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postmodernbeliever · 16 days

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Thoroughfare- Fox Mulder x Female Reader

Chapter Three: Two’s Company, Three’s a Crime Scene

table of contents <3

if you’d prefer my ao3 | word count: 4,317

TW: mentions of a body at a crime scene, some graphic description.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“No comments from the peanut gallery!”

“I’m simply saying that if you’d let me handle the directions, maybe we’d get there faster!”

You sighed as Fox screwed with the gigantic spiral-bound map he found shoved between the bench of your rental truck. When the two of you landed, you discovered something new about your fellow agent- he liked being in charge of not only picking but driving the rental car. You knew the Bureau provided money for the vehicle, but you had no idea it was within your purview to choose which. You might’ve picked something a little sleeker and smaller, like an understated sedan, but the man with the pen did not share your taste, so this time you didn’t get to exercise the privilege. Fox teased you as he signed the papers for an old Chevy pickup, saying, “Seniority, Piglet.” And now he was refusing to let you control the map while he drove the two of you straight into bumblefuck Kansas as if he had a foolproof inner compass.

“Seriously, Fox, come on. It’s dangerous to drive like this, just let me help.”

“I’ve survived every case this way, you know,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, alone! You’ve got me here now, and I’m not gonna let you crash the damn car while I’m inside!” You resolved, tearing the map from his hand and ripping it at the corner of the page. All you tore was the map scale, but he still shot you a dirty look.

“Nice going–”

“Enough!”

You wanted to believe you didn’t enjoy the way he bickered with you, but it kept the endless drive of dying grass and grey sky interesting. Fox had to double-check every direction you gave him on the way into Marysville, Kansas, at whose name you of course rolled your eyes. The snarky driver learned to stop doubting you about an hour in when he disregarded your order to make a right-hand turn and went left. It took him ten minutes to admit he was wrong and turn around. You graciously accepted his apology, but not before sticking your tongue out in juvenile triumph. Nearly three hours later with the late afternoon sun preparing to set, the rickety truck pulled past a sign that greeted Welcome to Marysville! and you found yourself in the middle of a quaint little place, seemingly empty, with rows of colonial buildings and businesses. You rolled the window down and felt the muggy spring air stick to your face as you poked your head out, admiring the center of town. You could feel your hair frizzing up, and you hoped you’d have time to fix it before you had to do any work. This was not the time to look anything other than prepared.

Fox piped up, “Don’t get too comfortable. I’m gonna make a pitstop at the police station before the motel.”

You huffed and fell back into the seat, and the man let out a soft chuckle. You combatted, “What now?”

“You’re like a little kid.”

“Am not!”

Fox quirked an eyebrow at you, silently proving his point, and your face melted into a playful smile. You stopped complaining and he turned his attention back to the road, where he surveyed for a police department sign. He found it on the corner of a block, but he nearly missed it- if he wasn’t paying attention, he might’ve mistaken it for just another shop. There were stately stone steps out front and two swinging doors that were reminiscent of a saloon, so you made note of the entrance for the next time it camouflaged into the rest of the town. Fox pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine, which sputtered a bit, and you made a nervous face.

“Don’t worry,” Fox smiled, “I can just hotwire something if we need to.” When you made a face, he added, “Come on, I’m kidding!”

All you gave in return was a skeptical, “We’ll see.”

As he moved to open his door, he paused, noticing how you sat still. “Everything okay?”

In your head, you weren’t sure how to answer his question. One thing has been irking you since you landed in the Midwest, and that was how badly you wanted to nail introducing yourself; you’d thought over exactly how to pull your badge from your pocket, and how you’d assert your new title, but every vision ended with you screwing it up. You’d done this at your old job in New York so often it became second nature, but somehow this was different. This was bigger. You had so much more power with a federal badge. You wondered how Fox did it every time; if he was stern, or positive, or something in between. You almost wished you’d practiced it in the mirror, but that felt stupid to entertain.Yet now that it was time to establish yourself as the overarching authority, a beacon of hope to the people of this town and the families who have lost daughters, you were afraid to make a fool of yourself by either overdoing it or not doing it right at all. For God’s sake, you dropped your passport in front of the flight attendant- what made you think you wouldn’t blurt out FBI too loud in front of the sheriff? What would the citizens of Marysville think if the government sent them a detective who couldn’t even get her name out without stuttering?

Fox wished he could read your mind, but all he could do was watch your eyes glaze over. He reached out and touched your shoulder. “Anybody home?”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You’re nervous.”

“Kind of,” you huffed, “There’s a lot I’m nervous about, you know that.”

“About the case?”

“Yeah, the case. And about doing well. Proving myself. Not letting you down,” you added at the end, to which he broke into an appreciative grin. “I don’t know. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“You’re lucky you have me then. I’m practically a diamond,” Fox winked, “Relax. I’ll take the lead.”

Fox might be a pain in the ass, but he was somewhat of a gentleman; after promising he’d lead you through things, he held the door to the station open for you, and you went inside first. There wasn’t much of a lobby. It was more like walking straight into a bullpen, and a calm one, at that. You saw three officers sitting at their desks; two working diligently on what seemed to be simple paperwork, and another with his feet kicked up on the desk and a newspaper over his head, snoring loudly. A faulty fan was whirring exhaustedly in the corner next to an open window. It was mundane everywhere you looked- dusty bookshelves, tidy filing cabinets, dust floating in the light beams spilling through the blinds. An aging woman was working the counter with fat librarian glasses perched on her hook nose and a frizzy, box-blonde French twist. Fox nudged your elbow politely, and you stepped aside to let him approach her first.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Special Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner.”

You watched him carefully as you fished your badge out of your jacket pocket and flipped it open. He held his own up briefly, barely long enough for anyone to know if it was real. You took it he never ran into that issue. His voice in introduction wasn’t stiff, but it was still assertive. There was a warmth in the way he spoke to her, and you thought maybe he was always gentler with older women, or possibly with everyone- he certainly spoke that way with you. You would’ve kept thinking about it if he didn’t keep going.

“I talked on the phone with a Sheriff Hale, he requested my partner and I come down and take a look at a string of murders?”

The woman smiled with all her teeth, and you could tell by the way her eyes sparkled that she liked him. Just like the lady at the airport. You wouldn’t have pegged him as a ladies’ man, but it made sense. He did have a unique charm about him.

“Oh, yes! Well, Sheriff Hale is out on a house call, ‘ya see, but he’s bound to be back in soon. I can send a call out for ‘im, if you like.” Her country accent was thick as molasses, and just as sweet.

“That’d be great, ma’am, thank you.”

“Oh, please, call me Mary!”

Fox laughed and confirmed, “Mary from Marysville, huh?”

Mary cackled like an obnoxious schoolgirl, and you had to bite back a laugh yourself. Fox stepped away with you as the woman hopped on the phone to speak with the sheriff, throwing glances his way all the while.

“Flirting on the job, Fox?”

“What can I say? I’ve got game, Piglet.”

A part of you wanted to know more, but there wasn’t enough time to try between his teasing comment and the interruption of frazzled Mary: “Excuse, Mr. Agent Mulder, sir?”

“Yes?”

“The- the sheriff says he needs you down at the Church of Saint Peter the Apostle as soon as you can, sir, down on the corner. There’s been another murder, dear Lord…”

Fox defaulted to you, and despite your apprehension, you were the first to head for the door. He called back to the woman with a rushed, “Thank you, tell him we’re on our way!” and the two of you hurried to the old pickup parked out front. He got it up and running and rushed off, and there wasn’t one complaint when you reached for the map and turned to the page with a closer view of Marysville, and told him where to go.

“Up on the corner, she said, but which corner?” You wondered aloud, and Fox kept his eyes on the road. You were just about to tell him to make a left when a beater came barreling through a stop sign at the intersection, wholly ignoring your right of way, causing Fox to slam on the breaks. You lurched forward in the seat and caught yourself by slamming the map against the glovebox. You flushed, feeling like an idiot for forgetting your seatbelt.

“Are you hurt?” Fox blurted. His hand reached out to brush some hair away from your forehead, checking for a bruise or blood, but all you could think about was how softly his fingertips ghosted against your temple. You didn’t feel any pain, but you sure were shaken up.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me.” He dropped his hand and looked in the direction of the tin can that nearly killed you both, seeing its tire marks trailing down the road. “Where do you think he was going, driving like that?… Dick.”

He tried to let the insult slip under his breath, but you heard it loud and clear. You giggled, and he smirked at you, noting that you liked a slip-up here and there. You began to say something, but two more cars came hurtling down the street in front of the truck, laying on the horn at you for being stopped a quarter of the way into the intersection. Both loosely followed the tire tracks and made screeching turns a few blocks to the right. You looked to Fox for an explanation, who stared back with just as much confusion as you, and he took off, chasing the commotion. You clicked your seatbelt in hurriedly, holding onto the door handle. You weren’t one for speed, but you didn’t feel as unsafe as you would’ve expected yourself to. Fox knew the car well. He knew the dimensions, he knew how fast it could go, and he clearly felt comfortable in the driver’s seat because he was plowing through town like he was the one being chased. You saw a wild grin creep up on his cheeks, and your face felt warm. It was fun, going fast.

Just up the road, you saw red lights flashing in alarm, and a mass of cars pulled up in disarray outside a little church, including the three trucks that nearly killed you. It had to be smaller than the police station- it was wooden, with a weathered steeple that was shadowed by the falling dusk, and moss grew unabated over the windowsills. Teenagers and parents were prowling by the sheriff’s car, which Fox parked right beside.

“Holy shit!”

“Lord, that’s disgusting!”

“Lemme in, lemme see!”

The two of you hopped out and hurried through the hollering crowd of townspeople, right up to the ambulance that blocked them out, but didn’t hide their view. Kids peeked past the authorities with sick looks. Two paramedics met you at the yellow tape and passed some rubber gloves off, which you took gratefully, already feeling your stomach drop at the exclamations of the onlookers. When you finally got past the ambulance, you gasped at the crime scene which one deputy and the supposed Sheriff Hale were rushing to cover with tarps and close off. Fox held up the tape for you to duck beneath, and he followed as you stepped onto the scene.

“Sheriff Hale?” You inquired. “We’re with the FBI, you called for us?”

The older of the two men looked up. He had a beet-red face, which could’ve been from the intensity of the Kansas sun or stress; his eyebrows were bushy as beaver tails, and his stocky build made it hard to believe he did much more than paperwork. But nonetheless, he stood up and shook your hands as he greeted, “Thanks for getting down here so quick, agents. I reckon this is the fourth victim, she, uh… well, how about y’all take a look?”

You and Fox stood on the little dirt path that led to the steps of the church, lined with painted rocks. It looked like a children’s effort, a community project. There was a large crucifix marking where the peak of the building met the steeple, and a giant translucent sheet covered the steps; on the tall double doors, there were thick splatters of oxidizing blood and splintered wood. You knelt beside the younger officer, who was taking photographs of the scene, and made yourself known.

“What do we have here?”

“Looks like another murder, ma’am,” he frowned. You noticed his name embroidered into his uniform pocket: Deputy H. Jones. He was tall and skinny as a twig, with an endearing gap between his two front teeth. He looked too young to be a college student, let alone a police deputy. “A real shame.”

“Did you know the victim, Deputy Jones?”

“Sure I did, knew ‘em all. Lots… lots of ‘em went to school with me. This girl here, though, she was a good friend of my lil’ sister. Liane Jacobs. Real sweet girl. It, uh, it’s a rough thing to see, ma’am.”

Your heart sank at the thought of what it must feel like to be him. You reached to peel back the tarp, and it took less than a second for you to lay it right back down. You weren’t prepared for the sight, and had to choke down a gag. “Jesus Christ.”

“You ask me, Jesus ain’t got nothin’ to do with this, agent. Not a thing.”

Deputy Jones’s face fell pale as he walked away, leaving you to examine the victim. You slowly lifted the tarp again, careful not to reveal anything to the crowd gathering outside the confines of the caution tape. Despite the breakfast you had rumbling like rocks inside your gut, you took a mental note of the girl lying before you, gutted like a pig. She looked far worse than the photos in Fox’s file. Her entire chest cavity was splayed open as if her ribs had been ripped out all at once. The tissue of her dermis and lungs was a mixture of chop meat, all littering the jagged edges of her vertebrae, which were missing bones in all the spots the X-rays had in common. Her lower body was littered with bruises and cuts, especially around the hips and lower abdomen, yet her face was left untouched- not even a spot of blood was present to interrupt the porcelain appearance. She looked supremely calm, in contrast to her violent disposition; relaxed eyelids, perfectly tinted lips, flawless teenage skin. Her dark hair fell in Hollywood ringlets across her shoulders, manicured, well-placed, well-planned. You gazed up at the cross she sat rotting beneath, and you wondered what God would do, had he the choice to help you understand. You only stopped contemplating when a hand tapped the crown of your head, and you saw your partner looking down at you.

“Her name is Liane Jacobs,” you sighed, “The deputy knew her personally.”

