#f: the x files

[pdwoozi]

The X-Files: Fight the Future (1998)

#the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #txfedit #txf #mine #f: the x files #tv: the x files #they #T HE Y

[sashacalle]

I'm the key figure in an on-going government charade, the plot to conceal the truth about the existence of extra-terrestrials. It's a global conspiracy, actually, with key players in the highest levels of power, that reaches down into the lives of every man, woman, and child on this planet. So, of course, no one believes me. THE X FILES: FIGHT THE FUTURE (1998)

#the x files #txfedit #dailytxf #xfilesnet #filmedit #filmgifs #chewieblog #dailyflicks #usergabriella #userbru #userjean #userhella #f. #txf #*

[f4nrir]

I'm so feral for Miguel and I have monster fucker brainrot

Reader that has some tentacle power ande Miguel has some extremely horny thoughts about them

One night , reader goes to check on Miguel bc he was late and he was never late for their patrols and he sees Miguel desperately fucking himself with a tentacle dildo and moaning readers name.

Reader offers help and Miguel gets his fantasy of getting filled with tentacles and getting fucked by the reader fulfilled

fulfilled fantasies

一 pairing; miguel o'hara x symbiote!m!reader

note: hi anon, i've been wanting to do something with a symbiote and i hope you don't mind i experimented with it through this request. it was fun to write!

cw: bottom!miguel, monsterfucking, tentacles/symbiote tendrils, unprotected anal, toys, slight dacryphilia.

word count: 1.4k

revealing your power to him, you thought you would scare him away, but it did the complete opposite to miguel. his thoughts began to wander whenever you were around him, mainly when you would openly use your ability during a mission or when you were working together. he vividly remembers wanting a cup of coffee and you extended your arm out, and the symbiote that was bound to you mindlessly made the coffee for him as you focused on the work you had at hand.

it flustered him, but the uncontrollable thoughts he’d get made it unbearable to be around you. what made it worse was that the spandex suit he wore all the time did not make it any easier for him, as it wrapped tightly around his bulge. during missions, he would get lost in thought as you fought and easily defeated the threats at hand. the way your tentacles would wrap around the individual and how much control you had over them made him envious, as he wanted to feel you all around him. like a predator with its prey, unable to move and forced to submit to your control. 

out of pure desperation, he ordered toys in an attempt to get his fix. he acknowledged it was not the same, and he thought about you every time he used it on himself. as perverted as it already was, he decided to look through the cameras from patrols you would do together when you would use them. it was enough to make him come, but the way he craved for you made his need grow stronger but knew he could not do anything about his fantasy.

one particular night, miguel got caught up and forgot that you both had patrol. you shook your head and looked down at your watch, reading the time to realize he was almost half an hour late. you didn’t realize time had gone by so quickly and it worried you because miguel was never late for your patrols, as he prioritized the well-being of others more than anything else. you messed with your travel watch in an attempt to contact him but there was no answer, so you checked his location and he was in his office. you found it odd and your thoughts began to jump to conclusions that you didn’t like, encouraging you to go back to the base to check up on him.

when you arrived at the base, you began to dread what you may find when you enter his office. “miguel?” you called out as you jumped from pillar to pillar to get onto his platform but to your surprise, he wasn’t there. you checked your travel watch once again to see where he was until you heard soft moans coming from a nearby room. the hairs on the back of your neck stood when you realized that was miguel and you jumped down to find that room, intently listening to the sounds he made.

“ah mierda, please use me!” he moaned on the other side of this particular door and you were frightened, not wanting to walk in on him having sex with someone else that wasn’t you. he countered those thoughts when you heard your name, eyes widening as you opened the door just enough to get a peek inside. there he was, the leader of the spider society, on all fours with a machine that was fucking him from behind with a screen that had your recordings on it. the way he was desperately touching himself while increasing the pace of the machine made your heart flutter and your cock tighten in your suit.

“you’re into them that much?” you piped up as you leaned against the door frame with your arms crossed, opening the door to expose the tentacles that surrounded you.

“wh– oh my fuck, i am so sorry–” he frantically apologized and you closed the door behind you, locking it so no one could walk in.

“sorry for?” you took a step closer towards him as one of the tentacles made its way to miguel, lifting up his chin while the others made their way to various areas of pleasure.

miguel heaves at the contact of one on his cock as it began to wrap itself around him, causing him to tremble with every touch. his face was flushed and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, you were enjoying this scenery bestowed upon you.

“open,” you ordered and he complied, his jaw slack for the other to use. you moaned at the contact as you could feel pleasure through the endings of each one, making it a blessing yet a curse. miguel sucked on it with such pride and pleasure, surprisingly taking it better than you thought he would. in an attempt to express his gratitude, he began to moan your name but every space in his mouth was filled. he was only able to mumble, which sent vibrations to the tentacle from his throat, causing you to jump from the sensations.

you bent down to his level, grabbing his jaw with your hand to make him look back up at you. “what do you want? tell me,” the tentacle swiftly left his mouth, giving him a chance to speak. he whined and was obviously shy, unable to get the words out of him. “you shy? it’s too late to go back now, look at yourself” whispering it in his ear, you felt him melt under your touch and gave him an encouraging look to speak up for himself.

“fuck me. i want all of it inside me, as much as you can fill me with. please,” he begged and you chuckled, nodding your head. “if that’s what you want,” you tapped on the emblem on your chest to discard the suit, exposing your muscles underneath. miguel gasped and watched your every move, admiring your body and especially your hardened cock that slapped against your stomach. you pushed him down onto his back, positioning yourself as you took control and let the tentacles wander. you slowly slipped inside of him as the others began to wrap around his limbs, targeting his most vulnerable areas. a loud moan slipped out of miguel, and you hushed him by stuffing his mouth, not wanting to get caught with the sight of both of you like this.

your hips began to move involuntarily, as the symbiote took control of your body and did most of the work for you. miguel was a mess, tears ran down his face as you penetrated him in ways that he always wanted to. one after another, more of the tentacles began to penetrate him until he was screaming against you to stop from how much it hurt. knowing that you were hurting him and hearing his cries satisfied you, getting off to the torture he was enduring.

you wished you could stay in this moment, having miguel pinned underneath you, as you fucked him relentlessly and abusing his body with the fantasy he always craved from you. how can a leader and a strong man like him be trapped beneath you, losing himself because of tentacles wrapped around his body? each thrust was like torture for him; when you looked down, you could see a huge bulge forming in his stomach.

miguel couldn’t do anything but cry, knowing that fighting back wasn’t going to help. feeling helpless and used, yes, that’s what he liked. that is what he’d been wanting ever since you showed this side of yourself and his cravings only got stronger over time and now he’s gotten what he wants.

after a few more thrusts, you felt yourself nearing your climax as the pressure from the tendrils and his walls only tightened around you. “miguel… i can’t hold it any longer,” you mumbled and his eyes widened, attempting to push your hips away. however, you caved into your desires and filled him up with your cum. you could not stop, that was part of the ability. you had so much to release and the tentacle in his mouth filled his throat, forcing him to swallow all of it. the floor was painted with your cum, while miguel’s coated his stomach along with a tentacle that was wrapped around him a moment ago. 

the tendrils had retracted from his body, leaving miguel on the floor and unable to move from what you’ve done. he flashed you a smile, then covered his face in embarrassment. “did you get your fix?” you teased before playfully slapping his chest as you sat there in defeat, taking a look around and realizing how much you had to clean up.

“yes… the real thing was better…” he slowly sat up and pulled your face closer to his, your lips only inches away from one another. your breath hitched in your throat, as you felt his fangs lightly graze your lips. “let’s skip patrol, yeah?” he whispered against you and pressed your lips together, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you down with him. 

#— zeppelin’s files 📁 #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel o'hara x m!reader #mlm smut #n/s/f/w #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #top reader #marvel x reader #marvel one shot #miguel o’hara x you

[jiraidanshi]

happy easter and tdov everyone . and gacha game april fools day [he/it/doll] [[ignore my broken nail lol]]

#jirai kei #dark girly #girly kei #jirai #jirai danshi #jfashion #file type: .bmp #📸 #chara♥️ #girly #f #red #x

[cxsmiclore]

"i got the family ring now, pops." ღ rafe cameron.

౨ৎ welcome to rafe's channel ! ᝰ please read the warnings before interacting. minors dni with [n]sfw content! grab your snacks and enjoy :D

ʚ SHORTS COLLECTION ɞ

— content coming soon

ʚ LIVE COLLECTION ɞ

— content coming soon

ʚ VIDEOS COLLECTION ɞ

— content coming soon

ʚ STREAMS COLLECTION ɞ

— content coming soon

ʚ PLAYLISTS COLLECTION ɞ

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— all rights reserved © CXSMICLORE 2024. all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend on tiktok any of the works seen here.

#ꪶ files ꫂ #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe x female!mc #rafe x fem!reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron x f!reader #outer banks x reader #outer banks x you #outer banks x y/n #obx x reader #obx x you #obx x y/n

[strawberry-selfships]

shoutout to the f/os where you saw the source material once and went "yea I like you" but not enough to warrant a selfship so you just kinda forgot and moved on until you rediscovered the media and went ohhhh shit. i like you. i remember. i rember. and you rewatch it and THEN you end up selfshipping with them

#ok to rb #it's special #and it happens to me soooooooo often #which is why i have a crushes list tucked right next to my f/os list. in the same file #strawberry patch #selfship #self ship #selfshipping #self shipping #f/o #f/o community #oc x canon #s/i x canon #s/i x f/o #selfshipping community #self shipping community #self shipper #self ship community #selfship community

[tournamentpollsinc]

Round Three

#polls #tournament poll #m/f ships #hiccstrid #httyd #msr #x files

[ghouljams]

Fae! Keegan

Father of the year Babysitting My Everything Insecure Keegan's Birthday Breeding (MDNI) Mutual Kinks(MDNI) A Good Wife Unknown

How did reader get the kid?

#cod x reader #x reader #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan russ #keegan cod #fae au #f!reader #no one get excited this is literally just for the filing system

[demxters]

—𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀

x-files!au jake seresin x f!reader

summary: something wicked this way comes on the night you find yourself stuck at the motel california with your work partner, jake seresin.

wc: 12.7k

warning(s): 18+ for sensitive subject matter, fem!reader, no y/n (reader goes by nickname pumpkin), language, mentions of paranormal entities, implications of self harm/suicide, brief violence, alcohol and drinking

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊, 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃!

find it on ao3

a/n: if you're familiar with teen wolf, yes this is also loosely based on the motel california episode of s3. a huge ty to @blue-aconite for being my rock throughout this entire process. i couldn't have done it without you <;3

Of all the moments in your career, none have felt quite as humiliating as this. You have shed your own blood, sweat, and tears just to even be respected in your field. Right when you felt like you were finally coming up on top, Director Simpson threw a curve ball and sent you right to the basement. Your ex-partner laughed in your face at the news, making steam pour out of your ears. 

The X-Files. Are you kidding? You are a highly skilled field agent and medical doctor–that’s one more thing than Director Simpson could say he was. Yet somehow, you were the one going down. Literally. 

The X-Files was a department full of hallucinatory agents. Those who believed in aliens, the supernatural, and ghosts just to name a few of what they investigate. It was a joke department. One that was created to satisfy the pipe dream of passionate believers. Sending you down there felt like an insult to your intelligence. 

The squeaks from the age old elevator as the doors opened to the dusty and dimly lit hallway was enough for you to know this probably wasn’t the most highly decorated department. With a steady gulp, you make your way down the hall. Dodging agents running around like headless chickens has you clutching your suitcase closer to your chest. Your eyes scan each room, looking for the director’s office. 

Someone bumps you on the shoulder, making you yelp. Meanwhile, they drop all their files onto the floor. 

You let out a soft “oh,” dropping to your knees to help the flustered agent. 

“I am so sorry, ma’am,” he breathes. 

Despite your annoyance, you could tell that the man was genuine, and your attitude softens slightly. “It’s alright,” you reassured him with a soft smile. Picking up the rest of his stray papers, you’re able to get a better look at the man. He had boyish features and a buzzcut. He was probably the same age as you, maybe even a couple years younger. He had the look of fresh meat, making your hardened exterior falter. “Agent…” 

His eyes flit up to meet yours with a smile.“Garcia, ma’am. Agent Mickey Garcia.” 

You hold out a hand which he grasps in friendly greeting. “Nice to meet you, Agent Garcia. Are you new here?” 

A shaky exhale leaves him as he lets go of your hand and takes the rest of his papers from you. He runs a hand over his short hair. “That obvious?” 

A sympathetic look graces your features. “Just a smidge.” 

He groans, throwing his head back. 

“Hey, it’s not a bad thing! We’ve all gotta start somewhere.” The sound of a phone ringing in the distance reminds you why you were down here in the first place. If you could spend the rest of your afternoon chatting with Garcia, you would. He was sweet. The kind of person you could find yourself befriending if not for the nature of your position. “Garcia, would you happen to know where Director Mitchell’s office is?” 

He nods hurriedly at the name of his superior. “Absolutely. Follow me.” 

You follow swiftly behind him as you weave your way through the various agents and file carts. A few of the male agents snickered and clearly looked you up and down as you walked by. Years of tolerating this behavior made you indifferent to their actions. Garcia said hello to a few of his fellow agents and blatantly ignored a few of the others who threw out teasing remarks to the man about his last assignment. You could tell it was a sensitive subject for him as the tips of his ears turned red and he ducked his chin to his sternum. 

Finally reaching the end of the hall after what felt like an eternity, you are met face to face with the wooden door and golden plaque with the name “Mitchell” staring back at you. 

Garcia gestures to the door. “Well, this is it. Good luck.” He gives you a half hearted thumbs up that did nothing to quell the anxiety bubbling in your system. 

You nod, harshly trying to swallow the nerves that were crawling up your throat. “I hope to see you around, Garcia,” you’re just barely able to speak. 

He turns over his shoulder with a bright smile and sound agreement before disappearing in the direction they came. 

You hesitantly raise her fist to the door when a muffled, “Come in,” is voiced from the other side. 

You push the door open with caution, unsure of what to suspect on the other side. You have only ever heard stories of the famed director, none that gave you any reassurance that your career was in good hands. 

Director Mitchell despite being dressed in slacks and a button up work shirt looked like the most casual man in the department. A pair of aviators sat on his desk next to his badge that was haphazardly thrown onto the surface of his desk. You wrinkle your nose at the sight, not seeing this man as someone you could easily respect as a superior. 

