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xf-cases-solved · 16 hours ago

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ayyyy, @numinousmysteries, guess who it is! it's me, your secret santa for the @poangpals gift exchange, here to gift you words that are kinda angsty, kinda hurt/comfort-y, and kinda (or more than kinda) horny. i've written a lot of cancer arc lately and was like "hmm, maybe i should branch out..." BUT, when i saw your ideal episode was "memento mori but they bang at the end," i was like, "okay, well, obviously this was meant to be." so that is what i have brought you! a post-memento mori fic where they bang at the end! thank you for everything you bring to this community. you're a baller and i hope you enjoy your gift <3 -diz Title: Memento Vivere Word count: ~6500 (bc i can't shut the fuck up to save my life) Rating: Explicit Here's the link to ao3, or save yourself a click and read below!

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Memento Vivere

She is in the middle of grimacing at her own reflection in the small compact mirror she found at the bottom of her overnight bag when Mulder shows up at her hospital room, keys jangling in his hand as he hovers in the doorway, neither outside nor inside, like he's uncertain about what kind of proximity he's allowed this morning. Like she's a skittish cat he's trying to win over. And what grates at her isn't his tenuous disposition—it's that it's completely warranted, and it's so jarring to be known so well.

She knows that he knows that she bared her heart to him last night, and is now grappling with mortification. She's never been good with emotions. In college, she could do a walk of shame with her head held high, but when a lover would voice their affection for her she would suddenly become incapable of looking them in the eye. Her heart is in a lockbox and sometimes she goes so long without opening it she almost forgets the combination, and when she does manage to pop it open she gets frantic, wanting to immediately slam it shut.

"You about ready to go?" Mulder asks casually. Too casually. He's assessing her like he would a suspect, adjusting his tone to meet her mood and make himself more approachable, and she wants to snap at him for profiling her, but she won't. She can't. Not without confirming his analysis of her, and she doesn't need to open the spine of her book any wider when he can already read her with such clarity.

In her writings—the filled pages already torn from the notebook and shredded into pieces in the wire trash bin next to her bed—she had thought she was divulging the secrets of her heart to him. It occurs to her only now, as he watches her from across the room with a purposefully mild expression, that while he may not know her every thought, he is the only other person who knows the combination to the lockbox in her chest. He could open it at any time, but he doesn't. He could reach inside her and hold her beating heart in his cupped hands, learning every detail and committing it to memory, but he would never take from her anything that wasn't freely given. His respect is almost more overwhelming than anything, because it's a reminder that if he weren't an honorable man he could ruin her. He has access to her nuke, and she can do nothing but trust that he won't hit the button.

"Yeah, just a second," she replies—casual.

She slips the compact mirror back inside her bag and gets to her feet. She tries to summon the woman inside her who walks down the hallways of the Hoover Building—confident, assertive, and unaffected by stares or assumptions—but it's difficult without her body armor. Even though she only had one infusion of the chemo, her body still feels frail and hungover, like the day after a bad twenty-four hour flu, and she's wearing flats with her yoga pants and sweater, highlighting the height disparity between the two of them in a way her heels usually help to mitigate. There wasn't a hair dryer to use after her shower, so the natural curls she usually irons out are taking over, absurdly making her feel disorderly and sloppy. And she's not wearing makeup, and it's not the dark circles around her eyes or even the mole above her lip that she's self-conscious about—it's the freckles that spatter across her cheeks and nose. Well put together women don't have freckles, and she's sure he's going to interpret her vulnerabilities on her sun-kissed skin like the soggy tea leaves at the bottom of a china cup.

The worst part of dying, she's starting to think, is the discovery that her walls that felt sturdy like concrete are actually made of straw, and there's nothing like an illness to come sweeping through to blow your house down.

On the way out of the hospital they pass the room Penny died in. She looks away from the door, and Mulder looks at her. In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment he reaches over and squeezes her hand.

They don't say anything.

Scully thinks his choice of silence says more than words ever could.

When she wakes up on her couch she isn't sure if it was the nightmare that roused her, or the relentless throbbing in her head.

The ride back home from Allentown had been uncomfortable in every sense of the word. Mulder had rambled theories at her—about Dr. Scanlon and MUFON and government agendas—until her lack of engagement made the conversation eventually dissolve, first into him nervously chattering about the most ridiculous X-Files cases he could think of and, when that didn't work either, into nothing, a pall falling over them as she shifted restlessly in her seat, unable to find a position that didn't feel ill-fitting like a shirt that she couldn't untwist. They didn't once speak the word cancer.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep after he dropped her off, but ten minutes into some daytime talk show and she was suddenly dead to the world, and judging by the low light that surrounds her, she has slept all the way from early afternoon well into dusk. The TV still flickers at her, now playing the evening news, and she's sure that there aren't going to be any headlines about manufactured brain tumors and shady oncologists who betray their Hippocratic oath by purposefully poisoning women who look to them for salvation. The types of horrors she witnesses rarely make the news. Not with all the facts attached, at least.

She pushes herself up with a groan. Her head really hurts, and although her first instinct is to attribute it to the mass in her sinus cavity, when she reaches up to swipe under her nose there are no remnants of dried blood, and the dryness of her tongue and hollowness of her belly makes her think that the rhythmic throbbing in her skull is probably because she can't remember the last time she had a glass of water or a single bite of food.

She goes about the motions of getting together what she supposes is technically dinner, even though she forgot to proceed it with breakfast or lunch, and when she gets it all together—a hearty meal of half a banana, a slice of buttered toast, three ibuprofen, and a tall glass of ice water—she settles back down on the couch and assesses the other ache she'd awoken with.

The nightmare is formless in her memory, lacking a cohesive plotline now that she's in the waking world, but nevertheless, the emotions it stirred up inside her are visceral. There is a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, bottomless as the abyss. It's a type of fear that grips her from the inside, putting her adrenal gland into a chokehold and activating her fight or flight, except she can't fight her own mind anymore than she can flee it.

This is how she knows, even without the details, that her dream was about dying.

These types of dreams have been coming to her more frequently nowadays, starting the night Leonard Betts spoke five chilling words to her in the back of an ambulance. She's had friends who have been pregnant, and they would often tell her about the constant dreams they would have on the subject throughout the entire nine months. In a way, she figures, it's a similar concept; she and her friends all have had dreams about what their body is growing inside them—the notable difference of course being that they grew something into life, and she's growing something that takes it away.

Tomorrow she is going to have to start making phone calls. Make appointments and discuss treatment options and try not to get discouraged when the options are limited. When she first told Mulder about the cancer, he had been so insistent, saying, "There must be some people who receive treatment for this," and at the time she hadn't been able to bring herself to tell him that she wasn't sure she was going to be one of them. The odds were, and are, so heavily stacked against her, and as a medical doctor she is very aware that sometimes quality of life outweighs the quantity of it. Her experience in Allentown hasn't really endeared her toward the idea either, if she's being honest, and not because of Scanlon, or even because of Penny, but because she had not felt sick at all, up until she tried to treat the illness, and then suddenly she'd been in hell.

But while she may be uncomfortable with how much of herself she bared to him last night, she knows that she made promises that she can't take back. She is loyal to a fault, and she gave both him and herself her word that she would continue to live as long as she could, and so she will.

She's just not convinced much of her life in the upcoming days and weeks and months and maybe even years will feel much like living. In fact, she's pretty worried—down to the very depths of her subconscious, if her dreams are any indication—that she's going to feel like she's dying.

They say doctors make the worst patients. Sometimes that's because of stubbornness. Sometimes it's because they know exactly what to expect.

She finishes her meager meal and drinks down the last of her water. She slips an ice cube into her mouth and bites down on it, shattering it into pieces. The enamel of her teeth has always been sensitive to temperature, but instead of being off-put by the pain that spikes through to her jawbone when the ice touches her nerves, she revels in it. Her head, while somewhat improved, is still aching, and she finds herself appreciating that as well. She finds she is grateful for the signs her body is giving her to tell her it's still here, and maybe that's the trick. Maybe to get through this she has to go into it with a respect for the pain. This only hurts because I am alive, she'll have to train herself to think.

She can do that. She's certainly stubborn enough.

She wishes it didn't all have to be about pain, though. She doesn't want to forget that a body can feel good things too.

Ice crunches between her teeth, shocking her like a root canal, while she thinks about the signs of life that are enjoyable. Warmth. Comfort. Pleasure.

Pleasure.

On the TV, the news anchors are tying up their reports that are lacking things they don't even realize are missing. In her mouth her internal temperature warms the ice water, and the ebbing of the pain is a brief moment of gratification that acts as a sampling of what endorphins can do.

Tomorrow she is going to have to make plans to put herself in a varying, yet indefinite state of pain, and she will have to learn to appreciate it in order to remember how to be alive.

Tonight, however, she could remind herself in a different way.

It is a terrible idea.

It's an idea she has had a million times before and has stamped down just as often.

Ten minutes later and she's out her front door and getting into the driver's side of her car. Muscle memory guides her down the streets toward Alexandria, while she spends the whole drive telling herself to turn back.

She doesn't.

"Hey," Mulder says in surprise, eye widening slightly at the sight of her standing at his door. He's got on a white tank top and dark grey sweatpants, looking nothing like the federal agent he usually does. Instead of seeing a professional, albeit a tad bit crazy, government official, she sees her friend in the way that is much easier to ignore when he's wearing a suit and an ugly patterned tie. Like this, he exudes masculine energy, and her eyes are immediately drawn to the slopes and curves of his muscular shoulders and biceps. There is hair peeking out on his chest where the neckline of his shirt dips low. He hasn't shaved for at least a day, an even stubble shadowing his cheeks and jaw. She drops her gaze to the floor before he can catch her roaming eyes, and she sees his feet are bare. For some reason that's the most intimate part of it all, and the reality of what she's come here to do hits her like a freight train and she flushes with what must be a particularly spectacular shade of red.

In contrast, she's feeling a lot like she did this morning, like a soldier out of uniform. She's wearing the same pair of yoga pants, and under her coat she has on a faded souvenir t-shirt her parents gave her after an anniversary trip to the Outer Banks well over five years ago. It occurs to her only now that she'd left in such a rush that she hadn't even bothered with a bra, and she becomes instantly aware of the oversized shirt brushing directly against her breasts.

At least she wore boots with a heel this time, but in reality it's not doing much to level the playing field. Mulder's six-foot frame still dwarfs her completely, and while she normally feels like a peer in his presence—like a respected intellectual whose gender is totally irrelevant—tonight she is feeling a lot like she did the first time she entered a university science lecture and found herself surrounded almost entirely by men. The difference is that back then she had felt, ridiculously, embarrassed by her femininity, hyper-aware of every questioning stare, asking the same question: What is she doing here?

But like with most things, Mulder—simply by virtue of being Mulder—challenges her way of thinking. While she has long since stopped viewing her womanhood as a flaw, she is always viscerally aware when the people around her view it as one, and over time that has bred resentment. Standing here before him, though, she holds no animosity toward the difference in their sexes. Like the way her science complements his reckless belief, so too, in this moment, does her feminine ying balance his masculine yang.

She doesn't even worry about the freckles on her makeupless face.

"Scully?" He sounds concerned, and she realizes she's been standing here in silence after appearing at his apartment unannounced, and the last time they saw each other it had ended with her muttering a curt goodbye as she all but bolted from his car to escape the suffocation of her own self-imposed belief that emotional vulnerability was akin to disgrace.

But what Mulder isn't privy to yet is that the shame from this morning about being so transparent has been wholly replaced by the need of a dying woman to be reminded of the good parts of being alive. Scully is ready to be bare, by every definition, and she can only hope that he'll let her.

Refusing to give in to cowardice, she forces herself to look up from the floor to meet his eye.

"Can I come in?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course." He angles himself to place a hand on the small of her back, ushering her inside, and even through her coat and shirt the contact burns like the ice touching her enamel. She kicks off her boots, sinking back down to her natural five foot two—three, if the height gauge at the doctor's office chooses to be generous—and lets him take her coat and hang it up, before leading them both over to the couch. He plops down, leaving a purposeful vacancy beside him, and looks up at her expectantly, but she doesn't sit. Cocking his head, he asks, "Are you all right? Why are you here? If you needed something you know you could have called me and I would have come to you. I know you only went through one day of treatment, but I'm sure it had to have taken a toll on your—"

"I'm fine," she insists, cutting him off. She doesn't say it harshly, but she doesn't leave room for him to argue against it either, even though she can tell he desperately wants to. Instead, he chooses to heed her command, and presses his lips closed, waiting for her to tell him why she's standing here when earlier today they drove over three hours and she had barely said a word the entire time.

It's possible she didn't think this far ahead. More than that—it's possible she hasn't thought this through at all.

But she's committed now, and she's starting to feel feral, her needs centered around primitive instincts. It is in every species' nature to fight for survival at any cost, but she is burdened with a human's intellect that can allow her to deny herself continued survival if doing so also means prolonged suffering. If she is to keep her promise—if she is to fight for her life with treatments that make her feel sicker than the disease they're targeting—then she has to go into it with a memory that reminds her why it's worth it to stay alive.

She walks over to his desk and leans against it, mindlessly thumbing through documents strewn carelessly across the top. There are pieces from casefiles, and pages photocopied from obscure books on phenomena she'd never believe. There are scratch pieces of paper with notes scribbled on them, written in a shorthand that she's sure only makes sense to him. There are newspaper clippings and articles torn from tabloid magazines he would call source material, and she would call a scam. She doesn't read any of it, but she keeps her eyes trained on them as she considers her next steps.

Gaze pinned on a faded picture of some kind of creature that has clearly come off a printer that was running low on ink, she finally says, "I want to ask you for a favor, but I should warn you that it's a bit unorthodox."

"Unorthodox, huh? I dunno, Scully, I'm a pretty conventional guy, I'm not sure I can handle anything out of the ordinary."

A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. How does he do that? she wonders. How does he know how to calm her when he doesn't even know that she's feeling frantic in the first place?

