#Mulder being tender

[randomfoggytiger]

The rare "Mulder solely focused on Scully."

The rare "Scully clingy to Mulder."

Top it off with a Frank Spotnitz quote and almost zero PDA.

Perfect.

You know these people love each other; they don’t need to say it. - Frank Spotnitz, DVD commentary for “Memento Mori”

[mezzo-morte]

Being a Mulder/Scully shipper (aka everyone except Chris Carter) is such a profoundly confusing experience.

You get gaslit by the showrunner himself because for the first 6(?) seasons the characters are platonic. You get six years of them glancing at the other's lips, standing and walking so closely they're always touching, you get tender touches and warm embraces, you get forehead kisses, you get displays of jealousy and one of them even admitting to being territorial. You get this as soon as the damn pilot.

You get Mulder speaking into Scully's hair, you get Scully cradling and singing to him, you get Mulder making a scene threatening to fight anyone in sight when Scully is returned to the hospital, you get Scully wanting to have his child of all people.

You get that the connection is so profound they only trust the other and would (and have) gone to hell and back for their partner.

You have all of these feelings culminating in the intense way in which they gaze at each other, both directly and when the other isn't looking.

Then you have the actors, who were so horned up and fed up with the tension they went off script and made out like that, the same actors who did photoshoots in bed and kissed at award shows and interviews despite never being together, despite the characters never being canonically a couple. You get David, who when asked if he played it like he wanted Scully, he said he simply played it like he cares about her input and you get Gillian, who kissed David in the mouth before turning to kiss her husband when she won an emmy in 1997.

It's clearly love and although the absence of romance and sex don't make a connection any less legitimate or meaningful, I just don't buy it that there was never supposed to be an attraction from the beginning. That they remained friends for that long.

And still you're left questioning if it isn't all just projection because the two actors are so insanely attractive you can't help but want to see them in a sexual setting. If it's all just two good friends having so much chemistry that it makes it easy to come off as romantic. You're left to wonder if you have just been so blind in your own personal life that you have never so much as seen that kind of connection in marriages, let alone with coworkers. That perhaps you've just never had the fortune of having such a special connection with your platonic friend that you make out just for fun. You're made to believe that what you're seeing isn't desire but a deep understanding and care for the other's well being and happiness.

What is the truth. It's out there and at this point I have to believe it's all a ploy from the shadow government and Old Smokey himself to cover up what everyone already knows. The evidence is right in front of us and they keep trying to veer towards a specific answer and call bias if you don't agree.

[aloysiavirgata]

Scully is a doctor ofc but what does Mulder do in 2024 outside of his fanon blog?

Alexa goes off at 2 AM and Scully makes a noise like a pepper grinder. “Fuck’s sake,” she groans, rolling over. “Christ.”

Mulder feels the same but he rises, heavy-limbed as a winter bear.

***

Four of them, squeaky and unhappy and uncoordinated. He’s named them after pumpkin varietals. He’s warmed their formula like he’s Amalthea, feeding the hidden baby Zeus.

***

“Sshhhh,” he says, tenderly and warmly, after the first round of formula.

The kittens belch and squawk as he tends to them. They hiccup and sleep. They have bellies like hot water bottles. He rubs their tiny bottoms with squares of soft cotton because they’re too young to poop and pee on their own.

He’s doing penance, he knows. Every warm-bellied kitten is his son and it’s a tiny cat and it’s his blue-eyed son, alone with Scully. Monica.

The bluest eyes., the sweetest milk.

His son.

***

She comes to him at 3 AM.

She comes to him with her bright eyes and her warm heart.

The kittens are wormy and loud and woolly. He is tender and patient with them. He deworms and he burps and he teaches them to play. He teaches them to love and to seek being warm and alive.

Scully, exhausted and lovely, curls against him. The little tortoiseshell girl, the boldest, staggers from the nest box towards Scully’s foot.

“Which one is that?” She scoops the tiny animal into her hands. She strokes its head with a finger.

“Crunchkin,” Mulder says.

“Hi Crunchkin.”

The tiny cat curls up and falls asleep.

They sit together, Mulder and Scully. Silent, in this liminal hour. Only the kitten makes sounds, soft purrs and snores in her small, milky dreams.

“I love you,” Scully says after a time. She returns the kitten to the warm nest box. “I love your stupid little cats.”

“Silly girl,” he says warmly. He kisses her ear.

“Are we saving ourselves, do you think?” she asks. “My patients, your kittens?”

Mulder takes a deep breath, considering. “At my bar mitzva, my speech was on Tikkun Olam, on repairing the world. Did I ever tell you the party theme was Star Trek?”

Scully laughs. “Yeah, but I would have guessed anyway, let’s be real.”

His grin is sheepish. “Fair. Anyway, this one quote kind of stuck with me from that deeply awkward moment. You are not obligated to finish the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.”

Mulder, feeling vulnerable, looks down at the little scraps of life in the warming box.

Scully wraps her arms around him, squeezing her face against his bicep. “That’s you in a nutshell,” she murmurs.

They curl together on the rug and, without meaning to, drift to sleep in the smallest corner of a bettered world.

[bakedbakermom]

@onlineproblems asked me this while workshopping some fic and I don't want to go to the grocery store so I'm gonna procrastinate by answering!

So to understand where I'm coming from, we first have to go back to the pilot.

When Scully goes down to the basement office for the first time, she introduces herself as Dana Scully, and the next words out of Mulder's mouth are, "Who'd you piss off to get stuck with this detail, Scully?" The way he says it is so fascinating to me. The emphasis. The hint of teasing. The deliberate dismissal of her first name, as if he's certain she's not going to stick around long enough for him to care, and moreover that he doesn't WANT her to stick around, doesn't WANT to care. He's all alone in the basement, the FBI's most unwanted, and he likes it that way (or at least he thinks he does).

In that scene, "Scully" itself becomes a nickname. Like she's his annoying little sister (🥺) tagging long on his adventures but she's NOT welcome.

Little does he know that Dana Scully is not just a little sister, but the THIRD child, and therefore has taken Little Sistering to a professional level. She gives it right back to him without missing a beat, sassing and challenging and not flinching away from his questions or his graphic (for 90s TV) slideshow. She teases him right back every step of the way, countering his "Scully" with her own "Mulder" in precisely the voice you know she used to use when Bill was being a little shit about "no girls allowed."

Thus "Mulder," too, becomes a nickname. Like he's her jerk older brother trying to exclude her from his Very Serious Work, but he doesn't know what a tenacious little pomeranian she is and she won't let him get away with it.

From then on, that's what they are to each other. Scully and Mulder. Mulder and Scully. A team, but not always on the same side. A pair, but able to split toward their own purposes. A unit of two individuals.

I came across this post this morning, about how they are CONSTANTLY saying each other's names. Like, every other line of dialogue, if not more. I swear Mulder starts and ends his sentences with "Scully" sometimes. It really is A LOT.

But also, when they do this, it's so incredibly intimate. They assign so many different meanings to their names with just the tiniest lilt and tremor and shift in cadence. (This is a testament to both GA and DD's acting skills, that they can pack whole paragraphs of emotion into just two syllables.) They say it with fear, with fascination, with tenderness and curiosity and challenge and anger and frustration and humor and disbelief. As prayer and plea and profanity. With promise and passion. And eventually, with love. So much love.

They say "Scully" and "Mulder" the same way I call my husband "honey." It's not just a name. It's who they ARE to each other. Their names are just a shorthand. An anchor. A question and an answer in one. She's his Scully. He's her Mulder.

It's not the syllables that matter. It's the feeling behind them.

Which brings me to pet names. When I write MSR, I tend to leave the pet-naming to Mulder for the most part, because he seems like a pet-namey kind of guy. And Scully, who has never struck me as a pet-namey kind of gal, lets him get away with it because he calls her "baby" the exact same way he calls her "Scully," and he calls her "Scully" the exact same way he calls her "baby." They have spent so much time calling each other by nicknames that aren't nicknames, that the actual sounds coming out don't matter anywhere near as much as the emotion inside them. He could call her "sasquatch" or "football" and she'd know exactly what he meant. (HC that she gets some Chewbaca-inspired lingerie at some point, and he calls her a sexy little sasquatch, and she's stunned by how turned on she gets.)

Scully only uses pet-names sparingly, in times of great emotion or overwhelm. He told her once (just once) that he doesn't like being called Fox, and so "Mulder" is her baseline name for him in nearly all circumstances. She'll call him "honey" when he kisses her neck just so, or "baby" when he's hurt and needs comfort, but the truth is he loves hearing every last shade of "Mulder" from her lips. Every possible way she could ever say his name, he hoards those syllables like a dragon hoards gems. He's never loved the sound of his own name, except when she's the one who says it. When she does use a pet-name, on those rare occasions, it resonates with him in a very deep way. Sparkling diamond "sweethearts" amid the troves of emerald and ruby "Mulder"s. A glowing opal "honey," slow and sweet as a sigh. "Baby" like a sapphire, like her eyes when she kisses him as if he's the only other person in the world.

If they ever did marry--even if it's just them in their unremarkable kitchen with a pair of second-hand rings and nothing but stale cereal as witness--their vows would be simple. Four syllables, evenly divided.

[teenie-xf]

I just...the way he so tenderly touches her hair/forehead in this scene. It's easily one of my top #msr moments.

OKAY i know i’ve talked about how soft & gentle scully is with mulder but what about how soft & gentle he is with scully???? like those moments in beyond the sea, during the cancer arc when she’s in the hospital & she’s trying so hard to convince him to let her take the blame for the man in his apartment, and after her abduction & pfaster & really anytime she’s in danger. i need to come back to this but HIS VOICE in those scenes absolutely kill me

[slippinmickeys]

CHAPTER ONE (1/16):

Not far above the pavement of US-220, the forest dripped. The rain was gentle but steady, the highway as black and slick as a surfacing seal. Ahead, they could just make out the panning red and blue lights of a tangle of squad cars. The trees that edged the roadway pushed in and down, oppressive as low-hanging clouds. Beside her, Mulder sighed. 

They’d been awoken early by a call from a Sheriff three counties down and four over, who’d heard of Mulder by reputation. They had a body and a bit of a situation and would he and his partner come take a look? It was the first time that Scully had stayed over, and she’d felt embarrassed that she was there when the call came in though it wasn’t as though either of them had trumpeted her presence. She’d rolled out of bed and refused to meet his eye as he hung up on the Sheriff and dialed Skinner. 

Later, when he walked into his kitchen, dressed and shaven, he’d said, “Listen, Scully, if you regret what we’ve been—” 

“I don’t,” she interrupted him, handing him a steaming mug of coffee and finally bringing her eyes to his. “I don’t.” 

“Mea cuppa,” he’d said quietly, raising the brew to his lips. She’d been forced to smile at the pun.

It hadn’t been fair of her to seduce him, though it had been a glacial, intellectual courtship, inevitable, really, in every sense of the word. Mulder was tender-hearted and obsessive and after their second time together, she should have known that no amount of her stoicism or sense of workplace propriety would keep them from wanting to be together all the time. Last night, she’d had a foot out the door and was pushing him away with one hand and pulling him back with the other, his fingers tangled in her hair in rapacious bliss. 

They still weren’t sure how to be with each other, and that morning they’d walked down to Mulder’s car in a loaded, restless silence. 

Mulder eased up on the gas as they approached the cluster of khaki police cruisers and cut the windshield wipers. There were deputies leaning against hoods, wearing those ridiculous plastic rain beanies over their service caps and trying to appear important. Mulder pulled over, parking haphazardly on the berm, and looked out his window where a small inland lake spread out to the east and west, the body they’d come to investigate prostrate under a blue tarp on top of a thin strip of dark, mealy sand. 

They got out of the car and the Sheriff, holding a large black golf umbrella, pushed his way through his men, stepping up to Mulder and holding out a hand. 

“Thanks for coming,” the man said by way of greeting, and Mulder nodded toward him and introduced him to Scully.

“Call came in this morning,” the Sheriff said after trading introductions. “Dog walker found him.” He turned to one of the deputies, a younger man with blond eyebrows and a pixie-ish nose, freckles smattered over the bridge of it. “Avery, you got the file?”