“I would say have a seat, but I don’t plan on keeping you here long,” the director puts it bluntly. “I’ve read your file. Incredibly impressive, to say the least.” 

You straighten your posture and hold your head up high at his praise. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Needless to say, I don’t see how your talents could be any more useful here as it is with the big dogs.” You could feel the underlying tone of his annoyance with the higher ups. 

“I am thinking the same thing,” you dryly add. 

He pushes off his desk with a large exhale and brings himself to his feet. “Well, whatever the reason, they sent you here. And lucky for you, I’ve got the perfect place to put you.” He beckons for you to follow him out the door. 

Walking past him, you mutter bitterly under your breath, “Lucky me.” 

Director Mitchell explains how the X-Files is an overlooked department in the FBI and continues to emphasize how they are not just a committee full of nut jobs. He drones on and on about the compelling evidence they have and if Director Simpson could just listen to his agents, they could be making history. You zone out halfway through his speech, watching the agents around you intently. Over in one of the board rooms were a group of agents who looked like they were in the midst of a playfully heated argument. You smile upon noticing one of the agents to be Garcia. Amongst them was a woman who looked like she could command a room with a single look. If there was anyone you were hoping to become good colleagues with, it was her. God knows you needed another woman to talk to down here. 

Mitchell leads you to the last room. The door was already ajar and before even stepping into the room, you could tell it was a mess in there. There was red string and newspaper clippings everywhere. Sticky notes and photographs galore. 

You can hear shuffling from inside the room as Director Mitchell steps in front of you and lets himself in with only a light knock. 

“‘M busy, Pete,” a voice from inside the room says. 

It’s deep, male with a hint of southern twang. The way he calls the director by his first name makes you uncomfortable. Director Simpson would never let that slide. 

“Too busy to meet your new partner?” Mitchell teases. 

The rustling stops and Pete steps aside so you can step into the room. You’re unable to hide your surprise as you step inside, glaring at him with questioning eyes. “I’m sorry, partner?” 

The sound of your voice makes the man in the office straighten up. He crosses his arms over his chest and smirks as he leans against his desk. You could see him from the corner of your eyes but refuse to give him any acknowledgement. 

“Director Simpson didn’t say anything about me having to work with anyone down here.” 

The disgust was evident in your tone, yet the man’s smirk only grew into an amused grin. 

Pete sighs. “With all due respect, agent, Director Simpson told me to place you where I think you’d be most fit. That being said, after everything I’ve read about you tells me you like working alone. I think you’ll find that working with Seresin might just change that.” 

The man, Seresin, steps into your view and you can’t help the heat that rises up the back of your neck. He’s attractive, that’s for sure. His blond hair was slightly disheveled–almost like he has run his hands through it a couple of times. He had bright green eyes and a fit physique. If anything, the smug look on his face just infuriated you even more. 

“Jake Seresin, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.” He holds out a hand that you ignore. 

If looks could kill, Pete would be dead on the floor. 

“I’ll leave you to it, I guess.” The director excuses himself with a pathetic shrug, knowingly escaping your wrath and leaving you for Jake to deal with.  

 You’re still glaring at him as  you watch him go, not wanting to have to interact with your new partner. 

“Well aren’t you just Miss Sugar, spice, and everything nice.” Jake’s voice cuts through your self loathing. 

Your stare, now directed at him, cuts through him like a knife. “I hope you know I’m only doing this because Director Simpson sent me here and not because I want to be here. Especially with you.” 

He laughs, causing your blood to boil even more. “Alright, pumpkin, no need to be so defensive.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped back. 

Jake holds his hands up in surrender, shaking his head with a laugh before settling back into his work on his desk. “We are going to have one hell of a time together, Agent. I can feel it.” 

If only you could figure out a way to transfer out of here before your first case. 

Two years later and you were still partners with Jake Seresin. All it took was one case and an insane amount of coincidences to get you to stay. You are a skeptic to say the least. Despite everything you’ve seen, you continue to go on these cases with Jake in an attempt to prove that there must be some scientific explanation for everything. Every time without fail, you are proven wrong, but you aren’t one to give up. So here you are, still in the X-Files department and still going on crazy cases with Jake. 

Your original dislike for the man turned into fond admiration, and eventually friendship. Jake was smart, smarter than you gave him credit for. You judged him too soon upon meeting him, assuming that just like everyone else, he was just another nut job in his department. However, you soon came to understand that no one in the X-Files department were nut jobs. Only curious agents with curious minds. You’ve even come to respect them and their many far fetched theories for the unexplainable cases you investigate. 

Here you are two years later and still investigating the impossible. But if you were being totally honest? You wouldn’t have it any other way. What you once thought to be a careless mistake, ended up becoming the best two years of your life. 

“Jake and Pumpkin at it again. Solving cases one supernatural entity at a time,” Jake’s comment breaks through the silence of the car. 

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his words. “Solving cases? Absolutely. Supernatural entities? Well…” 

Jake glances at you bewildered, before focusing his gaze back on the road. “What? Oh come on, darling, you mean to say even after everything we’ve been through you still think the supernatural isn’t real?” 

A playful grin tugs at your lips as you turn to see Jake smiling. “Hey, all I’m saying is that there is a scientific explanation for everything.” 

It’s his turn to roll his eyes at you. “Alright, killjoy, way to ruin my fun. Jake and Pumpkin at it again. Solving cases one scientific explanation at a time.” Jake cringes, making you chuckle. “See? Now that just doesn’t have the same ring to it.” 

“We can agree to disagree.” 

“Don’t we always?” Jake sends you a quick wink and you have to bite your lip and look out the window to stop yourself from the school girl giggles that threaten to leave you. 

Jake was a charmer. From the beginning, his suave and confident attitude made you want to rip your hair. Now, it was something that made your cheeks warm and your heart flutter. However, you made sure he would never catch onto that fact. He gets his ego stroked enough by Pete and the unassuming people you meet on investigations. 

You were still riding a post-case high and you just weren’t ready to head back to the office. You hum thoughtfully, causing Jake to look at you with a raised brow. “I’m in the mood for a celebratory drink, Mr. Seresin. What do you think?” 

The mischievous grin on his face told you everything that he was thinking. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea, Pumpkin.” 

You loved to travel. Your favorite thing about being sent all over the U.S. for cases was discovering the small town charms along the way. More specifically, the dive bars. Celebratory drinks became a tradition for you and Jake after your first successful investigation together. The two of you would stop at the first dive bar you’d find and spend the night with a drink or two before heading back to the office or hotel you were spending the night in. 

Tonight, you found a rustic little dive bar in the middle of the desolate road in California. There wasn’t much around other than a few little establishments and it was clear that the next big city was at least a dozen miles away. 

Jake was nearly done with the beer he has been nursing since the beginning of your visit. Meanwhile, you were just starting round three of another tequila lime and coke. He was intently keeping an eye on you, just in case you decided to pass out on him. 

He loved seeing you like this, all rambly and carefree from the alcohol. He loved working with you, but you could be so stiff and orderly that he took advantage of the moments where he got to see you so unabashedly yourself. He did everything he could to make you feel comfortable enough to be yourself around him. It took some time for him to crack you open, especially with how set you were on shutting him out. But he was patient. Before you could even realize what he was doing, he slowly ended up building up your trust in him all while chipping at the walls you’ve put up to keep him away. To his surprise, he immediately fell in love with the woman he found underneath. He knew it was a slippery slope, working with you while feeling the way he did. It could compromise your partnership if you ever found out, as well as his judgment out in the field. 

Bradley had warned him against his feelings towards you. It hurt, but he was right. If you ever found out, you would probably never want to work with him again. 

But he couldn’t help it. The two of you worked so well together and you understood him and his thoughts more than anyone he has ever worked with. The two of you were a team and he never wanted to work with anyone else. He never wanted to be with anyone else. 

So he kept quiet. If keeping quiet meant keeping you here, then he would stay this way forever. At least until he knew if you felt the same way. 

There were moments in your partnership when Jake swore you felt the same way about him. But these moments were fleeting–disappearing just as fast as they came. By the time Jake was able to notice them, you were already pulling away and going back to your hardened “work and no funny business” exterior. 

They were moments like you reaching out for his hand when things got a little too intense. Your eyes scanning for him whenever the two of you get separated in the field. The smaller, more intimate moments where you’d share with him a piece of yourself that no one else knew. 

These were the moments that had him holding on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you felt the spark between you two that everyone else could blatantly see. 

“Do you think we could take one of these shot glasses back home, Jake? I think Reuben would really like one of these.” You examined one of the lone shot glasses on the bar top, holding it up to the light. 

There wasn’t anything special about it. It was just a regular old shot glass that you could find almost anywhere. But in your buzzed state, the shot glass looked nothing but special. 

He smiles softly, replaying the word home in the back of his mind. Not back to the office, but back home. The way you said it made it sound like Jake was going back to your home with you. Oh, how much he wished that was true. 

Jake shakes his head, gently taking the glass from your fingers and setting back on the table. “I don’t think so, darling. This one belongs to the fine gentleman who owns the bar.” 

A small pout crosses your lips making Jake feel like his heart was thumping out of his rib cage. Oh, he was a goner. 

“Besides, I think Reuben has enough shot glasses to attend to the whole department.” 

“I guess so,” you sigh softly, before going back to sipping at your drink.

The slightly dejected look on your face makes his face fall and before he can even process what he’s doing, Jake’s grabbing your hand delicately in his. “But maybe we can stop at a gas station on our way back and buy him an even cooler glass. How does that sound?” 

Your eyes light up and Jake takes pride in his mission accomplished. You don’t seem to notice that your hand is still in Jake’s and you don’t find it in you to care. 

Jake wants to trap this moment in a bottle forever. There were barely any patrons left in the bar other than you two and a couple stragglers. But to him, it felt like it was just you and him. There was no need for him to be bothered by the rest of the world. 

The bartender clearing his throat breaks Jake from his trance. “You and your lady best be going now, son. It looks like the storm’s getting pretty bad out there. Don’t want the two of you getting stranded on the road.” 

Jake glances out the window to see that the man was right. He could barely see the night sky through the dark clouds overhead and the wind as well as the downpour was starting to pick up. You were still happily sipping your drink when Jake carefully pries your cup from your hand and pays off the rest of your tab. You let out a little whine in protest, but comply when Jake points out the storm brewing outside. 

The bartender gives you a bottle of water to take with you so you can sober up and help keep yourselves safe on the road. Jake, ever the gentleman, shrugs off his jacket and holds it over your head as the two of you run into the rain. He holds it above you as you get into the car before he hurries over to the driver's side. 

The rain seemed to be more than enough to have the effects of the alcohol wearing off as you’re instantly turned back into your level-headed self. 

You’re cursing under your breath as you lamely hold your phone up to the roof of the car in search of some cell service. 

“Nothing?” Jake asks after trying his own luck. 

You shake your head with a worried frown on your face. Jake holds out his hand and you get the message immediately, swapping phones and trying again. You knew it was silly and you’d probably end up with the same results, but it was worth a try. 

Even with Jake’s phone, you’re unable to get even one bar of service. Jake’s luck seems to be much better than yours as a soft “a-ha!” leaves his lips as he holds your phone awkwardly in front of the rear view mirror. 

“You got something?” You lean over to get a look at your phone. 

“It’s a bit slow, but I’ve got it.” He pauses waiting for the directions to load. “Here, Motel California.” 

“You mean like the song?” 

The innocence of your question makes him smile. “That’s Hotel California, darling.” He tilts the phone so you can get a better view. A glimpse of the preview pictures of the motel made the both of your faces drop. “Well, she ain’t pretty, but at least she’s something.” 

You only shrug in agreement. “I guess we have stayed in worse places.” 

“Here, how about you–” Jake is cut off by the sound of your phone chiming. He doesn’t mean to snoop, but the message is right in front of his face. 

It was a text from Pete. 

Are you sure you want to go through with your transfer? 

Jake’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach. He has never felt as hurt and betrayed as he did at this moment. “Transfer? What transfer?” 

Your face falls at Jake’s venom laced words. You have heard him speak this way before–to colleagues who disrespected you at work and even friends who took a joke a step too far– but you have never been on the receiving end of his malice. You know you’ve been caught and you have nothing to say to justify it without giving yourself away. “Jake, I was going to tell you.” 

He drops your phone in the cup holder between the two of you. His face stern as he starts the car and begins driving. 

“Jake,” you start, already feeling the regret seep into your bones. 

“Don’t.” His grip on the steering wheel tightens and so does his jaw. 

“Jake, please. I was going to tell you, I swear–” 

“When? After you get transferred?” He scoffs, his anger fading into disappointment. Jake whispers your name. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he called you by your name. Not Pumpkin, or sweetheart, or darling. “And to think I was proud to call you my partner. I thought we were good together. Clearly I was the only one.” 

“Jake,” you beg. “You know that’s not true.” 

He holds a hand up, silently telling you to stop. If you say anything else he might say something he doesn’t mean. “Just read me the directions. I don’t want to talk about this right now.” 

Respecting his request, you shove down the cries that want to escape you and reach for your phone, weakly directing him to the motel. 

He was quiet tonight. It was another case solved thanks to you and Jake and you were celebrating with a pitcher of beer at one of the honky tonk bars you stumbled upon in the city. 

And Jake was never quiet. Especially after an investigation. He usually talked your ear off about how impressed he was with your skills and you would roll your eyes and give him an equal amount of appreciation. Or he would be going on about the supernatural phenomenon the both of you had just witnessed while you try to debunk it all with scientific jargon. 

The two of you landed an investigation in Texas and on the way there, you have never seen your partner as excited as he was on the plane ride. You thought Jake would already be on the dance floor because this was his element. Suddenly it was like a switch flipped, and he was no longer comforted by the essence of home. Now he looked like he was ready to take the first flight out of there. 

You desperately wracked your mind through the events of the past few days, nitpicking every moment you spent with him. You were hoping you could find the moment where his childlike excitement turned to absolute dread. 

It hit you then–the moment he changed. The abandoned warehouse on 5th Street where you ran into one of his old colleagues, Daniel Callaghan. Callaghan’s department was also doing some investigating of their own, causing you guys to cross paths. 

Callaghan was the type of man you were attracted to in your field. Tall, level headed, believed facts over fiction. He was everything Jake was not. Maybe in another time, you would have found yourself gravitating towards someone like Callaghan, but not this time. Instead, you saw him as arrogant, stuck up, and a misogynist when it came to his comments about you. 

