#domestic!Mulder

[postmodernbeliever]

sick and twisted- fox mulder x female reader (smutsmutsmutsmut)

in a sudden bout of sickness, you are staying with fox, who is yearning to take care of you (...in more ways than one.)

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hope you enjoy this incredibly horny thing... wrote this as i worked through raging period hormones <333 (sometimes i still get a little nervous to post these but yknow what. if im thinking it someone else is too probably. so yolo)

my ao3 | word count: 2,906

content tags: soft dom fox mulder, fox mulder the top of every girl's dreams, domestic fluff, fluff and smut, sickfic, sick reader, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering & sex, plus size reader if you squint, past fox was a little plus size if you ALSO SQUINT!!!!, idiots in love, pet names, smut, pain relief, talking you through it bc he's a nice boy, cross-posted on ao3

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it was twisted, the way fox was turned on by you being sick. it checked every fantasy in his head off the list and you didn't even know.

by the time you got off work last night, you felt the brain fog rolling in, and you came straight to fox’s place instead of your own- and he was more than happy to oblige you. he wanted to set you up in his bed, but you refused, so he made you a little home on his couch, fixed with his good pillows and the blanket you designated as your own months ago. the man had been itching to come home all day. his brain was so out of the loop, in fact, that he handed dana a case report only half completed, with sentences stopping midway through. his partner had to force him out of the office just so he didn’t screw anything else up, but he couldn’t care less, because he was on his way home to his girl. he even went to the store to get you ginger ale and animal crackers, because he knows that’s your favorite remedy. and god, if you weren't everything he’d been dreaming of since he left you last. 

you were splayed out on his couch beneath a blanket, coughing up a storm. your nose was red and irritated from blowing it into so many tissues, lips swollen from all the chapstick and chewing; a glassy, sleepy look glazed over your eyes, and your skin paled everywhere but your cheeks, which were flushed in a pretty little smear across your face. you were in his old academy t-shirt, which left room to breathe- he was a bit bigger back then, lucky for you- and a little pair of boxers that were hiked up your thighs from sitting in them all day. you were the vision he couldn’t have conjured even if he tried. he wished that they could make a calendar of just you, looking like this, for every month until he died. but above all, your voice was the part that truly drove him up the wall. you didn’t think of the raspiness as much more than grating, but to him? gruff, weak, gentle, needy, undeniably brutally irrefutably hot- he had a thesaurus written just to put it to words. every word that fell from your lethargic lips was like music to his ears; he could listen to your stuffy breathing forever.

fox had been taking care of you, despite your protests to leave you be. you didn't want to get him sick, but he didn't care. he insisted on keeping you company and doing mindless work at his living room desk until you felt like getting back into the world. that was another thing. seeing you helpless and dependent on him, needing him to feel better… he loved that. he loved spoiling you, feeding you, treating you like a princess. that's what you were to him. there was so much in his life that was out of his control, that he couldn’t protect, but you were the one constant thing he could keep safe. the one thing he could selfishly keep. there was no chance he was going to give that up so easily, not when you were catering to his urges so wonderfully.

it was getting late, but you'd slept all day, so the exhaustion behind your eyes was keeping you awake. overtired and restless, your head was throbbing, and you couldn't get comfortable. the man heard rustling from the couch and turned in his desk chair, a serene smile on his face. he noticed you shifting awkwardly and came to the rescue.

"what is it, baby?"

you ceased trying to rearrange the contents of the couch and let yourself flop against the pillows, huffing in aggravation. "ugh, nothing. just can't get comfy."

"let me help you," fox urged. he rose from his chair and stalked over, kneeling dutifully at the couch's edge to help you adjust the pillows behind your head and beneath your legs. "better?"

"mhm. thank you."

"of course. how’re you feeling?"

"not good," you pouted, voice thick with strain, "my head is killing me, and my stomach is aching. and my nose and throat, too… i took some medicine not too long ago, but it’s taking forever to kick in… ugh. you know i hate being sick."

that childish pout had his stomach churning. he knew this wasn't about him, and you needed rest, but he also couldn't ignore how enticing you looked, all innocent and sleepy on his couch. how you trailed off between thoughts, working through the sick haze in your head. he leaned over a bit to rest his hands on your lower abdomen, pressing the heels of his palms against your belly softly. you hummed at the touch, and he had to force his eyes not to roll back.

"what can i do to make you feel better?"

"can..." you trailed off. "maybe you could cuddle me?"

"i'd love to."

the man climbed onto the couch without a thought, allowing his body to mold to how yours curved. you felt his strong chest rising and falling against your back, the constancy soothing as he draped his arm over your side, letting his rough hands drift slowly back down to your tummy. fox pressed a few lazy kisses behind your ears, causing the hair on your arms to stand up stiff. his lips were always warm, but with your skin burning up as it was, they felt frigid.

"too cold?"

"mm-mm," you hummed. maybe they were, but you weren’t going to jeopardize him stopping. 

fox was starting to disregard his better judgment as he tucked himself into you, feeling the feverish heat of your back. he was more attuned to the motions you made than his thoughts. the way your hands, so soft, just a touch smaller than his own, laid safely atop his wrists; how when he rubbed slow circles against your aching stomach, you made a little noise that was something heavenly, both hum and sigh; how your left foot ran up and down your right leg, feeling the fuzzy fabric of the blanket wedged between. he was so lost in how good it felt to be wanted that it was crossing over into obsession. he wanted every square inch of you to need his attention. he wanted to touch every spot that felt sick and nurse you back to life- to have it engrained in your head that only he could make it feel better, and no one else. 

so engrossed in his urges, fox kissed a little more, and what started as innocent turned urgent. he sucked softly behind your ear, nipping relentlessly on that sensitive spot you had. you began to pant, feeling the fever chills leave and a different kind of warmth roll over you. you pushed your hips into his hands, trying not to squirm and failing miserably. 

"oh, god," you covered your face with your hands. “fox…”

fox’s low laugh rumbled against your shoulder blades. the man relished in your inability to resist. his fingers began to travel down to your boxers, and he tucked his hand right below the waistband. he put pressure right against your heat and you buried your face as best as possible into the couch cushion, letting out a helpless whine.

"feels good, right, baby?"

"a-ah," you hiccuped.

"m'just gonna touch it, that's all,”

"but-"

"i can make you feel so much better," he kissed your ear, "make all those aches go away so fast, baby. can i?”

"please," you whispered.

he reached down and dragged his fingers along the fabric separating him from what he wanted, feeling the wetness beneath. his touch was feather-light, and as he gently wriggled his fingers beneath the cotton, you squeezed your eyes shut and scratched softly at the knuckles of his hand still on your waist. you were struggling to do anything other than lie there, but he didn’t need a thing from you anyway. eagerly, you felt his steady fingers brush against your entrance, and his lips parted hungrily at how slick you were.

"god, you're so easy, aren’t you?"

fox dipped two fingers inside you, testing the waters. when your hips rocked back into his, he couldn’t bite back the greedy smile that overtook his face. impatient, he pushed them deeper, feeling the familiar pressure of you squeezing around his hand. you licked your chapped lips, feeling a knot tying itself in your tummy where he worked his fingers inside you. he’d been away a lot recently, so much so that this was a reminder of just how long his fingers truly were. 

"mm, now how’s that, sweetheart?"

"it’s… good," you drawled.

"you like it when i touch you like this, don't you? y’like how my fingers feel?"

you turned your head to look down at where his wrist disappeared beneath your boxers, and you keeled back against the pillow, meeting his broad shoulder. you shuddered in pleasure, and he craned his neck over to lock you in a kiss, feeling possessive like never before. he tasted the minty vicks above your lip and moaned right into your mouth.

"my poor, sick girl… just need me, don't you, baby? oh, you just want me to make it feel better, i know."

you practically melted into the couch as he buried his fingers between your hips. skillfully, he maneuvered you onto your back and crawled up and over so you could lay flat; he anchored his arm right over your head so he could stare down and watch the bliss reach your rosy face, all the while never taking his hand away. once you started breathing heavily and clenching around his fingers, he pulled them out, dragging his slick fingertips across your stomach, leaving shiny streaks behind. when you groaned at the loss, he clicked his tongue.

