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thursdayinspace · 1 month

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So much to say about the Duane Barry episodes and Scully's abduction, but mostly I find it amazing how much relationship development they managed to pack into a handful of episodes that Scully is barely in at all. It's already set up nicely: the hostage negotiation, Mulder being frustrated because first he's asked to help and then has to find out they're withholding information from him. Once again, he's not being taken seriously; he has to turn to Scully again even though they're not even partners anymore. He still relies on her, she's still the only one he can really trust. She comes all the way out there with the information she digs up when she can't reach him. She talks into his ear to help him resolve the situation. Afterwards, when they find that implant in Duane Barry, they try to figure that out together as well. As we've seen throughout all the episodes before, they fall back into their partnership easily, like it's the most natural thing in the world for them. And then she's abducted and everything falls apart. That's where it really picks up and it becomes clear that everything up to this point has been little more than a (very well done and important) prologue.

Mulder's silence at the beginning of "Ascension" is almost frightening. It's certainly intense. Somewhere between withdrawn and hyperfocused, with a good dose of fear mixed in. He tells Scully's mother that she's not in her apartment, and after that we don't hear him speak again until a good way into the conversation in Skinner's office the next morning, a good five minutes into the episode even though he's in every scene before then. And when he barely puts up a fight when Skinner tells him to go home, you know he's going rogue. He does not trust them to find Scully, and he certainly can't sit and wait while she's out there with Duane Barry.

He pushes himself beyond his limits, almost falling asleep at the wheel but refusing to let Krycek drive -- he doesn't give up the tiniest sliver of control. When the tram operator won't let them take the tram up the mountain, Mulder has no problem showing him his gun. He pushes the tram beyond safety limits. Does his acrobatics out in the open who knows how high up in the air -- risking his life -- after Krycek stops the tram.

And holy shit the way he loses it when he spots Scully's blood and hair on Duane Barry's hospital band is truly scary, I don't think we've ever seen him that angry before. But on second thought, maybe angry is the wrong word. He's acting out of fear and panic. I don't think even an angry Mulder would choke anyone. He isn't thinking straight anymore, his responses are almost primal at this point. He hasn't slept, he's running on adrenaline, he's no closer to finding Scully and now he knows she's injured.

Finding out about Krycek, Skinner reopening the x files . . . it all seems almost secondary. Not as important as his meeting with Scully's mother and her telling him to keep the cross necklace. He didn't have anyone this entire time to lean on or to talk to. And he still doesn't, but this is the closest he gets. He and Scully's mom are in similar places. For them, this is personal. I love that they're bonding over this, over their love for Scully and their worry about her. (Whatever meaning you want to read into the word "love" between Mulder and Scully at this point.)

The beginning of "One Breath" is so intense, Mulder running into that room in the hospital to find her lying there unconscious, hooked up to a respirator. Anger fueled by blind panic. "Who brought her here?" "How did she get here?" "Who did this to her?" "Listen, if you’re hiding anything, I swear, I will do anything, whatever it takes, I will find out what they did to her!" I love the scene and I absolutely love the way it's acted, big thumbs up to DD. Getting her back could have been the emotional release of that arc, but she comes back in a coma. It spikes the angst to a whole new level. Before, he didn't know whether she was okay or not, he could hold onto hope. Now he knows she's not okay. Getting her back does not let him finally sit down and take a deep breath and process any of it. Nothing is resolved, the fight is just taken elsewhere.

I just want to take a second to think about the fact that he sigend her living will as her witness. That is. A very intimate thing to do. And that moment needs to get the credit it deserves. Knowing that they have talked about the event of her being unable to decide for herself, knowing she let him in, let him sign it, and the fact that he did it? That is a huge HUGE thing.

What is really intriguing is that Mulder and Melissa clash in the way they do, because you'd expect them to get along. I wonder if they would have gotten along better had they met under different circumstances. But here, Mulder is in a very different place. He tends to go to extremes when the stakes are high, his single-minded focus in this moment doesn't allow for anything but action. He still believes he can do something. He doesn't even go in with them when they decide to pull the plug -- he refuses to accept a reality where she dies. We see that again in the cancer arc, where he tells her as much when she tells him her cancer is untreatable.

If anyone would go to the trouble of putting together a list of the top ten most heartbreaking moments from the entire show, Mulder's visit to CSM and the way his voice breaks when he asks "Why her?" would have to be on it. "Why her and not me?" It's the way he says it, but it's also what's in that question that makes it so heartbreaking. Because that's what it all boils down to. He feels guilty. He asked in the hospital "Who did this to her?" And throughout these episodes, in his head, he has always considered that person to be himself. He did this to her. Something we get to hear again and again all the way into the revival when he tells her he wishes she'd left that basement earlier so she'd have been spared from all the things that happened to her. He feels responsible.

(Just a short digression: He is not responsible. I feel like that's a very important thing to remember. Something her brother should have been told in the cancer arc too. Holding Mulder responsible robs Scully of all agency and makes her nothing more than a loyal puppy. But unpacking Bill Jr.'s implicit misogyny, and why the way Mulder feels responisble for everything is not the same thing, that is for another post. If anyone has thoughts on that though, I'd love to hear them.)

A real Mulder moment is him choosing not to take revenge on the men responsible for Scully's abduction, after X pretty much hand-delivers them to him on a silver tray, but rather to go to the hospital after Melissa tells him it might be his last chance, that Scully is dying. He will choose Scully over everything every time. Sitting at her bedside, taking her hand, the way he speaks to her -- it becomes clear how deep the feelings go but also how fragile and undefined it all is between them. They're friends, they're partners, they've flirted, they've told each other some of their deepest secrets, and he has no idea how to be around her now. "I don’t know if my being here . . . will help bring you back. But I’m here." His pause there before "will help bring you back" kills me. He honestly has no idea. He can hope, but he just doesn't know if he'd be a contributing factor in her decision to come back or move on, if she even hears him, if it's even in her control. (I've always wondered when he says in the revival that he invented wishing someone back to life when she was in the hospital, whether he was talking about her cancer or about this moment, or maybe both.)