Deputy Avery stepped forward. “Right here, sir,” the younger man said, handing over a beat up file folder—a brown, vintage-looking thing with a faux-wood finish. He gave the two agents a friendly smile and stepped back. 

Scully nodded at the folder now gripped in the Sheriff’s hand. “You got an ID?”

The Sheriff sort of shook his head and nodded at the same time. “That’s why we called you out,” he said, handing over the file. “No apparent cause of death,” he added as an afterthought. “Forensic unit out of Richmond are on their way.”

Mulder flipped the file open and read for a moment before looking back up. “Daly Carmichael. Missing persons?” The older man nodded, looking uncomfortable. “Must feel good to close such a cold case,” Mulder went on before looking back down at the paperwork. Scully leaned over to get a look at it. The victim was male, was in his early twenties when he’d gone missing in 1974, last seen wearing white sneakers and jeans and a yellow striped top.

“You’re confident of the identification?” she asked dubiously, ‘74 being a quarter of a century past.

The Sheriff swallowed. “There was no ID on the body, but…we’re pretty confident.”

Mulder flipped the file closed. “Let’s take a look,” he said. 

“Andy!” The Sheriff called out, and a deputy who had been standing near the tarp-covered body waved back. “Andy was first on scene,” he said to the two agents. 

Mulder noticed that when he and Scully began to pick their way down the embankment towards the small beach, none of the members of the sheriff’s department joined them.

As they approached, Mulder got a better look at Andy the deputy, who barely looked old enough to drive. It was likely he’d pulled corpse-sitting duties in an act of hazing. His arms were crossed over his chest while the walkie clipped to his shoulder gave a steady susurration of dispatch chatter. He gave off an air of indifference, but he was plowing through a stick of gum, working his tongue at it elaborately, snapping it nervously through his teeth. 

“What time did the call come in?” Scully asked, crouching down next to the body, her knees softly popping. 

“About six am,” he answered, then added, “ma’am.”

“Someone walking their dog, the sheriff said?” She lifted up a corner of the tarp to get a look at the victim’s face. Mulder watched as her eyebrows furrowed into a chevron of confusion.

The deputy nodded, continuing to gnaw on his gum, and hooked his thumbs through his shiny utility belt. 

Mulder noted pawprints and the shoe prints of the dog walker who’d found the body. The sand underneath them was damp, but firm, and showed only a few other prints, all of them looking to be standard police-issue. 

A couple of bright green leaves cartwheeled across the marks, propelled by a gust of wind, one of them briefly catching on the deputy’s shoe before going on its merry way.

“Did you examine the body?” Mulder asked him, finally looking up.

“There was no pulse, no ID on him,” the deputy replied. 

“How did you—”

“Hey Mulder?” There was a sharpness to her tone that made Mulder stop talking. “Can you take a look here?”

Scully peeled back the corner of the tarp, revealing a young-looking man with dark hair. He was dressed in jeans, white tennis shoes and a yellow striped tee shirt. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Mulder glanced down at his hand, which was still holding the archaic looking missing persons file. “Huh,” he said. Scully reached up and touched his wrist, finding his pulse suddenly beating rabbit-quick. 

“If you don’t mind,” the deputy said, clearing his throat. “I’m going to…” He hooked a thumb up toward the rest of his compatriots and beat a hasty retreat.

“Those clothes don’t look twenty years old,” Mulder said. 

“Twenty-six,” Scully corrected, still hunched close to the ground. “Can I see the file?” Mulder handed it over without a word, and Scully flipped through it quickly, her eyes scanning the contents. 

“This can’t be right,” she said.  

Mulder shrugged. “Let’s ignore that particular elephant in the room, and see what else we find,” he suggested, and gave Scully a moment to collect her thoughts. “What can you tell me about the body?”

Scully turned back to the victim in front of them.

“Lividity isn’t fixed. Temperature is more difficult with the weather and exposure. I’ll have a better idea on the time of death after the autopsy.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, the victim appears to be male. Cursory examination, I’d say he’s early twenties, if that.” With this, she shot him a look. “No obvious cause of death, though I suspect drowning. He’s on the shore. His clothes are wet.”

“It has been raining,” Mulder said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves that he’d produced from his pocket. He leaned down and started unlacing the man’s shoes. 

“Mulder, we should wait until the forensics unit can come in and process the scene.” 

“I just want to check something, before the rain gets any worse,” he said, and carefully removed the victim’s shoe. He pointed to the top of the man’s foot. “Look,” he said, and Scully had to bend down to look at what he was trying to show her. The sock on top of the man’s foot was dry. He hadn’t been submerged in the lake. 

Mulder carefully put the shoe back on, and moved to reach inside the man’s pockets. 

“The deputy said there was no ID on him,” Scully reminded him. 

“I want to know what else is in here,” Mulder said, and pulled his hand back, producing several gold coins and a small dark rock.

He flipped them all over in his rubber-covered palm. “Odd markings,” he observed, looking at the coins. 

Scully leaned in to look. There were faces on the coins, but not the profiles of presidents or queens or even Caesars. They were clearly old, the etchings worn down, but she could still make out faces; some laughing, some looking angry, one wearing a crown of leaves and looking ghoulish. “I don’t see a country of origin,” she said. “They could be archaic. Maybe he was a collector.”

Mulder gave her a sideways glance but didn’t reply. The rain had turned to more of a mist and was curling the hair around her face, lending her beauty a neoclassical verve. He had to stop himself from reaching out to touch it.

“What’s the rock?” Scully asked, reaching forward to graze it lightly with her finger. 

“I think,” Mulder said, squinting at it. “I think it’s an ingot of iron.”

Mulder looked up and out around the lake and trees that surrounded it. There were no waves to speak of, but above the water was a line of algae in an undulating, unending rope, lying along the sand where the water had pushed it when the wind was stronger. The shore was dotted with round, smooth stones and the sharp carapaces of invasive zebra mussels. Twenty yards beyond the body, Mulder could see a child’s abandoned plastic bucket with no handle, and closer to the corpse, a beer bottle with a faded orange label. The hem of the forest looked impenetrable, the edge a solid mass of thick cedar and bracken with one small opening due east of where they stood, as dark and forbidding as the mouth of a cave. Mulder gave an involuntary shudder and turned back to his partner. 

“Okay,” he said, turning to her. “Let’s talk about the elephant.”

“Our victim appears not to have aged since 1974,” Scully sighed. 

“My kind of case,” Mulder smiled.

“Our kind,” she corrected, which widened his grin considerably. 

“What do you know about the fae, Scully?”

Good Christ, he had a theory already, Scully thought. 

“Probably a whole lot less than I will five minutes from now,” she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and settling in. After a moment, she realized he was waiting for her to actually answer, but she was having none of it; she knew the precise trajectory of his thoughts. “You think this man was taken by fairies, Mulder? That’s a stretch, even for you.”

“It’s been suggested that fairies live in dimensions parallel to our own. String theory posits that there are up to ten or eleven dimensions that exist in the universe, not just the four we humans experience. We can move within those four dimensions. Who’s to say other beings can’t move among more? Or move us with them?”

“So this man hasn’t aged because he went to live with the fairies? Mulder, string theory smooths out the mathematical inconsistencies that currently exist between quantum mechanics and the theory of relativity. Yes, there may be other dimensions we can’t see, but time—one of those dimensions that we can measure—only moves one way: forward.”

“Doesn’t the theory of relativity posit that time slows when you’re moving faster than the speed of light?” Scully heaved a sigh. Only Mulder would pick a physics fight with her. “Eminent theosophist E. L. Gardner likened fairies to butterflies, whose function was to provide an essential link between the energy of the sun and the plants of Earth. They would travel between. He claimed that growth of a plant which we regard as the customary and inevitable result of associating the three factors of sun, seed, and soil would never take place if, and I quote ‘the fairy builders were absent.’”

“Please don’t tell me that you’re about to suggest that fairies are actually aliens. And that they’ve found a way to travel faster than the speed of light.”

“You said it, not me.” 

“Mulder!”

“What?” 

“Little gray men are a far cry from ethereal sprites who use protective charms and mischievously lead travelers astray. You can’t have it both ways.”

“I’m not trying to have it any way, I’m merely suggesting avenues of inquiry lining up with the facts of the case as we have them. Anyway, Gardner described fairies as having no clean-cut shape but rather ‘small, hazy, and somewhat luminous clouds of color with a brighter sparkish nucleus.’”

“You’re describing a proton.”

“So was he,” Mulder shrugged. “But taking away the strange coins and the ingot of iron—historically believed to repel fairies, I might add—how do you account for the fact that this man hasn’t aged in over twenty years?”

“Good genes?”

“The only person I know with genes that good is you. And don’t you have Celtic forebears?”

Scully blushed. It wasn’t fair, flirting. Their relationship was new, and their romance improbable.

Mulder threw a look up to the local law enforcement leaning against their vehicles and watching them work. He reached out and squeezed Scully’s hand once. She looked at him with the same kind of embarrassed moue as when a stranger's dog sticks its nose in your crotch.

“I know this is hard for you,” he said, his voice low. 

“It’s fine,” she said, an old safeword. 

He remembered her sitting in her bed in the oncology ward, small and slight, as withered as a new chick emerging from a shell. Her eyes had been sunken and her small shoulders stuck out from beneath the hospital gown like wire coat hangers. I feel fine , she’d said. 

Mulder felt her skin’s warmth before releasing her hand and he walked over to the bottle of beer, picking it up and turning it so that he could read the label. “Huh,” he said, holding it up so that Scully could see it. “Oberon.”

“What?”

“The kind of beer. Bell’s Brewery. It’s called ‘Oberon.’”

“The king of the fairies?” Scully said dubiously. 

Mulder shrugged once again, and she sighed. “Leave it where it is,” she said, casting another glance at the local boys in brown. “Let the forensics unit bag it.”

A big blue van had just pulled up behind their fleet sedan. The team from Richmond had arrived.

Mulder set the bottle carefully back down where he found it. When he straightened, he looked towards the forest and could have sworn that the hole through the bracken of the woods looked bigger than it had a few minutes before. He took a few steps toward it.

“Mulder?” called out his partner. 

“I just want to check something out,” he called over his shoulder without looking back. 

The forest was restless, the tops of the trees agitated and shivering. 

A thought occurred to him and he turned around. “You want to come with me?” 

The look she gave him communicated quite clearly that she did not, but she turned to follow him nonetheless, another sigh passing between her lips in a steamy vapor. 

“Look,” she said, pointing forward toward the trees when she reached his side. “There are footprints coming out.”

Mulder peered down. Sure enough, there was one set of human footprints leading from the dark opening, the edges of the prints crumbly and ill defined from the rain. 

They traded a glance and went in.

[thatfragilecapricorn30]

Fic Friday (60)

Title: mend into pieces

Author: @thursdayinspace

Word Count: 1641

AO3 Summary: There is nowhere she would rather be than here, with him, making the biggest mistake of her life and enjoying every second of it. Every mistake made with him is greater than every win, every success, every moment of perfect joy she has ever experienced. She’ll break herself for him as he does for her. Set in early season 2, right after Scully's return.

My thoughts: I love early msr and I especially love abduction angst and this fic handles both beautifully. The tentativeness of what they're doing, combined with their joy at being reunited, is such a good combo in this story. Mulder and Scully are crazy to think that sex might be a one-time thing between them but I do love when that's their mindset because the angst is delicious. I really loved these lines as it's how I imagine them acting post Scully's abduction:

He keeps still, so still, placing soft, small kisses on her neck, her cheek, her eyelids, her lips. His tenderness makes a feral heat burn deep in her core. --- She doesn’t know what she expected, but whatever it was, it wasn’t that bone-deep affection in his eyes.

Enjoy! Tagging @today-in-fic

[randomfoggytiger]

Fight the Future Hallway, In-Depth (Part III): "No, Something Stung Me"

Resolution made, Scully quietly ruminates over ideas, raising an eyebrow when one sticks. Steeling herself for her own first undisguised overture, she closes her eyes and swiftly pulls back to face Mulder.

Mulder remains frozen in place, face hardened, afraid her withdrawal is his anticipated rejection. As Scully cups the back of his head and crushes her mouth to his forehead, his eyes immediately close: emotionally overwhelmed.

