xf fanfic

The I in Team

Part 6: Reciprocation

Final chapter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Rating: Explicit
Timeline: season 6
Tags: MSR; I won’t call it fluff, but…
Words: 2.6k (pt. 6)

A/N: It’s done! And now I have soooo many prompts to get to. This felt more difficult than I thought it would to wrap up, but I hope some folks like it. This is my longest story so far, and my first completed wip.


There were many things he loved about her, when he let himself think about it: the way she would stop and stretch and sigh in the middle of an autopsy; the fact that even her pajamas looked a bit formal and professional; how she couldn’t hide a blush; that look she gave him when she was trying to disagree, but he could tell she didn’t. His favorite, though, really his most favorite thing about her if he were being honest with himself and feeling just the right kind of way, was that she could fall asleep anywhere and did, regularly—uncomfortable hospital chairs, rental Ford Tauruses from every state in the Union, his couch nearly every time she sat down on it. And here she was again, after a long day, now in a mini-bus bringing them back to the conference motel: conked out with her head on his shoulder. He watched her sleep, smiling, just letting himself feel, and it was like little thunderclaps of realization, how much he loved her.

They’d passed the course, whatever that meant, and received, each, a little Kinko’s copy slip of paper: Team Builders™ certified. Skinner would be so proud. Tomorrow morning they would fly back to D.C., to normal life and to work, and to whatever would become of them.

For now, he lay his hand on her thigh, just above her knee, and watched her mouth slip open in sleep. He indulged a wild fantasy of waking beside that drowsy face, perhaps on a Sunday morning in his apartment. Perhaps naked. Would she bring those button-down pajamas in a little overnight bag? Would he undo the buttons one-by-one? It had been so long since he’d let himself imagine. The thunderclaps kept coming, little squeezes to his heart.

When the bus stopped, he brushed his knuckles to her cheek and whispered into her hair, “We’re here.” Her head shook in surprise as she came awake.

“Mulder?” And then she saw and remembered and said “Oh,” and rubbed her eyes.

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anonymous asked:

Mulder and Scully's first night out after baby Nº2 arrived, if you're taking prompts! Hope your autumn began awesomely! (does that word even exist in the English language?)

Thank you for this prompt! I did have a nice start into my favorite season but as a non-native speaker, I am not the right person to ask if “awesomely” is an actual word (I feel like it has a different meaning?). Anyway. Thank you! 

I combined this with another, older prompt: Jackson (just barely) convinces Mulder and Scully to let Katie stay with him, and without them, for the first time while they do something together :) 

They’re standing at the door, dressed to the nines. They’re ready to leave. In theory, that is. Neither Mulder nor Scully is ready to leave their baby daughter all alone for the first time. Well, not all alone, not really: Jackson has kindly offered to babysit while they’re going out to have… fun. Or something.

“Guys, I told you. I can do this,” their son says, walking out of the living room with his little baby sister in his arms. He’s watching them with a hint of amusement. Mulder detects a flicker of fear on his son’s face, too, though. Jackson is not worried about babysitting; he’s scared Mulder and Scully don’t trust him.

“We know you can,“ Scully replies and Mulder gently touches her arm, stopping her (and himself) from cuddling their daughter one last time. "It’s just…,” she sighs and turns to Mulder, silently pleading for help. 

“We’re pretty paranoid, huh?” Mulder grins at his son who looks bewildered for a second, then nods sheepishly. Katie yawns, otherwise still in her brother’s arms. She is bored with her parents and their antics already. Mulder smiles.

“Come on, Scully.” He tugs on her hand. “Let’s go. It’s not often that the FBI chooses to honor the spookies.” When Skinner called last week with the news that Mulder and Scully would be commemorated for their work on the x-files, Mulder laughed heartily, believing it to be a joke. It wasn’t. The official invitations were in the mail the next day. Mulder didn’t want to go at first (what for anyway?), but Scully convinced him. They are out for good this time. No going back. Not ever. The x-files are closed, the cigarette smoking son of a bitch dead (for real this time) and Mulder has no desire to go back to the past. Not anymore. Scully convinced him to leave with a bang, with the praise they – he – deserve. He’s doing it for her. They can give him a medal, applaud him after calling him crazy after all these years or whisper how he doesn’t deserve this. He no longer cares.  

“The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll be back,” Jackson offers with a slight shrug, reminding them that they still haven’t even left the house.

“We love you, kiddo,” Mulder says and Jackson blushes; he is a grown ass man (his own words) and he is still getting used to being here, to being part of the Mulder-Scully family. But Mulder, soft in his old age (Scully says so), is done with being cautious. He needs his son to know that he loves him. Always has, always will. 

“We really do,” Scully adds and Mulder doesn’t try to hold her back this time when she goes to hug their son, Katie between them. Jackson gets a kiss on his cheek, his sister one her forehead. She lets out an adorable baby sneeze, obviously not a fan of her mother’s perfume. 

“Please leave before Mulder gets all mushy, too,” Jackson complains, wiping his cheek. His face is still pink and Mulder chuckles. 

“We won’t be gone long,” Scully promises. 

“We’ll be fine,” Jackson repeats and Mulder can tell he is ready to throw them out of their own house. “Stay as long as you like.”

“Her milk is in the fridge and you know that-”

“I can call you anytime, yeah,” Jackson says, having heard it close to a million times now. “Please just leave? Look, Katie doesn’t even care.” Scully’s face crumbles and Mulder swallows hard before he laughs. 

“He’s right, Scully. We should get going. The kids probably have better plans than hanging out with their parents.” She is still reluctant when he opens the door and fresh, crisp air greets them. Mulder puts his arm around her shoulder and gently leads her outside.

“It really will be fine, right?” She asks him on the porch once the door is closed, goose bumps on her arms from the cold. 

“Yes, of course,” Mulder assures her and kisses her nose. 

“Good.” Scully gives him a smile. “I want to spend the next two to three hours not worrying.” Mulder is surprised and she kisses the expression off his face. “I want to dance, to eat and most of all, I want to bask in our success. With you.”

“You do?” She nods.

“We deserve this, Mulder. You deserve this." 

"Without you, I never would have-” Scully puts a finger on his lips.

“Remember what you said to me once? About zombies-”

“Oh, you know what I like, Scully.” She ignores his toothy grin.

“About zombies and how they’re going to eat, drink, dance and then make love. Remember that?” He nods slowly, falling in love all over again with this woman, his wife and mother of his children. The love of his life.

“I can’t believe you remember that,” he says, sounding breathless. 

“That’s what I want to do tonight, Mulder. This is our first night out since Katie’s birth. We’ve never really done this, have we? Go out, go on dates. All I want to do tonight is eat, dance, feel alive.”

“Make love?”

“On a first date? We’ll see.” She winks at him and he laughs. She links her arm through his and somehow he thinks they’ve done this before, many, many years ago. 

“I love you, Scully." 

"I love you, too. Now let’s go before I change my mind.” They turn around in unison to peek through the window one last time. Jackson waves at them, grinning. Of course he’s been watching. He turns Katie, who has a fist stuffed into her mouth, towards them, and lifts her other tiny arm to make her wave as well. Through the window they see their daughter laugh at her brother, who smiles at her proudly.

