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ironmandeficiency · 3 years

Text

that’s not a shirt

pairing: marcus pike / reader

word count: 1584

summary: marcus comes home from work & finds the strangest thing in the laundry.

a/n: for @autumnleaves1991-blog and her wednesday writing challenge! writing domestic marcus pike is my therapy. unbeta’d and posted from mobile (honestly my laptop is becoming less convenient to post from even tho posting fic on tumblr is literally the reason i bought it last year)

three long, miserable weeks. that’s how long marcus has been out of town for a case that had him jetting all across the country, far away from you and your comfortable bed. he’s almost never at the apartment he pays rent for every month. most of his clothes and his favorite pillow are at your place, and the small quilt his grandmother sewed decades ago is draped over the back of your couch. in everything but name, he lived with you.

when he entered your apartment with his key, he took note of the fact you weren’t there and got set to cleaning up a bit. work leaves you exhausted more often than not and he doesn’t want to leave everything undone for you to worry about when you get home.

upon first glance, he could see the laundry was half done. a heaping load of clean clothes was in the hamper in front of the dryer and there were wet clothes in the open washer. when he looked further, there was also a load in the dryer, which told him that you stayed up late to get things done then fell asleep on the couch waiting for the dryer to finish. with a fond smile, he started the dryer for a few minutes to get wrinkles out of what’s in there. when those are done, he can get what’s in the hamper unwrinkled and hung and folded.

dinner was next on the to-do list. something nourishing to welcome you home after a long day but simple enough to do while catching up the clothes: spaghetti. there’s something about his mom’s recipe for the sauce that makes his spaghetti absolutely heavenly — your words, not his — and he can’t wait to see your reaction to having marcus home two days earlier than planned along with his best dish.

in the time it takes him to get the sauce cooking and the water boiling on the stove, the dryer announces that it’s finished with the first load. he hums as he folds the bath towels and dish rags without a care in the world, making the trip to stow them in the bathroom cabinet with a spring to his step.

checks the sauce for flavor and consistency before putting the second load of wrinkled clothes in the dryer, finding it needs just a smidge more rosemary before it can be left to simmer. picks another sprig from the plant you keep on the windowsill and cuts the leaves very fine before sprinkling them in with a flick of his wrist.

satisfied with his efforts, he turns back to the laundry. he dutifully empties the lint filter (you’re adamant on emptying it after every load and the trait passed onto him) before he begins to grab things to toss into the dryer. about a third of the way through the basket, his hand grabbed onto something weirdly solid and plump.

“mroww!”

last marcus checked, shirts don’t make noises like that. he tore his gaze from the inside of the dryer to the hamper to find a grey and white kitten lounging in the hamper. the little thing was nudging his hand with their head, clearly wanting the attention of the man slowly depleting its bed. he was perplexed. you didn’t have a cat when he was last here, but there was one seeming to be perfectly content in making itself at home in your apartment.

“where did you come from?” he knew the cat wasn’t going to give him a coherent answer but he felt the need to voice his confusion anyway. the first thing to do now: check to see if it’s male or female. it’s a female, looks to be about three months old and is perfectly content with being handled by marcus.

marcus can’t recall the last time he had a pet. with him being too busy with work, he never thought it would be fair to a pet to have an owner constantly gone. he didn’t have enough stability in the past with where he lived and didn’t want to only be a half ass pet parent. the past several months, however, have been nothing but stable. not counting the seldom out of town cases, he goes to work in the morning and comes home to you in the evening, and he rinses and repeats as needed. maybe this kitten is the perfect prelude to taking the next big step in his relationship with you.

for now though, marcus doesn’t let himself get carried away with his daydreams about living with you full time. he’s got laundry to finish and dinner to cook, and now he has a sous chef to accompany him. he holds the kitten to his chest, scratching her chin with a hooked finger and melting at the way she looks up as if telling him to keep going. “alright sweet girl, let’s finish up dinner.” a soft “mrrow!” is her reply and it makes marcus huff a quiet laugh.

dinner is completed with marcus using one less hand than normal, his sous chef being fabulous company. the few times he had to use both hands, his feline friend perched on his shoulder (which he thought was the best thing ever) and waited to be held again. however this cat got here, marcus didn’t know; the one thing he did know is that it wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

the front door was unlocked when you came home and you knew with absolute certainty that you locked it before you left. your walmart bags filled with cat supplies were immediately dropped to the hallway floor as you began to inspect your front door and the area around it. marcus taught you how to spot the basic signs of forced entry (like the protective sweetheart he is) and when none of them were there, you cautiously entered your apartment, mace in hand.

the adrenaline washed away when you spotted your loving boyfriend in the kitchen, gently bobbing his head along to whatever music he had playing. one hand was stirring a pot on the stove while the other was plenty preoccupied with the kitten. shit, you forgot to warn him about the kitten before he got home!

this was the last thing you thought would be here to greet you, but it was a very welcome sight; the feline was finicky and marcus wasn’t due home for another few days, a double whammy. “i see you’ve met the kitten.” you’re honestly just thankful he didn’t get upset about the little thing. neither of you have talked about pets or whatever your living situation is becoming, so the way he seems so taken with the kitten is a sign pointing in a great direction.

