, chasing down his impending release. He snaked a hand between you, finding where your bodies met and deftly circling your clit.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna…” Steve’s face scrunched up with the effort of holding back. “You feel too good - can’t stop it.”

He was pounding into you, the sound reverberating off the van’s metal walls, echoing around you. Clinging to him for dear life, you felt your pleasure cresting, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Where can I?” He tried to pull out, but you thought you would actually explode if he stopped even for a second.

“Inside. It’s fine,” your voice was hoarse, the words tumbling from your lips. “On the pill.”

Steve kissed you with a growl, a collision of tongue and teeth, as he came hard, spilling inside of you. You held him tight, pulling him deep and grinding against him as you followed suit, tumbling over the edge with a wail. He scraped his teeth over your jaw as he softened and finally pulled out, rolling to lay beside you.

You fought to catch your breath, glancing up to find Eddie propped against the van wall, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his fair skin, stroking himself while he watched you - clocking each sharp inhale, every muscle twitch and spasm as you came down from the orgasm Steve had pulled from you. He held his hand out and you crawled toward him on shaking limbs, tossing a leg over his thighs to straddle him.

"It hasn't always been about this, you know?" He mused, nuzzling your cheek with his nose. You hummed in question, pulling back to look at him, brushing his hair from his eyes. "Us," he clarified. "It was never about getting in your pants."

You trailed your fingers over the planes of his face, resting your forehead to his. "I know. And somehow you still managed it. So make it worth my while, Munson."

Without warning, he pressed two fingers inside of you, his thumb circling your clit. The sound was obscene, echoing through the van as he pushed Steve's cum deeper. His cock was straining between you and you stroked him languidly, watching as his head dropped back and the muscles of his neck flexed. You rose up, lining him up at your entrance, sinking down slowly. He hissed your name when he was finally buried inside of you, sitting up to wrap his arms around your waist and press his face between your breasts. You felt stretched past your limits, stuffed so full you weren't sure you could take it. But the discomfort melted into something primal, something unavoidable, as you rolled your hips and your clit dragged over his pubic bone. Stars began to burst behind your eyes, little shocks of pleasure snapping through you.

"Jesus Christ," he gasped, scraping his teeth over your collarbone. "Don't...just like that."

You rode him, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging his head back so you could suck a bruise against the skin of his throat. He groaned, hands tightening on your waist as he thrust up into you. You were so close, still overwhelmed and oversensitive from the way Steve had fucked you. And then the world turned and you were falling back, your head cradled by Eddie's hand as you landed against the blankets. He fucked you hard, but it was still tender enough to have your heart twisting behind the cage of your ribs.

He reached up, brushing his thumb over your cheek. "You're so beautiful. You've always been the most beautiful to me." His voice was soft, hushed, and the way he looked at you had you spiraling, that heat catching fire, and you shattered around him.

"Oh, fuck. Oh my god," you gasped, aftershocks fluttering through you as he continued to thrust deep. "Eddie, please, oh my god."

"Say it again," he whispered against your jaw. "Say my name."

You tipped his face to yours, murmuring against his mouth. "Eddie, please." You had no idea what you were begging for, you just knew that you needed him. You felt him finish, his hips stuttering and then thrusting almost painfully deep, twitching as he filled you. His lips dragged over your neck, your chest, anywhere he could reach. You pressed your face into the crook of his shoulder, felt his heart hammer against you and let it ground you in the moment. When his weight began to feel stifling, you nudged him off and he rolled over, throwing the van doors back open.

There was a lazy chill on the night air and you grabbed a blanket as you scooted up to snuggle into Steve's side. He wrapped an arm around you, fingers tracing invisible designs lightly over the skin of your shoulder. Eddie lit a cigarette and draped himself over your legs, reaching across you to tangle his fingers with Steve's. You took a drag and held the cigarette to Steve's mouth, watching in a daze as the smoke curled lazily around his handsome face.

He smiled then, exhaling, somehow lighter and fuller all at once. "This is good right? What we did?"

"Damn good, man," Eddie said, squeezing his fingers. In a little burst of confidence, Steve leaned down and pressed his lips to Eddie's, soft and sweet, before tucking you tighter into his side.