“They’ll be just fine,” Scully whispers to herself, or to him, but he knows she’s right. As always.

X-Files Season 7 Fic

I tried to make my answer short, but that was impossible. There are SO MANY great season 7 fics. I went with stories I’ve gushed about on tumblr before because I could easily find links, and I included my own season 7 story since I’m still surprised I wrote it. This list is not exhaustive, but it should keep you busy! Season 7 fic kicks are the best.

Above Minnesota by Cecily Sasserbaum

The Big Orange by @teethnbone

Black Hole Season by Penumbra

Brave New World by Meredith

Cells by Emma Brightman

Counting Kisses by @lilydalexf

February 2000 by starwalker42 (@bitshortforastormtrooper)

the fervor of a first day by a-steady-wish

Flying Lessons by ArtemisX5

Full Moon, Near-Death, and Things Left Unfinished by Jamie Lyn

Here With Me by Pequod

Home Ec by ArtemisX5

inertia by inkspl0tches (@foxmulders)

Juice by Lysandra

Loved by SpyderScully

Making Other Plans by Michelle Kiefer

Out Into Nothing by Nynaeve

Parabiosis by Penumbra

Peristellein by @aloysiavirgata

Red Sun at Morning by @scienceandmysticism

Relic of Tough Weather by Jesemie’s Evil Twin

Serendipity by @leiascully

Seven Days by Jintian

She Tastes Like Candlelight by mizdiz (@alexkryceksbutt)

The Simplest Explanation by Blueswirl

Small Lives Awake by Jesemie’s Evil Twin

Standing Still by KatyBlue

Suddenly by @mldrgrl

Taller Than Other Waves by amyhit

Terra Incognita by @noifsandsorbees

Thankful by @all-these-ghosts

things you said when you kissed me goodnight by @melforbes

Things You Said When You Thought I Was Sleeping by @somekindofseizure

Timing is Nothing by Gina Rain

Touch the Moon by Pteropod

What Happens to the Dreamers by Buckingham

Wing and Prayer by Revely

Yo Creo and The Payment by Elanor G

Bohoartist Masterpost

Organized in the order that I could remember them. I hope you enjoy! All stories are MSR.

Shear Bliss - NC17, While on the run, Scully gives Mulder a haircut. Smut ensues.

The Healing Power of Touch - G, Post Sein Und Zeit, Scully’s thoughts and desire to comfort Mulder following the events of SUZ

Miles To Go - PG13, Post The Truth, Teeny-tiny drabble written for @leiascully‘s XF Writing challenge prompt: Distance. Its angsty. I hate that I did this. Don’t look at me.

“Are You Out of Your Damn Mind?”  - R, Tiny, angsty nugget written for numbered prompt #2 “Are you out of your damn mind” on Tumblr. Requested by @dashakay

Taking His Time - NC17, Mulder takes his time experiencing Scully for the first time in his bed. 

Taking Her Time - NC17, Sequel to Taking His Time, Scully’s turn.

The Happiest We Ever Were - G, Fluffy post-Existence 

Good To Be Bad - NC17, Post En Ami, my take on the black dress/angry sex trope. He placed soft kisses along her mandible, traveling to her ear where he softly whispered to her, “you smell like cigarettes.”

Stay - NC17, She packs the last suitcase in silence.

Dearest Dana - R, Companion piece to Stay. In the midst of a raging depression, Mulder drafts a letter to Scully. This one hurts.

Drive Faster - NC17, Dana Scully has always been proud of her ability to give one hell of a hand job.

Too Sober For This - NC17, Cancer-Arc, “I’m tired of feeling bad, Mulder. Just for once, I don’t want to think. I don’t want to over analyze my actions, I don’t want to think about tomorrow, I don’t want to prepare for sickness. I just want to be here, right now. I want to feel good tonight, Mulder. With you.”

Parking - NC17, Mulder helps Scully experience a previously missed rite of passage.  

Personal Interest - PG, Mulder realizes something very important regarding Scully’s feelings about Diana.

His Family - G, Skinner and Mulder have a conversation post-Existence regarding Mulder’s new role. Written in response to a prompt from @piecesofscully

Heat - NC17, Our intrepid heroes find their own relief from the heat.

Three Times Mulder and Scully Got Caught and One Time They Didn’t - Part 1- PG13 - Someone sees something they wish they hadn’t

Part 2- PG13 - Someone admits to seeing something they wish they hadn’t

Part 3 - NC17 - Someone overhears something they wish they hadn’t

Part 4 - NC17 - Someone gets their comeuppance when they wish they hadn’t

anonymous asked:

Au where mulders a writer of sci fi stories and Scullys a scientist hired by his editor to fact check some of his stories. Bonus points if theres a romantic subplot in his story and they quote lines to each other

A/N: This gets a bit meta for a quick sec. It is also… irredeemable fluff. I’ve had a hard few days and I needed something wholesome. I am 100% sure I will regret it in the morning, lol.


He wants this one to be different. He needs the science to feel more real than the speculative world-building he’s done in his last three books. The universe should feel like ours, he thinks—its physics and its materiality should have the same weight. Its atoms the same heft. This is going to be the one, he thinks. The one that puts his name on the charts. It needs to not just be right, but to feel right. He calls his editor, asks about a consultant.

His index finger disappears inside the looping plastic phone cord as he talks—feet on the desk beside his word processor.

“Well, I might know someone,” his editor says.


“Yeah… she’s good. Not usually her line of work, but she’s bored with her day job. I think she’d take it on.”

“You think.” Mulder senses hesitation—the pause draws out a moment too long. “Charlie?”

“Yeah, Mulder. The thing is, it’s my sister.”


“I’ll give her a call tonight if you want?”

“Okay.” The chair creaks as he sits up to bring the receiver to it’s cradle, but then at the last minute—“Hey Charlie?”


“Is she hot?”

The line goes dead.

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If you could write this as a fic it would be totally awesome and if not I then I just wanted to share this as a headcanon. I can totally picture mulder doing this. I love your fic and I think you’re like an expert writing fluff so I thought you might like this.


Thank you so much for this amazing prompt! I tried my best :) Set in season 11 and sorry, it’s written in first person! 

A fucking Mustang. 

Right here in the drive-thru. I try not to roll my eyes and smile as the car approaches and the guy (of course it’s a guy) takes off his sunglasses to smile at me.

“Here’s your order,” I reiterate automatically. Holy shit. The guy looking at me is, and I hate to admit it, hot. A silver fox in a silver Mustang. The guy probably thinks he’s the greatest. Sad is what he is. I give him my best sugary smile anyway; that’s my job. It hurts my cheeks, though, and all I want is for him to leave.


“I’d like to pay for the car behind me, too,” he interrupts me, his voice rich like dark red wine. It catches me off guard, just like his words. Pay for the next customer? I look through my small window at the black SUV next in line. I think I make out a woman behind the wheel. What kind of creep is Mustang guy?

“How much is it?” He asks me and I check. The customer is king, after all.

“All together… $50.22, sir.” He chuckles, shaking his head slightly in amusement. He hands me $55 and when I reach for his change, he shakes it off.