He gets his breakdown once he comes back home to his destroyed apartment. Sliding down the wall crying -- such a moment. There's no anger in that anymore. No action. He expects to be losing her at that point and all the fight has left him. Until he gets the phone call that she's okay.

Could the episode have benefited from a slightly longer scene at the end? Maybe. It seems a bit anticlimactic, after all he's been through, that he walks into her room, gives her that silly tape (such a Mulder thing to do), hands her the cross necklace back, and that's pretty much it. On the other hand, considering the scene by her bedside before, maybe it fits. He doesn't know where he stands with her, and she's with her family.

I do think the ending is a bit abrupt, but that can easily be forgiven with all that those episodes provided before that. If anyone can see more in that ending than I do, I'd love to hear it because I really don't quite know what to make of it. But they seriously sent Mulder on a journey there, and it worked. And it sets so many things in motion, for the plot and for their relationship.

#txf #the x files #x files #fox mulder #x files meta #thursday's x-files rewatch #I think I have to rewatch them again

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ao3topshipsbracket · 7 months

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hi, I don't understand sportsball at all, can you explain , like if I'm pre k, how seeding works ?

I thought yall just took the top 96 ships and broke them up into pairs ?

Seeding is a process of putting pairs into a bracket in an order determined by their ranking, so that the highest-ranked teams don't meet until later in the competition. This is intended to ensure that a very good team (or, in our case, ship) doesn't lose in round one because they were put against the only team better than them, and to make it so that the most exciting fights happen in the finals after steadily increasing hype rather than all the exciting matchups happening right at the beginning and leaving the bracket with a boring final.

To anyone reading this blog who might be interested in running your own bracket, I highly recommend seeding it rather than just choosing pairs at random; if you have a nominations period, you can seed by number of nominations, if you are drawing from a list that ranks them by popularity you can seed by that, etc. You can find lots of samples of bracket seeding on google to copy; here's an example of a 96-team seeded bracket from google images, but there are lots of other examples with different numbers of teams:

Of course, "number of ao3 fics" is an imperfect proxy for how well the ships actually did--Mulder/Scully and Spock/Kirk were both seeded fairly low due to not having many fics on ao3, but ended up as our finalists due to being such important pairings for fandom history. The fact that Mulder/Scully went against Destiel so early in the bracket is one of the mod team's only regrets about how this went--if we were redoing it, we would leave all the seeding the same except for changing Spirk and MSR to be seeded somewhere in the top 3 ships (either 1+2 or 2+3), rather than being 47th and 68th respectively!

#not a poll #asks

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television-overload · 3 months

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rain

an x-files fic for scully's birthday ♡

Summary: Two agents, caught in the rain again. Mulder does what he's always wanted to do.

Word Count: 727

Tag List (let me know if you want added or removed!): @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosas @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @slippinmickeys @teenie-xf @whovianderson

(fic below the cut if you prefer reading on Tumblr)

-.-.-

It's raining.

They're standing in a forest clearing somewhere in Arkansas, where Mulder swears he just saw some massive creature vanish into thin air, but as usual, Scully saw no such thing. The sky had opened up into a torrential downpour about 30 minutes ago, and that was when she'd officially checked out. It was his fault for telling her she wouldn't need an umbrella, she said. Her boots are covered in mud, and she's standing there looking so indignant that it's adorable. She's gesturing wildly with her hands, her mouth moving a mile a minute, and he's transfixed.

He can't hear a word she's saying, because it's raining and the time feels right.

They've been here before. In Bellefleur, Oregon. In Kroner, Kansas. Something about the rain just strips back that Scully-seriousness he knows and loves, and his mind wanders. Makeup washes away, and he sneaks a peek at the woman beneath the Agent Scully mask: Dana, with a smattering of freckles over her nose and hair that curls at the ends if she doesn't straighten it.

It's raining, the time feels right, and so he kisses her.

She's in the middle of yelling at him for bringing her out here in the middle of February, never mind that he at least took her to a warmer southern state where spring had come early. But she's yelling at him, and he just thinks she's so beautiful when she's yelling at me and he kisses her, springing toward her suddenly and catching her completely off guard.

As soon as she's within arms reach, he's pulling her to him, hands slipping over her drenched raincoat and encircling her back. He dips his head without warning and crashes his lips to hers, and it's a miracle he remains standing. The ground below him may as well be shifting in a landslide brought on by all this rain, for all he's able to steady himself.

Her lips are cold and wet from the downpour, but at the same time they're soft and warm, and he's wanted to do this for so long.

He hopes he hasn't overstepped. They've been dancing closer and closer to this point for years, and he thinks she feels the same. But he doesn't know until he feels her hand travel up his arm and find purchase on his jacket sleeve, gripping the soaked fabric tightly and not letting go.

She makes a noise, adjusting the angle slightly and then she's kissing him back, and the corners of his mouth stretch upward in an irrepressible smile. She feels it, finally pulling back with a matching expression on her lips, and he can't help it—he brings his hands up to her cheeks, brushing away rivulets of water from her skin with the pads of his thumbs. Stringy strands of hair are plastered to her face by the rain, and he brushes each one back with the utmost care and attention, until he can finally see her properly.

In the rain, she looks just as she did seven years ago in a darkened graveyard in Oregon, and it's like no time has passed at all. The thought had crossed his mind, back then. Wild and uninhibited, sprung from his own subconscious regardless of social taboos and other things that made her off-limits. She had laughed at him, and he had thought kiss her, catching even himself off guard with the sentiment.

He didn't kiss her then—he had more self control than that—but he did join in her laughter, the sound bubbling up inside him in a way he hadn't felt in so long. Like a long-dried out spring being brought back to life by the rain, she revived him, gave him new life, and he'd never felt as alive as he did with her. As he did in this moment.

He hears her laugh now, a goofy little giggle he adores so much, and he finds himself grinning, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of her head and pulling her to his shoulder.

His cheek rests against her damp hair, breathing in the scent of rain and lingering notes of her shampoo, and he closes his eyes, feeling his heart leap in his chest.

