#xf fic
Text
The First Time, Every Time: E.B.E.
Rated X / 2105 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3
He makes it to the front doors of her apartment building before he turns back, the photograph that she just insisted is a fake clutched tightly in one hand. He’s irritated and angry, in part because she’s always pushing back on him, and in part because she might be right. He does tend to overlook contradictory evidence when he’s hot on a lead like this. He does want to believe Deep Throat badly enough that it’s possible he’s not thinking clearly.
She said she trusted him. More than that, she said he’s the only person she trusts. But her trust isn’t given blindly, and he can’t decide if that’s something he resents or appreciates. He just doesn’t know what to think.
When she answers the door, his anger immediately wanes. Her eyebrows are all pushed together and she’s scanning his face for clues as to why he’s back already, and he’s still not used to someone looking at him like this all the time. Like they care.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, opening the door wider and stepping aside.
Mulder walks into her foyer and turns to face her. Truthfully, he has no idea why he came back. The conversation just felt unfinished somehow.
“Why is it so hard for you to believe? Even after the bugged pen?” he asks, more frustrated than anything.
Scully closes the door and sighs, then props her hands on her hips and levels him with an icy stare. How she manages to be intimidating at five foot nothing and with that pretty face is an X-File in itself.
“I’m a scientist, Mulder. I don’t believe anything without irrefutable evidence. A bugged pen is not evidence that your picture isn’t a fake,” she says sternly, with a nod to the envelope in his hand.
Mulder huffs and shakes his head, though he can’t disagree with her.
“I just wish you could be a little more open minded,” he says, and Scully presses her lips into a tight line.
“Your skeptical partner,” she says under her breath, and he feels a little flash of embarrassment at the memory of Langly’s comment. He may have vented to them a bit shortly after Scully started working with him, but he could also tell during their brief introduction that the Gunmen liked her. A lot. “You know what, Mulder, I wish that you could be a little more open minded,” she says sassily.
Mulder scoffs.
“To what, exactly?” he asks, tossing the envelope onto her kitchen table and taking one step towards her. She lifts her chin defiantly, and he has the overwhelming urge to kiss her, which catches him off guard.
“To the possibility that you’re being manipulated,” she tells him, her eyes locked on his. “To the possibility that you’re wrong.”
“What if I’m not wrong?” he asks, moving even closer, craning his neck down to bring his nose inches from hers.
Scully blinks rapidly, unmoving aside from the labored rise and fall of her chest. It’s something he’s noticed about her, a tell that she’s emotionally activated even when all other signs indicate calm. He watches for it now, listens for it on the phone. Her breathy, “Mulder, it’s me,” tells him everything he needs to know.
“If you’re so confident it’s real, why won’t you have it analyzed?” she asks, practically panting.
Mulder slips his hand into the space between their bodies, and she startles when his knuckles brush against her chest just beneath her clavicle. He fingers the gold chain around her neck, fishing the tiny cross that hangs from it out from beneath the hem of her shirt, though his eyes never leave her face.
“I have faith in my source,” he says, his voice low, and she draws in a shuddering breath.
“A faith too fragile to be questioned is hardly faith at all,” she retorts.
He has two concurrent realizations, with the backs of his fingers resting against the satiny skin of her breastbone and his face so close to hers that he can smell the wine on her breath: she is the most maddeningly stubborn person he has ever met, and he finds her immovable nature wildly arousing.
He tells himself that he absolutely cannot kiss her at the exact same moment he realizes that he already is, and he pulls away sharply, terrified. Her eyes are wide and her lips slightly parted, and she looks just as likely to slap him as she is to kiss him back.
“Sorry,” he stammers, taking one step away from her. “I don’t know why I did that.”
His head is hung in embarrassment, so he doesn’t see her moving closer. He feels the painful press of her fingernails digging into the back of his neck, and when he looks up her mouth immediately covers his. She’s teetering on her tiptoes, anchoring herself to him with an arm slung across his shoulders, so he stoops down a bit to compensate for their mismatched statures. Her hands move to his face and her kisses grow hungrier, soon accompanied by little whimpers that make his head spin.
“Scully,” he tries to say, but she swallows the sound of her own name and shakes her head with a muffled “Uh-uh.”
What does that mean? Is he supposed to stop her? Should he let it happen?
Her fingers brush over the fly of his slacks and he jumps, grabbing her hand to still it and pulling his head back, just out of reach.
“What are you doing?” he asks breathlessly, very aware that she just made full contact with his very hard dick.
She just stares at him for half a second, her expression unreadable.
“I don’t know,” she says, looking mildly shocked. “Should I stop?” she asks, flashing her eyes to his groin.
Mulder’s jaw tenses. He knows what the right answer is, but he can’t bring himself to say it.
“I don’t know,” he parrots back to her.
A beat passes wherein they look at each other, his hand still wound around her wrist. He knows she won’t keep going unless she’s absolutely sure he wants this. He can feel his heart beating in his cock, and in his periphery he can see the generous tent it’s creating at the front of his slacks. Scully’s tongue slides across her bottom lip and his cock jumps, making up his mind for him.
“No,” he says suddenly, tugging her closer by the arm and sending the front of her body colliding with his.
After that initial hesitation, things move exceptionally quickly. She pushes his suit jacket off his shoulders and then strips off his belt so aggressively that the leather snaps loudly, setting off gooseflesh all over his arms. He manages to get her top off before she slips her hand under his boxers, and he struggles with the clasp on her bra as she drags her fingernails over the papery skin of his scrotum. They’re still standing beside her kitchen table, and all the lights are on. He truly has no idea what will happen next.
Cool air slides over his legs when she pushes both his slacks and his boxers off his hips and they puddle on the floor around his feet. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears is so loud that it drowns out any rational thought. The only one that makes it through is sex . Sex and Scully , two words that he has carefully compartmentalized but are suddenly forcing their way into the very same box as she strokes him firmly with one hand and pops the buttons on his shirt with the other. Meanwhile, he’s got two handfuls of her perky little tits and is working up the nerve to divest her of her pants.
It doesn’t feel even a little bit real. Not when he takes her by the shoulders and guides her back to the table, not when his palms run down the length of her naked thighs as he removes her panties, not when he hoists her up and sets her bare ass down right on top of the manila envelope that brought him here in the first place.
“You’re sure?” he asks, though the fact that she’s got her hand wrapped around his shaft and is guiding him into her wet heat makes the question somewhat rhetorical.
Sex. Scully. Sex. Scully.
She takes him in with a gasp, and his knees wobble when she immediately quivers around him.
“ Shhhhiiiiit ,” he hisses under his breath.
He isn’t prepared for this. It’s been a few days since he jerked off, and under normal circumstances he’d spend as much time as necessary to make sure she got off before he even entertained the idea of coming himself. But it’s Scully, and she’s naked, and her little tits are perfect, and her cunt feels like heaven, and he’s so jacked up on all this E.B.E. shit that he’s operating on a hair trigger as it is.
Baseball. Parking tickets. Budget meetings. Airport security. He imagines something banal with each thrust, trying not to notice the slick sounds of just how wet she is.
It’s not working. Her hips jump up off the table as she slams herself into him, holding steady with one hand on the back of his neck and the other planted on the tabletop. They hold their faces close together, not quite kissing but not giving enough distance that they might meet eyes and realize how stupid this is. Mulder closes his eyes to block out the visual input of her tight pink nipples bouncing on every thrust and holds on for dear life, determined not to make this both a mistake and a disappointment.
“Oh god,” Scully shouts just before she clamps down on him.
Stars burst behind his eyes and he quickly goes from on the edge to careening over it, coming so hard he can barely stay standing. Scully throbs powerfully around him, moaning beautifully in his ear while her cunt strokes every last drop of cum out of him. By the time they’re both finished, she’s on her back and he’s draped over her, listening to her heart slow and wondering what the hell will happen now.
“There’s a roll of paper towels on the counter there,” Scully says, pointing just over his shoulder.
Mulder slowly stands and pulls out of her, and they both politely avert their eyes while he grabs the roll of towels and rips one off before handing it to her. After pulling his pants back up, he quickly retrieves her clothes from the various places they landed and turns his back while she dresses. The manila envelope is now sporting a wet spot in the shape of a wide “V,” which he carefully wipes away. Only then does it occur to him that they didn’t use a condom.
“I’m on birth control,” Scully says, as though reading his thoughts. He turns and looks at her just as she’s tucking her shirt back into her slacks, offering her an awkward smile that she returns.
“That’s reassuring,” he says.
He taps the edge of the damp envelope against his palm, trying to think of something to say that won’t come across as flip or crude.
“I’m sorry,” Scully begins, giving him only quick glances. “That was very unprofessional.”
Mulder laughs, and she looks at him sharply with a mildly bemused expression.
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “Pretty sure it was a mutually unprofessional indiscretion. Takes two to tango, as they say.”
Scully smiles bashfully. “Right,” she says with a nod.
“We got a bit carried away. Happens,” he offers, and he sees her relax.
“Shouldn’t happen again, though,” she says, and he detects a hint of a questioning inflection.
“Right,” he agrees. “Well, I better get going,” he says as he moves towards the door. “Need to see a man about having a photograph analyzed.”
Scully’s expression of surprise quickly gives way to amusement.
“So that’s all it took to convince you, then,” she observes, clearly mildly embarrassed by her own joke.
“I am but a man,” he teases back, delighted by her genuine smile. “We’re um…we’re good?” he asks.
She meets his eye and nods. “Yup,” she says, seeming confident that they can move past this, if not still a bit chagrined that it happened in the first place.
“See you in the morning,” he says as she opens the door to let him out. He takes one step beyond the threshold, but then turns back and leans down to bring his lips to her ear. “I think it’s remotely plausible that somebody thinks you’re hot,” he whispers, then presses a kiss to her cheek before he turns and leaves.
83 notes
·
View notes
Note
little fic: Scully 60th birthday with Mulder and their three offsprings (Emily, Will, Baby)
pretty please :) :)
Emily has been practicing for almost two years now, at a good dermatology office northwest of Baltimore. Emily is 5’10 and freckled, with hair like a Nebraska wheat field and her mother’s remarkable eyes. Emily, extroverted and charming and the life of every party, was the captain of three varsity teams in high school. Emily left soccer cleats and lacrosse sticks all over the house; Emily wore her father out with endless games of catch and tag and chase-the-frisbee. She has a quiet boyfriend named Sebastian who makes heavenly rugelach. He and Mulder swap notes on sourdough starters.
“Happy birthday, Scully!” she says, bending over to kiss her pixie mother. “You don’t look a day over 40, and I should know.”
Scully laughs, clutches at the human Golden Retriever that is her daughter. “I’m so glad to see you,” she says. “Where’s Baz?”
“Got a cake in the car. Hi, Dad!” She hurls herself into her father’s arms, laughing when he staggers backwards a bit.
“Jesus, kid,” Mulder says, squeezing her close. “Cut an old man some slack.”
Emily, laughing, is bright as the sun.
William, rangy and pale from too many hours in the chemical engineering lab, tosses grapes into his mouth while Vera, newly five, applauds.
“That’s forty-two, Will,” she says, adoringly, marking in her notebook. She huffs a new-penny corkscrew of hair from her line of sight. Vera alone inherited their mother’s hair. Their father’s changeable eyes.
“What up, nerd?” William says to his older sister. He throws her a grape, which she catches and eats.
Vera applauds again, records further data with the tip of her pink tongue poking between her lips.
“Price of gas,” Emily replies, walking over to drop kisses on her siblings. “Helicopters.”
Vera flings her arms around her sister’s neck. “Where is Baz, please?”
Emily scowls. “Everyone loves him more than me, even my own family. What gives?” She scoops her sister onto her hip.
“Baz makes patisserie,” Vera says, carefully enunciating. “Baz c’est magnifique.”
“Where’d you learn French?” Emily asks.
