For @calimanc, who sent me this prompt two years ago. Thank you to my friends who helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass. Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
For @calimanc, who sent me this prompt two years ago. Thank you to my friends who helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass. Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
Mulder and Scully find out what Reddington has in store for them: lots of orgasms.
Note: There are six orgasms, but I liked this title better. Also, this is the chapter with homoeroticism.
Warnings: dubious consent, canon typical violence and villainy.
Reddington’s Warehouse
Chatsworth, CA
Mulder watches as Scully stumbles over to sit on the edge of the bed. She's a bit dazed and out of breath after her Reddington-induced orgasm. “Are you okay?" he asks softly.
"I think so…” she pauses. Her face is flushed, and she is still breathing heavily. “I don't know what happened to me."
"He put the whammy on you, Scully. He did the same thing to me.“ Mulder presses for more details. "You didn't lose consciousness?”
"Um. No. Something just came over me, something I can't explain. I felt light-headed and woozy. It was so strange, Mulder."
“I know exactly what you mean. If you're anything like me. It'll take you a few minutes to recover." Now that he has confirmed Scully is alright, it's time to start planning their escape. “I'm going to find out what he has planned for us.”
Scully nods, still dazed. Mulder's attention turns back to their captor. “What do you want from us, Reddington?” Mulder asks hoarsely.
“I’m so glad you asked. First, we’re going to start with the foreplay. Our little lady here is going to ride your face like the sexy minx that she is. The rest of the scenes will be a surprise. Isn't that exciting?”
Mulder's swallows. The idea of Scully riding his face is one of his most guarded fantasies. But he also feels guilt and anger over Scully being forced to do something so intimate. He looks over to Scully on the edge of the bed; she's clearly blushing.
Maybe he can distract Reddington with another question. “Doesn't a good director tell his actors what he has planned so they can be prepared?"
"What do you know of it, FBI man? I learned from the best directors that you want to keep your actor's reactions fresh. It's more real that way."
"What if we refuse to do what you ask?” Mulder asks evenly. Keeping his anger and fear in check.
“If at any point either of you tries to disobey my rules, you know what’s going to happen next. Ka-pow!” He laughs, delighted with himself. “Okay, Agent Scully, our leading man is ready for you. But I’m going to need you to get comfortable and take off that bulky suit.”
Scully clenches her jaw. “No. I'm not going to do that.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“And I don’t answer to you.” Her voice is stern. Mulder is glad to see she's feeling like herself again.
“Oh, well, you’re no fun. But that’s okay, I can just give Agent Mulder a little zap - that should convince you to listen...”
“Don’t listen to him, Scully! Uh, ow…” Suddenly, the metal around his dick comes alive with a painful electrical pulse that surges around his cock and balls. He yelps in pain, the surge feels like it travels right up his spine. His hair stands up on end.
Scully jumps up. “Stop! What are you doing to him?!” she yells, panicked eyes jumping frantically between Mulder’s jerking body and the direction of Reddington’s voice. “Okay, okay!”
“Sc- Scully -!” Through gritted teeth, Mulder tries to protest; The last thing he wants is her to strip down for this creep. He is prepared to endure the pain if it means keeping Scully out of this.
Scully ignores him.
“I’ll do what you ask, just stop hurting him!” She shrugs off her blazer, demonstrating her compliance. “See?”
“That’s what I like to see.”
Another jolt of electricity pulses through his cock, and he yelps in pain.
i have completed the scully pic!! ig i could of done it more detailed but i have exams atm so i might redraw it after exams are finished. hope you like it.
For @calimanc, who sent me this prompt two years ago. Thank you to my friends who helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass. Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
For @calimanc, who sent me this prompt two years ago. Thank you to my friends who helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass. Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
For @calimanc, who sent me this prompt two years ago. Thank you to my friends who helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass. Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate a series of kidnappings that leads them to Hollywood and into the unfamiliar world of adult film production. A twisted, self-described porn visionary rumored to have a highly unusual power is their number one suspect. When Mulder and Scully track him to his hideout, the confrontation gets them far more than they bargained for.