when he hears your voice, marcus visibly lights up. “hi honey!” the hand with the spoon immediately drops the wooden utensil into the pot and waves at you happily. “this is my sous chef, say hello, pasta!” he grabs one of her little paws and waves it at you before resuming his stirring, a beaming smile on his face.

did he really just name the cat pasta? and how in the world is she so calm with him right now?

you found the kitten, now known as pasta, huddled in a cardboard box beside a gas station dumpster headed home from work. she was mewling her little head off back there and you were lucky enough to hear her. taking her and her box, your list of things to do was thrown out the window as you rushed her to the vet. they cleaned her up real good and schedule her vaccinations, and sent you home with a list of supplies to buy and advice on how to take care of the little thing.

she was pissed at you after the vet trip. didn’t let you pet or hold her unless she was in the mood for it and if you tried to pick her up otherwise, she would scatter and give you a glare from a safe distance away. but here was marcus holding her like a baby, and the little brat was eating it up! to be fair, you were the same way with marcus when he was being affectionate so you didn’t completely blame her.

“why pasta?” you knew that cats were more likely than dogs to have strange names. you just didn’t think your boyfriend would be the type to give a cat a name like pasta. at that rate, you might as well name a dog goose and call it a day.

he smiles at the furball, giving her a few affectionate pets while he talks. “i was cooking spaghetti when i found her in the laundry hamper, and then i noticed a little spot right on her hip that looks like penne. i couldn’t choose between the two so i went for the middle ground. is that okay with you? or did she have another-”

“marcus, i love it.” and you really do; that sentimental dork just made you love the name pasta with nothing but two sentences. “and honestly, i’ve just been rotating between baby girl, squeak toy, and dumbass since i found her the day before yesterday.”

he scratches pasta under her chin as he laughs at the thought of you calling his sous chef a dumbass. “pasta is not a dumbass! you tell ‘em sweetheart, tell them how smart you are!”

“mroww!”

“see? she’ll be the next einstein.”

marcus pike taglist: @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @obirain @themarcusmoreno @catsnkooks @torradoza @stardustsunrisekisses @darthadeline @max--phillips @jedi-mando @darklingveracruz @andysficrecs @pedropasscals @qhbr2013 @seasonschange-butpeopledont @greeneyedblondie44 @princess76179 @kaermorons @lv7867 @whovianwar @purelypascal

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike #the mentalist #writer wednesday #autumnleaves1991 blog #i love this so much #i’m proud of this one #marcus pike is therapeutic #my government assigned soft fbi agent

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let-me-love-you-loki · 3 years

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Welcome to Oblivion-Ch. 35

Chapter 35

The super amazing Valentine’s Day plan turned out to be tacos drowning in queso from the local Mexican place and a marathon of John Hughes movies on Netflix. Dean blushed brightly as he confessed that it had been his job to get reservations for dinner and he’d forgotten because of a fight and his advanced engine mechanics exam. I just smiled and kissed his cheek as I passed by to grab my third taco. Roman chuckled from his place on the sofa, his feet propped up on the table next to a bouquet of pink, white, and red roses. They were sticking out of an empty spaghetti jar, but they were beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said again as he plopped into place next to me. “I promise we had something really nice planned, princess.”

“Stop apologizing,” I replied, bumping my shoulder with his. “This is amazing. I’ve never been one of those kinds of girls anyway. Plus, Ortiz makes the best tacos for a hundred miles.”

Roman draped his arm around my shoulders and grinned. “While you might not be the kind of girl that likes that stuff, you deserve it. You know… getting showered with all kinds of amazing things. I mean… you do have two boyfriends.”

My heart skipped a beat and a sensation of warmth and happiness bled through my body. It was more than just being caught up between the two of them on the sofa, their bulk radiating heat and the sweet scent of their cologne. Being with them made me feel at home in a way that I never had before. They made me feel like myself… the best version of myself.

“I have two of the best boyfriends,” I said, tucking my feet up beneath me. “Who buy me tacos and watch sappy 80’s movies with me. There’s only one thing that would make this the most amazing Valentine’s Day ever.”

Dean chuckled low in his throat. “And what’s that?”

Before I could say anything, the apartment door burst open and Seth slipped inside. Rain settled on his shoulders and the beanie covering his dark hair. He cradled a white cardboard box in his hand. “Sorry, I know,” he said sadly. “I’ll stay in my room and not bother you guys. I picked up a cake from Maddie’s downtown. Red velvet with chocolate icing.”

Seth slipped out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of one of the mismatched chairs by the kitchen table. He sat the cake on the counter and passed by with a worn, unhappy sort of smile. His eyes were dark and forlorn. The sound of his door felt like a heavy blow.

The Breakfast Club played in the background, Judd Nelson going on about his horrible home life. Somehow, the mood in the room changed. Dean turned sideways, his fingertips tracing gently along the side of my face. He tucked stray hair behind my ear.

“I see that look,” he whispered.

“What look?” I queried, trying to look normal as I stuffed half a taco into my mouth.