That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you. That are you.

Those were words she had written only days before, placed inside a journal that was meant to be a confessional, but again, she should have known better. What use is there in inviting someone into your heart when they're already there?

She stops fiddling with the contents of his desk and looks over at him. He's regarding her with an expression of concern that on a different day she would construe as pity and detest, but right now she has the capacity to accept that he's looking at her like that, not because she's weak, but because he cares. Because he's worried. Because he wants her to live.

"Last night, when you said you read some of what I wrote... how much did you read exactly?"

Mulder rubs the nape of his neck and shrugs.

"A bit," he says, which she takes to mean "all of it." She can picture him, after confirming she was safe, sneaking into her hospital room and sitting on her bed, skimming each page, and then going back through a second time to take it in more fully. It should feel like an invasion of privacy, but instead her impulse is to huff a small laugh. She tries so hard to hide from him, and yet he finds her every time.

"So you know about the treatment. What it feels like." He nods slowly, like he's trying to piece together what she's getting at and hasn't quite formed a cohesive picture yet. She sighs.

"Tomorrow I'm going to set up a meeting with Skinner and take him up on his offer in getting into contact with an oncologist. We can still pursue the case—that is, if any new evidence presents itself to give us any new leads—but in the meantime, I need to figure out what treatment options are available to me. Time is of the essence in these sorts of situations."

Mulder nods again, still waiting for the clarifying piece of the puzzle.

"Mulder, without talking it over with a specialist, I can't know for certain what treatment route they're going to have me take, but with my medical background I can make an educated enough guess to safely say that, whatever it is, it's not going to be pleasant."

"Any help you need, Scully, you know I'm just a phone call away. And don't worry about work. If you have to take leave that's fine. What matters most is that you get yourself health—"

"I know. I know that, but that's not what I came here to talk to you about."

"... Okay." He gives a small shake of his head. "What then? What's the favor?"

Scully draws her lower lip between her teeth.

"I need your help," she says slowly, "in reminding myself that my body can do more than feel pain. That it's more than just a vessel to get me from one place to another... I need you to help me remember why it's worth saving."

"I don't..." he starts, but his sentence trails off as she makes her approach over to him with a purposeful gait. She goes to stand between his legs and he opens them wider to give her space like the action is automatic. He tilts his head back to look dumbly up at her, and the change in dynamic—her above and him below—makes her feel some type of way low in her belly.

She reaches out and cups his face, tracing the line of his cheekbone with her thumb, and she sees his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. She thinks the picture may be becoming clear to him now.

"Scully—"

"You can tell me to leave," she cuts him off. "You can say no and I won't hold it against you. We don't ever have to talk about it again. But if you're willing..."

Mulder gives a breathy, disbelieving laugh.

"Scully, trust me, it's not a matter of whether or not I'm willing, but look at what all you've been through in the past couple days. I don't think you're thinking rationally, and I don't want to take advantage—"

"Not thinking rationally? Me?" She smiles a little as she pulls her hand back, making a point to drag her fingers slowly across his skin on the way, and she doesn't think she imagines him leaning into her touch. "Mulder, I appreciate your concern, but why don't you let me decide what I do and don't want to do."

"Scully..."

"Do you trust me?"

He lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Of course I do."

She takes hold of both of his wrists, and when she tugs his arms out to settle his hands on her hips she's met with slight resistance, but she knows it's just for show. She's not weak, but he's got plenty of strength to get away from her if he really wanted to. Instead, the pads of his fingers press into her pelvic bone, even after she's dropped her hold on his wrists.

"Then trust me when I say this is what I need from you," she says. She smirks and adds, "I told you it was unorthodox."

"You weren't kidding," he mutters, and fuck, his eyes are boring into hers so intensely she nearly shudders.

Sweatpants are not exactly ideal when it comes to maintaining modesty in sensitive situations, and Scully's effect on him does not go unnoticed. Her eyes dart down to the significant bulge between his thighs, and then back up to his face where he gives a bashful half-grin accompanied with a one-shouldered shrug, as if to say "can you blame me?"

"I won't hold it against you," she tells him again, "but I do want this."

"Fuck," Mulder breathes. He shuts his eyes for a beat, like he's trying to compose himself, and then blinks them back open, embers of an impending fire starting to glow behind his dilating pupils. "This is a bad idea," he tells her, stating it more like a fact than as a deterrent.

"Maybe," she agrees.

"We have to work together tomorrow. And the day after that. And after that one, too. You don't think this will... change things?"

"Not if we don't let it."

"You really think it's that simple?"

She considers the question. Considers whether or not she can learn what it's like to have him explore her body tonight, and then pretend like she didn't come morning.

"We're two consenting adults," she says, evading the question. "Has the thought of doing this really never crossed your mind?"

"That... That feels like a leading question."

"Would it make you feel better if I said that it has definitely crossed mine?"

"Jesus, Scully," he breathes, shifting in his seat and clutching her hips so tight that she won't be surprised if later she finds finger-shaped bruises on her skin, reminiscent of dusted prints at a crime scene.

"It's just sex, Mulder," but even as she says it, she knows it's a lie.

He knows it too, judging by the muscle twitching in his clenched jaw as he holds her eyes with a steady look.

"Is it?" he asks evenly, and they both know the answer is no.

No. Of course not. Sex could never be "just" anything between them, but the reason why is a topic they've come to an unspoken agreement to never acknowledge aloud. But Scully isn't stupid. She knows that the way electricity behaves between them—constantly thrumming and sparking, in tense situations as well as banal—isn't normal. Four years ago she dropped her robe in front of him in a candle lit hotel room, and she hasn't stopped feeling his gaze on her lower back since; the tender way his eyes roved over her delusive mosquito bites is as permanent a tattoo as the blood red ouroboros that has only recently lost its scabs.

The term "something more" is a vague and fanciful concept she would sooner dismiss as nothing but a perpetuation of commercialized romance, if she herself wasn't subjected to it on a near daily basis. Since day number one there has been an elusive "something more" surrounding them, fighting for their attention, even as they so ardently deny its existence.

So no, it isn't just sex, but Scully also didn't come here to give voice to the elephant that follows them from room to room. To put it plainly, she came here so he could fuck the will to live back into her body, and she refuses to lose sight of her mission.

So in lieu of a response—because she can't animate any elephants, but neither can she lie to a man who treats truth like the core tenet to his religion—she instead throws caution to the wind, swoops in, and kisses him.

Ice touches enamel. She wants it to burn.

Whatever reservations or protests he may have been fighting against must not be too hard to cast aside, because his response to her is instant, tilting his head to slot their lips together and kissing back so forcefully their teeth clack together. But even that doesn't, or maybe can't slow them down.

Mulder's hands move from her hips to her ass, and in a single swift movement he lifts her onto his lap. He swallows her surprised gasp as she straddles his thighs, his hard cock brushing her center, the layers of their clothing teasing her relentlessly when right now she needs skin-on-skin more than she needs air.

Mulder seems to be of the same mind, because one second she's sitting astride him fully clothed, and in the next he has somehow stripped her of her shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. Returning the favor, she peels his off too, feeling like a kid at Christmas unwrapping the box she knows contains the best present under the tree.

Scully tries to recapture his lips, but he stills her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. He then leans back to get a good, long look at her.

"God, Scully," he whispers reverently, eyes trained on her chest. He reaches out to touch her, and when he does her breasts fit perfectly in his hands. Tentatively, and with such profound focus you'd think he was attempting to split an atom, he pinches her left nipple and rolls it experimentally between his index finger and thumb. It's such a simple touch, but it goes straight to her leaking cunt, and when she moans Mulder's attention darts back up to her face, the embers behind his eyes now a full-fledged forest fire, blazing a warpath through the trees. He makes it a point not to break her gaze when he leans in and takes the same nipple into his mouth.

"Mmm," she hums, letting her head loll back. He sucks the nub of her nipple taut, and involuntarily she bucks her hips in response.

Mulder mumbles something incoherent against her breast, and when she asks for clarification, he pulls away with an obscene pop and then nuzzles his face in the crook of her neck, saying, "You're everything."

Everything. Like he ran through the full gamut of adjectives and found himself wanting. Like she is so many things at once that there isn't a single word that encompasses the breadth of her worth to him.

You're everything.

It's the most overwhelming compliment she has ever received, because she wants, more than anything, to live up to it, and yet she's not even sure if she is going to be able to simply live, period. She's not sure when her greatest fear became failing him. It might have been the first time he ever challenged her. When she stood in front of his projector, veiled by the illuminated slides he'd already prepared for her arrival, as he quizzed her on chemistry, and causes of death, and the supposed limits of science in a vast and complex universe. She had wanted to prove herself to him then, and then just never stopped.

The truth of his influence over her is too much to handle right now, so she decides to kiss him again—an act that is quickly becoming her new favorite strategy for deflection—and then buries her fingers in his hair. She oscillates her hips in slow circles, taunting them both with light but consistent pressure on his cock. She feels him twitch in anticipation for her, and her pulse throbs in her cunt in turn.

"I want you," she whispers against his lips, but he shakes his head.

"No," he murmurs. "No, not yet."

Before she can ask him for clarification, he's lifting her up with a firm grip on the backs of her thighs, and then proceeds to lay her down lengthwise on the couch.

There's a manic energy wafting off of him in waves, and yet, in total contrast, the way he slides her leggings and panties down and off her legs is so purposeful and leisurely that she has the absurd thought that nobody has ever undressed her with such respect before.

When he kisses her soundly on the mouth and then begins making a trek down her body with his lips and tongue and an occasional nip of his teeth, she feels—for the first time since she stepped foot inside his apartment with this ludacris idea—a pang of apprehension.

For the most part, she isn't a self-conscious person. Once she got past the awkwardness of adolescence, she's had a fairly healthy relationship with her self-image. But that said, Mulder's intended destination is obvious, and she's had enough sexual partners turn their nose up at the suggestion that for a moment she worries he's only doing it because he thinks she expects it of him.

But then he settles himself in between her thighs and peers up at her with a hunger better fit for a man so far into starvation he's about to succumb to it, and she realizes then that while he may be able to read all the words on her every page, it is not a one-sided transparency. If ever there were to be a scholar on the topic of Fox William Mulder, she would be the one.

The apprehension, already fleeting in the first place, dissipates entirely, and she lets her legs fall open in invitation.

There is no hesitancy in his acceptance. He uses two fingers to part her labia, and then starts off by dragging the flat of his tongue from her soaking entrance up to her swollen clit in one long stroke, and that alone has her crying out, unconcerned about how she sounds or how thin the walls might be.

Never a man to miss important details, it's unsurprising the speed at which he masters the intricacies of her body. She knows he's paying attention to every miniscule shift in her body language by the way he adjusts the pressure and speed and direction of his mouth and tongue. When he slips one finger inside her, quickly following it up with a second, and pulses a come hither motion as he sucks on her aching clit she wants to sob. He eats cunt with the devotion of a holy man, and he makes her feel deserving of being worshipped.

This is why it's worth it to live. Because for every twinge and ache and pain her body is capable of, it is equally capable of so much good feeling that it could constitute a religious experience. That while there are always going to be moments of suffering, there are also going to be moments of pleasure, and to truly live you have to accept the full spectrum of what it means to possess a human body.

When the coiling heat in her cunt finally boils over, and she arches her back and cries out Mulder's name while a rapturous climax works through her, suspending time and space, she thinks to herself, over and over like a mantra—like a promise: This is what I'm fighting for. This is what I'm fighting for. This. Is what. I am fighting for.

When she comes back to herself enough to spring into action, she is barely conscious of her own movements, acting more on primal instinct as she yanks Mulder up and kisses him sloppily, licking into his mouth and tasting herself on his tongue as she manages to flip them so that he's lying on his back, panting up at her with blown pupils and parted lips.

She gets his sweatpants and boxers pulled down past his knees, and he kicks them the rest of the way off. He curses when she takes hold of him and guides him to her entrance, unable to wait to be filled by him any longer.

He's so big, and even with the slickness from her orgasm she has to take him in slowly, letting her cunt adjust to the stretch of him.

"There's so much of you," she groans, rocking her hips, slipping him in further inch by inch. He's holding onto her hips again, gripping her like she's a life preserver as he clenches his jaw, clearly trying his utmost not to thrust into her before she's ready for it.

"You feel... Jesus, Scully, there aren't words to describe how you feel," he says, strained between gritted teeth, and she's so thankful for him. For his patience. For his attention. For the "something more" between them that she doesn't dare give a name to, even in the privacy of her own mind.

When she finally takes him to the hilt, it feels like an accomplishment. Skewered between her legs on his massive cock, she has the same sense of satisfaction she gets when she pins him into a corner during a debate. Already he has infiltrated almost every aspect of her life, and now he's inside her body as well, and she understands what he meant before, because it's everything. He's everything.

She tells him so, and that's more than he can handle. After the words spill from her lips, he thrusts up into her, making her shout, but on the next thrust she meets him in a counter-rhythm, driving him impossibly deeper inside her. The apartment is full of the sounds and smells of sex as she begins to ride him in earnest. She plays with her own tits, and he watches her, rapt with attention, and when his breathing starts to hollow, he puts a hand between her legs and lets her rub her clit against him.

"Yes," she moans, riding him harder, shocked that he has her teetering on the edge again so soon. "God, yes. Mulder, I—I'm going to—"

She completes her sentence nonverbally, falling over the edge once more, and this time Mulder follows her. He's chanting nonsense syllables that are probably supposed to be her name, as she clenches around him and milks his cock dry, letting him fill her fully and completely. She wants to feel his spend leaking out of her later. She wants to feel bruised when she walks. She wants to remember every last second of tonight—even if they never speak of it again—because she is going to need the memories in order to face what's waiting for her come tomorrow.

When they've both returned to Earth, they stay joined together in silence for just a little longer, searching each other's faces, possibly for signs of regret, or maybe just for the sake of looking. He pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear and she lets her eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch. Between her legs he's starting to soften. Her unorthodox favor has been fulfilled, and reality is hurtling back to them at speed.