“Seems like everyone did. Seventeen years old, grew up a mile out from here. She worked at the library as a part-time bookkeep and spent her weekends volunteering at this very church,” Fox informed. “The sheriff, deputy, and her parents all swore she was a good girl, a good friend. Devoted to her faith.”

“Look what it got her. So much for being devoted,” you grumbled, tugging Fox down to take a closer look.

A short-lived expression of shock crossed the man’s face, and then he was all business; he knelt over the body, close enough to give you the creeps, and studied the girl’s lacerations. You leaned back on the heels of your boots and glanced around, finding the bystanders terrified of how Fox seemed to dole over the dead body. You squirmed uncomfortably, realizing they must think you had a screw loose, too.

“We’re gonna need an autopsy on the body, but a lot of these mutilations match the other victims just from a visual deduction. The missing ribs, the bruising around the waist and legs. But this is way more aggressive. This is like the other deaths on steroids. The killer didn’t take nearly the same care removing the bones from her chest cavity– I mean, the last murders weren’t surgical by any means, but this? This is violent. Might as well have torn her apart by hand. Somebody is really angry. Maybe even crying out for help. It’s hard to tell.”

“Well, however they’re feeling, they clearly had something against this girl. I mean, they desecrated her, Fox. Her body is completely destroyed. I can’t even fathom what would possess someone to- to ruin a young girl like this.”

Fox nodded curtly, furrowing his eyebrows in agreement. Then his neck craned down, and he mumbled, “Hey, look at this.”

You watched Fox’s glove-clad hand dig into poor Liane’s jeans pocket, tugging out a thin string of wooden beads. It was uneven with little plastic beads between the wood bits, which told you it was homemade. The rosary looked almost charred, and the cross dangling at the bottom was splintered.

“Do you think it’s hers?”

Fox laid the chain in your palm and pointed to the little metal tag that conjoined the sides, where three initials were stamped: LMJ.

“Liane Michelle Jacobs,” he confirmed, “Seems like the type our guy would pick, don’t you think? Looks-wise. Even if she died differently, still fits the profile.”

You moved to drape the tarp back over the body, but not before taking one last look at her face. Liane looked like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her family couldn’t hold an open casket, and everyone would live with how she was found, discarded like roadkill on the local church steps, but she was still beautiful, and that was eating at you.

“I feel horrible.”

“This isn’t really the best first case to work on,” Fox admitted, “I wish it was something different for you.”

You wouldn’t have expected to be so moved by a dead girl. In all your years at college studying the world’s most prolific cases, learning how to compartmentalize, and doing fieldwork in New York, you had a stomach of steel. You could take any case, see any death, and solve it. But you’d never had the feeling you have now, as you see the fourth victim surrendered at the foot of a carpenter. Something dark surrounded her, something that nailed you to the steps. There was a force at work you’d never known before. Something was wrong. You couldn’t be sure if Fox felt it, too, but it was making it near impossible to separate your empathy from your logic. You just wanted to cover Liane, and hope that she didn’t feel any pain, and if everyone might turn their backs to you, maybe you could cry for a moment at the loss of an innocent girl to a monster.

Fox could see you fighting with yourself by the way you chewed at your bottom lip, eyes locked on the girl’s still face. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he had to say something.

“I know this is hard for you. Especially with all the pressure you’re feeling. But I also know having you here will help save other girls like Liane. You’re more than well-equipped for this. If anyone can do the job, it’s you.”

You tipped your head back to blink away a few tears that poked your eyes, and you let the plastic cover the body. Fox cleared his throat and said, “Come on, let’s go. Let the coroner take her.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Offering you a hand, Fox got you back on your feet and you followed him down the walkway towards the street. Two men shuffled over to scoop up the mess on the steps, and you had to tune out all the crying and commentary coming from the townspeople. The colors on the ground were distracting. Every rock was a different shape and size, all probably appealing to the child who chose them; there were paintings of houses and dogs, butterflies and crosses, mothers and fathers holding hands. Kids always seemed to draw what they knew best, even if their imagination took them to so many other places. You stopped short in your gawking and bent down, picking up one of the rocks lining the path; it was red, with a faded painting of a donkey looking up at a lopsided star. You turned the stone over in your hand, feeling the smooth texture, and found a neatly printed name on the back: Liane J. 3rd Grade. You pocketed the rock with no good reason and hurried to catch up with your partner who was waiting by the passenger door of the rental truck, lost in his head. When you reached him, he opened the door for you, and you slipped inside, suddenly deflated.

“I don’t think there’s much else to do tonight until we hear back from Sherriff Hale or the county morgue, so I guess we should head to the motel. I could use a second to settle in. I bet you could, too.”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” You muttered.

Fox began to shut the door on you, but paused, eyes grazing over your face. You weren’t nervous anymore, but were something else. There wasn’t a touch of color in your cheeks, but your skin was still soft-looking, like your eyes. He didn’t like the softness of them, actually, since it seemed more like fragility, or frailty, than gentle. Sitting in the truck he’d picked, on his case you were unlucky enough to be placed on, you looked young and worn, eager and tired, your hair just sweet fuzz framing the face of a girl unaware of what she agreed to. That might be the worst part, how you looked, along with how he imagined you felt. It made his chest ache.

“Hey, uh, are you hungry? I know, bad time to think about eating, but I haven’t since before the flight this morning.”

You scrunched your nose and thought about the last time you ate. You recalled grabbing a power bar on the way out of the house in the morning, but you also seemed to recall passing it to Fox at the airport gate when he complained about being starving. So, you haven’t eaten at all. The nerves kept you full.

“Well, a little, I guess. I probably should have something.”

“How about I stop and grab us a bite on the way over? Sound good?”

You felt the shadow of a smile on your lips, and you nodded your head. Fox made up for the grin you couldn’t muster with all his teeth and shut the car door swiftly, jogging around the front of the truck to get in the driver’s seat. Without another word, he started the engine and backed away from the scene, leaving the Marysville authorities to pack Liane up and ship her off to the morgue. You watched the crowd watch, and you wondered how a town so small and close-knit as this one appeared could stand around and ogle a dead girl they claimed to cherish. You replayed the whole thing in your head- how you froze, how you almost cried, how Fox had to get you out. You were more than embarrassed at how you acted, but you couldn’t change it. You were just lucky he was the only one paying attention.

Blowing out a slow, sleepy breath, you flipped the map open to look for the motel, but Fox laid his hand on it and said, “It’s okay. I got directions from the Sheriff. He said there’s a burger joint on the way, too. You take it easy for now, okay?”

Unwilling to protest, you sat quietly in the seat and let him drive down the pothole-riddled road. You obsessed over the weight of the rock in your pocket, and it felt the way you did back with Liane’s body– dark, unnatural. You left it there and hoped no one would notice it was gone.

#fox mulder #x files #spooky mulder #the x files #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder x you #soft fox mulder #fox mulder x reader fluff #fox mulder fluff #txf #catholiscism #tw religious themes #religious symbolism

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freckleslikestars · 1 year

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Check

Thank you lovely!

Mulder takes Scully on a date.

422 words, read here on AO3

They’re in a restaurant, his choosing this time, and it’s more than slightly nicer than their usual fair, with a candle and flowers in the centre of the table and jazz playing quietly on the speakers. He orders a bottle of wine with the justification that they’ve closed the case, and they’re technically off duty, and tells her she can have anything she wants when she hesitates before ordering a salad. Off his look, she changes her order to pan-seared salmon, quirks an eyebrow when he orders himself a steak. Not within the Bureau’s usual budget, but she assumes he’ll justify it on their expense report with some bullshit about the local diner in the town being closed for renovations or something.

She frowns at him when he suggests dessert, and he shrugs it off with the offer of sharing, perhaps the cheesecake? And because she can’t resist the impish smile on his face, she nods, blushing when he takes one bite and then spends the rest of dessert drinking her in as she relished the tart bite of passionfruit mellowed by the sweet, creamy cheesecake.

It’s not until he presents not the Bureau card, but his own personal one, with the arrival of the check, that she realises that this is a date.

He blushes when she asks, avoids her eyes as she beams at him, ducks his head as they walk, side by side, out of the restaurant.

She clears her throat and stops, just on the edge of the warm glow spilling from the bay windows of the restaurant, waits for him to turn and look at her, and when he does, she pushes up onto tiptoe and presses a tender kiss to his coarse jawbone. Their cheeks are flushed, whether from the wine or the chill of the air or their shyness, and they step away from one another, standing in silence for a moment, before she smiles up at him, ‘thank you, Mulder.’

He shrugs and proffers his arm out to her, smiling softly as she takes it, and they slowly make their way towards their motel, a comfortable, companionable silence settling over them until they reached her door.

‘It was a beautiful dinner.’

‘It was.’

‘Maybe we could do it again sometime,’ she says quietly, and he nods.

‘I’d like that.’

‘Goodnight, Mulder.’

‘Goodnight, Scully,’ he presses a kiss to the corner of her lips and waits until her door is closed before heading into his own room, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

Tagging @today-in-fic

Send me one word prompts to break through my writers block

#my writing #xf fanfic #first date #fluff #msr #fox mulder #dana scully #the x files #txf #medicaldoctordana

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cock-holliday · 1 year

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Bread Is Stored In The Love Aisle

Fandom: TXF

WC: 911

It was silly, Mulder thought, to be struck by it so wholeheartedly in the middle of the bread aisle, but he had suddenly and unavoidably been hit by the depth of the love he felt for Scully.

It happened in the big moments, certainly. When he thought he might lose her. When he did lose her. He would realize what she meant to him in her absence. In the moments where they nearly died. He would be aware of it when they would solve a case--their minds working in tandem. Teammates. Partners.

But it was always the quiet moments, the ones where he was permitted to savor it, that he felt such adoration for the woman at his side. In the long hours in the basement office. In the way her shoulder touched his, side by side on his couch. In the way he could make her smile. In the sparks that flew when they kissed.

Scully tucked a strand of crimson hair behind her ear, peering down at the list in her slender hands.

Oh, her hands...

It was time for a date, a proper date, Mulder had insisted. Scully had issued him a classic Scully stare of scrutiny. Skepticism had never deterred him before. It wouldn’t tonight.

Dinner. They would have a real dinner.

Not that Scully didn’t trust him, as she had insisted, but Scully would choose the menu. And they would shop together.

So there they were, perusing the aisles in search of their supplies for the night. Dinner. Just them. A date.

Scully’s bright blue eyes narrowed as she scanned the shelves, and her teeth bit gently at her soft lips. Mulder had kissed those lips. Bitten at them too. Scully sighed and absentmindedly scratched at the spot where her jaw curved up sharply towards her ear. Mulder had kissed her there too.

“What do you think?” Scully asked suddenly, turning to face Mulder.

In the middle of a Safeway under the harsh light above the produce section, Scully’s hair glowed like a soft flame. A similar flame stirred in Mulder’s chest.

What did he think?

That suddenly...standing in a grocery store was like the highest adventure. That he could drive to the farthest reaches of the country in search of answers if she was his companion. That something as mundane as dinner drew him to adrenaline heights rivaling gunfights.

“Uhh...you pick,” Mulder insisted, unsure of the question.

Scully rolled her eyes, grabbing a loaf of bread from the shelf and placing it in their cart.

Their cart.

Scully began pushing their cart down the aisle and Mulder thought to reach out and touch her hand, but decided against the impulse. It was supposed to be quiet. A secret. Mulder understood, and therefore accepted why they were meant to keep it under wraps, but suppressing the urge made him feel like he was meant to be ashamed. He wasn’t ashamed. He’d tell anyone what Scully meant to him in a moment like this. The little old man shuffling past them. The tired-looking grocery-stocker. The couple arm in arm that were flirting over tropical fruit. He’d shout it from the rooftops.

Instead, he picked up a box of pasta that Scully pointed out that was too high for her to reach.

It was odd to think back to their first meeting. Did either of them even have the ability to comprehend the sort of bond they would go on to have? What Scully would come to mean to him? What she would be to him? What they would be to each other?

It was sort of backwards in a way. They had long existed in one another’s space. They touched so frequently. Now the touches meant something. Who was Mulder kidding? They had always meant something. But now it was almost like looking directly at the sun. Out of the corner of your eye is safe. Directly is dangerous. Now it meant too much. They couldn’t quite say it. He kept his hands to himself the rest of the shopping trip.

In the parking lot, bags in hand, Mulder followed Scully to the car. She unlocked the trunk and they loaded the groceries in wordlessly, circling back around to their respective sides. As Mulder opened his own door and watched Scully climb in, he wondered if he should have opened her door for her. He’d done it before, many times, but no...maybe it was too overt. He didn’t know what the rules were.

He climbed in and went to start the ignition, but his motion was stopped by Scully’s hand on his. He turned slowly to look at her and she smiled softly. That dazzling smile. It would be his undoing and he would let it. Gladly.

Risking stepping out of sync, Mulder took her hand into his and raised her knuckles up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin. A flush crept into Scully’s cheeks and Mulder wondered if he had missed the mark. But while Scully looked away, her smile remained.