Prolonging the kiss, Scully presses her lips harder, scrunching her face and eyebrows in an attempt to translate the ardor of her devotion and awe and gratitude and love.

Mulder flexes his mouth and clenches his jaw, understanding her gesture, feeling its depths, and holding back a responding wave of emotion. When she finally separates, his jaw and lips remain tightly clenched.

Leaning her head against his, Scully attempts to center herself-- them-- with a slow, purposeful, breathy release.

Mulder’s eyes pop open at her exhale, an idea of his own taking shape; and closes them again briefly while his hands plunge forward for purchase on the back of her head.

Both pull back in sync; and Scully studies his face freely for the first time-- no pretenses between them, unashamed of the tear still clinging to her cheek.

The feeling of being precious to him, of seeing the proof of it in his eyes, nearly overwhelms her in a different teary direction; and she looks away to tamp down a giddy surge of joy. Turning back, her eyes glance at the one thing Mulder hasn't given her: his mouth.

Her expression drops slightly, becoming more serious as she weighs his present confession against his past retreats-- purposeful or not-- from more serious or passionate subjects (his sneer at her "date" in The Jersey Devil, his attempts to lighten the bent of her maternal considerations in Home, his idealized worship of doomed soulmates in The Field Where I Died, his blind run after monsters and initial avoidance of her cancer topic in Detour.) She looks back up from these unspoken observations… and finds Mulder openly eyeing her with want.

Scully freezes, shifting between his eyes in shock. What she sees is the truth; and, when his expression doesn't change, she slowly moves in a little closer.

Mulder’s eyes are hooded and tender, bearing his soul to Scully as he never has to another being-- to the one and only person who accepted his brokenness long ago, who trusts and believes in him regardless, and who, consequently, makes him wholly beautiful.

He is handing her his heart, complete.

His partner's undeniable, brazen reciprocation of his heartfelt confessions have stripped away the last of his halting considerations. Mulder begins to slowly pull her in, zeroing in on and maintaining laser-focus with her eyes for any signs of hesitation or rejection.

Scully, feeling his reciprocal move towards her, nearly loses control of her smile again; but lets it shine through her eyes as she keeps them locked onto his. Her eyebrows scrunch and her mouth tightens, powerful emotions tightening her chest: not only is she ready, she’s been hoping for this moment.  

Mulder continues to inch slowly forward, and she smooths out her face to further encourage him, getting lost in the moment as it continues to progress. 

He blinks, still moving at a snail’s pace, waiting and waiting and waiting for her to back away or tell him to stop. Expecting it. 

When she doesn’t he covers more ground, caressing her cheekbone as another small test before the kill shot. He gives her one last chance, catching her eye; and when she glances away only to look directly at his lips, they both prepare for his descent: Mulder closes his eyes, while Scully waits until completely certain he will follow-through.

Then the bee stings, and she startles away. 

Scully launches to the side-- “Ow!”-- while Mulder almost topples onto her, eyes still closed. He snaps back to reality as she clutches at the back of her neck, staring down at her hand in confusion before drawing away, misreading her quick reaction as the last minute rejection he’d been expecting. Again, he closes his eyes-- this time in chagrin-- and opens his mouth in disappointment and embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.   

“No,” Scully assures, indignant at the interruption, confused as she identifies its cause. "Something stung me."

Mulder takes in her reassurance; and as the rational part of his brain kicks in, he pulls his hand away from her neck, not wanting to get hurt by whatever injured Scully.

Scully extracts her unexpected passenger, staring at it, puzzled.

He examines it, too; then peels back her shirt collar to inspect the damage on her neck.

Risk assessment over, Mulder intuits, “He must got in your shirt.”

Disappointment and resignation pour from his voice as he rubs her neck and cradles her head, working his way back through the last minute mentally. Mulder's already accepted her assurance; but now has to process (and live with) the interruption of their first kiss.

And, of course: “Mulder…?”

“Yeah?”

“Something’s wrong.” 

Something's wrong, indeed.

CONCLUSION

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully and mulder moments from s4

in episode 1, when mulder returns to his mother’s hospital room after the altercation with the alien bounty hunter, scully puts her hands on him; she says he’s freezing and in shock, and guides him to the right room while he mumbles that “she’ll never know” - he leans down so scully can hold him while he sobs into her shoulder

when he is torn up with grief, believing he failed to save his mother, he says: “you put such faith in your science, scully, but… the things i’ve seen, science provides no place to start”

and she responds with: “nothing happens in contradiction to nature, only in contradiction to what we know of it- and that’s a place to start - that’s where the hope is”, giving them both a shred of optimism, and coaxing a smile out of him despite his emotional turmoil

talking about their desires to start a family someday in episode 2, dancing around any implication that it would be with each other - a moment of rare honesty between them - he rubs her back as he jokes about her finding a man “with a spotless genetic makeup and a really high tolerance for being second-guessed”

(and later he calls after her: “hey, scully- i never saw you as a mother before”)

episode 5: “dana, if, um… early in the four years we’ve been working together… an event occurred that suggested, or somebody told you that… we’d been friends together in other lifetimes- always- wouldn't it have changed some of the ways we look at one another?”

and her answer: “even if i knew for certain, i wouldn’t change a day”

there’s a scene in episode 6 where he’s sitting on his hotel room bed looking up at her, explaining witchcraft and the positive connotations of pentagrams, and it was so tender and soft

(bonus points for her response to his witchy babbling: “well, if it’s that simple, why don’t you put out an APB for someone riding a broom and wearing a tall black hat?”)

in episode 9, mulder returns from the gulag while scully is being questioned about his whereabouts - there's a booming voice from the government council telling her to “answer the question, miss scully” and he comes in with “what is the question?”, saving her from having to endure any further jailing because she refuses to tell them

her face lights up at seeing him alive, and he smiles even though he is in terrible shape <3

then the MINUTE the council goes to recess, they JUMP UP to see each other, hugging, with mulder saying that its “good to put my arms around you”

(and then skinner cutting them off LMAO... he said we do NOT have time for this right now!!!)

scully working so hard to be supportive while mulder went through an emotional rollercoaster in episode 10- she tells him he did an amazing job writing the profile that caught roche, then checks to see if he will be okay before doing the ID on the body of the victim they found

when roche is taunting him, saying he already knows one of the victims, her voice is steely when she says “prove it” (she gets soooo protective and i loved it)

she tells roche he’ll rot in prison and holds the door open for mulder to walk out, then checks again to see if he’s okay

(and then advocating for the "uniqueness of his situation" when skinner is furious that he let out a known murderer) 

their heartbreaking conversation when he brings up that scully never fully believed that samantha was taken by aliens, so what does she think happened? and how she hangs her head, unable to answer; what was she supposed to say when he was in so much pain? sometimes silence is a mercy

at the very end of episode 10, scully tells him she knows he can find the last murder victim (“how?”, he asks; “i don’t know", she answers softly, "but i do know you”)

he looks up at her with tears in his eyes; she tells him to go home and get some sleep, and he laughs, wraps his hands around her waist, leaning his head into her, while she strokes his hair

(this moment being the one where i realized it must be borderline impossible to write their dynamic in fic because of its highly physical and indescribable nature)

((and this moment being one of the best in the show so far, fight me idc))

them arguing over evolutionary theories while holding umbrellas in the snow in episode 12 <3

their episode 14 conversation regarding her sickness mid-investigation- he works so hard to keep his voice level and even as he urges her to look for answers, but you can tell he wants to yell, to grab her by the shoulders and tell her to please, please see if all of this is connected, and if that means there is a way to fix it

how she points out that not all of the women who were abducted are dead, even though only penny is left and her time is running out, wanting so desperately to believe that there is a way for her to escape this fate, no matter how small of a chance it may be; aware of how futile it sounds as she says these words

her fury when she talks of knowing she is dying and that there is nothing she can do to stop it; he refers to her as “agent scully” to remind her of her capability in solving the impossible, as she's done hundreds of times before

scully calling him while he was investigating leads on the abducted women with cancer; he excitedly tells her he thinks he’s onto something, but she just wants him to bring her overnight bag to the hospital and call her mom on her behalf (the trust involved in having him call her mother...)

his breathless “is there anything i should know?”, before he says he’ll be right there

(then he slams his hand onto the filing cabinet, a physical manifestation of his grief at her suffering)

mulder waiting for scully to come from penny’s room, falling asleep in the chair outside the door until she returns from guiding her to eternal rest

he confesses to reading from scully's journal where she was narrating her goodbye to him, and she says she didn't want him to see that, because she isn’t going to let cancer beat her (god. GODDDDDDD.)

she tells him she has things to finish and prove to herself and her family, and he smiles at her, telling her to come on back

how they hug, and he tucks her head under his chin, rubbing her shoulder; “the truth will save you scully. i think it’ll save us both”, and the gentlest forehead kiss of all time (<- another "arguably one of the best moments in the entire series" scene)

the birthday bookend scenes in episodes 17 and 18- his giddy face when the waiters come out singing happy birthday, surprising her entirely; their banter when she teases him for only remembering this one time; her “oh, you have GOT to be kidding me” when he pulls out a gift; how they joke it’s her alien implant turned into earrings in the little gift box

(and how when someone comes up to them for help, scully still thinks it is part of the birthday festivities and says “oh, promise me this isn’t leading to something embarrassing”)

when scully comes to bail him out in episode 18, he starts changing into clean clothes while she is still in the room, and she turns around to avoid seeing him exposed like they have done it a hundred times before. the intimacy there was staggering to me, especially because they were doing this while arguing. how married can two people be?

at the end of episode 19, she monologues about the apollo 11 keychain he gave her- “you never got to tell me why you gave it to me, or what it means, but i think i know. i think that you appreciate that there are extraordinary men and women and extraordinary moments when history leaps forward on the back of these individuals [...] and while we commemorate the greatness of these events and the individuals who achieve them, we cannot forget the sacrifice of those who make these achievements and leaps possible”

to which he replies, quietly; “i just thought it was a pretty cool keychain”

(the meaning she finds in such a small gesture combined with his denial of its implications... it's so fascinating and i want to shake them up and down until they talk about their feelings)

in episode 20, he rings a bell on some random desk across the room to get her attention, which makes her smile as she walks over

(and then, when she guesses he’s going to say that eddie must have shapeshifted, he responds with “scully, should we be picking out china patterns or what?” <- yes you ought to be. drop the wedding registry link and i'll pitch in)

“hey scully, if you could be someone else for a day, who would you be?” “hopefully me” “so boring”

(she’s holding an umbrella up for him during this conversation, and he is still too tall to fit so he has to bend down, before she decides her answer: “eleanor roosevelt”)

mulder uses scully as a human coat rack for eddie’s bathrobe when he flees the scene <3

they’re searching eddie’s house, with mulder upstairs and scully downstairs; he knocks over some stuff with a clatter, then yells “i’m alright!” to which she only responds with “what?” and he does this annoyed little huff (again. SO married)

her nose starts bleeding in episode 22, and he gets SO worried, saying “oh, scully…”, his pause dragging on as he is unable to finish that thought... but she insists she’s fine and runs to the bathroom, leaving him behind looking like he just got punched in the face

(plus his worried knocks on the door and her quiet answer to his repeated asking of “are you okay?”; she is lying to him and saying she is fine despite just seeing a death omen)

their fight at the end of episode 22; how she tells him she saw the death omen, and how she’s trying to hurt him with the “what do you want me to say? that you’re right?” comment because she is so scared, she's lashing out - but he keeps his voice level, says he knows what she is afraid of and that he is, too

“the doctor said i was fine” “i hope that’s the truth” (whispered) “i’m going home”

(the way he doesn't fully believe her when she says she's okay... and how she just wants to be home... she's too closed off to divulge any other information, and seems to think the noble thing is to just Not Talk About it... augh. my feelings)

in episode 23, he wakes up in a strange room, covered in blood; he calls scully at 4:30 in the morning, who has arrived to come get him by 6:15

she yells to him while he’s in the shower, and when she opens the curtain, she finds him curled up in the bath, steaming water pouring on him as he mumbles that he can’t get warm

rather than being taken aback by this, she realizes he is in shock and dries him off, asking if he feels sick, telling him to track her finger, shifting into doctor mode with a quickness, taking his vulnerability in stride

and she's telling him to get to the hospital NOW or ELSE, which he ignores at first, but when he keeps falling to his knees and blacking out, she reaches a point where she has had ENOUGH!!!

the way she refuses to believe, for even a moment, that mulder was involved in the murders; telling him to not say anything to the cops, and that she’ll find enough evidence to get him off the hook (which she does!), even confronting the detective with the fact that he is jailing an innocent man

mulder spent all night in jail screaming for scully, and when she finally arrives, she says “i heard you didn’t get much sleep” in their usual fashion of terribly understating the horrors around them

[eudaimonia83]

Everyone who was requesting Feral Elain, here you go. 😅 Don’t judge me too harshly on this, bc it’s an upcoming chapter of a long-form fic and hasn’t undergone any real editing. There are also some references that might be unclear, as this chapter is a ways down the line. But if you have read my fic The Gift (on AO3) you have most of the background info.