You had only responded to him with a scoff and the finger to which Callaghan found amusing. Jake, on the other hand, wasn’t as pleased and told Callaghan to knock it off. That made the tension between the two skyrocket, leaving you in the middle of what felt like a masculinity contest.

You were just about ready to leave, gently grasping Jake’s forearm and motioning for him to follow you out. The two of you were nearly out of earshot when Callaghan called out your name. 

“Be careful with him out there, Pumpkin.” The way he says your nickname, the one only ever reserved for Jake’s lips alone, makes you feel nauseous. “They don’t call him the Hangman for nothing.” 

Jake had tensed in your hold and since that encounter, he hadn’t been the same. 

You wanted your bubbly and enthusiastic partner back, not whoever this was in his place. 

You clear your throat in an attempt to catch Jake’s attention. His gaze stays concentrated on the ring of condensation forming around his cup. 

You turn your body to face him instead. Reaching a hand out, you ghost it over his shoulder. You barely touch him when you’re pulling back like he burned you. 

After a moment of deep contemplation you finally ask him, point blank. “What’s going on with you?” 

He looks up, feigning confusion. “Nothing. Why?” His eyes darted back to the glass in his hand. 

“Bullshit.” You take the cup from his hands, eliciting a gasp of surprise from him. 

He knew you could be blunt when you wanted to be. Jake should’ve known you would notice something was going on with him. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, Pumpkin.” 

His words make you frown. Why was he so adamant on shutting you out after trying so hard to pry you open? “Hey, do you remember what you told me on the first case we worked together? You told me that we need to learn how to trust each other because we’re partners and partners have got each other’s backs. Always. This is me having your back, Jake.” You sigh, looking into his green eyes that looked glossy under the lights. “I’m not the easiest person to talk to or be around sometimes. But you’ve taught me that opening up to people isn’t the worst thing in the world. I know that you trust me out there, so please, trust me here too.” 

Jake wished he could tell you he wasn’t acting the way he was because he didn’t trust you. No, that wasn’t it at all. He trusted you with his entire being. There was no doubt about that. It’s what was bothering him that had him drawing away from you. He didn’t want you to see him differently. He didn’t want you to think you couldn’t trust him anymore. The guilt that courses through him is overwhelming. When he told you to trust him on that first day together, it was because he didn’t want you to see him like everyone else did. He wanted to make sure that you knew, he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. If he tells you what’s on his mind, you’re going to doubt everything he ever told you. 

The way you’re looking at him, with soft eyes and a gentle smile, makes his icy exterior melt. You always managed to make him feel like you could see right through him. After confessing what’s on his mind, things between you two might never be the same. Jake won’t blame you for it though. This was all on him. Him and Callaghan for opening his stupid mouth. 

He knows he won’t be able to fool you. So he takes a deep breath, preparing himself for imminent loss.“I know you heard what Callaghan called me. Are you not wondering what he meant by that?” 

The genuine confusion on your face makes his chest ache even more. “What, Hangman? I mean I heard him, but I didn’t think much of it.” 

Jake won’t meet your eye, not when he’s making this part of him known. “Hearing that name, being called that again sent me back to a time I wish I could forget. Callaghan reminded me that no matter how hard I try, I’m still the guy I was four years ago.” 

“Who were you, Jake?” 

The rain still hadn’t stopped when you arrived at the motel. Even in his anger, Jake was ever the gentleman–opening the car door for you and shielding you from the downpour with his jacket. However, he hadn’t looked at you nor spoken a word to you once since the revelation that you may be transferring departments. 

You hated yourself for keeping this from him. You swore you were going to tell him, you were just waiting for the right time. Unfortunately that time never came, and Pete beat you to it. The look of betrayal and hurt on Jake’s face upon receiving the news was enough to make you reconsider your decision. In all honesty, you were still undecided on where you stood with the idea of transferring. From Jake’s outright dismissal of your presence, you found it harder to decide. 

The sound of someone calling your name, pulls you from your thoughts as you see Jake looking at you with a frown. You never thought it was possible to crave someone’s smile as much as you do now. You missed the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners and light up like a child on Christmas morning and the adorable dimple on the left side of his lips that you most definitely did not think about every single night before bed. A whole hour hasn’t even passed since the drive from the bar and yet you found yourself missing him as if he has been gone for months.

Instead he continued to stare at you with that stoic expression on his face, one you only saw once back when you were in Texas. There was only one other person you could remember that Jake faced with that expression and it made you sick knowing you might just be the second one. 

All he did was beckon for you with a nod of his head as you quickly thanked the employee at the front desk, who barely acknowledged you, before scurrying after Jake. 

Waiting for the elevator timidly behind Jake gave you a moment to fully take in your surroundings. You were so focused on Jake that you hardly realized he had already checked you both into the motel and that you had been in the lobby for a good ten minutes. 

You’ve been to a lot of unsettling places since the beginning of your partnership with Jake. Each with their own feelings of heaviness, despair, and discomfort from the supposed entities that inhabited the space. You blamed it on your own psychological expectations of the places, but this time you had nothing to blame it on other than your own feelings of unease. 

You shifted on your heels behind Jake, clutching your overnight bag tighter over your shoulder. The hairs on the back of your neck rose at the sudden chill that overcame your body. Strange that only the back of your neck felt cold, compared to the rest of you that was burning up. It was almost as if a hand brushed against your neck with ice cold fingertips. 

Looking over your shoulder, you expect to see a fan or perhaps an A/C unit but you are met with nothing but the wall. You feel the prick at your neck once more, only this time, your heart rate begins to speed up as you suddenly feel like you were being watched. You shake your head, reminding yourself that it was just your imagination. With the way motel management clearly hadn’t bothered to renovate the place since the 60s, you forced yourself to believe that it was merely an old building. Nothing more. 

Yet the itch to reach out and hang onto Jake’s arm for comfort didn’t cease, even as you reassured yourself that it was all in your head. 

The elevator ride to the third floor was filled with heavy silence. The unease you carried didn’t leave you even as you left the ground floor. It seemed to have followed you into the elevator and all the way up. 

The strength of the feeling made your arms prick with goosebumps as you followed Jake with your chin down, staring intently at the backs of his heels. 

Jake makes an abrupt stop at the end of the hallway and if it weren’t for your hyper fixated gaze on his shoes, you probably would have ran right into his back. He takes a heavy sigh before turning to glance over his shoulder at you. 

His green eyes, void of emotion, meet yours. “The concierge said they only had one room left for the night, so we’re gonna have to share.” 

You swallow the urge to scoff at the blatant lie that the motel only had one room available, for it was evident that the place was hardly full by their near empty parking lot. You keep this thought to yourself and nod, not wanting to give Jake another reason to be upset at you.

Stepping into the room, your nose wrinkles at the smell of stale wood and moist mold. You’re hesitant to even lay your bag onto the armchair that sat in the corner of the room. That also looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. 

You hear Jake gently close the door behind you and take in the room as well. He has the exact same reaction as you–his face twisting into a sour expression before letting out a frustrated sigh. 

An awkward laugh leaves your lips in an attempt to lighten the unsaveable somber mood. “At least you’ll have the bed to yourself.” 

Jake’s brows furrow at your insinuation and he shakes his head in disagreement. “What makes you think I’m gonna let you sleep on the floor?” 

You shrug. “What makes you think I would let you sleep on the floor?” 

Sharing a room with Jake wasn’t unknown territory. Sharing a room with one bed however, was a different story. 

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening. I’m sleeping on the floor and that’s final.” Jake’s hands rest on his hips like a mother scolding her children. His stance makes you giggle, pulling a small smile to his lips. 

The previous air that surrounded the two of you seemed to dissipate, if only for a little bit. You would take what you could get, wishing what happened hours ago was magically wiped from Jake’s memory. 

“Seriously? You’ve been complaining about your back hurting for weeks now! The floor isn’t going to make you feel any better.” You mimic his posture, desperate to get another smile out of him. 

His lips grow wider. “Well, what do you suggest we do then? My ma would kill me if she ever found out I let a lady sleep on a motel floor.”

Fiddling with your fingers, you try your last attempt at extending an olive branch of apology towards him. “I mean, we could always…” You trail off, figuring that he would understand what you’re suggesting. 

You regret the moment the words leave your mouth because the look on Jake’s face falls back into that guarded disposition. 

The lightness of before disappears just as fast as it came, making the weight on your shoulders drop. You silently curse yourself, wishing you had just shut your mouth and kept quiet. 

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” His gaze darts to the floor. “Take the bed. I’ll be fine on the floor.” 

You step forward, ready to argue once more, when he scurries quickly into the bathroom and shuts the door roughly behind him. You settled at the foot of the bed, burying your face in your hands in an attempt to stop the tears that threatened to fall down your cheeks. 

In the end, this was your fault. You were the one who was a coward. The one who ran away when things got scary. When things got real. You’d think Jake’s withdrawal from you would be a good thing–that it would lessen the pain of you leaving. But just because you had wanted to leave did not mean you wanted to cut off his friendship. Now, you didn’t even have that. 

You couldn’t sleep knowing that you were marked. You had stayed up all night last night just trying to put together some rational explanation for the sudden appearance of scars on the back of your neck but it was no use. Whatever this was, science couldn’t provide you any comfort. 

Even so, you still wouldn’t believe in whatever it was that Jake thought was going around killing innocent women. He swore up and down that it was some paranormal entity with ill intentions. He even went as far as saying it might be a demon. 

That made you scoff and roll your eyes until you woke up with the same mark that was found on the five victims’ bodies before their deaths. You knew a lot about coincidence, but this was a pattern. No matter how the mark had gotten onto your skin, the evidence just shows that you were next. You were going to die. 

A soft knock on your door makes your heart jump out of its ribcage. You clumsily reach for the first thing you find to defend yourself and raise it over your shoulder. The paranoia was getting to you and you didn’t even think of checking through the peephole before throwing open the door and swinging at the person on the other side. 

“Pumpkin, hey! It’s just me!” Jake stood at your door in nothing but an old t-shirt and flannel pants as he ducked and backed away from your swinging arm. “Put the lamp down, you’re okay.” 

You hardly register Jake’s voice, keeping your arm raised trepidatiously. 

His lips tilt down as he takes a step forward with his hands in front of him. “It’s okay, I promise,” he speaks gently. Jake nods, slowly reaching out to take the lamp from your grip. 

Your hand tightens when he tugs on it and he nods reassuringly, using his other hand to delicately cup your cheek. 

At the contact, you release a long breath, dropping your shoulders and letting him completely take your makeshift weapon away from you. 

He ushers you inside and carefully closes the door so he doesn’t startle you. Jake felt like something was wrong with you after finding out about the mark. No matter how many times you reassured him you were fine, even playing the skeptic card didn’t stop him from seeing the genuine fear in your eyes. 

Jake knew your relationship with the work the two of you did was complicated. Despite everything you’ve seen, you weren’t exactly a believer of the explanations behind the cases you solved. You helped Jake with the investigations and the small details he tended to miss, but in the end he was the one who called the case a supernatural occurrence. You balanced him out in a way, pointing out when he was too far gone and more logical reasonings sat right in front of him. Other times you challenged him and forced him to think outside the box. The two of you work in harmony together, making each other one hell of a team. 

But not once since the start of your partnership, had Jake ever seen you this shaken up. He was afraid that you were going to shut him out again because of it. Jake knew more than anyone how paralyzing fear could become. He knew how lonely being afraid could be. Which is why he found himself knocking on your door in the dead of night. Unbeknownst to you, you weren’t the only one experiencing fear. 

When Jake found out that you were marked, he had never felt such intense fear and worry in his life. Hearing stories of being marked was one thing, experiencing it with someone he cared dearly about was another. 

The dark purple hue beneath your eyes and your lack of attentiveness didn’t go unnoticed by Jake. No matter how much you tried to play off your worry, he could see right through you. Jake always could. 

“Pumpkin…” he starts, eyes sad and full of concern. 

“I’m fine, Jake.” You could feel his stare on the back of your head but you refuse to acknowledge him. 

“It’s okay not to be, God knows I’m not,” Jake admits, taking another step closer to you. He needs you to know that you’re not alone in this. 

That makes you scoff. “Why? You’re mark free. You have nothing to worry about in the first place. Being a man and all, because when do men have to worry about anything?” 

Jake stays silent, letting you stew in your anger. You have every right to be angry, he doesn’t blame you for taking it out on him. In fact, he lets you. 

You tighten your grip against the old wooden desk in front of you, staring at the makeshift evidence board you’ve created in your room. “Did you know that just because I’m a woman, I’m already more likely to be a target for a murder? And that’s discounting my occupation. Even now, whoever or whatever is leaving behind a string of bodies is targeting women. And we don’t even know what’s causing these deaths. It is so horrid just thinking that even these so-called supernatural forces, that we have no scientific explanations for,  have some kind of vendetta towards women. So if you came here to sympathize with me and tell me some bullshit about understanding what I’m going through, you can leave. Because you don’t. You never will.” 

Jake lets your words seep into him, trying to fully understand where all of your hurt is coming from. He has two younger sisters, both of which he loved and protected fiercely from the world because of the absence of his father. He knew how scary the world could be for them, but you were right, he would truly never understand it to the extent that you guys would. He wishes there was something he could do or say to make things better, but there’s not. There isn’t a thing in the world that would make any of this better. 

Instead, he sauntered over to where you stand in front of the desk, eyeing your evidence board carefully. “There’s something missing here,” Jake taps the wall with the knuckle of his finger. “Between the woman’s time of death and when the authorities actually find the body. The body looks so… different from what’s actually described as her cause of death.” 

“Well, hopefully you’ll be able to figure that out when it happens to me,” you grumble before running a hand down your face and collapsing onto the edge of your bed. 

Your despair and hopelessness is what breaks him. Jake gets on his knees in front of you and pulls your hands away from your face, firmly gripping onto your knees. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare even think it. We’re going to figure this out, okay? You and me. I will figure this out if it’s the last thing I do.” 

“Jake…” 

“No, hey, listen.” He is stern. Stern, yet gentle in his words. “We’re partners and we’ve got each other’s backs, remember? I’m not just going to let you die. It’s you and me, always.” 

Tired of fighting your exhaustion and denying just how terrified you are, your facade breaks–and so does the dam holding your tears at bay. Reaching to hold onto his hands tighter, you sob softly, “You promise?” 

“I promise, Pumpkin.” 