"no whining, angel. i'm not done. i'm gonna take good care of you."

you watched through spinning vision as he pushed down the couch, crawling low until he could lean over your hips. then, with his big palms stationed between your thighs, he spread you wide, ogling your plush pink folds.

"you're so pretty, baby. my pretty girl."

he pressed a few kisses on the mound just above where you ached, sending shocks up to the tips of your hair. then, he dipped his tongue right inside. he was too needy to start with kitten licks, so instead he swirled around, curling his tongue like a hook, big button nose rubbing against your clit as he breathed you like air. you were officially somewhere new, somewhere out of your own mind; his tongue was so long it could've been one of his god-given fingers, so warm inside you, so deep you couldn't see straight. 

"mmm- god- i love you.”

your toes curled as he moaned all kinds of sweet nothings into you, feeling the soundwaves rolling against your walls. just when his tongue had you going, he moved up to your clit and began sucking so hard you started seeing stars. you clamped your thighs around his head and felt his strong, rough hands grip the chub on them hard, fingertips digging enough to leave moon-shaped bruises. you tugged on his hair, unable to do anything but feel him against you and try not to slip away. but there was no stopping the way you floated in limbo, surrounded by the way he made you feel.

"fuck, baby, look at you," he growled between your hips. "c’mon. let me hear that scratchy little voice of yours."

"oh my god," you moaned, "oh, y-you... i... fox,"

"fuck, that's it. is it good, love, am i good?"

"you're so good! so…s-so good…fuck!" you fought not to trail off, but thinking was hard enough as it is.

“that’s my job, sweetheart.”

he kept himself there, getting off on the way you bucked your hips against his jaw. it didn’t take much longer for the burning in your stomach to grow unbearable, and through trembling little spasms confined by his stronghold on your waist, you unraveled right on his tongue. he came up for air with milky lips after working it out of you for a minute, pressing wet kisses all up your stomach and chest. you felt so dirty as you smiled down at the sheen trail of cum prints in the shape of his pretty lips.

“good girl. did that help?"

"mhm," you heaved, head spinning. “need…”

"what? what is it?"

"i- oh..."

"use your words, princess. words."

"c-can you- you..."

he knew what you wanted. he saw it in the pathetic way you glanced from your hips to his, too worked up to get it out. he chuckled in a way that sent chills up your legs and said, "awh, baby. you want me to fuck you now?"

you bit your lip and bucked your hips in the air. he lodged his leg between your thigh with a smirk and you pressed yourself against it, grinding on the worn fabric of his sweatpants. he felt a wet patch soaking through to his skin, and he twitched in anticipation. you batted your eyelashes and let out a raspy little noise, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt while you moved. and when a sniffle interrupted your humming, it drove him right over the edge.

"fuck. you’re so cute, you little tease.”

he shimmied his sweatpants down in an instant and wasted no time, groaning gutterally as he pushed in and bottomed out. you were hot around him, pulsing like a steady heartbeat.

"fuck, baby. never gets old,” he swooned, pressing a gentle kiss to your chin.  

he began to thrust in and out, hips rolling religiously into the curve of your legs. you clung to his shoulders and tugged him down so he was stuck against your neck, breath hot. he began to fuck you faster, pressing starving kisses to your collarbone, and you arched your back, gasping for a solid breath.

"oh my god!"

"god, you’re so tight," he growled, “been saving it all up for me, huh? missed me bad, i can tell,”

"mm… fox!”

"you like it when i fuck you like this? right on the couch, where anybody could see in that window? say it, baby,”

"i love it," you croaked, gathering the little tufts of overgrown hair at the nape of fox’s neck and tugging them in a last-ditch effort to ground yourself. he tipped his head back into your touch and whined, and you gave a dizzy, darling smile.

"god, i love you. i love you, i love you, i fucking love you," he praised, timing every confession with a thrust of his hips.

all you could manage was a distracted, "m-me... too... ah!"

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he uprighted himself and yanked you by the love handles, dragging you down the couch like a doll. he clawed at your hips, leaving red marks he’d have to soothe later. fox snapped harder and harder, losing control but not caring at all; you let him take you in his hands, surrendering until you couldn't take anymore, and suddenly the knot in your stomach burst. you shivered and writhed all around, whispering his name like a strangled prayer as your hands searched for something to squeeze. he leaned down so you could grab his biceps, and you scratched at them like a cat, a string of lewd things falling from your tired mouth. he came undone as you clenched around him, and his warmth in your tummy was so thick you felt like you could feel it in your throat. 

"so good, baby, jesus christ," fox wheezed. "you sound so pretty when you’re sick. can’t help myself."

you were nearly unresponsive. your head had never spun the way it did now, and your ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, along with your throat. you couldn't form any words, all you could do was claw at his arms and tremble, face stuck in a permanent state of bliss. 

"feeling any better?" fox pressed little kisses to your chin and neck and eyes, and he traced shapes on your stomach to wake you up. "come on, princess, open your eyes. come back to me.” when you smiled and sighed, letting out an embarrassed giggle, he cooed, "there she is, my pretty girl."

"mhm."

"still feel bad?"

you shook your head sweetly, eyes drooping. "nuh-uh."

his heart swelled and he just wanted to eat you alive, so he did the next best thing. he leaned down and kissed your swollen lips with a softness he abandoned just minutes ago, swiping his tongue against your lips and all over your face. he kissed you with all the maneuvers of love he could muster, and you hummed against his mouth, pulling on his hair to hear those pretty little sounds again.

"you’ve got me so whipped, sweetheart," he purred between kisses, "just wanna take care of you."

"you're so good at it," you blushed.

"i do what i can." 

he kissed and kissed and kissed you into the couch, and all that kissing got heated, and one thing led to another because the two of you simply couldn’t help yourselves. and the next day, he woke up as sick as you. who saw that coming?

[bisexualfbiagents]

Well, it's good to see you got all your personal devices back. Not all of them.

THE X FILES GIF MEME [9/20] EPISODES Rm9sbG93ZXJz (11.07)

[unremarkablehouse]

IWTB musings

I’ve always thought the alternate title for this movie should be “How Scully got her groove back…”

Although Mulder spends most of his time in isolation and it appears as if Scully is the more functional (working as a successful doctor), when it comes to going back to work for the FBI we see how broken she really was. Scully has closed herself off the extreme possibilities and pushes back hard against it- even calling it ‘looking into the darkness’. Given that she works as a medical doctor I have no doubt she’s seen her share of horrific situations, but unlike The X Files, she doesn’t have her Partner to sustain and support her. How much Scully misses that dynamic can’t be understated, and while the case might give her the idea to look into alternate treatments, it’s seeing Mulder’s relentlessness that spurs her to go against her colleagues and boss to push for this experimental treatment.

Scully’s jealousy of Dakota Whitney isn’t touched on enough but it is more than a pretty young Agent who looks up to Mulder, it’s that this woman has a willingness to believe without the fear of being hurt. I absolutely love that Mulder shaved his beard within minutes of Scully complaining in bed and pulls away when Dakota goes to touch his shaving injury in front of Scully. Scully being “too busy” to answer Mulder’s calls the next day were definitely due to a jealous pout. While I maintain Dakota’s death was bizarre and unnecessary, it serves as a painful reminder of all the allies, friends and family who lost their life during his pursuit for answers.

I personally love the Mulder and Scully argument they have in the hospital shower (plus Mulder’s familiarity with the hospital is enough to fuel hundreds of pre-IWTB fics). Mulder’s dream is to work with Scully again and he can’t understand why she isn’t into it. He doesn’t fight for her to stay, being with Mulder has always been her choice so he doesn’t attempt to make her stay. Fanfic note, Scully has another place to stay other the Unremarkable House. I’m guessing it’s a furnished apartment near the hospital that she used as a decoy for her primary residence while Mulder was still a fugitive. Also, her condo in the Revival looks exactly like an executive furnished apartment with zero personal touches, leading to my argument that Scully wasn’t out of the house that long. But I digress.