Roman’s hand curled around mine. His thumb rubbed slow circles along the back of my hand. “That endearing worried look. I’ve seen you look at Drew and Sonya that way. It bothers you that Seth is upset.”

My heart fell into my stomach. I had a horrible sinking feeling in my guts. It was sour and bitter all at once. For some reason, the sensation felt familiar.

“Maybe it does,” I replied at last. “I’ll check on him in the morning.”

Dean pressed a kiss against my temple. Roman settled his chin on my shoulder. “Go ahead,” he whispered against my ear. “I know what he means to you, baby girl.”

I closed my eyes, scrunching them shut as that sick, sinking feeling settled in my stomach. I pressed my lips together. Fought back vomit as it clawed up my throat. “No,” I murmured, suddenly desperately exhausted.

Dean trailed his fingertips along my jaw to the point of my chin. “Go on, princess. It’s okay.”

I couldn’t make sense of how the two of them could read me so easily. My heart squeezed in my chest. I wanted to be sick, I wanted to cry, I wanted to shout and whisper and wail at how much I didn’t deserve them. There was something wrong with me. Something so desperately, deeply, undeniably wrong.

I smiled faintly at Roman and Dean, lucky to have the two of them. They understood me so well, even when I didn’t deserve it. I kissed Dean’s cheek and squeezed Roman’s hand as I passed by. Faint light filtered out from beneath Seth’s bedroom door. Time seemed to move slowly as I rested my forehead against the wood and knocked.

“Damn it, I know, okay,” Seth swore as he thumped around in his room. His footsteps were heavy as he stomped to the door, yanking it open so fast that I very nearly fell over. “I’m leaving. Just give me a sec—”

His brown doe eyes went wide. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to be there. My heart skipped sideways, and I couldn’t explain why. Something danced over his face, lighting up his expression, but it flitted away before I could make sense of it. “What are you doing here?”

I leaned against the doorframe. He smelled like coffee beans and vanilla. The scent hurtled memories before my mind’s eye. The two of us sprawled in the floor of the living room, notes and books strewn over the table, plates scraped clean of Dean’s famous breakfast sandwiches mixed in with fast food containers and a cascade of coffee cups stacked everywhere. Standing in the hallway before our lecture began, leaning against the wall and arguing about music and bad sci-fi movies.

Something tugged in the space behind my ribs. For a moment, I lost my breath entirely.

“You looked upset,” I whispered. I had the strangest urge to hug him—to hold him and protect him from everything. “What’s wrong?”

The corners of his mouth tipped upward in a poor imitation of a smile. “Stop worrying about me, Addy. Go spend your Valentine’s Day with Dean and Ro.”

I blinked, trying to stop tears that appeared out of nowhere. I couldn’t understand why I was crying in the first place. “Don’t do that,” I gasped, robbed entirely of breath. “Don’t act like you don’t care.”

Seth backed up a step, looking at me as if he’d never seen me before. His fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out but was restraining himself. “Don’t care about what exactly?

My throat closed. I felt like screaming. Like beating my fists against his chest until he admitted it. I couldn’t entirely figure out what I wanted him to admit, but the irrationally emotional side of me didn’t care.

“You’re unhappy. You’re hurt. My God, Seth, you’re here on Valentine’s Day when you should be with… Oh…” The flash of anger melted in an instant. His eyes lost focus. “It’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he mumbled, propping himself up on the door. He was close, the scent of him stronger than before. “She had a very good reason for breaking up with me.”

The urge to hold him rushed back at me. I had to restrain myself. I crossed my arms over my chest instead. “And what was it exactly?” I heard the hesitation, the hitch in my voice, and hated myself for it.

That look appeared in his eyes again—making him look impossibly dark and fathomless. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, clenched his fists at his sides. It was as if he were fighting a battle with himself—one that he was clearly losing.

With a sigh, he met my gaze. “It’s hard to be in a relationship with someone who’s in love with someone else. Even if it’s someone they can’t ever have.”

He looked… broken. There was no other word for it. I hated it. Myself for putting him in this position. For ruining him… for ruining whatever friendship we had. How could I do this? How could I keep doing this?

The tears dripped hot and molten down my cheeks. I swiped them away frustratedly. Seth was in pain, and it wasn’t fair for me to break down in front of him. Not like this. I sucked in a deep breath and nodded furiously.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry, Seth. Becky doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

I turned on my heel and walked away, holding my shoulders as steady as possible. I wanted… I didn’t know what I wanted. Everything about me—about this entire situation—was wrong. Damaged. Ugly and desperately, completely twisted. Sick.

The overwhelming urge to curl up with Roman and Dean nearly knocked me to my knees. And yet… I wanted them to hate me. To look at me and see that I wasn’t worthy of them and their hearts. That I was a selfish girl who wanted everything and then more and more. They were good and kind and deserved far better than whatever I was.

Simple Minds hummed from the television as I practically stumbled into the living room. Dean sat sideways, watching the hallway and chewing on the edge of his thumb. Roman leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a deep furrow in his brow. They both looked up when I stepped into the room, nearly stumbling over my own feet.

“Addy,” Roman queried as he practically crossed the room in two steps. He wrapped me in my arms, catching me as I stumbled and fell against his chest. For a brief moment, I thought I’d passed out.