Rated: Explicit
Words: 25,926 total (Chapter 1 is about 5400)
Authors: Peacenik0 and Observeroftheuniverse
Thanks to @cecilysass for her beautiful beta, and @jaquescully for her encouragement
This fic will be 5 chapters in total, posted regularly.
Chapter 1: Tied up in Hollywood
Mulder enters the warehouse with his gun drawn. Something is off. The hair stands up on the back of his neck.
His eyes scan from left to right as he works his way down a dark, narrow hallway. At the end of the hall, he can see it opens up into a large, rectangular room with a vaulted ceiling. The only light filters in through some busted-out windows.
As Mulder steps out onto the main warehouse floor, a disembodied voice comes from above.
“Oh, well, well, well, look who followed me home! Agent Mulder from the FBI. How kind of you to join me; it saves me the trouble of having to go out and get you.”
"Reddington?!” Mulder searches for the source of the voice. His eyes are drawn back to the back left of the space, to a lofted room. It is dark, but if he squints, he can just make out the silhouette of a man.
“Show yourself,” Mulder demands, aiming his weapon toward the silhouette.
"I think I'm quite comfortable where I am. But I think I’d like to see you in a different position.”
Mulder feels a strange pull in his stomach. His mouth goes dry. “What are you talking about - a project? What are you planning, Reddington?”
“I like to think it will be my magnum opus. Everything you’re about to do is going to be filmed, and it’s very possible that this little experiment of ours might be seen by a lot of very… let’s say, excited customers.”
Mulder has no idea what the man means, but he doesn’t like the sound of it. The words are becoming harder to focus on as gooseflesh erupts all over his body, his nipples growing taut and sensitive. Without cause, his dick begins to harden, blood redirecting south so quickly it makes him dizzy.
Mulder’s hands tremble, ruining any hope he has of shooting the silhouette.
"What's happening?” he shouts. He is hyperaware of every millimeter of fabric touching his body. His head swims, making it difficult to orient himself. His cock is now rigid and pulsing inside his slacks. He shakes his head, trying to right his vision and regain control of his body’s responses. “Shit.”
Before he knows what is happening, his body seizes up, jerking as an ecstasy so searing it literally hurts when it surges through him. Warmth spreads over his crotch, and he realizes, with horror, that he has cum in his pants without so much as a touch.
Mulder wobbles on his knees. Reddington laughs above him.
“Perfect! Cut and print!” Reddington says, the sick glee dripping from his voice is unmistakable. “Oh, this is going to be great. Fox, you’re a natural.”
“No!” Mulder yells as his weapon slips from his clammy hands. He barely has time to hear it hit the concrete before everything goes black.
—
Read the rest of the chapter on AO3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 2: Snoballs, Sleeping Bags, and Bastard Bees
After her sponge bath, Scully escaped to the kitchen for another mug of tea. She needed to remove herself from the source of her temptation. She couldn't hear much of what Mulder and Frohike were saying, but it was a huge relief to know that their rescue was imminent.
While she waited, Scully looked in the cupboards and found four cans of Spam and a surprise box of snack cakes behind the Folgers coffee and Lipton tea. They were pink Hostess Snoballs, labeled “Mark’s, DO NOT EAT," in black Sharpie marker on the front.
Scully remembered the little birthday celebration Mulder had put together for her a few years ago at the dive bar. It was simple and sweet. And unfortunately, it had been ruined pretty quickly. She shoved the memory aside. Focus on the positive. They had cake now.
She placed the cakes on the kitchen table and continued to count the rest of the cocktail weenies and creamed corn in the cupboard. If they rationed, she figured they had another three or four days of food.
After a few minutes, Mulder entered the kitchen, rubbing his face with a towel. She caught a minty-clean whiff of Irish Spring. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
“What did Frohike say?”
“He has a connection high up in the Navy. It just so happens they are training at the Naval facility in Valparaíso, Chile. He can send a small team down here to get us. We’re getting rescued, Scully!”
“That is great news! Do they have our coordinates?”
“Yes. Everything is set. Frohike said they have access to a helicopter and a Navy medic.”
“How long until they reach us?"
"It could be another day or two. They'll radio us tomorrow with the specifics.”