That’s all it takes for you to slide off the bed and onto your knees as you fall into Jake’s chest. Your shoulders shake in fear, but also relief from being in Jake’s arms. There was no certainty in his statement, yet you believed him wholeheartedly. For some reason you had faith that he would figure this out. That he wouldn’t leave you alone in this. 

Jake shushes you softly, cradling your head on his shoulder and rubbing a comforting hand up and down your back. He meant every word he said. He would go through hell and back if it meant keeping you from harm’s way. Though neither of you would admit it, you guys needed each other. In the field and off of it. 

Ever since you walked into his life, it was as if his career didn’t exist before you. He had no recollection of how he used to work when you weren’t his partner. The only thing he could see was you by his side for everything. Jake wished he could tell you this upright, but he’s afraid of scaring you away even more. 

But with the way you held his shirt tighter, it gave him the slightest bit of hope that maybe you needed him just as much as he needed you. 

You wake to the sound of thunder rattling the room. Out of pure instinct your hand shoots to the back of your neck, rubbing your thumb back and forth on the marred skin there. It was some kind of defense mechanism you had developed since the incident. A lame attempt at protecting yourself, you assumed. 

Turning over onto your side, you blindly grab for your phone on the bedside and squint your eyes to view the time. 

3:39am 

A groan escapes you, as you roll onto your back and throw an arm over your eyes. Another crash of thunder makes your heart jump and you jolt up. You’re breathing heavily as you pull your covers up to your chest. It was just thunder. There was no need for you to be so afraid. After releasing a deep sigh, you lay back down on your side. Curious to see if Jake had woken up from the commotion outside, you peek over the side of the bed only to be met with Jake’s vacant makeshift bed. 

The bathroom door was wide open and you doubted that he was out on the balcony. With your room key in hand, you don’t even think twice before bolting out of bed in nothing but your pajamas and into the hallway. 

The yellow hallway lights are blinding at first glance and you attempt to blink yourself awake. “Jake?” You call out into the hallway, not caring for waking up any other guests of the motel. Worry for your partner clouded your better judgment and you found yourself running down the hall with no clue where you were going. 

Movement in your peripheral has you swiftly turning towards the second outlet of the hallway where you see Jake walking away. 

“Jake!” You continue to follow him. He doesn’t even flinch at the sound of his name, and your worry is quickly replaced with anger. You knew he was probably still mad at you from the sudden news of your transfer, but he was being an immature asshole for making you chase him down a hallway. 

You pick up your pace, following after him with  newfound determination. When you got your hands on him you swore you were going to give him a piece of your mind. No matter how fast you walk, however, the further it seemed that you got from him. It was as if the hallway was stretching in size, progressively getting longer the closer you got to Jake. 

That feeling of dread, the one that prickled at the skin of your neck and made your hands clammy took over. That feeling that told you something was wrong. You were suddenly snapped into work mode, your senses more alert than ever. 

Those eyes you thought you felt on you earlier in the lobby returned, causing you to turn around to look for the culprit when you are met with nothing. A chill from behind you makes you whirl around again. Still, nothing. 

“You can’t save him.” 

The eerie whisper in your right ear sends you running. It sounded as ordinary as a whisper during the game of telephone, soft and deliberate. But it made you feel so unsettled that you thought you might vomit from all the nerves it ticked off. 

You don’t look back as you rush down the hallway, brushing your fingertips across the scratchy red wallpaper to keep yourself grounded. To remind yourself that you were here and not in some twisted dream. 

Too caught up in your desperation to escape, you remember the reason why you were out here in the first place. 

Jake. 

On cue, that disembodied voice echoes in your mind. “You can’t save him.” 

Was Jake the one the voice was talking about? That you wouldn’t be able to save him? Save him from what? 

You’re stuck. You swore you were going insane. You let your imagination run wild and now you were imagining things. All of Jake’s crazy stories were finally getting to you. And yet… 

What if this wasn’t your imagination? What if Jake was really in trouble? 

He would believe the voice and find you. That is what he’d do. He would follow his gut, and if there was anything you knew about Jake’s hunches it was that they were almost always right. You had to find him, even if this was your mind playing tricks on you, you had to go after him. It’s what he would do for you. 

_________

Jake woke up to the sound of his name being called. He shot up from the floor, immediately knowing that voice. It was the voice that echoed through his head in his nightmares, the one that haunted him in the middle of the night–and it was the one that was calling out to him now. 

“Jake!”  

He hears its pleas clear as day, begging for him to come save them. 

“Jake!” 

Jake scrambles to his feet, not caring about his shoes nor grabbing his room key because the second Jake walks out that door, he is no longer in the motel. Rather, he is in a place he recognizes all too well. 

Riley Mulder, his ex-partner, was screaming at him from the depths of the underground subway tunnel system they were investigating. 

Strange activity and a mysterious substance running down the cement walls wasn’t enough to get their team on the case, it was the murder. 

The victim, petrified in fear, like a statue in Medusa’s garden, lay paralyzed on the abandoned train tracks and covered in that mysterious goo. 

The sounds of his partner echo again and Jake finds himself running towards the sound. 

“Riley! Riley, I’m coming!” Jake shouts in a panic, sprinting down the dark tunnel. 

Jake curses himself for not remembering to bring a flashlight with him as he stumbles over another rail.  

He could see Riley’s silhouette in the distance, yet no matter how fast he ran, Jake didn’t seem to be getting any closer to him. 

“Riley!” He calls again, tripping and falling onto the ground in full force. 

Jake lands on something sticky beneath him and he picks up his hands to wipe it on his shirt. His heart jumps out of his chest at the sight below him. 

It was Riley. His skin was ice cold, and he was frozen in a state of fear. His mouth was wide open and his hands were blocking his eyes—his eyes that Jake was sure would be hollow if he could see them. 

He feels like he’s going to be sick as he scrambled as far away from him as possible. 

The shadow of a person behind him causes him to look over his shoulder. The sight before him fills him with dread. “No,” he mutters. “No, Pumpkin, you gotta get out of here. You’re not supposed to be here.” 

“I’m here because of you,” you hiss. Your voice is filled with venom, harsh in a way that isn’t yours. 

Deep down, he knows you aren’t really here. That he isn’t really here. But everything feels so real, throwing all rationale out the door. You are here. He is here. And you were right, it’s because of him. 

“Riley is here because of you. Riley is dead because of you.” You take a menacing step closer to him as Jake shakes his head in fear. “Because you were too much of a coward to stick around. You left him behind, left him…hanging. That is how you got your nickname isn’t it? Hangman?” 

Jake pales. Hearing that name out of your mouth, a name that he detests more than anything, hurts him. He remembers the night he told you with a heavy heart the origins of his nickname. He wasn’t proud of it, and he expected you to hate him for it. He wasn’t expecting for you to give him your full and complete trust. That was the night the two of you truly became partners. No more secrets, well, except one. 

“No, that’s not what… I’m not–” he stutters. His heart pounds in his chest, as he takes another step backward. Why were you doing this? Why were you hurting him this way? 

“How does it feel to be the one left out to dry, huh? Sorry I didn’t tell you about my transfer sooner. I just wanted to hurt you just as bad as you hurt Riley because you don’t deserve me, Jake Seresin. Being your partner is only going to get me killed and I know that. So I thought I’d save myself before you could.” 

Jake shuts his eyes, bringing his fisted hands to his temples. “Stop,” he pleads. You were right. He knew you were right. But he didn’t think he’d ever actually hear you say it. 

“You couldn’t save him and you can’t save me.” 

The two of you are on the roof of a building now, startling Jake slightly. He watches you take a step towards the edge of the roof and his heart jumps. “Pumpkin, what are you doing?” 

“This is all your fault,” you whisper, taking another step back. 

He reaches out desperately, trying to hold onto your hand. “Please.” 

Your wide eyes meet his and for a moment he swears your fingertips touched his. He tries to grab you, but you slip right through his fingers and right off the ledge. 

Jake can’t hear anything other than his own screams as his knees hit the concrete. 

“This is all your fault.” He picks up his head to see Riley’s face, gray and jaw wide open just like it was in his last moments. 

This time, he’s not afraid. A feeling of calm washes over him suddenly. Acceptance of his fate. You were right. He doesn’t deserve you. He couldn’t even save you in the end. Now you were gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

He couldn’t save Riley. 

He couldn’t save you. 

And there’s no one to save him. 

“This is all my fault.” 

“It’s okay, Jake,” Riley comforts him. “You can let go.” 

Something compels him to stand on the ledge where you once were. Jake nods, taking in a deep breath before stepping forward. He’s no longer afraid. 

_________________ 

If the exit door leading to the roof had not been flung wide open, you wouldn’t have even thought to check up there. What would Jake even be doing up there on the roof? You had no idea. But your gut was telling you something about this place wasn’t right and that you needed to grab Jake and get out of there as fast as possible. 

You curse softly to yourself for not bothering to put on any shoes or even throwing on a jacket as the rain continued to pour outside. Jake didn’t have any on either, making you feel even more on edge than you thought possible. 

Jake was always particular about those things. He claimed to have sensitive soles and would never be caught dead walking around in bare feet unless he was at the beach. Even then, his toes would curl up uncomfortably at the feeling of the individual grains rubbing against his skin. 

Everything he did tonight was out of character and you doubted it was still because of the news of your transfer. 

A shiver crawls its way up your spine upon setting your sights on Jake and it was not just because of the rain. The state he was in pulled a gasp from your lips as you raised a hand to cover your mouth. His back was turned to you so you could see the outline of his muscles through his soaking wet white sleep tee. As you recalled, he was barefoot as he stood on the ledge of the roof. 

You didn’t understand what he was doing there so close to the edge. One wrong step and he would fall. You didn’t want to startle him into accidentally losing his balance so you carefully make your way forward until you’re standing right behind him. 

Jake was still unaware of your presence as he continued to stand still. You apprehensively wrap your hand around his wrist and gently tug him back towards you. His body moves like a rag doll, almost as if he were in such a relaxed state that he was no longer controlling his limbs. 

“Jake, what the hell are you doing out here?” You ask him as you use your other hand to grab his other arm and bring him down. 

It was like his body was on autopilot as he followed your guidance robotically. Your heart starts to race at the sight of him. His green eyes were looking right back at you, however there was absolutely no recognition behind them. Almost like he didn’t even see you. 

“Jake?” You call out once you notice he has started mumbling something under his breath. 

You could barely hear him over the sound of the rain but you caught a string of words that sounded like, Riley, my fault, and let go. 

Your heart drops to your stomach at the sound of his ex-partner’s name. You knew what happened with Riley and you knew that Jake still felt guilty about it no matter how much you tried to convince him that it wasn’t his fault. 

“Jake?” You say again, with much more force this time. Cupping his face in your hands, you lightly shake him, desperate to break him from whatever trance he was in. 

You wracked your brain in an attempt to understand what was happening. Was he sleepwalking? Jake hasn’t had any previous history of sleepwalking but that was the only thing you could conclude with the way he was acting. 

You rub your thumbs softly against the apples of his cheeks and his wet skin, frowning at how cold to the touch he feels. “Jake, I’m gonna bring you back to bed, okay?” You don’t know why you’re even telling him this since he can’t even hear a word you are saying. You grab him by the hand once more and turn around when you feel him tug you back. 

You look at him over your shoulder to see his feet still planted firmly on the ground beneath him. He is still looking at you, but gone is that neutral look on his face. It was replaced with a look that made you feel uncomfortable under his gaze. He was smirking–a look that wasn’t uncommon on Jake’s face. The glint in his green eyes that seemed to have darkened under the pale moonlight held something more unnatural. A look you would describe as sinister. 

His grip on your hand tightened and you had to stop yourself from squeaking out in pain. “Jake, what are you doing? Let me go, that hurts.” 

Jake’s smirk grows. “Stupid girl, Jake’s not home right now.” 

The voice that comes out of his mouth is hardly his. It’s low and unlike the Southern timbre you’ve grown so used to. It felt almost sickening to listen to. It made your heart race and tripped the danger signals in your head. “This isn’t funny, Jake.” Your voice fades at the end of your sentence despite how hard you try to keep your fear at bay. “Seriously, that’s enough.” 

He laughs mockingly. The sound makes your skin erupt in goosebumps and you tug on your hand to try to get out of his hold. “What makes you think this is a joke? I told you. Jake’s not home right now. He’s busy. Busy letting go.” 

You shake your head in denial. You know what this is. Jake has told you about this before. You’ve even seen it once yourself in a previous case that you concluded to be mass hysteria and sleepwalking. The word is on the forefront of your mind but you refuse to acknowledge it. 

“Acknowledgement makes it real,” you could hear Jake’s voice in your head. “You’ve got to start working on that.” 

You couldn’t. Acknowledging it made this situation real. It made everything you refused to believe in, refused to see the truth in, real. That just made this predicament ten times more frightening. 

“What does that mean?” You conclude that you won’t acknowledge it, but you would play his game like you would with a perp in the field. Goad him on, keep him talking in hopes that you could figure out his motive. 

“Jake is a suffering soul and you are the reason why his pain is too much to bear. He needs to let go so he can be free of the burdens you’ve placed upon him. I’m here to make sure he does without you getting in the way.” 

Jake, or not Jake, uses one arm to push you back onto the floor with an inhumane bout of brute force that makes your back ache. Your mistake was trying to use your arm to catch yourself. As if the immediate burning pain wasn’t enough, the sickening sound of a crack echoes in your ears as you hit the ground. 

You cry out before falling onto your shoulder and cradling your arm with your other hand. The tears that begin to gather in your eyes are from all the emotions rolling through you at once. Fear, regret, pain, but most of all, guilt. 

“I have to free him, just like the others.” Not Jake speaks before turning around and robotically walking back towards the ledge. 

You had to stop him. “The others? What others?” You call out, voice strained due to the feeling that your arm was on fire. 

“The others that were suffering!” He turns back around to face you. “I had to take over and relieve them from the pain that has been inflicted upon them before I could take care of the source of their pain.” 

“Take care of it, how?” 

“You’ll see. You are next after all.” A menacing smile pulls at Jake’s lips and the reality of your situation finally sinks in. 

There was not a single skeptic bone in your body as you finally accepted your job and what you do. Each moment of solving case after case with Jake became even more real as you thought of them one by one. You went through the catalog of supernatural explanations for each one before landing on the one that was being displayed right in front of you. Seeing it in the eyes of someone you loved was something you could no longer deny. 