“Keep it, kid,” he says, putting his sunglasses back on his nose. He’s grinning from ear to ear as if he’s just won the lottery. I catch the reflection of a wedding ring and want to groan. Instead I thank him politely. Days like today I just hate my job. 

“Hey? Tell her I think she’s hot.” The guy has the audacity to wink at me and I consider throwing coins against his stupid, expensive Mustang. When the next car pulls up, I put on my best smile again.

“Hello,” I say, my voice robotic. “Here’s your order.”

“Thank you,” she says, leaning out of her seat to take the two bags from me. “How much do I owe you?” I think of Mustang guy and blush, my face taking on the same color as this lady’s hair. She looks nice, kind even.

“Uhm, it was paid for,” I explain in a shaky voice that makes me sound like a child. “The- the car before you paid. He said- he wanted to me to tell you that… that he thinks you’re hot.” We’re both blushing now. I look at her face, all soft angles, big blue eyes and a mouth you just want to kiss. I get Mustang guy; she is hot. This, however, is also so inappropriate. Then she surprises me by chuckling and rolling her eyes. She’s smiling now, a glint in her eyes.

“That’s my husband,” she admits, almost shyly and I see a wedding band on her finger; a matching one to Mustang guy’s. She smiles and I am certain she thinks of him, her husband. I find myself smiling, too; genuinely this time.

“Enjoy your meal,” I say and she drives off. 

I wonder what their story is. 

Terms of Endearment

by: mldrgrl
Rating: PG
Summary: Just another fic to throw out there surrounding Honeygate.

Mulder always had a hang up about names.  Growing up, he’d received his fair share of teasing regarding his given name and it had left him preferring the distance his surname had to offer.  It also left him with a distaste for pet names.  The first time a girlfriend of his called him ‘Foxy,’ even though he knew she didn’t mean anything by it, it brought back all those childhood feelings of ridicule and humiliation.

Given his hang up, it comes as a huge surprise to him that within days of a physical relationship with Scully, he’s got pet names galore on the tip of his tongue just about every time he has a conversation with her.  He tries them all on for size in his head and doesn’t dare say them out loud, but his brain churns them out at increasing speed and he’s afraid he’ll slip up.

He never realized just how many pet names exist until they start flooding through him, and all possible variations.  Sweetheart.  Sweetie.  Sweetiepie.  Baby.  Babe.  Babydoll.  Dollface.  Buttercup.  Sugar.  Sugarbear.  Sugarplum.  Honey.  Honeybun.  Honeybunny.  Hun.  Darling.  Dear.  Muffin.  Cupcake.  Pumpkin.  He has to stop and wonder why so many pet names are also desserts.

He analyzes each little name and what Scully’s reaction to it might be.  If he dropped a ‘Buttercup’ on her, would he be laughed at?  Would he be slapped if he accidentally whispered ‘Baby’ into her ear one night?  Surely she’d give him a tongue-lashing over a well-meaning ‘Pumpkin.’

Three weeks pass by and Mulder is able to keep himself in check, but barely.  It’s difficult, especially since they spend most days and nights together.  At work, concentrating on cases, he can focus.  At night, in her bed, on his couch, in her shower, on the table in his front room, it’s a different story.  Fortunately, ‘Sweetie’ can also sound a lot like ‘Scully’ when it’s slurred out in a muffled moan.

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Post finale: Mulder and Scully connect with their son in an unconventional way.

note: warning for mentions of the CSM as william’s father plotline (although only in the context of its debunking) and the pregnancy storyline presented in the finale. this story is more or less my attempts at resolving the things that upset me in the finale, and an attempt to leave mulder and scully in a better place than CC did. i also wanted to write a mulder-scully-william reunion that fit with s11’s characterization of william/jackson.

She’s in shock.

That’s the only explanation for it. She’s in shock. She can’t explain the things she said, the words spilling out of her mouth. She can’t get warm. She’s shaking, arms wrapped tightly around herself, huddled under the quilts. She feels so nauseous.

Mulder is lying on his side beside him, tear tracks shining on his face. He’s in shock, too, she thinks. He has to be. He killed his own father just a few moments after seeing his son get shot. His son. Scully wipes cold tears off of her face. This isn’t fair, she wants to shout, none of it. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

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Fic: "You’re It”

A/N: Post-ep ficlet for “Plus One”. Huge thanks to @kateyes224 for giving it a read and calming my nerves. :) Tagging @today-in-fic

She’s almost asleep when she feels him nuzzle her neck. He finds that spot right below her ear that’s always driven her crazy, and she lets out a satisfied hum into the pillow.

“Scully, you know you’re it for me, right?”

“Hmm?” She’s barely awake, and she just wants him to keep on doing whatever it is he’s doing. Everything feels so good.

“You’re it,” he says again, his breath as warm and familiar against her neck as the arm resting across her chest under her breasts. “There will never be a younger woman, or another… anyone or anything.”

He has her attention now, and she turns in his arms, enjoying the feel of his fingers grazing across the bare skin of her stomach under the sheets.

“You’re it.”

His eyes are unwavering as they meet hers, and the look on his face so earnest that it almost makes her want to weep.


“No, don’t ‘Mulder’ me,” he interrupts. “Don’t go saying how I can’t possibly know that or how anything can happen or whatever else that rational, brilliant mind of yours can come up with. I know.”

His hand comes up to cup her cheek, his thumb gently sweeping across her bottom lip, and she leans into his touch like she’s done so many times before. She always will.

“You’re it, Scully. My one in… what is it now? 7.4 billion?”

“7.6, actually.” She can’t help herself. “Almost.”

“See?” His eyes crinkle, and god, he’s still the most attractive man she’s ever laid eyes on, even after all these years. “What would I ever do without my very own personal Google-Scully?”

He always did know how to make her laugh.

“That all I am to you?” she teases.

He sobers, his hand stilling on her back where his fingers have been painting random patterns.

“Scully, I’m sorry if I ever gave you reason to doubt me. Us. I know things haven’t always been… great.” He winces a little, and she understands his pain. “But without you…”

“Mulder…” She decides to let him off the hook. “I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like it’s all on you. It’s not.”

Her hands have been resting on his chest, over his heart, and she slides them up to hold his face, making sure he truly hears her, listens.

“You are, without a doubt, the greatest adventure of my life. I may have lost sight of the road for a bit, but… I’m here. Always.” She leans her forehead against his. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. Wheelchairs and all.”

He chuckles.

“You’re it, Scully.” He tightens his arm around her, her body flush up against his. “I’m gonna keep saying it ‘til you believe it.”

“I believe.” And she does. If nothing else, she’s always had the strength of his beliefs.

She pushes the sheets away and straddles him with the ease of having done so countless times before. His hands find her hips as she leans down over him, her hair tickling his face.

“Another one for the road, eh?” His fingers dig into her sides as she presses down on him, and the severity of the moment is gone.


She kisses him, slow and with purpose, her knees pushing into the mattress underneath them.


He comes alive under her touch, and she smiles.



Post One Son! 

She looks at him and is 14 years-old all over again. Ashamed and awkward. The jocks used to buddy up with her in chemistry and biology, telling her that she was pretty and funny when what they really wanted was someone to do all the work so they could goof off during class. One of them even kissed her, groped her breast over her shirt, made her feel so fucking special. She cried hot, angry tears when she saw him holding hands with someone else.