"Thank you," she says, not opening her eyes.

He doesn't respond for a few beats, and then he says, "It's worth it, Scully. Remember it's worth it."

She nods.

It's so easy, she thinks, to be aware of her own mortality. To remember that she will die.

She vows now that, in the face of every upcoming obstacle, she will remind herself, often, that she can also live.

#poangpresents2024 #msr #msr fic #txf #txf fic #the x-files #diz writes conspiracies

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jrrtrek · 16 hours ago

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say something true

Fandom: The X-Files Rating: Teen & Up | No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M | Words: 2 131 | Chapters: 1/1 Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully, Fox Mulder & Dana Scully

Summary:

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Mulder gets stung by a mutant perp's poisonous stinger, but thankfully Scully is there to look after him. Also, she's really pretty.

Tags: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Poisoning, Intoxication, Drugged Mulder, Hand Holding, Hospitals, Flirting, Diners, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, POV Fox Mulder, Pre-Relationship

Here is my @poangpals Secret Santa gift for @muldersmeat! Opening snippet under the cut, head to ao3 for the rest 🥰

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Well, maybe not a good idea, but the thing to do nonetheless. The perp, Oskar Danielsen, needed to be stopped, and no one else was around, and even if they had been, only Mulder truly understood the danger Danielsen posed — so really, he had no choice but to go after him.

But now, as he stumbled into an alarmed-looking Scully, feeling whatever poison had disoriented all Danielsen's victims pulsing through his own veins, he was at least beginning to wonder if it had been a mistake.

"What the hell did he do to you?"

"'M fine," said Mulder, trying and failing not to slur his words. "I gotta — 'm okay, Scully, lemme — he's getting away!"

"Mulder," Scully said sternly, not loosening her grip on his arms one bit, "you're in no state to go chasing after anyone right now. The local PD have his description, they know he's dangerous. Right now, you need to sit down."

Something in her tone made him listen, and he was glad to find that she'd already steered him to a chair. He dropped heavily onto it. Scully shouted something out through the door about needing an ambulance, then she was squatting down in front of Mulder and taking his hand between her own. "Can you look at me?"

He did so. She peered into each of his eyes while taking his pulse; he was quite happy to stare back into hers. It helped distract him from the way the rest of the world seemed to be swirling around him.

A voice from the doorway called, "The ambulance is on its way."

"Good," said Scully. "You hear that, Mulder?"

"Yeah."

"You're gonna be just fine. How are you feeling?"

"Spinny," he said, waving around the pointer finger of his free hand — Scully was still holding the other — to illustrate his point. "Li'l bit sick maybe. Is the — is the floor moving?"

"No, the floor is not moving," she said, firm but gentle. "Do you know what happened in there?"

#the x files #poangpresents2024 #poangpals #txf #txf fanfic #txf fic #x files fanfic #msr #msr fanfic #mulder and scully #fox mulder #dana scully #xfiles #agent mulder #agent scully #mulder x scully #x files #my fic

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actual-changeling · 8 months ago

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He cannot say "I love you," but he remembers every single one of her coffee orders and when she prefers which one. He knows when to bring her breakfast in the morning and always makes sure the coffee is still hot when he gives it to her. He knows she wouldn't buy two blueberry muffins for herself, but she will eat them both if it's him offering them to her.

He cannot say "I love you," but he lets her sleep in the car even when they're on a stakeout. He covers her with his coat and takes care to stay quiet. Whenever he dares to, he will tuck any stray strands of hair behind her ear and brush his knuckles over her cheekbone just because.

He cannot say "I love you," but he takes her hands when they're cold and clings to every word spilling from her lips. He keeps her favourite ice cream in his freezer and turns up the heating—even if it means he's too warm—as long as she is comfortable.

He doesn't say "I love you," yet there are pads and tampons in his bathroom, his desk drawer, in his suitcase, and he never runs out of ibuprofen. He has a hair brush in their office and hair ties that keep showing up everywhere, including rental cars and motel rooms. Even though her hair is rarely long enough, Mulder still knows how to braid.

He doesn't say "I love you," and he keeps quiet when she steals one of his shirts and never returns it. Conditioner and flower-scented body wash mysteriously appeared in his shower after she stayed over one late night and complained about his 4-in-one shower product. He buys a heating pad and knows that red wine gives her headaches, so he only ever orders white for her. There is a nail file in his coat pocket and a pair of fuzzy socks at the bottom of his suitcase.

Mulder never tells her, "I love you," but he holds open doors and guides her down hallways with his hand on her lower back. He knows the feeling of her face against his palms and the weight of her in his arms; he knows when to take her hand on a flight and never complains, no matter how hard she squeezes. He never listens to anyone, but he listens to her. He trusts no one—not even himself—but he trusts her.

Mulder never says, "I love you," but Scully knows and always has.

She never asks him to say it. Instead, she takes his hand and smiles, she presses a kiss to his forehead and fits herself against his chest.

It's a truth they do not need to look for, it's everywhere and nowhere, and she takes the coffee he offers her with a thank you, getting a you're welcome in return.

They both know it's not about the coffee.

#alex writes x files #txf #the x files #x files #dana scully #fox mulder #scully x mulder #mulder x scully #msr #msr fic #txf fic #something something love is in the details

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deathsbestgirl · 9 months ago

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and here's a fic about it !!!!

#mulder and scully #the x files #txf fic #msr fic #fic recs #coppersunlight

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pookie-mulder · 9 months ago

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My Holy Grail Fics

After the past several months of reading TXF fic, here are some of my ultimate faves so far! I’d love to know what your holy grail fics are, as well. This fandom is full of incredibly talented writers!

(Also, if have any recommendations of fics you think I’d like, send them my way!)

The Boy on the Beach by @cecilysass

I read this entire thing yesterday. Ooh boy was it a page-turner! Time travel in fiction can get dicey, but this one handles it so well. I love how the time travel plot forced M&S to confront themselves and their pasts in order to better understand each other and move forward in their relationship.

Gaslight by @sisterspooky1013

This one should come as no surprise to you. It’s rare that a fic consumes my every waking thought and I spend every free second reading as much as possible, and boy, this fic delivered. I’m such a sucker for stories like this one where the character(s) don’t know if they can trust their own minds and have to really dig deep inside themselves to find the truth.

Pause by @cecilysass

Similar concept to Gaslight as far as the amnesia goes, but totally different vibes! I love the dramatic irony of the reader putting together the pieces before Scully does. It’s agonizing in the best way!

Fall Into Place series by @skelavender

My favorite WIP fic! I look forward to reading the newest installment every Friday. I adore the slowburn, UST, teetering-on-the-edge-of-something-more MSR, and LT is the master of it! This series is filled with heart-squeezy moments that make me feel like I’m melting into a puddle of goo.

X-File #02291996 by @skelavender and @7crowsinadress

Time loop my beloved! Such an interesting (and 🔥🔥🔥) take on this trope. I can’t wait to see where it goes!

Arizona Highways by Fialka

I’m always down for an Emily AU, and this one has such a compelling, angsty twist and an air of mystery that forced me to keep reading late into the night!

Tempest by MissyPennington

I love a good survival story! There’s something so delicious about two people leaning on each other both physically and emotionally to keep going. The follow-ups are incredible, too!

All That Is Dark and Bright by @malibusunset-xf-blog

Amazing Emily AU! Dad!Mulder is my weakness. Plus, I love the way they figured out how to treat her illness. It really felt like something that would happen in canon.

I’ve Got You Under My Skin by cuits

Beautiful soulmate AU! Only M&S could have literal, undeniable proof they’re soulmates and still overthink their relationship to a ridiculous level. And I ate it up! Give me the angst! The drama! The tension!

Emily AU by skuls

Last Emily AU, I swear! This series melts your heart in the first installment, crushes it to pieces in the second one, and then makes everything better in the finale.

Update 7/16/24

Here’s some more!

Blinded by White Light by @dashakay

Omens by lepusarticus

Heuvelmans’ On the Track by The_Mythopoedic

Finding Rokovoko by prufrockslove

Belphegor’s Prime by prufrockslove

#thanks to LT for recommending like half of these and converting me into a longfic enjoyer #txf #the x files #fanfiction #txf fic #msr #dana scully #fox mulder #holy grail #mine

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thursdayinspace · 2 months ago

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WIP: on the run

This is a thing that spiraled out of control from a tiny headcanon. I'm not sure this will ever become an actual fic, but I thought I'd share this angsty little snippet, because it can stand on its own. They're on the run after season 9, and Mulder feels guilty, so things happen.

tagging @today-in-fic

It happens only once after they go on the run. Only once, after days on the road, too many days of never-ending worry and fear. Endless days of constantly looking over their shoulders, endless nights with little to no sleep, expecting to be caught any second. It happens once and only once, and Scully knew it was coming. Still, it hits her hard when it does.

It’s a Tuesday, maybe a Wednesday morning; days of the week have lost all meaning, blending together in strips of highway and cheap motels. She wakes up in some damp, moldy room in the middle of nowhere and the bed next to her is cold. For a second, her brain refuses to make sense of it; she sits up, blinking against the light, listening. No sounds from the bathroom, no water running. His bag is missing, no longer on the chair in the corner where he left it. The shock pierces her heart cold as ice: he's gone. Her frantic eyes fall on a note on the bedside table, his familiar handwriting in blue ballpoint pen on yellowed motel stationery:

I'm sorry. I can't do this to you. You deserve so much better, Scully. Please don't be mad at me, you know I'm right about this. I love you.

They checked in late last night and went straight to bed. She doesn't have anything to pack. In her rush to put yesterday's clothes back on, she gets caught in her sweater, can't find the armhole, can't get it over her head, and she loses precious seconds; god knows where he is by now. She leaves in such a hurry she forgets her toothbrush in the bathroom.

He left the car. Of course he did. The keys are in her bag where she put them, having driven the last few miles of their journey last night. That stupid man, if he tried to hitchhike and risked being recognized—she doesn't want to think about it, she needs a level head right now. She knows him better than anyone. Where could he have gone? He doesn't want to be found, not by the cops, and now not by her. Her chest aches and she can’t breathe. She doesn't even know how long he's been gone, and she curses her ability to sleep through absolutely everything. But she knows him. She knows him. If anyone can find him, it's her.

At least this she knows, this is something she can do. So much is out of her control. But she’s fought monsters. She’s solved puzzles nobody else wanted to touch. She can figure this out. And she knows where to start. She knows Mulder.

The late afternoon sun casts his shadow long over the soft grass at his feet, and she slams the car door harder than necessary, ready to cry with anger or relief or whatever the hell it is she's feeling. "Mulder."

"Hey, Scully," he says, sounding guilty, resigned, his face unhappy and tired as he meets her eyes.

"What the hell—" She breaks off, barely able to speak through the pounding of her heart. "Mulder, what were you thinking...?"

"I'm sorry," he says. He looks so utterly defeated. "How did you find me?"

She shakes her head, deciding not to get into the shit job he did of concealing his steps; it's almost like he left an intentional trail of breadcrumbs for her to follow, but this is not the time for that discussion. "I cannot believe you. After everything? You try to pull a stunt like this after everything we've been through?"

"It's my fault," he says. "It's all my fault. You're cut off from everyone you love. You have no future. You have no son. Because of me."

"You're such a fucking idiot," she spits at him. He doesn't move, doesn't reply, only lowers his eyes in shame. "Mulder," she tells him. "Look at me."

He doesn't, just lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "Go home, Scully."

"Just stop it," she says. "You know I'm not going to do that. So can we just not do this? Please? Can we please not fight about this?”

“I don’t want to fight with you.” His voice is barely more than a whisper. “I want you to be safe.”

“Yeah, well.” She takes a few steps closer, sighing. “We can’t always get everything we want.”

“Scully.” His hand reaches for her and she reaches back, she always does, she always will. “This isn’t fair to you.”

“Leaving without a word isn’t fair,” she says. There’s more she wants to say. Promises she wants to hear but can’t ask for; promises she wants to make that she can’t put into words. Not yet. Instead, she wraps her arms around him and holds on, closes her eyes when he finally lifts his arms to squeeze her tight and bury his face in her hair.

“What are we going to do?” he asks.

He’s warm against her, warm and solid and there. “I don’t know,” she says.

She can’t keep this anger inside, and he can’t shoulder this guilt on his own. But she’s too exhausted to fight. Too drained to do anything more than stand here with him. Capitulation and relief are written into every breath against her neck, into the way he wraps himself around her. He doesn’t have the strength to let go. Months ago she’s held him like this once before, and she understands how it tears him apart—she’d felt it too, then: loving him so much she’d needed him to leave, needing him so much she’d wanted him to stay.

“What can I do?” he asks, and she fills in the blanks: What can I do to make this right? What can I do to prove I’m sorry? What can I do to make it so that all this never happened?

And she wants to tell him: please see me, please understand that I need you. “Talk to me,” she says, aware of her hypocrisy; her own words are safely locked away where he will never hear them. He left because he loves her. She found him for the same reason.

“I’ll try,” he says.

She knows he wants her anger and she wishes she could give it to him, but she has no fight left in her and neither does he. If she hopes for it hard enough, maybe they’ll be okay. After all, she knows he’s hoping for the same thing.

#txf #the x files #msr #mulder and scully #fic #txf fic

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unremarkablehouse · 1 month ago

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Scully’s Hot Date

CH1 | Mature | S6 | WC 1639 | AO3

Summary: Mulder happens to run into Scully on her way to a blind date. Inspired by this photo of Gillian.