Basic details: Lucien has just escaped from being held prisoner under the Hewn City with his powers suppressed. He was jailed for allowing Elain to escape…which she has just discovered. And she is, naturally, deeply unhappy about this. 😈

Tag as requested: @lorcandidlucienwill @mr-agent-mulder

——————————

His wrists. What had happened to his wrists?

She stared numbly at the puckered, darkened skin that bracketed his hands, scabbing over as his healing finally began to return…his tender, beautiful hands that touched her with such gentleness, such affection…

“What is that?” She couldn’t keep a tremor out of her voice. Steady, steady. Be calm. She knew this feeling now; the sick coiling in her veins, around her heart, rustling through her brain.

He glanced down, tearing his eyes from her face with a physical wrench. “It’s only a scar. I’ve got plenty of them, remember?” He turned his hands over and squeezed hers, so gently, so kindly.

A scar. But from what…?

“What kind of scar?” Her voice only barely escaped past the lump in her throat; she could barely hear it over this singing, this thrumming in her blood. It was hot and deadly cold. The strength of anger, with the ice of…revenge. Leaves curled around her ears, tendrils winding through her hair.

He looked up at her again. “Please, Blossom. Don’t be angry with me. I tried to get away, to get back to you. But I couldn’t.”

He did not understand, how did he not understand? He thought she was angry with him…

She swallowed hard, then brought one of his hands up to her face and dragged her lips over his wrist, trying to mimic the gentleness he’d shown her that night, that sweet night that was both their first and last, before he’d sent her away and the long hand of darkness had reached out to grasp him and hold him…hold him…

The True Sight bubbled up inside her like a hot spring, filling her eyes and tearing her heart to pieces. Lucien, her Lucien, limp on the stone floor of a cell, drenched in a sticky, purulent substance. No light to see by. No warmth to envelop him. No comfort, from her or anyone else. Lost in the cold, and the dark. Why did he not summon his fire, that spirit that breathed inside him like coals, that had kept him alive and protected his kind heart through so much before this? She didn’t know if she said it aloud, but she screamed to that limp body on the floor, stay alive. Stay alive, no matter what occurs. Bring your flame to bear, and I will avenge you, I swear it…

But he just lay there, breaths shallow and broken, his hands…his wrists…bound to the wall…

She leapt up, the vision melting like smoke, only to see his wide eyes before her.

“They bound you?” Her voice did not sound like hers. What writhed underneath it?

He nodded, pushing himself up on the cot to a sitting position. “I knew they would. It was only a matter of how.”

“How, then?” She squeezed her fist at her side. The earth would fill their mouths and choke their cries, drag them into its depths and bind their very skeletons to the rocks that made its own bones…

He hung his head. “I was shackled, with Hybernian stone, I think. They put faebane on me too, before the chains. Not as I knew it, either — a sort of paste. Perhaps it concentrates its effects that way. I only recognized its scent.”

“So you couldn’t break out.” Or use his fire to stay warm.

“I was more valuable as their prisoner,” he said, his voice as hollow as a pebble skittering down into a well. “They did not want to kill me. If they did, they would have done it long ago, before even making me their emissary. They were more interested in what I could tell them. Or do for them. Or who I could bring them. They wanted you most of all.” He smiled. “I knew that. So it was worth it to have you escape somewhere I didn’t know, so no matter what they did to me, you were out of their reach.”

She nodded, slow and steady. Coiling like a fist within her, the grinding of the rocks that silted into soil and reached towards the sun with vines and leaves and trees.

Find them. Punish them.

She went to the window, where the sun had grown bright as they spoke. It spilled over her. She felt her skin tingle, the warmth of the sun stoking the fire inside her.

“It will heal,” he said, husky and sad. “It will scar, but it will heal eventually.”

She had to get out, before this white-hot anger striated with cold revenge burst out of her and harmed him, he who she so wished to protect it was like shielding her own heart. She turned back to him and knelt, swiftly, next to the cot. He wound his hand into her hair, cupping her cheek, her jaw. She felt the strands of her hair catch against the grit of the scab on his wrist. Her heart raced, stuttering with affection and sorrow and the dark pulse of vengeance.

“It will heal,” he repeated. “I will heal.”

“You can only heal if you’ve been hurt,” she murmured. “And that’s what I don’t want to happen any more.”

He smiled, and kissed her hairline, so softly that she ached with it, in the pit of her belly and the cleft beneath her ribs that held her heart, squeezing it between her lungs with each agonizing breath.

She helped him to lie back, tucking the sheepskin over him, and with a wave of her hand, leaves clustered over the window to filter the sunlight. It would be gentle, would carry the scent of jasmine to soothe him as he slept. As his skin knit back together.

Pay. They would pay, and pay again, and beg forgiveness.

She would make sure of it.

———————————

He had fallen asleep at last, heat beating out of him as the fever raged. He had spoken, fretful and miserable, in his sleep, wept with pleas of stop, take me, kill me instead and Tam, help me Tam, I can’t see, it hurts. She could do nothing but lay a cool cloth on his brow. She dared not touch him at those times; knew that if she did, she would be immersed in his fever dreams, or worse, steal his past from him with her imperfect visions of what had happened. Better to let him awaken, to ask him later and let him tell her himself. Her sister might not know the difference, would sweep in with daemati might and root around with dirty fingers in a mind that wasn’t her own, but she would not. She would be different.

Her sister.

Feyre was still here. As soon as it occurred to her, the truth of it squeezed her heart with cold tendrils.

She stood up, skirts whispering, and slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her so softly that the latch didn’t even click.

The hallway yawned into shadow ahead of her. It was twilight, just after the dinner hour, and she knew where Feyre would be: eating with Helion and the attachés, perhaps in the Solarium, or the conservatory. Her steps matched the pace of her heart as she sped along the white marble floor, gleaming with gold and rosy specks of quartz. She did not see the darkness. It was hard to appreciate it when her vision was red at the edges and star-bright with rage.

The long night is ending. They will wake from the dream and find it rebuilt.

Perhaps it was time for a wake-up call, then.

She felt the stones begin to tremble beneath her as she walked, a low rumble from deep in the earth. She cast her eyes down and saw the curls of vines swimming around her arms, tangling in eager threads, tiny leaves unfurling, stained black with the ash of her anger.

She heard the dinner conversation as a merry buzz before she even saw the spill of light onto the floor…and by that time, there was a dull roar in her ears, her arms were corded with thorns and leaves, and death was coming to all, to all who had failed him and starved him and imprisoned him. She was vengeance, and he was her mate, and they were going to pay.

She burst into the lamplight like the heat from an opened oven door. All the faces turned to her, smiles draining from their lips like waves receding on the beach.

There was barely a moment to register the screams that bounced off the walls before the table heaved and cracked as six inch thorns spiked through it from beneath. Half of it sagged down; the other half toppled with a deafening crash, and through the middle burst the vines, reaching up to seize the chandelier and twist, pulling it from the ceiling with a screech of metal and timber. The candles sputtered against the ruined food. Her eyes were on her sister, dressed in glimmering silver and blue, eyes wide with horror and…what was that, underneath the surprise? Could it be fear?

Good, Elain thought with satisfaction as she leapt over the rubble, her vines sweeping everything away into chaos, coming up behind her in massive gnarled hands scaled with bark and stippled with thorns. She regarded Feyre for a moment. As her sister’s eyes narrowed and went dark, and the daemati talons scratched at her mind, she swung one of her arms in a massive arc. The vines followed it in a deadly sweep, choking with the scent of petrichor and leaves. Feyre was thrown against the wall of the room in one movement, immobilized, her head dragged backward as the vines grasped her hair, her pale throat exposed, arms akimbo and sealed to the wall. Elain let out a wild cry and leapt forward, her fingers closing around her sister’s neck and squeezing with all her strength.

Feyre struggled in silence, her air cut off — but then went deadly still. Her face flushed scarlet. The vines had pushed thorns against both the arteries in her neck, had pierced the skin under her left breast. If she moved it would stab her. Elain hissed into her face, aware that she looked completely unhinged, “You bound him.”

Feyre shook her head, as much as she was able. Elain released her throat and slapped her with all her strength across the face. “You drenched him in faebane and bound him with stone, and what, you thought I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t strip the skin off your bones?” She matched word to deed, scoring her nails along Feyre’s arm.

Tears streamed from Feyre’s eyes and scratches bloomed across her cheek, carved there by the thorns that had turned Elain’s fingers into claws. “I didn’t,” she rasped. “I didn’t do that to him.”

A second slap cracked across her face and this time the outline of Elain’s hand remained, bright red. “Your demon mate, then. He would say the same, wouldn’t he, if he was here? I didn’t do it, I knew nothing of it. Bullshit.” The curse tasted sour in her mouth, and she spat into the tangle of vines that had immobilized the other dinner guests into helpless writhing heaps on the floor. Only Helion was still upright, wrestling against the grip of the leaves that had encircled his legs and arms. She let him be. Her quarrel was not with him. “The pair of you are the same, always the same. Using him —using us — for your own —“ the vines tightened around Feyre’s wrists and ankles and wrenched a scream from between her clenched teeth “—wretched—“ the thorn pushed against the bottom of her chin “—ends. There were others in that prison. How many more did you do this to, besides him? Besides my mate?” Red spots swam in her vision. She wanted to kill her. “You turned a blind eye.”

“You turned a blind eye to me…” gasped Feyre, then let out a groan of frustration as the thorn pushed harder against her chin, forcing her jaw closed.

“Talk about yourself for one more moment and you’ll never talk again,” Elain whispered into her sister’s ear. A tremor went through Feyre, and she was still. Elain savored the victory for a moment. It was terrifying, nauseating to be this angry…it made her feel like an animal. It was this part of being Fae that had called to her like a dark song, that coursed through her veins like electricity, like the storms she’d watched batter the Eastern Channel: but to a small part of her, caught in the swirl of adrenaline and anger, it felt right. To defend Lucien when he couldn’t defend himself. When he was sick and raving with fever, when her sister’s court had painted him with poison and thrown him in prison, to suffer in darkness.

Human Elain would not have done this.

But she was Human Elain no longer.

Why be a girl, when you could be a terror? the voice of the void whispered to her.

So she seized her sister‘s head in both her hands, and let the True Sight boil into them both, and felt Feyre scream and scream as she showed her everything she had ever feared.

Mother of mercy, how good it felt to punish.

[pookie-mulder]

September 2024 fic roundup

(View past months here)

Tbh I didn’t read as much fic this month, and I wasn’t super great about adding to the list as I went. However, I did read an actual real life book for the first time in (checks watch) many moons, so that’s something, I guess.

Anyway, this one goes out to the sweet anon who told me they look forward to these posts every month!

🥧🌾 Amish Country by lolabeegood

Mulder and Scully go undercover in an Amish community. It’s like a historical AU, but not. It was super interesting to get to know a different culture! Plus, the undercover nature of the assignment was very reminiscent of our beloved Arcadia (but with more RST).

🐎🧲 Broken Things by @mldrgrl

Another Wild West historical AU! This time featuring my favorite trope: marriage of convenience. Watching these two slowly fall in love was so darn sweet it nearly melted my heart.

👻🩸 The Summoning of Nikola Price by @alienqueequeg

This spooky tale is perfect for Halloween! It’s a dark and atmospheric ghost story with plenty of UST and tension. Plus, it’s the perfect length — long enough to feel fleshed-out, but short enough to read in one sitting.