"I vote we do this all summer," you mumbled, your voice a little raw now.

"Here, here," Eddie agreed and heat prickled at you when you caught sight of the hickey's that littered his throat. "What say you, Harrington?"

Steve shifted, burrowing deeper into the pile of pleasure heavy limbs. "I can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing than spending my time with you weirdos."

You pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin, fingers gently scratching at Eddie's scalp. "Maybe we'll rub off on you."

Eddie chuckled, blowing smoke rings. "I think we already have, sweetheart."

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x steve harrington #joe keery #joseph quinn #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #my fic #that's my best friend #dancing in the dark

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sirastarsarcademy · 7 months

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Un dibujo rápido del ship Marie x Peacock en su au de escuela

Aguanten las caras de Marie🌟🌟

#skullgirls #peacock skullgirls #marie skullgirls #dibujo #drawing #comics #au

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ace-robot-has-matcha · 1 year

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Their love could never be.

#skullgirls #fanart #sketch #fan comic #short comic #funny #fandom memes #meme #big band skullgirls #big band #peacock #peacock skullgirls #peacock x marie #peamarie #marie korbel #bloody marie #based on that one meme

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amplifyme · 1 year

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All That Our Senses Can Perceive

The X-Files. MSR. UST. Teen and up. Seasons 4-6. WC: 4,957. Read on AO3.

Tagging @today-in-fic

“And then Jesus took his beloved Mary Magdalene in an embrace, an embrace not of God and woman but of man and woman. And Jesus said to Mary, 'Love the body, for it is all of the soul that our senses can perceive.'" Cardinal O’Fallon ~ Hollywood A.D.

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

1.) It starts with sight, doesn’t it? Unless we are born into blindness it all comes in through the eyes first. We see, we process, we create visual memories; we integrate miniscule pieces into a larger whole. The same image seen through our eyes often enough may eventually become so familiar that any but the largest and most sudden of changes run the risk of being unnoticed.

Scully was young and full-cheeked the first time he’d laid eyes on her. Cute. With all the connotations that description carries. Mulder hadn’t ever been a fan of cute. He’d liked dark and mysterious; slightly dangerous. And look where that had gotten him.

But she soon proves to be so much more than cute. There seems nothing his sight can take in of her that can possibly surpass her intelligence. Perhaps her eyes, though. Yes, her eyes. Bright, sharp, terribly blue. Like the sky had kissed her and left a bit of its eternity in her eyes.

She’s soothing to look upon now; familiar and accustomed. But maybe he’s grown too used to seeing her with comfortable eyes.

He glances up as she walks in the office, the brief, direct sunlight they manage to get every day illuminating her just so. And the sight of her hits him like a two-by-four upside the head. It dawns on him that she’s gone from soft curves and precociousness to sharply defined and stunningly beautiful in what seems like a matter of hours, overnight. But no, it hasn’t happened that quickly. His memory collects the barely registered glimpses of her slow alteration, and those coalesce in an instant and show to him his partner in the whole of her transformed and radiant glory; a vision bearing cups of coffee.

His eyes reassess the shorter haircut with its soft layers and a slightly different shade than before; the finely cut suit; the manicured brows and meticulous makeup. He’s rendered speechless as the changes sink in all at once. And he finds himself falling just a little bit more in love with her. He likes that she keeps him on his toes and presents him with puzzles to solve. This one he needs to figure out quickly, he thinks. For his own piece of mind. He needs to know that his inattention hasn’t cost him too steep a price.

“Good morning,” she says in greeting, and his eyes drift to her full, autumnal shaded mouth. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

He sits up and takes the offered coffee. “Uh, sorry. No, no, I was distracted for a second there. Thanks.”

“Have you had a chance to start the report on the Peacock case? I’d like to get that one wrapped up and on Skinner’s desk by the end of the day. It should go quickly since we seem to agree on the facts. Still want to settle down in a town like Home, Mulder?”

He watches as she perches on the chair at the computer desk, smoothing her well-cut skirt down her hips and thighs. She looks over at him, waiting for a response.

“You get a new tailor, Scully?”