Scully sighed in relief. “That's great news. I was just checking our rations. I found a few other things in the cupboards, and I suspect we've got about three days if we're careful.”
Mulder’s eyes went to the table. “Do I see some pink Snoballs, Scully?"
“Yes, you do. Wanna celebrate?"
“Oh, yeah!" Mulder ripped open the box with glee and handed her a cellophane-wrapped treat.
For @calimanc, who sent me this prompt two years ago. Thank you to my friends who helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass. Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
For @calimanc, who sent me this prompt two years ago. Thank you to my friends who helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass. Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
For @calimanc, who sent me this prompt two years ago. Thank you to my friends who helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass.
Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
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The craftsman house is quiet, save for the rhythmic drumming of a steady spring rain against the bedroom windows. The digital numbers on the nightstand clock glow a muted 8:00 AM, a rare, luxurious Saturday morning with no active X-Files and no immediate crises.
It is especially rare because, for the first time in over two years, they are completely alone. Their toddler is currently spending the weekend being thoroughly spoiled by Maggie Scully. A brightly colored wooden train abandoned near the bedroom door is the only visible evidence of the beautiful chaos they usually wake up to.
Scully is buried deep beneath the duvet, her head resting on Mulder’s chest, her bare leg tangled intimately with his beneath the sheets. She lets her eyes drift shut, listening to the steady thud of his heart and marveling at the sheer, impossible reality of their lives.
The road here has not been easy.
Following their first anniversary, they had pursued the adoption agency in Montana, pouring their hearts into the process only to be met with a devastating string of bureaucratic barriers and a heartbreaking, last-minute biological family claim.
Three weeks later, they found themselves back in Polaris.
The tiny Montana town had long since become something sacred between them. Not just because of the adoption agency hidden there among the mountains, but because Polaris itself had become a compass point in the private mythology of their lives.
Mulder had rented the same isolated cabin on the edge of the forest where they had stayed during the final stages of the adoption process, desperate for silence after the call came informing them the placement had fallen through.
Scully still remembered the way he had stood on the porch that first night, staring up at the impossible spread of stars above the mountains as snow drifted softly through the dark. He had looked devastated in a way that frightened her, not volatile, not shattered, just unbearably quiet.
They had already made room for the child in their hearts.
And now there was suddenly nowhere for all that love to go.
When the freezing mountain air finally drove him back inside, he crossed the small room and sat heavily beside her on the edge of the bed. He didn't offer any hollow reassurances. He simply reached out and pulled her flush against his side, resting his chin on the top of her head as the fire crackled low in the stove.
For months, Scully had been the strong one. She had clinically contained the anxiety of the home studies, the endless bureaucratic red tape, and the agonizing wait. She had held it together right up until the phone call came about the biological family claim.
But sitting there in the heavy silence of the cabin, feeling the quiet, crushing weight of his heartbreak pressing against her own, the dam finally broke. The grief of losing a child they were already completely devoted to spilled over all at once, stripping away the last of her defenses.
“I’m so tired,” she had whispered brokenly against his sweater. “I can’t keep doing this to us.”
Mulder gathered her against him immediately, wrapping both arms around her as though he could physically shield her from the ache of it. He pressed his lips into her hair and held her so tightly she could feel his heart pounding beneath her cheek.
“Then we stop,” he murmured fiercely. “We stop right now.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him, tears shining in her lashes. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing gently beneath her eye. “Scully, listen to me. I wanted a child because I wanted a life with you. I already have the part that matters most.”
Her breath caught sharply in her throat as a fresh tear spilled over his thumb.
"I never thought I was meant to have a family. I never believed I could be loved the way that you love me. But you gave me a home, Scully. You are my family. Whether it's just the two of us for the rest of our lives, or a house full of kids, you are all I need."
She let out a fractured sob, her hands coming up to grip his wrists as she leaned fiercely into his touch.
“We don’t have to keep bleeding for this dream,” he murmured, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. “You are enough for me. You always were.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The fire crackled softly in the darkness while snow drifted past the cabin windows in slow, silent spirals.
Scully could hear the uneven rhythm of his breathing where their foreheads remained pressed together, and it struck her with almost unbearable clarity that he meant every word.