The final scene where Scully goes to the house with a thin excuse to discuss the case is really beautiful. Scully is terrified to perform this surgery and take another leap of faith and so she goes to Mulder (who is caught up by the injustice in the world). It takes Mulder a moment to realize what Scully needs, and the words “don’t give up” finally make him realize the weight of which she’d been struggling. After everything with William and the things she has seen, Scully had given up believing in herself, and that is what pushes Mulder to go after her. It is beautiful to see how Mulder is able to restore Scully’s faith in herself by virtue of his unwavering support. Also, Scully’s face lighting up at the mention of a vacation is such a married moment that always makes me laugh. While we never find out whether the surgery was a success or not, but I love seeing Scully’s confidence at the end as she begins to work.

I can understand why people have issues with the movie because it isn’t the Mulder and Scully dynamic that we love in the series. However, I think seeing a broken Scully struggling with herself and ultimately having Mulder as her touchstone to help her heal the long neglected wound shows us more than we got in the series.

[randomfoggytiger]

I'm thinking about Mulder burrowing into three layers of Arcadia pillows (one for his head, one for the back of his neck and shoulders, and one for the small of his back-- how domesticated), trying to look enticing so Scully won't kick him out.

Meanwhile, Mulder's fullproof plan is foiled once the camera zooms out and we see what Scully sees, The Bigger Picture:

While he is adorable in his cute, socked feet (which he kept on despite being in California after a hot run... because it ups his adorable, "don't kick me out" factor), Mulder left a dirty, lace-snarled shoe dangling off the corner of the bed while dumping HIS jacket over onto SCULLY's side of the bed and lying diagonally into her zone, consuming more of her space.

(Moreover, he quips about "Laura" and "we're married now"-- so it's not a Mulder proposition so much as a Mulder poke.)

And when Scully gives him the boot, what does Mulder do? Get up from his side and take his shoe and jacket like a reasonable person?

No. He toddlers over the bed in a purposefully awkward, gynmantics-for-middle-aged-unreasonable-people way,

dumping the pretense by grabbing the only pillow he cared about

and keeping a grip on it even after he squeezes into Scully's personal space to make a pointed quip,

gauge her reaction,

and toddle out of the room.

The last shot of him leaving is not even him: it's his pillow still in frame.

(That one gets me every time.)

Every second of this episode is so good I almost can't stand it.

That is all.

[jessiesjaded]

X files season 9 au where Scully still helps out on cases like she does but rather than being on the run, Mulder embraced being fired in s8 and is just happily being a stay at home dad and we get cute Baby William content

[california-112]

Ok so that actually may have been my favourite episode so far

[evanbuckleykinnie]

I love the gentle cheek and forehead kisses they give each other, but I would’ve liked to see more casual kisses from them? Like a MWAH smooch in greeting or to say goodbye. Every time we see them kiss is so fraught with emotion. Give me the everyday stuff! They’ve been obsessed with each other for so many years. Not every kiss has to be a Big Deal, you know?

see this is exactly the shit I think about too! the casual kisses. intimacy on a causal level is so ingrained into their relationship, why wouldn't they just kiss each other? a kiss before breakfast, a tiny smooch because one of them smiled and it was just too pretty not to be given attention, a soft peck to the corner of the mouth as they move past cause they're too busy to actually focus and target but they still wanna show that affection. you're so right and correct and I'm in tears over casual msr kisses

[baronessblixen]

https://x.com/amazlngnature/status/1844822834603782350?s=46&t=yXA7J89mdWfMrTVb8W4x5A this sums up scully’s life 😅🩷

A friend sent me this video too! It's so cute. And yes, Scully vibes 😁❤️

[georgetownsweatshirt]

Ladies and gentlefolks, I have finally coughed up the next chapter of A New Future

[sleepyscully]

Given how much I hate bugs and cockroaches in large quantities I enjoy watching “war of the coprophages” a LOT

[unremarkablehouse]

They’re so freaking beyond married at this point

THE X-FILES ↳ 6.15 | Arcadia

[postmodernbeliever]

little darling- fox mulder x female reader (SMUT OH MY GOD…)

fox mulder knows how badly you want to be touched, to be taken care of, and he is obsessed with being the first and only guy to do it.

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my ao3 | word count: 6,071

content tags: smut, smut so good in my brain it came out poetic?, loss of virginity, virginity kink, dom fox mulder, protective gentle extremely horny fox mulder, embarrassment, sexual fantasy, plus size reader gets sooooo much love, im blushing just posting this aaaaaaa, oh some religious bits bc catholic girls are freaky and also his sex is THAT good, cross-posted on ao3

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fox knew it was wrong, and he didn’t care. he knew how he thought about you, how he touched you in his mind, how he wanted to possess you was culpable- but then again, how shameful could it truly be? how bad was it to want to take care of you, to teach you the right way, to want to show you how good love is supposed to feel? well, maybe it wasn’t completely pure, because he nearly came untouched just thinking about you sometimes, but he just couldn’t help himself. he wanted to. he wanted to be the one you chose to give yourself to. the only one. 

it was always in the most mundane moments, like this one, that he needed it most, which played into his guilt. soft moments where you were unaware of what you were saying or doing, clueless as to how you were making him feel. now, as you sat watching the sex scene from basic instinct while fox pretended to be filling out a case file at his desk, was one of those moments. you squirmed in your seat with a sweet blush on your cheeks, watching the slight caricature of sharon stone on top of michael douglas, pupils blown wide and trying to hide your interest. fox was doing his best not to move a muscle, but he felt like a vein would pop if he didn’t turn around to look at you. his stomach was twisting itself into hot, trembling knots just wondering what the scene was doing to you. 

you’ve been dating him for a few months now, and upon meeting him, you fell in love in a way you still didn’t understand. he did, too. he idolizes you, he holds you up above everyone else to his detriment. after the first few dates, you told him that you wanted to take the physical aspects of the relationship slow because you had personal obstacles to overcome; he promised to do so, because when you look at him, his entire world glows, and he refused to jeopardize that heaven you unraveled. but he’s learned a lot about you since then simply through deduction. the few risqué movies you’ve watched with him proved through the surprise on your face that you hadn’t seen much video porn, let alone been touched; the books you tried to hide in your purse had absurd covers with the lustful silhouettes of cowboys and prairie girls, corporate bosses and assistants, big looming over small against some dark backdrop– all of it meaning that when you were alone, you fantasized. but the most telling was when fox himself touched you, albeit innocently. it was like you’d never been touched by anything before. when fox’s fingers ghosted over your knuckles as he held your hand, you’d giggle like a schoolgirl, hiding your face in your shoulder. even better, when he brought those same hands to the soft, warm apples of your cheeks, you’d shudder, melting into his touch like you’d lost your volition. it didn't matter how he did it- if his hands were on you in some capacity, your breath hitched in your throat like a fool. 

you wanted to let him touch you. there wasn’t a thing in the world you wanted more than to let him give you all of the things you’d dreamed, all of the things he must be aching to, but it was difficult for you. it seemed no amount of love was enough to break down your walls– you’d never let anyone that close. you’d always struggled with your body and your worth, and the little dating experience you’d had wasn’t much to boast about. you weren’t what people wanted, even if you were deserving. you knew fox was different, and that to him you weren't too big or not pretty enough, but you had just about every anxiety about physical affection. he had no idea you were a virgin on top of it all, which only made the pressure greater. you just couldn’t get over the fear. but you yearned to have it, so much so that even the smallest instances set your body aflame. you had the most lewd things running through your head when fox did just about anything. once you watched the man reach for the cereal box on the top shelf in his kitchen, and his sleep shirt rode up to reveal the dark happy trail that disappeared down his pants, and you felt so dizzy you could’ve dropped dead. and whenever he was close, it was unbearable. you replayed the sensation of his strong, lean hands resting protectively over your hip at his friend’s house. you thought about the way his lips felt on your forehead so often you could’ve written a book based solely on the texture. it drove you insane, the way you wanted him, and you drove yourself insane every time you didn’t act on it. but what did you know of hands, of mouths, of letting someone see what you shroud in fabric every day? what did you know of making him feel good, too, of being worth the wait for him?

now, as you curled up on his couch, you watched michael douglas’ hand grip sharon stone’s leg. it was big, but not big like fox’s. you imagined it was your boyfriend on the television, dark and brooding, as you saw how the man dove between the blonde’s legs, starving; her back arched, propelling her hips forward into his face, and she let out a soft moan. in your head, you saw yourself on that bed, and fox as hungry. you squeezed your thighs together and gathered the blanket draped across your legs in your palms, trying not to look as overwhelmed as you felt. but the agent who listened to the heavy breathing on screen saw exactly what was happening to you. he saw the blood rushing to the tips of your ears, tinting them the color of your bitten lips; he saw the way you shifted rhythmically beneath the blanket, almost undetectable, but absolutely undeniable. fox looked up at the ceiling as if to thank the god he didn’t believe in for playing basic instinct on cable, and he stood up from the desk, stalking over to sit beside you on the couch. as his body made the cushions dip, you smiled nervously. through a cracking voice, you said, “i didn’t know this movie was all… y’know.”