In the next moment, I was curled in his lap on the sofa, Dean scooting closer. His worn fingers cradled the back of my head as he stroked the back of my neck with his thumb. Roman swept his fingers along my cheeks, wiping away the tears that still burned along my face. I ached in a way that I couldn’t explain. I hurt in a way that was more than I had the right to. It was a heartbreak that I hadn’t earned.

“What happened, baby girl?” Roman murmured, his hand curling gently along my throat. “Did he say something?”

Dean smiled against my shoulder. “Did he finally tell you the truth?”

“The truth about what?” I whimpered, wanting to curl into a ball. It felt like a hole had been punched straight through my chest. “I thought he was my friend. I thought…”

Roman kissed me gently, barely a brush of his lips against mine. “He is, Addy. He cares for you more than you could imagine.”

Dean’s voice ran over me like water. He pressed his mouth against the curve of my throat. “He’s like me, princess. He’s just too scared to say it.”

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it

@vebner37

@lilred91

@not-that-kinda-gurl08

@maelleoute

@missjenniferb

@librathepheonix13

#welcome to oblivion #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #dean ambrose #dean ambrose fanfiction #seth rollins #seth rollins fanfiction #the shield #the shield fanfiction #wwe #wwe fanfiction #shield!Au #College!AU #College!Shield #multi-chapter

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spacetimewraithwrites-archive · 5 years

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infringe, says you to yourself

Infringe

The box fell onto the table with a cardboard thunk, the pieces inside clattering impatiently. Warren glanced from the screen of his phone to the colorful board game as it shouted its obnoxious slogan from the front of the lid, then landed his exasperated gaze on the man who dropped it in the first place. He was met with a cheeky grin and an equally obnoxious clap of the hands.

“Let’s turn that frown upside down!”

“Tucker,” Warren groaned. “Please. No.”

Tucker executed a weird flip of his elbow-length obsidian hair and shook his butt from side to side as he kept himself bent over the table. “You need to smile today, friend!”

“I only just stopped smiling from the entire weed cake I ate by myself at graduation.” Warren set his phone face-down on the table. “No thanks to you or anybody else, by the way.”

“Wow, I followed you all the way to Arizona to be your roommate and this is the thanks I get? All sorts of wrong.”

“You didn’t even know I applied here, loser. Just let me sulk.”

Picking up the box, Tucker shrugged and flopped his beanpole self onto his bed. “Suit yourself. You should know, though, that there’s this girl that’s been asking about you. Something about your eyes or whatever, I think she said she thought you were hot.”

Warren scrunched his nose. “God, seriously? Already? Usually it’s like…three blissful years before anyone fucking notices me.”

“She’s coming to the party that’s being thrown down the hall, you going?”

“Can I not and say I did?”

“Nah, brah, you gotta go. You could meet your soulmate there.”

Warren scoffed. “Right. My soulmate probably isn’t even in this galaxy.”

He did attend the party, though as he downed his first cup of alcohol he realized that despite his initial grumbling he was, in fact, having a pretty decent time. He flitted from group to group as vaguely electronic indie music played unchallenged in the background, surprising himself with his chattiness, participating in a rousing game of beer pong that ended with one of the frat guys spilling half the last cup down the front of his sweater.

A girl shoved a succulent in his face. “Wanna succ?!”

Warren blinked at the pastel pink bowl vase and the small tuft of Dudleya under his nose. He finished the three-point shot of his empty cup into the trash can. “Uh…bathroom?”

The girl, whose short afro perfectly complemented the shiny gold skater skirt she wore, took a step back in apprehension. “Uh…wait, what?”

“I gotta piss.”

“Oh! Oh, god, I’m sorry!” She laughed and pointed to the succulent. “I thought you were…never mind, I’ll let you go then!”

Warren watched her turn to swim through the crowd with her hand over her mouth in embarrassment. “Wait, what’s your name?”

“Keeya!” she called over her shoulder as she waited awkwardly for a mountain of a vape-smoker to make room for her to squeeze through his group.

“You wouldn’t happen to be the one who’s been spreading the rumor that I’m hot, would you? That’s a closely guarded secret and I may have to report you for it.”

Keeya turned around flashed him a brilliant smile. “Damn it…how’d you know?”

Warren grinned, hand searching for the bathroom doorknob behind him. “Just a wild guess.”

“You a freshman?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yup. Moved in last week.”

Warren tipped his head, still blindly flailing for the knob. “So…? Is it the eyes?”

Keeya nodded emphatically. “Oh, without question. You get that a lot?”

“More than I ever wanted. Hey, can I come back in a minute when I’m not about to wet myself because I can’t seem to perform the simple task of locating a fucking doorknob?”

Keeya laughed again and Warren hurried into the bathroom.

The two of them were practically inseparable for the rest of the party, talking with each other alone or with other people, making a game out of introducing one another to people they’d never met before. When the party showed signs of wearing down, Keeya instantly pitched in to help the clean-up process. Warren followed, picking cups with dregs of beer still in them out of partygoers’ hands, much to their annoyance.

“Bold moves, Cougar,” Keeya said, holding the trash bag open for him to dispose of the cups. “You could get your lights knocked out for something like that.”