Mulder could take a risk and feel assured that Scully would meet him in the middle. Twin flames they were. A complimentary pair.

Scully let go of Mulder’s hand and Mulder started the car, but the heat from where she touched him remained. His whole body was warm.

He smiled softly to himself.

He could get used to this, he thought, partners in every sense of the word.

#txf fanfic #xf fanfic #txf #msr #the x files #it's fluff o'clock apparently!

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randomfoggytiger · 7 months

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"Time Passing in Moments"

(Fictober, Day 4)

Courtesy of my first ever prompt: "Oooh, if you are taking requests: couples costume for fictober! or one dragging the other to a horror movie and needing snuggles to feel better!"

Thank you, anon!

*****

Scully knew that Mulder was on tenterhooks-- hopeful ones (with their corroborating eyewitness accounts and the bee as proof), yes; but tenterhooks, nonetheless. The wait was excruciating as top-down procedures dragged out endlessly despite the strings Skinner had been pulling.

In short, Mulder needed a break but refused to take one.

So, she decided to make him.

*****

It took an hour to gather her meager supplies and arrive, unexpected, at Mulder's Arlington building; and by then the street doors were already spilling out whooping little cowboys, ballerinas, and equal opportunity vampires. Scully let a hoard of chocolate-dirtied fingers rip open her mixed bag of candies and pass it around so everyone could get a piece. A few shy thank yous, one bold “I want another one!”, and a parental apology rippled through the group before they all parted ways, the children wobbling off to further plunder and Scully tapping, tapping her way, staccato, to her partner's door.

*****

Mulder answered after her first set of knocks, teeth glazed with a sticky Sugar Daddy. “Mm, Scuuhly, whah are you dooingh here?”

She held up her ravaged candy bag and another bag of Halloween odds and ends. “Trick or treat?”

He grinned-- got-- and let her in. “Treeht sounths….” Wiping at his teeth, he scowled.

Not a person in Arlington was as endearingly smug as Scully that night. “Well, since you’ve already been tricked, you might as well enjoy your treats.”

Mulder smiled-- got her this time-- and accepted her bag left-handed while pick-axing his molars with the right.

*****

“You got any 1-900-Spooky calls tonight?”

Scully reveled in peeking at Mulder as his head swiveled and eyes widened in the glow of cartoon reruns.

“Not that I know,” he bantered, game on, “I’ve been too busy wondering where my partner went. She's been missing since pilfering three candies from the pail in Kim's office--”

“Mulder, I did not take three--”

“--and didn't call until she showed up at my door, candy indulgent with half an assorted bag gone, a street urchin cover story, and party favors she bought but decided were less interesting than a rerun of Looney Tunes.”

The aforementioned ‘she’ would not be ruffled in her victory. “If I recall, Mulder-- and you’ll have to forgive me because my memory is a bit fuzzy about our recovery in McMurdo Station--”

Mulder’s face blanked, dread spilling from his eyes and collecting in the tight corners of his half-opened mouth.

“--but you said, and I quote: ‘There’s no other frosty I’d want to come down from a sugar high with’.”

“And as I recall,” his mood recovering with a quiet intake, outtake of air, “you said: ‘Tapering off of intravenous dextrose does not count as a sugar high, Mulder’.”

Scully popped another (the last) chocolate piece into her mouth. “It doesn’t. But I figured this does.”

Facing him fully, she watched Mulder’s expression softly undergo a few layered revolutions before he hemmed out a tender, “Like I said, there’s no other frosty--”

“No, Mulder. ‘Frosty’ died when you said the definition of solid stool would never be the same.”

"I still stand by my theory, Scully. It isn't the same."

Neither of them needed to say that Antarctica changed more than that. Sitting on Mulder’s body-warmed couch as their blood jumped in chaotic glucose spikes, they felt life and hope thrum between them.

"No, it isn't."

******

"Who knew that Looney Tunes could be so..." Mulder shook his head.

"Dark?"

"Yeah."

Scully stared, baffled. "Mulder, are you telling me you've never seen this episode?"

"You enjoyed this?"

"...Yes."

They both sat in silence while Mel Blanc belted out a chorus of tormented screams.

"...Well, it's not The Exorcist, but I can see the similarities."

"Mulder, they're nothing alike. ...Mulder. Go back, it's just getting good."

******

Scully knew Mulder spent his life counting the costs of his work: the X-Files weren’t theirs yet, his partner was robbed of a chance to stroll the streets with her own tiny ghost or goblin, and he would inevitably wake the next day and writhe some more on the tenterhook until, until, until. But every time her partner fiddled with his sproinging party headband (a twin to the outlandish one he'd found in the loot bag and good-heartedly smashed on her head-- “Matchy, matchy”) and flashed her his gleaming pearly-white-and-caramel teeth, Scully knew that he knew that she was still on the journey with him.

If I quit now, they win. And she wouldn’t quit, not on him.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

#txf #fic #Time Passing in Moments #Fictober #2023 #Day 4 #mine #Looney Tunes (it could count as scary movie right?)#thank you to my first prompt anon!#I wrote fluff! I WROTE FLUFF #which is ironic because I read mostly (only) fluff and avoid angst unless in a one-week-a-month mood #but yay! Fluff!#Mulder #Scully #FTF #Halloween #Looney Tunes

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the-spooky-alien · 2 years

Text

Day 4 of Fictober !

Fandom : X-Files with the prompt "How would that even work ?"

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2022

''I wish you would never have to leave my arms,'' Mulder whispers against her skin as they lay together on his couch. More accurately, as she lays on top of him, her head nestled in the crook of his neck.

She finds his raging pulse with her lips, making him shiver. ''How would that even work ?''

He can't help but chuckle. Let Scully be the only one questioning the practicality of the idea. Instead of, you know, the romantic aspect of it.

''I would carry you everywhere of course.''

''Of course,'' she repeats dubiously, pulling away to look at him. Her face is adorably scrunched, her eyes narrowed in a sleepy way that makes him want to curl around her until she seeps underneath his own skin, right into the warmth building in his chest. ''Wouldn't you get tired of carrying me around ? I'm not exactly light-''

''Never.'' One eyebrow rises on her face. He kisses it. ''How could I ever get tired of holding you ?'' To his delight, an endearing shade of pink colors her cheeks, drowning her cute freckles in a sea of quiet pleasure. ''Besides,'' he adds, unable to stop the grin tugging at his lips, ''you're so tiny, I couldn't possibly get tired of carrying you. It would be physically imp-''

''Oh, just shut up,'' Scully groans, pushing his face away as he cackles.

Pretending to get up, she yelps when his hands on her waist tug her right down on him. He rolls them over, sends her a winning smile and settles his head on her chest, where he can hear the gentle music of her heart. It's racing.

He feels her sigh, deep and heavy. ''You're insufferable.''

''But you love me still.''

''I'm regretting my choice.''

He gasps, mock-offended. ''I don't believe you. I'm honestly such a wonderful man, you're lucky to have me.''

She doesn't reply. The lull in their usual banter is enough to make him worry he overstepped. Raising his head, he meets her eyes, so very soft and tender.

''I suppose I am,'' she whispers, combing back a strand of his hair from his forehead. Her smile, subdued but so very full of affection, makes something in his chest cry out.

It's his turn to feel his cheeks burn. Hiding his head against her neck's skin, he croaks around the lump in his throat, ''You can't make me emotional when it's nap time.''

Scully snorts, letting her lips graze his forehead. ''Well, in my defense, you're the one who began. We wouldn't be here if you hadn't interrupted my much needed sleep time to be all nice and sweet.''

The urge to kiss her is too overwhelming to ignore. At the press of their lips together, his whole body relaxes as he melts against her.

''Love you,'' he says against her lips, tasting her smile.

''Love you too,'' she replies, nudging his cheek with her nose. ''Also, it's bold of you to think that, of the two of us, I should be the one being carried around.''

''Scully, I don't want to be vexing, but I think you might be too small to carry me.''

She rolls her eyes. ''May I remind you I dragged your sorry ass all across Antartica ?''

Shifting so that he hovers over her instead of crushing her, Mulder smiles down at her determined expression. ''But see ? That's my point,'' he says, taking the opportunity to press a kiss to her frowning eyebrows in between his words. ''You dragged me. You didn't carry me. The problem remains : you are the only one who can be carried.''

Her glare shouldn't be as cute as it is. Neither should the pouting be.

God, she's so beautiful.

''It's unfair. Why should I be the one who's being carried ? What if I want you to never leave my arms ?''

He should keep playing this game. He should pretend he's pondering her question, trying to find a solution to their supposed problem. But he finds that he can't, because the prospect of never leaving her arms, of her never wanting him to leave the safety of her comfort, tugs at his heart in a way he isn't expecting.

''Well then,'' he says lowly, offering her his softest smile, ''I suppose we will never be able to leave this couch.''

A smirk stretches her lips, mirroring the playful glint in her eyes. Her hands lock behind his head, pulling him closer. ''It would be a real shame.''

Leaning forward, just before kissing her, he whispers, ''Couldn't think of a better way to spend my life.''

#txf #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #fictober22 #xffictober2022 #i want you to know i've called this file 'sickening fluff'#they are so in love its insane #thank you for reading !

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frogsmulder · 2 years

Note

1. “I love you, please don’t go.”

Non te Deseram

a requiem missing-scenes au set before and at the end of the ep; about 1k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic Part 1: Fluff

There is a light sprinkling of sunshine trying to make its way through the blind when Scully awakes in the arms of her lover. The spring light is soft and quiet, she imagines it is slightly overcast outside, the sky a mix of blue and grey, sun and rain. Soft and quiet are Mulder’s snores behind her, his breath tickling the back of her neck where his nose is buried in her mussed hair. She sighs. She can’t stay too long, so she takes the moment to enjoy every sensation. The scratchiness Mulder’s morning stubble against her back; the hairs on his legs tickling her thighs where their legs are twined; the weight of his sleep-dead arm across her waist. She is at home. She shuffles deeper into the bed and his body, revelling in his warmth. Scully lets out a short breathy laugh when she bumps into his morning erection: their previous night’s antics clearly not enough to wear him out.

Feeling him rouse behind her, she turns her head back, listening for his predictable morning hum. On cue, Mulder hums and mumbles against her back, something she assumes is supposed to resemble “morning”.

“Morning, to you too,” she teases and laces her fingers through his resting on her stomach. “You want coffee?”

He shakes his head, letting the rough of his stubble scrape against her skin. She shivers, knowing she’s made a mistake when he chuckles and does it again. “Mulderrrr,” she whines, but his lips soothe the scratch with tiny kisses.

Journeying up to her ear, Mulder presses a kiss to her lobe before mumbling, “You’re the only thing I want.” He punctuates his confession with a wiggle of his hips, eliciting a giggle from her. “Is that supposed to be funny?” he jokes.

Quickly, Scully extricates herself from his hold before she succumbs to temptation, escaping his arm that stretches out after her. Engaging the puppy-eyes, Mulder resorts to begging. “I love you, please don’t go.”

She tries to remain stern– “You know we don’t have time. Remember: we have the expense evaluations today–” but her rebuttal is tainted by a smirk.

He pouts, letting his arm flop onto the mattress. “Party pooper.”

“I’ll make some coffee,” she calls after herself as she walks out of the room.

Part 2: Angst

Scully stands in the darkened doorway of Mulder's bedroom, watching him hastily pack for his flight out to Oregon in a few hours. He darts from one draw to another; she admires his single-minded focus, never straining from the people he needs to help. She sees it as he licks his lips; the final items stuffed into an overnight bag; the file they opened placed on top. He picks it up scanning the details again although she knows he already has every account committed to memory. He runs his hand through his hair and an urge befalls her to fix the spikey tufts left behind for him. "I love you," she murmurs from a distance.

He looks up at her with wide, mossy eyes, flecked golden in the orange light of the lamp. In earnest, his innocent gaze captures her heart in a fist of fiery iron, melting her final resolve. "I love you too," he answers simply, letting the weight of his affection carry his words.

A panging ache shoots through Scully's heart: a terrible grief she can't comprehend overwhelms her. She sees him the–as she does now before her–but he is standing amongst familiar trees and bathed in an ethereal glow. She shakes her head: no. "I love you, Mulder." Stepping into the light of his room, she follows her heart. "Please don't go."

He meets her and takes her hands in his own warm, large grasp. "Scully, I have to. There are people that are relying on me–they need me."

She holds his stare and feels his pleading in the wide innocence of his eyes, his furrowed brow. Let him be the hero, fulfilling that hole of crippling guilt his sister left behind. He looks so young when he sets himself missions like this, reminding her of when they first met: determined and stubborn. It’s why she fell in love with him. Yet Scully doesn’t want him to play the hero; doesn’t want to lose him in some grand act of selflessness. "I need you. I– I have a terrible feeling about all of this. I need you here. I need to know you are safe."