🏥🦠 Gates of Hell by @alienqueequeg

Another scary story to get you in the mood for spooky season! This one is deliciously creepy, with some good old fashioned UST to RST to URT (unresolved romantic tension). Perfect for when you want a chill down your spine and a fire in your heart!

❄️🌨️ Keep Christmas With You (All Through the Year) by @leiascully

Snowed in at a motel? They have to share a room?? Oh no, whatever shall they do??? 😏 This one-shot is so unbelievably sweet and tender and cozy! The banter was unbelievably adorable.

This is where I stopped being diligent about adding to my draft post (oops), so here’s a rapid-fire list:

Circumnavigation by Suzanne Schramm: A nice little wilderness survival one-shot for when you want the forced closeness without the heavy angst.

Dark Water by Suzanne Schramm: Casefic meets a nice trip to the forest meets jealous!Mulder.

Dryad by Aloysia_Virgata: M&S take on an intriguing case while being the world’s best parents to William. This is canon in my heart.

HEMNES Where the Heart Is by @enoughslices: idek what’s going on with the whole POANGverse, but I love it. I’m obsessed with post-revival MSR being domestic and embarrassing and getting their freak on.

Slippery Slope by Rachel Anton: The most ridiculous premise for smut, but it works. A fandom classic!

I read so many one-shots and drabbles on tumblr this month, too! Anything in my fic tag without “tbr” is something I’ve read and enjoyed.

[television-overload]

of our own making: beginnings

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 2/2 - candlelit restaurant

[Read on AO3]

A/N: Hopefully this fills in some of the blanks for you that were left by me skipping to the epilogue in ooom after they finally got together. No more slow burn this time! Your patience has been rewarded! I have a feeling this won't be the last time I write in this universe...

Mulder blinks awake, a ray of sunlight hitting him right in the eyes from the gap in Scully's blinds. It takes a second for him to adjust to his surroundings, the unfamiliar sheets and warm body beside him still new and exciting. His arm tingles from loss of feeling, trapped beneath her head. The last time they'd awoken to Madeline's cries, she'd slipped right back into his embrace after tending to her, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

How had it taken them so long to get to this point?

Breathing in a sigh of contentment, he allows himself a moment longer with her, curling his arm around her middle and filling his lungs with her scent. He parts the soft, coppery strands of hair covering the back of her neck and presses a kiss there, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against her head. 

He's so unbelievably lucky. If only his younger self could see how everything would turn out.

It takes all his strength to drag himself away from her, but he wants to get a head start on the day while Maddie is still asleep, so he carefully extracts his arm and presses one more tender kiss to her head before heaving himself off the bed. The shirt he’d discarded the night before had been claimed by Scully the first time Maddie woke them, so instead, he heads to his room, digging around in his drawers for a suitable alternative.

In the mirror in the bathroom, he catches sight of his own reflection, and he stops for a minute to inspect it. For the first time, he’s actually seeing himself as a father, as the man that Scully loves. It's somehow revelatory, a groundbreaking discovery. True happiness visibly changes a person, and he sees it in himself, for probably the first time in his adult life. He likes it.

Before heading into the kitchen, he pokes his head back into Scully’s room to check that both his girls are still asleep. Scully has rolled into the divot he left on his side of the bed, and his pillow serves as his stand-in, wrapped tightly in her arms. His heart squeezes with affection. Despite every inclination telling him to go back and claim his space next to her, he shuts the door with a soft click, making his way to the kitchen.

The fridge, filled to the brim thanks to Margaret Scully and her church friends, contains plenty of food to get him started on breakfast. Bacon and eggs is easy enough, and since being domesticated by Scully several months ago, he's picked up a thing or two. He might even be able to put together a nice mixture of fruit for them to enjoy, something healthy she might appreciate. He has no delusions that the energy to make such an effort in the mornings will continue in the coming days, but today he is ready and willing.

After all, there's something else he really wants to do today.

Just as he's putting the final touches on their meal, he hears the whimpers of their daughter, and the sound of Scully stirring in the bedroom. Perfect timing. He sets the skillet aside, turning off the burner before making his way over there. He knocks lightly on the door before pushing it open.

“Morning!” he says, smiling to himself at the sight of her messy hair.

“I wondered where you went,” she replies, in the process of lifting Maddie from her bassinet and carrying her to the changing table. She sniffs once in the air, her eyes meeting his with curiosity. “Did you make breakfast?” she asks.

“I did, it’s all ready when you are,” he answers, drawing a beautiful smile from her. “I can get her changed if you want to go on out there.

Her brows furrow. “Are you sure? You've already–”

“Hey,” he stops her. “I can do it. You get ready for the day and I'll meet you out there, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, smiling softly.

He walks toward her to collect Maddie, pausing to give her a quick kiss before taking the baby into his arms. 

“I love you,” he says, the relief at being able to freely say those words feeling like a weight lifted off his shoulders.

And to his delight, she says it back. “I love you too.”

-.-.-

He feels ridiculous, asking his own wife out on a date, but he loves her so much, he does it anyway. It's going to sound silly no matter what he does, he thinks, so he decides to really commit to it, and writes out:

Will u go out with me?  □ yes / □ no

on a scrap of paper, and slips it to her across the table at breakfast.

A grin lights up her face, which she attempts to conceal with her hand, and she shifts Madeline into her other arm so she can pick up the pen and check the box for “yes.”

Mulder feels a burst of giddiness from his head to his toes.

Tomorrow?

he writes, passing the paper back to her again. He watches as she scrawls in her neat little handwriting:

Where?

-.-.-

When Maggie arrives the following night, it’s to find them both dressed to the nines, her daughter putting the finishing touches on her hair while Mulder takes care of Madeline’s diaper in the other room.

She had been delighted to receive their call. After the unpleasant conversation she'd had on the phone with her eldest son, she had worried about them, wanting to check up on them, but unsure if Dana would appreciate the prying. She decided to give it a few days, and maybe stop by to offer her services however she may be useful if there are no objections.

To her surprise, her services are requested before she can even offer. Babysitting. Just for a few hours, they say. She hardly dares to consider the possibilities.

But seeing the two of them, looking as polished as ever, sets her heart ablaze with hope. She drops her purse onto the kitchen table, hurrying across the room to the bathroom where Dana is attempting to set a curl so that it lays just right on her head.

“Dana?” she asks, eyes wide as she tries to silently convey every question that has passed through her mind in the last few minutes.

“Mom! Thank you so much for coming.”

“Anytime, sweetie,” she says. 

She feels restless. Jittery. Her hands, she doesn't know what to do with her hands. It would be imprudent to ask, but she has to know. 

“So… you're all dressed up,” she notes. “Is it a… court date? Something to do with the adoption?”

She doesn't think so. Or rather, she hopes that it's something else.

“A court date?” Dana laughs, looking at her incredulously. “At this time of night? No, it's just a date date.”

Maggie releases a gasp of air, immediately enveloping her daughter in a bone-crushing hug. 

“Oh, thank the Lord!” she cries, grinning from ear to ear, powerless to stop the tears from pooling in her eyes.

“Mom, you’ll wrinkle my dress,” Dana complains half-heartedly, though she smiles on in amusement. 

“Oh…” Maggie says with a sniffle, wiping her eyes and pulling back just a little. “Honey, he'd love you even if you wore a plastic trash bag,” she assures her.

“Yeah, but I just spent fifteen minutes ironing this,” Dana replies, unable to hide her brilliant smile. Not for a minute does she bother to deny that Fox Mulder loves her. Not even for a second. Maggie could collapse in relief, to see her daughter so at ease. So openly in love.

She hugs her again, headless of the carefully ironed dress.

“I’m so happy,” she says, cupping Dana’s cheek with her hand. “So happy for you. Oh, Dana!”

Dana chuckles, taking her mother’s hands and stepping backwards out of the bathroom. “Madeline’s bottles are in the fridge,” she says, her eyes practically shining with elation.

“Right, yes,” Maggie says, soberly remembering why she's here. But it's hard to pull back on the restraints of her pure joy at finding all her prayers finally answered. You can't put a dimmer on that amount of happiness.

“You have mine and Mulder's phone numbers,” Dana adds. “Try to put her to bed at about 8:00, I'm hoping to get her on a schedule.”

“Of course.” She'd expect nothing less from her pragmatic daughter. 

No sooner does Fox step an unsuspecting foot in the living room than he's overrun by his mother-in-law, pulled into her tight embrace. With the baby cradled in his arms, he's powerless against her, looking up at Dana in surprise as he endures the shower of kisses she bestows on his cheek.

“I knew you could do it,” Maggie says, fondly patting him on the cheek and gazing up at him with pride. “You have told her, haven't you?”

“I've actually got Bill to thank for that,” he jokes, and Maggie huffs.

“Oh, that boy. I've given him a piece of my mind. He won't bother you again.”

He had better not. She and Bill Senior had raised him better than that. She was horrified by his appalling behavior.

“Mom,” Dana interrupts, fastening an earring in place as she walks over to give her a parting kiss on the cheek. “We've got to head out. We have reservations.”

“Of course!” Maggie answers. Fox goes to hand her the baby, but she waves him away. “Oh, put her down for a minute and let me take a picture of the two of you! Where is your camera?”

“Mom…” Dana whines, and is that a hint of pink she detects on her cheeks?

Fox, for his part, obeys, chuckling all the while. “Oh, come on, Scully,” he says as he hands the camera to Maggie. “Don't you want a memento of the night the handsome Fox Mulder took you to prom?”

She rolls her eyes, even as she finds herself being wrapped in his arms, her back pulled against his chest.

“We're going out for dinner and drinks, Mulder,” she says, raising a doubtful eyebrow. But when he nuzzles her neck with his nose, she can't help the brilliant smile that blooms on her face, overshadowing any embarrassment she might feel in front of her mother.

Maggie snaps a few photos, grinning like a mad woman at the happy sight before her.

“Okay, really, that's enough,” Dana giggles, turning in Fox’s arms and pushing him away. “Mom, thank you for watching Madeline. You'll call us if you have any trouble?”

“Of course! Though I have raised four children, sweetheart, I think I know what I'm doing.”

“But–”

“Oookay, Scully, let's get out of here,” Fox says, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder before she can argue any further. He grabs her jacket and holds it out to her, helping her into the sleeves. “Thanks again, Margaret,” he says.

“Anytime! I'm happy to be of use!”

Fox lifts Maddie from where he'd laid her down, holding her against his chest and bouncing her gently. She stares up at him with big bright eyes, and he angles his neck down to press a kiss to her fuzzy little head.

“Bye, my sweetheart,” he says. “We’ll see you in a little bit.”

After adjusting her hair to the outside of her collar, Scully joins him and says her own goodbyes. Maggie catches the forlorn look on her face that every mother has when leaving their child for the first time. She remembers the feeling well.

“Get out of here, you two,” Maggie urges good-naturedly, taking the baby into her arms. “Stay out as long as you’d like, we’ll be just fine here.”

With one last doubtful glance backwards, Dana is guided by her partner’s hands on her shoulders out the door as he whispers words of encouragement. Maggie can't help but smile as she watches them. Her daughter is in good hands.

-.-.-

“It's weird, isn't it?” Scully asks, sitting across from Mulder in a candlelit restaurant.

“What, this?” His eyes scan their surroundings. Fancier than their usual digs, sure, but not particularly odd.

He takes a sip of the white wine he’d ordered for them, something far more expensive than his usual tastes, but worth it for the occasion. She's not getting cold feet at this point in their relationship, is she? It's a little too late to back out now. 

“Are you about to break my heart, Scully?” he asks, chuckling to hide the twinge of nervousness.

“No,” she assures him with a small smile, plucking another bite of her breadstick off and popping it into her mouth.  “No, I meant being away from Madeline. It's weird. She hasn't even been with us a week, and it already feels like…”

“Like there's a person missing from our party, yeah,” he finishes for her, knowing exactly what she means. “I guess it is kind of weird. It was just me and you for so long, you'd think it would feel like it always has.”

“I guess a lot has changed.”

He smiles, tapping his foot against hers under the table. “I guess it has.”