‘oh, yeah, it’s pretty heavy,” fox nodded, attempting his best unassuming expression. “still good, though, huh?”

“i mean, sure,”

“yeah, i think so, too.”

fox sighed just a tad too loudly and let his hand fall on your thigh. nothing but the blanket was between his palm and your skin. you looked to him with a pleading pair of eyes, though you didn’t really know what you were pleading for. the moaning from the television got louder, and you felt so warm, and his hand wasn’t going anywhere. you had no idea what to do. fox grinned at you and let his head tilt back over the couch as he swallowed thickly. you stared at the curve of his stately neck, how his adam’s apple bobbed, and every inch of your body pined in his wake. fox gazed at you, lounged wide like a lion, and his hand slowly traveled up your thigh to the crease of your hip. he slid his fingers across the soft crevice, and you were still at a statue, stuck between craving the friction and terrified to feel it. 

“can i ask you something personal?” fox’s voice was gentle. husky.

“...mhm.”

“has anyone ever, uh,” you followed his gaze to the tv, where michael douglas was doing things that made your hands sweat. “have you ever done it like that?”

you prayed that a black hole would open up in the floor and suck you in, so you never had to admit the truth. but his hand was still in that soft spot, and his minty eyes were made of looking glass, and the image of him that fucked your mind was so boggling you were on the edge of giving up. 

“just out of curiosity,” he added, lips curling into a cheshire smile.

you ran a hand across your burning cheeks and murmured, “uh, no. no, i haven't.”

“it’s interesting, y’know, how they can make it look so real,” fox pursed his lips, pushing his hand back down your thigh to rest on your knee. 

before you could bite your tongue, you confided, “i wouldn’t really know.”

fox’s hand paused at the crest of your kneecap, a chill running down his body. he thought of you, his pretty, quiet, gentle girl, and he never once stopped to think why you were so reserved. he always blamed the little silver cross that hung from your neck and some guy from your past, but he neglected other options. but now, his mouth watered. 

“really?”

you tugged the blanket up to your face. “is that a bad thing?”

the man turned to face you, pulling your hands away to reveal the flushed face beneath. you were breathing so heavily. a need rattled his bones, one he wished he could stifle. pictures flashed in his brain- you, writhing beneath him, the feeling so new, making pretty faces as he did what the people in movies do. him, defiling you, ruining the girl you’ve been, clutching to your cross as your mouth bled with his name. maybe he was a monster, but his cock twitched in his dress pants at the humiliated expression you bore.

“no, baby, of course not!” he chuckled, “no, that’s– that’s a good thing.”

“but i-”

“everyone does things at their own pace,” 

“but…”

“but what, sweetheart? i don’t expect anything from you.” fox sweetly lied. he wouldn’t force it, but he wanted it. badly. 

“i just wish that, uh, that i had by now. sometimes. i guess.” 

your eyes darted between the television screen and the way his nimble fingers encased both of your wrists. it only took one hand for him to hold you down… what a career he could make with his other hand free. 

“have you ever tried?” 

“...no.”

“do you want to?”

you let out a nervous hum. something came over you like it always does, and you leaned over to hide in his shoulder; in a way, that was better than letting him see your face. his hand rested at the nape of your neck as he cooed, “awh, baby, it’s okay.”

“it’s not really okay,” you mumbled into his shirt. “it’s embarrassing.”

“i don’t think it is. i think it’s cute.”

you felt his hand run down your back, and you pushed yourself a little closer, so you could rest against his neck. fox kept talking since you were at a loss. 

“nothing embarrassing about that, i promise. truthfully, you’re better off. so many guys out there just wanna take advantage, y’know?” he reasoned, tracing little things at the small of your back, fingertips like pens. “probably would’ve wished you didn’t, because you’re so hard on yourself… i would hate to know you lost your virginity to some guy who didn’t care about you. not the way i do.”

the heat of your breath against his neck was maddening. everything about you was maddening. how you curled into him for protection, for reassurance, how your palms tugged at the wrinkled cotton of his work shirt because you didn’t know where to put them. the little nods of agreement you made with every opinion he voiced. he wanted to knock you on your back and fuck you right there, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t spring it on you. you had to want it, you had to let him. and he knew you wanted to let him because it was all over you. 

he asked again, “baby, do you want to?”

he raised his wandering hand to tuck your hair behind your ear, and you felt this urge inside you, an indulgence just begging to be released. acting selfishly, you pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, and beneath your lips, you felt the vibration of a little growl. fox tangled his palm in your hair, and as gently as he could, he pulled your head back so you had no choice but to look at him. 

“is that a yes?”

your stomach churned. “yes.”

“good. come on.”

fox rose from the couch and tugged you up with him. he watched the blanket fall from your legs to see that your sleep shorts had ridden up and tucked themselves in the chub of where your thighs and legs met, that sacred spot he’d touched before, and he rolled his eyes in ardor. with your shaky hand in his, the man led you into his bedroom, where he motioned for you to sit at the edge of the bed. 

“fox, i…”

“what, love?”

“i… i don’t know.”

you watched him walk over to his closet and open the doors, revealing the shuffled-around mess inside. with his back turned to you, you saw his hands disappear to unbutton the dress shirt that crumpled on his shoulders from a day’s work. as he pulled it over his head, the spotless skin of his sculpted back smiled at you. your hips were warm. 

“you’re nervous,” he said, still facing away as he threw the shirt into the basket. “i know you are. but it’s not so scary. plus, you’re with me. i’m nice, aren’t i?” “you’re very nice,” you smiled, “but you’ve done this before. you… you know so much more than i do.”

“are you sure?” fox’s laugh rumbled low in his throat, “because i’ve seen the books you read. bet you’ve got all kinds of ideas i’ve never even tried before.”

you shifted on the bed, tucking your legs into a crisscross. “w-well, that’s different!”

“no, it’s not!” the man teased, shaking his head like you were hopeless. he crossed the room, back to you, where he stood like a pillar before the bed. when you didn’t meet his gaze, he tucked his finger beneath your chin and made you. “you’ve been thinking about it for so long, haven’t you, sweetheart? about me? must be so lonely, just thinking, never doing.” 

he passed his thumb over your trembling chin, admiring your starry eyes, how they reflected so much love. you were so pretty, a pretty he couldn’t have imagined if he’d seen all the most beautiful women in the world. none of them could hold a candle to his girl. “you’re so smart, so good at handling things when they’re hard. but you never let anyone handle you, do you? not even me, baby, and i could be so good at it.”

you couldn’t control how you let him sway you. you gave yourself over, basking in the rush. he settled on his knees, so you had to look down, and he pressed his hands to where your love handles dipped, passing the skin over in his hands. 