Vera beams but does not answer.
“We don’t know,” Scully says. She scolds Daggoo from the couch.
“Enigmatic little thing,” Mulder says proudly. “Like the rest of you.”
William pinches Vera’s bare toes, making her squeal. Like his father, he doesn’t openly acknowledge that Emily can see ghosts and learn from them. That he’s telekinetic, that sweet little Vera is, at least partially, psychic. He knows that Vera can speak a little French because Mulder can speak a little French.
Vera does a lot of things, does them quietly.
Their family is so boisterous, they talk so much and say so little.
Baz comes in, carrying a robin’s-egg-blue cake draped in garlands of pale yellow Lambeth frosting.
Vera gasps. “Oh, c'est beau ! Scully, regarde ce qu'il t'a fait! N’es-tu pas fière, Emily?”
William lolls on the sofa. On the table, a Rubik’s cube silently solves itself.
Emily looks at her extraordinary baby sister. Her beautiful, strange little brother. She looks at her mother, who isn’t aging quite right. At her father, whose ghosts she holds in her scarred heart. She returns her sister to the couch.
She kisses Baz on his perfect, regular, amazing, ordinary face.
“English please,” she says to Vera. “Just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.”
Emily attended medical school at Hopkins.
“Fitzgerald,” Vera murmurs as she draws a diplodocus. “The Great Gatsby.”
Mulder and Scully exchange a glance.
Baz, beaming and sweetly, beautifully, oblivious, sets his artwork on the table. “Vanilla chiffon and raspberry,” he says, a kiss on Scully’s marble cheekbone. “Swiss buttercream.”
Emily preens.
“My favorite!” Vera cries.
William lights the candle without touching it, to make a point to Emily.
Emily, as expected, glares.
Vera gazes at the adults, enraptured. She sings Happy Birthday to her mother with the tone-deaf verve of kindergarten. She snuggles against her father with the trust of the utterly adored.
Scully grins, blows out the candles.
Watch little Vera, say Melissa and Samantha to Emily. She’s more.
Emily pretends to ignore her aunts, sees her brother adjust a deck of cards across the room. Sees her mother’s extraordinary beauty, sees her father’s extraordinary love.
She hugs her mother and cries, just a little, for reasons that are unclear. “I love you,” Emily says, throaty.
William rises, embraces them both. “Happy birthday, Mom,” he says. He kisses the top of her shining head.
Vera looks up from her drawing. “Ich habe keine Unruhe,” she says in her sweet, fluting voice.
Scully’s wine glass hits the floor in a sudden, piercing cry.
76 notes
·
View notes
Text
they are all things (read on ao3)
post-ep for "all things" // T // 535 words
tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr
Mulder stirs when Scully slips into bed beside him – a pleasant surprise, though not a wholly unexpected one. They’ve been slipping into each others’ beds for a little while now.
#holy shit the pipes have been clogged for months but i finally wrote something.#bird by motherfucking bird indeed#please note that due to tumblr admitting they will allow content scraping i will no longer be posting my fics here in their entirety#i opted out but i don't trust any of these ai companies to abide by that#my fics are on ao3 and require an account to read.#x files fanfic#the x files#xf fic#xf fanfic#dana scully#fox mulder#msr#xfiles#the xfiles#mulder and scully#my fic#my writing#dailytxf#they are all things
55 notes
·
View notes
Note
Best pining fanfics? Mulder pining, Scully pining, both of them, I love it all. Need some angsty "they couldn't possibly feel the way I feel" admiring-from-a-distance (possibly buildup to love confession) fics in my life.
<3
Oooooooooooooooh, that's interesting-- usually don't go for the pining myself, BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT that doesn't mean there aren't a ton I have stashed away. ;))) Brb!
Unironically most (if not all) of @cecilysass's work have pining with requited love, some examples: The Kaleidoscope (S6, Scully dating, both pining), How to Eat Pleasant Holiday Meals With Co-Workers (mostly pining, including IVF and later "breakup" Thanksgiving), Pause (AU after Requiem-- pregnant Scully was "dead" for a year before being returned with amnesia after FTF. PINING.), The Boy on the Beach (AU time travel case after Amor Fati-- Mulder misinterpreted his experience, Scully feels deeply hurt and is given the opportunity to save Samantha from the "past." Both realizing mistakes and talking), and I'll throw in All the Dead Mulders (post Three Words Mulder goes to his family's grave to find closure and/or himself. Scully tracks him down in the end) and Not Orpheus, Not Eurydice (S5 Mulder and Scully feed pond ducks by a church and talk, beautiful) because there's some pining but more importantly, they're my favorite of her fics.
@nowwhateinstein's Now That You're Around Me-- (Mulder and Scully's closer relationship is almost ruined by Diana's pestering at the FBI ball.)
Violetta_Valery's The bittersweetness of pie (Breakup Mulder wanders into town, having lost everything except his craving for sweet potato pie. There he sees Scully with a guy, misinterprets everything, and rushes in to save her honor. All ends well.)
SqueekaCuomo's It’s Not Really about Krampus (Scully has insomnia at her family's Christmas; and Mulder keeps calling. She realizes he misses her and that she loves him.)
@agent-troi's pining and denial during her ongoing IVF Platonic Procreation (an example of how everyone could be telling you the truth and you could be denying it until you're blue in the face.)
allthings2020's The Mood Ring (almost makes Mulder and Scully confront their feelings.)
@tofuttim's Agent Scully is Already in Love (post Milagro Mulder didn't know Scully loves him; and fears that loving him will ruin her. She understands.)
@slippinmickeys's The Concept of Dualism (Melissa makes Mulder and Scully crash in one place post Dod Kalm so she can care for them) and Three Sentence Prompts - Chapter 15 (AU The End where Scully is shot instead, Gibson reassuring her of Mulder's love as she fades away.)
@welsharcher's *chef's kiss* The Almost Kiss (Small Potatoes Mulder realizes Scully wanted more, backs away since he can't be "that" right now. Both pining) and No Place for Me (post The End Scully feels rejected, hears Mulder's heartbroken tears.)
@baronessblixen wrote some great Rain King-- I Saw You In My Dreams (Scully thinks Mulder was dreaming about Diana, realizes it's her name in Kansas), this one (Mulder and Scully talk out their tenseness by recollecting how he always supported her during the cancer arc), and this funny one (Mulder wakes, happy, then sneezes in Scully's hair-- not so much pining as enjoying?)-- and One Son pining-- this one (Mulder and Scully are both mad at each other and their "betrayals") and Never Cold With You By My Side (Fowley locks up Mulder and Scully in Fort Marlene overnight-- Scully so angry she pushes Mulder away until she's forced to ask for body heat.)
Lapsed_Scholar's Atonement counts, I believe (cancer arc Scully is hurt that Mulder dips without talking to her at all-- turns out, he was following Jewish customs to try to barter for her recovery or to atone for his mistakes that are being foisted, he thinks, on his partner.)
@amplifyme's Roghnaíonn Mé Tú counts, I think (S7 Scully is thunderstruck that Mulder had chosen her over Samantha in End Game.)
Hope these are enough for now! XDDDD Sorry this took me a bit; but I hope you have a wonderful weekend reading~. :DDDDD
Edit: WAIT I'm kicking myself for forgetting @suitablyaggrieved's Fictober Day 10 (S2 Mulder wants Scully back; but Skinner's not budging) and Mulder hears the door (Mulder pining for Scully while she's abducted, Skinner trying to help.)
#asks#living-in-unreality#fic#Collector's Edition#but not#xf fanfic#xf fic#x-files#xfiles#the x files#have fun! :DDDDDD#I'm going to get to your vid suggestion too btw#still workin on that#HOPEFULLY there isn't more DaVinci aggravations
111 notes
·
View notes
Text
XF Fic: Mean
Rating: Smut. Smut smut smut.
Summary: “I think I’d also like it once in a while if you were a little… mean,” Scully says.
Content warnings: dirty talk, name-calling, toeing the edge of degradation, but all in good kinky fun
Smut after the cut. Hope your holidays are happy, friends! Ubeta’ed. I intended to sit down and write something with some redeeming value to society but alas, I could not get this out of my mind, so instead: shameless smut.
They’d had a conversation about a month ago in which he’d asked her if there was anything she wanted that he wasn’t doing.
“I want you to keep your travel receipts in chronological order,” she’d wryly replied.
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he’d said, and the hint of an edge in his voice got right to the core of the thing that she wanted that he wasn’t doing.
And so she’d told him, after a half glass of wine too many.
“Well, I like it when you’re a little rough, which I think you’ve kind of figured out. But I think I’d also like it once in a while if you were a little… mean.”
He grinned. “Mean how?”
“I don’t know, just… you know, don’t hurt my feelings, but maybe you could tease, or kind of, talk dirtier. Jesus, this is so embarrassing, forget I ever mentioned it, ok?”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “Although I get the sense that maybe that’s what you’re after.”
His ability to see right through her was kind of embarrassing in and of itself, and she knew she was blushing.
They’d had sex then — and he hadn’t been mean, not at all. Instead he’d devoured her, praising her for sharing something she felt shy about, telling her there was nothing she could ask for that would make him think less of her or upset him — not him, a man who’d spent years frequenting porno theaters and calling phone sex lines.
For weeks, the conversation lurked in the back of her mind. She’d almost convinced herself he’d forgotten, except Fox Mulder is not a man who forgets these kinds of things.
And so she finds herself beneath him as he holds both her slender wrists in one of his big hands, pinned above her head. He looms large over her.
“I didn’t forget our conversation last month, you know,” he says, taking her left nipple between his fingers and pinching until she gasps. “You remember it, don’t you?”
She nods, at a loss for words.
“Good. If you don’t like anything I do or say, Scully, all you have to do is tell me, and I’ll stop, okay?”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Yeah, okay. I understand.”
“Good girl,” he praises her. “Although I think we both know that’s probably not what you want me to call you. I think you want to be a bad girl.”
She arches her pelvis up toward him, silently asking him to touch her there, to slide inside her.
“Already getting to you, huh? You weren’t kidding, Scully. I haven’t even touched your pussy yet and look how desperate you are.”
Mean.
“Oh my god, Mulder, please,” she whimpers. “Please touch me.”
He smirks at her. “All right, but only so I can judge how much my words are getting to you.”
His fingers trail down her body and he dips his index finger between her lips, dragging back and forth a moment before pushing inside her. She arches up into his touch and spreads her legs wider, as best she can beneath him.
“You like spreading your legs for me, don’t you?”
She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. She can’t believe he’s talking to her like this, she can’t believe she asked him to. But she’s more turned on than she’s ever been in her life.
“I can feel how much you like it, Scully. You’re so wet for me. Such a dirty girl.”
Suddenly, his finger is gone from her pussy, and a second later, she feels his wet fingers grip her chin.
“Open your eyes and look at me when I talk to you, Scully.”
Her eyes fly open. There’s something about him talking to her like this while still using her last name that makes it feel even dirtier, which she suspects he realizes.
He kisses her, deeply, a reward, a reassurance. He can talk to her like this and still love her. And he can certainly still want her — she can feel his erection against her belly.
“Please, fuck me,” she says. “I want you.”
That grin again. “I know you do. But I’m not done playing around with you. That’s what I’m going to do: play with you like the toy that you are.”
His fingers find her pussy again, and then her clit, a few quick circles. She feels like she could shatter at any moment.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt you this wet, baby. I’m so glad you told me how to treat you. Now I know what you need. And I’m having a lot of fun putting you in your proper place.”
He takes his fingers away from her clit.
“No,” she moans, screwing her eyes closed again. “Don’t stop.”
His wet fingers on her face again but this time, a soft tap on her cheek, the barest suggestion of a slap, sending her eyes back open in shock.
He laughs a little. “I told you to keep your eyes open. If I have to tell you again I’m not going to let you come.”