Her head tilts as the skin between her eyebrows crinkles. Color blooms on her cheeks as her eyes dart away and down. “Well,” she says carefully, “in a manner of speaking, yes.” And then a bit defensively adds, “Thanks for finally noticing.”

“Got a new name on your dance card; something you wanna share?” He keeps a teasing, casual tone but he’s aware that his heart has sped up. He takes a sip of coffee to wet his suddenly dry mouth.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. It’s not like I have any room for a social life these days. Sometimes a girl just wants to up her game. Can we focus on the report, please?”

He’s made her uncomfortable. That wasn’t his intent, but he doesn’t mind it so much. Mulder has his own ways of keeping her on her toes, too. He shuffles through the piles on his desk and leans across it, handing her a red and white X-File. “The Peacock’s. My notes are inside. How do we file this one, Scully? Under murderous, inbreeding families or something a bit less lurid?”

“We’ll figure it out. We always do, don’t we?”

He sits back and weaves a pen between busy fingers, studiously holding back a relieved smile just in case she looks up again. So, she’s done it for herself then, and that delights and frightens him in equal measure. Seeing as they spend so much time in each other’s company, she’s also done it for him, in a way. At least that’s what he tells himself. He also decides to start paying better attention, and to do it with more appreciative eyes.

2.) Our sense of smell is the only one of the five universally agreed upon that bypasses the thalamus and travels directly to the emotional center of the brain. The varied scents we take in can affect our mood, trigger memories both old and recent, even precipitate the bonds that tie us to those we love. We will wrinkle our noses at unpleasant memories and seek out those scents that bring us comfort.

She smells like the world to him, and like a day. Like twenty-four hours. Mornings, she is fiery dawn and dewdrops on vivid green grass; the slightly acrid scent of whatever she uses on her hair when ironing away all those waves she battles so stubbornly to tame. And citrus blossoms. The sharp tang of her shampoo merging with the soft floral of her perfume. She is brand new, ripe with possibilities.

By afternoon the false aromas of her morning grooming are beginning to fade, along with the perfume. This is when she begins to exude the scents of a small, tightly packed, hidden old library. The smell of timeworn paper brushed by her fingertips, and the glue of bindings as books are opened, the faint odor of her Earl Grey tea and, oddly, of patchouli. It transports him back to his first year at Oxford and the intoxication of escaping home, and of who he was on the Vineyard. The world opening up for him and offering more knowledge than any one man could ever hope to absorb. Scully is the comfort of an old leather chair on a rainy midday, curled up with a book and utterly content.

Some afternoons are absent of her though, and he pictures her sharp and precise, surrounded by the smell of death, elbow deep in some poor bastard’s chest, searching for answers. Or perched on the edge of a chair in a witness’s living room, sipping bad coffee as the fabric of her clothing absorbs the stink of burning tobacco that she will carry back with her. She smells like work in those times, like a reminder of the often-tedious nature of the path they’ve chosen to follow.

Evenings are his favorite. When the light fades and shadows come out to play. She smells most like herself after dark. Unadulterated Scully. Stripped of the aura of professionalism, soft and fragrant. The rich and earthy scent of her hair, the slightly sour aroma of the day’s caffeine on her breath, the subtle musk of her skin. And something spicy and exotic that is simply woman. Sometimes he’s lucky and they’ll grab a bite to eat before going their own ways. He’ll sit next to her if he can, and breathe deeply as they share a meal, absorbing as much of her as possible. He banks the memories, and their attendant scents, for those times when he most needs them.

His account though, is sorely lacking of late. Because all he breathes in of her now is her illness. And beneath the new, unwelcome scents of medication and their brutal side-effects, he swears he can smell the singular stench of the cancer pressing into her brain, threatening her beautiful mind, her very life. He is angry and frightened. It feels as though they are crouched helpless under a dark storm cloud of free-floating anxiety, soaked not in rain but in the pungent ozone of impending doom.

Neither speak as they leave Skinner’s office, having just presented a second and much more accurate report on one Edward Van Blundht Jr. and his crimes. The silence accompanies them all the way down to the basement and is broken only after Scully slots the file into its proper location in the cabinet.