He cocks his head, looking so intensely at her she can feel it all the way in the marrow of her bones. Reaching forward, he tucks her hair behind her ear then gently holds her cheek in the palm of his hand. His voice is as soft and sweet as honey, like his touch. There is worry written in his eyes; they flick from side to side. "This isn't like you, Scully–"

"Mulder," she cuts him off: exasperated, exhausted, emotional. Leaning into his hold, she closes her eyes and sighs. "Please. Trust me, just this once… Please."

"Hey," he hushes her, "Always."

His arms come to wrap around her like the final missing piece of the puzzle and she at last feels safe, able to relax in his embrace. The quiet ticking of the clock in the living room slows. Ear pressed to Mulder’s chest, time is replaced by the thud of his heart and the wave of his breathing, cresting and falling, lulling her. Despite the temporary serenity, Scully can’t shake the feeling of grief like an omen waiting to pass.

That night she sleeps restlessly, and in the morning, she hears the news from Skinner: people with anomalous brain activity–the very same Mulder experienced a year prior– had been abducted. Rushing to the toilet, she throws up in the basin, gasping for breath when it's over. A comforting hand rests on her shoulder and she looks up to see a concerned Mulder looking down at her. “Scully, I think we should get you to the hospital.” Finally, she agrees.

When the second piece of news falls in their laps, Mulder cries at her bedside holding her hand. She can’t believe it, needing to see the charts herself, but the evidence is there. She turns to him, confused but elated, and grins.

#txf s7 #fox mulder #dana scully #xf fanfic #happy ending #i couldn't bring myself to stick with cannon #au #fluff #angst #my writing #msr #requiem

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years

Text

Big Spoon

was talking to @disco-tea about my tags on this gifset by @leonardbetts and uhh... this happened.

Technically, the bed has plenty of room for both of them. Scully is lying on her side, facing away from Mulder who's also on his side, facing away. Their backs are to each other, the lights are off, and she can hear thunder outside. Lightning flashes, piercing the curtains and her mind.

Her eyes are wide open, so the white light startles her in its intensity. She tenses without meaning to at the surprise, feels Mulder's movement behind her in response to her own involuntary twitch. He's the insomniac, but she isn't sleeping either. She's too aware of the sound of his breathing, and the way his head had tracked after her hand earlier when she had touched him.

The clock on the side table reads 11:21; this case is getting nowhere and Scully is tired. Still, her eyes won't shut. She rolls over, facing Mulder's back, but doesn't say anything. This isn't the first time they've slept in the same bed, but something about this case is getting to her; getting to them both, she thinks.

She's used to people mistaking them for a couple, especially in rural areas; she's aware of their orbit around each other, the way Mulder touches her without thinking, the way she habitually leans toward him. They are an isolated pair even in crowds of people. It shouldn't be shocking, shouldn't even really affect her to know that other people might take them as more than they are.

And if she's honest — and she's feeling in a particularly honest mood tonight — a part of her wishes it was true. She is in love with her partner, likely has been at least since she was sick. He was going to kiss her in his hallway; he went to the ends of the earth to save her. She wants to believe that he feels the same way she does, but it's been months.

Something changed after Antarctica, after Diana came back. Something changed, and she wishes it hadn't.

Mulder sighs, quietly, and if she was asleep she wouldn't even know. But she's not, and she's just tired enough that some of her inhibitions have been let down. She doesn't need an excuse with no one else here; in the dark of a shared hotel room, she doesn't need to pretend she has a reason to reach out. She rolls over, facing Mulder's back.

She places a hand on his arm before she moves closer, and he turns half towards her with her name on his lips. She's too small to hold him the way she sometimes wishes he would hold her, the way he'd only done once, when she was dying and he was going to fake his death and she thought it would be the last time they had together and all she wanted was to be held. She can only wrap herself around him, press her forehead into the back of his neck and feel his heart beating against her palm.

He'd leaned into every touch earlier when she'd checked his head, and now he practically melts against her. He covers her hand on his chest with one of his, strokes his thumb across the back of it.

"You okay, Scully?" His voice is soft and whispery, tentative, and the fact that the only thing he can thinks is whether she's alright only reminds her why she's in love with him.

She almost laughs, hides her soft chuckle in the sound of thunder outside. For the first time since they'd arrived in Kroner, Kansas, she really relaxes.

"Yeah," she replies, brushing her lips against the top of his shoulder. "I'm okay."

#this is SICKENINGLY fluffy sbdjdnsksmsna #fluff? in season 6? more likely than you might think #possibly ooc but hey *shrugs*#Lu writes #txf #msr #the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #mulder and scully #mulder x scully #msr fanfic #todayinfic #txf s6 #userscully #usermoody

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unremarkablehouse · 1 year

Text

Love and Lasagna

WC: 3038 | PG | MSR | S6 | Domestic Fluff | A03

Summary: Mulder decides to cook for Scully in an attempt to discuss their living arrangements and future plans.

Tagging: @today-in-fic

The rich smell of marinara sauce permeated throughout Mulder’s apartment as he checked his well-worn recipe book for the next step. With the béchamel and red sauce ready, all Mulder had to do was layer the sauces over the lasagna noodles and bake. With an awkward care he spooned some red sauce on the bottom of his foil pan and spread it around to make a base layer, smoothing it out using the back of his spoon with a sense of pride. Cooking in general was not an activity that Mulder did often, but tonight was a special occasion and he wanted to show his guest of honor that this simple act of domesticity was something he was capable of. He wondered whether Scully would judge him for buying a disposable foil tray instead of having a casserole dish; but if tonight went as he hoped, all future lasagnas would be made using her pans. Mulder allowed himself a few moments to daydream about what this future life with Scully could look like as he absent-mindedly opened the box of dry lasagna noodles, getting ready to place them in the tray.

The familiar jingle of keys in his lock snapped him out of his fugue state as he nervously checked over the apartment to make sure that everything was in order. Mulder admonished himself for the butterflies that filled his stomach with the anticipation at seeing Scully and talking about the changes in their relationship. Countless dinners and sleepovers had already occurred between them, yet Mulder never stopped being excited to see her. Intercepting Scully as soon as she walked through the door, Mulder kissed her a little too enthusiastically, pressing her up against the closed door in a dramatic sweep.

“Down boy,” Scully said with a laugh as she broke their kiss and pushed his body off her.

“Something smells good in here,” Scully commented as she removed her coat to reveal a snug low-cut top and jeans.

“That’s probably me, I showered this month,” Mulder joked, earning him a beloved Scully eye roll.

Glancing around the apartment, Scully noticed it was cleaner than usual, and Mulder had even set his small table. Scully followed Mulder into the kitchen, fascinated by this new side of him.

“Seriously, Mulder, what’s all this?”

“I told you, Scully, I’m making you dinner. I even got your favorite wine,” Mulder proudly displayed the bottle and filled two wine glasses.

Taking a sip of her wine, Scully popped herself up onto the kitchen counter while Mulder washed his hands, preparing to get back to cooking.

“What are you making?” Scully asked, glancing over the different pots, straining to see the recipe book from her current position on the counter.

“Lasagna, but I still need to assemble and bake it, so it’ll be a while.”

Mulder took the dry lasagna noodles out of the box, getting ready to lay them in the foil pan when Scully stopped him.

“Mulder, those need to be boiled first,” she says, holding up the pack.

“The recipe didn’t say to cook the lasagna sheets though?”

Mulder questioned, re-examining the book again. Jumping herself off the counter, Scully examined Mulder’s worn book and explaining that they were probably using fresh pasta sheets when it was written. Grabbing another pot, Scully filled it with water, passing it to Mulder to place on the stove to boil.

“Nice save Agent Scully, what would I have done without you?”

“Eaten crunchy lasagna?”

“Would you have eaten it if I hadn’t cooked the noodles?”

“I would have tried it. There’d be no way to tell if noodles were cooked until you'd bite into them.”

“The taste of disappointment—”

“Exactly!”

Biting off a dried lasagna noodle, Mulder held it out for Scully to try, but she waved him off.

“I think I like them uncooked. It’s like a flavorless chip.”

Shaking her head, Scully took the box of lasagna sheets from Mulder before he ate any more, carefully placing them in boiling water. Setting the timer for 10 minutes, a thought intruded Scully’s brain, and her forehead crinkled in contemplation. Seeing her pensive state, Mulder prodded, “What?”

“Oh, just working out what we should do with the pasta once it cooks.”

“I have a spaghetti strainer. Shouldn't we just dump the water and noodles in that?”

“No, because they’ll stick together and it’ll be tricky for you to grab one or two at a time to layer them without tearing.”

“So, we need to extract them individually from the hot water...Maybe hang them before we use them?”

Glancing around his small kitchen for utensils, inspiration suddenly hit Scully.

“Mulder! Your chopstick draw!”

“Genius!”

Mulder opened his kitchen drawer filled with extra chopsticks and soy sauce packets from his heavy diet of take out. Mulder moved his recipe book out of the way and started to carefully lay out glasses, placing chopsticks across them to act as a makeshift drying rack. Without words Mulder handed Scully a pair of chopsticks at the timer beeped, signaling that the pasta was cooked. Holding his breath with anticipation, Mulder watched in awe as Scully worked, a smile on his face at the marvel that is Dana Scully. With surgical precision Scully delicately extracted each floppy lasagna noodle from the pot and placed them carefully on Mulder’s chopstick racks. Once the pot was empty and all the lasagna sheets were hanging, announced her success with an exaggerated ‘ta-da’ and bow, receiving an applause from Mulder while laughing at her theatrics.

Taking her seat back on the counter, Scully refilled both their wine glasses while watching Mulder assemble the lasagna. The care he’s took and the confidence he exuded while cooking was frankly sexy, and Scully wondered if he’d be offended if they skipped dinner all together. He’d only reached the middle layer when Scully spotted him sprinkling cheese and béchamel sauce over the tray.

“A little early to be adding the cheese and béchamel, isn’t it, Mulder?”

“No Scully, that’s my trick to a good lasagna, I add a secret cheese layer in the middle.”

“I’m not going to lie, that sounds amazing. My stomach’s growling.”

“There’s salad in the fridge if you want to start on that.”

As Scully grabbed the salad bowl from the fridge and removed the plastic from the top, she was happy to see Mulder had finished constructing the lasagna and now covered it with foil to place in the oven.

“Alright Scully, 30 minutes and it’ll be cooked. I just put some herb bread in there, too, that should be done in about 10.”

“Sounds good to me,” Scully said, raising her glass in appreciation. Mulder topped off their wine glasses again, amused that they had almost finished the bottle before they’d even managed to eat their salads.

“Scully, do you want to get us some salad bowls? We should probably eat something, given how much wine we’ve had.”

Scully looked up from the large salad bowl that she’d been picking at with a pair of chopsticks and waved off the bowl suggestion.

“I’m fine with chopsticks, but we should probably stay near the kitchen, the bread will be done soon anyway. Here—”

Scully used her chopsticks to grab a bell pepper, feeding Mulder. Getting his own pair of chopsticks, Mulder joined her on the counter. Mulder poked his chopsticks into the salad bowl and struggled to pick up a cherry tomato. Laughing at his difficulty Scully deftly intercepted the tomato and picked it up motioning to feed it to Mulder, but at the last minute popped it in her own mouth with delight. Mulder begrudgingly speared a piece of lettuce and chewed it with contempt. Scully’s skills with chopsticks always surpassed his and over the years she never missed an opportunity to remind him of it. Taking another sip of wine, Mulder was roused from his mellowed state by the oven timer.

“Bread is ready Muldah,” Scully’s voice had taken on a slight slur, betraying her tipsiness. Mulder wobbled over to the oven and awkwardly used some tongs to retrieve the loaf of Italian herb bread. He dropped it haphazardly onto a plate to be sliced later. He was definitely a little buzzed.

“You’ve got to take the foil off the lasagna so the cheese will brown but be careful—” Scully warned a little late as Mulder cursed, clutching the hot foil with his bare hands.

“Probably should've used a dishcloth,” Mulder said, making his way to the kitchen sink to run his burnt fingers under cool water. After a couple of minutes, Mulder decided they were fine and turned the tap off, drying his hands.

“Let me see the Muldah,” Scully commanded, and Mulder dutifully held them up for her inspection, standing between her legs as she checked his injury. Satisfied that it was just a superficial burn, Scully placed tender kisses on each of his knuckles.

“Better?”

“Much,” Mulder smiled, closing the small distance between them with a kiss. Pulling him close to her, Scully locked her arms and legs around Mulder, invading his mouth with her tongue and getting lost in the moment. Instinctively, Mulder lifted Scully off the counter, but with no real plan of where to take her and his coordination affected by the wine, he rocked a little off balance and slowly landed on the kitchen floor. Both of them sat in shock on the floor for a few minutes before bursting into laughter. Mulder’s plan to romance Scully with his cooking had gone off the rails.

“I think we need to eat something to soak up this wine.”