“i’ve wanted to let you,” you sighed, “i’ve… thought about it.”

fox’s eyes, eager as a puppy’s, looked up at you as he asked, “well, when we’re in your head, where do i start?”

you shivered. “you kiss me first.”

the man decided that you deserved to have your fantasies fulfilled; if in your pretty mind you’d dreamed up a routine, then he’d follow it, and he’d prove to you that nothing was as good as the real deal. he pushed up on his knees and leaned in, thankful for his low-set bed, as he pressed his lips against yours. you disassembled against his touch; he moved with a cadence that had your head spinning, fingers behind your ears, tongue swiping against your bottom lip. you’d kissed him plenty, but never like this. never so messy, so desperate. he tasted warm, and kind, sunshine in a mouth. you let out a soft whimper as he caught your bottom lip between his teeth.

“i think you’re a bad girl in that head of yours, angel,” he mumbled into your mouth. “what do i do next up there?”

you were too afraid to say it, and you didn’t want to pull away from his lips, so instead you reached for the wrist that held his hand to your face. fox’s throat tightened as you guided his hand down to your stomach, a place you didn’t let him touch often. 

“so pretty, baby,” he admired, knowing exactly what it is you needed from him. he paraded his kisses down to your neck, where he got so much sloppier. he licked a stripe over your throat, nipping at the soft skin of your jaw, and he passed the chub of you over in his devastating hands. you keeled forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder, and he littered your ear with little pecks. “so soft. i love your tummy, y’know. how it looks when you wear those pretty dresses, and how when you wear my shirts i can see the shape. fuckin’ adorable, you have no idea. prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

“fox,” you whined. he was barely even touching you, but the weight of his words anchored your lungs to the floor. 

he took a little liberty and leaned down to tug your shirt up, and began brushing his lips over you, spit for paint. you let your hands wander to his hair, and your stomach flipped at the noises he made. 

“now what, sweetheart?”

“y-you… agh,”

fox pulled away, and you swooned at the sight of his pretty lips already swollen. “forgettin’ already?”

“well…” you trailed off, feeling a mental fog roll in.

fox stood up and pushed at your shoulders, tilting you back onto his bed. laying down, he had more access to pushing your shirt up and seeing you for real. he sucked at his teeth, handsome face overtaken with want; you curved like a muse beneath him, and he wondered why you hid all this body beneath clothes. you felt his hands like a compass, mapping the cascading mountain ranges and slow, dipping valleys of your hips and thighs, as if his whole world was discovering you, as if his purpose existed within the endless confines of your flesh and bones. and his hands roamed freely, nomadically, through your land, committing every road that made you shiver to memory. 

“where do you touch yourself, princess?” fox smiled. you whined, and he clicked his tongue. “come on, show me.”

your hand shook, but you rested it over your shorts, and you curled your fingers in to prove you knew how. 

“good girl. bet you know just what to do, huh?”

“mhm,”

“but your fingers aren’t enough, are they?” fox pouted playfully as he hooked his thumbs beneath the elastic band squeezing your waist. 

“no,” you wheezed, “never.”

“fuck. you sound so pretty when you need me. let me see you.”

trying to stop himself from rushing, the man clambered on top of you and grabbed you by the back of your knees, pushing you up the bed a bit. when your head hit pillows, he tucked them behind you, and he crawled back down to your legs with a mission. gently, he tugged your shorts down, and beneath were little black boyshorts that cut into the skin of your thighs. he looked about as starving as michael douglas as he flattened his palms against your hips, adoring the sight. 

“y’know, most girls hide lacy things,” he teased, “i like this so much better.”

breathlessly, you said, “lace is itchy.”

“god, you’re just dying for it, aren’t you?”

you pushed up into his palms and whispered, “please.”

“please what?”

“do it,” you heaved, “i need it, fox.”

he didn’t need to be told again. he slid your panties down in one sweep and practically drooled over what you had kept from him all this time. he could’ve cried. this must be what people felt when they saw the mona lisa for the first time, or had a prayer answered. this was his very own da vinci original. this was god’s divinity trapped in your lower half. you were an irritated pink, your pussy plump as the rest of you; as he pushed your thighs wide, he found a sheen already coating your skin. “fuck, sweetheart, is this from the movie or me?”

“y-you.” you kicked yourself for all your stammering, but the glow of his cheeks soothed the embarrassment. 

“oh, yeah?”

you didn’t know how easy it would be to let yourself be touched before you just tried it. here, with the one man who might be the direct work on god on earth, you wanted to spill every secret now that you knew something of hands. your heart beat against your ribcage relentlessly as you admitted, “was imagining it was you on tv, fox, you and me,”

“jesus christ,” fox grunted, eyes dirty and dark. “i can fuck you better than he ever could.”

fox pressed his thumb to the bundle of nerves that throbbed between your legs, and just the pressure alone drew a dangerous moan from the back of your throat. he relished in the sound as he began to circle his finger, leaning down to kiss the searing skin. you rolled your hips against his touch, begging for more friction, and he wordlessly rewarded you with a new motion, one that needed two fingers for rubbing. you grabbed at his forearm as it came into reach, and he felt like he could explode from how you tugged at him. you held onto his arm like it was a lifeline. any other girl would’ve grabbed the bedsheets or touched her body, but your inexperience meant you were acting on instinct, and that quite possibly was the best thing he’d ever seen. watching you feel so good for the first time in your life had him panting like a dog. you were all his now, his pretty girl under his spell. an angel who knew only one name. 

“good, baby?”

“mm-nngh,” was all you had to say. 

“what a pretty girl.”

“fox…”

“good girl. only i can make you feel like this, right? not those guys in your books, none of those movies. just me, my hands, baby, my mouth,”

you used your grip on his arm to try and get him to go faster, but he refused. he wriggled free from your grasp and left a ghostly kiss on your stomach, tutting, “oh, no, angel. i’m gonna make this last. want you out of your mind when i’m done.”

you’ve felt powerless all your life, and you do even now, but this is the first time you’ve ever needed more. you were engrossed in being taken. you’d been too afraid to pray for this because you weren’t sure how the man upstairs would feel about you breaking his technical rules, but you had to have yearned to let fox take your virginity every night since you met him. you knew he’s done this before, but you didn’t know he was so gifted; but even he could tell you that it wasn’t so much his experience as it was how he wanted to ruin every other guy for you. and how could you want another when his hand– that which wrapped around the neck of a pistol, that which choked the air of men’s throats– circled your clit so gently, working a new kind of love into you that you never thought imaginable?

“been dreaming about this, y’know,” fox drawled, leaving stinging kisses on your waist. “been thinking about how our first time would go. and you’re doing so good, you’re taking it so well right now.”

you couldn’t speak. every word got caught in your chest. so instead you tugged at his hair, trying to get him to kiss you. he giggled, hovering over you and slowing his fingers so he could give you what you wanted. you moaned into his mouth, lips gnashing against his teeth in your eagerness, and just when you felt like you were starting to have some control, you felt two of his fingers push between your folds. they went so much deeper than you’ve ever gotten your own, and as he curled them inside you, your entire body shook. gasping against his cheek, you exhaled, “oh my god,”

“be careful, baby, you don’t want him to hear you,” fox warned, voice thick with lust. 

you grabbed at his chest, fingers running through the little curling hairs that grew in a thicket over his heart, and you felt it beating, keeping time with his hand. you wondered if sex felt like this for everyone the first time around, but then again, how could it? unless fox was there for them all, they could never have had it this good. 

“you’re so pretty,” fox cooed, “so pretty on my fingers. d’you feel pretty, baby?”

“mmm,”

“tell me you feel pretty,”

“i- i feel pretty.”

“mhm. what about me, love, you think i’m pretty, too? my hands feel pretty?”

“fuck,” you squeaked, “fox!”

“i know you do. say it.”

“you’re so pretty,” you droned, trying to catch his lips in a kiss, but he rerouted to your neck. 

you ground into his palm over and over again, and he felt you burning up on his fingertips, contracting, squeezing, shaking. he moaned into your shoulder, “do you wanna cum, baby?”

your hands scratched at his arms, and to his surprise, you shook your head violently. “not yet,”

“really?”