"Happy birthday, Scully," he says, and he thinks maybe next time, she won't mind the rain so much.

#txf #x files #xf fanfic #msr #rain #happy birthday dana scully #season 7 #fox mulder #dana scully

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baronessblixen · 7 months

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For the last time...

Prompt: 1. "It's not too late, let's go."

IVF arc, angsty fluff: They're supposed to go to the Gunmen's Halloween party, but there's something they need to make sure of first. (wc: 1,320)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 31: Trick or Treat

When she asks Mulder what she can bring to the Gunmen’s annual Halloween party, she doesn’t expect him to say paper towels. But he does. She repeats the word, and he laughs, saying yes, paper towels and he’ll explain later. That is why she’s at the drugstore at 5 p.m., looking for said paper towels. Except she’s in the wrong aisle. In front of her are pictures of smiling women, chubby-cheeked babies, and blue skies.

Pregnancy tests.

At first, she just stares at them. She just took a wrong turn and now she’s confused as to why there are pregnancy tests. Then, she takes one from the shelf. Just to see what it says. This isn’t the first time she’s buying a test. If she’s buying one, anyway. She bought one once, when she was in college where she prayed every night that she wasn’t pregnant. Another one a few weeks ago, and this time praying that she was. In the end, she’d been pregnant neither time. Third time’s the charm, she thinks.

“Paper towels,” she mumbles, reminding herself why she's really here, but she’s unable to leave the aisle. Her period is late. Has been for a few days. She didn’t think much of it – still doesn’t. It’s been late before. With their job, it seems a given. And yet.

She stares at the boxes and she thinks of Mulder. They only just started being intimate. She can still count their sexual encounters on one hand. That’s how new it is. Just thinking of him makes her feel warm all over. Somewhere across town, he’s getting ready for the Halloween party at the Gunmen's, unaware of what she’s going through. ‘We don’t need condoms’, she’d said that first time. Maybe, she thinks, glaring at the boxes, she was wrong.

She decides to buy a test. An emergency pregnancy test, so to speak. She quickly makes her way through the store, picking up the paper towels, and a bag of candy corn, suddenly craving the overly sugary treat. She pays for everything and hides the pregnancy test at the bottom of her bag. It’s in there just in case, after all.

At home, she puts the pregnancy test and its implications out of her mind. But every once in a while, she glances at her bag, where the test remains hidden. She snacks on the candy corn while she gets ready and waits for Mulder.

“Trick or treat.” A voice that’s distinctively Mulder’s follows after a series of knocks. Scully smiles, opening the door to him. He’s surrounded by several small kids, all grinning up at her, some of them with missing teeth. There’s a little Batman, a Spiderman, and a witch. Luckily, she prepared a bowl with candy and she hands each child some of it, and every single one thanks her. Watching them, she tears up, her hormones overwhelming her.

“Have a spooky night,” Mulder says to them and they giggle as they make their way to the next apartment.

“Hey you,” he says, but his smile quickly fades. “Scully? Are you okay?” She nods, turning away from him because she’s convinced she will start crying any second. She hears the door click close and Mulder follows her inside. He’s gentle as he puts his arms around her from behind.

“What is it?” he whispers into her ear. “Did something happen?”

“No,” she replies truthfully. “I think I’m just tired.” She doesn’t want to burden Mulder with possibilities. Or pipe dreams. She isn’t pregnant. She can’t be pregnant. Buying that test was the worst idea she’s had in a long time.

“We can just stay in,” he says. “Hand out candy to the kids, go to bed early.”

“We’re not 80, Mulder,” she says, finding herself chuckling. She hopes they’re still doing this in 10 years, in 20. Maybe even when they’re 80.

“I know we aren’t.” He waggles his eyebrows at her. “I can think of lots of things we can do staying home.” He’s nuzzling her neck, his nose tickling her skin. She playfully pushes him away and he just grins at her with a dreamy look. What if their child smiles that exact same way? Her expression falters. There is no what if. There’s no child.

“Hey, what did I say? I know it’s Halloween, but you’re scaring the shit out of me.” Instead of answering him, she picks up her bag and hands it to him.

“Look inside,” she says quietly. He takes out the paper towels and then gasps. His eyes shoot up and meet hers.

“Is that- did you take it? Are you? Is it? Are you all right, Scully?”

“I didn’t take it. I don’t know why I bought it. I’m late, and I- I just stood there and I got it just in case. It was a dumb idea.”

“Since when do you eat candy corn?” Mulder asks and for a moment she’s perplexed. He points at the small bowl on the table. “You hate that stuff.” Unlike him, who stuffs one of the colorful treats into his mouth.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I felt like eating it.”

“Take the test, Scully,” he says, pressing the box into her hand. “I think… I think maybe today is a good day to test fate.”

“The Gunmen are expecting us.”

“They can wait. This can’t.”

“It’s not too late,” she says, trying to tug at his sleeve. “Let’s go.” He slowly shakes his head at her. It’s now or never.

“I’ll even hold your hand.”

“While I pee?”

“If that’s what you want,” he says solemnly.

“You can hold my hand after.”

And that’s what he does. His hand is sweaty, and she feels the restlessness inside him. If he weren't holding her hand, he'd be pacing. But she needs his strength, and he gives it to her willingly.

“Do you want me to talk?” he asks. “Or be quiet? I can do either.”

“You can talk, Mulder,” she says softly, smiling.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first.”

“This is too important,” he says. “I don’t want to jinx it. Which one do you think did it?” She turns to look at him. “I think it was the second time. Not the first. We didn’t know what we were doing. The second time. I think that’s when it took.”

“Mulder, we don’t know what the test is gonna say.”

“When have I ever been wrong? About anything that’s important?” She wants him to be right. She’s never wanted anything as much as this. “Your hand is ice-cold, Scully.”

“I’m nervous.”

“So am I, but I have a good feeling. A very good feeling. How much longer?” A moment later, the alarm dings. Scully’s heart races in her chest. The next second will change everything. The greatest joy or the biggest disappointment.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she says, her voice breaking. “Can you look?”