But at the same time, there are plenty of things that stay the same. Mulder performs a magic trick, making his spoon disappear from beneath his napkin, to the embarrassment of Scully, who enjoys his antics more than she lets on. When they get bored waiting for their main course to be served, he scoots his chair over to make room on his side of the table so they can whisper outrageous made-up stories about their fellow restaurant-goers to each other. The couple in the corner, she decides, are rival investment bankers for high profile clients. Their love affair would jeopardize both their companies, but they're powerless to stay away. Mulder says their waiter is actually three guinea pigs in a tuxedo, that's why their food is taking so long.

There's no shortage of laughter, despite the prim and proper atmosphere of the restaurant. They get more than a few concerned looks, but they're used to those by now. He does, however, attempt to stifle her giggles after a particularly loud snort erupts from her, holding her face against his shoulder to shush her while carefully steeling his own features. Something she'd said had caused water to spill from his nose, and she'd been laughing at his expense ever since.

“Real mature, Scully,” he says, his fingers tangling in her hair as his shoulder muffles the sound of her laughter. “I think that's enough wine for you.”

After a moment or two more, her shoulders stop shaking and all that's left is the most brilliant smile he's ever seen. She turns her head sideways, resting her cheek on his shoulder and releasing a contented sigh.

The waiter brings them the bill. He doesn't even look at the price total before slipping his credit card into the folder.

Whatever he'd paid for the night was well worth it.

-.-.-

Outside the restaurant, the evening air is cool—a reminder that summer has yet to officially arrive, to keep a few sweaters handy for when a cold front blows through. His hand is warm in hers, though, and there's music playing softly from somewhere down the block. It's a perfect night.

With dinner completed, their next stop is a classy little bar a few streets over that plays the kind of jazz music that Scully likes, and Mulder barely tolerates. But this had been his idea, and she appreciates his willingness to suffer in exchange for her enjoyment. How very Mulder of him.

They come to a stop at a crosswalk, the red “stop” hand telling them to wait. Cars drive leisurely past, the hum of their engines and rumbling of their tires blending in with the whip of the wind that comes to tangle Scully's hair. Mulder beams down at her, brushing the errant strands from her face—a fruitless task until this gust blows through.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, glancing around at the passing cars, at the marquee lights from the theater across the street.

She follows his lead, standing beside him and wondering at the slow pace of life they seem to have dipped their toes into. Not every day has to be like this, of course. They'd both go crazy if it were. But this is what she'd meant by ‘getting out of the car.’ Just sometimes, to be like other people. To slow down and enjoy the world around them, the infinitesimally small moments that would otherwise pass them by. She thinks they deserve that.

The crosswalk beeps at a steady rhythm, as unhurried as they are.

“Scully, would you–” he starts, clearing his throat. He looks down at his feet, his thumb fiddling with the diamond that sits on her finger. “You know, now that your family knows, we could–”

“Aren't you supposed to be down on one knee?” 

Her question leaves him completely dumbstruck, and she wishes she had a camera to capture the look on his face.

“Scully?” he rasps in confusion. 

She shrugs nonchalantly, concealing a smile. “It's just, you forgot last time. You just kind of blurted it out.”

Now he knows she's teasing him. One corner of his mouth quirks upward and she sees playfulness illuminate in his eyes to match hers.

“Do you want me to hire a professional photographer for this too, or will you let me finish?” he says lowly, leaning in close and squeezing her hand.

She looks at him with a smirk, one eyebrow raised, and he kneels, right there on the sidewalk. 

“Scully… my lovely wife,” he starts, gazing up at her with the pale yellow light of the street lights reflecting in his eyes. Her heart skips a few beats. “Would you like to have a big white Catholic wedding with me? Tuxedo, bridesmaids, the whole nine yards?”

She pretends to think for a moment, her eyes drifting to the heavens. Then comes her response.

“Mm—no.”

“No?” He seems appalled. 

And as fun as it is to mess with him, she can’t leave him hanging for long. 

“I would like to have a small wedding, though,” she says. “Just our families and closest friends.”

She can see the relief written on his face plain as day. As if she'd ever say no to marrying him again. Doesn't he know, now, how much she loves him?

She tugs on his hands and helps him to his feet, finding herself suddenly face to face with his infectious smile.

“Easiest guest list in the world,” he says. Then he lowers his lips to hers and kisses her. Across the street, the display on the crosswalk flashes with descending numbers, and they've missed their chance to go. But this side of the street is just fine, thank you very much.

“You know, technically what we're talking about here is just a vow renewal, not a wedding,” she informs him, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye.

He grins. “Oh, I'm well aware. You're already hitched to my wagon, honey.”

That earns him an eye roll. They're back to waiting again, this time without the other pedestrians who have left them behind. One of them probably ought to go press the button again, if they really want to cross.

“I know it was crazy, and probably stupid, looking back, but… I liked our wedding just the way it was,” Scully says. “Just you and me.”

“Me too.”

Thinking back on that day, it still doesn't feel real sometimes. Some days, the sight of the ring on her finger catches her by surprise, and the one on his fills her with a kind of primal possessiveness.

“We really did this all backwards, didn’t we?” she says.

“Definitely. Remind me to thank your brother for giving me the motivation I needed to tell you. He can come to the wedding—”

“Vow renewal.”

“—just for being the one to get our heads out of our—”

She kisses him, stealing his words from his lips. His hands find her waist, then her back, and she can't believe how right this feels. How quickly they've gone from friends to more.

Then again, maybe it wasn't so quick after all.

“Is that how you're gonna shut me up from now on?” he asks, breathing deeply to catch his breath.

She nips at his bottom lip again, then his jaw. If he needs a verbal answer after that, then she has severely overestimated his intellect

But it seems he’s catching on.

“I can live with it.”

-.-.-

In the end, they decide that drinks and jazz music can wait for another day.

“Would you be offended if I said I'd rather just go home?” Scully asks.

He gazes down at her beside him knowingly. “You miss her, don't you?”

Her lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout. “Yes.”

“Me too.”

And so, they instead turn around and go straight back to their car, setting course toward home. Mulder can tell without even looking at her that she spends the entire car ride worrying over Madeline’s welfare, despite the fact that Margaret Scully is sure to be a more than adequate babysitter. It’s such a maternal instinct, though, that it fills Mulder with pride. 

Dana Scully is many things—an enigma at times—but on top of all that, she is now a mother. It only makes him love her more.

Back in the hallway of their apartment building, he stops her in front of their door before she can open it. If this is their first real date, then he wants to close it out properly.

“I had a really nice time,” he says, and though it’s a joke, he means it sincerely.

Her doubtful eyebrow arches toward the ceiling, as predictable as Old Faithful. “Really, Mulder?” she asks, looking at him in that way he knows means ‘I think you’re a dork.’

“Did you have a nice time?” He makes it clear he’s expecting an answer, leaning in close to draw it from her.

The corners of her mouth twitch, and thanks to his expert knowledge of Scully’s many microexpressions, he knows she’s amused.

“Yes, I did, Mulder.”

He grins and pokes her in the arm. “Now say the next part.”

This time she rolls her eyes at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I was given a script.”

He playfully pinches her sides, pulling her closer. “Oh come on, you know the words…”

She sighs, looking up at him with the smallest of smiles gracing her face. “We should do this again sometime?”

There it is.  

“Yes, we should,” he agrees. Then all there is to do is seal the deal with a kiss. He takes it slow, chuckling a little at how silly it all seems. He hasn’t kissed a girl on her doorstep after a date (with the girl's mother waiting just inside) since he was in high school. What he hadn’t expected was that he would feel the same rush of exhilaration as he did back then.

“Mulder,” she says between kisses.

He hums, his brain only barely capable of comprehending language.

Pouty Scully is back. “I miss my baby.”

Oh. Right.

Behind her back, he manages to slip his keys in the lock, and she shoots him a thankful smile as he turns the doorknob. She breaks from him just in time for him to crack open the door.

“You’re back early,” Maggie comments as they enter, looking up from the book she’d been reading while waiting for them on the couch. In the kitchen, freshly cleaned baby bottles are stacked on a drying rack beside the sink, and the place is spotless. For as little time as they’d been gone, her mother had obviously gotten a lot done, proving once again what a master at her craft she was. They still have a lot to learn.

“Mulder missed Maddie,” Scully says in explanation.

“Hey, so did you!” he defends himself. Maggie merely shakes her head and smiles, clearly entertained by their playful bickering.

Scully sets her purse aside, then starts removing her coat. “Did she do okay?” she asks, her brow furrowed in thinly-veiled worry.

“She was a perfect angel,” Maggie answers. “Only one dirty diaper, and she finished her whole bottle. She did fall asleep a little early, so she might be waking up again soon for another feeding.”

Mulder can see the relief as it eases the tension in Scully’s shoulders. He takes her coat from her, hanging it on the coat rack behind him along with his.

“Okay, that’s great, Mom,” she says. “Thank you so much for watching her.”

“Anytime, dear. She’s just the sweetest baby. If you ever need me to babysit overnight, am I correct in assuming you now have a spare room for guests?”

“Mom!” Scully blushes.

“Actually, we were just talking about turning it into Maddie’s nursery,” Mulder says, wrapping an arm around Scully’s waist and pulling her into his side. To his delight, he succeeds at getting her to turn an even deeper shade of red.

Maggie scoffs in amusement at her daughter’s uncharacteristic bashfulness. “You are married , Dana. I’d be surprised and disappointed if you weren’t—”

Scully hurries to gather her mother’s things, ushering her to the door. “Okay, I think we’ve kept you for long enough, Mom, thanks for coming. You’d better get on home.”

“We’ll call you,” Mulder adds with a cheeky smile, earning him a smack on the shoulder by an indignant Scully.

“You’d better,” Maggie threatens teasingly. “I trust you had a good night? Fox, I must say, that shade of lipstick suits you very nicely.”

Scully groans. “Bye, Mom,” she says insistently, practically shooing Maggie out the door. She’s reached a level of red-in-the-face that Mulder previously thought impossible to attain, and it just makes him want to squish her cheeks and tell her how adorable she is.

“Love you too, Maggie,” Mulder says for them both, his heart almost bursting with joy at really being a part of a family again. This is what he’d been looking for for so long. Who would have guessed he’d find it with his FBI partner and her stalwart Catholic mother?

“Goodnight, Dana. Goodnight, Fox,” Maggie says, stepping out into the hall. “I love you both.

And that sweet girl of yours.”

Scully sighs. “Love you, Mom. Goodnight.”

-.-.-

“I was thinking about what your mom said earlier,” he whispers in the darkness, his arm wrapped around her waist underneath the covers of their bed. She turns her head to glance back at him.

“Mulder, we do not need her to babysit overnight,” she says. “I don't want to be away from Maddie that long.”

He breathes a laugh. “I know. That's not what I was going to say, actually.”

Her brows furrow, and the sheets rustle as she turns over to look at him properly. His hand slides over her silk-clad torso, and he rubs his thumb over her side in soothing circles as she settles. 

“Oh. Then what is it?” she asks. 

He hums thoughtfully. “I was thinking, it would be nice to have space for guests, and a nursery for Madeline.”

Again, he finds confusion written on her face. “Well, there are only two rooms in this apartment, Mulder, so I'm not sure where you think we're gonna—”

“What about a house?”

That silences her.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “Come on, what do you say?”

“I–” She's not sure what to say. “I don't know.”

“If we lived somewhere bigger, I'd have less reason to say no to a dog,” he offers temptingly.

Her eyebrows raise. “You want to get a dog?”

“I didn't say that,” he answers, laughing softly. “I said I wouldn't have as much of an argument against it. There's a difference.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Mulder?” she asks jokingly, her own smile pulling at her lips.

“I'm right here, honey,” he says, wagging his eyebrows at her and digging his fingers into her sides. Then, turning serious again, “It's not that I’m against dogs. It was just your yappy cannibal dog, specifically.”

“It's not a cannibal if the thing it eats isn't of its own species,” she corrects. “Dogs are animals. It did what it needed to survive.”

“Stop, stop, you’re gonna give me nightmares,” he says, covering her mouth with his hand. “You're not helping your case, you know.”

She smiles and brushes his hair back. He's noticed she has a thing for his hair. She can't seem to keep her hands off even during idle conversation.