“mm-mm. not… not time yet.”

fox’s pupils swallowed the green of his eyes. the man licked his lips and slowed to a stop, letting his fingers rest inside of you, and he asked, “what comes next, then?”

even in a position so lewd as this one, you were too embarrassed to explain. so you reached up to his mouth, swiping your thumb across his slick bottom lip, and with pretty little doe eyes, you popped your finger into his mouth. you watched as he wrapped his lips around it, swirling his tongue over the salty taste of your skin, and you whispered, “i need you.”

fox pulled off your finger with a pop. “how?” 

he followed your lidded gaze as it traveled down to the bulge in his pants, and he nearly passed out. 

“you sure you’re ready for that?” his eyebrows knit together in true concern, but he knew he was the one who had to answer the question, too. he wanted to do right by you– you couldn’t regret this, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you did. “i can wait, you know. this is about you.”

“no. i’m ready,”

“positive?”

“mhm,” you sighed, “just… don’t hurt me.”

the man above you melted like putty, and the hunger he’d touched you with went soft. you saw that toothy grin again, the one that gave you butterflies, and he promised, “i’d never hurt you, angel.”

the scruff of his jaw even tinted a lovesick pink as he kissed you. your fingers scratched at the back of his ears like you would a dog’s, and you confessed between breaths, “i love you, foxie.”

his hands flew to his waist and he rushed to undo his belt and shimmy the slacks down. he wanted to scream, he wanted to stand at the edge of the world and tell every soul about the way you coated his entire existence in sugar, but right now, it was just you. he was alone with his girl, and if he couldn’t tell the world, he could at least make you sick of hearing it. 

“i’m so fuckin’ in love with you,” he swore, marking your face with invisible prints of his mouth. “i’m all yours, princess.”

“oh, god,” you groaned, watching how he spilled out of his boxers with glazed eyes. you had no idea where he was hiding all that. you felt a little dorky for the surprise, but who could blame you?

fox was too far to reign in. he grabbed your wrists and pulled you up, and he made you scoot up against his headboard; you pressed your back against the cold wood, and you yelped as he raised you in the air, pinning you to the wall. 

“fox, i-”

“you’re not too heavy,” he stopped you, knowing what you were going to say. “you’re perfect.”

you couldn’t complain- truthfully, you didn’t even get the chance to think about it, because he was all over you. with one hand holding you up by the leg, and the other gripping the headboard with white knuckles, he pushed himself between your legs, and you knocked your head into the wall at the way he stuffed you. 

“fuck, fox!”

it didn’t hurt, but god, was he big. pinned to the wall like this, you had no bearings. he had you suspended, stapled down by his sheer strength;  you never thought you could be fucked like this, some little ragdoll he could throw around, but clearly you underestimated how much he could handle. you felt the wind leaving your lungs as he pulled out and snapped back in, pelvis rolling hard against your swollen clit. he moved like a wave crashing down, managing to soak every part of you with his skin.

“fuck, sweetheart, so much better than i imagined,” he croaked, “feels okay, right?”

“s-so… so big…”

“oh, baby, i know,” he babied, leaving pinprick kisses on your jaw. “you can take it, pretty girl.”

his big hand tangled itself in the hair at the base of your neck as he fucked you into the creaking headboard. you were an endless machine of moans and profanities, head lolling, trying to keep your eyes open to watch the way his lips parted at the feeling of you encircling him. he tugged at your hair, and a guttural groan escaped your lips. 

“always wanted to get fucked like this, huh, baby? you’re such a good girl, you deserve it,”

“fox, please,”

“such a pretty girl,” he moaned, “jesus, you sure you’ve never done this before?”

as you bucked your hips against his swelling length, you offered a drunken grin. “only in my… dreams.”

“oh my god. you’ve got no idea how hot you are.”

he was everywhere, he was heaven, he was the pounding in your head as you collapsed against his body, letting him use you like a toy. you scratched at his shoulders, mouth all over his sizzling skin, and he flooded your ears with pretty praises. you hoped to god that by the time he was done you’d have the print of his hands tattooed on your hips, or that he’d never be done and you could float on by in this bliss forever. but his hips were thrusting hard, and falling out of time, and you felt your tummy squeezing like it was running out of air. he drowned in you, mouth full of dirty whines and strings of i love yous, and you knew you couldn’t hold back.

“f-fox… oh- oh god…”

“gonna cum for me, princess?”

“i… i’ve never…”

the feeling in your stomach was foreign and hot, and it was backing up all the functions of your brain. all you felt was fox between your legs, terrorizing this little spot that short-circuited all your nerves, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, trapping his mouth with yours– and when he hit it one last time, with eyes rolling back, and you let everything go. fox felt the warmth of you spilling over him, and the silent scream you let out had him unraveling in seconds. his hands were all over your face, fingers on your teeth as he came inside you, feeling himself mixing with you, and nearly bursting again just knowing he was. 

“oh, baby,” he fussed, “good girl, atta girl!”

pulling out slowly, so you didn’t feel too shocked, he slid you down the headboard softly and helped prop you up against the pillows again. you couldn't see straight, and everything twinkled, but you did catch a glimpse of him sneaking back down the bed. the man admired the mess he left behind. the smallest dribble spilled out of you, and all of a sudden he was lapping it up with his tongue, thirsty as a castaway. your entire body buzzed with overstimulation, and in what felt like screams but only came out strangled, you exclaimed, “fuck, oh my god!”

his tongue split you open, collecting all the juices between your hips and smearing the inside of your thighs, the pretty little mound of your pussy, making you shimmer like an angel. he sucked, and he swirled, and he dug his tongue between your folds like a freak, and you grabbed at his sweaty hair, so full of him you wanted to thank your angels for sending you someone so perfect.

“come on, i know you’ve got more,” fox coaxed, “one more, baby, one more.”

black spots crossed your line of vision as you watched his face disappear in your legs, and the tidal wave rose again, drowning you in a feeling that had you bucking against his tongue like a rogue horse. you’d never been able to make yourself cum, but all it took was fox mulder to pull two loads right out of you. you felt disgusting, you felt drunk, you felt so good you could’ve died this way. you didn’t ever want to leave the bed. fox made his way back up, heaving, and he kissed you with milky lips. you tasted yourself on his tongue, and you needed his palms to pin your hips down as you trembled, stuck on your high. 

“good girl, didn’t that feel good?” kiss. “you did so good, baby,” kiss, “so good for me,” kiss, “m’so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“mm… agh,” 

“i know, love, take a deep breath.” you felt his hand press against your warm tummy, and he told you again, “take a deep breath for me.”

you smiled, trapped beneath him, and you breathed like he wanted you to. anything he wanted, for the rest of his life, he would get. through fuzzy vision, you saw his glittery eyes, the grecian curve of his face, the little white strip of teeth behind his handsome smile, and you felt so in love you didn’t know what to do with yourself. he started to blush under your gaze, so he laid down on top of you, resting his head on your chest to listen to your racing heartbeat. 

“foxie,” you whispered.

“hm?”

“m’not a virgin anymore,” you giggled, the joy bubbling out of you. 

his warm laugh echoed in your ribs. “not anymore.”

“all yours now,” you swooned, “are you happy?”

you felt his hand slither behind your back, and he scratched at your spine, making you squeal at the ticklish feeling. then he attacked your neck and shoulders, mercilessly going after all the spots he knows are most sensitive until you lost your breath again from his innocent touch. “stupid question!”

“ah!– fox– agh, stop!” you swatted at his hands, a blissful wreck.

“‘course i’m happy,” he chuckled as he relented. “are you?”

in a huff, you rested your spinning head on his pillows and blushed. “mhm. very.”

“worth the wait?”

“definitely. thank you.”

“my pleasure,” he teased, flopping down beside you and lacing his fingers with yours. and when a comfortable silence fell, he couldn’t help himself: “you know i’m never gonna stop thinking about this, right? i’m ruined for life.”

“shut up,” you laughed. 

“no, seriously. get ready for a life of me drooling over you doing absolutely nothing.”