Possession. Jake was possessed. He was possessed by some sick spirit that thought they were helping rid Jake of his pain. 

Your tears mix with the rain droplets on your cheeks as you beg for Jake to look at you. He couldn’t hear you, you knew that, but you had to do something to get his attention back on you. The spirit in Jake’s body was leading him back to the ledge. 

Watching Jake take another step closer to the edge of the rooftop finally made you understand what the spirit was doing. Ridding them of their misery. The entity was going to make Jake step off the ledge. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off Jake as you pushed yourself with all the strength you had off the floor with your good arm. What did Jake say could take victims out of a possession? 

You stare at the pair of lovers with watery eyes as they embrace each other tightly. “How did he do it?” 

“Do what?” Jake asks, looking at you with his arms crossed. 

“Snap her out of it. I really thought she was a lost cause.” 

He shrugs. “Easy. He just reminded her of who she is and what she’s living for. It’s cheesy but the power of love is not to be underestimated.” 

You scoff with an amused smile on your lips. “Whatever, Celine Dion.” 

You rush forward, grabbing him by the arm and forcefully bringing him back off the ledge to face you. “Jake, you are stronger than whatever this is. You’re Jake Seresin, FBI Special Agent for the X-Files. You are the smartest guy I know and maybe even the funniest, but don’t tell Bradshaw.” 

Jake, or whatever is possessing him, contorts his features so Jake is smiling down at you in amusement. Not the playful kind that you’re used to, but a more unsettling one. “That’s cute, Pumpkin. But what you’re doing is not gonna work.” 

You hold onto Jake’s arm with as much strength as you have, not caring if it might bruise him later. Bruising is the least of your worries. You ignore the bile that pushes itself up your throat at the sound of your nickname being tainted by something that isn’t even Jake. 

“You are confident and a little too arrogant sometimes, but I wouldn’t have you any other way. You are my best friend and my partner.” You sniffle, as you look into his clouded eyes. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you about my transfer and I’m sorry for even doing it in the first place. The truth is, I did it because I was afraid. I was afraid of how attached I have become to you. I was afraid that at any moment something bad would happen and I would lose you. But most of all, I was afraid because I love you.” 

You scan his features, desperate for a sign that he heard you. 

“I love you, Jake Seresin and I was afraid that I do. I have never felt this way before towards anyone and I was scared. Working with you became too much and for a moment, I thought that transferring would save me from the inevitable heartbreak once I realized that you would never feel the same about me. But Jake, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. 

I love you and I need you to come back to me because I realized, I don’t think I could really live without you in my life. I need you like I need air to breathe, Jake Seresin. You are everything to me. I need you to come back to me and when you do, I promise I’ll stay, even if you don’t love me back. As long as you’re still in my life, I’m good. That is all I need. So please, please be strong and fight this for me. I know you’re in there and that you can hear me. I know you can. Fight it, Seresin. Beat that old spirit’s ass.” 

It feels like an eternity before he finally comes to. You had seen the shift in his gaze after the second “I love you,” but you still kept going. Just in case he needed reassurance. Just in case he didn’t believe you. 

The moment was subtle, just as it had been the first time you witnessed a possession. It wasn’t anything flashy like the media portrayed it to be. There was no screaming, no bodies defying gravity, and no latin phrases or priests in sight. 

It was the gasp of air Jake took before falling forward and into your arms. It was the cold of his skin turning warm again. It was the way he cried as his own arms wrapped around your body. He was here and he was home. 

You are careful of your injured arm as you slowly lower the two of you onto the ground. The rain, you’ve noticed, had finally ceased to a stop leaving you and Jake sitting in a puddle. Though neither of you cared as you were both sopping wet anyways. 

You cradle his head into the crook of your neck and sigh in relief with a cry of your own. Jake’s arms tighten around your middle and you kiss his wet hair. 

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. You’re here,” you whisper into his ear. 

You don’t know how long has passed until Jake finally says something to you, but you don’t care. You’d hold him for as long as he needed. 

“Did you mean it?” He croaks, looking up at you with sad eyes. “Did you mean what you said?” 

You knew what he was really trying to ask. Were they not just empty words to get me out of my head?  

You brush his cheek with your knuckle. “Every single word. I love you, Jake. I love you so much and I am so sorry for everything I have done to make you think otherwise.” 

The smile that falls on his face makes the heaviness of before melt away. You no longer felt cold and damp from the warmth of his smile. One that was so unlike the one he had given you when he was possessed. 

This was your Jake, the one you loved. 

“I love you, Pumpkin. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say it,” he confesses. 

“Are you serious?” You let out a watery laugh of disbelief. 

He nods. “I love you. I love you so fucking much it hurts sometimes.” 

A smile of your own graces your lips as you lean your forehead against his. “Kiss me, Jake. Please, I don’t think I can wait any longer.” 

The kiss is everything you thought it would be and more. His lips feel like home as they meet yours in a dance that shouldn’t feel as familiar as it already does. It felt like a dance you’ve done a million times before. It was a dance you would do a million times again. 

“Please don’t transfer. Please don’t leave me, baby,” Jake begs as he releases your lips. 

You could cry from how desperate he sounds. You did that. You instilled that doubt in him. So you’ll prove to him that you’re here to stay, no matter how long it takes. “I’m staying. I promise. Jake, I don’t think I could leave you even if I tried.” 

That’s all it takes for Jake’s lips to meet yours in another round of passionate kisses. 

You shift in his hold, whimpering when you feel a sharp pain in your arm from when you fell. With all the adrenaline wearing off, you can feel the ache of your split bone. 

“Shit, Pumpkin.” Jake reluctantly pulls away. He looks down at you before making contact with your arm that you cradle back to your chest. “Darling, you’re hurt. We need to get you to the hospital.” 

He must think you’re crazy by the way you shake your head and try to keep him down with you. “Not yet.” 

“But baby, your arm—“ 

“My arm can wait,” you hum. “Let me keep you to myself for a bit. Just me and you.” 

Jake nods, falling back against you carefully. “Just me and you. Hey, Pumpkin?” 

“Hm?” 

“Thank you for saving my life.” 

Your smile is bright enough to rival that of the now rising sun. “Thank you for saving mine.” 

Six Months Later 

“I’m surprised you even wanted to come back here,” Natasha looks to the duo beside her with surprise. 

You’re smiling proudly up at Jake who has his arm securely around your waist as he tucks you into his side. 

“I needed to make sure that it was really done. That they really shut down for good,” Jake replies, looking out to the Motel California that was now officially closed for good after a thorough investigation by their department. 

Turns out, over a dozen helpless travelers and fallen victims to the motel’s sinister spirits. 

Dozens were found dead over the years by what was concluded as self inflicted injuries and unfortunate accidents. 

Upon finding this out, you and Jake had set it onto yourselves to shut down the motel’s business in hopes that no one would fall victim to those spirits again. 

Now, you could only hope that the spirits would stay contained in the now abandoned motel forever. 

The motel held a bittersweet place in both of your hearts. It was the place where you first said “I love you,” but it was also the place where an irreversible tragedy almost occurred. 

The motel served as a turning point in your relationship, but it did not define who the two of you were today. 

“I’m surprised the two of you didn’t take one look at this place and know it was haunted,” Bradley retorts from the other side of Jake. 

Jake elbows Bradley in the stomach causing him to wince over in exaggerated pain. 

You and Natasha giggle at the boys’ exchange, rolling your eyes with amusement. 

“Come on, Bradshaw, let’s give these two a moment of peace.” Nat pulls Bradley by the arm and towards the car. 

Bradley huffs under his breath like a child but complies, dragging his feet behind her.  

“You did good, Jake,” you grin at your boyfriend of six months. 

“Oh, please, that was all you, Pumpkin. I just played puppet for the night.” 

“Yeah, but it was you who pushed for this investigation and for the motel’s closure. That’s more than I did.” 

Jake shakes his head with a laugh and presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. “Why don’t we just agree to disagree?” 

You smirk, gazing at him knowingly. “Don’t we always?” 

He leans down to place a real kiss on your lips, one filled with love and a little bit of nostalgia. “That we do, baby.” 

The two of you take a moment before walking back to the car hand in hand. 

“Looks like we’re at it again, Seresin,” you praise. 

He eyes you quizzically with a clear question written on his face. 

“Jake and Pumpkin at it again. Solving cases one supernatural entity at a time.” 

tgm taglist: @joaquinwhorres @harrycherrylove @smoothdogsgirl @t-nd-rfoot @dempy @ollyoxenfrees @potato-girl99981 @averyhotchner @2guysonascooter @loveforaugust @blue-aconite @fandom-life-12 @stiles-banshees @iamdannyday @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @breezemood @eli2447 @angelbabyange @finelytaylored @pono-pura-vida @hecate-steps-on-me @blueoorchid @aviatorobsessed @blackwidownat2814 @hallecarey1 @averagereader35 @laneylovesglen @atarmychick007 @kajjaka @urfavelocagirl @clancycumber230 @memeorydotcom @kmc1989 @percysaidnever @thestarspangledcaptain @wkndwlff @shanimallina87 

#jake hangman x y/n #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x y/n #hangman x you #jake seresin x f!reader #hangman x f!reader #jake seresin oneshot #hangman oneshot #x-files!au #hangman x pumpkin 🛸 #demxters writing

[sunnysssol]

AmeSuzie as Mr. and Mrs. Spooky! 🔬📂🤔 💖 👽🛰🤩

[ ᴄᴏᴍᴍs ᴏᴘᴇɴ | ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ] hws/aph america x oc (she/they for suzie!)

#[ au : the x files ] the truth is out there #re: amesuzie #cc: alfred f jones #oc: susannah knightley #sol's art #had this au + art for a WHILE now and i just. couldn't wait until october anymore HSHDJFJ

[keulixeutin]

In Defense of Lightning

a/n: hi @coopigeoncoo (: HAPPY MERRY BELATED HOLIDAYS!!!!  i was your secret santa!!!!! hohohohohoh!!!!!!  isn’t that so funny since you were mine?  anyways, sorry it’s late, but i hope you enjoy it anyways!!!  <3

summary: aizawa has never wanted to find the other half of his soul marking. soulmate au. aizawa x fem!reader.  aizawa x chess-champion!reader.

cw: she/her pronouns, fem!reader.  soulmate au.  angst, aizawa denying himself happiness, swearing. lots of chess shit.

wc: 5,680.

Once, after a villain fight nearly takes off his head, Aizawa remembers that that’s where his soul marking is located: tucked away behind his right ear and dark hair.

For whatever reason, that’s enough for him to get curious about it.  He wonders what happens when two soulmates meet.  How do you know the other person is the one?  How do you even find each other?  And what changes after they’re found?

What if you find your soulmate, but you reject them anyways?

It’s a short googling stint.  Lasts a few days, a week tops.  The research isn’t particularly helpful.  It’s mostly anecdotal evidence, and they’re vague and contradictory.  There are just as many people saying things like, I just knew, or My whole body was filled with electricity, or There was just something in their eyes, as there are saying they didn’t know for years, even after marriage.

Eventually, Aizawa moves on.  His questions are unanswered, but his resolve solidifies.  He’s curious about it all, sure, and maybe, when he’s alone in his room, he can admit that he might be a bit of a romantic—or rather, if he had the chance in another life, that he could be.

But he’s not in another life.  He’s in this one, and the more experiences he has, the older he gets, the more he understands that it’s better if he never finds his soulmate.

It’s too unfair for someone to be bound to someone like him.

Despite his wishes, one day in the fall, his questions are answered—and he learns just how truly cruel the universe is.

When he sees you at a park one fateful autumn day, his understanding is just as spectacularly and explicitly vague as all the answers he had read online.

Aizawa knows it’s you before he knows.  

He knows it like an afterthought, like how he recalls gravity is a force at work only when he’s falling, or how he remembers that the human body is powerfully impressive only after he stands after a villain attack, or how he realizes that the whole world had been distorted up until this moment, up until right now.

The world suddenly shifts.  Refocuses.  He looks at the gingko leaves rustling over you and realizes that they aren’t the darkened gold he had registered prior, but a lemon-bright hue.

Aizawa walks over before his ears even recognizes the crunch of the dirt and gravel underneath his shoes. 

You must’ve just arrived because you’re still getting things set up at your picnic table.  You press play on your laptop and soft piano versions of popular songs fill the space around you.  You set out a couple of apple juice bottles and then surround it with individually packaged baked goods and snacks.  Finally, you unfold an egg sandwich and eat while you arrange the chessboard and its pieces.

The marking behind his ear begins to warm.

He knows he should turn away.  

He’s told himself for a long time now that, if he so happened to stumble upon his soulmate, that he would turn away without making himself known, without knowing what he would miss out on.  It’s easier that way.  You can’t miss something that you’ve never known.

However, walking away is harder when it’s not a hypothetical situation in his head, when he’s not looking at you, feet away, ethereal under the yellow leaves.

Before he can steel his wavering willpower, you look up and catch his gaze.  The depth of your [color] eyes makes him amend his previous thought: he doesn’t know that it’s you like an afterthought, but like a jolt, a blitz of lightning, a strike that illuminates an entire darkened sky.

“Hi,” you say.  Your voice is carried on the gentle autumn breeze, spinning around him like the music that surrounds you.  He doesn’t detect any surprise or realization or confusion in your voice, nothing that lets him know that you know it, too.  Still, he finds himself thinking that cadence of your voice is sweeter than the piano notes, and he’s immediately embarrassed by the thought.  

“Do you wanna play?” you offer.

Aizawa is only in the area to take a quick break; reviewing grades and creating lesson plans for future Pro Heroes inside his tiny apartment can get a little stifling.  He just wanted a brisk walk and a change of pace.  He hadn’t expected to find his soulmate or a chess match or a life changing choice—but you’re looking at him, and his marking is humming, and the universe is so unfair, and he’s so, so weak.

So he says, “Sure,” and closes the distance between the two of you.  He takes the opposite seat opposite and tries not to be overwhelmed by the smile that spreads across your face.

He doesn’t even know how to play, Aizawa thinks, sighing internally—and it doesn’t take long for you to catch on.

You checkmate him in six moves.  He didn’t even know that was possible.  From what he knows of the game, he had thought that chess was generally time-consuming, full of strategy and applicable war tactics and plenty of intense, pensive faces—not this brutal beatdown.  You had picked and moved your pieces with lightning speed, as though you weren’t even thinking—or perhaps, you were so good that you could see fifteen, maybe even twenty moves ahead.  He thinks he’s heard of great players like that.