“Agreed, we’re definitely imbrevey...inebro...inebriated,” Scully smiled, proud she got her words out, but also decidedly drunk. Mulder blindly reached a hand up to the kitchen counter and groped around until his hand came in contact with the warm bread. Dragging it down to them Mulder pulled off a chunk and proudly offered it to Scully. Even while drunk, Mulder encouraging her to eat a chunk of bread he pulled out of nowhere gave Scully pause and she looked at it skeptically. The decision was made for her. Mulder, amused by her hesitation, decided to speed up the process and pushed the bread into her mouth. Despite the volatile way that it was delivered to her, the warm bread and herbs hit the spot, and Scully found herself moaning appreciatively.

“This is really good, Mulder!”

Having finished her wedge, Scully couldn’t contain her laughter as she watched Mulder holding the remaining loaf vertically between his two hands, taking bites from the end like an overgrown raccoon. The sound of her laughter made Mulder look up from his meal, cluelessly offering her a bite of the bread. When she refused, Mulder resumed happily munching on the loaf of bread once more. The oven timer dinged, and Scully awkwardly got up to remove it from the oven, impressed by the smell and beautiful brown color. Placing it on the counter to cool, Scully grabbed both wine glasses, plonking back down on the floor next to Mulder. With only a small hunk of bread left, Mulder eagerly set their wine glasses aside, shoving the chunk into Scully’s face before wiping his greasy hands onto his jeans.

“Mulder, you’ve really got to stop shoving food into my face,” Scully halfheartedly scolded.

“But it’s romantic to feed your lover!”

“It’s not romantic if I choke,” she warned with a laugh.

Snuggling into Mulder’s side, both relaxed into each other’s arms.

“So, Mulder, you never did tell me what this night was all about?”

Mulder had wanted to use tonight’s dinner to discuss the logistics of starting a family with her, but given they were both a little drunk, he decided to try to put the conversation off until after they’d eaten. Attempting to throw her off the scent, Mulder declared, “Happy Anniversary Scully!”

“Anniversary of what?”

“I don’t know. We’ve known each other for over six years, take your pick. The anniversary of destroying your clothes while chasing a mutant?”

“I don’t think we should celebrate that.”

“Well from now on, it could be the anniversary of us getting drunk in my kitchen the one time I attempted to cook for you.”

With a laugh Scully raised her wine glass to Mulder, “Now that, I’ll drink to!”

Cuddling back into Mulder’s chest, he placed a soft kiss on her head before asking, “do you think the lasagna has cooled down enough to eat? I’m still hungry.”

“It should be. Just be careful when you go check on it.”

With a groan, Mulder pushed himself onto his feet and over to the lasagna tray. Using his index finger, he cautiously poked into it.

“Mulder! Use a fork or something,” Scully admonished with an amused laugh. At least he wasn’t eating evidence at a crime scene again.

Mulder grabbed a fork and stabbed at the lasagna, satisfied it made its way through with minimal resistance. He speared the little section he’d prodded with the fork, capturing a chunk of the lasagna, and putting it in his mouth. The flavors were perfect, and to his relief, it had cooled down enough not to burn him. Looking over at Scully on the floor he teasingly asked, “okay woman, should I attempt to get this on some plates, and we'll move this party to the table?”

“I’m comfy. Just grab me a fork and we’ll eat it here.”

At that moment Mulder couldn’t have loved her more. Scully always managed to surprise him, but their romantic evening deteriorating into drunkenly forking the contents of a lasagna pan from his kitchen floor was just the kind of chaos he cherished. Grabbing some extra dish towels and a fork for Scully, Mulder proudly presented the pan to her, setting it on his lap while encouraging her to try some.

“Mulder, this is amazing! Great job,” Scully said, enthusiastically savoring her bite while Mulder watched, before eating more himself.

They contentedly ate in silence, managing to consume a sizable portion of the tray before Mulder finally spoke.

“Scully, what’s going to happen if we have a kid?”

“I think we’d probably eat at the table, but I’m sure you’d still manage a few kitchen floor picnics with us.”

That thought made them both smile, but Mulder pushed forward, needing a clearer picture of what the living arrangements would entail.

“No, I mean, would you move in here? Do I sell my apartment and we get a place together?”

“Do you want to live with me?”

“I do, but I’m worried you’ll get sick of me and need your space.”

“Oh, I know I’ll get sick of you, but I don’t think space is a luxury you get, as parents. To put it in basketball terms, I see our best strategy is a zone game instead of man on man. Or are you worried you’ll get sick of me?”

Reaching over to give her a kiss, he replied, “you just made a perfect basketball analogy to describe parenting styles, I could never get sick of you. Maybe I could move into your place, and we’ll rent out my apartment, or use it as storage?”

“Fox Mulder, you just want to avoid packing!”

“Of course, why do you think I bought this place when the building converted to condos?”

Standing up off the floor, Mulder offered Scully a hand and they made their way to the couch. Scully grabbed them glasses of water while Mulder took command of the VCR.

“Scully, your choices are that Hungarian documentary you wanted to watch, or The Breakfast Club?”

“I’m still too tipsy for subtitles, let’s watch The Breakfast Club.”

Satisfied with her choice, Mulder took his position lying down on the back of the couch while Scully snuggled in front of him. Handing him his glass of water Scully silently instructed him to drink it.

“Scully, who did you relate to from The Breakfast Club? Molly Ringwald?”

“Just because we both have red hair? No, I was never the spoiled princess type. I was more of an outsider like Ally Sheedy. I didn't get detention though; I was smart enough not to get caught. What about you Mulder? Wait, let me guess. Everyone saw you as the Emilio Estevez type, but you were secretly a rebel like Judd Nelson at heart?”

Scully’s guess elicited a genuine laugh from Mulder.

“Not even close, you give me way too much credit. I was Anthony Michael Hall; gangly nerd all the way.”

“But I saw your yearbooks, you were a big basketball star. Your mom showed me all your high school pictures.”

This little tidbit of information was news to Mulder, since when did Scully hang out with his mother?

“When did you even see my Moms? Where was I?”

“That time you stranded me at her house a few years back.”

“I was drugged!”

Scully chuckled at Mulder’s response. He nuzzled her neck, offering a soft apology with a kiss.

“Even though I played basketball, I was still an awkward nerd. I hung around lots of girls who only liked me as a friend.”

Scully giggled at the picture Mulder painted of his nerdy high school past. Silently, she hoped that any of their future children would inherit his sweetness and good heart.

“Scully, did your high school have Saturday detention?”

“I don’t think so, did yours?”

“No, but if I was a teacher and I had to come into work on a Saturday to supervise a detention I’d be pissed off, too.”

“You’re officially old Mulder, you're sympathizing with the adults in this movie.”

Mulder playfully swatted Scully’s hip at that comment.

“Watch it Scully, or you won’t get any dessert!”

Mulder had uttered magic words and Scully suddenly perked up.

“Dessert?”

“Mm-hmm...I have a tiramisu in the fridge. When the room stops spinning, I plan on eating it off your chest.”

Rolling around to face him, Scully solemnly said, “actually, I think it would taste better if I ate it off you, Mulder.”

Scully raked a hand through his hair and nipped at his lower lip, eliciting an excited groan, “either way, this is turning out to be a messy night!”

#txf fic #msr #the x files fanfic #mulder and scully in the kitchen #domestic fluff does the heart good

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muldermuse · 4 months

Text

Fox Mulder Masterlist

Fox Mulder X Reader: One Shots

Peanuts

You meet an interesting stranger at a bar

First Date

Your first date with Fox

Halloween Party

Your boyfriend, Fox Mulder, convinces you not to go to your work Halloween Party

The Best Medicine

Fox takes care of you when you are ill

Jealous Fox

Fox gets jealous when he sees a coworker flirt with you

Houseplants

Fox helps you move into your first apartment

A Hard Day

Fox helps you through a bad mental health day

The Name Game

You and Fox struggle to decide a name for your kitten

The Most Haunted Forest in South Carolina

Fox invites you camping

Jealously, Jealousy

Fox doesn’t like how interested Alex Krycek is in you

Okay is not enough (Part 1)

Your family are being held captive by one of Fox’s previous encounters

Fox Mulder X Reader: Headcanons

Protective Fox Mulder

Fox has a crush on his coworker

Subtle ways Fox shows he has a crush

How Fox acts around Reader

Reader gets jealous of Fox’s new coworker

NSFW version of above^^^

NSFW Fox thoughts

Fox misses you

Reader’s birthday

Your cat loves Fox

Fox cheers you up

Forgetful mornings with Fox

Fox misses you after a trip (some nsfw)

Fox loves lingerie (some nsfw)

Dad!Fox Mulder

Dad!Fox Mulder 2

Modern Fox Mulder

Fox is a Buzzfeed Unsolved fan

Halloweeny Fox Thoughts 1, 2 and 3

Muldermuse October Writing Fest

Spooky Pyjamas (Dad!Fox Mulder x Reader)

A new family tradition is started

A Halloween Announcement (Fox Mulder X Reader)

As title states...it’s a halloween announcement

Trick ‘r Treat (Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fancy dress SMUT

Halloween Party (Cat Dad!Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fox has a party with your cat

Haunted House (Dad!Fox Mulder X Reader)

You come home from work to a haunted house

Halloween Card (Dad!Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fox receives a special card from his family

Ghosts (Modern! Fox Mulder X Reader)

A drabble about doing a ghost walk with Fox

Fox is creative (Modern! Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fox loves Halloween recipes

Ghost Hunting (Fox Mulder X Reader)

A hc about ghost hunting with Fox

91 notes · View notes

mulderwearingglasses · 2 years

Text

Sweet Dreams

Pink cheeks. Soft skin. Long eyelashes. Supple lips parted just so.

An ethereal being had fallen asleep on Fox Mulder’s couch, her fiery hair mussed around her face in a way that seemed purposeful but was just a natural occurrence of sliding down and nuzzling his couch cushions.

She looked perfect. She smelled like clean laundry and something softly sweet, that quintessential Scully smell.

The pair had been watching a Friday night movie, he couldn’t even recall which, when the credits rolled. Mulder smiled to himself as he watched Scully take deep, steady breaths -- her chest heaving in tune to the movie soundtrack -- with her feet having snaked their way to his lap in her sleep as she stretched out across the sofa.

He wanted more than anything for her to stay the night, but he knew soon she would be out the door and he would be alone again, nursing a dull, fervent ache in his core.

His pointer finger found a gap between her jeans and her ankle, and he rubbed small, soft circles onto her skin.

She stirred, and a small smile tugged at her lips in sleep.

Then, her eyes popped open.

Scully looked at her feet on her partner’s lap and pulled them away, sitting up too fast for someone who had been unconscious seconds earlier.

She gripped the arm of the couch and put her other hand to her forehead, her mussed hair sticking up in a way that made Mulder bite his lips in suppressing a laugh.

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she said, a grogginess croaking her voice. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.”

Mulder gave her a sweet smile.

“That’s OK, Scully,” Mulder said, his voice husky. “Hey, it’s pretty late, and you’re exhausted. Our sleep has been all screwy since the mushroom trips. Why don’t you just spend the night here?”

He held his breath and couldn’t bear to chance a look at her.

There was a pause while she mulled over the idea.

“OK, Mulder,” she said.

Mulder’s eyes flew to hers.

She would stay? She would stay! Oh God, he hadn’t actually thought she would stay. He wanted it so badly, but she had never taken him up on the offer. What would this mean, what would it entail?

Of course, he would be a gentleman. Of course, he would offer her his bed. He would act cool, confident.

He smiled warmly.

“OK, great,” he replied. “You take my bed, OK?”

He walked her to his bedroom and cracked open the door, making sure his room was presentable. It looked inviting. The bed was turned down already. His usual floor hamper was nowhere to be seen. Nary a kitchen glass nor snack graced his bedside table.

“I didn’t know you had a grown-up bedroom like this,” Scully teased.

“I...didn’t either,” Mulder replied.

No matter.

Hand on her lower back, he guided his sleepy friend to the edge of his bed.

“Here, let me find you something more comfortable to wear,” he said, walking to his dresser and digging through his drawers to pull out a big, comfy T-shirt he tossed her way. He turned back to his dresser, crouching to find some sweats she’d have to fold over her hips egregiously, but it’s not like anyone would see her drowning in them.

Before he could toss them to her, he felt soft, warm hands descend over his eyes. He was overcome by her scent, something vanilla-y and heavenly that haunted his dreams as much as it did his waking hours.

“Scully?” he whispered.

“Mhmmm,” she drawled.

She lifted her hands and raked them through his hair.

He stood and turned around, taking her hands in his.

She was wearing his T-shirt and nothing else.

“Scully?” he whispered, his voice hitching.

She leaned up to his ear.

“I was invited to spend the night,” she whispered, her breath hot in his ear. “Can we have a sleepover?”

Mulder was slack-jawed.

“Except I was never good at sleeping at sleepovers...” Scully said, pulling back and pouting her lips like a B-rated movie star.

He stepped toward her, gliding his hands over the silken skin of her arms, and she smiled and backed up, drawing him to his bed.

His bed.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at a comforter that didn’t belong to him.

“Mulder, don’t look at the bed,” Scully said. “Look at me.”