“Oh, I know,” Warren said. He nodded toward a scowling goth girl in the corner of the dorm. “Wednesday over there’s probably sifting through her apothecary in her mind right now for the right dosage of hemlock to slip into my next drink.”

“I would’ve said arsenic.”

“You too, huh?”

They continued their housekeeper jobs until only a handful of people were left, talking amongst themselves in the kitchen. Keeya tied the last trash bag shut and left it by the open front door.

“Well, this is where I leave you,” she said. “Unless you wanna ask me out for coffee or something.”

Warren spotted Tucker in the hall, making strange gestures at a group of girls who looked more parts bewildered than amused. He sighed and turned his attention back to Keeya.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he said. “My name’s not Warren Cougar, it’s Reginald Branthwaite IV, and my father owns half of this university.”

“Are you stalling?” Her eyes searched his face in question, on the verge of cautious hope, maybe a low expectation.

He swallowed. “Um…yeah. Okay. Let’s get coffee.”

He didn’t speak much the entire time, busied himself with his usual black coffee and milk. Hands shifting uneasily over the cardboard sleeve of the cup. Keeya certainly noticed, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk their way back to campus.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Warren looked at her, surprised. “…Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

The way she said it made his heart twist. “No, it’s not…I just….” He paused, unsure what his brain wanted his mouth to say. “…I’m not entirely sure I’m looking for a relationship right now. And…I don’t know if that’s what you’re expecting or if you’re cool with just being friends, or….”

Keeya raised her eyebrows. “You thought I wanted to start dating you? Sweetie, no, I’m in a committed relationship with my sociology professor.”

Warren let out a huge snort of coffee and clamped his hand over his mouth to keep it from spraying everywhere. Half-choking, he signaled to give him a minute to make sure he wasn’t about to literally die. “O-okay,” he coughed. “I’m sorry. That was…great.”

“Gotcha for a second, didn’t I?”

“Point two seconds.”

“I’ll forgive the conceit since you’re hot and all.”

Warren, infinitely more relaxed now, smiled and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Like on a scale of one to ten…?”

“After that display, like, a fifteen at least.”

A week or so into the beginning of classes, Warren came home to find his dorm room had been turned inside out and Tucker sat on his own bed, glancing wearily around at the clothes and books strewn about the floor. The chaos had been concentrated more to Warren’s side, the things that once made a home on his desk now littering his bed and the couch.

“What the hell happened? Were we robbed?”

Tucker shook his head. “Nah, this lady came in and ransacked the place, dude. I tried to stop her but she was determined. I think she was looking for something. She was on your laptop for a long time.”

Warren strode over to his desk and opened his laptop. It was still on and with a few clicks, he determined that his social media had been raided.

“Who would do this?” He scrolled through the pages of his first course assignment that had been read by the culprit. “What the fuck…?”

Keeya appeared in the doorway. “Hey, is everything okay? People are saying some woman was in here destroying you guys’ things?”

“I don’t think she destroyed anything,” Tucker said. “She sure did wanna get into Warren’s stuff, though.”

Warren discovered half of his security programs were missing. In the recycling bin, thankfully, and he restored them to their original state, his brow furrowed. “Tucker, what did she look like?”

“Uh…she was average build, black hair to her shoulders, bangs, I think she had…brown eyes?”

Warren’s fingers paused over the keys. He turned to Tucker and his frown deepened. “Did she look a little like me?”

Tucker and Keeya exchanged a look. He smoothed a hand over his bun and scrutinized Warren’s face. “I dunno?”

“Wait, is she related to you?” Keeya asked.

The lack of emotion in Warren’s chest as he pieced together what happened surprised him. He slumped in his chair, folding his arms and sighing deeply. “Yeah.”

“Who is she and what did she want?”

“I think it was my sister.” Warren ran a hand through his hair, dreading the incoming months if it meant having to deal with this all of the time. He should’ve realized it would end up this way; after their last encounter the week following his arrival into Arizona, he had the strangest sense that he wasn’t going to get any rest. “She’s keeping tabs on me.”

“What? Why?”

He contemplated explaining the entire situation, starting with how just last year he was hospitalized for almost finding himself at the bottom of Ruria Lake and how the only one who put him there was himself. He almost opened up about a couple of weeks ago, sitting in front of his aunt’s house up north in his shitty car with no air conditioning, staring through the windshield as Layla screamed at him through the window, calling him names, accusing him of being selfish, that he didn’t care about the family at all, that he only decided to go to college in Arizona to play the victim card, all while Adam watched from the house.

In lieu of that, he shook his head. “She’s a bitch sometimes, that’s all. I mean, I knew that my whole life, but this is a new low.”

The other two were quiet for a second.

Keeya cleared her throat. “Want us to be your family now?”

Tucker shrugged again. “We can get all up in your personal space and wreck your shit for you instead.”

Warren grinned despite the fact that he didn’t really want to smile at all. “Thanks. I’ll be okay. I always am.”

He reassured them that he was okay until they went off to get something to eat. He told them he’d be with them soon. When they were gone, he brought up his various social media accounts on his phone, steadily deleting them one by one. It was a temporary fix, but he needed to do it. He could handle being seen as the weirdo without the apps, but he couldn’t handle any more abuse from his family.