“I should have known he wasn’t you, Mulder,” she says quietly as he moves to sit down. Her words make him straighten and their eyes cautiously meet. “Under better circumstances, I would have been able to tell.”

He lifts an open palm her way, an invitation to elaborate, and waits. Her head ducks briefly before she returns her gaze to him. Her head tilts, her chin tips up. He’s familiar with her determined posture.

“I’ve lost my sense of smell recently. From the cancer.” She anxiously wets her lips, flicks her eyes away for a beat. He glimpses unspoken grief as she looks back up at him. “If I could’ve smelled him, I would’ve known. I would’ve known he wasn’t you.”

They both take a step and meet in the middle space, and she surrenders into his open arms. He holds her for a long time and fills his coffers with these new and undesirable scents too, these tragic memories. They are of her, and so are still more precious to him than even the truths he seeks.

3.) Along with smell, the ability to taste is the oldest of our senses. It evolved in order to help us choose which foods to eat and which to avoid. It’s thought that there are five basic tastes: salty, sweet, sour, bitter, and umami. The best of flavors is a subtle blend of all of them. An alchemy that coats our tongues and offers us endless pleasures. Sharing food and drink with a loved one can be an experience both comforting and sensual.

He's gotten his first true taste of her in a hospital hallway in Allentown, Pennsylvania. The kiss on her forehead is tender if fervent, and his lips parted just enough to transfer a bit of her essence to them. He circles his mouth with the tip of his tongue not long after she leaves him in the corridor, and he goes too long without drinking anything afterwards. He doesn’t want to wash away her taste.

He’s greedy those last few days she’s in the hospital, when he’s certain he’ll lose her. He gorges on her, pressing kisses against the velvet of her cheeks and forehead, the corners of her mouth, the boney knuckles of her cold hands, so delicately enfolded within his. He doesn’t care who witnesses it. All that matters is that Scully knows his heart through his caresses. He experiences a kind of withdrawal when her cancer goes into remission. He no longer has an excuse to put his mouth on her, to touch her more freely than he has before. As she heals, he fears she may begin to slip back into her nearly impenetrable shell, and he mourns the possibility of losing the rare vulnerability she’s begun to show him, and the loss of the taste of her.

Tonight, he carries out his plan with military precision. He has a goal and badly wants to achieve it. He casually invites himself to Scully’s motel room over the phone, making an excuse about showing her something on the case they’re working. He does the prep in his room first and stands before her door, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting for her to let him in. The door swings open and her attention is immediately drawn to the small tray balanced on his open palm, covered by a thin motel hand towel. And then to the bottle of wine tucked high under his arm.

“Mulder?”

He steps past her and into the room, setting the tray on the low dresser that houses the TV and turns to her. “I, uh, I know it was a while ago, but I was thinking we could finally do that wine and cheese thing I skipped out on in Florida.”

“A memorable night in the forest and stacking bodies in a cave didn’t make up for it?” she asks, coolly skeptical but obviously amused, and he relaxes a little. She’s barefoot and has shed her suit for comfy pajamas, and it strikes him anew how petite she is. He often imagines her twice her actual size, an Amazonian warrior.

He doesn’t answer, instead setting down the bottle and uncovering the tray. There are those half-dollar sized rounds of cheese that come sealed in red wax, slices of Vermont sharp cheddar, small wedges of Gouda and Emmental. A sleeve of Ritz crackers sits nestled next to the neat arrangement. Two clear plastic glasses lay stacked on their sides. He turns them upright and twists the cap open on the bottle, a cheap Chardonnay; the best he could find in the small grocery store at the end of the block.

“It’s not Moet & Chandon,” he tells her. “But it’s passable. Hopefully.”

“Am I to assume your need to share information on the case was a ruse then?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” he agrees with a bashful grin. She settles at the foot of the bed, and he hands her a half-filled glass and then knocks the lip of it against his own. “To things postponed but not forgotten.”

She takes a sip as she eyeballs the selection he’s brought. “Well, where should we start?”

“How about the Gouda? That’s my favorite. Cracker, or no?” He holds a wedge between finger and thumb and gets a response he isn’t expecting as she parts her lips and tips her head up to meet his eye. He carefully places it on her waiting tongue and almost loses his legs as she curls and swipes it across his skin, capturing the wedge of cheese and his undivided attention.