“i’d like that life, i think.”

you curled up in his side, and he drew you close, letting you hide in the crook of his neck the same way you did in what felt like a lifetime ago on his couch. there was still a little devil on his shoulder, applauding him for taking a piece of you that no one else could have now, but more than anything, his heart ebbed and flowed in his chest, blossoming each time he looked down at your pretty face. he meant it when he said he was ruined. you ruined everything by letting him fall in love with you, and he has never felt so lucky. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

inspired by this ask ;)

[unremarkablehouse]

Love and Lasagna

WC: 3038 | PG | MSR | S6 | Domestic Fluff | A03

Summary: Mulder decides to cook for Scully in an attempt to discuss their living arrangements and future plans.

Tagging: @today-in-fic

The rich smell of marinara sauce permeated throughout Mulder’s apartment as he checked his well-worn recipe book for the next step. With the béchamel and red sauce ready, all Mulder had to do was layer the sauces over the lasagna noodles and bake. With an awkward care he spooned some red sauce on the bottom of his foil pan and spread it around to make a base layer, smoothing it out using the back of his spoon with a sense of pride. Cooking in general was not an activity that Mulder did often, but tonight was a special occasion and he wanted to show his guest of honor that this simple act of domesticity was something he was capable of. He wondered whether Scully would judge him for buying a disposable foil tray instead of having a casserole dish; but if tonight went as he hoped, all future lasagnas would be made using her pans. Mulder allowed himself a few moments to daydream about what this future life with Scully could look like as he absent-mindedly opened the box of dry lasagna noodles, getting ready to place them in the tray.

The familiar jingle of keys in his lock snapped him out of his fugue state as he nervously checked over the apartment to make sure that everything was in order. Mulder admonished himself for the butterflies that filled his stomach with the anticipation at seeing Scully and talking about the changes in their relationship. Countless dinners and sleepovers had already occurred between them, yet Mulder never stopped being excited to see her. Intercepting Scully as soon as she walked through the door, Mulder kissed her a little too enthusiastically, pressing her up against the closed door in a dramatic sweep.

“Down boy,” Scully said with a laugh as she broke their kiss and pushed his body off her.

“Something smells good in here,” Scully commented as she removed her coat to reveal a snug low-cut top and jeans.

“That’s probably me, I showered this month,” Mulder joked, earning him a beloved Scully eye roll.

Glancing around the apartment, Scully noticed it was cleaner than usual, and Mulder had even set his small table. Scully followed Mulder into the kitchen, fascinated by this new side of him.

“Seriously, Mulder, what’s all this?”

“I told you, Scully, I’m making you dinner. I even got your favorite wine,” Mulder proudly displayed the bottle and filled two wine glasses.

Taking a sip of her wine, Scully popped herself up onto the kitchen counter while Mulder washed his hands, preparing to get back to cooking.

“What are you making?” Scully asked, glancing over the different pots, straining to see the recipe book from her current position on the counter.

“Lasagna, but I still need to assemble and bake it, so it’ll be a while.”

Mulder took the dry lasagna noodles out of the box, getting ready to lay them in the foil pan when Scully stopped him.

“Mulder, those need to be boiled first,” she says, holding up the pack.

“The recipe didn’t say to cook the lasagna sheets though?”

Mulder questioned, re-examining the book again. Jumping herself off the counter, Scully examined Mulder’s worn book and explaining that they were probably using fresh pasta sheets when it was written. Grabbing another pot, Scully filled it with water, passing it to Mulder to place on the stove to boil.

“Nice save Agent Scully, what would I have done without you?”

“Eaten crunchy lasagna?”

“Would you have eaten it if I hadn’t cooked the noodles?”

“I would have tried it. There’d be no way to tell if noodles were cooked until you'd bite into them.”

“The taste of disappointment—”

“Exactly!”

Biting off a dried lasagna noodle, Mulder held it out for Scully to try, but she waved him off.

“I think I like them uncooked. It’s like a flavorless chip.”

Shaking her head, Scully took the box of lasagna sheets from Mulder before he ate any more, carefully placing them in boiling water. Setting the timer for 10 minutes, a thought intruded Scully’s brain, and her forehead crinkled in contemplation. Seeing her pensive state, Mulder prodded, “What?”

“Oh, just working out what we should do with the pasta once it cooks.”

“I have a spaghetti strainer. Shouldn't we just dump the water and noodles in that?”

“No, because they’ll stick together and it’ll be tricky for you to grab one or two at a time to layer them without tearing.”

“So, we need to extract them individually from the hot water...Maybe hang them before we use them?”

Glancing around his small kitchen for utensils, inspiration suddenly hit Scully.

“Mulder! Your chopstick draw!”

“Genius!”

Mulder opened his kitchen drawer filled with extra chopsticks and soy sauce packets from his heavy diet of take out. Mulder moved his recipe book out of the way and started to carefully lay out glasses, placing chopsticks across them to act as a makeshift drying rack. Without words Mulder handed Scully a pair of chopsticks at the timer beeped, signaling that the pasta was cooked. Holding his breath with anticipation, Mulder watched in awe as Scully worked, a smile on his face at the marvel that is Dana Scully. With surgical precision Scully delicately extracted each floppy lasagna noodle from the pot and placed them carefully on Mulder’s chopstick racks. Once the pot was empty and all the lasagna sheets were hanging, announced her success with an exaggerated ‘ta-da’ and bow, receiving an applause from Mulder while laughing at her theatrics.  

Taking her seat back on the counter, Scully refilled both their wine glasses while watching Mulder assemble the lasagna. The care he’s took and the confidence he exuded while cooking was frankly sexy, and Scully wondered if he’d be offended if they skipped dinner all together. He’d only reached the middle layer when Scully spotted him sprinkling cheese and béchamel sauce over the tray.

“A little early to be adding the cheese and béchamel, isn’t it, Mulder?”

“No Scully, that’s my trick to a good lasagna, I add a secret cheese layer in the middle.”

“I’m not going to lie, that sounds amazing. My stomach’s growling.”

“There’s salad in the fridge if you want to start on that.”

As Scully grabbed the salad bowl from the fridge and removed the plastic from the top, she was happy to see Mulder had finished constructing the lasagna and now covered it with foil to place in the oven.

“Alright Scully, 30 minutes and it’ll be cooked. I just put some herb bread in there, too, that should be done in about 10.”

“Sounds good to me,” Scully said, raising her glass in appreciation. Mulder topped off their wine glasses again, amused that they had almost finished the bottle before they’d even managed to eat their salads.

“Scully, do you want to get us some salad bowls? We should probably eat something, given how much wine we’ve had.”

Scully looked up from the large salad bowl that she’d been picking at with a pair of chopsticks and waved off the bowl suggestion.

“I’m fine with chopsticks, but we should probably stay near the kitchen, the bread will be done soon anyway. Here—”

Scully used her chopsticks to grab a bell pepper, feeding Mulder. Getting his own pair of chopsticks, Mulder joined her on the counter. Mulder poked his chopsticks into the salad bowl and struggled to pick up a cherry tomato. Laughing at his difficulty Scully deftly intercepted the tomato and picked it up motioning to feed it to Mulder, but at the last minute popped it in her own mouth with delight. Mulder begrudgingly speared a piece of lettuce and chewed it with contempt. Scully’s skills with chopsticks always surpassed his and over the years she never missed an opportunity to remind him of it. Taking another sip of wine, Mulder was roused from his mellowed state by the oven timer.

“Bread is ready Muldah,” Scully’s voice had taken on a slight slur, betraying her tipsiness. Mulder wobbled over to the oven and awkwardly used some tongs to retrieve the loaf of Italian herb bread. He dropped it haphazardly onto a plate to be sliced later. He was definitely a little buzzed.

“You’ve got to take the foil off the lasagna so the cheese will brown but be careful—” Scully warned a little late as Mulder cursed, clutching the hot foil with his bare hands.

“Probably should've used a dishcloth,” Mulder said, making his way to the kitchen sink to run his burnt fingers under cool water. After a couple of minutes, Mulder decided they were fine and turned the tap off, drying his hands.

“Let me see the Muldah,” Scully commanded, and Mulder dutifully held them up for her inspection, standing between her legs as she checked his injury. Satisfied that it was just a superficial burn, Scully placed tender kisses on each of his knuckles.

“Better?”