“Did you just start learning chess?” you ask, but not unkindly.  Your gaze is tame and curious, one that seems to imply that, no matter how good you get, you still remember that everyone starts somewhere.

“No,” he says, trying to keep the sheepishness out of his voice.  He’s not embarrassed that he lost; he’s embarrassed that he turned his back on years of resolve all because of your voice creating a pressuring pricking behind his ear.  “This is my first time.  First game.”

“Just on a whim?”

It’s easy to think that, isn’t it?  That this is all coincidental or accidental, the whims of a tired man who just needed to take a quick breather—but it’s all destined.  The universe is cruel.  He was tired on this day because it needed him to be, because it needed to test his self-control by dangling a potential future in his face, even though he and the universe both know that it could only end in fire.

“You could say that,” he responds, shrugging.

You hum in acknowledgment and lean forward, resting your chin in your palm.  You stare at him, but he doesn’t know you well enough to guess at what you’re thinking.

Maybe you’re thinking of him.

Maybe you feel it, too, a warmth on a particular part of your body, on a spot that you’ve traced and wondered about for your entire life.  Maybe you’re searching his open skin to find if it’s pulsing on him, too, something left there by someone.

Aizawa doesn’t know what he wants you to say, but he doesn’t expect you to ask for a rematch—“Wanna play again?”—especially considering how badly he had performed.

But he agrees anyways, and you smile, and his heart stutters while you reset the pieces and turn the board: it’s his turn to make the first move as white.  Aizawa does better this time: he lasts longer (twenty moves!); he even manages to check you, but he has the distinct feeling that you were taking it easy on him.

“Good game,” you say.

“I can’t tell if you’re really good, or if I’m just that bad,” he admits.

You grin and reply, “They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” you say.  “Plus, this is only your second game.”

“How long have you been playing?” he asks.

“Since I was four.”

He gives a wry smile.  “So I guess I can’t expect to win on a fluke, then.”

“No accidents here,” you agree.

None at all, he thinks.

He wants another match, mainly because he wants to stay with you a little longer, though he knows he needs to get back.  You seem to have realized, too, since you don’t ask him to play again.  It makes sense; surely a good chess player should be observant.

“Good game,” he says.

That wasn’t so bad, he thinks, hesitantly hopeful.  There are plenty of heroes with happy soulmate relationships.  Maybe this could work out?  Maybe he could ask you for your name, at the very least?

Then, when he shifts to get up from the table, there’s a sudden ache that blooms in his side, a phantom remainder of a quirk-healed broken rib, the result of an unfortunate run-in with the number two wanted criminal in Musutafu three days ago.  The pain isn’t what bothers him—he’s used to all types of injuries and scrapes—but it does jolt a memory, or furthers an understanding, a realization: there are heroes with happy relationships, but how long do they last?

How many more have left their soulmates alone, losing their lives in the field for the greater good?

What does it mean for him to have a soulmate?  Not just as a Pro Hero, but him, with all of his hurt and anger and fears?

Is it right for him to bring you into his life?

Is the universe being kind to give him another chance to change his mind by putting you right in front of him, or is it callous to tether you, someone who spends their Sunday afternoons at a park with a chessboard and an egg sandwich, to him, someone who spends his nights nursing his body back from deadly injury, someone who will continue to do so for years or decades to come?

Someone who will more likely meet his bloody end on the streets than of greeting old age in a bed, surrounded by loved ones?

It was earth-shattering when he lost his best friend, a tethering he chose and tied himself.

What would it be like for you to lose a soulmate, a tethering created by the universe?

What would it be like for him to strengthen that bond, only to cut it a few years later?

The marking behind his ear is still warm and pulsing, but he tells himself that it doesn’t mean anything.  It’s not uncommon for soulmates to not work out, like two puzzle pieces made to fit but whose edges are frayed, unable to smoothly connect.  This could be one of those times.  It should be.

Aizawa glances at you and his resolve wavers again.  As he watches you reset the board, he sees all the world and all the colors around you in a starkly crisp light, and it’s odd, but he can’t help but hope so fiercely that it works out—that it could—that it might—because how could the two of you be bound with no happy ending?  

He doesn’t even know your name and he’s already thinking about the relationship ending in flames.

If he stays any longer, he might foolishly convince himself otherwise, so Aizawa settles on a, “See you around.”  It’s not quite the firm goodbye he had in mind, but at least he’s leaving—even if there’s a sudden, inexplicable, and fierce thought that you want this tumultuous journey with him, that he can be selfish enough to have this tumultuous journey.

But the two aren’t mutually exclusive (he hears it in your voice).  He can want it, and choose not to have it. 

“Wait,” you say suddenly.

Aizawa pauses.  He glances back, breath in his throat, humming against his ear.

Do you know?

You tilt your head.  

You know—you know—you have to know.

“Don’t you want my name?”

Yes, yes—but he hears it again: they’re not mutually exclusive.

So he says, “No,” almost soft, and you say, “Okay,” almost sad.

&&

Aizawa almost caves and goes back the next week.  On Sunday, he’s reviewing grades and revising lesson plans again when he suddenly thinks that going for a walk through the park right now wouldn’t be bad.  Before he can even debate pros and cons, he’s putting on his shoes at the doorway.  The marking behind his ear isn’t humming or pulsing, but his mind and chest are.

He stands up, grips the doorknob, and reassures himself that he’ll make it a quick walk.  If he sees you, he won’t talk to you; he’ll just sneak a glance, just to see the world shift again, and then immediately come back to his apartment.

He twists the knob—and then he sighs. 

Aizawa sits back down, undoes his shoes, and returns to his desk.  He picks up his pen and stares at a colleague’s report on one of his students’ grades.  His eyes go over the same line again and again, unable to focus.

In an attempt to start fresh, he sets that student’s file to the side and flips through a different student’s, but after minutes of staring at the same kanji with no luck, he opens his laptop and searches up a chess video for beginners.  Later that night, he downloads the popular chess app.

On Tuesday, Principal Nezu sees Aizawa playing it during lunch in the teachers’ lounge.

Or, to be more accurate, he sees Aizawa roll his eyes and lean back in his chair as he irritably watches his rating take a nose dive from losing another match.

“I didn’t take you for a gamer, Aizawa,” the principal remarks.  It’s a particularly cold day out, so Aizawa isn’t surprised—though still annoyed—when the quirked chimera climbs up his shoulder to settle into his combat cloth.

“I’m not,” Aizawa says.  He reviews the match; the app categorizes his moves, showing that he made some good ones, a couple of book moves, a few mistakes, and a lot of blunders.  Oh, he had a missed checkmate, too, apparently.  Fantastic.

“I wouldn’t consider this a game either,” Aizawa mutters.  Irked by his losing streak, he thinks it’s more like a never-ending hell.

Principal Nezu hums in response, watching Aizawa open up a new game; the stoic hero immediately clicks his tongue when he moves a pawn and realizes it’s not the one he had wanted.

“Chess is often likened to warfare, used as a symbol for tactical genius,” Principal Nezu comments.

“I would say that’s an inaccurate analogy.”

Aizawa moves his knight, eating his opponent’s pawn and creating a fork, an opportunity for him to capture one of two of their powerful pieces.  Finally, a move he was proud of and confident in.

“But,” the principal continues, “perhaps it might do the students well to have an exercise where they’re forced to think strategically and tactically, considering both their moves and those of their opponents.”

Aizawa isn’t listening.  He captures black’s dark-squared bishop with a minute smile—and then immediately scowls when he’s put in check.

&&

If Aizawa had been listening to Principal Nezu, maybe he could’ve caught what his next move was going to be.  Or, if he had been more in tune with his soul marking, maybe he would’ve understood what the annoying itch had meant all morning.

Instead, he had been too focused on his chess blunders both that Tuesday and this morning, resulting in him walking into his classroom, thoroughly unprepared and completely frozen at the sight of you.

You stand at the front of his class, dressed in an ash lavender, business-casual outfit.

Aizawa has been steadfastly avoiding the park to ensure that he couldn’t randomly stumble upon you again, but how could he predict that you’d be here in his class on an innocuous Friday morning?

Though he avoids your gaze, it doesn’t change the fact that the world, once again, reshifts and refocuses in your presence.  

Sparks zig-zag up his spine, but he doesn’t have the courage or the time to break down whether it’s due to excitement and longing, or fear and dread.

Aizawa thinks, suddenly, that he must be playing a game with the universe: chess, Chinese checkers, go—whatever it is, he’s losing.  Badly.

“Perfect timing, Eraserhead,” Principal Nezu says from where he stands on the podium.  “Come meet Ms. [Full Name].  She’s a chess grandmaster I was lucky enough to have met the other day, and she’s agreed to give some lessons. It was a very last minute thing; I told the rest of the faculty yesterday, but you were the only one unavailable—”

“I was on patrol.”

“Yes, which is why I asked Present Mic to give you a call.”

He resists pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I don’t answer his calls.”

“Well”—Principal Nezu blinks at him, unfazed—“that sounds like a personal issue you need to resolve, Eraserhead…”

He grits his teeth.  “Why didn’t you just—”

“So, Class 1A and 1B, now that our other homeroom teacher is here, we can officially get started!” the principal exclaims.

Aizawa realizes then that Vlad King is leaning against the wall and the 1B students are crammed into the room with his class, two to a table with a chessboard in between.  Last minute indeed, he thinks irritably.  It’s times like these that Aizawa is reminded that the school is run by a madman.

Your laptop is on the podium, connected to the overhead projector.  As Principal Nezu speaks, you turn your laptop on and project a chessboard onto the blackboard for all to see.

“Today’s lesson will be a rather unorthodox one,” the principal announces, “but one that will still give you valuable skills and experiences, even if it’s not quite what you’re used to.  You’ll be working with Ms. [Full Name] in place of today’s morning classes where she’ll teach you the basics of chess; then, you’ll break for lunch, and you’ll resume regular Heroics classes in the afternoon.”  

Before you’re able to even get a syllable out, Class 1A’s resident hothead immediately blurts out, “What the hell does chess have to do with being a hero?”

It shouldn’t bother Aizawa, the way Bakugou challenges the plan (challenges the relevancy of your presence), but it does.  He has to clench his jaw to keep from saying anything ridiculous, and anything said in response on behalf of you, the person he told himself to avoid for the rest of his life, would be extremely ridiculous.

Principal Nezu looks to you to answer.

You clear your throat, lightly holding the edge of the podium.  “Well—before I answer that, I do feel obligated to let you know that I’m not a hero, and I don’t really claim to know what it takes to be a good Pro Hero… Principal Nezu and I just had an accidental meeting and we were able to quickly work something out.

“To answer your question, though, chess has a variety of mental benefits that I think helps the everyday person, so I don’t see why it couldn’t also help aspiring Pro Heroes.  It improves memory, problem-solving skills, pattern recognition; it protects against dementia, deepens your focus, even develops perspective and creativity.  Chess isn’t about being a genius—it’s about working hard at something you love, and if you ask me, I’d say that sounds pretty similar to what you guys are doing here at UA.” 

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit.

He’s mesmerized by you.  Hypnotized. Captivated.

You speak with such love and passion for something he has only seen poked fun of in movies.  He’s reminded of your big smile at the park when he accepted your offer, how you were excited to play again even though he barely knew the game, how you were just happy to be moving pieces and analyzing the board.

He had thought you were cute when he had first seen you, but watching you talk about something you loved so much was stunning.

It’s easier not to want something that you don’t know; it’s easier to avoid the park and put you in the back of his mind, hidden like his marking, when he doesn’t know you, but now he knows—maybe not a lot, but enough to know that he wants more, that this feeling is dangerous, that this feeling makes things harder.

This isn’t a kind opportunity to change his mind; this is a cruel dangling of you in front of him.

“Beautifully said, Ms. [Name].  Take advantage of this one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, everyone, and approach it Plus Ultra!” Principal Nezu says as he leaves the room.

With that, Aizawa gathers himself and crosses the room to stand beside King Vlad, saying, “Feet off the table, Bakugou,” as he passes by the blond’s row.  Aizawa crosses his arm and leans beside the chalkboard.  “I expect you all to show Ms. [Name]”—god, your name is lightning-warm on his tongue—“the respect and attention of the next generation of Pro Heroes.”

There’s an implied or else that his class hears after the period.

&&

The morning passes by surprisingly quickly.

You teach everyone the basics, showing the different pieces on the projected screen and explaining how their purpose and abilities.  You talk about about placement, movement, capturing, checks, and checkmates.  You explain strategy and tactics, how one needs to be aware of not only their own pieces but that of their opponent’s, and how one needs to have their own plan while simultaneously anticipating and defending against what their opponent is planning.

They’re all good things for the students to learn.  It’s interesting for Aizawa to see it applied to a boardgame.

The students are somewhat interested, knowing that what you’re saying is transferable, but still having a difficult time caring since it doesn’t directly relate—until you offer to demonstrate a few games.

You beat King Vlad and Aizawa in under fifteen moves.

Blindfolded.

“It’s not necessary to learn to do that,” you try to say, but it’s much too late.  The impressive display of board and piece mastery, the sight of their homeroom teachers getting completely dominated on the board, alights a fire underneath everyone, sparking both competition and concentration.

You move around the room, having each student in pairs to play each other, as you offer advice and guidance.  In thirty minute intervals, you give chess puzzles for them to solve, and randomly select their games to analyze the gameplay.  Several students try to blindfold themselves, even when you tell them to learn the board first, and end up shouting meaningless letters and numbers at each other.

At one point, the paired practice gets derailed because you end up playing four matches simultaneously with Bakugou, Hagakure, Monoma, and Kendo.  You don’t blindfold yourself despite their begging because it’s a good time to further explain strategy and tactics.  The class help each other as the four play against you, discussing possible moves with which to thwart you.  Even as you explain your moves and tell them which of theirs are mistakes or blunders, your experience and intuition overpowers their team effort and advantages.

In the background, Aizawa discusses with King Vlad the lessons, lectures, and exercises they can build based on the principles that Heroics and chess have in common, such as perception and prediction, though Aizawa finds that he has a hard time fully committing to the conversation.

His eyes follow your every move.  His ears hone in to every word and laugh.  His body buzzes.  His marking hums.  He can’t help but be drawn by you, to you.

You’ve caught his stare a couple of times, locking eyes across the room for a split second before the both of you turn away.  He doesn’t want to think about what that means.