“Scully,” he can’t help but breathe.

She stands and brushes against him as she reaches for the tray and carries it to the small table in front of the window. “Join me?”

He gratefully takes the chair across from hers and waits for her next move. This pas de deux they’ve begun is both tentative and willful. It seems they each have something to prove. She is healthy and back to work, right at his side. And despite being a man who doesn’t believe in them, Mulder accepts that this is nothing short of a miracle. He wants to take every opportunity given to show her that his devotion didn’t stop when she walked out of the hospital.

Scully plucks a slice of cheddar from the paper plate and tears it in two. “This one’s my favorite,” she tells him, and pops the segment in her mouth as her eyes raise to his. She offers the other half to him, holding it out just this side of not-close-enough. Her eyes are sparkling playfully.

He might as well be a helplessly hooked fish, reeled in by her sultry voice and perfect beauty. He leans across the small table and captures her forearm. He closes the distance and opens his mouth for the offered bite, and she feeds it to him. Her fingertips are wet by the time he loosens his hold on her. She’s been licked clean, and she tastes as assertive as the cheese she’s fed him. She is lovely on his tongue.

The seductive dance ends there, both having been satisfied, and the tension rachets down as they slide effortlessly into their usual give and take, tearing into the sleeve of crackers and lobbing banter between bites they feed themselves. Mulder doesn’t want to stay too long, getting up to leave when the bottle is half-empty. He doesn’t want to push any further tonight and doesn’t fully trust himself not to try. But she comes up on her toes as they pause in front of her open door and she softly kisses him goodnight, catching just the edge of his mouth.

He spends the rest of the evening in his own room, slightly buzzed and with a stomach full of cheese and crackers. He doesn’t hesitate to brush his teeth and wash away the taste of her as he gets ready for bed. He knows there’s more where that came from, to be offered less uncomfortably now, and he’s flustered with the thought of opportunities to come.

4.) Hearing is the sense that lets us know what’s going on around us. We have only to stop our progress as we move through a dark and misty forest to know there is someone or something behind, ahead, or to the side of us. We can hear the crunch of the leaves and small twigs snapping beneath their feet. Hearing makes it possible to listen, to laugh, and to enjoy the many things that shape our lives. But not everything we hear is pleasurable. Some sounds we might wish we didn’t have the sense to perceive.

There’s nothing more discordant to his ears than the sound of Scully’s grief, sketched in breathy sobs. It’s not because he doesn’t know how to comfort her, it’s that her tears in his presence are so rare a thing that he knows she’s reached an absolute breaking point.

They’re on a nearly empty redeye flight from Chicago and on their way home when he’s roused from a shallow nap as Scully presses her face into his arm. He blinks quickly awake as she begins to tremble. He can’t see her face - she’s hiding it in his sleeve - but he doesn’t need to. He flips up the armrest between them and she twists towards him as he wraps an arm around her shoulders and tugs her close.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m right here. It’s okay.”

Things have gone straight to hell since the holidays and Emily. They were still unsteady on their feet when she was drawn to Ruskin Dam and nearly died for it. And too recently, the girls they’d tried and failed to save. Compounded by everything else they’ve been dealing with, Mulder is nearing the end of his rope, too.

She recovers quickly, as she always does, and retreats, reaching under her seat and digging through her carry-on for the little package of tissues she keeps on hand. “Be right back,” he says and goes in search of a flight attendant. He soon returns with a styrofoam cup full of steaming hot water and a sealed teabag.

She’s wiped away all trace of her tears, but her eyes are red and puffy as she glances up at him in thanks. Her tray table gets lowered and it’s not until she’s dunking her teabag with intense concentration that she speaks again.

“I’m just so fucking angry,” she confesses in a raw whisper. “All the time, it seems.”

“Would it be stupid to ask?” He speaks low, leaning close. His hair brushes hers like a caress.

She pulls back and eyes him for a few seconds. “It’s all of it, Mulder. The last year especially. Will it ever be enough for them?”

Ah, the ubiquitous, monstrous, shadowy Them.