The whole thing has made her feel childish and rebellious and she hates herself for it, hates the feeling of being taken advantage of. Her belly sloshes with vodka and nausea. She realizes what she must look like but she doesn’t care, doesn’t give a shit about any of it anymore.

He’d let her in, looking somewhat dumbfounded. He’s never seen her like this. She doesn’t let people see her when she’s like this. But there are things to say.

“I would’ve fucked you, did you know that?” she asks as she weaves about. She imagines that she is moving very smoothly, almost serpentine. But her higher thinking brain is still buzzing in the background, reminding her that she probably looks like a fool.  

She’s not sure what surprises him more, her use of the “f” word, or the fact that she used it reference to him.

“If that bee hadn’t stung me,” she clarifies. “I woulda-”

“I know what you’re talking about, Scully,” he says, raising a hand to stop her from saying any more.

“Thank god for the bee, I guess. Got you what you really wanted anyway, didn’t it? Another piece of the grand puzzle? A UFO sighting? Got me to stay and be your dutiful little partner?”

“You’re drunk,” Mulder says, with just a little too much understanding in his voice. He comes to her and drops a hand into the small of her back. “Come sit down and I’ll call you a cab.”

“Don’t touch me,” she nearly hisses.

He raises his hands quickly, defensively.

“Why’d you come here, Scully? To tell me that I got cock blocked by a bee?”

“I came here to tell you that I’m leaving,” she says. Only she’s not, she’s sitting down, the leather of his couch creaking underneath her. “You were right; this is personal, all of it. And I don’t want it anymore.”

“Don’t do this, you’re being petty,” he says dismissively.

“Maybe I am,” she says, quietly, almost to herself. She gets up slowly, her head swimming and her limbs pleasantly numb. “But I never lied to you, Mulder. Never once.”

“When did I lie?” he asks, now even more defensive.

“You only want my talent, my skill. You begged me to stay that day, manipulated my emotions. But when it comes right down to it, you don’t trust me. You never did.”

“I’m not gonna have this argument with you right now. You’re drunk and you’re lashing out. You need to go home and sleep it off,” he says as he picks up the phone.

“Don’t bother,” she sighs, surprised to find her eyes wet. She doesn’t know what she expected. Mulder does grand gestures, but not acts of contrition. Besides, he’s not sorry.

She ambles to the door, realizing that this was a terrible mistake.

“You’re not gonna drive like this,” he warns as he maneuvers around her and blocks the door.

“I can get my own cab,” she says, the defeat evident in her voice. She’s fumbled this whole thing. What was it even meant to be? She’s not sure anymore.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmurs.

She looks up just as he is leaning down and she tenses up, readying herself for whatever comes next. His lips brush hers and press gently. She lets him kiss her, lets her eyes drift shut, lets her tongue swipe his lip. It feels so good that it aches, makes her head swim and her eyes water.

She pulls away and looks for penance in his eyes. She’s not even sure who needs to be forgiven at this point.

“You only love me when you’re losing me,” she whispers.

Fic - Come Home

Author: @joelyjo

Rating: NC17

Summary: Post-ep for rm9sbg93zxjz. Picks up immediately after the credits roll. Sort of ignores the scene in the church in Nothing Lasts Forever as I’m finding it super perplexing to put into perspective of the rest of the season’s msr content. Vague references to all things.

Warnings: Nothing that I can spot, unless you want to count a healthy dose of smutty stuff!

Author’s Notes: I am an old fan. I remember watching the first season when it aired. That’s how old we’re talking. But even though I spent a lot of time back in the day trawling Gossamer and was active on Yahoo Groups, I’ve never actually put pen to paper for these characters before. However, XF officially got me into fanfic and since then I’ve written for a bunch of different fandoms. But, due to starting a family, it’s been a while since I wrote anything, so I’d appreciate any and all feedback on this, good, bad or indifferent.


“We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there.”

                   Pascal Mercier – Night Train to Lisbon


There’s a gossip magazine on the counter along from where they are sitting. Paparazzi pictures of two celebrities in sunglasses adorn its gaudy frontage and the headline screams SPLIT, FOR GOOD? in excited white capitals. A man in a striped shirt plays solitaire on his phone, another aggressively works the crossword in the Post. There’s a young family sitting in a booth just down from them, the mother fussing over the contents of the baby’s cup. He notices these things as they sit and wait for their bill to be collected. Scully leans against him, her hand in his, watching too. They are comfortable, easy.  

“You ready?” he asks when the bill is paid. She nods and slips down from her stool. He holds the door for her and they exit onto the street. Sunday morning in Bethesda is pleasant - crisp and bright with early Spring sunshine - and the sidewalk is busy with a myriad of people going places. Five minutes of walking separates the diner and her house, and his car is parked up there, so they should just begin to make their way back, but for a moment they both hesitate, eyes blinking against the glare of light. “Thanks, Mulder, that was… really good.” She gives him an apologetic smile, ducking back under the diner’s awning to keep from squinting up at him before admitting, “Much better than the sushi.”

“As if we need more evidence that it’s always best to leave the big decisions to me.”

She gives no objection and his joke falls away into silence. He has enjoyed their breakfast too. It’s been good these last few months to make an effort like this, to spend time in one another’s company away from work and to choose to be together. To go on actual dates. It’s been slow going, but they are now a far cry away from estranged.

But these thoughts are his own, not hers. Nothing has been acknowledged by Scully – no comments or remarks about the change in the air, or the shift in the ground. It is as if, in her eyes, nothing remarkable has happened at all. He’s not even sure if she thinks there is more here than casual sex and dinner dates. After the Poundstone case, he too thought that that was all it was, but with each day that has passed, he’s come to realise that, to him, ‘casual’ is the wrong word entirely. In an ironic reversal of roles, he’s bitten the apple and all he wants is more.

He fiddles with the zip on his sweater. In his pocket, his phone buzzes audibly with an email alert, a distraction, and Scully eyes him with amusement as he quells the urge to check what it is, then chuckles at her expression. “I must resist,” he says in a robotic tone and folds his arms as if to prevent itchy fingers from doing as they wish.    

Another pause. Cars pass by on the street, their Doppler effects marking the passage of minutes in swoops of sound. Intermittently, pedestrians side-step around them. “Hey… Do you want me to help you sort stuff out before I head off?”

It’s an open, friendly offer, the sort of offer he’d have made twenty years ago without a second thought, but these days he finds that he is always expecting her to think he has an agenda. It reminds him vaguely of nature programmes he’s watched, where the hopeful male approaches the female with some kind of tentative proffering, aware that her mood will determine whether she consumes the gift or him.  

Scully looks down at her too-white sneakers, considering. She’s not going to eat him today, he realises. “That’d be great, Mulder. I’m not sure what will need to be done, but I’m going to need the door looking at for sure.”

He nods. “Let’s get to work, then.”


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Hold Me

I rewrote CC’s bed scene dialogue in “Plus One”- SO BIG SPOILERS FOR THAT EPISODE -  I know there’ll be plenty more in the following days, weeks - years? But I had to get it out of my head.