“Hey, you brought it up,” she points out. “A house, though, Mulder? Are you sure?”

“Why not? I've told you before that I'd live away from the city if I could. Wouldn't you?”

She smiles and closes her eyes, humming. “It does sound nice,” she admits.

“Well then, let's look. Let’s just see what's out there.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “I want it to have a porch.”

“Oh, that's a must,” he says, nodding seriously. “And a couple acres of land, at least.”

“What are we going to do with several acres, Mulder?”

“Start a garden, put in a pool? Maybe build an underground bunker for doomsday prepping?”

“Can I veto that last one?” she asks.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

She grumbles even as he pulls her to his chest, snuggling her close. 

While in some ways, the birth and adoption of their daughter felt like an end to their long and fraught journey, he hopes it's clear now that it's just the beginning. Their lives will look a little different from here on out, but there is so much more to come. A house, a real wedding. Maybe even a dog.

Oh, who is he kidding? Of course they're getting a dog.

“Dana?” he murmurs into her hair. Already her body has relaxed in his arms, and he knows she's moments away from falling asleep, his adorable little narcoleptic wife.

“Mm—what?”

“I love you.”

He can feel her smile against his chest, and she snuggles in closer.

“Oh brother.”

He knows that means, ‘I love you too.’

-.-.-

Tag List: @today-in-fic @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @is-on-its-way @limnsaber @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @pookie-mulder @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[azure-firecracker]

This is kind of a reply to your response to Mulders-too-large-shirt’s ask but

I think Little Green Men was the episode that made me stop and go, “If this ain’t love then Idk what love is” cause what do you mean Mulder was in a different country, on the verge of a literal psychotic break from trying to gain proof extraterrestrials existed and he still was like, ‘Hmm, I think I’m gonna update Scully about this through a voice diary even though I refuse to talk to her cus the gov. hates us 🥰🥰🥰’

It doesn’t matter if their relationship is platonic or romantic, it’s love regardless of what it is and this old ass show did nothing but heighten the standards of that for me.

Yessss you’re so right anon! Honestly going from S1 to S2 gives you such whiplash like they’ve gone from being flirty and occasionally tender to the center of each other’s universes like I’m sorry what?

I was eating it up though.

[lilydalexf]

hi! do you know of any fics where mulder or scully (i think this fits either of them well) ask the other "can i kiss you?" ? its my favourite fic "trope" but i think ive only found one xf fic that does it and i cant even remember it, please help!

Thank you for this ask! I have (many) older asks I maybe should've answered first, but it was very fun compiling this rec list of fics where one of Mulder and Scully asks the other "Can I kiss you?" Enjoy! Anamorphosis by Megan Reilly Assigned to find a horrifying serial murderer, Agent Scully discovers things about herself and her past that she never suspected. City of Light by Bonetree On the run through the American Southwest, Scully and Mulder flee the shadowy forces of Owen Curran and Padden's government agents, who threaten their freedom and their lives. On the way, they must also struggle with their own demons, which threaten to tear them apart. (Part of the Goshen universe) Eleventh Hour by Rachel Anton Some feeling defy the confines of time. Fumbling Towards Ecstasy by Jenna Tooms Scully comes to Mulder with a wound only he can heal. general conundrums by @intrepidment Nonsense fluff. Impulse by Suzanne Schramm Mulder and Scully investigate some strange doings in a little town where people seem to have no control over their actions. Let's Bee Together by @baronessblixen Set during IWTB: Scully comes home from the hospital to find a bored and restless Mulder has picked up an interesting new hobby: apiculture. Little Notes by aRcaDIaNFall$ Mulder and Scully are bored in a meeting and start passing notes... The Mad Physicist & The Lab Rat by littlemisfit5290 (@alittlemissfit) "Who said I was even going to the party?” “I said you are if you plan on knowing whether I dressed up as a sexy alien or that beast woman.” MSR, pre IWTB, Halloween fluff. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year by Baroness_Blixen (@baronessblixen) For the first time ever, the FBI is doing a secret Santa exchange. But what do you do when you're not paired with the only person you can imagine exchanging gifts with? You do everything in your power to rig the game. Nuptiae Sub Rosa by SisterSpooky1013 and XFMaweezy (@sisterspooky1013 and @xfmaweezy) A series of canon-compliant missing scenes showing that some dynamics of Mulder and Scully’s relationship may have changed much earlier than previously thought. radiant by kittenscully (@kittenscully) Under normal circumstances, her vulnerability would shock him. But things are different now, the shift tectonic and undeniable. He owes her the same trust that she’s showing him. Saying the Words by Karen Rasch Mulder and Scully finally confront their feelings for the first time. (Part of the Words series) Tender Intent by A.I. Irving When Scully returns to work after recovering from her illness, Mulder discovers that she isn't quite the changed woman she claims to be. Untitled by @baronessblixen “I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” / “Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?” Untitled by @broadcastnews1987 a “what if one breath never happened au.” Untitled by @msrafterdark scully puts the moves on mulder post-millennium. What Happens In Vegas (Sometimes Finds Its Way Into Official Documents) by tiredmoonlight (@myshipsintheharbor) When some interesting news about the marital status of two agents finds its way to back to the FBI, questions are raised, the main one being that the agents don't actually remember getting married. While You Were Sleeping by Skinfull Mulder falls for an intoxicating red head he spots in the park, then saves her life but not before she is injured and put into a coma, then he meets her sister! Den den dehhhhhh! Seraphim by chekcough (@chekcough) After Mulder returns from the dead, Scully tries to pick up the pieces. AU, with Mulder/Scully relationship pre-established after FTF. Implied character suicide.

[phillippadgettwrites]

The First Time, Every Time: Fire

Rated X / 3377 Words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Scully’s suggestion that he take her to lunch wasn’t a serious one, but he takes her anyway. He’s too distracted in the wake of Phoebe’s surprise visit to get any work done at this point, and he figures he owes her one after she single handedly solved the case while he was busy being mindfucked by Scotland Yard’s finest. He takes her somewhere just a little bit dingy with a full bar, the kind of place they aren’t likely to run into any of their cohorts from the Bureau. While they’ve never directly discussed it, he’s sure she’s aware there’s some gossip circulating about them, and though it’s entirely baseless, it’s best not to feed the beast in his experience.

He’s a little embarrassed that Scully bore witness to the power Phoebe clearly still has over him. He’s a little embarrassed to learn that, even ten years later, when she says jump he still asks how high, and then tries to double it. The moment she kissed him he felt like that naive college boy again, so starved for affection that he’d take it from the teeth of a snarling dog and then thank it for biting him.

He suspects that Scully only orders a drink so he’ll feel comfortable doing the same, though she reasons that she doesn’t really have anything else that needs finishing today, so it’s not an issue if her afternoon is a total loss. She’s actually a really good friend, now that he’s thinking about it. He’s only ever thought of her as his partner, but she shows up for him outside of work, too. And while he might have expected her to bristle at his moderately unprofessional behavior during the investigation, she’d only rolled her eyes and gently teased him, much like a friend would.

“So,” she says halfway through their second round of drinks. He can tell by the wry smile on her mouth that she’s wading into uncharted territory. “Would I be correct if I guessed that Phoebe ripped your heart to pieces and then told you to clean up the mess?”

Mulder cringes a little, but he’s smiling too. Not because it’s funny, but because she’s right.

“Something like that,” he says, then takes a sip of his drink. “Though I wish I could say it only happened once.”

“Ah,” Scully says knowingly, sitting back in her seat and resting the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other.

They both removed their suit jackets the moment they sat down, and Mulder has since loosened his tie and cuffed his shirtsleeves. Scully is wearing one of those ruffled blouses she seems to have in every color, the ones that have a rather deep V in the neck that’s made modest by all the excess material surrounding it. Sometimes he looks at her in her boxy suits and shoulder pads and thinks about what she looked like in nothing but her bra and panties under candlelight, but he’s careful never to let her see him looking at her that way. The fact that she’s beautiful is filed away in his mind behind more pertinent traits like intelligent, brave, determined, funny, and loyal.

“Pathetic, I know,” he says, looking down at his glass to hide the chagrin on his face. “And she just about looped me in for another round, if I’m being honest.”

“The sex was that good, huh?” she says, and he snaps his head up to be sure that it’s still his consummately professional partner sitting across the table from him.

She’s still there, the skin on her chest flushed pink with booze. She smirks behind her glass, perhaps a bit proud of her locker room talk.

“Depends on your definition of good, I guess,” he answers honestly. “It was pretty wild, and at the tender age of twenty-one, wild was as good as it got.”

Scully’s eyebrows raise curiously and he feels his groin grow just a bit heavy. He’s not sure how explicit of a discussion she’d be open to, but he’s interested in finding out.

“Are we talking ‘group sex’ wild, or ‘masochism’ wild?” she asks, just as casually as if she were asking him what classes he and Phoebe had together at Oxford. Mulder clears his throat.

“I think there was undeniably some masochism involved on my part, but more like high-risk or transgressive.”

“Transgressive,” Scully repeats with interest, her head tilting thoughtfully to the side. She doesn’t ask, but he tells her anyway.

“She, uh…she gave me a blow job on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s grave once, as an example,” he says, hiding his pride behind sheepishness.

A slow grin breaks out over Scully’s face, and Mulder feels a warm flush all over his body.

“Agent Mulder,” she admonishes him lightly, picking up her nearly empty glass and sucking the last bits of liquid off the bottom. “How disrespectful.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking between her smiling face and the table top. “I think that was kind of the point. It was hardly worth it, though. She broke up with me the next day with no explanation and she was sleeping with one of my friends by the end of the week.”

Scully’s smile fades and she holds her glass up, making eye contact with their waiter and gesturing that they’d like another round.

“Mulder, I’ve known plenty of women like her,” she says, her tone shifting as she uncrosses her legs and leans in. “She hates herself so much that the only thing that brings her any pleasure is to be pursued. She showers men with affection and attention, and then withdraws it as soon as she knows they’re hooked.” She pauses while the waiter drops off fresh drinks and takes away their empty glasses, as well as the remains of their lunch. “Men chasing after her, asking what they did wrong and how they can win her back, is the entire objective. Let me guess, if you ever call her out on it she acts offended that you’d define her character based on a couple little mistakes?”

Now Mulder sits back in his chair, disturbed by such an accurate description of his tumultuous relationship with Phoebe.

“Were you secretly attending Oxford in 1983, Scully?” he asks uncomfortably, then takes a gulp of his drink that burns all the way down his throat.

She smiles, pleased with herself.

“Phoebe isn’t nearly as unique as she’d like you to think, Mulder,” she says, resting her elbows on the table and then her chin on her joined hands.

“Well, she sure pulled one over on me,” he says, feeling embarrassed again. “More times than I care to admit.”

He drags his middle finger through the ring of water left by his glass, drawing slow, contemplative circles on the table top. Scully’s hand appears from his periphery and settles over his own, and she waits until he looks up at her.

“It’s not your fault, Mulder,” she says tenderly. “She saw a vulnerability in you and she took advantage of it. Having been on the receiving end of that myself, I can empathize with the fact that it’s difficult to see it for what it is when you’re in the middle of it.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” he says lightly, trying to reclaim the playful banter he’d been enjoying a few minutes ago.

Scully withdraws her hand and picks up her glass.

“I wish that I were,” she says wistfully. “Though I can’t say that my own youthful hijinks included oral sex on the gravesites of famed authors. I’m disturbed to learn the origin of your private joke, by the way.”

Mulder laughs, but he also entertains a mental image of Scully spread-eagle on the trampled grass in front of Doyle’s cement headstone, a dark-haired man’s head between her legs.

“Glad to hear you don’t think I’m a total schmuck,” he says.

“No, not a schmuck,” she assures him with a shake of her head. “I will admit to being a bit surprised by how submissive you were towards her, though.”

The comment was clearly offhand, based on her demeanor, but it hits him like an insult.

“Submissive?” he repeats, sitting up a little taller. “What makes you say that?”

She considers him for a moment before answering.

“You deferred to her in every respect,” she explains. “It was quite clear that she was in charge.”

“It was her case,” he shoots back. “Of course she was in charge.”

Scully holds up both her hands, palms facing him, in surrender.

“Forget I said anything,” she says. “We should probably get back to work soon.”