“The cancer,” she goes on before he can form a response. “And Emily. That poor child… my child. Even those girls. I don’t know if I should mourn for them or rejoice. Did I have a hand in what happened to them? Am I partially to blame?”

“No, no, not at all. There’s no reason to believe that,” he murmurs. He takes the hand not robotically dunking the teabag. He can do this much for her. He can listen. He can stand witness to her grief for her daughter, for all the lost little girls. He knows that pain well. She finally lets go of the string on the teabag, but only so she can reach up and under the hair at the nape of her neck. His eyes slide shut because he knows where this is headed and is helpless to prevent it.

“This life, Mulder, this life isn’t even mine anymore. It hasn’t been since I was taken and violated with the first implant. I thought I was doing the right thing having it removed. I never considered what that might mean. They own me, Mulder, and they know it. You know it, too.”

“Scully, we’re not certain of anything.”

She pulls her hand free. “You’ve never been one to shy away from the truth. Don’t start now. I need you to acknowledge this. As long as that thing is in my neck, they have control over me. They can call me to my death anytime they choose. And I can’t risk having it removed. If I do that, the chances of the cancer returning... well, I’m dead either way, aren’t I?”

“We’ll figure this out, Scully. I promise.” Even as the words are leaving his mouth, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. She proves it with her mirthless chuckle.

“I don’t think so, Mulder. I’m running out of reasons to hope otherwise.”

“Then I’ll pick up your slack,” he tells her earnestly. “I’m not giving up. I won’t lose you to them.”

The ubiquitous, monstrous, shadowy Them.

“I think you overestimate your ability to keep me safe. And as soon as you’re no longer useful to them, Mulder, they’ll kill you, too.”

He opens his mouth to dispute her and is dismayed when he finds he can’t form a cogent argument. Not right now. He’s smacking up against the same wall she’s trying to punch her way through. An uneasy silence settles around them like a scratchy and unwanted blanket. Scully sips her tea, and he fidgets beside her. After a while he makes himself slow his breathing and hold the air in his lungs long enough to surface and lift his face above water. He closes his eyes, tips his head back, and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Well, we still have each other, Scully,” he eventually declares. “That’s something, huh? Maybe enough to get us through tomorrow. And the day after. The day after that, too, if we’re lucky. We’ve got that much.”

Her fingers land and curl around his, squeezing gently. He returns the gesture and shifts his hand until they’re palm to palm. He finally dozes off again, waking only when the pilot announces their descent into Dulles International.

5.) Touch. Is there any sense more impactful than this? Studies suggest that our sense of touch is fundamental to communication, bonding, and health. There is research which shows that touch signals safety and trust, it soothes us. The touch of a lover will often activate the body’s vagus nerve, which is intimately involved with triggering feelings of compassion; a simple touch can flood the body with oxytocin, also known as the love hormone.

It's always when she’s sick, dying, or when she’s been hurt. That’s the only time the carefully drawn lines are erased and they allow themselves the luxury of anything beyond their established norm. It vexes him, these lines that seem still so arbitrary between them. Why is an embrace given in comfort more acceptable than one offered up in simple affection? Why can’t a press of his lips against her cheek or forehead shift to become the lover’s kiss he so longs to give her? Deeper, more complex, a testament to their evolving relationship. What are they so afraid of?

He impulsively drives to her apartment Thursday night, when it’s still early enough to not get her out of bed. He knows she prefers to keep her workweek evenings free, just in case, and he’s counting on her being there.

She’s not, in fact, in her apartment at all when he’s lucky enough to snag a parking spot just across from the front entrance of her building. He catches sight of her sitting one step below the wide portico. She’s looking off to her left, elbows on knees, and she’s blowing smoke out of her nostrils like a tiny dragon, a fire-tipped cigarette held loosely in one hand. He snaps his tongue against the roof of his mouth like a disappointed parent even as the primal urge for a cigarette of his own floods through him. They say once you’ve encountered nicotine and fallen into its grasp, even if you quit smoking, the need never really goes away. It doesn’t escape him that the analogy is nearly identical to the way he feels about Scully.

She takes notice of him when he shuts the car door behind him and crosses the street. She studies him as he makes his way up the path and takes the first few steps, and he gives her points for not trying to hide the transgression against her cardiopulmonary system. He stands before her for a second or two before pivoting and settling in beside her.