Mean. She whimpers and nods. Unable to close her eyes, she instead gives voice to the terrible, wonderful feelings warring inside her - the hint of humiliation and the arousal fueling one another.
“Why do I like it so much when you treat me like this?” she asks.
Straddling her, he brings his hands to her breasts and pinches each nipple. He looks bemused, like she is a problem to be solved, and then looks back down at her tits.
“Well, I could tell you it’s because kinky sex is subversive, a way to play with the gender roles we push back against in everyday life. I could tell you lots of people like things in bed they wouldn’t like outside it and there’s nothing wrong with that. I could tell you it’s because you trust me and know that I love you and respect you and we’re just playing around.”
His hands move to her sides, and he drops down to his elbows, briefly kissing down her sternum between her breasts.
Then he looks up at her face, making eye contact.
“But we both know that’s not why you like it,” he says. “You like it because you’re a dirty little slut.”
And then suddenly, his cock is pushing inside her, and his finger is on her clit, and she comes harder than she ever has in her life.
“Well that didn’t take much,” he teases her, and it only extends her pleasure. “So easy.”
His cockiness aside, it doesn’t take much for him to come, either — she’s still thrashing around with the aftershocks when he comes inside her after a few more hard strokes, moaning into the crook of her neck.
When she comes to her senses, he’s rolled off of her and is looking at her with the sweetest smile.
“Wow,” she says, still catching her breath, blushing as she thinks about what he said to her.
“Good wow? Or you never want to talk to me again wow?” he asks.
“Good wow. Thank you for giving that to me. I wouldn’t have been able to let go like that without anyone else,” she says, rolling over and curling into him.
He cuddles her protectively, hands stroking up and down her back, through her hair, wherever he can reach with comforting little touches.
“You did so well,” he says, and while she doesn’t really feel like she did anything, the praise warms her. “But sometimes things like that can hit you after you come down from endorphin rush. If it starts to feel bad, promise me you’ll let me know.”
“I will,” she says.
They lounge a while and it does, indeed, start nagging at her a little.
“You’ll still be able to look me in the eye at work after that, right? It won’t change —”
“Scully, nothing could ever change how I feel about you. I love you more than anything. I respect you more than anyone. I’m honored you’d share your desires with me and I’d never betray that.”
“I know,” she sighs. “I guess it’s just good to hear it.”
It occurs to her he hasn’t said anything about whether he enjoyed himself.
“Did you like it?” she asks gently. “Because I don’t want to ask anything of you that you don’t —”
“You couldn’t tell if I liked it?” he jokes. “It was so hot, Scully. Seeing you melt like that.”
She smiles, and then feels his hot breath on her ear.
“I’ll treat you like a dirty slut anytime you like,” he promises.
She laughs. “Thank you,” she says, and she means it.
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
https://archiveofourown.org/works/50596246/chapters/127812430
Finally, two months later than I wanted, my Milagro post-ep is complete. My first finished fic since...2006? Maybe?
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
Emily’s Halloween
“Fox, look! I want to go to that house!” a young voice said loudly
“Now Emily, he doesn’t like to be called that. He’d prefer to be called Mulder” Scully said gently
Emily sighed “Sorry Mulder” she corrected herself. Even though she was only a toddler, she knew better than to argue with her mother. Scully was definitely a loving parent but she could be firm when it was needed.
Mulder laughed. “Scully, it’s okay” he replied “I can make an exception to the ‘no Fox’ rule” he smiled as he adjusted Emily’s headpiece. She was dressed as a pumpkin and her little headband that her Grandma Maggie had made for her was slipping off of her head as she bounced from house to house, holding hands with her mother and Mulder as she collected candy. It was getting late and the bucket was getting so heavy that Emily was about to need somebody else to carry it for her if it got any heavier.
—————————-
About an hour ago, they had decided to call it a night. Emily was so tired that Mulder ended up picking her up and putting her on his back, which Scully found adorable. She had taken a bunch of photos of the occasion and snapped a few of them both grinning as he walked them home. After a bath, some warm pajamas, and a bedtime story, Emily was sound asleep.
“Thanks for doing this, Mulder” Scully said as she sat down on the couch to watch Halloween with him. Since Emily was asleep, it was safe to change the channel to something more adult. Of course, Scully had the remote in one hand in case Emily decided to sneak downstairs for just one more Snickers bar.
“Anytime, Scully”
“I think Emily is glad you came too, you know, she loves spending time with you” Scully said as she put her head on Mulder’s shoulder.
“She’s a good kid.” he said “and anything for you, Scully. You know that.”
“I appreciate it though” Scully said “We both do” Something about seeing Mulder interact with the little girl made Scully’s heart leap. He already made a perfect father and she loved that. He kissed her on the top of her head. She grinned.
It wasn’t long until Scully and Mulder were curled up on her couch. She was resting her head on his chest. Walking around with Emily wore both of them out. At points, they had to check to see if the other was still awake. After the movie ended they looked at each other. They shared a smile.
“Hey Mulder”
“Yeah?” He replied
“Trick or Treat?” Scully asked
“Umm…” he thought carefully. “I’ll go with ‘treat’?” He said
Scully then just gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Happy Halloween, Mulder.”
——————————
I want to thank my friends for giving me the courage to post this, I don’t feel I’m a strong writer so please be gentle. I’m just a sensitive bean and somewhat newish to writing Xf fic 😂
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
TXF Recs: My Favorite Newer Mulder/Scully Fics 🛸
The X-Files canon may be complete (for now), but the fandom has kept right on evolving and creating beautifully original stories that center Mulder and Scully’s emotional journey. Much as I’ll always adore the 13 classic Mulder/Scully fics I first recommended, I am also thrilled to regularly discover new favorites from the many talented writers continuing the agents’ story. Allow me to introduce a few that have won my heart in the past few years…
Includes must-read stories by @cecilysass, @sisterspooky1013, @leiascully, @silhouetteofacedar, @dreamingofscully & more, plus links to entertaining book club discussions on @audiofanficpod!
#mulder and scully#the xfiles#the x files fanfic#txf fic recs#msr#msr fic#mulder x scully#xfiles fanfic#the x files#txf#xf fanfic#xf fic#txf fanfic#fic recs#otp: one in five billion
239 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fic Friday (1)
I've been thinking of starting up this little project, and since I have a Christmas fic I want to recommend, I will start now! Basically I'll just post an msr/x-files fic recommendation every Friday. I plan to share fics that I've enjoyed, especially ones that aren't super popular or are older. Just to spread the word and also as a way for me to keep track of the fics I've read. So first up is (what might be) my favorite msr Christmas fic!
Title: On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres
Author: bluesamutra
Word Count: 7582
AO3 Description: Let’s pretend for a moment that Mulder wasn’t abducted in Requiem and they made it to Christmas that year. Scully isn’t up to traveling (or much of anything—yay hormones) for Christmas but Mulder still tries to make it special for her, especially with it being their first Christmas together. What does it look like? What mishaps does he face?
My thoughts: I reread this fic a lot and I basically smile all the way through. It's a perfect alternative timeline to season 8, and while it's a very sweet story, it's not too saccharine either. A great holiday fic.
I hope you enjoy!
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
better late than never
for @txf-fic-chicks-blog, on their anniversary! see the rest of the anniversary fics here
Just as Scully is finishing her second cup of coffee, Mulder stomps through the front door. She hears his boots hit the floor and then watches him stride into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He adds a bouquet of rather carelessly picked wildflowers — rhododendrons, mostly, probably from the bit of their property near the road, where they’ve run riot all week.
“Happy anniversary, Scully,” he says, depositing the makeshift vase next to her coffee mug.
She drinks the rest of it in one gulp. Scully appreciates, at least, that he is still full of surprises. “Okay,” she says. “The anniversary of what, exactly?”
He sits down next to her and props his feet up on the dining room table. She hates that, she loves him; she’s made an art form of ignoring his bad behavior. At least he took his boots off first.
“Thirty years ago today, you walked into my office.”
That feels impossible, but she can’t argue with the math, so she picks something else to fight about. “We’re calling that an anniversary?”
His grin is slow, easy. “Well, we never got married.”
“Still.” She purses her lips. “Thirty years.”
When she looks at him, she still sees the man who sat in that basement office thirty years ago. No one tells you this: that in your eyes, the people you love will never really age. In every moment he is every version of himself she’s ever known.
What a gift, to know someone so well.
“There’s something else,” he says. He stands up and heads toward the stairs.
As always, she follows him. “If it’s a cow slideshow, I’m leaving.”
But he stops outside the door to the spare room, which was Mulder’s writing room for a while, and which these days hosts the very occasional human guest and a rotating assortment of rodents that she can’t quite bring herself to kill. It feels unsporting to build a house in the middle of nowhere and then complain about the animals who were there first.
“Close your eyes,” he says, and she obliges.
The door creaks, and his heavy footsteps move away from her. She hears the lamp click on.
“Open,” he says.
Scully takes a few steps into the room. The spare bed’s made up more neatly than usual. There’s a new rug, and an armchair that she thought had been relegated to the basement.
And underneath the open window, with a view out to the horizon, there’s a desk. Parsons-style, practical and unshowy, with a lovely grain. There are framed pictures of her mother, of her nieces and nephews, even Bill. And there’s a standard-issue nameplate that says DR. DANA SCULLY in that standard-issue font.
He’s still smiling but he looks a little nervous, too, and it’s impossible to overstate how endearing she finds that, after all this time. “I heard you wanted one of these.”
“Took you long enough,” she deadpans, because even after all this time, sincerity doesn’t come easily to either of them.
Mulder looks over his handiwork, clearly pleased. “Better late than never.”
She crosses to him and wraps her arms around his waist. Better late than never should be emblazoned on their family crest.
It’s still the earliest part of spring, but the breeze that comes in through the window is warm and fragrant. He rests his chin on top of her head. “Thirty years,” he says, and she feels his voice down to her toes.
Scully smiles against his chest. “It’s not the worst way to spend a life.”
“We’ll see how you feel about that in another thirty.”
And she pulls him just a little closer. “I’ll be there.”
90 notes
·
View notes
Text
First X-File fic, woot woot!
It might be April but I'm still trying to work my way through the Storytelling Collective's Flash Fiction February prompts, and this quote for day 19 made me think of Skinner and the end of Without (S08E02) and my headcanon that he dreams of being in a featureless void a lot.
Anyway, it's just a wee thing but I'm pretty happy with it!
#fanfic#fanfiction#ao3#ao3fic#x files#the x files#walter skinner#dana scully x walter skinner#storytelling collective's flash fiction february#scully x skinner#todayinfic#xf fic#xf fanfic#xfiles fanfic#xfiles#txf
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sensitive
Rated X / 1401 words / posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
“Can I, please?” he asks, looking up at her from between her legs.
He pins the hem of her panties between his teeth and tugs, then brushes his nose across her clit over the cotton gusset, making her squirm.
“Come here,” she says, reaching for him. Encouraging him to crawl back up the bed.
He reluctantly does so, nestling his hips between her thighs and grinding against her while they kiss.
“I don’t want to pressure you,” he says quietly, kissing a trail from her jaw to her ear. “But is there a reason you don’t want me to?”
It’s still new. Not so new that she feels bashful about their nakedness, but new enough that she’s been able to artfully distract him from his attempts to get his mouth on her cunt without actually addressing it.
“I’m just not a big fan,” she says, turning her head to the side to give him better access.
“I promise I’ll do a good job,” he says, his breath hot and damp against her ear.
He makes it sound so appealing she almost wants to say yes.
“It’s not that,” she says. “It’s just���too intense. So much so that it’s not enjoyable.”
“Hm,” he hums. “You’re so sensitive.”
That much he’s already learned. She loves him inside her—his fingers, his cock. But direct pressure on her clit is almost unbearable.
They kiss, and play. The indirect brush of his cock over her panties is delicious, as is the attention he lavishes on her breasts. He makes his way back to her ear, scraping his teeth over the lobe tenderly.