When he kissed her, all the devastating grief of the past year melted into a deep, desperate reverence. Scully reached for him, pulling his heavy frame down with her into the thick wool blankets, needing him closer, needing to anchor herself in the only certainty she had left.
There was no clinical anxiety, no tracking of cycles, no desperate, silent prayers for a miracle. There was only Fox Mulder, the hot friction of his skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the profound, absolute safety of his arms. She stopped fighting the universe. She surrendered, letting all of her meticulously constructed armor fall away in the firelit dark.
And perhaps that was the final paradox of it all: the miracle only found them once they stopped chasing it through grief and statistics and learned, at last, to rest in the life they had already built together.
Somewhere beyond the cabin walls, high above the silent mountains, Polaris burned steadily through the dark like a fixed point guiding them home.
And then, exactly nine months after they surrendered the dream entirely, defying every diagnosis, every statistic, and every cold clinical certainty, the universe handed them a miracle.
Rionnag Mulder.
She was a brilliant collision of both of them, already unmistakably her own person. She had a chaotic mop of unruly copper curls that Scully had long since given up trying to tame, and a fiercely independent wardrobe philosophy that currently favored overalls and bright yellow rain boots, regardless of the weather.
She had Mulder’s eyes, Scully’s stubbornness, and an unnerving habit of asking deeply existential questions over breakfast cereal and at bed time.
She preferred dismantling her toys to understand how they worked rather than actually playing with them, and she approached every rock, twig, and pillbug in the yard with grave scientific importance.
She was a tiny, relentless force of nature who had her father completely wrapped around her sticky little finger.
When Maggie had pulled out of the driveway yesterday afternoon with Rooney in the backseat, insisting with a knowing wink that they "enjoy one another's company," they had both fully intended to embark on a wild, unrestrained night of passion to make up for months of toddler-induced celibacy. Instead, the reality of their sheer, accumulated exhaustion had hit them like a freight train the moment the house went quiet. They had been blissfully, entirely unconscious by nine o'clock.
But twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep had worked wonders. Mulder is wide awake, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He is holding a piece of heavy, cream-colored stationery he had evidently dug out of his desk drawer earlier that morning.
"What is so funny?" she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep as she shifts, her bare skin gliding warmly against his.
Mulder’s breath hitches slightly at the movement, but he manages to keep his eyes on the paper. "I was just reading over the final release from the esteemed estate attorneys of Great Aunt Olive." He drops the letter onto the mattress and looks down at her, a smug, deeply satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Today is our five-year anniversary. Which means we have officially cohabitated for one thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-five consecutive days."
Scully blinks, a soft, radiant smile breaking across her face. "Wow," she breathes. "Five years since the blacksmith and the anvil. It feels like a lifetime ago."
"It does," Mulder agrees, reaching up to take his glasses off and toss them onto the nightstand. He shifts his weight, rolling smoothly so that he is hovering directly over her, his large hands bracketing her shoulders.
The playful smirk vanishes, replaced by a look that still makes her pulse stutter after all these years. "Which also means, legally speaking, my contractual obligation to share this bed with you expired four years ago. I am technically a free agent."
Scully arches a single, perfect eyebrow, a distinctly predatory spark lighting up her blue eyes. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely," he whispers, lowering his head until his mouth is a breath away from hers. "You could kick me to the curb right now. Keep the house and the four million all to yourself."
"That sounds like a lot of paperwork," she hums, reaching up to trace the hard line of his jaw with her fingertips. She loops her arms around his neck, pulling him flush against her. "Besides, you're on bubble bath duty when Rooney gets home tomorrow, and we both know she only accepts your exact water-to-bubble ratio. You aren't going anywhere, Mulder."
"Good," he growls, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss that immediately incinerates the lazy morning air.
He kisses her with the same starving, desperate devotion he had shown her since that first feverish collision in the kitchen of her apartment, his tongue sweeping past her teeth and swallowing her soft, undone sigh. Scully’s hands immediately tangle in his hair, her hips instinctively bucking up to meet the heavy, straining ridge of his arousal pressing against her thigh.