Tagging: @today-in-fic The FBI parking garage was desolate as Mulder slowly made his way to his car. Friday night before a public holiday, it seemed like everyone one had places they’d rather be. The squeak of tires and flash of light as a car pulled into a space was truly startling, more so the fact that he recognized that car within a fraction of a second from his periphery. It was her, Dana Scully, returning to work after 7pm on a Friday night. A large part of him hoped it was to see him, but as she parked her car near his, he knew logically it didn’t quite add up. Lounging on the trunk of his car, Mulder watched Scully get out of her car, her body stiffening momentarily before making her way towards his direction with a renewed confidence as she clocked the awe struck look on his face. Mulder didn’t mean to ogle but he had never seen her dressed quite like this before. Her hair pinned up displaying her neck, a dress that was soft and showed her curves, and her breasts. Good lord, her tits were out and Mulder’s brain had ceased to function. He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring at her, but Scully’s laugh and the click of her fingers brought him back to earth. She was now standing in front of him, an amused smirk on her face at his reaction.

“Hi, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here tonight,” Scully said with an edge of awkwardness in her voice unconsciously licking her lips in that way that drove Mulder insane.

“You look very… non-FBI tonight,” Mulder replied, unsure of the exact right words to use to describe how incredible his Partner looked.

“Thanks, I think. I have a date,” Scully bristled as she started to make her way to the parking lot stair case.

Mulder caught up with her in a few easy strides.

“Hold up, who is the guy? He doesn’t work here right?”

There was nothing remotely casual about the tone of Mulder’s voice, the jealous quality was begrudgingly sweet so Scully took pity on him and stopped to talk as they entered the stairwell.

“It’s a blind date a friend set me up on, I haven’t met him before so I organized to meet in front of the Hoover building so we can get a drink nearby.”

“Do you need a chaperone,” Mulder asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, standing close to Scully, her back almost pressing against the concrete wall.

“I think I’ll be ok,” Scully said with a laugh, placing her hand on his chest to push him back, but instead slowly rubbing large circles across his pecks. Her heart raced when her palm made contact with one of his erect nipples, but she didn’t remove her hand.

“You look really beautiful tonight Dana,” Mulder said his eyes staring so intensely into hers it was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

With an anguished sigh, Mulder dropped his head down, awkwardly resting it on Scully’s shoulder like a child needing comfort. Instinctively, her hand found its way into his hair, rubbing over the nape of his neck and back again.

“What times your date,” he whispered, doing nothing to hide the melancholy from his voice.

“Not for another half hour, I’m early.”

“Hmm,” Mulder said with a sad acknowledgement, nuzzling his nose into her neck in a way that made Scully catch her breath. Instinctively, she found herself kissing his temple and inhaling his smell. The warmth of their bodies and their proximity to one another was intoxicating. Mulder pressed both hands onto her hips to anchor her in place as he gently kissed a spot under her ear and whispered “I wish it was me.”

Mulder pushed away from her, ready to go back to his empty apartment, while Scully went on a date with a man who wasn’t him. Feeling a tug on his arm, Mulder turned as Scully grabbed onto his hand.

“If you want it to be you, then ask me out Mulder,” her voice was breathy but challenging as she stared him down.

Mulder’s puppy dog eyes seemed to penetrate her soul, filled with angst and a vulnerability which Scully was helpless to resist.

“Dana Katherine Scully, will you go on a date with me?”

Scully made a show at umming and ahhing, while Mulder dramatically contorted his face in agony.

“Okay,” Scully finally replied with a large grin, eliciting a delighted laugh from them both as Mulder excitedly bent down to kiss her.

It was meant to be a quick celebratory peck in the heat of the moment, but Scully’s arms wrapped around Mulder’s neck and before they knew it he had lifted her up and pressed their bodies against the wall. Scully hungrily kissed Mulder, pulling his head closer to hers, unable to get enough. Mulder’s hands wondered ever so slightly up her thigh and back down to her perfect ass, unable to explore more territory as he held her up to his hip height.

Her legs wrapped around him, pulling Mulder closer and grinding her hips against him hard. And with that, the flood gates were open. All the years of restraint and denial crumbled as they finally admitted the physical need between them. Decency and self awareness had long left the building as Scully’s hand reached for Mulder’s rock hard cock. Stroking it over his pants she moaned and ached to feel him inside her. Mulder enthusiastically nuzzled and kissed at her breasts while Scully attempted to undo his fly. In a surreal out of body experience Scully realized she was about to fuck Mulder for the first time in an FBI stairwell, minutes before she was meant to be going on a date with another man. However, she could not bring herself to care about the impropriety of the situation, conversely it actually made her ridiculously aroused at how primal and insane the whole situation was. Any concern or hesitation she might have had on the subject vanished completely when Mulder found her left nipple and bit down on it in a way that lead to a gasp and a flood of arousal. Moving their heads back up to kiss once more, Mulder’s hand managed to free his cock and slide it against Scully’s wet cunt as he deftly moved her panties to the side.

Mulder stroked himself against Scully’s slit, bumping the head of his cock over her clit as she moaned in approval. Scully squeezed her thighs hard against Mulder’s waist, impatient for more of him. “Mulder, now,” she panted in desperation.

The relative size of his cock and the angle of their bodies, forced him to enter her at an excruciatingly slow rate. Scully felt the stretch as it struggled to accommodate his girth, and her mouth watered at the thought of riding him until she was spent and sore. With a grunt and a thrust Mulder was completely sheathed inside her and Scully felt her pussy flutter and tingle at just the feel of him inside her.

Without much leverage, Mulder rolled his hips in circles, adding a pulsating motion to fuck her without ever leaving Scully’s body. The movement felt delicious, and the feel of Mulder’s stubble against her neck as he moaned “Oh, God Scully” was enough to tip her over the edge. Scully’s back awkwardly arched against the wall, her moan and cries of ecstasy leaving no doubt as to what she was experiencing.

Mulder was in awe as he felt her convulse around his cock, moisture gathering between them, and the unmistakable quivers driving him wild.

Mulder wasn’t anywhere near ready to cum himself, but he felt a sense of satiation by proxy as he continued to rock into her body, gently bringing her back from the edge.

The loud trill of a cell phone brought them both back to reality and Mulder quickly removed himself from Scully and straightened up, their hearts pounding at prospect of getting caught. The ring continued and Scully realized it was coming from her purse, the neurons once again firing in her brain, battling adrenaline and her post orgasmic haze.

Answering the phone with a professional, “Dana Scully,” her voice did not betray any of the lewd activities that had just taken place, and Mulder marveled at her ability to compartmentalize so quickly.

“Hi Derek, I can’t really hear you I’m in the parking structure. I’ll see you outside in 10.”

As Scully hung up the phone and was greeted by Mulder’s heart sick face.

“You’re still going to go out with him?”

“Well I can’t cancel this late, it would be rude.”

Mulder gave a snort of derision as he straightened his pants and licking his lips to remove some of Scully’s lipstick that had made its way onto his lips. He was pouting, and while Scully would normally find it infuriating, he looked adorable all ruffled with feint traces of lipstick still on him.

“Mulder, would you like to join with us? We’re just getting drinks around the corner.”

“Really?” Mulder asked, excited as a kid on Christmas.

“Of course, let me just straighten up in the bathroom first and we can go.”

They quickly walked down the stairwell to the lobby exit, but Mulder pulled Scully back before she could open the door.

Looking up at him with a questioning stare, Mulder bashfully smiled at her.

“I need a hug before we face the outside world,” Mulder admitted with a vulnerability that melted Scully.

Without hesitation Scully tightly wrapped her arms around Mulder, her body melding perfectly into his.

With a quick kiss to her head Mulder broke the hug, “come on, let’s make ourselves look presentable, we have a date.”

#Inspired by the Poang pals general filth #Poang pals #msr #msr fic #fox mulder #the x files #dana scully #txf fic #xf fanfic #x files #txf

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edierone · 3 months ago

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drabble: Exit Charlie

In the stunned silence, Maggie wills this rancorous Thanksgiving table conversation un-said. Her younger boy — the sweetest, the handsomest, the kindest — having directed his words at his stern, aghast father, is looking at her. She hates her trembling, beseeching voice: “Oh, Charlie — you don’t mean it!” Because he does mean it — deep down she already knew, and he was counting on her. She’s failed him; in her moment of anguished disbelief she’s lost him. His sisters flank him loyally; the set of Dana’s jaw and the contempt in Melissa’s eyes tell her she’s lost a part of them forever, too.

(find this and more at my ao3; tagging @today-in-fic)

#actual drabble #txf fic #welp.#do we or do we not all hc this for charlie

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enoughslices · 3 months ago

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HEMNES Where the Heart Is

Rating: E Author: thefinestmuffins (on AO3) / enoughslices (on tumblr) Word Count: 3.8k Main Tags: Fluff, Crack, Humor, IKEAverse, Furniture Sex, Fanfiction about Fanfiction Inspired By: home furnishings by @thursdayinspace and POÄNG

Summary: After some time writing sex-focused IKEA furniture reviews, Mulder discovers that he and Scully have fans. 👀

Read it on AO3!

Tagging: @today-in-fic

#txf fanfic #txf fic #x files fic #x files fanfic #msr fic #msr fluff

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thatfragilecapricorn30 · 3 months ago

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dad

msr, post-deadalive canon divergence | 1.6k words | ao3 tagging @today-in-fic

When Mulder woke from the dead, the first thing he saw was Scully’s face, and the relief he felt seeing her was immense. Mulder was not only happy that she was alive and well but that she was by his side during this confusing and traumatic time. Since the beginning of their partnership, Scully had always been a calming and grounding presence, and Mulder needed that now more than ever, as he was having trouble coming to terms with what had happened to him. He didn’t have much memory beyond his abduction, but the images that did flash through his brain were not pleasant. He could only imagine what kind of counseling he was going to need to process everything, but for now, having Scully nearby was enough to get him through the short-term.

The second thing he saw was Scully’s belly. Initially, he didn’t know if he was dreaming or woozy from the drugs, but the more alert Mulder became, the more he realized that she was actually pregnant. Based on her size, at least seven to eight months had passed. If not more, because Mulder had no idea when Scully conceived or even how. Was it natural and if so, who was the father? Was it him? Or did she meet someone else while he was gone? Did she try IVF again, this time with an anonymous sperm donor? The questions made his brain – and his heart – hurt.

Luckily, they had always been good at reading each other's body language, and Scully immediately addressed the issue when she saw his eyes rove uneasily over her belly.

“It’s yours,” she said, smiling through tears that suddenly welled in her eyes. “I was pregnant when we were in Oregon. That’s why I felt sick.”

“Oh,” was all he could say. So he was the father, but what did that mean? Was he supposed to be a parent after all this? Would Scully even want him involved? He wasn’t sure if he would have been a good father before the abduction but now, he was even more fucked up. His mind whirred with more unanswered questions, and he started to feel anxious.

Scully must have noticed his overwhelm, because she leaned in close to say, “I know it’s a lot. But you don’t have to worry about anything else aside from getting better, okay?”

He nodded, his heart rate slowing when Scully carded her fingers through his hair. They would figure it all out later.

Over the next few days, Mulder slowly felt his strength return. Scully stayed by his side almost the entire time, observing the doctors and nurses, reviewing his charts, and talking about what had happened during the eight months he was missing and then dead. She stuck to work topics: her new partner at the FBI and the cases they investigated. He couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable she was sitting in a plastic chair all day, but she never gave a hint of discomfort. Mulder did force her to leave at night so she could sleep in a real bed and so that he could have some time to think, which was mostly about Scully carrying his baby and what that would mean for his life. The more he considered it, the more he realized that he wanted to be a dad and be a part of the baby's life. It wasn't like he had never contemplated this issue before. When he had agreed to donate sperm for Scully's IVF, he was ready to take on the responsibility of a child. Even though that seemed like lifetimes ago, Mulder would never abandon Scully and their baby. He was even looking forward to having a purpose in life that wasn't searching for his sister or extraterrestrial life. But he also wanted to make sure Scully was on the same page.

On the third day of recovery, he finally got the nerve to ask her.

“Scully? Can we talk about the baby?”

Scully looked up from the medical journal she was reading and then put it aside so she could move her chair closer to Mulder’s bed.

She immediately starting talking, “Mulder, before you say anything, I just want you to know that I’m fully aware an eight-month pregnancy is a lot to wake up to, especially in your condition. So, I understand if you need time to think or consider. With everything that’s going on, there’s no pressure from me at all. I’m just so happy you’re here.”

She seemed like she was going to keep going, so Mulder interrupted, “I want to.”

Scully looked surprised. “You want to?”

“I want to be involved. If you'll have me,” he added.

Scully’s pursed lips turned into a real smile. If he could still manage to make her happy, then everything really was going to be alright.

“Okay, great,” she whispered, looking like she was going to cry again.

“Do you have a picture or a, a –“ he couldn’t remember the word but Scully filled it in for him.

“An ultrasound? Yes, I do.” She pulled a folded photo from her purse and handed it to him.

It was a black and white scan and while he secretly thought it looked like a blob, that was his child. He stared at it for a while, tracing the baby with one finger. The ultrasound was well-worn, like it had been in Scully’s purse for a while.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” he asked.

“You can’t tell?” Scully asked mischievously.

“Scully, you’re the doctor. No offense but this really does look like a alien.”

“Well, then you’re just going to have to wait to find out,” she said with a laugh, plucking the ultrasound out of his hands to prove the point.

“Wait, can I keep that?” Mulder asked, sounding shy to himself.

Scully stopped folding the photo and smoothed it back out. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry." She handed it back to him. "You’ll have to come to the next appointment and hear the heartbeat.”

Mulder could think of nothing better.

After Mulder was released from the hospital, he became Scully’s worst nightmare. Well, she never said that or gave any indication that he was annoying her, but he must have been. Mulder spent most of his time at her apartment, reading every baby book he could get his hands on (luckily Scully had quite a few) and helping her with chores. In his defense, Scully was pregnant and shouldn’t be doing laundry or dishes or grocery shopping. She didn’t seem to mind having a shadow, which was strange because the old Scully would have kicked him out way more often so she could have some alone time. But pregnancy made Scully shockingly serene: she answered all of his questions, tolerated his fussing, and reminded him frequently how happy she was that he was back.