Tagging @today-in-fic

She hasn’t been held by Mulder in a while. Or rather she hasn’t allowed herself that particular comfort. Tonight, though, she knows that she won’t sleep, won’t calm down until she’s in his arms. They go around her so easily, fit exactly right, as if they’ve been doing it every night for the last 25 years. It’s a half truth, she thinks and smiles. Then the darkness slips into bed with them, tries to get into Scully’s head and in between them. Mulder, oblivious to her thoughts, holds her tight, breathes against her neck.

“What’s gonna happen?”

“What’s gonna happen when?”

“When we’re old.”

“What do you mean ‘when’?” He chuckles and she smiles. He is right, of course. She won’t let him know it, though. Not now.

“Sooner or later we’re gonna retire and… are we gonna spend time together?”

“Where is that kind of talk coming from, Scully? That’s not you.” His is deep, sounds like sleep. She feels him get closer, if that’s at all possible. His warmth is everywhere around her. How she’s missed this, missed him.

“I’ll push your wheelchair around,” he mumbles into her ear, his breath tickling her, “with my own wheelchair.” More chuckling that rumbles through him.

“It’s not what I mean.” She tells him without any humor in her voice.

“What do you mean? I know you like to keep me guessing but… I’m old, Scully. I’m tired.” There’s a pause, a beat before she answers him.

“What if you meet someone? What if you meet someone… younger who wants to have kids.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say, Scully.”

“Thanks.” She mutters trying to move away from him, but he strengthens his hold on her.

“First of all, Scully, I am not looking for anyone,” he pauses and she wonders if he’s going to continue, the sentence half finished dangling over them for a long second, “It’s you, Scully. It’s been you for longer than I can recall. So that’s one thing you can take off your mind right now. As for kids… we already do. But what about you, hm? What if you meet someone with kids, or you adopt them, or-”


“What? You started it.”

“That’s not going to happen, Mulder.” She feels him nod against her as if he’s proving a point.

“Would you want… we never talked about it after William. Would you have wanted more kids?”

“I think… I would have liked to have another one.” She thinks of William. Of his smile that always reminded him of Mulder. What does his smile look like now? What color are his eyes, his hair? How does his laugh sound? Does he ever wonder about them, about the parents who gave him up? She sighs, thinks of Emily now. The memory is hazy; a blurry photo missing the edges. She has two children. Had. She had two children.

“Would have liked.” Mulder’s voice is no more than a whisper against her neck, his voice tapping against her skin. He kisses her there this time like he’s done so often as if he could soften her guilt, her thoughts. Take them away from her.

“Would you have wanted another one?” H

“Hmm. With you? Always, Scully.” They’re quiet for a moment. This is something else they haven’t done in a while; talk. It’s easier here in the safeness of the darkness, of a place that is not their home. If she needs to she can claim it was a moment of insanity, a moment of fear. Nothing else. But as Mulder sighs against her, as she sighs, too, just out of habit, she realizes that she doesn’t want to walk the tightrope anymore. She wriggles and turns in his arms. His eyes are small, he is so tired. Scully smiles at him. He smells good, he always does. Handsome, Judy called him. He’s always been handsome, ever since she first saw him. Now he is so much more than that, to her. More than she wants, sometimes. But as she looks at him now the half-smile lightening up his whole face as if he knows exactly what she’s going to do next, she couldn’t care less.  

“I think… we can’t change the past, Mulder. And no matter what you’ll be out there with your theories and I’ll be there to prove you wrong.”

“While pushing each other around in wheelchairs.” This time it’s her who chuckles. She nods, moves closer. Their faces are almost touching. She tries to remember the first time. Not the first time they had sex; the first time they stared at each other like this, open and vulnerable, sharing secrets that could never be uttered during the day, in the light.  

“And doing other stuff.”

“Other… stuff? Like what, Scully?”

“Like this.” She closes the distance, not that there is much to cover, and devours his mouth. She hasn’t allowed him to hold her in so long; she’s deprived them both of this so much longer. Scully forgets each and every ridiculous fear she’s just entertained, as Mulder’s hands start to roam, rediscover all the places they once knew; still know, she realizes. She moans into his mouth and his tongue comes to meet hers as if it were the first time. They know what they’re doing, she thinks with a grin against his lips, and they’ll be doing it for a while yet. Even when they’re retired and in wheelchairs. She gets it now. Nothing will change this, will come between them. Scully lets go.

XF Fic: The Tattoo

Summary: Mulder and Scully finally discuss her tattoo and her trip to Philadelphia.

Rating: Here Be Smut. (Mature.)

Notes: There is no such thing as too much post-Never Again smut. With thanks to @agoldenpalace for the excellent beta work, reassurance and friendship.

The mark on her back is years old when Mulder finally asks her to talk about it.

“Tell me about the night you got your tattoo,” he says.

The question startles Scully out of the easy rhythm her mind and body had settled into. She might have chalked the request up to possessiveness, or even insecurity. But given that he asks it while he’s in the middle of fucking her, she doesn’t need to be a profiler to suspect it’s just the opposite. The threat presented by Ed Jerse, both as a sexual rival and her attempted murderer, have faded away with the years. What remains is a hot tattoo and a dirty story.

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At Long Last

My post-ep. The last one. I didn’t feel like writing after this shit show, but… tagging @today-in-fic

Scully breaks down the minute they step inside the house. All Mulder can do is catch her. Violent sobs tear through her, through him. She shakes in his arms and he tightens his around her. They slip to the ground, together, arm in arm, grief shared.

“Our son, Mulder,” she sobs, cries, “our son.” He puts his hand on her stomach. A miracle. Another one. Or the first one? His own tears stain his cheeks, fall freely into her hair. He thinks of William. The boy he saw in the hotel room. What did he see in his face? His nose. Scully’s lips. He saw himself in the boy’s face, felt it in his lean frame. The boy is taller than he is. Was. William was. All he ever wanted, for all of William’s life, was for the boy to be all right. Now he’s gone. Just gone. His son. Scully’s words come back to him, unasked. No miracle, an experiment. Their son. Mulder presses his lips into her hair. She smells sweet. How can she smell like sugar, like flowers after all of this. He closes his eyes against the pain, against the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him.

“Our son.” Mulder repeats back to her. William is his son (was, his mind chimes, was) and hers. Whatever short moments they had, whatever happened.

“He told me… you, I thought. I thought it was you when… he said, he said he knows I love him. Oh, Mulder. I am so sorry. So sorry.” He takes the words from his lips, the kiss one of comfort.

“Of course he knows, Scully. He knows.”

“He is our son, Mulder. I’m sorry I-” Mulder doesn’t let her finish and traces her lips with his finger. He wipes away her tears, but they keep coming; too many to kiss away, the pain too deep.

“I shouldn’t have said that-”

“Sssh, I know, Scully. I know.” He understands. Of course he does. There is no way to prove that William is theirs, his and hers. If only their son was here, now. How can they start a new family with a new baby after all this? It’s impossible. They’re too old, it’s too… there is no explanation. A simple twist of fate. Ironic, really.