“What if I don’t touch your clit?” he asks, which confuses her.
“Sounds perfect,” she says lightly, as this is generally what she has asked him to do (or not do).
Suddenly he’s kneeling between her open legs on the mattress, tugging her panties off her hips, but it’s only when he gets down on his belly that she understands.
“Mulder, no,” she says, sitting up to touch his chin. “I didn’t mean that.”
He pushes his bottom lip out into a full on pout.
“Can I please try? If it’s too much, just tell me and I’ll stop,” he says.
Scully flops back onto the bed.
“Proceed,” she says, not expecting much.
Her distaste for cunnilingus is not typically an issue. Most men she dated in the past were either indifferent to or grateful for her request that they skip it, but not Mulder. She should have guessed that someone so orally fixated would have a proclivity towards eating pussy, but if he needs to prove it out before accepting that it’s just not on the table, then so be it.
She lets her mind wander while he dapples the inside of one thigh with kisses, and then the other. She thinks about a particularly memorable exchange they had a few nights ago wherein she sat up while he was fucking her from behind. With her legs spread over his lap, his arms wrapped around her waist to hold her steady, and his cock pistoning into her at a punishing clip, it was some of the most primal, animalistic sex she’s ever had.
Mulder continues pressing his lips against her skin in a soft constellation: the crease of her leg, then her hip bone, then the underside of her ass cheek. It’s nice, but she still predicts that he will become overzealous and she’ll need to tap out. She feels the wet of his tongue flash just alongside her opening and and her clit stirs, interested. She pulls in a breath and tries to relax rather than tensing up in anticipation of being overstimulated.
The sex has been surprisingly good. Not that she didn’t think it would be good, but she couldn’t have predicted it would be this good because she’s never had sex like this before. She thought she’d had great sex in the past, and would have defended that fact vehemently, until Mulder practically split her in two and made her come so hard she almost cried. Now she’s left to wonder if it’s possible that it could get even better.
His kisses are growing increasingly wet, open-mouthed smooches accentuated by his tongue all around her vulva. She feels the brush of his cheek against her pussy lips, but never his mouth. The more he lavishes her with hot, wet kisses, the more her hips shift impatiently, wanting more. She’s afraid to tell him this, though, lest he make a beeline for her clit and ruin it. He’s doing such a good job not overwhelming her, and that care and consideration only enhances her experience.
God, he’s attentive. At first it made her feel embarrassed and greedy, but she was finally able to accept that he does it for his own enjoyment as much as hers. If he’s in the apartment when she showers, no matter his place or hers, she’s come to expect that he’ll sneak in and slip his hand between her legs under the guise of helping her wash. After making her come he steps out, his cock stiff and dripping wet, and leaves her to wash away the slickness between her thighs.
His nose nudges the side of her hood, just barely, and she gasps.
“Too much?” he asks, not lifting his head.
“No,” she answers truthfully. “That was okay.”
He continues his slow exploration of the terrain of her cunt, working around her clit like a reverse game of hot and cold. He moves closer and she tenses, so he backs off until her hips cant up towards his face. He laps at her opening and she shudders, letting out a breathy, “Oh.”
“Good?” he asks, sucking one of her labia between his lips.
“Yes,” she says, pleasantly surprised.
He kisses the skin between her pussy and her asshole and she startles a little, but it quickly dissolves into a moan when his wet tongue slides back up to her opening, dipping just inside. She reaches down and touches the back of his head in encouragement, and she feels the vibration of his groan in her pelvis.
His tongue moves up, gliding between her swollen lips, and she’s about to tell him not to go any further when he reverses the motion and heads back down. His tongue swirls, and swirls, and swirls around her opening, and she is panting and wriggling, unexpectedly desperate for him to put his mouth on her.
“Oh, please,” she finally whispers, and he suddenly stuffs his tongue inside her as far as he physically can, until his chin is pressed firmly against her asshole.
Her thighs clamp down over his ears and she involuntarily thrusts against his face. It feels unexpectedly amazing, and she’s so surprised by her own quickly approaching orgasm that she sits up on one elbow and looks down at him, somehow compelled to bear witness to this cardinal event. She has never had an orgasm essentially on someone’s face, and that someone is Mulder, and it’s overwhelming in a way that she couldn’t have predicted.
“I’m coming,” she announces, and his eyes flash up to hers.
Everything below the tops of his cheeks is buried in her cunt, but his eyes are on her face and she’s coming around his tongue, and it feels So. Fucking. Good. She can’t look anymore, so she collapses back onto the bed and grinds against him for as long as she can stand, until the pleasure starts to border on pain and she pushes his head away.
He crawls back up the bed with an unabashed shit-eating grin on his face, and she smirks at him mirthfully.
“You must be quite pleased with yourself,” she says as he wraps himself around her, his erection lying neglected against her hip.
“Are you not pleased with me?” he asks, and she hears the genuine request for validation behind his defensive snark.
“I am exceedingly pleased,” she says, raking her fingers through his hair. “I should think you’d know that, given your front row seat.”
He lifts his head and gives her a long look.
“Please tell me that wasn’t a one-time deal,” he says hopefully, and she smiles.
“I sure as hell hope not,” she says, and his eyes roll back in his head with a mouthed thank god.
He has his tongue in her cunt again thirty minutes later.
114 notes
·
View notes
Note
I have a bet going that even the most saccharine fluff can actually be done well. So, a prompt for you, if you’re willing:
Mulder and Scully’s kid is an elementary student of the week. Every day that week, kid has to do a Special Assignment; Our Family, Draw a picture of the family pet, whatever. Go! (?)
“Are you shitting me?” Mulder asks, staring at the list. “I’ve read Kitty Kelley biographies less invasive than this.”
Scully leans over, perusing. “You’re so dramatic, it’s a very sweet little program! Tomorrow is his favorite book.”
She frowns then. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Mulder repeats. “The Book That Eats People.”
Scully puts her face in her hands. “We’re the Addams Family,” she groans. “Jesus.”
Mulder pats her on the back. “Maybe he’ll pick Madeline,” he suggests, without much conviction.
***
William is at the table, tongue poked between his lips. “How do you spell ‘disavowed?” he asks.
His father scowls. “William, just say I’m a writer. You don’t need all the back story.”
“D-I-S-A-“ his mother begins.
“SCULLY.”
William beams, a gap-toothed smile. His father’s crinkled eyes. His mother’s blue irises. “Go on, Scully,” he says.
***
The cat is curled in a spiral on the Lazy Susan, her glorious tail a twitchy plume.
“Can I tell them why we named her Taily-Po?” William asks.
Scully frowns. “It’s a scary story, William,” she says. “Not everyone is -“
“Yes,” says Uncle Frohike, scooping up lentils with a wedge of paratha. “It’s classic Americana. That’s patriotism in Virginia.”
Scully frowns. “William. Just tell them we found her as a kitten behind a Vietnamese restaurant.”
“There’s a hyphen,” says Uncle Langley, helpfully.
***
William pokes through the cardboard box of pictures. “Can I tell them Aunt Melissa was murdered ?” he asks. “And that it was never solved? And what do I say about Aunt Samantha, Dad?”
Scully stares beseechingly at Taily-Po, who blinks greenly in reply.
***
“Can I bring both bullets?” William asks his parents. “I can’t pick just one of your gunshots!”
Mulder considers his apple crumble. “How about your mother’s bullet and my letter from the Jerry Springer show?”
William perks up. “Yeah?”
“NO,” Scully says, over a mug of tea. “Those are not appropriate for show and tell.”
William stabs at a potato.
“Well, you have your last birthday card from Skinner,” Mulder says. “Most kids don’t get cards from the director of the FBI.”
William rolls his eyes. “It’s just a CARD,” he groans. “It’s BORING. It’s the last day, it has to be GOOD.”
Mulder ponders for a moment. He looks at Scully, the love of his life. Her fine cheeks are drawn in as she blows on her tea, her mouth a damask rose. She has a nose like a Roman queen, hair like Hestia’s tender flame. Against every odd she birthed him a strong, healthy child. He would kill for her. He would die for her.
“William,” he says to his son, not meeting her apatite gaze. “Have you heard of a show called COPS?”
132 notes
·
View notes
Text
Enough.
Rated X / 4800 words / tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr / posted on ao3
Summary: Dana Scully has had enough.
Author's Note: This is the first fanfic I have written, in this or any other fandom, for almost 20 years. It felt great to stretch the old muscles, and I hope you enjoyed it. Comments will be printed, laminated, and hung on the wall <3
_________
God, I only meant to kiss him, Scully thought, gasping, before Mulder’s tongue swirled around her nipple and she lost the ability to think.
And it was true - thoughts of kissing Mulder had been brewing deep in her core for weeks, crowding out her ability to think of much else. She had found herself watching his mouth when she should have been listening to his words, and feeling vaguely envious of everything that touched his lips. He brought them some truly terrible vending machine coffee during an all-nighter at a crummy hotel in the midwest, and the way his tongue had toyed with the little opening on the lid as he waited for it to cool made her thighs clench. In yet another rental car on yet another nameless backroad, she watched his jaw work as he split the shells of his favorite sunflower seeds, wondering how that sharp tongue that worked them so deftly open would feel in her own mouth, if he would taste of salt and beer. He licked barbecue sauce from his fingers at an all-night diner in the middle of nowhere, his tongue swirling around tips, and she had nearly choked on her iced tea.
Oh yes, thoughts of kissing Mulder had been occupying her more and more. And from the way he would catch her eye, sending her an almost imperceptible smirk each time he saw her watching, he knew exactly the effect he was having on her. She kept waiting for him to stop being such a gentleman, to take that first bold step the way he so often did. But each time she felt that line rising up to be crossed, he pulled away.
And Dana Scully had had enough.
She’d decided tonight, as she rode up the elevator for one of their not-a-date-nights that had become their post-case norm of late, that she was ready - or more accurately, that she was so far past ready that she might actually die if she didn’t kiss him soon. She brought wine - nothing too fancy, nothing that would be out of place in the mismatched glasses he kept in the cabinet, but a step up from the usual ales and lagers they usually shared. And she wore a soft v-neck sweater cut just a tad lower than she would usually wear, the better to show off the enticing cleavage her new bra presented.
When she had slipped into the matching panties, she had very firmly told herself it was simply a personal preference for symmetry, and not any sort of statement about where this desperately-needed kiss would lead.
From the moment he popped Tarantula into the VCR (for the fourth time, “It’s a classic, Scully!”), she had begun planning her move. She drained her first glass of wine faster than she should have, before he’d even finished making the popcorn, letting the liquid courage percolate through her system. He settled in beside her with a large bowl in his lap, loaded with butter and salt just how she likes it, just the way he’s talked her into liking it; and she eased herself slowly closer to him on the worn leather couch until the heat of his thigh pressed against her own. By the time Leo G. Carrol’s assistant went up in flames, she was nestled quite cozily against him. She watched him from the corner of her eye, and saw with some satisfaction that he was watching her as well.
She had never let herself get quite this close to him before, or at least not without some life-threatening context. (Except for that time on the baseball diamond, when she thought maybe this was it, but he had done nothing more than flirt and hit pop-flies and leave her flushed and frustrated).
But there were no invisible forest men now, no cultists armed with rifles, no bees or beasts or black-suited thugs. Just them, and a cheesy sci-fi movie, and a bowl of popcorn in his lap so that each time she reached for a handful she was acutely aware of just what lay beneath it; with each bite he would slowly lick the salt from his lips, and something in her heart would sputter. She had the sudden sense he was doing it on purpose - that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and as always, their minds were traveling down the same road together.