He obeyed. His eyes flicked back to Scully, whose arms were crossed over her body as she was about to hoist the T-shirt up and over her head and onto the comforter that wasn’t Mulder’s.

The scene appeared to glitch.

Oh God, this was a dream, Mulder thought.

Oh God, this was his dream, Mulder thought.

Oh God, this was his dream that he was sharing with Scully.

Somehow by the grace of God and the intensity of his own embarrassment, he woke himself up.

His hands, slick with sweat, were already covering his eyes, humiliated, when he registered that he was back in his quarantine room after the Great Mushroom Field Trip.

***************************************

He and Scully had been quarantined at a facility for a week already, but had only gained their relative lucidity recently and only very recently discovered they were still sharing each other’s dreams.

They first realized it the night after the two, elated at their lucidity and the relatively normal day they spent in quarantine together, went to their seprate rooms and drifted off. Scully soon found herself trapped in a familiar nightmare, bound and gagged in a dark closet with the rushing of bath water somewhere in the distance.

Mulder rushed to her room next to his seconds after being awoken by her screams, knowing exactly what had elicited them. They established that the hallucinogens probably hadn’t worn off yet, and their dreams were still linked in some inextricable way in which both were present but one of them was in control.

He hadn’t been completely sure about the connection until this afternoon when Scully, unbeknownst to her, dozed as they watched TV together on the quarantine facility’s couch.

Going a bit loopy in their confinement, the two were busting up over “I Love Lucy” re-runs when Scully stopped responding to Mulder’s ill-fated Ricky impersonation.

He turned, grinning when he noticed his partner’s mouth had fallen open and her head lolled to the side.

His stomach fluttered at the sight. She was so fucking cute, he could barely stand it.

As he stared, he noticed the outer corners of his vision undulate in waves. Suddenly, he wasn’t watching the goofy antics of Ricky and Lucy on the screen.

A new scene played out before his eyes. He and Scully were sitting on this very couch watching this very same show, but she was nestled up against his side and he was holding her close to him.

Like a movie playing behind Mulder’s eyes, Scully nuzzled her head into his neck and he kissed the crown of her hair. She tilted his face toward her and swiped her lips across his before the vision poofed out of his sight and Scully’s eyes popped open beside him.

She sat up straight as a rod, pulling down the fabric of her T-shirt over her straining nipples and cleared her throat. Her cheeks were blazing red.

Mulder kept his eyes on the television, pretending not to notice that his partner had fallen asleep and dreamed a reality he wished he occupied. He moved a couch cushion over his lap to hide any physiological evidence of what he’d seen and put on his Ricky Ricardo voice again, hoping to lull Scully into the notion that he didn’t see anything and hadn’t even noticed she had nodded off.

Scully stared at her partner, the force of her hummingbird heartbeat starting to quell. He must not have seen. She had only dozed for a second. But, oh God, what was she going to do tonight?

**************

Scully fired up the coffee machine in their basic kitchenette. What had started as another lazy, relaxed quarantine day spending blissful downtime with her best friend had morphed into a mission of the mind.

She needed to stay awake.

Maybe the effects of those stupid mushrooms would wear off before they had to sleep again. Before her barren hopes -- the intimate visions of herself wrapped around the man she loved that she clung to as she slept in an empty bed -- were put on a mortifying display to the one man she needed to keep them from most.

By nightfall, Scully was on her fourth cup of coffee before Mulder noticed her jittery hands and asked what was wrong.

She shrugged, chalked it up to a side effect of the hallucinogens, and parted ways with goodnight farewells.

An hour or so after she eased herself into bed, mind racing from the caffeine and the past week’s events, the words on the pages of the book she read fell away, and a new story occupied her vision.

Mulder was dreaming.

She had fallen asleep on his couch while watching TV....he offered for her to spend the night...he offered up a bed...Oh, my.

She felt a sweltering pulse between her legs as she watched herself behave the way she only did in her most secret fantasies -- watched him react to her being sexy, brazen, bold.

He dreamed of her this way?

Her underwear grew damp. Her hand instinctively crept under her blanket and found its way between her legs, but the dream was over too soon. He woke up. Damnit. Goddamnit.

She could feel him blushing from next-door.

Should she go to him like he came to her? Maybe she should spare him his dignity. Pretend she didn’t see it. Is that what he had done for her earlier? Oh, god.

These minds games were too much.

She was spiraling, and her body ached for relief from the sequence she just witnessed.

Of course, it makes sense for a man trapped in a quarantine facility for days on end to dream of sex with the woman he’s trapped with. It doesn’t mean anything. Totally primal.

She could have been replaced with any one of the girls in his video collection, swapped out with ease, but it made sense his unconscious brain picked the nearest person with boobs.

She wanted him to know she understood it didn’t mean anything. Just how the brain functions.

But she wanted something else first.

Her hand slipped past her panty’s waistband just as a soft knock on her door made her freeze.

“Mulder?” Scully breathed.

The door opened a crack, and Mulder’s head peaked through.

He looked positively anguished, his puppy dog eyes trained on the ground and his face red enough to be noticeable even in the moonlight that shone through her room’s window.

“I’m so, so sorry, Scully,” Mulder mumbled. “I feel like such an idiot.”

Scully, whose hand was still on the verge of something slick and wet between her legs underneath her blanket, smiled an understanding smile.

“Mulder, please don’t be,” she said. “I understand.”

He looked up, his eyes wide with something hopeful and searching.

“You do?” Mulder said.

“Yes, of course, Mulder,” Scully said. “We’ve been stuck in this place for weeks. You’re a man with needs. Plus, you’re separated from your video collection.”

Scully tried for some levity, some playful teasing.

“No harm done, Mulder,” she finished. “It was just a dream. We all have sex dreams, and your brain just zeroed in on the closest woman instead of your usual leggy brunette on VHS. Don’t worry about it.”

Mulder’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at her, and his mouth parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite form the words.

“No, Scully, I --” he started.

She quirked her head to the side, and he couldn’t meet her gaze again.

He chuckled softly.

“I apologize again for my...indiscretions,” Mulder said. “And I would say I promise it won’t happen again but I, uh, can’t make that promise. I hate mushrooms.”

Scully sniffed a laugh through her nose.

“That’s OK, Mulder,” she said. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

“OK, well...sweet dreams, Scully,” he said, awkwardly backing out of her doorway and easing the door shut.

He was a man with needs, he thought, slinking back to his room. And his needs were separated from him by the white walls of a quarantine facility bedroom.

*****************************

When Scully heard Mulder’s door click shut, she mouthed an exaggerated “OH MY GOD.” Her hand dove back under her underwear’s waistband, making frantic, furious work of an urge she could no longer deny. Certainly not after those puppy dog eyes peered into hers, bashful and ashamed of his conjuring her naked body while he slept.

She panted when she was finished and took a long sip of the ice water on her nightstand before deciding to busy her idle hands with a knitting project to keep her awake for the rest of the night. Neither she nor Mulder had been having restful nights lately due to long and windy mushroom trips that left them feeling exhausted even if they’d slept.

She recognized the futility in her plan to keep awake, but was simply buying time until the mushroom effects wore off.

She got a couple hours of knitting in and imagined her poor partner in the room next-door tossing and turning, torturning himself over his last dream before drifting into a fitful sleep Scully witnessed. A sleep filled with images that evoked unease: running through dark woods; purple lightning streaking a night sky; harsh, red lava bubbling from a volcano top; a horde of flies buzzing over a cow lying dead in a pasture.

Through it all, the feeling of being chased, of being pursued, but also of pursuing someone who was always just out of reach.

Poor Mulder, she thought, taking an inescapable front row seat to his pained psyche.

By dawn as light streamed through her window, she had knit a decent portion of a blanket, read a bit and shook her head to rid herself of the garbled dread of Mulder’s troubled dreams.

Her eyes and limbs felt heavy. She felt a little sick to her stomach, the nausea that accompanies too-early mornings, and she yearned to cozy up in her quarantine bed and close her eyes for just a brief respite.

At that, she got up and headed for a cold shower, too unsure of her ability to resist temptation in the form of a warm bed and nowhere to be all day.

----------------------------

By the time she was done in their shared bathroom, her hair wrapped up in a white towel with another tucked around her body, Mulder was padding out from his room with a sheepish demeanor.

“’Morning, Scully,” he said, shame keeping his voice low and his eyes cast to the floor and his socked feet.

“Goodmorning, Mulder,” Scully said. “You’re up early!”

A self-deprecating grin twisted his lips up.

“Yeah, I, uh, had a little trouble sleeping,” he said, finally looking up at his partner with eyes so pleading and guilty, her heart constricted.

When his eyes fell on hers, his mouth fell open.

“Oh, Scully,” he cooed, looking at her with concern. “Scully, what’s wrong?”

He stepped toward her.

Scully looked at him quizzically. She had been too exhausted to focus on herself in the bathroom mirror and had missed the dark purple circles that had bloomed under eyes overnight, the sunken in skin and her paler than usual disposition, exacerbated by the bright white of the towels against her skin.

“What?” she asked, making sure her towel hadn’t slipped, checking her legs to see if she had nicked herself shaving.

“Scully, your eyes,” Mulder said, taking her wet face in his hands. “What’s going on? Do we need to get a nurse in here?”

He went to turn to page one of the medical staff to alert them to a new symptom.

“My eyes?” Scully mused, walking back to the bathroom and gasping when she saw how bloodshot, puffy and purple they had become from a lack of sleep.

“Oh,” she said. “No, Mulder, I don’t need the medical staff, please.”

He turned back toward her and grabbed her hand, steering her toward the couch to sit down.

“What is it, Scully?” he asked, his eyes wide with fear.

“It’s nothing, Mulder, I just...had some trouble sleeping, too,” she replied.

He dropped his head in his hands.

“I made you so uncomfortable, you couldn’t sleep,” he groaned. “God, Scully, I’m so sorry. Here,” he grabbed a soft blanket and draped it over her.

“Please,” he said. “I’ll stay awake. You get some rest, and I’ll just be very awake, not dreaming about anything that disturbs you so much, you can’t even sleep. God, I’m the worst.”

He shot up to close the blinds when Scully jumped from the couch, throwing the blanket off of her.

Too tempting. Too soft. Too sleepy.

“NO,” she shouted, startling both of them.

“No,” she continued, more softly. “It’s not that, Mulder. It wasn’t your dream. I just --”

She bit her lip. She was feeling near delirium with exhaustion, that dangerous, dreamy state where the truth slips too easily from your tongue, where your defenses are weakened and your inhibitions exposed.

His eyes encouraged her to continue.

“I can’t go to sleep right now,” Scully said resolutely.

“Why not?” Mulder said, quietly placing his hand on her knee.

Scully shook her head.

“I just can’t,” she said.

“Surely you’re tired, Scully,” Mulder said. “I can barely keep my eyes open, and I’m your resident insomniac.”

“Yes...” she answered.

“OK,” Mulder said. “You’re tired, but you can’t sleep.”

“Yes,” Scully whispered, looking down at her hands and fiddling with the skin around her cuticles.

“Are you afraid?” Mulder said softly.

Scully nodded, her eyes becoming glassy.

Mulder scooted closer.

“Nightmares, Scully?” Mulder breathed. “I know you had the Donnie Pfaster one a couple nights ago. That was horrible.”

Scully groaned.

“That’s exactly it,” Scully said.

“Oh, Scully,” Mulder said. “I’ll be right here. I’ll watch and I’ll wake you up the minute things head south. I promise. I’ll be right here.”

“No, Mulder, not the nightmares, it’s...I can’t have you...watching.”

Like a confused puppy, Mulder quirked his head to the right, trying to grasp what Scully was stuttering out.

A tear drop slid down Scully’s cheek, and she angrily brushed at it with her palm.

“Scully...” Mulder cooed. “Hey, it’s OK.”

He took her hands in his.

“NO, it’s not OK, Mulder,” Scully shouted, too loud for either of them that early in the morning. “I can’t have you watching what I....see....I can’t have you in there when I can’t control it.”

Mulder’s face softened, understanding washing over him.

“Scully,” he breathed. “What do you see?”

Her face bloomed a deep red that spread down to her neck and peeked out from the white of her towel.

Her gaze stayed fixated on her hands.

“Scully, you saw what I see,” Mulder said, stroking his thumb over her knee. “You saw last night.”

Scully shook her head.

“That was like something out of one of your tapes, Mulder, that wasn’t about...me...” Scully said.

Mulder inched even closer to her until his mouth was inches from her ear.

“You’re wrong about that, Scully,” Mulder breathed into her ear.

His hot breath in her ear deepened her rouge and ignited the pulse between her towel-covered legs again.

A sound escaped the back of her throat, and she scooted away from him.

This time, she dropped her head in her heads as hot, frustrated, tired tears welled in her eyes.

She was losing this battle.

“I’m so tired,” she groaned.

Mulder looked at her with sympathy in his eyes.