When lunch rolls around, everyone’s brain is thoroughly exhausted.  The students complain about their mental fatigue and tease each other about their blunders as they head off toward the cafeteria.  Vlad King thanks you for your time and expertise and heads to the teachers’ lounge, leaving just you and Aizawa.

Aizawa should do the same—say his thanks, shake your hand, and then leave—but he lingers.  This will be the last time the two of you meet, he thinks, so he wants to at least make sure you have lunch and know the way out.  

He readies himself to speak, but you strike first.

“You’ve gotten better,” you remark.  “You were actually trying to control the center of the board this time.”

He should go.

He should say his peace and leave, retreat before he’s captured, before checkmate.

But he’s weak—or maybe he’s desperate, or maybe it’s a calculated risk.  With the knowledge that he’ll never see you again, he thinks that he can have a little more, just a little more to hold on to in the night. 

“I’ve practiced a bit, since then,” he replies. 

He moves behind the podium, as if having something physical between the two of you would help keep him strong.  In response, you take a seat at an empty desk across from him.

“Oh, I sparked your interest?” you ask.

Aizawa doesn’t know if you purposely set a double meaning to that sentence, but he stubbornly ignores the possibility.

“Do you want to play again?” you ask.

He glances at the door.

He should go.

“Sure.”

Aizawa drags a chair and sits across from you.  He plays white, placing the king’s pawn forward two spaces.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you mention, responding with a pawn opposite his.

Aizawa doesn’t answer.  He’s not sure what to say.  It’s not that he doesn’t—well, no, he doesn’t.  Not really, or at least, not in the way you think.  Yes, he wants to, but no—it’s just complicated.  He barely understands it himself, but that’s not something he can say to someone whose name he just learned, someone he’s quietly vowed to ignore and forget.  He’ll just play the one game and then leave.

“Ooh, avoiding and ignoring me.”

He frowns, both at your words and at you eating his pawn with a knight.

“How could I be avoiding someone I just met?” Aizawa asks.

“Most people try to get to know their soulmates,” you note.

It’s delivered nonchalantly, matter-of-factly, but it still cuts him.  He winces internally, but he keeps his face still and stoic.

“So,” you continue, “since you didn’t want to know my name, and since you haven’t shown back up to the park, I’d say I have grounds for a pretty good case on avoidance.”

There’s a beat.  He moves a piece, eyes on the board, and then asks, “How’d you know?”

“Same way you did probably,” you say, shrugging.  “Nothing crazy.  You weren’t glowing or anything.”

He feels obligated to apologize.  He knows it’s not his fault; it’s not anyone’s fault.  It’s just the way the red string is tied, but he still feels bad anyways.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say.  “I figured you had some really good reason—and now knowing that you’re Eraserhead, the famed Erasure Hero, it makes sense why you wouldn’t want a soulmate, or, at least, not a non-Pro Hero soulmate.  I get it.”

You get it?  In his surprise, he makes a blunder, leaving his queen hanging.  You capture it with a pawn, but he’s too surprised by your words to be embarrassed.  If you understand his situation, then it’d be easier to avoid you if you were also avoiding him.

“My mom and dad were soulmates,” you explain.  “He was a small-time neighborhood hero who died during a rescue call.”

“My condolences,” Aizawa offers, still reeling in surprise. 

You truly understand then.  He feels a sadness overtake him next.  There are many stories like that.  He doesn’t want yours to be another one added to the library, so you must understand his reasoning, why this separation is necessary. 

“It’s okay,” you say.  “He died before I was born.  Check.”

“Already?” he mutters.

You beam.  “Gotta work on that multitasking skill, hero.”

He sighs, moving his king into the corner.  Then, he realizes that he should’ve moved another piece to block the check instead of retreating his king; you probably want him in the corner.

Aizawa steals a glance at you; you’re staring at the board, resting your face into your palm, fingers curled up and pressed against your lips.

He has more to say and ask, but he doesn’t want to offend you.  Then again, he supposes it doesn’t matter; offending you would be in his best interest.

It’s quiet.  There’s only the sound of wooden pieces being moved around the board.  You have him cornered in the bottom right.  He knows you can checkmate him, even though he can’t see how.  You’re up in pieces, but so far, you’ve just been moving your pieces around, leaving some of them in places that allow him to capture without issue.  You must be lingering like him, he thinks, and the realization makes his chest hurt. 

“Can I—ask something personal?” he asks hesitantly.

“Shoot,” you say.

“What did your mom say about it?”

“About what?”

“All of it,” he says.  “The meeting, the relationship…the ending.”

He’s staring at the pawns and at your hands, but you don’t move.  He’s afraid to meet your gaze, he realizes, afraid of what he might see in the depth of your eyes.  Finally, though, he shifts his head and meets your stare; you don’t let him go. 

“She says it was exhilarating,” you say.  “Fast.  Rapid fire fast.  One minute she’s learning his name and the next she’s alone.  That’s how she described it.  But she says it was impactful.  Memorable.  Charged.  Like a lightning strike.  Like you know what comes next, but you can’t look away, and it still surprises you anyways.”

It feels like you are baiting him, both in the conversation and on the board.  He’s not sure what to think on either.  He decides to combat your oncoming attack with his rook, threatening to eat one of your pawns.

“Maybe your father didn’t think so,” he boldly offers.  “Maybe he had regrets, leaving her behind like that.”  He meets your gaze again.  “I would.”

You don’t shy away from his look or his comment.  He steels his resolve, yet you seem to soften.  

“I don’t think so,” you say. 

“Why?”

You smile at him, something sad and poignant and sure.  “How could he regret loving her?”

It’s not like that, he wants to say.  It’s not about love; it’s about loss.  It’s not about the half you find, but the hole you leave.  It’s not about you and your love and your time, but him and his duties and his dangers. 

“I lost someone,” Aizawa blurts out.  He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but his mouth opens and the words spill out.  “A long time ago.  He died on—during his Hero Work-Study Program.”

“I’m sorry,” you offer tenderly.  “I’m sure it was hard.”

“It’s still hard.  Fifteen years later.”

You wait. 

“I—”  It’s hard to get the words out.  His mouth is dry.  His chest burns.  His marking buzzes.  And you’re in front of him, clearer than ever. 

“You don’t have to say it,” you whisper.

But he does, doesn’t he?  For you and him?  He wants you to understand not just the situation, but him.  And he wants to make sense of it himself, to close this chapter for good, to cut the string with finality, to see the lightning snake across the sky but not follow where it points.

“I—I can’t put someone else through that,” he says gently.  “And—more than that, I can’t offer you what a soulmate should be able to.”

Your eyes glisten, but you don’t cry, and you don’t drop his gaze.  His chest hurts; he thinks his breathing is about to come out close to hyperventilating, but he counts his breaths and hardens himself.  This needs to be done.  It’s easy hypothetically, and it’s hard with you so clearly here, but he’ll do it.  He can make the hard decisions.

“People should avoid lightning strikes,” he says, but there’s a lilt to his voice that makes it seem like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as you.  “Unnecessary risk.”

“Calculated risk,” you say.  “Not unnecessary.”

You gaze back stubbornly.  “If in this world we get to choose something, then I choose this.”

“You don’t choose,” he argues.  “It’s fated.”

“I choose,” you say again, soft but sure.  “I choose the sky bright with lightning.”

He doesn’t say anything.  He doesn’t know what to say. 

You don’t play a piece.  You don’t capture anything or checkmate him.  You pack the pieces and put the board away instead, tucking everything inside your backpack.  You stand up and head to the door then, but before you turn the corner, your hand lingers on the frame and you pause. 

“You’d choose your friend, wouldn’t you?” you ask boldly.  “If you could go back?”

He thinks back to Shirakumo, the weight of his arm on his shoulder, the weight of his kindness, the weight of him in his chest. 

Yes, he thinks.  Every time. 

“Bye, Eraserhead.”

“Shouta,” he corrects, though it feels pointless and hollow to do so.  “Wait—last question: what’s your soul marking?”

“An eraser,” you reply.  “On my ribs.  Yours?”

His hand immediately presses against the mark behind his ear.  “A crown.”  

“A little on the nose, huh?”  You laugh.  “Bye, Shouta.”

You leave. The clouds rumble outside the window.  His fingers trace the lines of the crown from memory.  

&&

Aizawa dreams of you later that night.

In the blackness of his dream, you’re the one bright focal point.  He sees you clearly, the curl of your lips, the rise of your eyebrow, the height of your cheeks.

He sees you having dinner in his apartment.  You’re watching TV on his couch.  You’re playing chess in his bed.  You’re touching the humming behind his ear.

How could you regret loving me? you ask with a tender smile.

And Aizawa, struck by how much he already does, wakes up with a gasping in the bright blue-lit night.

#╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ novae writes 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ titled「 in defense of lightning 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ fandom「 bnha 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ character「 aizawa 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 she/her 」 #aizawa x reader #aizawa x f!reader #bnha x reader #eraserhead x reader #soulmate au #shouta x reader

[pdwoozi]

6.08 The Rain King (ft. The X-Files: Fight the Future)

#the x files #fox mulder #dana scully #txfedit #txf #mine #tv: the x files #f: the x files #fox william mulder you absolute liar #all you DO is gaze @ her #since season 1 you punk

[randomfoggytiger]

My Encyclopedia of My X-Files Fic Lists, Analyses, Fan Vids, and Fan Fiction Resources

So, I pushed all my little anthills into one dust pile because I got sick and tired of having to manually search through my colonies to find that ONE drone. 

~~~X-Files Collector’s Edition~~~

Overview

The Fics That Started It All 

Meet the Mulders

Car Accidents, Injuries, and Fluff- Oh My!

Creepy and Cozy Cabins

Redux II Samantha Was Real

I Want To Be Leaves (Fall Fics) 

 Mulder’s Early or Late Birthdays (Season 1)

Mulder’s Early or Late Birthdays (Angst)

Amor Fati(gue) 

Amor Fati(gue) AUs

Time Travel, Time Loops, and Just Wrong Timing 

Happy Halloween with the Mulder-Scully Family  

Many Mondays and “The Creeps”

Ghostly Hauntings and Experiences- AUs 

Thanksgivings Are Better Twofold 

Flying for Christmas 

Christmas and Emily’s Fate 

New Year, New Relationship   

Canonical-Esque Crack Fic {Edited}

Off-The-Wall Crazy Crack Fic  

Coming Home to Their Unremarkable House 

Little Samantha’s Life in Capture 

Car Wrekt  

Friendship Fix (According to Various Authors) Part 1 

Friendship Fix (According to Various Authors) Part 2  

Valentine’s Day, the Platonic Way

MSR Kicks Platonic Valentine’s to the Curb

Mulder and Scully Fight Insomnia  

Scully’s Arcadian Birthday 

The X-File That Started It All 

Diana Fowl(ey) Play-- All Parts 

S9 Mulder Stays or Returns While the Mytharc Barrels On

Anasazi– Shot and Emotionally Fraught

Pranks and Other April Fics

Celebrating Passover and Easter 

Poll Results: Fic Niches and Polls 

Fics That Deserve More Comments (Part I) 

Fics That Deserve More Comments (Part II)

Fics That Deserve More Comments (Part III)

Fics that Deserve More Comments (Part IV)

Fic Moments That “Hit Different” 

Fics That Fit My Niche "Dad!Mulder" Likes

MORE Fics That Fit My Niche “Dad!Mulder” Likes

Dad!Mulder, His "Mini Me"s, and Sports 

Fight the Future Fics (Part I)

Fight the Future Fics (Part II) 

Crazy X-Cops (and Watching the Tragic Ep. Later)

S9, The Season of Secret Dad (Long Fics) 

MOTW but Rinse and Repeat 

The Field Where I Fix-It Fic-ed

Beefy Revival Mulder

S8 Mulder Resurrects to a Miracle 

X-Files Collector’s Edition: Mulder, Scully, and Scents

A Short Fic Tribute to Samantha's 50th Anniversary

Mulder, To Jew or Not to Jew

It’s the Most HTGSC Time of Year

Mulder and Scully and Dancing

Sins of the Eaten Flesh

Mulder, Scully, and Courthouse Weddings

Cars and Conversations (Part I)

Cars and Conversations (Part II)

Bill Scully, MSR, and Pain (Part I)

Reviving that Love

~~~Curated Authors Collection / Short Entries~~~

randomfoggytiger’s Son of Egypt

randomfoggytiger's Fictober Wrap Up

randomfoggytiger’s Chariots of Fire 

Eight Nights of Mulder 2023 

randomfoggytiger’s “Mr. Mulder, I Know Something About You”

randomfoggytiger’s “You Up For Joining Us?” 

randomfoggytiger’s “Think He’ll Call You Tonight?”

randomfoggytiger’s ”You're Not Here, Dana-- You're a Million Miles Away"

randomfoggytiger’s "You're Only Going to End Up Hurting Yourself"

randomfoggytiger’s The Hospital Where You Slept

randomfoggytiger’s "I Know You. It’s What I Do."

randomfoggytiger’s “I Think It’s About Fate”

A Happy Family (Curated Baroness Blixen’s S9)

Curated Baroness Blixen’s Millennium Fics  

Curated Jamie Greco 

Alligator Moon by jordan  

Still Waters by XP1 

Everything But the Kitchen Sink by Amy Schatz

Morse Cody by grumpysimon 

Fox’s Den I/II/III by Thalia D’Muse 

Curated suitablyaggrieved/ScullyLovesQueequeg’s Cancer Arc Fics

Haze and necromance by astronaught 

fragility by homecomingserf 

Just Another Day on the Oil by Vickie Moseley  

Skyland Mountain (AU) by JenAndrews 

My Favorites Curated Fics and Quotes by suitablyaggrieved 

X-Files Fic That Irons Out the Mytharc... by touchstonea

Curated muldertxf Fics 

Curated melforbes Fics

Curated settle-down-frohike Fics

Curated Baroness Blixen’s Car Conversations

~~~X-Files Fan Fiction Resources~~~

Collected Resources

~~~Analysis~~~ 

Mailboxes in Arcadia: Allegory, Leitmotif, and Chekhov’s Gun

Arcadia Analysis: Scully Was Enjoying Herself Immensely 

Arcadia Analysis: Mulder’s Struggle

 Arcadia Analysis: Their Worst Nightmares and Trauma Responses 

Babylon Dance: An Alternative

Mulder Did Not “Lose Himself” in His Early VCU Days 

Biogenesis’s BIG Problem with the Alien-Human Hybrid Virus 

One Son: An Intense, One-Shot Analysis of “You’re Making This Personal”  

Never Again: An Intensive Essay 

Mulder: Sick Fic Vs. Reality

MSR Communication Summed Up

Mulder and Scully’s Most Defining Moment-- “You. Help. Me.”