Mulder didn’t know what to make of it.

The only time he was really apart from her was when he went to counseling twice a week. He had to fudge some of the details of his disappearance and death to the counselor, but he felt like the therapy was helping.

Mulder went to one last ultrasound appointment and heard the baby’s heartbeat, which he thought was spectacular.

When Scully’s water broke, everything became real and the panic set in. He rushed around trying to make sure they had everything, wondering if they needed to call an ambulance. Scully stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Mulder, it’s fine. We have plenty of time to get to the hospital.”

She went to the closet to grab the hospital bag that she had clearly packed awhile ago. “You’re supposed to be the one calming me down,” she said, with a knowing look.

“Sorry,” Mulder apologized sheepishly. “You know that’s not my strong suit.”

Mulder drove them both to the hospital. He didn’t break any speeding laws or run any red lights, though it was tempting. Scully had a few contractions in the car, which was distressing, moreso to Mulder, and he wanted to get her to the hospital as quickly as possible.

He was there the whole time Scully labored and let her squeeze his hand during all of the contractions and pushing. He had forgotten how strong she was and wouldn't be surprised if he came out of his experience with sprained bones. Mulder had never witnessed a birth before and found the whole process incredible. His son or daughter was about to make their entrance into the world and he would be right there for it.

The doctor delivered the baby – a boy, which Mulder could now recognize – and immediately handed him to Scully to hold. Their son screamed and cried and Mulder was impressed how something so tiny could make so much noise. After a few minutes, a nurse whisked the baby away to be cleaned up and weighed.

“What do you think?” Scully asked, smiling up at him. She looked tired but so beautiful.

“It was amazing. You were amazing,” Mulder exclaimed.

The nurse brought the baby back, now swaddled in a blanket and wearing a little newborn cap. She handed him to Scully.

“Do you want to hold him, Dad?” Scully held the baby out to him, so trusting that he could handle this new role. Mulder didn’t know when the last time he held a baby was. Maybe it was when Samantha was born. But Scully – his little skeptic – believed in him. Believed he could be a good dad. Believed that they could be a family. He gently took their son into his arms and cradled him against his chest. The love he felt for this new person was overwhelming. The love he felt for Scully was overwhelming. He was so lucky to get another chance at life, and at a family. Before he knew it, there were tears running down his cheek.

“Oh, Mulder,” Scully sighed. She reached for him, so Mulder sat next to her on the bed and they admired the miracle that was their son.

#txf fic #my.txf #fox mulder #dana scully #the x files #txf #poangpals

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outerspace-castaway · 26 days ago

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anyone know any good x-files fanfiction?

must include:

-pining/mutual pining/angst/yearning/etc

-pre relationship

-slow burn

-msr endgame (obviously)

-set between seasons 1-7

absolutely should NOT include:

-dom/sub / bdsm - not even a little

-established relationship

-emily

-AU (canon divergent is fine, AU is a no.)