Mulder breaks the kiss, his chest heaving as he drags his mouth down the long, exposed column of her throat. "Actually," he rasps against her pulse point, his hand sliding down to grip her hip and pull her flush against his pelvis, "I kept a souvenir from our “business trip” to Scotland."
Scully gasps as he suddenly reaches over to the nightstand drawer, pulling out a familiar, weathered length of tartan cord. The handfasting cord.
Her breath catches in her throat as she looks at the rough wool, a sudden, molten heat pooling low in her stomach. "Mulder..."
He pauses. The teasing edge of his desire drops away, leaving only the quiet, heavy gravity of a man who has spent a lifetime studying her every expression. He runs his thumb slowly over the frayed edge of the fabric.
"I was an opportunist," he murmurs, his voice rough. "Scotland was just a formality, Scully. I’ve felt married to you since the day you walked into the basement."
He doesn’t smile when he says it.
That’s what undoes her.
Scully doesn't say a word. She simply reaches up, her fingertips sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck, her thumb brushing the hard line of his jaw. The touch is an answer, a confirmation, and an anchor all at once.
“I know,” she whispers, her breath brushing against his skin. A tiny, yielding smile touches her lips as she gently traces his pulse point. “Me too, Mulder.”
For a moment, neither of them says anything.
The rain taps steadily against the windows while the old house settles quietly around them, warm and alive and unmistakably theirs.
Five years later, the truth still feels almost impossible to her: after all the darkness, after all the losses, they made it here.
Then the raw devotion flares back to life in his eyes.
"The blacksmith said it was a Lover's Knot, Scully," he murmurs, his eyes completely black with desire as he gently catches both of her wrists, pulling them up toward the headboard. "I think it’s only right we honor the traditions on our anniversary.”
The rough wool grazes her skin, a sharp, tactile reminder of the cold forge and the heavy, echoing ring of the anvil. Scully’s back bows off the mattress, a high, desperate keen escaping her throat, but she doesn't surrender. Not today.
Before he can anticipate it, Scully twists sharply within his grip, using his shifted center of gravity against him with practiced field efficiency. Leveraging years of field training and the sheer momentum of his own weight, she flips him, pinning his broad shoulders into the mattress. Her knees bracket his hips as she looms over him, her hair a wild, fiery halo in the dim morning light.
"Scully?" Mulder gasps, the breath knocked clean out of him as his shoulders hit the mattress, utterly bewildered and entirely captivated.
"You're forgetting something, Mulder," she purrs, her voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that sends a jolt of electricity straight to his core. She reaches out, her cool fingers dancing over his before she deftly snatches the tartan cord from his stunned grasp. "You might be a free agent now, but I haven't officially released you from your contract. And I’m not done with you yet."
Mulder lets out a ragged, desperate laugh, his hands coming up to grip her waist, his thumbs digging into her bare hips as he pulls her down against his heat. "I'm not going anywhere."
Scully leans down, her red hair falling like a silken curtain around their faces, trapping them in a world that smells only of him and the rain outside. She catches his wrists, pulling them up and securing them to the heavy mahogany headboard with the tartan cord. She ties the knot with the clinical precision of a surgeon, ensuring it's firm and tight, her knuckles brushing against the frantic, racing pulse at his wrists.
She pulls back just enough to admire her handiwork, her gaze raking over his restrained form, the hard line of his chest, the heaving of his breath, and the raw look in his eyes. The sight of Fox Mulder, brilliant, restless, and currently entirely at her mercy, sends a scorching wave of heat straight to her clit.
"I think," Scully whispers, her thumbs grazing the sensitive skin of his inner wrists where the wool meets the bone, "that I’ve been waiting a very long time to see you like this." She leans in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she adds a wickedly soft promise. “But next time,” she whispers against his mouth, her hips settling heavily over his, “I want to know how it feels to surrender, too.”
She doesn't make him wait another second. She crashes her mouth against his, swallowing his ragged, desperate groan as she shifts her weight and finally sinks down, taking him in entirely.
The sensation is absolute, blinding heat. The world outside their bedroom window vanishes into the steady, rhythmic drumming of the spring rain.
There are no monsters here. No shadows. No endless chases through the dark.