“Mulder, this pregnancy… I don’t know if-” Scully trails off as new new tears fill her eyes. He remembers her telling him when she was pregnant with William, when he was missing, after he was dead, how she was scared her sadness would be transferred to William. This pregnancy, he fears, this miracle will be similar. Only this time he’ll be here every step of the way, for every appointment, for every doubt she has. To ease the pain, the sadness.

“We’ll work it out, Scully. We always do.”

“What would I even do without you?” He forces a smile and it’s enough for her, it seems. She, too, smiles and Mulder bites the inside of his cheek; this smile, he’s seen it not long ago. On their son’s face.

“Let’s get some sleep. Let’s…” Mulder doesn’t finish. Tomorrow is a new day. The day they start healing, maybe. A fresh start. They’re good at that, starting anew. He lifts her up easily and Scully lets him. He carries her upstairs like a new bride, but there’s no giddiness, no happiness.

Scully is asleep in his arms, heavy as his heart. He puts her down, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Our baby… babies… William…” She mumbles half asleep, already lost in a dream. Mulder lies next to her, holds her. There are gunshots in his ears, a splash in the water. William, William, William. His eyes drift close, his eyelids like lead.

“Mulder. Mulder, wake up.” Scully shakes his shoulder, her eyes wide awake and crazy. There’s the shadow of a smile around her lips.

“What is it? Are you sick? The ba- the baby?”

“It’s William.” Her voice is so full of hope, love. “I feel him, Mulder. He’s alive. I feel him.” She puts her hand on her chest, right over her heart.

“Scully, I know you want to believe that-” She shakes her head, her belief too strong. She takes his hand and makes him get up.

“I feel him, Mulder. I feel it.” The stairs squeak under their feet as they go downstairs. It’s dark outside, but dawn is almost there, the hope of a new day in the sky, in the air. Scully opens the door and a cool breeze hits him into the chest. Or maybe it’s pain.

Scully stands there, hope apparent in every fiber of her body. He wants to hug her, wants to take the pain off her.

“Mulder, look.” Mulder follows her voice, her eyes. There in the distance, out of the darkness, is a shadow. His heart misses a beat before it beats faster. William, it says. William, William.

“It’s him. It’s our son.” Scully’s words disappear into the air as she walks towards the boy. He speeds up, too, and Mulder is frozen in place on the porch. He watches as Scully hauls William into her arms. They’re both crying and Mulder knows he must be crying, too. The words Scully said earlier, on the docks, he erases them from his mind. He knew then she didn’t mean them, not a single one. William is their son, her baby. She’s a mother, always has been. He’s a father, too.

In tentative steps he joins them. William glances at him, his eyes red.

“He is so tall,” Scully sobs, but there’s no more sadness, “you look like your dad, you look like Mulder.”

“Come inside,” Mulder says, his arms around his son, the love of his life, and their unborn miracle, “come inside, William. You’re home now. You’re safe.” This time the boy trusts him, not saying a word. Scully takes his hand, Mulder the other one. They’re connected, a family. Together, at last.

Our Home

by: mldrgrl
Rating: PG
Summary: Post-ep for This

Mulder woke with a small jerk. It wasn’t the light tapping beside him that pulled him from sleep, but a twinge in his shoulder that fired off a message of pain to his brain and startled him into consciousness. He groaned and winced as he opened his eyes.

Scully, cross-legged beside him on the couch, laptop on her thighs, stopped typing. Her glasses slipped down her nose a little as she lowered her chin to look at him and put a hand to his forehead. “You okay, Mulder?” she asked.

Mulder rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck from side to side before he answered. “Getting too old for this shit,” he said. “Nothing a few Advil probably wouldn’t cure though.”

“I figured.” She leaned over and reached down to the floor, handing him a bottle of painkillers from her bent position followed by a glass of water.

“Ah, Scully,” he said on a sigh, grateful for her forethought. He popped a few pills, washed them down with tepid water, and then rolled and stretched his neck and shoulders again.

Scully went back to typing.

“What’re you doing? Mulder asked. “And why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Don’t forget, I had a nice catnap in a skanky bar in the middle of nowhere.”

“And another on an airless Greyhound,” he murmured, shifting his weight towards her so his arm pressed against her shoulder. Closing his eyes, he drifted back to the night before when she’d slipped her arm through his and rested her cheek on his shoulder. She’d dozed for maybe an hour, hands tangled with his in his lap, until the brat behind them started relentlessly kicking her seat and Mulder had to calm her itching trigger finger again.

Eyes still closed, Mulder let the soft tapping of her typing lull him for a few minutes, but she hadn’t answered his question, and it kept him awake. He blinked and squinted into the harsh light of her laptop. His vision was too bleary and fuzzy without his glasses.

“So, what’re you doing?” he asked again.

“Neither of us are IKEA people,” she answered.

“No? But, we get to put all the shit together ourselves.”

“That’s not an incentive.”

“Where else can you order meatballs and pick up your furniture at the same time?”

“Meatballs give you heartburn.”

Mulder put his fist against his chest for a moment and rubbed his breastplate. “So what are you looking at?”


“Where? Don’t say Williams-Sonoma. We’re not Williams-Sonoma people either.”

Scully’s fingers paused, hovering above the keys.

“Or Pottery Barn,” Mulder added.


Mulder groaned.

“I saved a few that are really nice,” she said.

“Guess what, I’m pretty sure you have to put those together too.”

“Look.” Scully angled the laptop towards him and he pulled his head back and squinted.

“Can’t see.”

Scully took off her glasses and slipped them onto his face. He still squinted and wrinkled his nose at the picture on the screen.

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked.


Scully huffed and pulled her glasses from his face before she turned the laptop back to face herself. Mulder pushed himself up from the couch with a dramatic groan. He staggered to the kitchen to put the empty glass of water in the sink and the bottle of Advil on the counter.

Yawning, he made his way back to the couch and closed Scully’s laptop with the quick press of his fingers. She looked up at him and frowned and he held his hand out to her.

“Come on,” he said, cocking his head.

“Come on, what?” she asked.

“We should’ve gone up to bed when we got home. Come on.”

Scully sighed.

“We’ll go to that flea market antique mall thing we found the table lamps at later today, but right now, let’s just go to bed.”

Scully took Mulder’s hand and let him pull her up as she shifted the computer from her lap to the couch. “How’s your back?” she asked.

“Not up for anything strenuous right now, honey, but I’m glad to know you’re interested.”

Scully rolled her eyes and he gave her hand a squeeze as he led her to the stairs. He pulled her forward in front of him and took a step back so she could go up first. She lingered for a few moments, touching the split rail and then inspecting the bullet hole in the wall.

“We’ll need to take your car,” he said, trudging up the stairs behind her. “Can’t really strap a table to the roof of the ‘stang.”

“Mulder, I told you the Mustang would be impractical.”

“You said it was cool.”

“When did I say that?”

“1996. We were, I don’t know, somewhere in the middle of nowhere Nevada when one zoomed by. You said, and I quote, ‘damn, that’s a cool car. Bet she purrs like a kitten on the open road.’”

Scully stopped on the second to last riser and turned around, her left brow raised high. “Fox Mulder, did you go out and buy that car based solely on an offhand comment I made 20 years ago?”

“Of course not.”

She turned her cheek slightly and gave him a sideways look of skepticism.