For a second he stopped, having accidentally scrolled onto a picture of Adam with what looked to be a newborn in his arms. He admired the photo briefly, the subtle smile on his brother’s face as he cradled the child with care.

Warren hesitated. Only slightly. “Yeah, fuck you, too, buddy,” he muttered, deleting his own profile. Then he tossed his phone onto his bed and followed his friends out of the dorms.

#WLC birthday asks #profile: Warren #original writing #I used a random word generator for this and the next one #yeah I'm not quite proud of this one #oh well they can't all be winners #ringedplanetshirt

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ghostbustermelanieking · 7 years

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half-light chapter 13

one /// two /// three /// four /// five /// six /// seven /// eight /// nine /// ten /// eleven /// twelve

thirteen.

She dreams she's in Mulder’s apartment and they're young again and her hair is long, longer than it ever was in the 90's. There's cardboard boxes labeled in her neat, looping cursive, and he collapses on the couch next to her and puts his feet up on one. Can I ask you something? he says, tapping her hip gently. He's staring at his shoes instead of her.

Sure, she says. The fact that he won't meet her eyes is a little worrying. She sits beside him on the couch, Mulder's old leather couch she hasn't seen in years, she thinks. What's up?

He chews his lower lip. Were you, um. Ever going to move back? In the other place, I mean. He scuffs his shoe along the edge of the box.

Oh, Mulder, she says, wanting to kiss him. She touches his shoulder. I was, yes. I just... wanted to work up to it. I felt like we had issues to work out, and I wanted to take small steps. But yes, I was going to move back in, eventually. I loved you.

He smiles, still not looking at her. You loved me?

Loved you. Love you. She grins, too, laying her head on his shoulder. I never stopped loving you. Not then. Not since 1993.

1993. Oh, really, he says, smug and teasing.

Hmm, she says, pretending to consider. Maybe a little longer. 1997, at least.

***

She wakes up to a loud beeping - heart monitor. She shuffles through her mind for the last thing she remembers and lands on something - shot, I was shot. Mulder was shot...

A nurse is hunched over her bed. She blinks muzzily. "Mulder?" she asks, voice gravelly.

The nurse looks at her questioningly.

"Is she awake?" says someone from the doorway - Skinner. He steps in the room, offering her an awkward smile. "You've been out for a couple days now," he says, voice trembling with relief. "But the doctor says you'll make a full recovery." Of course Skinner would know, he’s the only logical choice to call; her mother is dead, Bill's too far away to be her emergency contact, and Mulder... Mulder's...

"Sir," she says, wincing at the stabs of pain in her torso. "Is Mulder..."

"He's fine," Skinner says quickly. "The bullet missed his spine. He pulled through surgery."

She closes her eyes in relief. "Who found us?"

"A pedestrian heard the first gunshot and caught 911, ran off when he heard the second one. The suspect's in custody." Skinner clears his throat. "Mulder wouldn't let go of you when they were trying to put you in the ambulance. You two are the luckiest pair I've ever seen."

Scully smiles. Her throat is dry and she wants to sleep. "That's true, sir," she says softly, closing her eyes. "That's true.”

***

It's a few more days before she sees Mulder again. The nurses bring him over to her room in a wheelchair, and his entire face lights up when he sees her. "Scully," he whispers, reaching for her hand, and she takes it, squeezing his fingers gratefully.

"I'm so sorry, Mulder," she breathes, because he never would've been shot because of her. He pulls her hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles, rolling closer. She presses her face into his hair. "I'm so sorry," she says again. He kisses her neck gently. How long has it been since we've done this? she thinks, and then remembers Oregon, a few nights after her mother's death in her new apartment. "How are you healing?" she asks, brushing her fingers through his hair.

"I'm fine, Doc," he murmurs. "I'm just glad you're okay."

She remembers after the gunshot: Mulder's white face hovering over her, pulling her up into her lap and cradling her close, his hand pressing against her chest, cupping her cheek. How scared he'd sounded, like a little kid. The same fear that had coursed through her when he'd slumped over. "I'm glad you're okay," she says, kissing his forehead.

***

She dreams she's driving. Hours and hours going west. It's just silent, the thump of the wheels rhythmic in her ears. Her fingers are clenched tightly around the wheel.

Sometimes William is there. He's a variety of shifting ages - a baby in a car seat, a elementary-aged kid, a teenager slumped in the passenger seat. Where are we going? he asks at one point.

Oregon, Scully says.

Oregon?

Yes, she says. It's where your father and I fell in love. ***

Mulder comes home with her, both of them on strict instruction to rest. Scully offers to take the couch. "We could hurt each other if we're in bed together," she says sensibly, because she is always sensible.

"I don't want to leave you," he says softly, because he is always sentimental and clingy and she loves him for it. She agrees, can't help it. They sleep on separate corners of the bed in an attempt not to jostle each other, but Mulder grasps for her hand in the center of the mattress every night and she always takes it gratefully.