There is only the steady rain, the rough bite of Scottish wool against his wrists, and the breathtaking sight of Fox Mulder surrendering himself to her completely.
As the friction builds, sparking a wildfire between them, Scully leans down, pressing her forehead against his sweating brow. She locks her gaze with his, amber and forest green, shining with a raw, fathomless devotion that still, after all these years, takes her breath away.
She holds him there, moving with a demanding, relentless rhythm that draws a deep, shattered prayer from his lips. In the peaceful refuge of the life they fought so desperately to build, Scully holds his gaze and lets herself fall freely into him.
Fox Mulder had spent his life chasing lights through the darkness, searching desperately for proof that he was not alone in the universe.
And tangled together in the quiet sanctuary they had fought so hard to build, Mulder and Scully finally found what they had been searching for all along.
Because out of all the vast, terrifying mysteries in this world, they knew there was no greater miracle than simply finding your soulmate in the dark, and choosing to love them in the light.
i know i say this often but i cannot say it loud enough: people who comment on fics, people who reblog posts and engage with fanworks are the people who generate community and without them fandom would be nowhere, so truly thank you for your presence, you make the world go 'round <3
"Sweetness and Scrape"
(S02E25: Anasazi, Part II—Mulder)
----------
Sick, in the head and in the belly. He took Aspirin, washed it down with water, was going to collapse on his couch, make himself forget about concocting a way to get Scully to come over and take care of him—but the boys arrived. A swirling tornado of activity, then: a murder in the building, a nameless fourth Gunman, botanicals in the dark.
Then the office—Scully—
He threw things, shouted, let her be splashed by his rage—regretted it, couldn’t seem to control it.
Irritation and pique flaking off him like shed skin, leaving a trail of destruction through the Hoover building. Starting an argument with Skinner (the spineless fucking snake), then a fight; losing it. There was something burning in him, building to a fever-pitch and then a fever. It all made a dark and paranoid kind of sense, until Scully showed up at his apartment—
A startling wake-up, her outstretched hand (you didn’t answer your door) and she was there, she was caretaking and nagging (I couldn’t find you at work; I was worried about you), insistent and forgiving, so principled it was maddening (I need to know that they’re not going to let us hang ourselves with this—that I’m doing the right thing).
That poked a hole for the irritation to seep away, evaporate like seawater, leaving behind a crust of salt and silt. So much hanging in the balance, and he was still used to thinking of it as his future he was gambling on. But—
I had to lie today.
What did she see, when she looked at him? What did she think, when those big blue eyes landed on his face? Why was it worth it to her—why did she do it? Why didn’t she just fucking give up on him already, and leave him to bristle and brood?
He wished she would. He always did, but right now all he wanted was to be alone, to find the answers, to get her out of the blast zone, to get some sleep.
Get the fuck out of here already, he thought, could never have said, didn’t really mean. Why did she stand there and take it? He was so surly; he felt it scraping at his own edges, chafing, leaving his mouth sour and bitten.
She needed to know one more thing, and he didn’t have an answer other than it was the swirling cloud, it was the dancing light, it was something I’m afraid has always been inside of me that’s decided to finally crawl out, and he couldn’t say that so he told her he didn’t know, and—
She was troubled. Scully always was, but this time she fretted over her own future as well as for him, and it was almost sweetly nostalgic—that throwback to the beginning, when she hadn’t been sure he wasn’t going to hijack her career and fly it into the side of a mountain. Almost sweet except she licked her lips in the nervous way instead of the turned-on way and asked for reassurance which he couldn’t give her.
She’d come here with a desperate hope—of learning that he had a good reason for what he was doing, what he had done—and she would be leaving with more fear than she’d carried in. Because not only did he not have a good reason, it seemed that he had no reason at all.
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The rest is here, on ao3.
(gifs by @vizual-demon and @gifs-by-renegadesstuff)
@calimanc, do you remember sending me this prompt? It was two years ago to the day. I can’t believe how long this took, but it’s finally done! It grew from a short fic of a few thousand word into a novel-length thing with plot, which was unexpected but fun to write.
A lot of people have helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. Thank you all so much; this fic wouldn’t exist without you! The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass, so I’m tagging you too!
Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