Charlie Scully in Beyond the Sea

S8 Scully Would Not Have Let Essence and Existence Happen

Mulder Would Never Let Scully Walk Away with Words Left Unsaid 

Mulder’s Necessary Emotional Growth in One Breath 

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part I): Colony and End Game

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part II): The Past Is Important to the Present

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part III): Dissecting the Dynamics in Demons

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part IV-1): The Death and Redemption of the Man Who “Threw In”

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part IV-2): Bill Mulder’s Tainted Legacy

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part V): Tena Mulder’s Relationships Begin to Change

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part VI): Talitha Cumi and Tena’s Lies

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part VII): Childhood Damage in Herrenvolk

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part VIII): Tena, Amor Fati, and Who’s the Daddy

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part IX): Tena Mulder’s Suicide and Saving Mulder from Himself

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part X): Samantha, Spitfire and Stardust

Mulder Was a Father, Even in the Desert 

S8 Scully Healing Before Deadalive

We Don’t Value Skinner Enough 

Scully’s Complete Change From One Breath to Herrenvolk

S5 Is a Pretty Dark Time for Mulder

The Glaring Ideological Difference Between Mulder and Scully

I Wish: Post Three Words and Mulder

Ascension: Mulder and Maggie’s Bond

Mulder Saw That Scully Was Alone in Redux II 

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part I): Childhood and The Pilot

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part II): The First Christmas Death

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part III): A Facade and a Funeral

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part IV): Luthor Lee Boggs, Love, and Letting Go

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part V): Miracles, Lyle Parker, and Psychic Charlie?

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part VI): Maggie Scully and Mulder Meet

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part VII): Mulder, Maggie, Melissa, and the Snake

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part VIII): Maggie Calls Mulder "Fox"

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part IX): Mulder and the Two Scully Sisters

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part X): One Breath and the Scully Men

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XI): The Last Conversations of One Melissa Scully

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XII): Prophecy, Death, and the Question of Fate

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XIII): The Erosion of Scully’s Security, on Tape

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XIV): When Nature Turns So Cruel

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XV): "Other Fathers", Deleted Scenes, and "Things to Prove"

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XVI): Crouching Cancer, Hidden Motives

Spooky Jr. Was Born in a Ghost Town

Mulder Is a Brooder; and Scully Is His Concluder

Scully and Christmas Ghosts

I Love the Unanswered Questions of the X-Files

Mulder Respects Scully’s Medical Choices in the Most Baffling Ways

Scully’s Failures and Her Villains

Mulder Has Max Fenig’s Cap in Beyond the Sea

Scully Is the Conduit Conductor and Mulder Is the Dancer

Mulder Didn’t Use Scully’s Apartment Key Until He “Belonged”

Frohike is THE Man

Mulder and Scully Picked Exes With the Most Red Flag Names Possible

Mulder, the Arcadia Trophy Husband

Mulder Trauma Responses: Fight, Flight, Freeze, or Fawn?

Scully Trauma Responses: Fight, Flight, Freeze, or Fawn?   

Arcadia Mulder and His Pillows

How Scully Taught Mulder to Hug

Alpha In-Depth: All Parts

Mulder and Dreams

Milagro In-Depth: All Parts 

How the Ghosts Stole Christmas In-Depth: Full Analysis

Scully's Speech in HTGSC Proves Mulder Is Her Ouroboros

Mulder and Scully Didn’t Want a “Network” Outside of Each Other

All Souls, Lost Girls, and Grief

Mulder’s Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part I): Waking Up to Miracles 

Mulder’s Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part II): PTSD and Guilt

Mulder’s Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part III): "Processing" How to Fit Back into a Healing World

Mulder’s Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part IV): Passive Mulder Turns Passive-Aggressive

Mulder’s Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part V): The Mutual Pain of Reconnection

Mulder’s Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part VI): Bonds Once Forged Cannot Be Broken

Mulder’s Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part VII): Trickery, Terror, and Tears

Movies Were Mulder's Comfort Placebo Pre-Scully

Mulder and "Killing" Scully

Scully, Snakes, and Reincarnation

CSM Inflicted Insanity On the Syndicate

Mulder’s Little Smile in the Paper Hearts Morgue

Mulder and Scully and the Graves of Many Little Girls

Elegy: A Lie Between Two Truths

Mulder and His Nests

Mulder’s Dichotomy in Three Words

Skinner’s Regrets

Fire and False Romance, Ice and Love

All IVF Roads Lead Away from The Unnatural and to Millennium

X-Cops and Vince Gilligan’s Mulder

The Cancer Arc and Scully's Reliance on Mulder's Strength

Tomboy Scully and Pretty Boy Mulder

Mulder and Scully's Love Story: Season 1

You’re a Magician, Scully

"Proving" Mulder Knew He Was the Father of Scully's Baby

Mulder and Scully Broke Each Other’s Patterns

AU Samantha and Schizogeny Thoughts

Explaining the Never Again Script

Dreams, Alternate Realities, and Agency

One Breath Walked So Firewalker (and Episodes Proceeding It) Could Run

The List: Setting the Stage for Scully’s Loneliness and Mulder’s Panic

Elegy Explanation (and Realization)

Scully and Matters of the Heart: S1-4

Gethsemane, Bill Scully Apologia, and Maggie the Emergency Contact

Mulder: Jewish or Religious References (and His S8 Funeral)

Little Green Men and Teliko Parallels

I Want to Believe: A Character Study in Disordered Writing

HTGSC: Old Tricks and New Lessons

Mulder and Vulnerability

Developed Psychic Ability and Death

Psychics Developed Their Abilities Through Alien DNA

Attractive Monsters and Mulder

Disproving CSM’s Conjecture in En Ami

An Evolution of Mulder and Scully’s Forehead Kisses

Bill Scully Kept Melissa Scully’s Photo in Baby Matthew’s Room

Update: The Therapist in The Red and the Black

Scully's Abduction, Emily Sim, and the Lost Scully Baby

Mulder’s a Big Wig in the Conspiracy Community (and Colonization Thoughts)

Mulder and Scully, Past Lives, and the White Buffalo Calf

Scully the Honest, Mulder the Relentless

The X-Files and Werewolves

An Avoidance Shared by Two

Scully and Emily Parallels

Dana Scully and Relationships: Initial Commitment and Cyclical Self-Doubt

Scully’s Survival Broke The Field Where I Died’s Cycle

Diana Fowley, the Four-Poster Bed Instigator (Perhaps)

Dreamland II: Golf Clubs, Diana Fowley, and Mulder’s Father

~~~Typing~~~ 

How to "Type" Personality Types: An Ultimate Resource 

MULDER, The Spooky INTP 

{{Extraction: Proving Mulder Is Not an INFJ/INFP}} 

SCULLY, The Enigmatic ISTJ

Mulder and Scully: Love and Touch for INTPs/ISTJs 

Dissecting ‘One Son’ (Part I)   

Dissecting ‘One Son’ (Part II) 

‘Never Again’ and Fear 

KRYCEK, An Unstoppable Manipulator

INTPs In Their Own Words 

SKINmanNER, The Bald and the Beautiful 

MAGGIE, The Passionate Scully

MELISSA, The Soulful ISFP

BILL SCULLY, Junior and Senior (and Charlie?)

~~~Musicals/Fan Vids/AMVs~~~

Fight Club (Finale)

Fight Club: Finale Redone with Less Kathy Griffiths

TINH: Scully’s Solo

S2 Abduction: Mulder’s Torment 

Drivin’ Right Along

Hungry: Everything Is Food

Our Town: Everything Is Food

Krycek and Marita: You’re My Little Choochie Face

Syzygy: Everything You Can Do I Can Do Better

Mulder and Samantha: Miracle of Miracles

Amor Fati: If I Never Knew You 

Arcadia: People Will Say We’re in Love 

Scully, Far from the Home She Loves

CSM and Diana: The Riddle  

The Mulders: Sunrise, Sunset

HTGSC: Christmas Can Can

Melissa: Mother Earth and Father Time

Monday: There’s Always Tomorrow

Memento Mori: I Bring You a Song

Pilot: I Ride Alone

Milagro: Hellfire

Darkness Falls: Walk Outside

Emily: Come to Me

~~~Extras~~~

React: "Return to Me" from the POV of Someone Averse to RomComs

Personality Typing: Return to Me

Personality Typing: Bringing Up Baby

React: Watching I Want to Believe for the First Time (and Losing My Mind)  

Personality Typing: Hank Moody, Maggie Scully, and ESTPs

What Happens Later: Misdirection and Miscommunication

What Happens Later: ESTJs, ESFPs, and Building Back Love ‘N Trust

David Duchovny’s Face: an Aesthetics Study

Seasonal Color Theory: a Reference Guide

Seasonal Color Analysis: David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson

Seasonal Color Analysis: David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Their Colors

Kibbe Body Types: Gillian Anderson

Kibbe Body Types: David Duchovny 

#Encyclopedia #Overview #mine #Collector's Edition #Curated #Short Fics #txf #x-files #xf fanfic #fic #meta #Analysis #Types #MBTI #but not #Typing #the Musical #xf fanvid #the x files #xfiles #xf meta #amv #vids #Review #movie #Trauma Responses #4 F Types #randomfashiontiger

[f4nrir]

hi ive never requested anything b4 but oh my god i am in love with your bottom!miguel writing. anything to do with marking n getting caught and also maybe if he gets overstimulated and cries,,, but i also just love your writing and would be ecstatic with whatever (: 🦇!

caught in the act

一 pairing; miguel o'hara x male reader

note: hi! i'm flattered, that means a lot to me you have no idea ‹𝟹. added a little twist at the end, i hope you like it!

cw: voyeurism/exhibitionism, caught in the act, bottom!sub!miguel, top!dom!reader, some orgasm denial, rough sex.

“shh, be quiet mi amor... you don’t want us getting caught do you?” you teasingly whispered into his ear, as the sounds of skin slapping filled the air along with miguel’s moans that he can’t seem to contain. each thrust fueled the feeling that was pooling in his stomach, knowing that his climax was close and each time you took that privilege from him to come. he was overstimulated, practically begging for release but toying with him is far better entertainment. 

“fuck! please, sir let me come i can’t do this anymore!” he mewled, tears quickly streaming down from his eyes. the sight of him so desperate for you only did wonders, as you felt yourself nearing your climax as well. seeing him cry and beg for more made you feel like you had power over him, especially since he had such an important role in the spider society. everyone looked up to him as a great leader, which he is, but no one could ever imagine the sight of him like this. 

you buried your face into his neck, continuing your mind-numbing thrusts as your teeth began to nip at his soft flesh. miguel gasped at the contact, letting out a moan louder than what he’s previously done. you quickly placed your hand on his mouth, stifling the rest to keep him contained. each bite and suck you made on his skin made him tremble, enjoying the feeling of being marked up by you. it was easy to cover it up due to your suits but you wanted more, you wanted everyone to know what you’ve done together. you placed the love bites higher up into his neck, especially right by his ear where he’s most sensitive. he bucked his hips up against you, emitting a soft groan from you. you pinned his hips back down as you mercilessly fucked into him, your thrusts becoming more belligerent with each movement. miguel clutched onto your back, his claws desperately clinging onto whatever surface he could. you hissed at each scratch, forgetting that he doesn’t know how to have proper control of his claws. 

“please… please! sir, i need more. i’m begging you, i’ve been good– ah!” you chuckled at his pathetic pleas as you placed your hand on his cock, gently brushing past his slit. not even your hand could suppress the moan that escape through and you shook your head, “if you don’t care about anyone stumbling in here, then so be it”. you fastened your pace as you worked on his cock, overstimulating him further with each touch. he continued to cry, if not, more and that action encouraged you even further to continue. you watched him as he arched his back, the bulge in his stomach becoming more prominent. a soft moan escaped your lips as you watched him unfold beneath you, fully submitting himself to your control and all he could do was pathetically moan while mumbling incoherent rambles. 

miguel’s moans come to a halt as you both detect footsteps advancing toward your direction, immediately sitting up only for you to slam him back down onto the table. “it’s too late now,” you cooed as you entered him again, a groan slipping from his lips. the force on his hips kept him pinned, no matter how hard he tried to budge he couldn’t escape your grasp. panic filled his mind but as you began to fasten your pace, his mind slipped away from his worries. he fought the feeling, he was scared for someone to stumble in and catch you both in the act but he couldn’t resist the feeling of having you inside of him. as the footsteps grew nearer, your excitement grew along with it and you felt yourself nearing your climax. you took a glance at miguel and just by his body language, you knew he was getting close as well. 

“c’mon baby, don’t be shy now.. you’ve been wanting this remember?” you encouraged him and he whined, throwing his head back against the desk as you both came together in synchrony. loud moans along with a mix of each other’s names filled the atmosphere and miguel completely covered your hand with his cum, unable to stop his orgasm just yet. 

how perfect timing. 

ben walked into the office with the sight of you both on the table. “hey fellas, i– oh shit,” he quickly stopped in his tracks, processing the sight in front of him, and was unable to look away as he watched miguel become undone underneath you.

“hey.. look at your leader now” you forced miguel to look at him and miguel groaned, staring at the other. ben was speechless, but you knew he enjoyed it as you noticed the tent that grew in his suit.

you placed a kiss against miguel’s lips as you snapped your hips into him once again, a whine escaping from his mouth. “i think we could put on a show for him, yeah?” you teased and miguel looked at ben, who was clearly flustered with the situation. 

“sit down and watch” you pointed to a nearby seat and he quickly followed your orders. 

#— zeppelin’s files 📁 #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x m!reader #spiderman 2099 #mlm smut #male reader #top reader #marvel x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara imagine #n/s/f/w #x reader

[jiraidanshi]

[he/it/doll] happy halloween ~

#egl #lolita fashion #lolita coord #guro lolita #nurse lolita #file type: .bmp #📸 #chara♥ #f #needles #x

[belovedbyers]

nov 22... ... rest in peace to this man john fitzgerald Kennedy...

but happy birthday to this man JOHN FITZGERALD BYERS

#BYERSNATION #JFB #BYERSGIRLS #SEXY

#john fitzgerald byers #the lone gunmen #byers #x files #the x files #john f kennedy