“The guy at the dealership said the chicks would dig it.” He wiggled his brows at her.

“Mmhm.” She turned around again to head up the last few stairs.

“Of course I told him I already had myself a chick…girl…woman…partner in crime…” He cringed and corrected himself several times over at the look she threw at him over her shoulder.

“Let’s look for a new coat rack while we’re there as well. The one we have now seems to lean slightly.”


Scully yawned just then and sat down on the bed. Her eyes drooped slightly and she struggled to toe her boots off. Mulder knelt down and pulled them off for her. She whispered her thanks and crawled up the bed to pull the comforter down. When he got into bed beside her, she curled up next to him and put her arm around him, elbow bent so that her hand rested on his chest.

“It’s good to be home,” she murmured.

“Mmhm,” he agreed, covering her hand with his.

The End

The I in Team

Part 5: Trust

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Rating: Mature
Timeline: season 6
Tags: Angst-ish, but veering toward legit MSR
Words: 2.2k (pt. 5)

A/N: Sorry it’s been a while! It was a tough week, and I got kinda sick on top of it. :( The format here is a little bit different than the other parts, but that’s because we’re rounding toward the end. I think maybe just one more part!?


A little after eight in the morning, he stood in front of her motel door, holding coffee and a bagged-breakfast, knocking gently with his boot. It took her a minute, but she appeared, wet-haired, in jeans and a black v-neck.

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

He held up the coffee and brown paper bag in explanation, little smirk on his face, nervous. “The motel breakfast is pretty bad, so…” He scraped his boot on the concrete. “Can I come in?”

She gave him a look, squint-eyed, like what are you up to. She blinked, then stepped back. “Okay.”

In her room he set their breakfast on the table—her coffee done right, a strawberry croissant, her favorite. “This one’s yours,” he said.

The Florida sun was just warming the early day, grazing the window blinds to stripe the table where they sat. She sipped her coffee and it was good: two creams, no sugar.

“We’re gonna go to the thing today, okay? We’re gonna do it right.”

“We are?”

“Yeah.” He said, looking at her with all seriousness.

She eyed him, unsure. He was chewing his own croissant. “Why?” she asked. “You don’t really want to.”

He shrugged. “I don’t want to listen to some corporate smile-guy telling me to assess my strengths and weaknesses, telling us to align our synergy, or to learn how to build consensus, or any of that bullshit. But we’re off the clock here, pretty much. The world isn’t ending. We’re here together, the sky is blue, there are no monsters in sight, and there’s a nature hike later today. Let’s just… be people. Okay? See if we can?”

She pursed her lips, watched him try to wrangle that obsessive energy and turn it toward whatever this was, hovering between them. He was twitchy. Anxious, she saw, like he’d spent all night working up the courage for this.

“Okay,” she said after pause. But she kept wariness and suspicion in her back pocket. Like a child who’d been bitten by a dog, she was reluctant to stretch her fingers out toward it again.

He surprised her, then, by touching her hair, her cheek, by leaning forward. “I won’t lose you,” he said. “I won’t.”

She just nodded and kept her eyes on the table.

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anonymous asked:

Please grace us a valentine fic revival time? I hope 2017 Mulder and Scully are still in love in this day :)

I couldn’t resist a little Vistor/Resident follow-up :)

He brings her lunch at work - a double order of sweet potatoes from Teaism and a sandwich for himself - and they eat together in her office, splitting a cupcake at the end of their meal.  She produces it from her desk drawer with a smile.  It’s apple spice cake, and it tastes like his grandmother’s recipe.  He licks his fingers clean and watches her dab crumbs off her face without removing her lipstick.

“You know Valentine was a martyr,” he says.

“I’m Catholic,” she reminds him.  She smiles wryly. 

“Not everybody’s versed in the mythology,” he counters. 

“Mulder,” she says, “first of all, I’ve spent long enough around you and studying ritualistic killers to have made a moderately exhaustive study of religious icons of any number of faiths.”

“Second of all?”

“Second of all, everybody knows that Valentine was a martyr,” she tells him.  

“Who’s your saint?” he asks.  

She smiles again.  “Catherine.”

“Of course,” he says.  “Who better than a princess who could out-argue anyone and who devoted herself to a higher cause?”

“Of course,” she says simply.  “My saint’s day always got folded into Thanksgiving.”

“We’ve never celebrated Valentine’s Day in the office,” he says. 

“Is this leading up to some convoluted proposal?” she asks.  “Because you don’t usually devote lunch to hagiography.”

He reaches into his pocket.  “You know how to suck all the romance out of a room, Scully,” he says, setting a small box on the desk between them.

She looks at the box and back at him.  “Mulder.”

He nudges it toward her.  “Just open it.”

She reaches out and takes it, opening it gingerly, her eyes locked on his.  Gold gleams gently against the dark velvet inside the box.    

“It doesn’t have to be a wedding ring,” he says, as she reaches in and takes it out, rolling it between her fingertips.  “I had my mother’s jewelry melted down.  I wanted to make something new.”

“We already made something new,” she says, her eyes luminous as she looks at him.  

“This is it, Scully,” he says, taking her hand.  “For me.  This is it.  You’re it.  I just wanted to mark the occasion.”

She hands him the ring and he slips it onto her finger.  It doesn’t look like an engagement ring or a wedding band, exactly, but it looks right on her hand.  He cradles her fingers with his and it’s a perfect moment, as magical as he might have expected from a wedding.  They gaze at each other and he knows that this time, they’ll manage to make a life together that doesn’t draw the darkness to them.

“Don’t forget we have dinner reservations after therapy,” she says, and it sounds like a lifelong vow.

“I’ll be there,” he promises.

He goes back to work, feeling the absence of the box in his pocket after carrying it for weeks back and forth between his desk and hers.  It’s a Tuesday, like and unlike any other, and he will never be the same.  He passes a window and realizes that his reflection is smiling.  

Back at his desk, he takes out another box and opens it to look at his father’s wedding ring.  He weighs it in his palm for a moment.  His father, misguided, a man with poor instincts and worse friends.  His father, who wasn’t there when he needed him.  But his father was a patriot too, and loved his children.

He hesitates a second more and then slips on the ring.  It fits him, and he thinks of genetics, the link between his father’s hands and his own.  He opens his desk drawer again, takes out the photograph of William, and tucks the corner into the frame of the photograph of himself and Scully.  He’ll get another frame for it tomorrow, but no member of his family will stay in the darkness.  They are all made whole on this day of martyrs.  They are done with sacrifice.

anonymous asked:

Prompt for your IVF headcanon - any interest in expanding on #3 (Christmas with the Scullys)? I keep imagining M&S cuddled up on the couch at night and exchanging looks when Matthew comes over to S for a hug and M trying not to be too obvious that he can't keep his hands of S's tummy.

sure, what the hell. the original story is here. this is for @2moms-0fucks, who i promised a full story and never came through for. i’m sorry i never finished that, but here’s something else??