“You want me to do it? Are you sure?” She nods, tears in her eyes. She watches Mulder reach for the test with trembling hands. Her eyes are on his face, trying to read it. He blinks at the small plastic stick before he turns to her. “Trick or treat, Scully?”

“What?” she asks.

“Trick or treat,” he repeats, trying to keep his face neutral. But there’s something. A glimmer. Her heart is still racing, but she’s going to take a chance.

“Treat,” she says.

He shows the test to her, his hand shaking. “We’re gonna have a child,” he says with a laugh.

“We’re,” she begins, breaking off. She takes the test from him and there it is. Clear as day. She’s pregnant.

“I knew it when I saw the candy corn,” he says, taking her into his arms. “You’re pregnant, Scully. We did it. We got our miracle.”

“We did,” she says, still in awe. “We really did it.”

#fictober23 #we did it #*I* did it #thank you everyone #i had no idea what to write today #so this thing happened #i hope that's okay <3

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mindibindi · 11 months

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That scene early on in "Firewalker" where Mulder pulls Scully aside, as in: they're walking down a corridor going somewhere to do something case-related and he finds a whole room with no one else in it, calls her into it and closes the door behind her just so that they can conflab. And at first he didn't want her on the case cos it's her first case back and he's still worried about her getting hurt/dead (so of fucking course it's a case where an arrogant, driven, crazy genius ruins the life and causes the death of the young, brilliant, promising woman he loved cos he drew her into his dark underground world. Literally.) But now that she's there with him, he's wants to debrief at the earliest opportunity and Scully is like: Well, we've been here like 20 minutes, there's not a hell of a lot to debrief yet. But Mulder is all: Yeah, but it's been 23 years since we worked a case together, I need this, Scully. And Scully is like: Okay weirdo, tell me you missed me without telling me you missed me. And Mulder is like: Just tell me I sound crazy, like you used to. And Scully is like: Well, now that you mention it you do sound kinda crazy. And Mulder is like: Okay, I feel appropriately reined in. Let's go solve this case. And Scully gives him a weird look but then they do go solve the case (without her getting hurt/dead and Mulder is so: phew! *soft cheek stroke*)

#txf #the x files #msr #mulder x scully #fox mulder #dana scully #david duchovny #gillian anderson #post-abduction mulder is so soft

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leiascully · 8 months

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X-Files OctoberFicFest Day 2: Eat

This year, I'm using the 2022 prompts from @artpromptcal.

Fox Mulder can't remember his mother telling him to eat. Strange, for a Jewish mother. Everyone else showed up to camp with snacks tucked underneath the socks in their trunk. But Mulder's mother didn't pack his things, didn't leave him little treats. Most of them got confiscated anyway, under threat of bears, and redistributed by the dining hall. Still, he had none. He gnawed his way through other mothers' stashes of beef jerky and stale cookies.

Not even after Sam's abduction, when the neighborhood women banded together to bring wave after wave of casseroles and stews, did Teena Mulder heap her son's plate. He can't remember her ever pushing another serving of anything at him. She barely ate. Neither did his father. Dinners at their house were a sad affair. He thinks they scraped more leftovers into the trash in those years than they ever ate. Meanwhile, he hunched over his plate, scraping every morsel into his mouth, unable to satisfy the hurt that gnawed inside him.

"Fox, will you eat something?" Maggie Scully says as he keeps vigil beside Scully's bed. She's all right now, only sleeping, but he sits anyway, in the waning hours that the hospital will tolerate visitors. She fell asleep mid-conversation, and it's strange to be here, but comforting too.

"I am a little hungry," he admits. Maggie produces a sandwich from her purse: peanut butter and grape jelly, squashy but serviceable. "Thank you."

"You need to keep your strength up too," Maggie tells him, smiling gently.

"For her." Mulder nods to the angelic shape in the bed.

"For both of you." Maggie puts a hand on his shoulder.

Somewhere deep inside him, some hunger eases.

#leiascully fic #xfiles octoberficfest #octoberficfest #my fic sort of

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sisterspooky1013 · 7 months

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Gaslight, Chapter 27/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

PART FOUR

When Mulder stalks out and the door slams behind him Scully startles, and Byers squeezes her shoulders in reassurance.

“Well, that went about as well as a baptism at a whore house,” Frohike says dryly.

“It’s okay, Agent Scully,” Byers says, and she breaks away from him and walks back into the living room.

“Did you find anything yet?” she asks, scanning the surfaces around Langly’s computer. Her chest is tight and her eyes are blurring over, but she tries to distract herself with details.

“Sort of,” Langly says as he approaches and takes his seat. “We got as far as locating the database that we’re pretty sure houses the information we need, but the level of security on it is way higher than anything we’ve encountered before. We have some of the most advanced hackers we know working on it, but it’ll take time,” he explains.

“Okay,” she says with a nod, avoiding meeting any of the men’s eyes. “That’s good progress. How are you all feeling this morning?” she adds.

“Fine,” Frohike says, representing the group. “I don’t feel any different, but when I saw Mulder I just…knew him.”

“That’s good,” she says in a tight whisper. “Could you—” she starts, then pauses to clear her throat. “Could you take me back, please, Langly?” She just wants to be alone.

“Okay,” he says, stealing a glance at Byers. She can tell that they’re worried about her, but she can only manage her own emotions at the moment.

“We’ll call you as soon as we know anything,” Byers assures her.

“Thank you. For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without your help,” she says sincerely.

“Get some rest,” Frohike adds before she walks through the door into the garage.

She’s silent on the short drive back to the safehouse, and she can sense Langly’s discomfort. She bids him a brief farewell and makes her way inside, holding it together until she latches all four deadbolts behind her. She enables the security system, the final step, and then she falls apart.

The hardest part was his smell. Aftershave and toothpaste, and something metallic and earthy that stoked the fires of her deadened memory recall. The urge to touch him was so overwhelming, she’d had to fold her hands in her lap to stop herself. The cadence of his voice, the flash of his angry eyes, the way he shook his head in frustration. Like an earthquake pushing buried artifacts to the surface, memories tumbled forward unbidden, and it was all she could do to focus on the matter at hand.