His heart ached for her. Among her most expansive fears was someone catching her with her guard down, and what she could barely deny her body any longer would be akin to your middle school crush finding your diary and reading it while you stared on helplessly.

He knew the feeling, but he also knew Scully’s walls were a lot higher than his to scale.

He wanted her to know she was safe to dream, safe to succumb to what she couldn’t fight anymore.

He bent down to pick up the crocheted blanket she’d tossed on the floor moments ago.

He stood and walked to the other side of her on the couch and sat, his back against the sofa arm. He gently placed his arms around her toweled body and eased her back against him so she was lying on top of him. He unwound the towel from her hair and tossed it on the floor behind them.

Her exhausted body was pliable and melted into his without having the energy to deny herself what she wanted. He shook out the blanket and draped it over the both of them.

He felt her squirm and begin to rise.

“Shhh,” he whispered into her ear, keeping his arms crossed over her over-exerted body.

She fell back again, her heavy eyelids beginning to sag and her body molding into his warmth.

“Muller,” she mumbled. “Please don’t watch. Please. I can’t have you see.”

His fingertips slid up and down her arms, drawing out goosebumps.

“No, no,” he cooed in her ear. “I won’t watch, Scully. I won’t watch. Just close your eyes. Please, don’t worry. I’m right here. I’ve got you. And I’ll be here when you wake up, and nothing will change. OK?”

Scully nodded sleepily in his arms and cuddled up against him.

He smiled into the wet crown of her head and hoped his anatomy wouldn’t betray him, at least until she fell under.

She made tiny sounds of protest and sighs -- his Scully, never going down without a fight.

He whispered assurances into her ear as her body weight gradually grew heavier on top of him, promising her he wouldn’t look even though they both knew it wasn’t up to him.

“Sorry...” was the last thing that made it past her lips before her breath grew even and deep, and he knew for sure she was lost to this world.

He kissed her cheek and whispered, “Sweet dreams, Scully.”

And they were.

When her dreams wafted into his vision, it was indistinguishable from their current reality.

His Dream Self knew just what she needed. Just what she wanted.

When Dream Scully stirred in Dream Mulder’s arms, she couldn’t ignore a bulge in his pants that existed in both realms.

She smiled a sultry smile with her eyes still closed but couldn’t hold back a purr in the back of her throat and that hot pulse beneath her towel drummed in her ears.

Dream Mulder traced his fingertips from her arm, down the side of her toweled body and then down to her thigh, drawing circles on her silky skin that made Scully moan unabashedly -- in both realms.

His hand slipped between her legs. She was soaking wet.

A deep groan escaped his mouth as he dipped two fingers inside and collected her wetness, spreading it around.

She bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood.

“You’re safe with me,” Mulder whispered in her ear. “You can let go. Don’t hold back.”

So she didn’t.

As he swirled his fingers in agonizingly divine tempo, she called out, writhed and unhooked the towel from her body, letting it slip off and onto the floor.

Mulder moaned at her naked body against his.

He gently eased his palm over her breast, and she gasped. He licked his pointer finger and thumb and twirled her nipple between his slippery fingers, all the while keeping rhythm down below.

Her back arched.

He was hitting everything just right, just what her body craved, bringing her teetering at the top of ecstasy.

“Mulder, I’m going to...I’m going to....”

“Let go, Scully,” he breathed.

She crashed down into him, coming harder than she ever had before. Her back arching, toes curling, heaving breaths heavier than her eyelids had been.

Mulder’s fingers remained in place until Scully couldn’t take it anymore and she shooed his hand away.

He replaced his arm around her body, tucking her close to him and smiling a satisfactory grin.

She smiled lazily, grazing his forearms with her fingertips.

“Is that what you were so afraid of?” Mulder said, kissing the top of her hair.

Scully nodded and sat up, looking him in the eyes.

“That and telling you that I love you,” she said, before startling awake.

The dream had ended, popped like a balloon.

He felt her whole body tense against him, and knew she had woken herself up.

She didn’t dare move. He could feel the heat radiating from her face.

He scooted up a bit, tilting her body in his arms so he could see her face.

She looked like a deer in the headlights.

He smiled until his eyes crinkled and cupped her head in his big hands.

“I love you, too,” he said, kissing her nose, forehead, each eyelid and cheek and stopping on her lips, which had already stretched into a smile bigger than her face could contain.

“Now if you’ll indulge me,” he said, untucking the towel from her body and letting it fall to the floor as his hands skimmed her naked body. “I’ve been inspired by a dream I once saw, and I have some unfinished business that urgently needs tending to.”

He picked her up bridal style and carried her toward his room.

“Now let’s get you to bed,” he growled.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#xfiles #xfiles fanfic #txf fanfic #txf #the xfiles #xfiles fan fiction #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #scully and mulder #smut #angst #fluff #post Field Trip fic #Field Trip #Season 6 episode 21 #season 6 #myfic

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postmodernbeliever · 2 days

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Thoroughfare- Fox Mulder x Female Reader

Chapter Five: Two Creams, Two Sugars, and a Little Blood

table of contents <3

if you’d prefer my ao3 | word count: 3,750

TW: mentions of murder details, some slight graphic description.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You were running a little late, which meant you were scatterbrained to the nines. You managed to fall asleep at some point between when Fox left your room and when the rain stopped and you forgot to set your alarm, so now you tore through the motel room like a tornado. You were exhausted, all the residual stress and anxiety of yesterday catching up to you, and you weren’t even dressed by the time your partner came knocking at your door. Bright and early, too- seven in the morning- and he was chipper as a bird. You wondered if he ever slept because you could see the violet shadows that caused his green eyes to glow, but he was in far better shape than you were. You swung the door open and then shut it, realizing you had two rollers sitting matronly atop your head, and you were in a wrinkled dress shirt and pajama pants, squinting without any contacts in. You opened it again, revealing just a sliver of yourself to a bewildered face.

“Woah. Good morning, sunshine,” Fox sing-songed.

You peeked through the crack of the doorway, and he was smiling sweetly at you, holding two paper cups. He nudged the door open to hand you the coffee, which you took gratefully, feeling the crabbiness of caffeine deficiency creeping up already. You were almost jealous of how easy it must be for him to wake up and get ready. His hair was tucked tidily atop his forehead, but he was not dressed in uniform- all he wore was a pair of slacks and a blue button-down, no tie, with the sleeves rolled up. You knew he was smarter for it because the mugginess hit you smack in the face when you opened the door, but you got a whiff of the piney scent he wore and knew he probably rolled out of bed ten minutes ago just looking alright to begin with. How nice would it be to look like that in just a few minutes, needing only a comb and some cologne to make you presentable? If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve seen him wearing something like this on a date, all laid-back, careless, dripping with charm as always…

Visibly flustered, you croaked, “Morning. Thank you,”

“Yeah, no problem. They have a coffee maker in the office. It’s not great, but after last night, I don’t trust any of those shops in town claiming they’ve got the best coffee in Marysville,” Fox joked, “You, uh, you don’t look ready,”

“Sorry,” you winced, “I overslept.”

“It’s okay. They want us down at the M.E.’s office, but we have a little time. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll just be a minute!”

You made him stand outside as you shuffled into a pencil skirt, hoping it was wiser for the weather, and tugged a little cardigan over your creased blouse. You grabbed your makeup pouch and took it with you, hoping he wouldn’t pay much attention to your bare face. He may have seen you last night, but you’d already convinced yourself that it was dark enough to hide anything of notoriety. The agent chuckled when you opened the door again, seeing your arms full with a coat that it was far too hot out for, the coffee, a loose gun and badge, a glasses case, your hairbrush– you looked like you just looted a house of all its most unimportant belongings.

“Let me take that for you,” he stole the coffee back and walked you to the truck parked outside your rooms, opening the door for you. You hopped inside and threw your crap in the backseat, and he slid into the driver’s side, setting your drinks down in the cupholders. He started the truck and gave the engine a minute to warm up, reaching for the Kansas map that you left on the dashboard, but he wasn’t really looking for directions to meet the coroner. He peeked at you in his peripheral, watching as you swiped some kind of sheer powder across your face, smoothing your complexion over. He never noticed the little beauty mark on the bridge of your nose, but now he watched you paint over it, and he wished you wouldn’t. You’ve gotten ready like this before, he could tell; you had the motions down, knowing exactly how not to poke your eyes out with the mascara and not to overdo the blush in the car. When he felt like he’d sufficiently given the engine enough time, he placed the map down between you two on the bench and shifted it into reverse.

“You okay if I start driving?”

You turned to him, mid-lipstick swipe, and you nodded. “Sure. I don’t look like a mess, do I?” Fox admired how you pushed your glasses on, adding, “I forgot about my contacts. I feel like a librarian.”

“No. You look… smart.”

“Wow, thanks,” you giggled, rolling your eyes. “I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

“Well, who wants to look stupid?”

Yours challenged the flush of his cheeks, and you rolled down the window, letting some of the hot air out of the car. He began to back out of the motel, taking a right onto the main road.

You’d never seen the Midwest in the morning. The sun wasn’t high yet, so everything had a soft, golden tone to it; the wheat fields swayed, lining the street into town, homes croaked on sprawling acres, and street signs were so faded you had to rely on the shapes to conclude the directions they gave. It was silent, only birds and wind. You liked this part of the middle of nowhere. Back in D.C., and even worse in New York, people are everywhere, clogging the streets until they burst, cutting you off and giving you the finger. You can’t get a seat at a restaurant. You have to get put on a list for bestsellers at the library. But out here, life is slow. There’s always room to breathe, and to look up and see actual stars, rather than cloudy, light-polluted skies. Something about that spoke to you. You found yourself thinking that maybe someday when your work was done with law enforcement, and you have some money put away, you could come back out here and buy a little bungalow and live out the rest of your days in a place where you don’t have to worry about running out of space and time. Fox seemed to enjoy the quaintness of it all, too, because he was quiet as a mouse beside you.

Fox drove straight through town, and you finally got a glimpse of what the local life looked like as you passed. There weren’t many men around, but given that it was mainly an agricultural economy down here, they were probably out working on the farms. But there were pretty women in sundresses crawling up and down the streets with coffee cups and big purses, hair done up like it was a Sunday; little kids were scuttling down the sidewalks towards the school near the police station. You spotted Sheriff Hale’s car parked outside the bakery, but no one inside.

“Wonder where all these people were yesterday,” you observed.

“At the crime scene,” your partner answered, shooting you an apologetic glance. “I think we showed up at an unusual time.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

You rolled the window up a bit, knowing you were allowing your hair to poof up like yesterday. You settled against the bench seat and took up the map, flipping to the larger scale with the main country road running through. With your finger, you followed it to the county medical examiner's office, which was a whopping sixty miles from Marysville. You knew this place was a blip on the radar, but you had no idea just how far away you were from civilization. Fox’s screw-ups getting you both here had skewed your sense of direction.

“Jeez, we’ve got a while to go. You see this?” You asked, pointing to the location.

Fox glanced over and gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah. Straight shot up. We should get there in a little over an hour if I ignore these speed limits,” he winked, pointing to a sign.

You watched it fly by, announcing the stretch of road was a 35 miles per hour zone, and you smiled. Flopping the map onto the dashboard, you reached for your cup of coffee and took a sip, relishing in the room-temperature taste. It tasted good for about a second, and then it turned sour on your tongue. No cream, no sugar. Your face scrunched up and you smacked your lips. Fox seemed to have his own lightbulb going off, and he kept one hand on the wheel while he reached across your lap to open up the glove compartment. You drew in a short breath as his arm brushed against your thigh, and when he uprighted himself, you huffed in frustration.

“You could’ve swerved us into the field, Fox. Why don’t you let me open the damn thing? I’m sitting right in front of it!”

“Jeez. We’re on the road, aren’t we, Piglet?” he mocked, gesturing for you to look inside. A mess of pink sugar packets and little cream containers littered the compartment, and he giggled, “I didn’t know how you liked your coffee.”

A shameful heat flooded your chest, and you shut your mouth.

“You’re welcome.”

You grabbed two creams and two sugars, and as you stirred them into the chilling coffee with your finger, Fox made a note of how you took it and kept driving. You piped down and watched the scenery go by, all yellow fields and blue sky, and wondered what they might have found regarding Liane’s death. What you were aware of from the case files was the girls were all beaten and penetrated postmortem, but in the last murders, the object of violation wasn’t ever identified. There was no clear definition of the instrument used in the mutilation of their bodies, either. Everything was suspiciously contactless, like whoever was murdering these teenagers never had to lay a hand on them to do it; you weren’t sure how that was possible, and you weren’t convinced it was. Someone had to be committing these crimes. It was just in a way you’d never seen.

You were engrossed in your thoughts when Fox began to slow the car to a stop in the center of the road. You saw his attention being drawn by a dilapidated building on the side of the route– a building that could barely fit twenty people was rotting all over, with an eaten-away roof and rusted windows. You would’ve assumed it to be an abandoned shack if it weren’t for the silver cross nailed to the front door.

“Is that a church?”