-the revival or iwtb (i just wanna read about 90s mulder & scully)

~~~~~

~smut is optional but lets be honest some smut it cringe and can ruin the story

~casefics are fine but the main focus should be the romance

it can be an ivf fic, but not necessary.

~NO CROSSOVERS

~multi-chapter story - a reasonably long story - like each chapter should be 2200 words or longer - can be 8, 10, 20, 30 or more chapters

i am ok with original characters and other love interest before msr endgame

~i do love the fake dating trope though im not specifically looking for one of those stories.

Lastly i dont care for that gossamer site so if thats the only place the fic is i wont be reading it. i need to story to be in the center of the page not left or right, i have OCD & ADD, it needs to centered. sometimes for me, reading can be a chore, that is why i have all these specifications.

examples of fics i liked: (they dont all fit the above criteria)

A Platonic Affair XFNessy

hear no evil herewebloodygo

Loving Me Takes Patience by oohnotvery

Heart's Content by oohnotvery

Partners with Benefits by OnlyTheInevitable

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic by SilhouetteOfACedar

Grace by LuminousPie

Keep It All the Year by incidental

Impersonal by SilhouetteOfACedar

We Are Young by incidental

Platonic Procreation by AgentTroi

Blood For Your Part by incidental

O Holy No by Baroness_Blixen

Wherever Is Your Heart by oohnotvery

here be monsters by girlfromnowhere

#xfiles fanfic #xfiles fanfiction #msr fanfic #msr fanfiction #txf fanfic #txf fanfiction #mulder x scully #msr #mulder & scully #msr fic #txf fic #x files fic #the x files #x files #dana scully #fox mulder #fanfiction #fanfic #my post

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xf-cases-solved · 4 months ago

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i made more x-files words with my brain, wrote them down, and then put them on the internet for you to read and process into meaning with your own brain, if you're so inclined. cancer arc angst for those who are always sluts for s4 like me

click on the following link to consume my words: She Still Has Her Hair

[cw: suicidal ideation and descriptions of illness/hospitals/ivs/pain medication]

here's a snippet:

She hasn't lost her hair, and that's so much worse.

If she had lost her hair, maybe he would have noticed how bad things have gotten before now.

Because that's what you think of when you think of cancer patients, right? You picture bald heads and missing brows above sunken, darkly circled eyes. You picture tears in the bathroom as the buzz of a razor shears away the remaining tufts among the patchy surface of a scalp. You picture each fallen strand as another inch marched toward a headstone. When you see a cancer patient with no hair, you know that they are Sick with a capital S. When a cancer patient with no hair shows symptoms of their illness, it doesn't come as a surprise.

However, Scully hasn't lost her hair, and so when she calls him at eleven fifteen on a Sunday night—voice a cracked windshield about to shatter into a million pieces, and a sob lodged in her throat like a chicken bone she can't cough up—he's taken by surprise.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

She still has her hair.

But "Mulder, it's me" has never sounded so frail before, and it terrifies him almost more than the voicemail she left on his answering machine two, nearly three years ago; the one that ended with the sounds of a physical fight filled with cries for help before being abruptly cut off, leaving nothing but horrible questions and no answers.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He'd been dozing on the couch with the lights of a muted infomercial dancing over his face, but at the sound of her voice he is instantly upright and alert. When she doesn't answer right away, he presses, more firmly, "Scully? What's wrong? "

"I was prescribed a new medication at my appointment Friday afternoon, and I can't..." Through the receiver he hears her take a steadying breath. "Supposedly this medication is meant to have a less nauseating effect on patients, but in roughly seven percent of cases, it has actually been shown to increase nausea in certain individuals, leading to severe emesis which eventually culminates in dehydration, presenting with symptoms such as dry mouth, lightheadedness, infrequent or oddly colored urine, confu—"

"And are you one of these patients in the seven percent?" Mulder asks, interrupting her clinical recitation that he suspects is her way of keeping herself detached from her own experience. Scully's silence is answer enough. "When was the last time you were able to keep something down?"

"I don't know," she says quietly.

"More than twelve hours?"

"Yes."

"More than twenty-four?" Nothing. "More than thirty-six?" She's silent. "Scully, you haven't been able to keep down food or water for over thirty-six hours?"

"It started early yesterday morning. Before sunrise, I think."

"Is it just vomiting? Is there anything else going on?"

"I..." She trails off, and Mulder suspects her innate desire to never show a shred of weakness to anyone (but especially him, for some godforsaken reason) is currently at war with the part of her that's spent the better part of two days all alone on the bathroom floor.

"Tell me, Scully. Don't try to lie or sugarcoat it, just be honest."

"The medication, in conjunction with the physical act of vomiting, has led to a fairly severe case of myalgia—muscle pain—that began and is most prominent in the neck and upper back, but which has since spread to... to... oh God, Mulder"—the crack in her voice is heartbreaking—"it hurts everywhere. Everywhere . I'm in so much pain and I haven't taken a piss in over a day and every time I throw up my head pounds so hard my vision goes white. That's not hyperbole, Mulder, these headaches are quite literally blinding, and what if it's not the pain causing it? What if there's new tumor growth affecting my optic nerves, and this is just foreshadowing for what's yet to come? I don't want to go blind, Mulder, what am I going to do? I can't work if I'm blind. I can't do anything. I don't like the dark, and everything in my body hurts, and I just want it all to stop. Please help. Please help make it stop, Mulder, I hurt so bad."

By the end of her venting, the sob that had been stuck in her throat has been set loose, and she's crying freely now, pouring out her heart in a way that would probably sound like full-blown bawling if she were strong enough. As it is, her weeping comes out in a strained wheeze, like the squeaky whistle of air sneaking through a small crack in the window when the car is speeding down a highway.

"Please," she begs again, and the way she speaks reminds him of what it was like to wake up with a stomachache in the middle of the night as a kid and cry out for his mother. It reminds him how desperately afraid and alone he'd feel until his mother was finally roused by his calls, and padded into his room with sleepy eyes and a soft voice so as to not wake up his sister in the room next door.

Maybe, he thinks, it doesn't matter how old you are—that no matter what, being sick by yourself will always be your loneliest moment.

"I'm grabbing my keys right now, Scully, I'm on my way out the door." He jingles the ring of keys in his hand by the receiver of the phone so that she can hear their little chime and hopefully be comforted by it. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay," she whispers, no longer crying, but Mulder suspects it has more to do with a lack of physical strength than anything else.

"I'm gonna have to take you to the hospital," he warns. He's sure she expects as much, but it would be easier to get the fight out of the way now if she's going to be resistant.

It's a testament to how utter dogshit she must feel when she says nothing more than another melancholic, "Okay." Somehow, her agreeing to seek help scares him more than if she were refusing.

"Hang tight, Scully," he tells her gently. "I'm coming."

#msr #msr fic #txf #txf fic #the x-files #diz writes conspiracies

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scullysexual · 2 months ago

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We'll Meet Beyond The Shore.

Somewhere beyond the sea, she’s there watching for me, and if I could fly like a bird on high, then straight into her arms I’d go sailing.

Tags and Warnings: Major character death, enemies to friends (to lovers), doomed lovers.

Chapter Two: The Transport.

One hour. She has one hour to say goodbye to her family, possibly for the last time.

Dana is forced into an office, directed to sit on a small couch in the corner by a Peacekeeper. The office door opens again, another Peacekeeper enters pulling in Fox Mulder. The Peacekeeper points to the space beside Dana but Fox Mulder opts for the spinning chair at the desk instead. The Peacekeepers leave; it is just the two of them.

Perhaps she should say something to him but she didn’t know what to say to him. There was no point in condolences, it wasn’t going to change anything and there was no point in cracking jokes, it’s pointless being friends with someone you’ll be putting a knife to their throat in a week.

Fox Mulder is fidgeting. His movements cause Dana to look his way. He shakes a white box, it’s insides rattling around in there, then pulls open the lid. Whatever is in there he pops it one into his mouth.

“Sunflower seeds,” he says. “Want one?” He holds the box out in her direction. Dana glares at him and Fox Mulder shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He pops another seed into his mouth. Dana rolls her eyes.

There’s a knock at the door and their attention is brought to it. A Peacekeeper opens the door and a hoard of 8 people begin streaming through it.

Melissa is the first through. She bounds towards Dana and yanks her from the couch, pulling her into the tightest hug she’s ever known. Dana is not a hugger but she finds herself gripping Missy tight, melting into the embrace. She scrunches her eyes, fighting back the tears then remembers there’s no cameras in here, there aren’t even any Peacekeepers, it’s just her family; she can cry in front of her family.

“You’ve got to come back okay,” Missy is saying into Dana’s hair. “You’ve got to survive—”

“Missy—” Dana begins because it’s too wishful, because she is going up against 23 other tributes- four of which are trained from birth for this exact thing.

“No!” yells Missy, cutting her off. She pulls away and Dana can see her reddened face, cheeks tearstained, eyes puffy from crying. “You have to come back.”

Dana looks at her other family members, each with those telltale puffy eyes- even Bill. Of course she has to come back; they’ve already lost one, they cannot lose another.

“I will,” Dana finds herself saying. “I’ll come back.”

Melissa hugs her one last time and Dana looks over her shoulder to where Fox Mulder stands in his corner, surrounded by the three most randomised people. Where’s his family, she wonders.

Dana hugs her mother next and she knows her mother is trying so hard not to cry. Dana squeezes her around the middle, whispers “It’s okay”, and that’s when Maggie’s tears fall.

Charlie is also crying and even though he is now taller than her, he clutches her around the middle like he used to do when he was younger only now she is forced onto her tiptoes to accommodate him.

All that’s left is Bill. He echoes their sister telling her that she needs to come home. “I’m not doing your work on the ship as well,” he jokes and it pulls a snotty, tearful laugh from Dana. She’s never hugged Bill before but she finds herself doing that now and it hurts that this is the first and last time she’ll ever do such a thing.

They pull apart. Dana looks at her family for the final time. Time is ticking, the hour almost over, a Peacekeeper opens the door.

She wants them to stay but she will not make a scene, she watches them go one by one.

Another boy stands at the door. She knows him but they have never spoken. He holds a bouquet of flowers in his hands and stumbles nervously towards her. Dana looks at the flowers and then at the boy.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give these to you earlier,” Marcus says and offers her the flowers.

Dana looks at them. She doesn’t need a last minute love confession from a boy she’s never paid attention to but somehow she can’t find it in herself to break his heart like that so she accepts the flowers and smiles but says nothing.

“Good luck Dana,” Marcus wishes and then he is backing out the room.

Fox Mulder is looking at her but Dana turns away. She puts the flowers on the side table and sits back down on the couch. She pulls up her knees and rests her forward against her arms.

How the hell was she supposed to survive?

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Kehlani bursts through the door, running towards him. Mulder stands up from the desk just in time for her small arms to wrap around him. She is pleading.

“Please don’t go, please!”

He remembers this part so vividly. Back in Seven, Samantha’s cries. Mom and Dad refused to see her so it was just him. He can remember her pleads, just as loud as Kehlani’s, begging him not to let them take her.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly to Kehlani and to Samantha. “I have to.”

Melvin is there, too. He pats him on the shoulder. Wade is there, too. Strange, Mulder thinks.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” says Wade once Kehlani has let go of him. “I was a mess out there and you could’ve made a joke about it but you didn’t.”

Mulder shakes his head. “I felt the exact same way,” he says then he corrects himself. “I feel the exact same way.”

It dawns on him then what was about to happen. This is the last time he’ll see these people, his family. In one week he’ll be remains on the ground.

“Shit man,” says Wade. “I’m sorry.”

Mulder shrugs. It didn’t matter. At least he’ll be with Samantha soon.

There’s not much else to say. Kehlani whimpers some more, gives him one last hug, but she is guided out of the office by Melvin. Mulder sits back down in the chair. He glances towards Dana Scully. Her family has gone and in their place is a boy. They talk quietly but he is holding flowers. The boy hands them to her and after a 10 second delay, Scully accepts them. Boyfriend, who’d have thought. The boy leaves and Scully dumps the flowers on the side. She curls up on the couch and neither of them say a word.

The minutes start counting down.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Dana had never been on a train before.

The only transport she had ever known where boats; from the one her father built her when she was five, to the family owned one she does her work on now.

The train sometimes felt like a boat. When there was a slight curve the carriage would rock side to side making the plates and glasses move. Years on boats taught her how to move when things weren’t still and she navigated around the train carriages soundlessly.

Fox Mulder, however, had not. Every so often she would hear him smack into the wall on a particular hard jolt, a small “ow” falling from his lips and then he would smile goofily at her.

She was beginning to despise him. His tall, lanky body, his long legs that took up too much space at the table. They shared a bathroom and every time Dana needed to use it he would be there using it.

So annoying.

Dana mostly kept to herself. She had no intention of making friends with anyone on this train. She was pleasant enough to the waiters and waitresses who would bring her food when she asked but to the other three people onboard- Monica Reyes, Walter Skinner, Fox Mulder- they were just a means to an end.

Monica Reyes knocks on her bedroom door. She does that a lot, usually to announce breakfast or lunch was ready. Maybe this time it was for dinner.

“Skinner has called a meeting,” says Monica in a tone that tells Dana it isn’t optional.

She finds Walter Skinner at the dining table in the main part of the train. Fox Mulder is also there, lounging about with his long legs. Dana tucks herself onto the end, close enough to hear the conversation, but far enough away for her to zone out if needed to.

Walter Skinner was their mentor. Or one of their mentors. There was said to be others waiting when they reached the Capitol but he would be the one travelling with them, helping them the most.

Monica Reyes was their Capitol escort. There to answer any questions either of them had. Not that Dana had any questions.

“I need to know your skills,” says Skinner. “What you’re good at. What you have advantage at. Mulder?”

Fox Mulder looks at Skinner like a fish caught in a net. “Uh…Scully can go first,” he says sheepishly.

Skinner sighs. “Fine. Scully.”

“I can make fish nets,” she says. “And fish hooks.”

Monica Reyes claps her hands excitedly causing everyone to look at her. “How are you with a trident?”

Skinner makes a face.

“Pretty good,” Dana says with a shrug. “But unless I’m given one there’s no other way I can have one.”

“That is true,” says Skinner.

“I can swim, too,” Dana adds. “Really well.”

Skinner nods. “Mulder, your turn.”

“I can swim, too.”

“Great,” says Skinner. “Anything else?”

“I can swim.”

Skinner lets out an exasperated breath. “Anything else?” he asks again. “Fish nets, fishhooks, tridents?”

Mulder shakes his head. “I can swim,” he says again. “I didn’t work on the ships, I work in a pub.”

Unbelievable, Dana thinks crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. Of all the people from District Four she could’ve ended up with they give her the most non-District Four guy.

Then it hits her. A rumour, a comment she heard from someone on the ship. He isn’t District Four.

“You’re from District Seven, aren’t you?” Dana asks Mulder.

Skinner is listening intensively.

“Uh…” is all Mulder manages, looking between Skinner and Monica who is watching them.

“Are you good with an axe?”

“Maybe,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s something,” says Skinner. “You said you work in a pub?” Mulder nods. “So you change the barrels? That can’t be easy.”

“No,” says Mulder with a slight laugh. “The girls get me to do it all the time cause it’s too heavy for them.”

Skinner points at Dana. “You, I’m not so worried about.” He points to Mulder. “You, need some work. How about survival?”

Dana nods. “I know a bit.”

“I survived a small boat capsizing,” says Mulder.

“Okay,” Skinner nods. “That better than most.”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Mulder creeps into the lounge.

It’s late, everyone- staff included- have gone to bed. Mulder, too, was in bed but his thoughts had kept him awake.

He finds Skinner on the couch in the dark, the TV on and playing on mute. Mulder approaches quietly so as not to startle his mentor. When in reach, he places a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Mr—”

Mulder is pressed against the wall before he knows what is happening, blade to his throat while Skinner looms over him, eyes dark. His heart hammers in his chest as he slowly raises his hands in surrender.

“Sorry,” he says.

Skinner grunts, letting Mulder go. “Lesson Number One: Don’t creep up like that.”

Mulder nods, apologising again.

“What do you want?” asks Skinner switching on a lamp.

“I just came to tell you that I think you should put your focus into Scully.”

“What?”

“She has more potential than me, she knows more than I do. She has a real chance, I might just be good with an axe.”

Skinner shakes his head. “I’m not giving up on anyone before I see you in that training room, okay.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good. Go. You’re gonna need as much sleep as you can get.”

Mulder leaves the lounge then, heading back towards his bedroom. Another door opens and Scully emerges. She stops when she sees him.

“Did I just hear you tell Skinner to focus on me?” she asks.

Mulder shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Mulder—”

“He said he’s gonna wait until we’re in the training room but you should convince him that you’re worth it, Scully. You have more at stake than me.”

He’s about to leave it at that, open his door and try to fall asleep when she speaks.

“What about those people I saw you with in the office? Don’t they mean anything to you?”

Of course they did but not as much as she meant to her family.

“Goodnight, Scully. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He closes his door without answering her question.

But when he lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, he thinks about those three people. Would they really miss him if he never came back? Somehow it didn’t seem believable.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

With a few hours left before they reached the Capitol, Skinner tells them to sit on the couch after breakfast.

“You need to know who you’re up against,” says Skinner, TV remote in his hands. “I suggest watching the other district’s reaping’s.”

“This should be fun,” quips Mulder.

Skinner switches on the TV and their eyes are brought to their first District reaping- District One. The TV is on mute but Dana doesn’t need to hear to know how loud District One is cheering as the tributes climb the stage. Their names appearing on the bottom screen; Tom Colton and Phoebe Green. The screen moves onto District Two where a similar scenario is happening; people cheering as the tributes- Jeffrey Spender and Diana Fowley- climb the stage. The sight makes Dana uncomfortable but she knows this is to be expected in these districts.