“Feeling rebellious tonight, Scully?” She offers him the cigarette and he taps her arm away, even though they’ve shared an illicit smoke or two before, but not for a long time. “Nah. I’m trying to cut back on my vices.”

“Well, since this seems to be the only one I have these days,” she responds, “I try not to chastise myself overmuch when I feel the need. What are you doing here, Mulder?” She drops the half-smoked cigarette at her feet and lethally crushes it under the toe of her sneaker.

“Oh, you know.” He doesn’t have a good reason to be here. All he knows for certain is that she’s drawn him like a beacon tonight. He starts to put an explanation together in his head, something reasonable and benign, but doesn’t get the chance to speak it.

“Actually, I’m glad you stopped by. I feel I owe you an apology. I think you may be on to something about Monday. I keep having these… memories. I’m in the bank on my knees and your head is in my lap. You’ve been shot in the chest, and I can’t… you’re dying, Mulder, and I can’t save you. I can’t save myself, either. Or anyone else in there. Because he has a bomb.”

She finally twists her head enough to meet his eye. Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, and she looks years younger, like she did the first time she walked into his office. He can almost recollect, word for word, their first sparring match, and he marvels at the changes in her over the last six years. While still rigidly scientific in her methods, beneath the trim and precise form she presents to the world, she is softer, more forgiving, more open-minded. Scully wears her acceptance of his slapdash journey through life and her place beside him with a grace far beyond what he deserves. Mulder isn’t entirely sure he knows what real love is, but she is the only answer he will ever accept.

He doesn’t even think about it. He leans in and traps her face in his hands and captures her surprised, open mouth under his, sealing them together as the world stops and holds its breath. Her fingers curl around his upper arm as he feasts on the bittersweet alchemy of Scully and tobacco. He slowly pulls away and raises an arm, slinging it over her shoulders. He gazes out at the street and Mulder feels her eyes locked in solid on him as he fights back a satisfied smile.

“Dare I ask?” she finally does. Her voice is low and husky.

“The next time we’re pulled into an inexplicable time loop and stuck in a bank with a dude strapped with dynamite, I don’t want to go out without ever having done that,” he explains. “Besides, fate cheated us not so long ago outside my apartment. I‘m just righting a wrong, Scully, thumbing my nose at fate and all the vagaries of life.”

“You’ve very whimsical tonight, Mulder.”

He glances back over at her and his smile slips free. “Philosopher and poet,” he jokes while tugging her closer. His eyes drop down when she lightly drapes her hand midway up his thigh a small time later. It’s her turn to do visual reconnaissance on the street outside their little bubble, apparently. She’s diligently avoiding his eye.

“So, did I just hand you a brand-new shiny vice to add to your extremely limited catalogue? That would make two and I know how much you love nice round numbers.”

“I’m not sure kissing qualifies as a vice, Mulder,” she rejoins as she turns to him. The eyebrow is locked and loaded.

“It does if you do it right.”

He can tell he’s given her exactly what she was hoping for, and they exchange toothy grins in happy acknowledgement. She finally explodes with a high, girlish giggle. He follows not far behind her with one of his own, pitched lower but just as delighted, and they lean in together and share this, too. It strikes him that neither of them was scared at all.

Everything in its own time, he reminds himself. To everything there is a season. Even an agnostic knows the truth when he hears it.

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

Notes:

I’m not kidding when I tell you I had to drag the muse kicking and screaming out of her comfy little cave to get this written. Don’t know what her issue was, but I hope it was worth it. Only you can be the judge of that. Maybe she’ll be more agreeable next time. We shall see.

Things the muse grudgingly liked this time: ~ The playlist I finally settled on just a day ago, after weeks at this. Too many artists to mention. ~ The last of autumn’s vivid colors. ~ The first batch of hearty homemade soup. ~ Chimney smoke from the fires laid within the hearths of the homes around me. ~ Levon the Cat switching from his sleeping perch on the back of the couch to my lap for the extra warmth. I make a good furnace, I guess.

Till next time…

#xfiles #x-files fanfic #msr #all that our senses can perceive #mine

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