She makes it to the couch and collapses in a heap, racking sobs rattling her chest and slickening her tongue. If he doesn’t believe her, what’s the point of all this? What future does she have without him? She may as well have carried on back in Ellicott City. The fabricated life that was prepared for her looks ideal compared to where she is now: alone, and afraid, and in danger.

You’re my one in five billion.

You made me a whole person.

You are my constant, my touchstone.

How could she have known that this would be even worse than living a lie? To remember with acuity how it felt to love him, to be loved by him, to understand the depth of her loss. Perhaps the people behind this really did do her a kindness. Perhaps she is the one who made the wrong choice.

Somewhere in the onslaught of tears, she falls asleep.

“What is this place?” Mulder asks, but the armed man just pushes him forward by his cuffed hands, and he stumbles to the ground.

“Mulder,” she calls out as she tries to go to him, but her own escort pulls her back and the metal on her cuffs digs painfully into her wrists.

They come to a set of glass doors and wait as their escorts request entry. The doors slide open, and she is nudged forward with the butt of a rifle against her back. As they pass through a small vestibule, a blast of warm, antiseptic air pushes her hair in all directions and it falls across her face, obscuring her vision. Someone grabs her upper arm, and she is pulled roughly away from the door and further into the building.

“Mulder!” she yells again, bending her knees and going slack in an attempt to prevent being moved to a new location.

“Where are you taking her?!” she hears him bellow, and then the sharp thwack of something striking his skull.

“Get up,” an unkind voice barks at her, and she is yanked to her feet. Her shoulder pops and a hot stab of pain lights up at the joint.

“Mulder!” she cries out again, tossing her head to the side to move her hair out of her eyes. She sees him on the ground, conscious but writhing and disoriented. “Mulder!” she screams again as they drag her away, the heels of her boots squeaking against the linoleum. “Mulder!”

She wakes with a start, her heart pounding and her ears ringing. It felt so real that she lays a hand on her shoulder, expecting it to be tender to the touch. As her heart slows, she realizes the burner phone the Gunmen gave her is ringing, and she scrambles to dig it out of her purse.

“Hello?”

“Agent Scully, are you all right? I’ve called you half a dozen times,” Byers says, part chastisement, part concern in his voice.

“Sorry, I fell asleep. What time is it?” she asks, noting that the sun has shifted in the sky, but it’s very much daytime.

“Nearly 3:00 pm,” he tells her. She almost feels guilty for wasting the day, but it’s not like she had anything productive to do anyway.

“Did you find something new?” she asks, sitting back down on the couch. She needs to use the restroom, but it will have to wait.

“No, not yet,” he says, and she feels a little pang of disappointment. “But that’s not why I called,” he continues. “Mulder came back.”

She’s so struck that she drops the phone. It slides under the couch, and she gets down on her belly and snakes her arm underneath it while yelling for Byers to wait for her. Finally, she fishes it out and puts it back to her ear.

“He came back? He’s there now?” she asks, trying to temper her own hope.

“No, we decided that it’s unwise to have him at the house as long as he still has his chip. Frohike and I are taking him to a diner, and Langly is on his way to come pick you up and take you there, if that’s all right.”

“Yes, I’ll be ready in five minutes,�� she says as she stands and heads towards the bathroom.

“He’ll call you when he’s outside,” he says, and she hangs up.

She brushes her teeth, wipes away the streaks of mascara on her cheeks, freshens her makeup, and changes her now-wrinkled shirt. She looks at herself in the mirror and wonders what he sees when he looks at her. A stranger? She wishes she could recall how it felt to have him look at her with recognition. With affection. With love.

Her phone rings again and she leaves the apartment, her nerves a tangled mess.

When she enters the diner, which makes the average greasy spoon look like a Michelin star establishment, Mulder is on one side of the booth with his back to the door, and Frohike and Byers are seated across from him. Frohike looks up when she walks in, and Mulder twists in his seat to see who has arrived. His eyes flick once from her head to her feet and then he turns back to the men as she approaches.

“Hi,” she says softly when she arrives at the head of the table, unsure where to start.

He looks up at her and pushes his mouth into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Hi.”

“Mr. Spender has some questions,” Frohike says. “About the chip, specifically.”

“Okay,” she says with a nod. “What would you like to know?”

Realizing that there isn’t anywhere for her to sit except next to him, Mulder slides to the back of the booth to make space for her. She sits on the outermost edge of the bench, giving him as much space as possible though every cell in her body is reaching for him.

“Well, for starters, how did you obtain this information? I assume you didn’t stumble across the chip by accident?”

His tone tells her that he is very much still on the defensive, which is understandable. If he hasn’t had the same experiences she has, if he feels rooted in his fabricated life, this kind of news would be incredibly unsettling, and she probably wouldn’t believe it herself.

“I knew that something wasn’t right,” she begins, keeping her body facing forward while giving him intermittent glances. “I had reasons to believe that something was being kept from me, but I learned about the chip from a man who only identified himself as Alex. He was a defector of sorts who previously worked with and for the men who did this to us. He told me about the chip and its function.”

“And you believed him?” he asks, incredulous.

“I had doubts, of course, but I believed him enough to give it credence. That same night I removed the chip from my husband’s neck…or the man who I was told was my husband. It was clear by the next morning that what Alex said was true,” she tells him.

She feels his eyes on her and she turns her head to find him giving her an appraising look.

“In what way was it clear?”

She sucks in a breath.

“He described it as a feeling of blankness. He felt off, but he couldn’t say exactly how right away. As the day wore on, he realized he couldn’t remember things he’d known the night before, like what our son likes for breakfast or how to do the job he’s held for over five years.”

“I thought you said the chip erases memories, but removing it caused memory loss as well?” he clarifies, and his tone is slowly shifting from defensive to curious.