“Careers,” says Skinner. “You know what they are?”

Both she and Mulder nod.

“Trained privately at a young age and volunteer when they’re older,” Skinner says anyway. “Most victors come from these two districts but not all.”

“They hunt in a pack,” Mulder adds. “And sometimes recruit from other districts…if they deem that person useful enough.”

Dana frowns. He sounds hopeful, like that’s something he wants.

“And then they kill them first,” Dana states, looking directly at Mulder. “It’s better just to stay out of their way.”

“You’re safer in numbers,” Mulder counters.

“Trust no one.”

That silences him.

“Are you two finished?” asks Skinner. He glances towards Monica who sits out of the way.

“Trust no one,” Monica repeats happily. “I like it.” And there’s the sound of her scribbling something down.

Skinner moves on. District Three is nothing remarkable, they skip over Four because that is them, a skim through Districts Five and Six. When they reach Seven, Dana glances towards Mulder. She wants to see him react but if he does, he keeps it hidden; there is nothing on his face to say he recognises these two tributes.

District Eight catches Dana’s attention.

“Wait,” she says to Skinner, eyes stuck on the screen.

“What is it?” asks Mulder and then he sees it too.

The girl tribute. She has to be 12 years old. There’s a pause. Even without sound Dana knows they’re asking for tributes. No one comes forward. The 12 year old girl is ushered off inside the building behind her.

Dana’s stomach twists with unease.

Emily Sim the girl is called. Emily.

They move on but after Eight, Dana pays no attention. The rest of the tributes seem fallible compared to District Eight, to Emily Sim.

“So now you know what you’re up against,” says Skinner. He switches off the TV.

“She’s 12,” Dana says quietly to herself or to Mulder, she’s not quite sure.

Mulder answers her anyway with a shrug. “It happens.” He leaves then and Dana is left in the lounge on her own, left to think of that poor little girl.

#the x files #txf fic #xfiles fanfiction #hunger games au #scullysexualwrites

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benoitblanc · 8 months ago

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a thousand violins

she knew this was a bad idea from the start, from when mulder knelt down before her, his gun and her heart in her hands, and tried to make her laugh. that was the real sign of trouble, scully thinks. he’s always used humor to cope, but usually his attempts are satire, not sincere. “smile, scully,” was a confession, an I’m-not-sure-if-I’m-coming-back. “smile, scully,” was a goodbye.

(they're misty and so much in love...)

read a thousand violins on the ao3

(tagging @today-in-fic)

#arwen writes #the x files #txf #the x files fic #txf fic #msr #msr fanfic #msr fic #dana scully #fox mulder #scully x mulder #userscully #rewatched the end of pusher on sunday for no good reason. commence attack of the plot bunnies

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sagan-starstuff · 10 hours ago

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Round Lake Resorts - PoangPals Secret Santa 2024 Gift Exchange

For my Secret Santa, @baronessblixen!!

I may actually go back and flesh more parts of this out, but I was determined to get it in before the deadline.

See also on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61687012

__________

4:37PM, December 23rd, 1999. Barton County, Idaho

“Hey Scully, how many snow plow drivers up here do you think are just really smart Sasquatches in flannel?”

Mulder smirked at her across the console, earning him an unserious eye roll and a smile that warmed him despite the struggling of their rental car heater. They’d wrapped a regrettably mundane case in the beautiful but remote Kaniksu National Forest earlier today, and were attempting to drive back to Spokane before the blizzard they’d seen predicted earlier in the week.

Scully took the bait, eyes bright from the recesses of her hooded parka, “Shave one for the driver’s license photo and you'd hardly tell the difference. If they existed.”

The jab was tempered by a twitch of her lips and a tilt of her eyebrows that he’d have called wry before, but was laced with an undertone of mirth that he’d been oh-so-happily wringing out of her for the last eight months. His baseball lesson in April ended with her pressed up against the backstop with her legs wrapped around his waist and the frantic exploration of hands and mouths, tearing down their carefully built walls of denial and restraint. He was the luckiest son of a bitch who ever lived and he knew it with every lingering glance and surreptitious touch. He knew what it was to wake up with his nose pressed into her hair, her puffing soft breaths into his chest, body bare and spent from glorious evenings spent discovering each other. Two mugs in the sink. Her falling asleep in his lap on her couch. Leaving work in two cars only for one of them to inevitably suggest pizza and a movie. Parting in the morning to arrive separately, barely concealing their grins. It was enough to make him weep, which he had, which they both had, when they finally admitted to each other what they’d wanted for so long.

They’d agreed that at work and in public the status quo must be maintained, for now. The last week had been a struggle, working with agents from the National Forest Service and separated into mens’ and womens’ cabins for the duration of the investigation, not even left alone for more than a moment. The kicker was that their flight was due to arrive after midnight, and early the next morning she was due to drive to the Scully matriarch family home for Christmas eve. They’d decided to part ways with her at the airport so she could rest before heading out. She’d passed along her mother’s invitation, as she had for years, but he declined, as he had for years. He just didn’t think he could keep up the charade around her family, and he hadn’t wanted to invite the inevitable confrontation with her brother if he slipped. So, he'd call his mother, eat Chinese with the Gunmen, and count the hours until she returned and he could enjoy the only gift he'd ever want for the rest of his life.

“Yeah well looks like someone needs to tell Bigfoot to get a move on, I can barely see the side of the road,” he muttered as he squinted through the flurries.

Scully wiped her side of the windshield with a gloved hand, “I thought the storm wasn't supposed to hit until tonight, how can it be this bad already?”

By the looks of the road, the predictions were about 6 hours and a foot of snow off in the wrong direction. At this rate they’d be lucky if their flight wasn’t cancelled entirely. He glanced over sympathetically but looked back to the road when he saw her squinting through the windshield at something ahead of them. “Is that a police car up ahead?”

He caught the flashing lights, too, and slowed. “Seems to be. Maybe an accident?”

He pulled to a stop in front of the Jeep and rolled down his window, badge in hand, as the officer strode over. The wind howled into the open window, sending stinging flurries into their faces. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

All he could see was a dark blue bundle with a pair of eyes peering between a thick scarf and a fur-lined hood. “Road’s closed, conditions are getting too bad too quickly for this pass to be safe. Sorry, but you folks are going to have to turn around,” she said over the wind.

Mulder unfolded his badge and lifted it into her line of sight, “We’re FBI, we need to get back to Spokane.” He glanced over at Scully, who flashed her own badge from the passenger seat.

“The Bureau? You all the ones they called up to help the Forest Service up in Kaniksu? That was an odd one, I’m sure they appreciated the help.” She shrugged as sympathetically as she could under all the layers. “Be that as it may, none of the roads in that direction are going to be passable until at least morning, maybe later. The weather service underestimated the hell out of this one. Do you all have any place close by to stay?”

Mulder locked eyes with Scully and his shoulders sagged. She didn’t react but leaned over and said, “No, actually, we’d appreciate any suggestions.”

The officer nodded, “My cousin runs a campground, he’ll have some open cabins this time of year. It’s called the Round Lake Resorts, back the way you came about five miles. I’ll let him know you’re coming, he should be able to put you up.”

Mulder looked between Scully and the officer, looking for any other option other than giving up before conceding with thanks, rolling up the window, and turning the car around. The idea of her missing yet another holiday with her family hit him in the gut and he scrambled. “Maybe we can try the back roads and -”

Her blue eyes narrowed into incredulity. “Mulder. I don’t feel like spending the night freezing to death on a logging road. It’s fine, let’s just get out of here.” Her face was placid, devoid of any trace of disappointment, and to his surprise she let her hand rest on his thigh.

“I’m sorry, Scully. When we get there we can call the airline, hopefully we can get out tomorrow.”

She squeezed his knee and he felt his heart rate slow and some tension release from his shoulders. She was looking out the window, keeping an eye out for the campground sign, but he swore he saw a trace of a smile on her rosebud lips. He thought with a twinge of guilt for his selfishness that if nothing else he gets an evening with her before they part ways for the holiday.

They found the campground, a well-spaced cluster of faux-rustic cabins set in a clearing backing up to thick woods, surrounding a slightly larger main building. They parked at the main building and were blown into the door of a reception area with the usual tourist brochures but decidedly upscale log cabin decor, a far cry from the taxidermied jackalopes and mediocre wolf paintings he'd expected.

“Hello?” called Scully as she pushed her hood back, and a blonde man who could have walked out of a Brawny paper towel ad popped his head out from the back room behind the counter.

“Hello! Are you the two FBI agents Brenda called about?” He walked out carrying a plastic-wrapped gift basket, through which Mulder could see chocolates, oranges, and…was that a bottle of champagne?

The man set the basket on the counter and extended his hand, “Steve Batteiger, nice to meet you.” They introduced themselves and he shook Mulder and Scully’s hand in turn. “Brenda told me you all were stuck up here, needed some place to ride out the storm?”

Another man, shorter and less rugged but with a warm smile and, blessedly, a set of keys in his hand walked out behind Steve and put an arm around his waist. Steve clapped him on the chest and said “This is my partner, Emmett, we run the place. Happy to help you guys out, these storms can really sneak up on you up here.”

Scully stepped in and said, “We appreciate it, thank you.” She reached for her wallet but Emmett frantically waved it away. Scully looked confused and glanced over to Mulder, equally confused.

Emmett crossed his tattooed arms and shook his head, “We won’t hear of payment. You all were up here helping the forest service find those missing rangers earlier this week, weren’t you?”

“Yeah?” Mulder questioned.

Emmett beamed back at him, “My brother’s one of the rangers. Robert Hawkins - you two got him out of that cave system. Saved his life. Your money’s no good here.”

Scully responded firmly but warmly, “That's very kind of you to offer, but FBI ethics policy prohibits agents from accepting gifts from family of victims, it wouldn’t be right for us to -”

Steve shook his head and chuckled, “Ma’am, you can hand me that credit card to make yourself feel better but I'm not going to run it.” He cocked his head to the window where snow was now blowing sideways. “You can take the cabin and our gratitude or sleep in the car, because by the looks of it you all don't have much other choice at this point.”

He and Scully both started to protest but looked at each other and shut their mouths when they simultaneously realized that Steve was right. Mulder stepped forward and took the keys from Emmett’s outstretched hand, “I guess that’s us told, then.”

“Guess it is!” Emmett chimed. “Yours is number five, off to the left. Linens are all fresh, no TV, but all the cabins have generators in case the power goes out, a stereo, full kitchen, full bath, separate bedroom. Just one, though.” He smirked at them, “Is that going to be a problem?”

He bit back a laugh when Scully colored just the slightest shade of pink and coughed, “No, we’ll be fine, thank you.”

“One more thing,” said Steve. Mulder grunted as Steve shoved the gift basket into his midsection across the counter.

“The cabin’s available because some wealthy couple from San Jose prepaid the reservation, paid us to stock it with groceries, husband even had this delivered - then cancelled at the last minute. So it’s all yours if you feel like being…” Steve paused to pluck the card off of the gift basket, “...Maude and Roger Phillabaum for the day.”

There were no words to describe how bizarre this situation had become, all he could do was pick up the basket and goggle at Scully, shaking his head. “What do you say, Maude?”

He saw the wheels turning in her head, debating again trying to protest the ethics issue but decide against it. She shrugged, “Let's go, Roger.”

Steve clapped his arm around Emmett’s shoulder and they both waved them out the door back into the snow. The sun was rapidly setting, and they could barely see the cabin for the driving snow and wind which buffeted them back to the car to grab their bags and then through the door of the waiting cabin.

What awaited them was far beyond their meager expectations from years of roadside motels. The cozy main room featured overstuffed furniture in front of a natural stone fireplace, warm lighting, built-in shelves with books and a few board games. To the side was an open kitchen nicer than his - maybe even nicer than Scully’s - all giving more a sense of ritzy ski lodge than roadside campground. He dumped the gift basket on the kitchen counter, slung his bag on the ground, and noticed Scully turning in a circle taking in the cabin, lips slightly agape.

“I don’t think this is your average hunting lodge, Mulder,” she said with a touch of awe, shucking her parka off and onto the kitchen island. Her cheeks were red from the cold and flakes clung to her hair, rapidly melting into drops that glittered in the warm light, and his arms suddenly itched to envelop her.

He shed his own coat and bent to unlace his snow-crusted boots. “I think the only thing the clientele here hunt are snow bunnies, Scully.”

By the time he stood up she’d kicked off her own shoes and stood directly in front of him, almost between his feet. God, she was beautiful. Her blue eyes sparkled up at him and her lips curled into the sly smile he’d come to know so well, the one that betrayed the whirring of her inescapable mind. She twined her delicate hands behind his neck at the same time he clutched her hips in his hands and pulled her flush to him. She fit like a key in the hollow of his chest and pushed up to kiss him for the first time in days, soft as a sunrise. He couldn’’t believe he’d lasted six years without this when just the last week was torture.

His eyes fluttered open and he kneaded her hips with his thumbs. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she breathed, and scratched the back of his neck gently, sending shivers down his arms. “We seem to be stuck here despite our valiant efforts to return. How will we explain it to Skinner?”

He dipped down to nuzzle her neck, eliciting a sigh and a hum of appreciation. “He can look at the Weather Channel and draw his own conclusions,” he said. He pulled back to drink her in, sliding his hands to clasp around her waist, then remembered. “Do you want to call your mom and tell her you’re delayed? I’m sorry you might miss Christmas eve with your family, I know you were looking forward to it.”

Scully let her hands slide down his chest to the hem of his sweater and her cool fingers brushed the skin just above his waistband. He inhaled sharply, not from the cold but from her deft, practiced hands undoing his self control with just a few swipes through the patch of coarse hair that ran from his navel to his now-twitching cock. She’d turned him into a teenager again. She kissed the pulse point of his neck and murmured, “Later. I have more important things on my mind.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that we’re alone with nowhere else to be and no work to do for the first time in way too long. Would you care to check out the sleeping arrangements?” she asked with a lilt in her voice and mischief in her eyes.

His face split into a smile and any worries he had about her disappointment fell away. He scooped her up in his arms, earning him a squeal of surprise turned delight as he carried her, laughing, toward the open bedroom door. He’d never expected, had no idea, how playful she could be and it was an immense privilege to be able to see that side of her, to see all sides of her, each more beautiful than the last. Her laugh was a treasure made more valuable by the fact that he’d caused it, earned it, that she felt him worthy to share her joy. He set her down gently on an expansive king bed loaded with thick quilts and switched on the lamp on the bedside table to warm the gloomy grey light from the windows. He crawled over her, slotting a knee between her thighs and bracketing her head with his arms. Already half-hard, she pushed up against him, grinning and his lips found her neck.

“I missed you so goddamn much,” he murmured into the elegant curve of her throat as he dropped kisses from the angle of her jaw to her collarbone. “I was one night away from sneaking out and throwing rocks at your window.”

She stretched to give him better access and ran her palms under his shirt, up his chest and around his shoulders, leaving sparks on his skin in their wake. “I missed you too,” she sighed into his shoulder, sending a shudder through him straight to his groin.

He groaned and pressed into her, craving her skin, her warmth, her smell, to be surrounded by only her. She turned her head back to kiss him, capturing his lower lip in hers and sucking before opening to him. They swam in each other until they were both breathless and panting, and he barely noticed that she’d rucked his shirt up to his underarms. He lifted himself up to let her pull it over his head, then sat back, straddling her thigh. She raked her eyes over his body like she was claiming her territory, what once would have made him self-conscious now aroused him beyond belief to see just how much Dana Katherine Fucking Scully wanted him. His cock strained against his jeans almost to the point of pain, not helped by the way she pressed herself against his thigh and squirmed. It took every ounce of restraint to not tear her clothes off, drop his zipper and push into her right then and there, but it had been too long not to give her every ounce of attention she deserved.

She twitched under his hands when he splayed them over the soft skin of her belly and sucked in air as he traced the pads of his fingers up, over her ribs under her shirt to brush the underside of her breasts. His thumbs teased her nipples through the thin blue fabric of her bra, earning him a hiss and moan before he eased her shirt up and off over her head. He dipped low to taste the creamy expanse of her skin, nipping at her collarbone as he massaged her breasts.

“Mmm, Mulder��you feel so good,” she murmured into his hairline as she arched up into him and scratched gently down his back.

He quickly undid the front clasp of her bra and her perfect breast fell into his hand. Fucking hell, she was perfection in every way, and he would take that as gospel until his dying day. He felt liquid, hot pulses running straight to his core, only amplified by her cry when he sucked one hard nipple into his mouth and gently squeezed the other. She ground herself onto his thigh, chasing the pressure and friction he knew she craved, her head thrown back against the pillows. One of her hands slipped down and cupped him through his jeans, pressing up against his swollen head with her palm, and he moaned around her nipple, sparks dancing in front of his eyes as he thrust forward against her hand. Her lack of restraint, her passion, her openness, her honesty as a lover pulled feelings and urges from him he hadn't known he was capable of. As in their partnership, as in their friendship, they gave what the other needed without hesitation, combined into more than themselves.

He would give her what he needed - she groaned when he moved his leg away but inhaled sharply when he started kissing his way down between her breasts, around her navel, stopping only at her waistband. He sat back on his knees, frustratingly out of reach of her hands now, and guided the zipper of her pants open before shimmying them down her hips and off, leaving her bare in front of him. It was his turn to marvel at her body - strawberry curls at the apex of her legs, strong calves, faint scars of their tumultuous life lived together, swell of her hips and dip of her waist. She was Titian’s Venus brought to life from seafoam, disguised in suits and sensible heels but completely unable to erase the radiance that poured from the tips of her fingers, the ends of her hair. He bent down, intent on his goal, but was stopped by the press of her small foot against his chest.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she challenged, raising her eyebrows at him.