1. They’re both nervous as hell. Scully in no way regrets asking him to go along, but it’s undeniably an awkward situation, showing up at the airport with her partner in tow, to the complete surprise of her mother. She blinks at the both of them, and Scully rushes to explain that Mulder was going to be alone for Christmas again (she knows they both remember the last Christmas he nearly spent alone well), so she invited him along. (Which isn’t a lie; just an omission.) The awkwardness is palpable in the moment, and Scully excuses herself to call ahead to California to warn Bill (since she knows that will be a million times more awkward without warning). But when she gets back, she finds Maggie and Mulder engaged in polite conversation, probably spurred on by the fact that he’s been in an incredibly good mood since some time this morning. He keeps catching her eyes over Maggie’s shoulder and grinning dopily. Scully smiles back.

On the plane, he grabs her hand and she can’t bring herself to pull away. Maggie doesn’t comment.

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A “Millenium” post-ep fluff piece that randomly popped into my head. Didn’t fit with any of my prompts, unfortunately. But here you go. 

“Scully, where are you?”

Having blindly answered the phone, barely awake, Scully swallows. Her mouth is dry, her eyes refuse to open, and why is Mulder calling her at this hour anyway? Whatever hour it is. Didn’t she just take him home after the hospital? After that kiss? Oh, that kiss.

“Scully?” His voice gets louder, sounds impatient.  

“I’m here.” She mumbles into her pillow before she turns her head to look at the time: 4.42 am. Oh, Mulder, why.

“You’re not here,” he sounds strangely accusatory, she thinks still trying to wake up; he might be fine with just two or three hours of sleep, even drugged up, but she’s not. “You left.” He finishes.

“I went home, Mulder. Like I said I would.” Her brain refuses to come up with the exact dialogue, but she knows she told him she’d be back tomorrow. Considering the time then and now she might have used the words ‘later today’. She never said she’d stay with him. She knows because she had to make herself leave.

“You said you’d stay.” She can practically hear him pout on the other end of the line.

“Mulder,” Scully sighs, “I drove you home and I said I’d be back later.” There’s a pause on his side and Scully’s eyes, which she just managed to open somewhat, are in danger of falling shut again. This is the reason she wanted to go home, why she didn’t stay with Mulder. That and the fact that she thought he’d be out for a couple of hours. She had given him the good, strong stuff. Even that was no match for his determination, it seems. He didn’t want her to leave of course (and part of her really wanted to stay, too). His hands took liberties after they left the hospital. After another push forward – the world didn’t end, no it didn’t – a first, tentative kiss. Now touching. They were doing this slowly, without words, just testing the waters. Except Mulder, on painkillers or not, tended to jump in. She didn’t stop him when he planted his hand on her thigh in the car. Or when he leaned heavily against her when she followed him upstairs. She even gave him another gentle peck right before she left. But she knew she couldn’t stay. Because of this. Before this could go further, and there was no doubt that it would, she needed to think about it. She couldn’t do it when Mulder stared at her like a puppy, when his hands roamed over her body; when his whole presence fogged up the reasonable part of her brain.

“It’s later now, Scully.” His voice, still pouting (she hears it, she truly does), jolts her back to the present moment.

“Mulder, it’s the middle of the night. Why don’t you take another dose of painkillers and sleep? I’ll be there in the morning-”

“It’s morning.”

“Later in the morning.”

“I could drive over to your apartment.”

“Mulder, your arm is in a sling. You can’t drive.” Scully pinches her nose. She can barely move; her own body, without the aid of painkillers, reminds her that she’s not getting any younger.

“I can drive with one arm, Scully. I told you.”

“You can’t, Mulder. Or you shouldn’t. Just stay where you are, all right? I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” He’s quiet again and as much as Scully longs for him to hang up the phone so she can go back to sleep, she knows the silence is not a good sign.

“I shouldn’t have done it, huh?” His voice is barely above a whisper, breaks and Scully sits up in bed, awake now.

“What are you talking about?”

“Kissing you. I shouldn’t have done it. It was too soon.”

“Oh, Mulder,” Scully murmurs, “you did nothing wrong. I loved the kiss.” She flushes when she realizes what she’s just said.

“You did?” Now she can hear him grin. It makes her smile, puts her in a better mood despite the wake-up call and her exhaustion.

“Yeah, Mulder. I did.”

“So I can – we can – do it again?”

“I was counting on it.” Scully admits.

“I’m coming over now, Scully.”

“Mulder, no! You’re not supposed to drive with your arm.”

“But Scully…” The pout makes a comeback. Scully sighs again; it feels like she never stopped sighing once. She gets up, feels her weary bones and stretches.

“You stay where you are, Mulder,” she tells him a voice he knows means business and he’s quiet, “I’ll be there in half an hour, all right?” Without turning on the lights, she grabs random pieces of clothes; it doesn’t matter anyway. She doubts they’ll spend much time outside. Her stomach tingles thinking about it, about what she’s about to do; what they’re about to do soon. So very soon.

“I could be at your place in 20 minutes, Scully.” Mulder’s impatience distracts her, makes her roll her eyes.

“Mulder, if you want a repeat performance of that kiss and if you want to go further than that – ever – you will stay where you are. Understood?” Another pause that gives her enough time to roam through her closet.

“Uhm, Scully…” She knows that tone; he’s guilty. He’s done something stupid.

“Mulder, what?” Scully doesn’t get an answer. Instead she hears a knock on her front door. She startles and pads barefoot to answer. She looks through the peep hole even though she knows. Of course she knows.

“Hi.” Mulder smiles sheepishly, phone still in hand, his other arm in its sling at least.

“Mulder.” Is all she says; she wants to be angry. She wants to yell at him, wants to strangle him even maybe, but instead she drags him in by his good arm, closes the door and pushes him against it. She’s on tiptoe and he still has to lower his head. Not that she cares. Let him suffer some more, she thinks.

“Told you I could drive with one arm.” He whispers against her lips and Scully doesn’t want to argue with him and so she captures his lips with hers and seals their fate. She’s not going to get any sleep any time soon that’s for certain.

Somebody Likes a Math Geek

by: mldrgrl
Rating: PG
Summary: Look, I was supposed to be off running errands today since I was gone this weekend, but instead I was at home staring at my dog all day, so while he slept, I wrote some post-Millennium fluff.

Mulder expected a knock on his door the next morning, he just didn’t expect it so early.  He opened the door with a sheepish look on his face, smears of shaving cream on his cheeks and bare chest.  He’d intended to prove he was capable of functioning like normal, even with the use of one arm, but obviously he’d failed.  He couldn’t even button his jeans all the way, let alone shave.  He didn’t know what he was thinking.

“What were you thinking?” Scully asked, clearly reading his mind.  She dropped a white paper bag he knew contained bagels from the corner deli onto his table.

“I thought I could manage,” he grumbled.  “You’re early.”

“It’s already nine.”  She took his arm (the good one) and led him towards his bedroom.  “Let’s get you cleaned up.  Did you take your meds yet?”

He shook his head.  She chastised him with her eyes and then turned her disapproving glare to the state of the bathroom.  There was shaving cream on the mirror and the knobs to turn on the faucet.  A large puddle surrounded the base of the sink.  Wet towels and yesterday’s clothes were strewn about the floor.

“Mulder,” she said, and stopped at his name.  She didn’t have to go on, it was obvious neither of them knew what he’d been thinking.

“I hear beard is the new black.”

“Wait here.”

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