When the giant spider crested the dry scrubby hills surrounding Desert Rock, Arizona, to devour the hero, he had draped his arm across the back cushions, the very picture of a nervous teenager at the drive-in. She took the chance to move more closely still, the heat and the scent of him nearly overwhelming. Her heartbeat seemed to thrum through every inch of her body, and she felt certain he could feel it through her skin. She had stopped watching the screen entirely, unable to concentrate on anything but the pounding of her heart and the body of the man beside her. When she couldn’t stand it another second, she took one last breath for courage, turned in the circle of his arm, and tilted up to press her mouth to his.
The first brush of their lips was tentative, soft, toe-curlingly tender and if he tasted like wine and popcorn instead of seeds and beer, well, she was absolutely not complaining. When his tongue brushed against her lower lip, she opened for him, and the way his tongue slid into her mouth felt like coming home. Scully had thought that it would be enough just to kiss him, just to sit together on the creaking leather of his old couch, under the warm, scratchy weight of the Navajo blanket he kept there more for her sake than for his, and languidly lap at the font of his mouth until morning.
What she hadn’t anticipated, but in hindsight should have known based on years of observing his oral fixation, was that Fox Mulder would be an absolutely amazing kisser. He was slow and exploratory and unrelenting, running his tongue along her teeth and her lips and the roof of her mouth as if he could read her desires written there in braille. He nibbled at her lower lip and suckled at the upper and still she really could have just kissed, just necked him like a teenager for hours, until he cupped her jaw with one wide hand and his thumb brushed against the pulse point in her throat and she whimpered. Actually whimpered, a wholly unexpected, desperate, animal sound that she would have found utterly embarrassing had he not answered with a soft growl that reverberated down her throat and straight into her pelvis, and it was all bets off from there.
A whirl of hands and mouths and somehow she is lying half beneath him, his shirt gone and her sweater pushed up and that pretty new bra pulled down to expose one rosey-peaked breast to the dual pleasures of his hand and his mouth. When her knee brushes against his growing erection, he bites her nipple just hard enough to make her gasp. He chuckles into her skin and looks up to meet her eyes, delighted to find her pupils blown out with lust and her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink. Her fingers curl in his hair and pull; he releases her nipple with a sinfully wet pop and crashes his mouth into hers with a force that clacks their teeth together.
He rolls her over his body until she’s straddling him, heat blooming everywhere they touch. The soft springy hairs of his chest tickle her oversensitive skin, and he runs his hands from her shoulders, down the fine curve of her waist to grip and knead at the firm flesh of her ass. She scratches her nails across the broad plains of his shoulders - softly at first, then more firmly when he hums his assent into her mouth. The muscles of his back flex beneath her hands, and his whole body shudders as she moves them to his front, his nipples pebbling beneath her touch.
He pulls her down against him and presses up at the same time, trying to find some relief for the near-painful ache in his groin. She moans into his mouth and he does it again, and she arches against him in pleasure.
Mulder uses this distraction to pull her top off all the way, unclasping her bra with one hand and bringing his mouth back to her breast before the fabric has even hit the floor. She writhes above him, panting and gasping as he learns the right combination of lips, teeth, and tongue to make her shudder. Always such a curious mind, single-focused and driven, now turned to uncovering the mysteries of her body, and she revels in being the object of his obsession.
“I want you, Scully,” he whispers as he moves to the other breast. She arches into his mouth but doesn’t answer.
He stills, eyes wary, that lost little boy inside peeking through. Waiting for rejection, waiting for her to say it was all a mistake and walk away. With their height difference, their eyes are level now even with her straddling his lap. He brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes and gently thumbs her cheekbones. The sadness in his voice is palpable. “Do you want to stop?”
She shakes her head just slightly, her brows knitting together and her mouth moving into a particular smirk that, in the complex language of Scully Microexpressions, means I need a second to find the right words. His hands skim along her sides, walking the line between comforting, tickling, and arousing. It takes a few deep breaths before she remembers how to speak; the last one comes out on a shudder as she presses her lips to his forehead.
The credits are rolling on the TV across the room, the monster immolated and the town safe; shadows flicker over their faces as she looks into his eyes, unsurprised to find a sheen of unshed tears there that matches her own. She had thought that meeting his gaze after they had kissed - or, more accurately, after he had her nipple in his mouth and his erection pressing against her - might be awkward, but like everything else between them the last seven years, it somehow feels natural. They’re stepping across this line together.
“I don’t want to stop, Mulder,” she whispers, nuzzling along his nose, “I’ve just been thinking about kissing you for so long, I never really let myself think about what might come after.”
“Mmm,” he hums into her skin, peppering her face with kisses before moving down her neck and along her collarbone. “Good thing I have.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrow lifts; he can hear it in her voice even though his face is buried in her hair.
“Often, and in great detail.” His lips find that same pulse point, right where her jaw meets her throat, and he grins as her thighs squeeze his. One hand cups the back of her head, tilting her this way and that so his mouth can reach every possible inch of skin; the other hand comes up to her breast, kneading and rolling. She is soft and pliant above him, allowing him to explore, making soft sounds each time he finds a sensitive spot, and his profiler’s mind is tucking each one away for later.
“Tell me,” she pants as he presses a kiss to the hollow of her throat. She slips her hand between them and presses her palm against the thick ridge of his erection, grinning as he moans into her skin. “Show me.”
"Christ, Scully. Where should I begin?" Mulder presses another kiss to her lips, so soft and tender she forgets how to breathe for a moment. He sips at her like fine wine, savoring each taste of her tongue, her lips, the ivory ridge of her teeth. By the time he pulls back she is shivering, aching to see what happens next.
"There is one thing I fantasize about quite frequently," he husks close to her ear. The scratch of his stubble is intoxicating. "I can't stop wondering what you taste like." He reaches between them to cup her, hot and throbbing, through her slacks, and her blushing nod is the only answer she can manage.
All she can do is moan in anticipation as he leans her slowly back, supporting the full weight of her in his arms, until her shoulders come to rest on the arm of the couch, his body nestled hard and hot between her trembling thighs.
She will never again be able to smell leather without remembering this moment.
He kisses his way down her body with a slow deliberation that borders on agonizing, nipping and sucking and licking every inch he can reach. When his tongue swirls into the dip of her navel she nearly cries with pleasure. He runs his teeth over the ridge of her hip bones as he parts the zipper on her slacks. His mouth leaves her body only long enough to shuck the pants to the floor, and then he is nosing along the hem of her panties.
"Fuck, Scully, I can smell you." He runs his fingers over the lacy fabric, scraping his nails along the gusset until she shakes. "You're so wet, you're soaking through."
With anyone else she might have felt embarrassed, but Mulder's words only enflame her further. She rolls her hips, shamelessly rubbing herself against him. "Please," she pants, "please touch me."
He laughs darkly, continuing to run his fingers slowly up and down the length of her slit, and rubs his stubble against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He licks her, once, over the lace, and she bucks desperately towards his mouth. “Easy there, G-woman,” he murmurs, pressing her back down with one firm hand on her hip. “I’m living my dream, here.”
She laughs, a short huff that eases some of the tension in her gut, and tries to relax into his ministrations. He smiles as she softens beneath him, and rewards her by sliding one long finger under the sheer scrap of fabric, just barely grazing her entrance. “So wet,” he says again.
He looks up to see that her eyes have fluttered closed. “Look at me,” he says, and when she finds enough will to meet his eyes, he lifts his finger, glistening with her wetness, into his mouth and sucks deeply. "You're just as sweet as I imagined."
“Fuck,” she whimpers, and knows she is dripping. “More. Please.”
Apparently he renders her monosyllabic.
“How much do you love these?” he asks, appraising the delicate lace, the tiny stitches along the seams.
“Not at all. Hate them. Please.” She is gasping, writhing, and when he rips her panties off she nearly keens with pleasure.
He stares at her for so long she begins to feel nervous, and a flush creeps up her chest and floods her cheeks. He takes in the auburn thatch of curls between her thighs, the dark pink swell of her labia, the tiny freckles sprinkled across the creamy expanse of her skin. He drags his fingers down the length of her slit, marveling at the way her lower lips spread for him, at the moisture leaking from her sweet little cunt. “Beautiful,” he breathes.
“Mulder,” she huffs, squirming, “if you don’t quit staring and touch me soon, I’m going to shoot you. Again.”
A quick grin and then his mouth is on her, his tongue lapping at the entrance to her sex, and the first brush of his lips over her clit nearly sends her over the edge.
If the way he kissed her felt obsessive, he eats her out with something that borders on worship.
He slides one long finger inside her, then another, curling them against her front wall until he finds the spot that makes her gush and shake around him. He flicks his tongue over the hardened nub of her clitoris - slow, fast, gentle, hard - and she fists her hands in his hair when it’s just the right combination. He presses the hood back with his thumb and suckles directly on the little bundle of nerves; her belly coils tight with pleasure and she manages to gasp, “Yes, there, I’m so close, oh -” before she can’t make sense anymore.
He swirls and suckles on her clit, pumping gently in and out with his fingers, and experimentally runs his little finger down her perineum to brush gently over the tight pucker of her asshole. She shudders and her whimpers reach a new, higher pitch. He hums his satisfaction into her dripping sex, and that’s all it takes - she is gone, shaking and gasping and making strangled little cries that might be his name.
Mulder continues to lap tenderly at her sex as she comes down, riding out tremors and trembles until she is heavy-limbed and boneless beneath him. Her smile looks almost drunken as she cards her fingers through his hair. “Good, Scully?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh.
She nods and hums, riding a cloud of oxytocin. He eases out from between her legs; her smile begins to fade into confusion until he slides one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her easily, and carries her down the hall to his bedroom.
His sheets are softer than she had expected, as if he had been hoping for company; she wonders if this is the first time he has prepared a bed for them, how many movie nights he has slept alone on these soft sheets after the door snicked shut behind her without so much as a kiss. The thought strikes a surprisingly sad chord in her heart.
The bed dips as he settles in beside her, and she curls into his open arms with a happy sigh. “A girl could get used to this,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his bare chest.
“I sure hope she does,” he answers.
She drapes one of her legs over his and - “Oh.” She lifts the sheet and sees he somehow still has his jeans on, and is still sporting a rather impressive tent. “You appear to be overdressed,” she teases.
“Don’t worry about me, Scully. This has already been so much more than I -”
She puts a finger over his lips and shoots him one of her more serious looks. “Mulder. Shut up.”
And, for perhaps the first time in his life, he does.
Scully’s legs are still a little weak as she climbs on top of him, rubbing herself shamelessly over the bulge in his pants. She’s wet again already and hungry for him in a way she hasn’t felt in years. Her hair falls around them in an amber curtain as she leans down to kiss him, long and slow and deep. He’s grinning like an idiot by the time she pulls away, and she decides that looking down on Mulder may be her new favorite place to be.
She grinds down harder with her hips, the seam of his jeans pressing right where she wants it the most. He moans, trying not to buck beneath her and throw off her rhythm. He has to clench his fists in the sheets. She’s making a wet spot on his pants; he’ll have to wash them - and the sheets, and the couch - in the morning, but he couldn’t care less about any of that because Scully’s breasts are bouncing just in front of his face and she is writhing on top of him like an animal in heat. He reaches for her hips, trying to get just a little more pressure, but she grabs his wrists and holds them down.
“Nuh-uh,” she huffs. “You made me beg. Now it’s your turn.” She waits until he stops trying to lift his hands, then rakes her nails down his chest, leaving little streaks of pink in their wake.
“Fuck, Scully,” he moans, throwing his head back and thrusting up with his hips, which only makes her lift herself away. “I don’t know how much of this I can take.”
She only casts him a wicked grin before lowering her mouth to his, plunging her tongue deep inside and moaning. He is the first to break away, gasping for breath, and she waits for his eyes to find hers before she leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses down the length of his torso. He is not as sensitive as she had been, though he does jump when she runs her tongue across the firm plains of his stomach. She finds the fine trail of dark hair beneath his navel and nips and sucks her way down it until it ends at the waist of his pants.