“I’m not submissive, Scully,” he says emphatically, ignoring her previous statement.

“I didn’t mean it pejoratively, Mulder; it’s not a bad thing to be. I was simply saying that I was surprised by it.”

“Well whatever you think you saw, you’re wrong,” he says sternly, trying to catch her eye.

Reluctantly, she makes eye contact and holds it for a beat.

“Whatever you say,” she says, acquiescent but characteristically skeptical.

Mulder clenches his jaw, holding back a tawdry remark. He waves their waiter over and asks for the check, as well as a cab, and then drains his glass. Fifteen minutes later they pile into the back seat of a taxi, buzzed to the point of uselessness as far as work is concerned.

“Where to?” the cabbie asks, meeting Mulder’s eye in the rear-view mirror.

“Alexandria,” he says, and Scully looks over at him.

“No, the J. Edgar Hoover building,” she corrects, and Mulder levels her with a steely stare.

“No, Alexandria,” he says again, and her eyebrows furrow.

“What are you doing?” she asks quietly.

“Where to, folks? Meter’s running,” the cabbie says, annoyed.

“Alexandria,” Mulder repeats, turning to look out the window as the cab pulls away from the curb.

He feels Scully’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look at her right away. He makes her wait nearly two full blocks before he slowly turns his head and takes in the thoroughly confused expression on her face. Even then, he doesn’t proactively justify his actions like he typically would. He just looks at her, letting his eyes fall to the exposed skin on her chest and then dragging them slowly back up to her face. She opens her mouth and closes it, swallows, then finally turns to look out the window, and he finds himself fighting off a smile. He’s already rendered her speechless and he’s just barely getting started.

The cab deposits them in the parking lot of his apartment building, and after paying the driver he wordlessly heads inside, relying on his reflection in the glass doors to confirm that Scully is following behind him. In the elevator, he again feels her staring him down but does not reward her with eye contact. He behaves as though she isn’t there until the doors open on the fourth floor, at which point he gives her another once-over glance and then says, “After you,” in a tone that tells her it’s a directive, not an offer.

He follows her too-closely down the hall. Not so close that she could rightfully question it, but closer than is socially acceptable. When she arrives in front of apartment forty-two he reaches past her, key in hand, to unlock it, effectively trapping her between his body and the door. She stiffens but doesn’t speak, and when the door swings open he has to touch her back to encourage her inside. She stands in his foyer while he deposits his wallet, keys, and cellphone in their designated places, seemingly waiting to find out what will happen next.

He slips her suit jacket off her shoulders and she lifts her arms out of it, watching him curiously as he hangs it on the billiard ball coat rack near the door. He can feel that her tolerance to continue waiting for the punchline is waning, so he nods toward the dining room table behind her and says, “Have a seat.”

Scully turns to look at each of the three chairs set around the table. One is hosting a stack of books, one a pile of unfolded laundry, and the other a banker’s box full of junk he was planning to donate.

“Where?” she asks flatly, one eyebrow raised.

Mulder steps forward and grabs her by the waist, hoisting her up onto the tabletop. She makes a startled little gasping sound and wraps her hands around his forearms, regarding him with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asks, alarmed.

He pushes even closer, so close that he’s occupying the space between her open legs, his hands still on her waist, and leans down as though he’s going to kiss her. She stays stock still, her eyes open, and at the last second he shifts his head to the side and brushes his lips lightly across her ear.

“Who’s submissive now?” he whispers, and he feels her shiver at the tickle of his breath.

He leans away from her, grinning victoriously and expecting to see something along the lines of embarrassment or irritation on her face, but she looks awestruck. Her lips are slightly parted, her eyes unfocused, and she’s breathing heavily.

“Scully?” he asks hesitantly. Did he take it too far? Did he scare her?

Her hazy eyes take a meandering path up his chest to his face, then narrow a little. Her jaw sets, the corner of her mouth quirks, and she reaches up with one hand to grab hold of the loosened tie still hanging from his neck. He opens his mouth in preparation to apologize, but she tugs hard and his mouth crashes into hers. Suddenly he’s tasting whisky and lipstick, and the heels of her shoes are digging into his ass.

Something he should have guessed about Dana Scully is that she takes no prisoners. The one time he attempts to come up for air with the intention of making sure she’s thought this through, she silences him with her hot little hand down the front of his dockers, and he decides that they’ll just have to learn to lie in the bed they’re making. She pops half the buttons off his shirt when she artlessly tears it open, then rips his undershirt off over his head so violently she just about takes one of his ears with it. She gets him down to his boxers while she’s still perched on the edge of his dining room table, fully dressed, and he realizes that he’s completely ceded control to her.

Her hands are just slipping under the waist of his boxers, preparing to divest him of the last scrap of clothing on his body, when he grabs them and pins them to the table beside her hips on either side. She looks up at him, panting, and smiles.

“Point taken, agent,” he says, his face inches from hers.

“You do realize that brute force isn’t dominance, right?” she playfully chides him, looking at one of her restrained hands and then the other.

She’s so sassy, a trait she normally doles out in bite size pieces, and he’d be a damn liar if he tried to claim he didn’t like it.

“What was your plan here?” he asks, grateful that the bend in his waist necessary to hold her hands against the table is obscuring the fact that he’s half-hard.

“I might ask you the same question,” she retorts haughtily.

A beat passes, and she runs her tongue across her bottom lip nervously. It occurs to him that maybe this isn’t just a prank that’s gone too far.

“Are you drunk, Scully?”

She sighs, her head lolling to the side thoughtfully.

“Maybe a little bit,” she confesses. “Are you?”

“Maybe a little bit,” he agrees. “Am I taking advantage of you?”

She shakes her head slowly. “Not yet,” she says, and something in the tenor of her voice sends blood rushing to his lap.

“Would you like me to?” The words leave his mouth before he’s given them even a split second of consideration, and the resulting flash of adrenaline makes him dizzy.

“Maybe a little bit,” she answers, her chest heaving.

The second he lets go of her hands so he can simultaneously kiss her and get to work unbuttoning her blouse, she pushes his boxers off his hips, leaving him nude. She doesn’t touch him right away, though she makes no attempt to hide her appreciative leering, and the combined pride and desperation bolster his confidence to the point that they quiet the little voice in his head that’s telling him this is a bad idea.

In short order, he fills in the details of her body that were previously hidden beneath white cotton. Her breasts are small but perfectly proportioned, and when she lifts her hips and allows him to divest her of her slacks and panties, he finds a full patch of ginger curls between her legs.

For a moment they just look at each other, her hands on his waist and his resting on the tops of her thighs. When he looks at her face and she meets his eye, he at once realizes the gravity of what’s happening and also that it’s already too late to avoid whatever the consequences will be. Nonetheless, he’s afraid.

Scully smiles demurely and tosses her head to get her hair out of her face.

“You’re not getting submissive on me, are you?” she asks playfully, though he senses that she’s a little afraid too.

He allows himself to get lost in living up to her expectations, almost like he’s playing a role. He’s the man who carries her to his couch and tells her to watch while he tastes the slickness between her legs. He’s the man who holds her hands above her head while he makes her come with his fingers. He’s the man who hands her a—miraculously—unexpired condom and instructs her to put it on him, and then he is the man who bends her over the arm of his couch and tries not to seem too proud when she gasps at the size of him and comes again within a minute.

She moves to sit on the couch, her legs wobbling, and looks skeptically at the condom still snuggly covering his erection, which isn’t waning in the least.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you weren’t finished,” she says breathlessly as she pulls a blanket off the back of his couch to cover her nudity.

He’d hoped she wouldn’t notice. Diana never did. Or she didn’t care enough to say anything about it, anyway.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, tugging the condom off and retrieving his boxers from the floor near the table.

“Are you that drunk?” she asks, mildly alarmed.

“No,” he answers quickly. “It just…doesn’t always happen for me.”

“Hm,” she says thoughtfully, and he wishes she’d stop looking at him like that. Like she might actually listen if he told her about the other ways Phoebe took advantage of his vulnerability. About how difficult it is for him to let go in front of someone else now. About how lonely it makes him feel.

He sits beside her and they talk for a long time. About nothing. About everything. About what they just did and what it means for them. Eventually, he does tell her about Phoebe. She doesn’t make him feel weak or silly, or express surprise that a man could experience that kind of issue. She’s empathetic, and angry on his behalf, and she doesn’t take it personally or claim to know how to fix him like most women do. The booze wears away and a new kind of trust is forged, and he gets the feeling that she might turn out to be the best friend he’s ever had.

When she kisses his cheek and slips her hand under the waist of his boxers, he knows that it’s not out of pity. She doesn’t touch him like he’s broken or treat him like a project, and he doesn’t feel any pressure to perform. She coaxes him to the edge and he trusts that she’ll be there to catch him when he falls.

He lets go.

[muldermuse]

what about jealousy the other way around? like Fox getting close to someone they're working a case with (kinda like the roach episode) I love your fics by the way!!!!

Thank you so much for sending this through!!!! I went a different way with it but I hope you like it my love <3 <3 <3

I wrote this really quickly so it is def not 100% but pls allow it - it was fun to write. Reader and Mulder are in an established relationship in this fic!

If you have a fic idea, or hc, or Fox thoughts (or thots) pls send them through!!

Fox’s new case has introduced you to a new colleague, a woman who you’ve watched from afar before, Agent Brenda Wilson. There’s something about her you are unsure of, call it intuition or call it your ability to overthink most things in your life. Around the building, day to day, you never really see her. You don’t say hi if you do, you don’t know her and she doesn’t know you. You’re sure she’s never noticed you and you hope that she never does. That is, until, Scully gets assigned to a case that takes her away and Agent Wilson has to step in for additional support for the X Files. Mulder is trying to keep on Skinner’s good side so despite being certain that he does not need a glorified babysitter; he stays quiet about Wilson's brief transfer to the basement.

Each day this week when you’ve gone down to drop off his post-lunch coffee, she’s been there, perched on his desk. She eyes you as soon as you enter the artificially lit room and you feel tiny. It's as if she's a predator and your prey, innocently meandering into the Lion's den with a Starbucks for you and your boyfriend. You try and swallow down whatever disgusting jealous feeling is rising in your throat as you slide his coffee across the desk to him.

Apart from stilted greetings, she never really speaks to you but she must know about you and Fox; that’s what you reason. There’s nothing malicious happening, especially on the side of Fox, who has told you at length how there is no one else for him but you.

“You know, Agent” she maintains her eye contact with you for longer than she ever has, “I’m starting to feel a bit left out! You never bring a coffee down for me. I have to watch this guy drink his coffee and there’s nothing for me.” Her giggle fills the room which is otherwise full of awkward energy.

“This guy,” she reaches her hand across the desk to touch Fox’s clenched fist, “always offers to go and get me one in the morning. Isn’t he a sweetheart?”. You swear you see the dark glint cross her eyes, you swear you see her eyebrow cock slightly and you swear; you see red.

“Actually, I just came to steal this sweetheart from you for 2 minutes. Fox- I need to speak to you outside” You chirp, trying to stop yourself from physically shaking from pure anger and adrenaline. Fox knows the smile plastered across your face is fake, he has to bite his cheek from the inside to stop himself outwardly laughing. He nods politely at Wilson as he walks over to you, just before you both leave her sight; you interlink his hand with yours.

“Kiss me”

Before he gets chance to speak, you push your lips against his and your tongue runs against his lower lip. He opens his mouth languidly as your noses bump against each other. Your hands slide down his back as his move up to your face to hold it. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, you feel hazy from the touch of his lips, the taste of his tongue, and the feel of his strong hands holding your hips. As he pulls away, you move to press tender kisses to his neck; he stifles a moan at the contact. 

“You better not be jealous of her”. You feel his nails begin to dig into your hips, “she’s nothing compared to you.” He brings his face close to yours, a quick peck to your lips, and smiles as he takes in your dazed eyes. He loves kissing you, it's as if you get drunk off the feeling of his lips and he always wants more.

“I’ll show you tonight, okay?” You nod as you listen to him, attempting to wipe your gloss off his lips with your fingers, “I think I need to remind you how much I love you.” He holds your hand as he presses your fingers to his lips, “I’ll spend all night proving it if I have to”.