She almost wishes she'd asked him to take them home - their bed is comfortable, worn in the way that's familiar and perfect. But there's still something in her mind largely holding her back. They haven't talked about them yet, and they need to. But something feels almost different from before. Like there's been a perceivable shift in their repertoire. It feels like something is missing, though she knows there isn't. She wonders if Mulder feels it.

The days melt into each other. Scully almost calls her mother one day before she remembers, curled into the corner of her couch with the phone clutched uselessly in her hand. Mulder sits beside her, shoulder aligned with her pulled-up knees, and rubs the left one comfortingly with his thumb. “You okay, Scully?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” she says. “I just… forgot.” She clasps her mom’s quarter between her fingers.

He rests his cheek on her knee. “You have some missed calls from Bill,” he notes, eyes flicking over her phone screen. “And an unknown number - Charlie again?”

She hums absently in response, turning the phone over and over in her hand.

"You're not going to call them back?" he asks.

"I had to bury my mother on my own," she says sharply. "I don't have anything to say to them."

He doesn't reply, runs his fingers along her calf. "Scully?" he asks, finally. "This is going to sound crazy, but... was Charlie ever abducted?"

She's stunned, and maybe a little irritated at him for asking. "No," she says sharply. "Why would you ask that?"

Mulder lifts his head from her knee. He looks confused, and a little hurt. "I don't know," he says.

***

He dreams a lot about his son. That they're driving somewhere and he wants to drive. You can't, he tells him, and William grumbles in the traditional teenager fashion, but Mulder doesn't give in because he really does have to drive; it's important.

The next night, William is seven and they've just watched 2001: A Space Odyssey for the first time, and he's peppering Mulder with questions excitedly, leaning up between the seats. His heart is swelling with paternal pride when Will says it, Scully's blue eyes staring at him very seriously: Dad, did you lose me?

Yes, he thinks, and winces. No, buddy, of course not, he says.

William nods sadly. You did. Now we have to find each other again.

(Mulder's not at all surprised to find he's crying when he wakes up.)

***

He never wants to leave her, can't put into words what it was like to hold her while the life drained out of her, up close and ugly. But something keeps niggling at the back of his mind: this isn't home. This strange apartment, with none of the things that had been theirs. (She'd taken barely anything when she'd moved out, either out of pity or because she wanted no part of their life together.) It's unfamiliar, a reminder of the fact that Scully wouldn't come home with him, before. Between Oregon and her mother passing. (He hasn't had the heart to ask since.)

He curls around her one night, pulling the blankets tighter around them, and she mumbles his name and curls a hand into his t-shirt. He kisses her hair. "I'm thinking about going home," he says (although he didn't know he was going to say that).

She freezes in his embrace for a split second; nods into his neck. "Just, you know, it's been a while and I'm running out of clothes," he adds clumsily, brushing hair from her face. Look at me, he thinks. Say you'll come with me.

(Somewhere in his conscious, he knows it's wrong to hang this over her head this way. He should just ask. This is the fucked up shit that ended their relationship in the first place.)

"Okay," she whispers. She doesn't offer to come back and he doesn't ask.

He packs a bag the next morning, and she makes him promise to call her at the first sign of trouble. He kisses her at the door and she doesn't let go of him until he pulls away. It feels like ripping a Band-Aid off: sharp, sudden pain. Except this time it doesn't go away after a second.

The true cosmic joke is that being at their house doesn't feel anymore like home then Scully's apartment. Like something has changed. (Or she is his home.)

***

He dreams of some life he and Scully never lived, with her bed in his apartment and her coffee maker is on his counters. (She falls asleep twisted in sheets and surrounded by discarded papers, glasses twisted on her face, and he takes them off her face and puts them on the bedside table, kisses her cheekbone as he crawls in beside her. They're still on the X-Files, which is probably the strangest thing; some kind of wish fulfillment universe, he thinks.)

He wakes up almost sad, goes outside and drinks coffee on the porch alone. It's cold. He calls her. "It's me," he says when she answers.

"Hey," she says. She sounds like she's smiling, voice warming. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing okay,” he says, smiling too. He can’t help it. “How about you?"

"Doing well, all things considered," Scully says. "I've... missed you." She says it awkwardly, because almost all of Scully's confessions are awkward, rushed like she didn't mean to say them, embarrassed.

Mulder rubs his thumb over his ring finger without knowing why. The guilt over leaving her alone is overwhelming. Selfishly, he wants to be with her for his own benefit as much as hers. "I've missed you, too," he says.

They talk for almost two hours, falling into an easy rhythm. It feels like she never left, like the distance between them is less.

***

They return to the FBI after another week. She smiles at him like a supernova when he enters the office, quotes the cheesy line he'd fed her twenty-seven years ago. (Twenty-three, he rushes to mentally correct himself. How could he think it's twenty-seven?)

Two days later, she drives up to the house and they walk into the fields surrounding them holding hands like teenagers. It's warm outside - global warming or something - so they sit next to each other in the long grass, shoulders and arms pressed together. She squeezes his fingers, and he leans his head on her shoulder.

He's in the middle of a long story about research he’s been doing on a series of werewolf sightings when she cups his jaw, turning his face towards hers, and kisses him. He gasps into her mouth, twining his fingers in her hair to pull her closer.