He expects her to undo the fly and pull them off, but instead she rubs her cheek against the stiff bulge of his cock, as if to mark it with her scent. She catches his eye again, to make sure he is watching, and then runs her tongue slowly over the full length of it. She can taste herself on the fabric and is surprised at how erotic it is.
“God, Scully. Please.”
“Mmm,” she hums against him and thumbs open the button on his fly. “Begging. I see the appeal.” She slides one hand under the waistband and scratches through the coarse hair just above his cock.
“I would get on my knees but I think something might break off.”
“Then allow me.”
She kneels between his legs, pulling down his zipper and shimmying his soft jeans down the length of his legs. She has a moment to wonder at the fact that he doesn’t appear to be wearing any boxers - does he go commando in general these days, or, like the sheets, was he hoping for something to happen tonight? - and then her eyes land on his cock and she forgets how to think.
She’s seen him naked before, of course, but always under the guise of a medical professional. Glimpsing his body while treating injury or disease is one thing. Never has she seen him hard, and now faced with the full monty - or rather, the full Mulder - she is only slightly more impressed than intimidated. She takes him in her hand, pumping up and down slowly, and a small bead of precum leaks from the purple tip. Her heart jumps, her mouth begins to water, and she licks her lips as she realizes it’s all for her.
“Oh Christ, don’t do that,” he moans, eyes glued to her mouth. “I’m trying to be cool here.” So of course she stares into his eyes, parts her lips, and then very slowly runs her tongue in a full circle around them.
He’s about to say something else but it cuts off with a gurgle when she takes him into her mouth. He’s too big to take in too deeply just yet, but she licks the tip of him like an ice cream cone, her tongue moving in lazy circles as she pumps him languidly with one hand. The other comes up beneath to cup the soft weight of his balls. He is salty and tangy and strangely sweet, and she moans as the taste of him floods her senses. She is so aroused it’s almost painful, and she wishes she had a third hand so she could touch herself as she sucks him. She takes him deeper, surprised at how much she enjoys this - the twitching of his thighs as he tries not to thrust, the way he is moaning her name between strings of curse words, the startling way his cock bumps against the back of her throat.
She’s just beginning to wonder if she can relax her throat enough to swallow him further down when Mulder’s hands land suddenly in her hair, pulling her mouth away from him with a wet and undignified slurping sound. “Hey,” she protests, donning an exaggerated and teasing pout. Her mouth and chin glisten with a mix of saliva and precum. “I was enjoying that.”
He sits up and slides his fingers between her legs. “I can tell,” he says, circling her clit and making her gasp. “And don’t get me wrong, I was too. But…”
He pulls her up the length of his body until she is nestled in his lap, her thighs braced on either side of his and his cock only inches from the wet heat of her cunt. “Please, Scully.”
“More begging?,” she purrs as she takes him in her fist again. She shifts so she can rub the tip of him between her wet and swollen folds until he moans. She positions him right against her entrance, his tip just barely inside. “Is this what you want?” she pants. For all the playfulness in her voice, she is trembling with want, and shudders as she feels herself dripping around him.
“Yes,” he hisses into her ear, crushing her tight against him and pressing his hips up. He slips another inch inside her. “Fuck me, Scully, please.” Another small thrust, another inch of her clenching around him.
Enough teasing, she decides. Enough begging. Enough waiting.
She doesn’t trust her voice not to break, so she only nods and kisses him as if she could devour him whole.
She slides down onto him slowly, adjusting to the width of him until he is buried to the hilt. They are both shaking now, their panting breaths a humid cloud between them. A long moment passes before she can move, before her body can handle the way he stretches and fills her. She is slow and deliberate, rising until he nearly slips from her body, then easing down to grind her clit against his pelvis. Waves of pleasure wash through her with each stroke, and she drops her head to his shoulder, overwhelmed.
He reaches down to cup her ass, spreading her wide and taking some control over her motion. They moan in unison as he begins to thrust in counterpoint to the slow roll of her hips.
It doesn’t take long before Scully begins to feel the flame of another orgasm kindle deep in her belly. The moan that comes from her throat belongs to another woman, one who is wild and wanton and apparently capable of coming more than once in a night; and oh how she wants to be that woman.
“Mulder,” she pants, “I need - I’m -” Another moan, and the coil inside her tightens further, closing off her ability to speak.
He understands, he always understands, licking his thumb and then sliding it between their sweating bodies to press hard against her clit. “Fuck, yes, Scully,” he says as she grinds down on his hand. “I want to feel you come.”
His mouth seeks out that same damn spot on her neck that started this whole thing, sucking and nibbling with the same rhythm of his thumb circling her clit. “Come for me, Scully,” he growls into her skin, and then bites down hard enough to bruise.
She shatters around him, bucking her hips wildly against him and muffling her cries of “Mulder, oh God, Mulder,” into his shoulder until she is hoarse. He tumbles over the edge right behind her, hot and pulsing, and the feel of his cock twitching as he fills her with his cum is nearly enough to set her off again.
They stay entwined for a long time, shudders passing back and forth between them, until their sweat cools and their mingled fluids begin to leak onto his thighs.
Mulder leans back first, brushing damp hair from her face so he can look into her eyes. “Hey.”
Her answering smile is almost bashful, but there’s not an ounce of regret in it. “Hey.”
“So. Wine. Fancy underwear. That sweater.”
“No boxers,” she counters. “Clean, soft sheets?”
She quirks an eyebrow, he tilts his chin and smiles.
And just like that they are themselves, again, still, always, but now with a new layer of togetherness to explore. He moistens a washcloth in the bathroom sink and tenderly cleans them both, and they curl up on the soft - if rumpled and damp - sheets together.
They do not share “I love you”s. Not tonight. Not yet. But they both feel it in the brush of the other’s fingers, taste it in the tenderness of the last kiss they share before falling asleep together.
And that is enough.
#x files fanfic#the x files#xf fic#xf fanfic#dana scully#fox mulder#msr#smut#xfiles#the xfiles#mulder and scully#my fic#my writing#enough
180 notes
·
View notes
Text
Curated agent-troi Fics
In honor of @agent-troi's birthday (that I missed-- so sorry!), here is a "favorite rereads" selection~.
Loose chronological order below~
Crossing Paths
“Uh…” the other woman struggled to get another piece of paper out, profusely thanking Diana when she offered to hold some of the folders. She finally took out a syllabus and glanced at it. “Fourth floor, room 451.”
“Oh.” Diana chuckled. “It’s supposed to be 415. They like to haze the new instructors sometimes this way, especially if they’re women. I guess they think it’s funny.” Of course, it had never happened to Diana, but she had the right people on her side. Or rather, she was on their side.
AU-- Pre-S1 Diana meets Scully on her transfer out, gives her some directions, and muses on a childhood Scully doesn't remember.
The MSR Files - Chapter 17
“I’ve been busy, Ethan,” she said as she stood up to dump the remains of her meal in the garbage, even though she was only half finished with her salad. She eyed Mulder pointedly, who looked deeply confused but did the same with his sandwich.
S1 Scully pretends Mulder is her boyfriend to get a very pushy Ethan Minette off her back.
The MSR Files - Chapter 4
“Oh.” Rob looked down at his plate, then back up at her. “You must really like that part of your job, huh?”
With some chagrin, Scully realized she had a huge grin plastered on her face. “It has its charms,” she said, trying to sound more casual even as she felt her face burning.
The Jersey Devil Scully is ecstatic that Mulder called her to conduct an autopsy the next morning.
When Toads Fly (Ao3)
“Christmas isn’t until next week, Mulder.” She set her coffee down on the desk and folded her arms. “Why is there a plastic toad with a rocket strapped to its back hanging from our ceiling?”
“First of all, it’s not a rocket, it’s a missile. And second… it’s a missile toad.” He paused to watch for her reaction and was rewarded with a blank look. “Get it, Scully? Missile. Toad. Mistletoe.”
Mulder hangs up a missile frog for Christmas; and Scully, realizing she'd hurt his feelings, walks back her comments.
Between Two Truths
“Yep, it’s a fake,” the tech said, not even trying to contain his glee. “Sorry, Spooky, but it looks like you lost this round. Maybe the little green men will let you take a mulligan.”
Mulder closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he spat out. “I’m gonna print out the enlargement myself, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, knock yourself out.” The tech snickered to himself as he walked away in the general direction of the break room, where he would no doubt proceed to gossip to his fellow geeks about the delusional Spooky Mulder’s latest misadventure.
E.B.E. Mulder is grateful that Scully, at least, doesn't mock his faked photograph.
Light in Dark Places
“Have you ever–”
Another pair of high beams pierced the night, steadily expanding until they filled the entire rear window. Scully cut herself off mid-sentence as she struggled to breathe. It’s not him, it’s not him–
Post Irresistible Mulder distracts Scully from her panic attack by crashing a conga line and sharing a motel room.
The MSR Files - Chapter 10
She knew exactly how voodoo worked, that most of its power resided in the mindset of the victim. If one truly didn’t believe a curse could actually harm them, or better yet, if they did not know they had been cursed at all, it would have absolutely no effect. Just as it should have had absolutely no effect on her.
Post Fresh Bones Scully is shaken that she'd believed in voodoo.
For the Truth
Mulder had passed out shortly after collapsing on her couch, sweaty and feverish. He didn't seem to be conscious or even aware of his surroundings, but occasionally he'd start tossing and turning, muttering about his father. At one point he started crying, and nothing was intelligible save the word 'sorry'.
Anasazi Hosteen sends out paramedics to meet Mulder and Scully halfway.
The MSR Files - Chapter 13
She narrowed her eyes as her lips curled upward in amusement. “Do you think it’s true what he said to you?”
“I don’t wanna talk about that,” Mulder said hastily.
“Okay,” she snickered.
Post Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose Mulder hopes Scully will live forever.
The MSR Files - Chapter 16
When Scully had first made the comparison between him and Ahab, he’d been deeply confused, because he initially thought she meant her father. As she kept talking, he realized she was referring to the character, and he’d quickly become consumed by the need to not have to face directly the consequences of his actions on those he cared about, lest he be forced to let them go. To let her go.
But now, a stray thought occurred to him. He wasn’t a Freudian, but she had made the comparison.
Post Quagmire Mulder thinks over his inability to connect with his pets and the realization that Scully is, at the very least, attracted to him.
The Scully Dimension
“What if you could travel back in time?” Mulder asked Scully as they drove away from the biomedical research facility. “What would you change?”
Scully rolled her eyes. “Mulder–”
“Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
Synchrony Mulder is horrified that he'd forgotten to factor in Samantha's abduction into his time travel musings.
The Lesser Potato (Ao3)
It was most unlike him to willingly hand a case over to the local authorities before it had been fully concluded; it was, however, what any typical agent would do in this situation. Perhaps Skinner ought to be grateful that Mulder was finally starting to toe the line.
And yet, somehow, he wasn’t.
Small Potatoes Skinner is unnerved that Mulder's usual British misspellings are absent from his latest report.
Blood and Water
“Mrs. Mulder?” Scully’s throat constricted, and her heart started hammering in her chest. “Is Mul– have you heard from Fox? Is he okay?”
“Well, I was just going to ask you the same question.” Teena’s voice sounded hesitant. “He left a very strange message on my answering machine, telling me I had nothing to apologize for and that we were both victims of– of someone, and that it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to outrun his demons after all.”
AU-- Post Demons Mulder withdraws into himself, collecting DNA off of CSM's cigarettes to answer the paternity question once and for all. The results, however, spiral him further into darkness.
The MSR Files - Chapter 20
“You were never going to take his deal, Mulder.”
“How can you possibly know that? Even I didn’t know that.”
Detour Mulder had fled, scared of Scully's advances; and later admits to almost taking the deal in Redux II.
Scientific Proof
Despite his leaving her behind, Scully had continued to work on his behalf... which he couldn't say about his former partner. Diana had ended up leaving him high and dry with her report full of obfuscation and deception, but Scully on the other hand had managed to uncover some startling revelations.
