#Fox mulder

[stardivingsea]

shut the fuck up. shut the FUCK UP. I’ve seen scattered episodes of x-files but I decided to watch them all from the beginning and what do you mean “I Want To Believe” is the thing Mulder says about his sister coming back. The famous x-files phrase on all the posters searching for alien life and all Mulder wants to believe in is his sister returning to him. That’s why he does it all. What the FUCK. I’m on episode FOUR.

[let-it-rip-dude]

I MISS HIM

THE X-FILES | 2.15 — “Fresh Bones”

[horlicks-on-thursdays]

oh, to be an autistic coded FBI agent in the 90s

[giuliadrawsstuff]

The X-Files in a nutshell.

[2-the-moon-and-2-saturn]

the least realistic part of the dreamland episodes is that mulder would not know scully’s badge number. you’re telling me the ULTIMATE LOVERBOY who just so happens to have AN EIDETIC MEMORY would not remember his girl’s badge number? COME ON

[patientlibrarian]

😟😟😟

Fox Mulder | Fight The Future

[spooky-jordan]

They’re in a cheap motel in the ass end of Nowhere, USA, so it’s a safe bet that the walls are paper thin. The TV remote is on the dresser next to the bed; he leans over nonchalantly and eases the volume up a couple notches, not loud enough to bother Scully in the next room, just loud enough to mask the tell-tale sound of skin on skin.

He’s lying on top of the scratchy bedsheets wearing grey sweatpants and no shirt. His rain-soaked clothes are in a sodden heap on the floor and his hair is still wet from the shower. The motel didn’t have any shower gel, and he forgot to pack his own, so he borrowed some of Scully’s. He smells like pecan and vanilla—like her—and he’s painfully hard.

He wonders when the situation got so dire? He used to be so good at compartmentalising. The work was the work, she was his partner, his friend, and that was that. And sure, okay, maybe he’d occasionally noticed the curve of her breast when she leaned forward to drop a file on their desk, the shape of her ass on the days she swapped the pants for a form-fitting pencil skirt. He was only human. But he respected her far too much to do anything about it, and he couldn’t risk losing what they had, whatever that was. She was Scully, his Scully, and he loved her too much to risk fucking it all up.

But something has shifted. Since her remission, she’s been lighter, more playful. They went through Hell together, but against all odds, they came out the other side and something is different. He can’t quite figure out the way she looks at him now, a challenge in her eyes, like she’s waiting for something. He doesn’t know what to do with it. But he can’t stop thinking about her.

He promised himself that he’d keep it professional while on assignment. The work is the work, and everything else is background noise.

Then they got caught in the rain.

Settling back into the pillows, he shuffles out of his sweatpants. He strokes himself once, twice, three times, letting his eyes fall closed and picturing Scully as he last saw her; standing in the connecting doorway soaked to the bone, her white shirt made see-through, clinging to her body in all the right places. There were clumps of auburn hair stuck to her face, little rivulets running down her cheeks, following the line of her jaw, dripping onto the flushed skin of her chest.

His breathing hitches as he increases the momentum. After she handed him the little bottle of shower gel, she went back to her room and left him alone, but that’s not how it happens in his fantasies, oh no. Somewhere beneath the hot haze of lust, he knows he should feel guilty for thinking about her like this, but he can’t help it. God, he wants her, of course he does. He’s wanted her since Bellefleur, since she shed her clothes and offered up her trust, candlelight dripping off her pale skin like honey. He holds the memory in his mind as he strokes faster, his hips bucking upward, thrusting into his fist.

The familiar scent of her is everywhere, it’s all over him. He imagines her there in the bed with him, her hands touching him, her hair falling in his face. He imagines kissing her, tasting her everywhere, drinking her in like dessert wine, sticky sweet and warm, so warm. His muscles contract as he climbs toward release, his breath coming in short bursts. Images flash through his mind too quickly, memories and fantasies running together like watercolours, and all he sees is Scully Scully Scully.

Lightning shoots through his veins, and with a strangled cry, he comes hot and wet into his hand. His hips twitch as he rides the aftershock, endorphins flooding his bloodstream, his mind going blissfully blank.

“Mulder?”

Scully’s voice from the other side of the connecting door, followed by two sharp knocks. He has just enough time to fumble with the duvet, throwing it over his bottom half, before the door handle twists and Scully walks in.

“H-hey?” Mulder says, trying to control his breathing. Under the duvet, his thighs are sticky and damp and he tries not to grimace. “What’s up, Scully?”

“I thought I heard a yell,” she says, confused. He watches her eyes flit around the room, looking for some clue.

Mulder shakes his head slowly, making a show of looking around the room. “Uh, no. No yelling in here. Maybe it was the TV?” he suggests, gesturing toward the television set.

Scully glances at the screen, where a news anchor is going over the day’s headlines. “Yeah, maybe,” she says, unconvinced. She turns her gaze back to him, her big blue eyes like two spotlights. Even protected by the duvet, he feels naked under her scrutiny. “Are you sure you’re okay, Mulder? You look a little flushed.”

“Uh, yeah, no, I’m fine,” he says, trying for nonchalance. “Just a little hot, I guess.”

“Do you feel feverish?” she says, suddenly serious, stepping toward the bed.

“No!” he says, a little louder than he meant to. Scully stops in her tracks, looking at him like he’s gone off the deep end. Hell, maybe he has. “Uh, no, no fever. Just tired.”

Scully stares at him for a moment, apparently trying to decide whether to believe him. Mulder waits, hoping she can’t hear the way his traitorous heart is hammering against his ribcage. Eventually, she chooses to believe he’s telling the truth, if only because the call of her bed in the next room is too appealing to ignore.

“Okay, well if you’re sure,” she says with a sigh. “Night, Mulder.”

He gives his most reassuring smile. “Night, Scully.”

She leaves him alone, closing the door behind her. He lets out a slow sigh of relief, sagging back against the pillows. That was too fucking close.

In the next room, Scully settles into bed, switching off the bedside lamp and snuggling deeper into the mattress. The only light is the blue glare of the television; the remote is on the dresser next to the bed. Mindful of the paper-thin walls, she reaches for the remote and eases the volume up a couple of notches.

Slipping one hand beneath the waistband of her silk pyjamas, she allows her eyes to fall closed, and pictures Mulder as he was this afternoon; standing in his room, soaked to the bone, his white shirt made see-through, clinging to his body in all the right places...

[smulder69]

he wants that cookie so effing bad !

[elvisinapotatochip]

Here is lil something for Gillovny nation

[lucyintheskywithmagic]

Holy hell, I would LOVE for them to be my neighbours.

The accuracy though 🤣🤣

[mvlderfox]

[foggycatgarden]

[housesalad]

Your art is so gorgeous and edible, and X files and Hannibal oooooooooooo!!!!!

thank you so much, I really appreciate it! here’s a little mulder for you <3

[patientlibrarian]

🥰🥰🥰

how to say “I love you” in x-files [15/?] ⤷ 1.17 — “E.B.E.” / 3.23 — "Wetwired"

my one in five billion.

[actual-changeling]

but we both know that I wouldn't be here / if I believed that I could have you || s5 - s6

—the song is 'forward to the kill' by sydney ross mitchell

[lavenderlostfog]

I've had Fox Mulder in my life for a week and a half, and I'm already looking up ideas for "I want to believe" tattoos.

Help.