“Well, yes and no,” she says, pausing to consider the best way to explain it. “Alex said that the chip contains memories, manufactured ones that help you to accept your new life as reality. So Cal, my husband, never actually knew what Peter likes for breakfast. That information was given to him by way of the chip. And he likely never learned how to code for his job as a software developer, that was also part of the manufactured memories. So when the chip was removed, those false memories were removed with it.”

Mulder sits back, pondering.

“What about the medication?” he asks.

“To my understanding, the chip holds the new memories, and the medication helps suppress recall of the existing ones. I’m sure it’s more complex than that, but my experience was that once I stopped taking the medication, I started having vivid dreams. When I removed the chip, I started remembering during waking hours when exposed to something that triggered a memory.”

He turns his head towards her and they lock eyes for a moment. She’s back in the kitchen from her dream, lost in the depth of his evergreen irises. Her belly tumbles, her heart aches, and there is a single throb from between her legs. He makes her feel everything possible that there is to feel with just a look.

“You remembered me?” he asks with an edge of skepticism.

She nods, not trusting her voice to remain steady, and Mulder heaves a sigh and looks at his coffee cup.

“So you removed your husband’s chip?” he asks the tabletop, and Scully looks over to Frohike and Byers to confirm that they also see where this is headed.

“Yes, I did,” she says.

“I gather that you went to medical school?” he says, lifting his head.

She swallows.

“Yes, I did.”

He gives her a doubtful look.

“A doctor and an FBI agent?” he asks tartly, and she feels like she’s losing him.

“Agent Scully is a trained medical doctor,” Byers pipes in. “She was recruited into the FBI out of medical school, and her training has been helpful to your work on countless occasions,” he says sternly, and she feels a surge of gratitude for him.

“Okay,” Mulder says, acquiescing. “I guess there’s little risk, right? If you don’t find a computer chip in my neck, will you call off your cronies?” he says, giving them each a questioning look.

“We don’t have any cronies,” she says with some irritation, “and I’m very confident that I will find a chip in your neck. But if I don’t, I can promise that we won’t contact you again.”

It’s a risky bet to make, but she feels like there are no other viable options.

“Deal,” he says, holding out his hand for her to shake.

She freezes, struck by the prospect of touching him, but she doesn’t want him to read her overwhelm as hesitance. She takes his hand, and he wraps his fingers around the back of her palm, dwarfing it. His skin is warm and smooth, and she closes her eyes for a moment as she recalls how it feels against her cheek.

“Deal,” she says hoarsely.

They set up a makeshift surgery center in the Gunmen’s van outside a Walgreens. Mulder, still unwilling to trust them, asks Byers to hold a mirror up to the site of the incision so he can observe via reflection in a second mirror that he will hold in his hand. This, he tells them, will help him feel confident that if there is a chip, it came from his body.

When Scully brushes an alcohol swab over the back of his neck he shivers, and she reflexively lays her hand on his shoulder. He startles, and she pulls it away quickly, murmuring, “Try to hold still.” They wait for the lidocaine to take effect, and then she asks him if he’s ready.

“Can you lift the mirror up a bit higher?” Mulder directs Byers. “And then tilt it down a bit. There, that’s perfect.”

She can see Mulder’s face reflected in the mirror that he’s holding, and she has to remind herself to keep her eyes on the task at hand. He doesn’t flinch when she drags the blade across his skin and a bright red line of blood beads along the incision. Carefully, she goes deeper, then retrieves the forceps and a square of gauze, blotting away fresh blood and exploring the tissue beneath his scar. When she sees a silvery glint, she stops.

“I see it,” she says, stilling her hands.

“Where?” Mulder asks, his eyes flicking around as he tries to make sense of the image reflected back to him.

Scully moves to the side so Byers can bring the mirror closer. They shift around to perfect the view, and Scully rinses the area with saline to clear away the blood.

“Right there, see?” she asks, indicating the chip with the tip of the forceps.

“I think so,” he says. “Can we leave the mirrors like this while you take it out?”

She puffs a little irritated sigh, but if this is what he needs in order to believe her, then it’s worth the awkward angle she’ll have to take to extract the chip. Slowly, she nudges the chip free from the surrounding tissue, then rinses it again.

“Do you see it?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Mulder says flatly.

She steals a glance at his face in the mirror, and he looks pale and stricken. She is at once empathetic to his distress, and delighted at the prospect that he’s finally coming around.

“I’m going to place it on this square of gauze, and then you can have a closer look,” she tells him, meeting his eye in the mirror to gain his consent.

She frees the chip, wiping it onto the square of gauze before she sets them both in the center of his palm, and he examines them closely while she sutures his wound. When she’s finished, she sits back and joins the Gunmen as they all watch Mulder, waiting for his reaction.

He’s hunched over with the chip inches from his nose, and while he appears to be giving it a thorough inspection, she sees that his eyes are unfocused and vacant.

“Are you okay?” she asks, and he looks up at her with a mildly surprised expression, as though he’d forgotten that he wasn’t alone.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he asks with childlike helplessness, and without thinking she reaches out and lays her hand over his wrist, squeezing once.

“I was hoping we could figure that out together,” she says, working to keep the maelstrom of emotions swirling around her heart and mind out of her voice.

He nods, then looks away.

They destroy his cell phone, which he’d already had the good sense to turn off, and ditch both it and the chip in a dumpster behind an adult video store. Confident that his location can no longer be tracked, they all return to the Gunmen’s to make a game plan. Frohike pours them each a shot of tequila, and she considers telling Mulder about the poker night they spent drinking the first half of the bottle, but doesn’t want to overwhelm him.

“To the truth,” Frohike says, raising his glass.

Mulder lifts his glass in a halfhearted toast, then takes several small sips. He’s been withdrawn and sullen since she removed his chip, and she desperately wants to ask him what’s on his mind. Is he remembering anything? Is he remembering her? She sees him toying with his wedding ring and realizes that she is not the woman on his mind right now.

“Hey, we got something from LiminalLurker,” Langly calls from his computer, and Scully, Byers and Frohike scurry across the room and huddle around the screen.

“Did she get in?” Frohike asks excitedly.

“Not quite, but she found a vulnerability that she has her team working on. This is the most promising lead we have so far.”