AU-- The Beginning Scully links DNA from the claw marks to the Erlenmeyer Flask... but the panel refuses to reopen the files, anyway.
Event Horizon
Even as it occurred to her that he must be inside his apartment by now, Mulder's words triggered another flash of memory....
"Your apartment's been redecorated, hasn't it?"
"Wha-- how did you know? Was it you?"
AU-- Dreamland II Scully remembers the excursion first; and Mulder confesses his new favorite color is red.
Mother Knows Best
“I’ve got it.” The woman behind Maggie in line bent down to pick it up and started to hand it to her, then paused as she took a closer look at the name on the card, furrowing her brow. “‘Scully’... you’re not related to Dana Scully, by any chance?”
Pre-Two Fathers Maggie meets Diana while shopping... and runs laps around her.
Eden (co-written with @baronessblixen and @katy-kt-katie)
“She gets to call you Fox, no big deal. But not me—never me.” She paced to her dining room table and smacked it with her hand; the quick shot of pain up her arm felt good; it felt encouraging.
AU-- Post One Son Scully, hurt, picks a fight over Diana's liberties with Mulder. Both crack each other open, apologize, and end each other's doubts rather swiftly.
Savvy as Her
“You owe me,” she insisted. “Dales was right. You wouldn’t have made it through that without me.”
“I might have.” Mulder put up a weak, insincere protest, but quickly gave in. They had both quite literally been through the wringer, and Scully had delivered a baby (for the first time!) with a gun to her head and parasitic worms in the ceiling. She deserved to be pampered after everything she had just been through.
Post Agua Mala Mulder and Scully both reconnect over food and a S2 abduction discussion.
Arcadian Rhythms
"Do you want me to stay?"
Scully's words took an inordinately long time to penetrate the fog of his musings, and even then he wasn't sure he heard her right. Slowly, he blinked and lifted his head to look into her eyes. "You mean, here?"
Arcadia Scully wakes Mulder from a nightmare.
Sweet Kisses (Ao3)
Right then and there he decided to stop messing around, that the risk of heartbreak or humiliation could not possibly outweigh the sheer agony of his life without her in it. To not have her by his side was unthinkable.
So it was that he found himself in a flower shop in Georgetown, looking for something that would convey an unambiguous message when coupled with a night of fine dining and a blanket of stars.
AU-- Post Milagro Mulder is ready for the next step... and sees Scully on a "date" with another man.
The MSR Files - Chapter 22
“I’ll double your pay, kid,” Mulder yelled back.
“Deal! Wait— aw, man!”
They turned their heads to see a green station wagon in the parking lot, a maybe sixtyish woman with Poorboy’s nose and cheekbones beckoning him with her finger as she honked the horn with her other hand.
Post The Unnatural Mulder is delighted by Scully's teasing; and both take things to the next level after the Poorboy goes home.
The MSR Files - Chapter 24
No one would listen to him, and he couldn’t seem to stop hearing everyone. He was surrounded by mental noise, and yet all alone.
Scully?
He tried to reach out for her, but caught only a bizarre glimpse of a half-buried ship in the sand, dark and foreboding as the waves crashed over it. The wreckage of alien progenitors, no longer alien to his mind.
The Sixth Extinction Mulder tries desperately to reach Scully's mind.
Hands-On Activities
Mulder was clearly happy to see her, even though they’d just spent less than ten hours apart, but there was a faint undercurrent of tension in his posture.
“Are you okay, Mulder?”
He shook his head slightly as if to clear it. “I’m fine, Scully.”
“It’s just that you didn’t even let me finish my sentence, and you– oh.” A realization hit her, along with a wave of chagrin. “Did you think I was in trouble?”
Post The Goldberg Variation Scully teaches Mulder how to fix his sink.
Some Assembly Required
Scully swatted him playfully with the instruction manual. “Need I remind you that you asked me to help you? You’re not even following the instructions—“
“Because they’re useless, Scully. Look at them! It’s all just pictures!” He stabbed a finger against the page in frustration.
Post The Goldberg Variation Scully helps Mulder assemble his new bed.
Your Hand Does Something To My Skin (Ao3)
He stepped closer, sliding his arms around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She hummed in quiet contentment, and he felt his heart melt. “Scully…?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
Post The Amazing Maleeni Mulder cannot, for the life of him, wheedle Scully's magic trick secrets from her.
Someone to Count On
"How can there possibly be so much of nothing?"
"Nothing?" Mulder continued to tease Scully as their rented Jeep Grand Cherokee sped down a dusty rural highway somewhere in... Scully had forgotten where, so mundane and repetitive was the scenery.... "This is the heartland of America, Scully, where all the hardworking farmers of these United States grow the crops and raise the beef that ends up on our dinner plates.
Post Orison Scully has another panic attack in the car curtesy of Pfaster's song.
The MSR Files - Chapter 27
He couldn’t understand, needed to understand, why his mother had done what she did. She called him, she wanted to explain… but why didn’t she wait? Why didn’t she even leave a note?
He knew what it was like to be overwhelmed by guilt, but he couldn’t help but resent her for making him guess, for not even giving him a reason.
Sein und Zeit Mulder is anguished that Scully gets answers beyond the grave while he never does.
Eight Nights - Chapter 6 (Ao3)
The boy from his dream appeared in his mind’s eye, sitting cross-legged on the floor as he spun the little top around.
Post Closure Mulder finds his childhood dreidel and menorah.
Where A Million Stars Catch Fire (Ao3)
“I’m sorry, Mulder. Is that why people call you Spooky?”
“Technically, this is why they call me Spooky–” Mulder gestured around at the basement office and all its UFO and cryptid-related paraphernalia. “–but my birthday certainly doesn’t help. Whichever of them first realized that October 13th, 1961 was a Friday must’ve had a field day.”
AU-- This Is Not Happening Scully remembers each of Mulder's birthdays while trying to save him on this one.
Love and Strife
“Can you stay?” she mumbled, blinking up at him through groggy eyes. “Make up for… having to cut our evening short.”
Mulder smiled and slid his wrist out of her hand to wrap his fingers around her own. “Sure you don’t want to wait for the pizza man?” he murmured back teasingly.
She rolled her eyes at him as she gave him a sleepy smile. “I would, but… you’ll have to do, I suppose.”
Empedocles Scully casually confirms the baby his Mulder's; then drops off to sleep mid-conversation.
Eight Nights - Chapter 8 (Ao3)
As if sensing his presence, she looked up at him. Her face and eyes were red from crying and the agony of the labor, but she was smiling. “Mulder, come look at him.”
He did, kneeling down beside her as they both gazed in awe at their newborn baby– their son. “Wow,” he whispered.
Existence Mulder followed the light and found his family.
Eight Nights - Chapter 3 (Ao3)
"When have I ever done anything the normal way, Scully?" Mulder set the menorah on the table and tousled William’s hair. "Besides, this is the Starship Enterprise– the Starship Menorahprise, if you will. Its eight-night mission: to boldly celebrate miracles where none have ever been celebrated before."
AU-- S9 Mulder and Scully are celebrating William's first Hanukkah.
Summer Love Doesn't Have to End
“You need me, Mulder, and we need you. You’re not going off half-cocked on your own ever again. I’m gonna make damn sure of that.”
“I’m trying to protect you-”
“Well, stop that!” Scully put her hands on her hips in a familiar gesture of exasperation. “You need protection too, Mulder.”
AU-- Post Existence Scully refuses to let Mulder go into hiding alone.
The MSR Files - Chapter 28
“Fresh oranges here! Get your fresh oranges!” William bounded over to them with all the effusive, exuberant energy only an eleven-year-old boy (who also happened to have Fox Mulder’s blood running through his veins) could exhibit under these conditions.
Scully felt a pang of deep regret at this cruel and unnecessary theft of his childhood, and knew that someday (if there was even gonna be a someday) he would mourn its loss as well. But for now, as far as William Scully-Mulder was concerned, this was all just one grand adventure.
AU-- S9 Mulder, Scully, and William bunker underground with a Colonization resistance group.
A Place Like This
“We can’t hide this forever. He’s going to need to learn how to control his… powers.”
She spoke the last word in much the same way she used to say the word ‘aliens’ or ‘extraterrestrials’, but not for the same reasons. She was less afraid to believe now than she had been in the past, but now there were new things to fear.
Having a baby, especially a miraculous, possibly human-alien hybrid baby, had a way of radically shifting your priorities and preexisting beliefs. It was somehow easier to accept that William possessed psychokinetic abilities than to accept the danger they put him in from those that would do him harm.
AU-- S9 Mulder, Scully, and William go into hiding with TLG's help, raising Will as their own even if they aren't sure of his paternity.
Thanks for reading~
Enjoy!
#txf#fic#Collector's Edition#Curate#agent-troi#AgentTroi#CaptainTroi#Happy Belated Birthday Friend~#xfiles#x-files#the x files#xf fanfic#xf fic
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
XF Fic: The Wager
Rated Teen
Scully faces the failure of her IVF cycle -- and faces where things are headed with Mulder.
tw: infertility and ivf. more in notes below the cut!
a/n: Anyone who has gone through IVF knows the arc in the show is a total mess. This is my attempt to make a little sense of it. I've sought to describe that process and the emotions it can bring sensitively, as someone going through it myself. But turn back if you're not in a place to read about failed transfers right now. <3
*
Autumn, 1999.
*
Her fertility clinic does embryo transfers on Thursdays, and the blood tests for pregnancy the following Friday.
Mulder offers to come with her to the transfer, offers to wait in the waiting room for her if that’s more comfortable than having him in the room, considering the whole legs-spread-in-stirrups situation.
“No, it’s all right, I can go alone,” she says. “It won’t take long, and it’s a pretty straightforward procedure.”
He nods.
It isn’t really fair. Half the embryo is his, after all, but she’s not sure she can bring herself to sit beside him in the waiting room, with a bunch of normal couples, not knowing how to define what they even are to one another. Partners. Friends. Partners and friends who share their gametes with one another, but only in a petrie dish.
Scully tries to be inconspicuous as she looks around the waiting room, and sees the faces of women who are terrified and sad and hopeful, just like her. They all trade sympathetic looks, but the truth is it’s impossible to find people who can totally understand. They’re all here for infertility, like she is, but Scully didn’t do the egg retrieval portion of IVF like all the other women in the waiting room. There was no injection of stimulating hormones and careful monitoring by a doctor; there was just months of missing time while whatever dark forces that abducted her harvested all of her ova, stealing her future.
This embryo transfer is her only hope.
The truth is frozen eggs don’t hold up that well under the best of circumstances, and her situation — her partner stealing her frozen eggs from a shadowy facility and not fucking mentioning it to her for several years — is less than ideal.
Fifteen eggs fertilized. But just two made it to blastocyst. They were frozen and biopsied, and only one was euploid — that is, it had the right number of chromosomes. A chance to grow inside her. Her last shot. Her only chance.
In the procedure room, naked from the waist down under a hospital gown, she scoots to the edge of a tiny table and lifts her legs into stirrups. She is a doctor and not ashamed of her body — even as it has failed her — but she can’t help thinking the whole thing is so undignified. One more humiliation courtesy the men who took her all those years ago, who have never paid for it.
She wishes she had let Mulder come with her, stirrups and all. She stares at the ceiling and waits for it to be over.
*
Lots of women take an at-home pregnancy test in between, but Scully doesn’t. She dutifully injects herself with progesterone in alternating ass cheeks each evening, takes an estrogen pill three times a day, a prenatal each morning, and waits.
But she doesn’t take a test. Might as well only be let down once, when the doctor delivers the news. The truth is she wants to hold on to the hope for as long as she can — for those eight days, there is the possibility she is pregnant, something that has not been true for her for so long.
She’s hopeful. The odds are in her favor: a euploid embryo transfer has a sixty percent chance of resulting in a live birth. She has to be hopeful, what else is there to be?