Later, they're stretched out in their bed (their bed), curled around each other, and he asks what he should've asked weeks ago. "Come home?" he whispers into her shoulder.

She strokes his hair, and says what he wasn't expecting. "Yes."

***

Just when everything seems perfect (Scully goes home for a night to get her things ready to go home, and Mulder kisses her at the door, and they promise to see each other at work tomorrow), Mulder disappears.

Tad O'Malley showing her their home in shambles is almost too much. This was supposed to be over, they were moving back in together. It was going to be okay, she can’t help but think. And now Mulder is gone.

Scully calls him five times on the way back to the city. Something about this feels familiar, recent, but she dismisses it as a reflex from the past as well as stress left over from their shooting. She drives with one hand on the wheel, both eyes on the road, and the other trembling hand holding her cell phone on speaker as she listens to it ring. "Goddamnit, Mulder," she whispers. "This isn't how this is supposed to go. Answer me, please."

It seems to take longer than usual to get back to DC. Like she drives for hours on end, going nowhere, with the radio droning as background noise and the unanswered rings of her phone wavering in and out like a bad radio connection.

***

He’s driving and it takes him a while to remember where, remember why. At first he thinks Oregon and then he remembers: the smoker. The man in his apartment. He has to hold back a groan at the reverberating aches, the feeling of what seems to be a virus building up beneath his skin. It feels like he’s been driving much longer than he should.

He has to get to Oregon. No - South Carolina. He has to get to South Carolina. There are ten missed calls from Scully on this phone, and he wants to answer them but driving seems more important at the moment.

He tries to remember why he's driving, and comes up with the smoker, I have to see the smoker. But by everything he remembers, the smoker is dead.

Mulder drives.

***

The world is ending, Monica Reyes is a traitor, and Mulder has gone off to chase Spender, who should definitely be dead. "This is ridiculous," Scully says out loud to her empty car, smacking the wheel with the heel of her hand. It feels like she's always driving now. “Something is wrong here."

She passes a Welcome to Bellefleur sign and it takes a minute for her to realize that’s not right. Her eyes flick to the rearview mirror; it’s gone.

Scully pulls off to the side of the road and shuts off the car. Pressing her forehead into the wheel, she closes her eyes and mutters, “Fuck.”

***

Agent Einstein helps her try to save the world and Agent Miller finds Mulder. She has to fight her way through looters and heavy traffic to get to him; the apocalypse has officially begun, four years too late. The irony is bitter.

“Where is he?” she gasps. Agent Miller motions her towards the open door of the car with a sweeping arm, and she rounds it, moving to crouch beside him. God, he looks awful. “Mulder... I’m here,” she says. She wants to kiss him with relief; she'd thought she was gonna lose him, again, have to survive the end of the world alone.

His face brightens at the sight of her. “He saved your life… Old Smokey,” he croaks. “I suppose I should thank him.”

“We’re gonna save your life,” she reassures him.

“Agent Miller... is also in trouble,” he says, coughing weakly. (The purported Agent Miller stands awkwardly behind them, looking like he feels he's intruding.)

“We’ll take care of Agent Miller. But right now, we’re gonna get an IV into you, okay?” she tries to soothe. He nods his confirmation. She stands, head spinning, and turns to face Miller. “He’s worse off than I thought,” she says gravely.

“Can you do anything for him?” Miller asks. The bridge spins around him, cars fading in and out. For a minute, they’re replaced with trees. Green forest, a starry sky unlike the murky night above her.

“What I can do might not help,” she says desperately. The bridge wavers, holds still. “He needs stem cells… and right now.”

“Stem cells from who?”

Their baby. William. “We have a child together… that child will be protected by his inheritance and my alien DNA.” She doesn’t know what she’s saying, she has a strange memory for a moment: her sitting on the exam table of a doctor’s room. I’m pregnant, aren’t I, she says, twisting a ring around her finger. But that’s not what happened, that’s not what happened at all.

“We have to get to him,” Miller says.

“I don’t know where he is.” That’s true, in a sense, but it’s also not, because none of this is real. She realizes slowly and in a split second. They’re hallucinating, she and Mulder, they have to break out of it, they have to get away.

A light comes out of nowhere, cutting her off. She turns her face towards it. It is white and blinding. Suffocating. No.

She’s on a bridge and she’s in a forest and the beam is hovering over her. The abductees from Oregon are here, they’re older now, and she, she is younger. And it's not 2016, of course, how could she forget, it's 1997.

"Scully!" She whirls and sees Mulder's anguished, bruised face staring out from the car. She blinks, and she's back in the forest, and Mulder is running to catch up with her, his face white. "Scully," he gasps, but they both keep walking in the same direction as the other abductees. They need to run, she has things she needs to tell him, but the light is a powerful gut-tug and they can't move away. They move closer instead.

"Mulder," she says, because it's all she can say. They walk. His fingers brush her palm. Your sister's alive, I found her, she tries to say. We're going to have a baby. We need to run. Mulder.

They're on a bridge and in the Oregon woods all at once and the light won't let go. The light will swallow them whole.

#this is... surreal but is anything i write these days not #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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