“Get in to what?” Mulder asks, and she looks back to see him still seated on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees.

“A heavily guarded database that we think belongs to the Spurious Project,” Langly tells him. “If we can get into it, we should have the keys to the whole damn kingdom,” he finishes with a mischievous smirk.

“Spurious?” he asks, and she realizes that there is still so much he doesn’t know. She isn’t sure if he’s ready to hear it.

She walks back to the couch and sits on the other end of it, leaving him an entire empty cushion as a buffer. He keeps his head down, though she sees his eyes flick over to her.

“It’s the name of the group that developed the memory manipulation program, to our understanding,” she says, and waits for him to ask questions.

He’s quiet for a few moments, continuously running his thumb across his wedding band. It hadn’t occurred to her to remove her own until the day prior, and it felt like a betrayal to bury it at the bottom of her purse, even though she knows that Cal wasn’t the one who gave it to her. If anyone on this planet is capable of understanding his turmoil, it’s her.

“Why—” he starts, and then pauses to pull in a deep breath. “Why would someone do this? Why would she—”

He stops again, shaking his head. He’s overwhelmed, she can easily see that. Part of her feels guilty for putting him through this.

“I don’t know,” she answers. “We saw or learned something that we weren’t supposed to, and this was how they chose to ensure that we wouldn’t tell anyone else.”

He sits up and runs his hands through his hair, then looks over at her.

“What did we see?”

She gives him a sympathetic smile and shrugs.

“You don’t remember?” he asks.

“No,” she tells him. “Not yet.”

The doorbell chimes, and they all look at one another.

“Check the camera, Ringo,” Frohike whispers harshly, and Langly rolls his chair over to another bank of screens.

“Looks like a door to door salesman,” he says, and Byers moves toward the door.

“Wait!” Mulder says, and they all freeze. “It could be a decoy, right?” he suggests without much confidence.

Scully feels a smile tug at her mouth. This little glimpse of him is like a balm on her heart.

“Shit, you’re right,” Frohike says.

The doorbell rings again.

“C’mon,” Frohike says with a come hither motion, and Mulder and Scully rise from the couch and follow him into the back of the house. In a messy, cluttered bedroom, Frohike throws back an area rug and tugs on a small metal ring set into the carpet. A door appears in the floor, and it becomes clear that they are meant to climb down into whatever darkness lies below. “C’mon, hurry up,” Frohike says again, urgently, and Scully descends blindly down the hatch.

The small space is dimly lit, and once Mulder makes his way down the ladder, the trap door slams shut over their heads and plunges them into pitch black. They hear the muted thump of the rug being thrown back over the door, and then Frohike’s footsteps as he leaves the room.

Scully strains her ears, but she can’t make out anything. The harder she tries to listen, the louder the ambient sounds in their little den become. The hum of something mechanical that she hopes is ventilation, the steady rush of Mulder’s breaths, and then the wet tick of his mouth opening in preparation to speak. She waits, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What?” she finally asks in the smallest whisper she can produce.

“Nothing,” he whispers back, then clears his throat.

She hears the scuff of his feet on the floor before he bumps into her, knocking her off balance. She barely suppresses a surprised squeak as she reaches out for something to grab onto, and what she ends up grabbing is the front of his T-shirt over his belly. She fists the fabric to steady herself, and he cups both her elbows in his hands for the same reason. When she is no longer at risk of falling, she reluctantly lets go, and so does he.

“I was going to say that I’m sorry,” he says softly. He’s standing so close to her that she can smell the tequila on his breath.

“For what?”

There’s a pause, and she revels in the heat of his body radiating against her, and the familiar smell of his skin.

“For not believing you,” he finally says. “And for being kind of a dick about it.”

“It’s okay,” she says sincerely. “I would hope that most people would exhibit some degree of skepticism if told by a stranger that their entire life is a well-orchestrated cover up.”

He chuckles, and she lets herself smile in the dark, teeth and all.

They hear footfalls, and wait as the rug is moved and the door is tugged open. She cringes and closes her eyes as a blast of light blinds her, then tries to feel her way to the exit. Mulder grabs her hand and leads her to the ladder, then stands back to let her go up first. She gives him a long look, but he doesn’t seem to feel anything. Not yet.

“Who was it?” Mulder asks as they re-enter the living room.

“Just some folks who wanted to tell us the good word of Jehovah,” Frohike says dryly. “But they didn’t look very godly, if you ask me.”

“You think they were looking for us?” Scully asks fearfully.

“They may have been,” Byers says. “Mulder’s chip was here long enough that they could have tracked his location. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here, Mulder.”

Mulder gives him a strange, unreadable look.

“He’s right, it’s not safe,” Scully says, backing up Byers.

“I know, I understand,” he tells them both. “It’s not that, it’s just strange that you keep calling me Mulder. It’s just—it’s not my name.”

Scully sucks in a breath. One step forward, two steps back.

“Do you have another safehouse?” Scully asks the men, and Frohike shakes his head.

“Never thought we’d need a backup,” he admits.

“Okay. Then Jeff can stay with me. If that’s okay with you, Jeff,” she says. The fake name leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

Mulder considers this for a moment and then nods.

“I don’t have anything with me, clothes or toiletries,” he says.

“You can borrow some of my things for tonight, and we’ll do some shopping for you this evening,” Byers offers.

“Okay then,” Mulder says, clapping his hands together once. “We better get going.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles #thexfiles

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aloysiavirgata · 2 months

Note

So lately I’ve been very grateful for friends and read something that likened good ones to someone holding an umbrella over you in a downpour. Even when it’s just a silly text that gives you a smile on a shit day.

Anyway, thinking of that made me hanker for a prompt: AU, either Mulder or Scully stuck in a downpour when suddenly a handsome/pretty stranger opens an umbrella over their head.

Cheers to the real ones.

It’s raining.

It’s been raining forever, she thinks. Since she buried him, her belly like a full moon. Her belly pulling at her hips. Since she delivered his son and put lanolin on her chapped nipples and went shh, shh, through endless colicky nights full of Mylicon drops.