Friday comes and she feels like she is going to crawl out of her skin.
She goes to work and finds Mulder is there, waiting for her, with a croissant and a cup of tea.
Mulder.
Mulder, the man whose sperm met with her egg before they’ve even kissed. The man she is terribly, awfully, unrelentingly in love with. She could find the words to ask him to scramble their DNA, but she cannot bring herself to tell him something as simple as that: I love you.
“Good morning, Scully,” he says. He knows today is the day, but he doesn’t mention it, and she is eternally grateful. “I figure we can knock out those expense reports Skinner wants done, and then cut out early.”
She smiles at him and accepts the cup of tea from his outstretched hand.
“Sounds good. I have to go to the doctor at four,” she says, like it’s a routine visit and not an appointment to find out their future.
He nods, and once again she cannot bring herself to invite him to go with her.
“Will you come over? This evening, I mean,” she says. “Come over. We can order dinner.”
Again, he nods.
“I’ll be there waiting for you when you get home,” he says. He looks at her in that unnerving way he has. “I’ll always be there, Scully. No matter what.”
She nods tightly. She wants to believe.
*
The news is not good.
She holds it together in the office with her doctor. She walks out into the parking lot, gets into her car, and just sits there, in the quiet. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t yell. She doesn’t pray. She doesn’t curse God. She doesn’t call anyone because there’s no one to tell. No one knows she’s even tried. No one but —
Mulder.
Her stomach twists. Somehow, telling him feels like the worst part. She doesn’t even know if he’s ever really wanted to be a parent, but she’d put the option on the table, and now, the option was gone.
With her, anyway.
The truth is, Mulder could be a father, with someone else. The thought fills her with a level of dread she’s never felt before, a bottomless kind of dread she has no right to feel. They are not married. They’ve never even properly kissed. But they’d been prepared to — what, coparent as cordial colleagues? The truth is she has no fucking clue what they were doing anymore. It feels like they are moving toward the inevitable, but they’re both blinking. Both afraid to call the other’s bluff.
A few hours ago her life had held such promise, such possibility. And now, it is gone.
She sits there, alone, silent, in the parking lot until the sun goes down.
How is she going to tell him?
*
In the end, she doesn’t have to. He can tell. He can always tell.
She opens the door to find him lightly dozing on her couch.
“Scully? I must have dozed off. I was waiting for you to get back,” he says.
He can read it on her face.
“It didn’t take, did it?”
“I guess it was too much to hope for,” she says.
He opens his arms to embrace her, and she lets him. And that’s when the tears finally come, too much and all at once, ugly crying into his chest.
She says aloud the thing she’s only ever admitted to herself: “It was my last chance.”
He squeezes her, kisses her forehead. God how she wishes he’d do more, how she feels ashamed for even having the thought, for having the need, for wanting more than this man has given her already.
“Never give up on a miracle,” he says.
She kisses his cheek, his neck. She lets him hold her and she cries until there’s nothing left.
Later, he draws her a bath and lets her soak while he orders them dinner. He goads her to eat a little something, at least. He pours them each a glass of wine, and cuddles up beside her on the couch, because what the fuck else is there to do at this point anyway.
She is surprised by her own capacity for disappointment. Of course it didn’t work. Nothing ever works.
“Sometimes it feels like nothing good is ever going to happen to me again,” she says, embarrassed at how maudlin and miserable she sounds as soon as the words come out of her mouth.
He looks at her not with pity, but with promise.
“There are plenty of good things in your future, Scully,” he assures her.
He kisses her then — not like before, not her forehead, but her mouth. Quick, chaste, but not exactly friendly.
What the fuck are they? What are they going to be?
“What is this, Mulder? What are we doing?” she finally asks.
“I’m not sure. But I don’t think we should make any big moves tonight,” he whispers.
She nods, on the brink of tears again.
“Would you stay with me? Tonight? We don’t have to—”
“Of course,” he says. “Of course I’ll stay.”
*
She wakes in the morning alone, but to the sound of her front door opening.
“Hello?” she calls out.
“It’s me,” he replies. “I got us breakfast.”
He’d slept in the bed with her, holding her. They’d kissed again, a little longer, but nothing more. She knows he doesn’t want to take advantage when she’s vulnerable. But the truth is she’s not sure she’ll ever be whole again.
He ambles into her bedroom with a to-go cup and a paper bag. This time it’s coffee, not tea. She’s not pregnant, no need to deny herself caffeine. She takes it appreciatively.
“I got us bagels. Real cream cheese,” he says. “None of that tofutti bullshit.”
She rolls her eyes as if she were in their office and not in her bed in her pajamas.
He grins. “There she is,” he says, running a thumb across her cheek.
She feels herself blush.
“What do you want to do today, Scully?”
It’s Saturday, she remembers. She has nowhere to be and she supposes he doesn’t either.
He fills the silence: “We could catch a movie, or if you’ve got stuff to do I could get out of your hair…”
“No,” she says. “No, I’d like to spend the day together.”
He smiles. “Me too. If you’re not up to doing anything, we can just hang out here. Eat takeout in bed all day,” he waggles his eyebrows.
She smiles, and then the realization hits her all at once.
“I want to do something stupid,” she says.
He laughs, and she realizes she’s taken her profiler partner by surprise.
“Ok,” he says. “Well, I’m an expert on doing something stupid. But what kind of stupid? Breaking into a government facility stupid or watching Dumb and Dumber stupid?”
She grins.
“I want to do something frivolous. Something fun. I want to get out of here, away from here. Away from everything.”
He looks, suddenly, like a man with an idea.
“Do you mind a bit of a drive?” he asks.
“No, I don’t mind. That would be nice, actually.”
“You’re a Springsteen fan, right, Scully?”
She nods. “Sure,” she says.
“Well, put your makeup on and fix your hair up pretty, and meet me tonight in Atlantic City.”
*
They listen to Springsteen on the way, actually. Well, part of the way -- a bit of a drive was maybe an understatement, and they’re working their way through a good chunk of Mulder’s CD collection. Springsteen. The Traveling Wilbury’s. Elvis. Prince. They debate which is the best Beatles album, then, which is the best Beatle.
After a few hours they hit the New Jersey Pinelands, and in the distance Atlantic City’s skyline, in all its gaudy glory, sparkles into view.
“You know, it’s kind of ironic, Scully,” Mulder says. “Last time we were in Atlantic City was to chase down the Jersey Devil. And if I recall correctly, *you* had a date.”
She nearly blushes.
“That is correct.”
“And now, here we are again, on our first date,” he smirks.
“Is that what this is, Mulder? A date?” She arches an eyebrow, but she’s teasing, smiling.
“I think so. There’s just something about casinos, after all. Don’t know whether it’s day or night. Free drinks. Fancy restaurants. The thrill of risk and reward.”
She glances in the rearview mirror at the two overnight bags on the backseat, an unspoken decision they’d each made that this would be an overnight jaunt.
“Well, I suppose you can’t win if you don’t wager on something,” she says.
He takes her hand into his on the center console.
*
Scully wanted frivolous, and the Tropicana is frivolous.
A Havana-themed casino towering over the boardwalk and the Atlantic ocean, complete with an attached shopping complex with fake palm trees and blue sky and fluffy clouds painted on the ceiling.
It’s early in the afternoon when they arrive. The casino floor smells like cigarettes, and the chimes of slot machines bounce off the windowless walls as women in stretch pants and men in football jerseys lose their paychecks. Later, the women will don high heels and the men will begrudgingly wear a collared shirt to go to a steakhouse and then pay a twenty dollar cover to dance.
And she wants to be part of it. She wants to sit next to Mulder at a five dollar blackjack table and laugh at his stupid jokes while the dealer rolls her eyes. So she does.
But even when she’s being reckless, she’s still Scully.
She puts one hundred dollars cash on the table and tells Mulder: “This is my limit. I’m not doing the gambler’s fallacy thing. If I lose it, I lost it, and I’m not putting more down.”
But she doesn’t have to make that decision anyway, because by the time they leave the table, they’ve had two free drinks and she’s up three hundred bucks.
“See, Scully,” Mulder says as she squirrels the black poker chips into her purse. “I told ya there were good things in your future.”
*
They go out for happy hour to a Cuban place in the attached mall with the fake sky, and order beers and a platter of potato croquettes and empanadas and other fried things that aren’t very good for you but taste delicious.
She feels warm, comfortable, happy, which just twenty-four hours ago seemed impossible to her. Frivolous had been a good idea. Atlantic City had, against all odds, been a good idea.
Scully can feel the dopey grin on her own face as they banter and eat and sip, which is part of why his question is so shocking.
“Do you hate me?” he asks her, lifting his beer bottle to his lips but still watching her intently.
“What? No,” she says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, because it is. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t tell you — about the ova. Even after you got better, I kept it from you. I don’t know why I did that, but I think it may be the worst thing I’ve ever done, to anyone, and I did it to you, which makes it so much worse,” he says, in a rush, like it was weighing on him for a long time and he just had to let it out.
Part of her is annoyed — annoyed that he’s harshing the buzz she has from the booze and gambling winnings and the possibility simmering between them, annoyed she has to tend to his feelings when she’s the one he’d wronged, when she’s the one who had to spend the last two weeks doping her body with artificial hormones, when she’s the one who can’t have a kid of her own.
And maybe it’s that annoyance that spurs her to be bold in her response. Maybe it’s the beer. Maybe it’s the big hair and bright lights of a New Jersey casino.
“Mulder, I don’t hate you,” she says. “I’m not happy that things happened this way. But I don’t hate you. I love you.”
There, now she’s done it, too: said it all in a rush, spilled out what has been churning in her guts, said the big heavy thing that can’t be unsaid.
His eyes are wide — he was not expecting this.
“I, I love you, too, Scully,” he says.
He’s told her that before. But she needs to make sure he understands what she’s really saying.
“Mulder, I don’t just love you. I’m in love with you. I probably should’ve told you that before I asked you to make a kid with me. But that ship has sailed, and it’s still true: I’m in love with you.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Because I’m in love with you, too, Scully. I think I have been for a pretty long time,” he says.
She grins. She laughs.
“We’re so fucking stupid, Mulder,” she says. “Wasting all this time denying ourselves. For what? Propriety? The rules we don’t care about anyway?”
“I was afraid,” Mulder admits. “I was afraid that I’d fuck up what we already had. Sometimes it felt like we could never -- like if we did it, the world would end.”
“Everybody thinks the world’s gonna end in a couple months anyway,” she says, draining her beer. “Might as well have fun.”
“So this is the Scully that stole her mom’s cigarettes and hits up seedy tattoo parlors,” he raises his eyebrows.
“Yeah, and gambles in low-rent casinos with rebellious men who carry guns,” she says. “Men -- well, one man -- she’d really like to take her upstairs to their room right about now.”
Mulder calls the bartender and asks for two shots of top shelf tequila. She watches his tongue lick up salt from finger, watches his neck as he swallows, watches his lips as they pucker around the lime.
They walk out of the bar hand-in-hand, and when they kiss for the first time -- beneath a painted-on sky, next to a fake palm tree -- he tastes salty and sharp, like the sea.
And in that moment, Dana Scully is absolutely sure that something good is about to happen to her.
*
a/n 2: I'd love your feedback. I'm on my third round of IVF myself without success so far -- hoping for positive news next week, actually! So please be kind and sensitive. I hope I've done justice to anyone else going through this.
My intention was for this to end in some fun Atlantic City smut, but it just didn't get there. Zero promises, but I'm not ruling out following up with a little first-time fic of what happens when they get upstairs.
87 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
mastmediamarket-blog
Master Media Marketing
goonertime78
Bottom Guy
findyourfit
Untitled
pizza-party-playhouse
🎊Let’s Have a Party!🎊
tetaalfmarra-blog
Teta, Alf Marra