He took her slender ankle in his hands and kissed the hollow of her Achilles tendon. “That would require me to stop what I’m doing,” he said as he kissed up her calf, “And I don’t think you want that.”

She kicked her leg out of his hand and crossed it over her other leg as she moved back to prop herself up on the pillows, arms out like a queen surveying her court of one. “I think I do,” she said, and motioned with her eyes at his pants. He laughed and threw up his hands, stepping back off the bed to stand while he undid his belt. Their eyes locked and he met her wolfish gaze with his own, not breaking eye contact while he undid his fly and let his jeans and boxer briefs drop to the floor. His cock bobbed up against his belly, and when she bit her lip and couldn’t help but glance down he took himself in his hand and gave a few slow, tortuous strokes for her which did more to amplify his need than relieve it.

Her eyes widened and she looked back up at him, cheeks coloring, “Much better.”

He chuffed again, “I’m glad you approve,” then crawled forward toward her in the bed to kneel in front of her. She allowed him to uncross her legs and resume his journey kissing up her leg. He arrived at the back of her knee, swirled his tongue in the hollow there and was rewarded with a fit of gasping laughter. He moved up her inner thigh, nibbling and sucking at her skin as he drew closer to her core. Finally he reached the crux of her thighs and buried his nose in her short red curls, teasing her folds before probing gently with lips and tongue. The moment when she sighed and sank into the pillows as he began to lick and kiss her already-glistening cunt was both transcendent and, to his immense fortune, blessedly familiar now.

He was a quick study in the language of Dana Scully’s pleasure, knew how to circle around her clit at first, brushing closer and closer until she fisted her hand in his hair. He lapped her in long, slow strokes, eliciting needy moans and ragged breaths. Her legs tensed and twitched, fighting the conflicting urges to both thrust into his face and to keep his tongue exactly where it was. He could die a happy man exactly like this, worshipping her body with his mouth and hands, drowning in the sweet, salty taste that was her, sending her to new heights of pleasure with every movement. He didn’t believe in God, but he was as sure of her divinity as he was that the sky was blue, and he would pray to her altar as often and with as much devotion as she would allow. His cock strained against the mattress as he lay prone below her while he ate her, and he couldn’t resist grinding into it to relieve the urgency, moaning into her.

At this she cried out, “Mulder- please, I need-” and thrust up into him, tugging on his hair. He pressed one hand just under her navel to steady her and with the other pressed two fingers into her and up against her unbelievably slick walls, finding the soft spot that she loved by touch memory. He closed his mouth around the swollen center of her pleasure and sucked gently, and with a cry of his name she fell over the edge into ecstasy. Her legs twitched and her hips bucked into him as she gasped obscenities and clutched at the headboard with her free hand. As she spasmed around his fingers and writhed against his lips he backed off just enough to avoid overstimulating her, riding her orgasm out with her to prolong this as much as he could.

When her hips started to slow and her cries turned into satisfied purrs he rose up to cover her with his body, slotting himself between her legs with his erection rubbing tantalizingly against her. He brushed the hair out of her face and kissed her forehead gently. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his, with pupils blown dark with desire. She pushed herself up to kiss him roughly, exploring her own taste with her tongue, and reached down to wrap her hand around him. She stroked him slowly, caressing him with her skilled hands, and he groaned into her mouth, it was so much. His head dropped to her shoulder and she kissed his neck as she guided him toward her.

“I need to feel you,” she whispered into his ear as he entered her, driving with aching slowness into her warm depths. He shuddered as he filled her to the hilt, like she was made for him, like coming home. They held there, his forehead pressed to her temple, barely breathing, before he started to move. The hot springs coiled at the base of his spine wound tighter as he ground into her, clutching at her hips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, explored his back with her hands while he nipped at her mouth, her neck, her collarbones.

His thrusts were punctuated with cries of her name. “Scully, fuck - I can’t…can’t believe how good you feel. Christ, I love you so much,” he stammered out as he gripped her hips tighter to shift them the way he knew she needed. He snapped his hips, chasing the tension building deep within. There was only her body, her warmth, surrounding him and accepting him and wanting him in ways he’d never been. Nothing existed outside the two of them, nothing would ever be more to him than this, than her. It took every ounce of restraint he had to not fuck her with wild abandon, to last for her, he was already so close he could taste it.Not without her, though, not without sending her again over the precipice.

She cried out and rose up to meet him with increasing fervor, urging him on with her heels in the small of his back. “Oh my God - “ she moaned, and quickened her pace. She snaked her hand between them and found her clit, circling around it with her finger, and nothing was so primally sexy as Scully getting herself off around his dick. “More,” she cried as her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell back, “Please, Mulder.” Her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper than he'd thought possible. She wrenched her eyes open and looked him dead in the eye, “Let go…let go for me.”

At that his control broke and he gripped the headboard with one hand and her hips with the other for more leverage as he lost himself in her, the fire of tension in his belly spreading into his chest and limbs. The bucking of her hips grew more frantic, her cries more ragged, matching his as he pumped into her. The world narrowed to nothing more than their ecstatic bodies enmeshed as deeply as their souls. The two of them were no longer individuals but a singularity, the universe compressed into a single point of light. Suddenly she tensed and came like a thunderclap, her hands clawing at his back and her walls spasming around him. This was all it took, and he shouted her name as he spilled inside her, waves of pleasure shaking him to his core. His legs trembled through the last few frantic thrusts before he slowed, spent, and collapsed on top of her.

They could do nothing but pant for a few minutes with sweaty limbs tangled and his head resting on her shoulder. He registered that she was pressing her lips to his forehead and carding her fingers through his hair, so he moved to roll away and off of her but she tightened her arm around him. “No, stay,” she breathed.

“I’m too heavy, I don’t want to crush you,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“No you’re not, this is perfect. You’re perfect.”

He kissed her and shot her a lopsided grin as he remained in her grasp but did shift some of his weight to the side, pulling her over with him. He rested one hand on her bare hip and squeezed before trailing his fingers up to rest on her waist. She had a lot of nerve to call him perfect when she was the embodiment of the word.

Scully buried her face in his chest and sighed, “I should call my mom and let her know we’re delayed. But…” she began, and started rubbing his bare chest, “...I’d be lying if I said I was upset with the situation.”

He swiped a strand of hair stuck to her misted forehead behind her ear. “Really?”

She nodded. “I know we decided to go home separately, but that doesn’t mean I had to like it. If being late for the festivities is the price to pay for being alone with you, then let it snow.”

His chest tightened, and while no one, least of all Scully, would ever have said that he was at a loss for words, he found he couldn’t speak, just pulled her to him and buried his face in her hair. He could love her every day for the rest of his life and it would never, ever be enough.

At that inopportune moment his stomach growled, and he chuckled. “Want to see what kind of groceries Roger and Maude paid for?”

“I’m starving. I’ll call mom and be out.”

He kissed her again and rolled out of bed, swiping his boxer briefs off the floor and quickly tugging them on. He lingered just long enough to watch the heart shape of her backside as she rolled over onto her stomach to rifle through her clothes on the floor for her cell phone.

He discovered a selection of cold cuts, cheese, fruit, and vegetables in the refrigerator along with some other basic staples. In the cabinets he found a loaf of sourdough bread, cereal, coffee, pasta, and some baking supplies. The sound of Scully talking to her mother filtered from the other room while he took stock of the gift basket. Seems like Roger had pretty good taste - he was greeted with a selection of exotic jams, oranges, chocolate truffles, pears, and a bottle of actual French champagne, which he popped in the fridge for later. He grabbed their suitcases and quietly dropped them in the bedroom just as Scully hung up. She'd stolen the beige sweater she'd taken off of him earlier, which hung halfway down her thighs and over her hands, and was staring out the window at the falling snow in the last of the light, ethereally beautiful.

He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his head atop hers. “Your mom take it ok?”

“Yeah, she understands, she's glad we’re safe. She says hi.” She leaned back into him, “I think she's starting to suspect something about us.”

Mulder contemplated for a minute and swayed back and forth with her in his arms. He stared out the window in thought, images of him embracing Maggie at a Scully family function and begrudgingly shaking hands with Bill while Scully looked on playing through his mind. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

She turned in his arms to face him. “So, what do our accidental benefactors have on the menu?”

“They have pretty good taste, actually. Think we can pair champagne with turkey sandwiches?”

She raised an eyebrow in approval, “Champagne? Merry Christmas to us.”

He kissed her quickly and let go, “Come on, G-woman, let’s eat.”

He pulled his jeans and undershirt back on while she pulled a pair of leggings out of her bag to slip on under his sweater. His sweater, he thought, and again couldn’t stifle the smile. He set to work spreading fig jam onto two slices of sourdough and layering on turkey, prosciutto, slices of brie, and arugula - a combination he’d recalled from his mother’s garden parties with nostalgia. He wondered if his own mother had any suspicions about him and Scully, but he doubted it.

Scully walked in, turned on the gas fireplace, and sat on the couch watching him prepare their meal with obvious pleasure. In eight months they’d barely gone on a real date, dinners out on the road notwithstanding, sticking to takeout and nights in rather than the risk of being seen by someone from work, or worse, by someone they didn’t know who would use their relationship against them. He didn’t mind - it made it just that much easier to get each other out of their clothes - but sometimes he wasn’t sure why they bothered anymore. They’d been each other’s greatest weakness from the moment they met, lovers or not. The potential professional repercussions were still enough to keep their relationship a secret, but moments like this he could almost see a future with a shared address, her medical texts mixed in with his cryptozoology, and disagreements about sorting laundry. After everything they’d already done, how much more pissed off could Skinner be?

He dropped two plates with sandwiches, chips and fruit and the box of truffles on the coffee table and sat down next to her, “Not too shabby, eh?”

She took a bite and nodded in approval, “Mulder, this is delicious. Have you been holding out on me?”

He preened,“I’m a man of hidden depths, Scully.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes before he sat back and peeled an orange, “So, what is it that normal people do when they get snowed in? Last time it happened to us there were alien ice parasites involved.”

She swallowed. “First of all, we never documented anything to suggest they were extraterrestrial in origin, they could just as easily have been a previously extinct species frozen in the ice, and we’ll never know. Second…we’re not exactly normal people, Mulder.”

He rolled his eyes at her, a novelty. “Fine, fine. The question still stands.”

“Well if the stories of occasional local increases in birth rates after significant storms are to be believed, I think a fair number of them do the same thing we just did,” she deadpanned.

“You know I’m always up for a repeat performance,” he teased with a waggle of his eyebrows.

She plucked a truffle from the box and bit it seductively. “Maybe after I kick your ass at Scrabble.”

He jumped up to grab the box from the nearby shelves, “Ohhh, you’re on.”

And she did kick his ass, up until he turned her ‘otic’ into ‘quixotic’ on a triple word and double letter score and swept the rest of the game, resulting in a threat to shoot him again and a challenge for a rematch. By this point they’d popped the champagne and were each a glass deep. She glowed in the firelight as she shuffled the letters around, and he stared at her trying to sear the image of her like this, warm and relaxed and happy, into his mind forever. After everything they've been through, he thought she deserved it. Maybe…maybe he did, too.

She solidly trounced him the second time around as they worked through the rest of the bottle, only once having to argue about Mulder’s attempted use of the word ‘embiggen’. After calculating her winning score she downed the last of her champagne and pumped her hands in the air while he hung his head for emphasis but grinned like a madman.

He took advantage of her distraction to pull her into his lap and kiss her deeply. She responded by crawling the rest of the way toward him, straddling his hips, and exploring his mouth with her tongue. Soon their clothes littered the floor again and she tilted her forehead against his and slid down onto him, inch by inch, enveloping him in her delicious warmth, then started to move. She ground against his pelvic bone and undulated her hips around him, and he lost himself in her. Backlit by the fire, her hair glowed around her face like a halo as she let her head fall back, lost in her growing pleasure. She gasped when he dipped down to take a rosy nipple in his mouth and swirl his tongue around it, lightly squeezing the other with his finger and thumb. Her pace picked up and he pushed up into her to meet her hips with each thrust, his own control rapidly falling away as she wrung surges of electric tension from him. She braced herself on his shoulders for more leverage as he brought a hand between them to seek out the hard center of her pleasure with his fingers. When he found it, she cried out and her thighs twitched and shuddered against his, she was so close.

He breathed into her ear, “Scully, honey…do you think you can come for me?”

That was all it took and she was coming apart in his arms, crashing into him erratically as she gasped and moaned his name into his neck. He gripped her hip with his free hand and came with a groan as she clung to him through the aftershocks. After a few ragged thrusts they sank, boneless, into each other and made no effort to separate as he softened inside of her. Her arms were around his neck as she breathed into his shoulder, and he wrapped his around her to hold her to him and stroke her hair.

After a few minutes he felt her shiver against him, so he slipped out of her and shifted with her in his arms, to lay back with her sprawled on his chest. There was a quilt laid across the back of the couch, so he pulled it over them and tucked it around her, savoring her soft weight and warmth atop him.

He picked up stroking her hair again and kissed her temple. “Mm, you were right. This is perfect.”

She nodded and sighed into his chest. “Told you I'd kick your ass, the first time was a fluke.”

“Could always go for a tiebreaker.”

“That would require moving. Let's just leave it at a draw,” she mumbled.

He let his head fall against the armrest and stared up at the beams on the ceiling. After a few minutes, “Hey Scully, I know this is a dangerous prospect, but I've been thinking.”

She picked her head up to look at him, “About what?”

He kept looking at the ceiling. “Does it…bother you, that we’re not normal people?”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Normal people don't have to pretend to be just work partners. Normal people can…go on dates, rent cute little ski cottages for the weekend…visit each other’s families on holidays without worrying about being targeted at work.” He looked down to meet her clear blue gaze. “You deserve more of this,” he gestured around at their surroundings, “and I worry that what I can give isn't what you deserve.”

She stared hard at him, chin resting on his sternum. To his galled surprise she said, “You and Bill have more in common than you think, you know.” When he couldn't come up with a response she continued, “You both worry more about what you think I need than what I've told you I actually want. Mulder, I know what I want and what I want is you. Exactly as you are, exactly as we are. You give me so much more than you know, and someday I'll find a way to make you see that.”

He found he couldn't speak around the lump on his throat so he gazed down at her and stroked her back until he was able to croak out, “I just don't want you to think I'm ashamed of this. Of how much I love you. I'm just…so afraid you’ll be taken away from me.”

He saw the tears spring to her eyes before she said. “I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Mulder. You’re mine. I'm yours. Even if they kick us both out of the FBI tomorrow, you're the only partner I'll ever want.” She rested her cheek right over his heart, which was pounding a relentless beat. “But…I don't think the world will end if we stop hiding from it. When we’re ready.”

He tightened his arms around his unimaginably brave, kind, understanding, enigmatic Scully. He really was the luckiest son-of-a-bitch who ever lived, and he would spend everyday making her feel the same if it was the last thing he did. Her breathing had started to slow and her limbs relaxed.

He nudged her shoulder, “Hey Scully?”

“Mm?”

“Bill isn’t a Yankees fan too, is he? Might be a place for me to start.”

“Padres,” she responded sleepily.

He kissed the top of her head, “I can work with that. C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

He sat up with her and took her hand to lead her back to the bedroom. They brushed their teeth, shoulder to shoulder, before crawling into the rumpled bed together. She rolled away from him with her head cushioned by his arm and his other slung around her waist, legs intertwined and his nose brushing the nape of her neck.

She was fading fast, but before she drifted off she took his hand at her waist in hers and kissed his palm. “Love you, Mulder…”

He kissed the back of her neck, “Love you too, Scully.”

—-------

He woke the next morning to the ringing of the phone on the bedside table. Scully stirred and rolled over toward him when he reached around to answer it. “Hello?”

Steve’s obscenely chipper voice responded “Good morning! Just wanted to let you know, Brenda called, and the roads opened up about a half an hour ago. Plows must have been going all night. Hope you two had a good night!”

He sat up in bed, “Uh, yeah. Very comfortable, we can’t thank you enough for putting us up.”

“Not a problem! Take your time, no rush to check out.”

He thanked Steve again and hung up, then shook Scully’s shoulder gently. “Hey, the roads are open. We should get going.”

She opened one bleary eye at him, “Do we have to? I’m warm.”

He prodded her gently, “Come on, if we get a move on we could have you back before the first course.”

She assented, and they both rose and started to get ready. A pleasant but disappointingly non-erotic shower and some to-go toast later and they walked out to crystal blue skies behind the piney mountains and a world that glittered with fresh snow. He’ll be damned, one of the owners had even swept the snow off their car. Mulder shook his head and loaded their bags into the trunk. Scully buckled in but he paused before starting the car.

She looked over at him questioningly, “What is it, Mulder?”

He turned the car on but unbuckled his seat belt. “Just want to do one thing, just take a sec.” He got out and jogged toward the main office while she stared after him, confused.”

When he returned a minute later and put the car into gear she asked, “What did you need to do?”

“Nothing, Scully, just wanted to thank Steve and Emmett. Ready?”

“Yeah. I think I’m going to miss this place, though,” she sighed.

He grinned and thumbed the business card from the front office in his pocket, already planning how he would get her out here for a few more days next year.

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