“Much,” Mulder smiled, closing the small distance between them with a kiss. Pulling him close to her, Scully locked her arms and legs around Mulder, invading his mouth with her tongue and getting lost in the moment. Instinctively, Mulder lifted Scully off the counter, but with no real plan of where to take her and his coordination affected by the wine, he rocked a little off balance and slowly landed on the kitchen floor. Both of them sat in shock on the floor for a few minutes before bursting into laughter. Mulder’s plan to romance Scully with his cooking had gone off the rails.

“I think we need to eat something to soak up this wine.”

“Agreed, we’re definitely imbrevey...inebro...inebriated,” Scully smiled, proud she got her words out, but also decidedly drunk. Mulder blindly reached a hand up to the kitchen counter and groped around until his hand came in contact with the warm bread. Dragging it down to them Mulder pulled off a chunk and proudly offered it to Scully. Even while drunk, Mulder encouraging her to eat a chunk of bread he pulled out of nowhere gave Scully pause and she looked at it skeptically. The decision was made for her. Mulder, amused by her hesitation, decided to speed up the process and pushed the bread into her mouth. Despite the volatile way that it was delivered to her, the warm bread and herbs hit the spot, and Scully found herself moaning appreciatively.

“This is really good, Mulder!”

Having finished her wedge, Scully couldn’t contain her laughter as she watched Mulder holding the remaining loaf vertically between his two hands, taking bites from the end like an overgrown raccoon. The sound of her laughter made Mulder look up from his meal, cluelessly offering her a bite of the bread. When she refused, Mulder resumed happily munching on the loaf of bread once more. The oven timer dinged, and Scully awkwardly got up to remove it from the oven, impressed by the smell and beautiful brown color. Placing it on the counter to cool, Scully grabbed both wine glasses, plonking back down on the floor next to Mulder. With only a small hunk of bread left, Mulder eagerly set their wine glasses aside, shoving the chunk into Scully’s face before wiping his greasy hands onto his jeans.

“Mulder, you’ve really got to stop shoving food into my face,” Scully halfheartedly scolded.

“But it’s romantic to feed your lover!”

“It’s not romantic if I choke,” she warned with a laugh.

Snuggling into Mulder’s side, both relaxed into each other’s arms.

“So, Mulder, you never did tell me what this night was all about?”

Mulder had wanted to use tonight’s dinner to discuss the logistics of starting a family with her, but given they were both a little drunk, he decided to try to put the conversation off until after they’d eaten. Attempting to throw her off the scent, Mulder declared, “Happy Anniversary Scully!”

“Anniversary of what?”

“I don’t know. We’ve known each other for over six years, take your pick. The anniversary of destroying your clothes while chasing a mutant?”

“I don’t think we should celebrate that.”

“Well from now on, it could be the anniversary of us getting drunk in my kitchen the one time I attempted to cook for you.”

With a laugh Scully raised her wine glass to Mulder, “Now that, I’ll drink to!”

Cuddling back into Mulder’s chest, he placed a soft kiss on her head before asking, “do you think the lasagna has cooled down enough to eat? I’m still hungry.”

“It should be. Just be careful when you go check on it.”

With a groan, Mulder pushed himself onto his feet and over to the lasagna tray. Using his index finger, he cautiously poked into it.

“Mulder! Use a fork or something,” Scully admonished with an amused laugh. At least he wasn’t eating evidence at a crime scene again.

Mulder grabbed a fork and stabbed at the lasagna, satisfied it made its way through with minimal resistance. He speared the little section he’d prodded with the fork, capturing a chunk of the lasagna, and putting it in his mouth. The flavors were perfect, and to his relief, it had cooled down enough not to burn him. Looking over at Scully on the floor he teasingly asked, “okay woman, should I attempt to get this on some plates, and we'll move this party to the table?”

“I’m comfy. Just grab me a fork and we’ll eat it here.”

At that moment Mulder couldn’t have loved her more. Scully always managed to surprise him, but their romantic evening deteriorating into drunkenly forking the contents of a lasagna pan from his kitchen floor was just the kind of chaos he cherished. Grabbing some extra dish towels and a fork for Scully, Mulder proudly presented the pan to her, setting it on his lap while encouraging her to try some.

“Mulder, this is amazing! Great job,” Scully said, enthusiastically savoring her bite while Mulder watched, before eating more himself.

They contentedly ate in silence, managing to consume a sizable portion of the tray before Mulder finally spoke.

“Scully, what’s going to happen if we have a kid?”

“I think we’d probably eat at the table, but I’m sure you’d still manage a few kitchen floor picnics with us.”

That thought made them both smile, but Mulder pushed forward, needing a clearer picture of what the living arrangements would entail.

“No, I mean, would you move in here? Do I sell my apartment and we get a place together?”

“Do you want to live with me?”

“I do, but I’m worried you’ll get sick of me and need your space.”

“Oh, I know I’ll get sick of you, but I don’t think space is a luxury you get, as parents. To put it in basketball terms, I see our best strategy is a zone game instead of man on man. Or are you worried you’ll get sick of me?”

Reaching over to give her a kiss, he replied, “you just made a perfect basketball analogy to describe parenting styles, I could never get sick of you. Maybe I could move into your place, and we’ll rent out my apartment, or use it as storage?”

“Fox Mulder, you just want to avoid packing!”

“Of course, why do you think I bought this place when the building converted to condos?”

Standing up off the floor, Mulder offered Scully a hand and they made their way to the couch. Scully grabbed them glasses of water while Mulder took command of the VCR.

“Scully, your choices are that Hungarian documentary you wanted to watch, or The Breakfast Club?”

“I’m still too tipsy for subtitles, let’s watch The Breakfast Club.”

Satisfied with her choice, Mulder took his position lying down on the back of the couch while Scully snuggled in front of him. Handing him his glass of water Scully silently instructed him to drink it.

“Scully, who did you relate to from The Breakfast Club? Molly Ringwald?”

“Just because we both have red hair? No, I was never the spoiled princess type. I was more of an outsider like Ally Sheedy. I didn't get detention though; I was smart enough not to get caught. What about you Mulder? Wait, let me guess. Everyone saw you as the Emilio Estevez type, but you were secretly a rebel like Judd Nelson at heart?”

Scully’s guess elicited a genuine laugh from Mulder.

“Not even close, you give me way too much credit. I was Anthony Michael Hall; gangly nerd all the way.”

“But I saw your yearbooks, you were a big basketball star. Your mom showed me all your high school pictures.”

This little tidbit of information was news to Mulder, since when did Scully hang out with his mother?

“When did you even see my Moms? Where was I?”

“That time you stranded me at her house a few years back.”

“I was drugged!”

Scully chuckled at Mulder’s response. He nuzzled her neck, offering a soft apology with a kiss.

“Even though I played basketball, I was still an awkward nerd. I hung around lots of girls who only liked me as a friend.”

Scully giggled at the picture Mulder painted of his nerdy high school past. Silently, she hoped that any of their future children would inherit his sweetness and good heart.

“Scully, did your high school have Saturday detention?”

“I don’t think so, did yours?”

“No, but if I was a teacher and I had to come into work on a Saturday to supervise a detention I’d be pissed off, too.”

“You’re officially old Mulder, you're sympathizing with the adults in this movie.”

Mulder playfully swatted Scully’s hip at that comment.

“Watch it Scully, or you won’t get  any dessert!”

Mulder had uttered magic words and Scully suddenly perked up.

“Dessert?”

“Mm-hmm...I have a tiramisu in the fridge. When the room stops spinning, I plan on eating it off your chest.”

Rolling around to face him, Scully solemnly said, “actually, I think it would taste better if I ate it off you, Mulder.”

Scully raked a hand through his hair and nipped at his lower lip, eliciting an excited groan, “either way, this is turning out to be a messy night!”

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

domestic mulder and scully i live 4 u

(from the x-files: perihelion by claudia gray)

[california-112]

Wtf is this episode

[television-overload]

Ok but fr... how hard would it have been to have an episode of X-Files that opens with Mulder and Scully just waking up together and getting coffee and getting ready for work together at some point... why couldn't we have soft domestic msr