“I think so. It’s not on the map.” Fox replied, turning off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Hey, wait, we have to get to the–”

“I’ll only be a minute. It’s not like anyone’s driving out here anyway.”

You watched the man slip out of the car and trot around the front, heading off the road. You sat for a second, watching him disappear into the overgrown weeds, and a pressure began to inflate in your chest.

“Damn it.”

You unbuckled yourself and hopped out of the car, leaving your door wide open as you followed in his footsteps. You watched the church door close, his hands slipping out of view behind it, and you groaned. You patted your hip to find you forgot to grab your gun, so you prayed to God that these wouldn’t be your last moments alive, stranded in Kansas with Spooky Mulder. You walked up to the door, looking back to check no one was coming on the road, and you huffed, pulling it open. Stepping inside, you instantly felt disgusting. It was dark and windowless, trapping all the heat in a dead building where mold was absolutely growing within the walls. The only light inside poked through holes in the wood where bugs probably had eaten through, and everything was upturned or offset. It looked like people had left in a hurry- there was still a cloth atop the altar, and Bibles were discarded on the six slender pews filling the room. You looked around for Fox, walking further down the aisle when you heard a creaking from somewhere behind you. Turning quickly on your heels, you saw nobody by the door, and then a creak sounded again, this time too quick for you to locate its direction. You slowly turned back towards the alter, and when your eyes caught up with your body, the agent appeared but inches from your face, holding a flashlight and shining it on a creepy expression. You yelped and turned away from him, covering your face.

“Fuck! You scared me, Fox!”

“Peace be with you,” he wiggled his eyebrows, digging into that creepy smile.

“Not funny.”

“What, you don’t enjoy a little blasphemy? I thought you weren’t religious.”

“Not particularly,” you grumbled, “But I don’t like getting snuck up on. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Fox dropped the flashlight and let his expression mold into something much more like himself, and he hummed. “Good to know.”

You pushed past him and stepped up onto the stage, feeling a bit odd. If your father were here, he wouldve insisted you make the sign of the cross and kneel before it, but you haven’t done that in quite a while. Instead, you paced the sinking platform, running your fingers over the dust-covered podium and chairs.

“What do you think happened here?”

“I don’t know. The rapture?” Fox scoffed, picking up a Bible that was hanging split open over the back of a pew, and flipping through the thin pages. “Looks like everyone up and left.”

“Yeah,”

You walked to the back wall, in front of the chairs, where there was a little wooden trapdoor. You tugged it open, fighting with the swollen lumber, and inside was a silver bowl full of what looked like wine, and beside it, a torn-open package of Eucharist.

“Hey, come look at this,” you called for your partner, and he stepped out of the pews to meet you at the altar.

Upon seeing the contents inside the wall, he asked, “What is this, like, a makeshift tabernacle?”

“Might be. But this bowl looks polished, and…” you paused to reach into the Eucharist bag, taking one and popping it into your mouth, “These are fresh, not stale.”

“You think someone’s been back to replace the bread and body?”

Curiously, you dipped your fingertip into the wine, and a violent chill ran down your back. The liquid was a familiar viscosity as it ran down into your palm, staining the creases. You drew the bowl out of the cupboard and carefully raised it to your nose, and a gag rose in your throat.

“That’s not wine,” you choked, “Jesus!”

Fox leaned down to sniff it, catching the metallic warning, and his eyes blew wide with shock. “Blood.”

You put the bowl back inside the cupboard and shut the door, feeling an anxiety swell in your chest. You stared at the brownish-red on your finger and thought of how it once belonged to somebody, and now it was sitting inside an abandoned church. You stumbled back like you were learning to walk, heading down the altar steps and to the pews.

“Can we please get out of here?” You pleaded at Fox, who stood at the tabernacle making faces.

“You know, now that I think of it, the other girls in the file had a loss of blood reported in their autopsies. Each a few pints. I figured it was a result of the mutilation of their chest cavities, but it could be possible that some of the blood was for sacrifice…”

“You think this has to do with the case?”

Fox began to pace, spanning the church from wall to wall as he mused. “Think about it. Whoever’s killing these girls is doing it for some divine purpose, right? What if they’re making sacrifices to God with their blood, the blood of another who’s untainted and innocent as Jesus Christ?”

“Fox–”

“No, seriously, it makes sense! This guy is clearly working in the shadow of Iscariot, and if that guy had a connection to the real Judas, wouldn’t he need to atone for his sins passed down through history? By sacrificing pure blood to God he could be saving himself from damnation in his own twisted way. Maybe his God-fearing devotion drives him to kill, to make up for Judas’ betrayal.”

“But the sacrifice of human blood isn’t exactly Catholic,” you pointed out.

“Sure it is, people drink it every Sunday!”

“Yeah, but that’s not–”

“You were not redeemed with corruptible things as gold and silver, but with the precious blood of Christ, as a lamb unspotted and defiled,” the man recited, “Peter 1:18. Maybe it’s not widley known as human sacrifice, but Christ and the lamb are thought of as one. Maybe this guy is recreating the sacrifice in the hopes that he will be forgiven. Offering up sacrificial lambs to win the favor of Heaven.”

Fox reached to open the tabernacle again, then hesitated. Turning to you, he asked, “Would you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Could you go grab my coffee cup from the truck?”

You looked at his hand on the tabernacle door, and looked to the blood on your palm, and you rolled your eyes in utter disbelief. “Fox, no way.”

“If I had a vile, I’d ask for that, but–”

“You are not going to bring that shit into our rental car!”

“What if this blood belongs to Liane, Ro? We owe it to her to find out what happened. And maybe it isn’t hers, but it’s someone’s, isn’t it? What if he’s already got another victim?”

“We don’t even know if it’s our guy!”

Fox shot you a look that said, You know it is. He wasn’t going to budge, and you knew it. You watched him open the cupboard and take the bowl out, carefully walking it to the table at the altar. Even if you wanted to leave and forget you ever stumbled upon this shithole, you knew he was right. Churches don’t store human blood in silver bowls, and if that belonged to someone who could be in danger or already dead, it was your duty to find out. You let out a stressed groan and hurried out the front door, jogging back to the truck. The sudden sunshine strained your eyes, but even through a squint in both directions on the road, there was still not a soul to be seen out there. You leaned in through the open passenger side door, fished his empty coffee cup from the cupholder, and hurried back inside where the man waited with the bowl in his hands.

“It’s gonna be contaminated,” you nagged.

“Well, we can’t just leave it here. You know that.”

Fox was careful to only pour a little of the blood into the cup, and even more careful not to spill it on you or the mildewed carpet. Once there was an espresso shot’s worth, he tipped the bowl back level and shoved it in the tabernacle, shutting the door tight on it. You fastened the lid onto the cup and held it between two fingers, freaking out just to have it in your grasp. You followed the man down the steps again, and he held the church doors open for you, which you walked through quickly, hoping it would be the last time you ever had to.

“We can get this tested at the county morgue, they can test it alongside Liane’s blood to see if there’s a match,” Fox explained, taking the evidence from your hand as you hopped into the truck.

You placed your dirty hand on the door handle and said, “You’re crazy.”

“We would’ve never found it if I wasn’t.”

He shut your door for you, and then he clambered behind the wheel, placing the blood down beside your coffee cup, which you elected to have no more of. As he started up the engine and remind himself of how many more miles he had to go on the map, you tapped his shoulder. The two of you gazed through the windshield as a little truck with a tow attachment sped past, the first car you’d seen all day. Inside was a pale man, one you didn’t get a good look at, but you saw his dark hair and small eyes, and as he drove by you felt the presence of him like an omen. You remembered how it felt to look at Liane’s cold face, and recognized the feeling as the same. Maybe you were just on edge, but everything about this felt very, very wrong.

“Something’s off about that guy,” Fox scratched his forehead in thought, “Should we follow him?”

“What? No. We’re going to see the medical examiner. Now.”

“Well–”

“Fox, you dragged me into a church and made me put blood into a coffee cup. Drive.”

“You could’ve waited in the car–”

“I said drive!”

Fox raised his palms in surrender and chuckled, shifting the car into gear and pedaling away down the road. You watched the run-down church grow small in the rearview mirror until it disappeared, and you wondered what happened inside. Maybe everyone did get up and leave. Maybe a Mass had gone horribly wrong. Maybe teenagers broke in and trashed the place. Maybe God had come down, or He had brought them up. But of all the theories you could draw, not one of them explained what that blood was doing inside the wall, and even if it was your job, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know. Liane’s face flashed before your eyes as you closed them and slumped in your seat. Fox watched you out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the blood on your finger, and he hoped that you’d come away from this case with more than just resentment for his insane methods. He kept driving, and you kept breathing, and the both of you prayed that the medical examiner hadn’t called the Bureau about the agents who were an hour late for their meeting.

“Woah. Good morning, sunshine,” Fox sing-songed.

Visibly flustered, you croaked, “Morning. Thank you,”

“Sorry,” you winced, “I overslept.”

“It’s okay. They want us down at the M.E.’s office, but we have a little time. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll just be a minute!”

“You okay if I start driving?”

“No. You look… smart.”

“Wow, thanks,” you giggled, rolling your eyes. “I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

“Well, who wants to look stupid?”

Yours challenged the flush of his cheeks, and you rolled down the window, letting some of the hot air out of the car. He began to back out of the motel, taking a right onto the main road.

“Wonder where all these people were yesterday,” you observed.

“At the crime scene,” your partner answered, shooting you an apologetic glance. “I think we showed up at an unusual time.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Jeez, we’ve got a while to go. You see this?” You asked, pointing to the location.

Fox glanced over and gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah. Straight shot up. We should get there in a little over an hour if I ignore these speed limits,” he winked, pointing to a sign.

“You could’ve swerved us into the field, Fox. Why don’t you let me open the damn thing? I’m sitting right in front of it!”

A shameful heat flooded your chest, and you shut your mouth.

“You’re welcome.”

“Is that a church?”

“I think so. It’s not on the map.” Fox replied, turning off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Hey, wait, we have to get to the–”

“I’ll only be a minute. It’s not like anyone’s driving out here anyway.”

“Damn it.”

“Fuck! You scared me, Fox!”

“Peace be with you,” he wiggled his eyebrows, digging into that creepy smile.

“Not funny.”

“What, you don’t enjoy a little blasphemy? I thought you weren’t religious.”

“Not particularly,” you grumbled, “But I don’t like getting snuck up on. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Fox dropped the flashlight and let his expression mold into something much more like himself, and he hummed. “Good to know.”

You pushed past him and stepped up onto the stage, feeling a bit odd. If your father were here, he would've insisted you make the sign of the cross and kneel before it, but you haven’t done that in quite a while. Instead, you paced the sinking platform, running your fingers over the dust-covered podium and chairs.

“What do you think happened here?”

“I don’t know. The rapture?” Fox scoffed, picking up a Bible that was hanging split open over the back of a pew, and flipping through the thin pages. “Looks like everyone up and left.”

“Yeah,”

“Hey, come look at this,” you called for your partner, and he stepped out of the pews to meet you at the altar.

Upon seeing the contents inside the wall, he asked, “What is this, like, a makeshift tabernacle?”

“Might be. But this bowl looks polished, and…” you paused to reach into the Eucharist bag, taking one and popping it into your mouth, “These are fresh, not stale.”

“You think someone’s been back to replace the bread and body?”

“That’s not wine,” you choked, “Jesus!”

Fox leaned down to sniff it, catching the metallic warning, and his eyes blew wide with shock. “Blood.”

“Can we please get out of here?” You pleaded at Fox, who stood at the tabernacle making faces.

“You think this has to do with the case?”

“Fox–”

“But the sacrifice of human blood isn’t exactly Catholic,” you pointed out.

“Sure it is, people drink it every Sunday!”

“Yeah, but that’s not–”

Fox reached to open the tabernacle again, then hesitated. Turning to you, he asked, “Would you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Could you go grab my coffee cup from the truck?”

You looked at his hand on the tabernacle door, and looked to the blood on your palm, and you rolled your eyes in utter disbelief. “Fox, no way.”

“If I had a vile, I’d ask for that, but–”

“You are not going to bring that shit into our rental car!”

“What if this blood belongs to Liane, Ro? We owe it to her to find out what happened. And maybe it isn’t hers, but it’s someone’s, isn’t it? What if he’s already got another victim?”

“We don’t even know if it’s our guy!”

“It’s gonna be contaminated,” you nagged.

“Well, we can’t just leave it here. You know that.”

You placed your dirty hand on the door handle and said, “You’re crazy.”

“We would’ve never found it if I wasn’t.”

“Something’s off about that guy,” Fox scratched his forehead in thought, “Should we follow him?”

“What? No. We’re going to see the medical examiner. Now.”

“Well–”

“Fox, you dragged me into a church and made me put blood into a coffee cup. Drive.”

“You could’ve waited in the car–”

“I said drive!”

#fox mulder #x files #spooky mulder #the x files #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder x you #txf #fox mulder x reader fluff #fox mulder fluff #fox mulder smut #catholiscism #catholic guilt

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