Since she handed the stranger - Vanessa, but still a stranger - her son and thought Eili, eili, lama sabachtani?

Raining since then, somewhere. Cold and grey and numbingly staccato. Raining, raining. The sky so fleecy and low.

She’s looking up at his apartment, as she does now; her belly flat as a Midwest highway.

“Jesus,” the man says, canting his umbrella over her as well. It’s a big golf umbrella, pied, as the most beautiful things are. “You look cold in this rain,” he says, tall and handsome as the surgeon she planned to marry once.

Once.

“I left it at work,” she says, a little breathless.

The man smiles down. “Jacob,” he says, and holds out his hand. He’s heterochromatic; one eye as blue as her own, as William’s. One eye as strange as Mulder’s.

“Dana,” she says, a little hitch in her voice. A little sob.

She’s cold and cold and cold, even with her hair grown out around her hollow face. Even with Doggett, who says “Agent Scully.”

Even with Skinner, who says, “Scully. Dana, DANA.”

***

Jacob, didn’t he fight an angel? Didn’t he wait fourteen years for the woman he loved? She’s drunk on a mid-range Beaujolais, can’t remember.

Fucks Jacob so she doesn’t freeze. Doesn’t burn. It’s good and warm and honest and she’s so very sorry. She’s so sorry, his lashes like the fringe on a velvet lampshade.

Scully sees his umbrella against the wall, wet and black and white. Furled like the wings of a bat as she leaves. The moon outside is a crescent. A rib. scythe.

“I love you,” she gasps, to no one. “I love you always.”

Grief is love with nowhere to go.

It’s drizzling, noncommittal and misty. “Spitting,” Mulder would say. Oxford.

He would say it, if he were here.

***

Jacob calls, even when the sun is shining.

She doesn’t answer. She looks away.

He calls less.

He doesn’t call.

***

“All things counter, original, spare, strange;

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

Praise him.”

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #my fic #msr #prompt #inbox #William #season 8 #pied beauty #gerard manley hopkins

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darkenedreaper · 1 month

Text

Pairing: Dana Scully x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slight angst, light fluff, light smut

Summary: You and Dana have a history and are forced to work with one another, but feelings come flooding back when you see her partner in crime, Mulder

A/N: Been in the drafts for a while and I’m thirsty

Jealousy Does All Sorts (1)

You and Dana had gone through college and university with each other before she joined the FBI. You had wild night outs in university, in the prescience of simply each other and friends. Wild nights for you and Dana consisted of a few different meanings. It could’ve simply been a night out with all your friends drinking, a night out getting drunk with the pure intention to have crazy sex somewhere, a crazy sex night itself, studying and testing each other, or ordering takeaway and watching a movie. Although you were close and intimate with each other neither of you confirmed what you really were. Perhaps that’s why it was so easy for her to go her own way, at least you thought it was easy for her. You knew she wanted to join the FBI, you did yourself but things changed for you within a short time. Rather than continuing on down your career path alongside Scully you decided to join the military on short notice. You said to yourself you’d do it for a few months for the experience but little did you know a few months would turn into a few years. When you both graduated you drifted apart suddenly, your deployment was a few days after the graduation and Dana had her own plans starting the FBI as soon as she could. You never said goodbye to each other but you knew where the other was going. Neither you nor Dana kept in touch with anyone from University, everyone moved on.

A few years down the line you were a Captain for a few squads, you’d seen the enemy die, comrades die, you’d had your fair share of new recruits come and go. You were still young and you wanted to chase the FBI role before you were dedicated to the army for life, so you left. Your team threw a ‘party’ for you and sent you off with a stern salute. Dana had also seen her fair share of things over the years in her job. She’d seen things you couldn’t make up or draw on paper, but she was happy to say the least. She was partnered with Mulder and had been with him since she started, so the two of them were relatively close; him more so open about it than her. She was snapped out of her daydreaming and thinking by Mulder, he was joking about the new intake that was about to arrive. This intake didn’t need any training or a shadow phase of any sort, this intake would’ve been interviewed on skills, qualifications and background. Mulder liked to make fun of them and pick them apart, say that joining the job that way was the easy way in, or calling them a bunch of frauds. Scully didn’t like to take much notice of Mulder picking because she knew how extensive and experienced the background of the individuals had to be. She would question Mulder on it because after all they were the same rank.

You waited in the canteen fiddling with your new badge ‘Agent L/N’, it could grant you access to places and rooms you couldn’t access as a civilian let alone a Captain in the army. You’d be lying to yourself if you said Dana hadn’t been on your mind since your application got accepted. You never forgot what she looked like, you were sure she’d work here but you doubted yourself. There was every chance she could’ve walked past you and you hadn’t recognised her. But no that wouldn’t have happened. The mental and physical training you received from the army, your brain wouldn’t let you forget such a significant face. You looked a little different to what you did in University. You looked a little more stoic, your eyes had seen more than the normal citizen. You had a small but aging battle scar on the top of your eyelid cutting up to your eyebrow. Your hair was different, you were lean, but other than that nothing else had changed, at least you thought.

Your intake hadn’t been given offices just yet. It was still being worked out if anyone was going to be sharing an office or having their own. You wished for your own, you were a little bit more reserved now after being betrayed by who you thought were teammates but really were working for the enemy. But still you tried to keep a positive outlook for life. After examining the canteen and the agents in it, you thought it was chilled and relaxed. Your thought were interrupted when the boss came to speak to your intake, announcing those that got their own offices, and those that would share. You were pleased to see the sight you saw when you left the elevator and walked down a corridor. ‘Y/n L/, Special Agent was written on a piece of paper blu-tacked to the door whilst your plaque was on its way. You scanned around seeing some storage rooms, Skinners office, a break room, a meeting room, some other agents rooms, and a Fox Mulder Special Agent, was 4 doors down from you. You made a mental note of the names that were in your corridor. Unlocking your door with your new key you had a look around in your new office, it was cold looking, neat but cold. There was chalkboards and cork boards, a computer, a chair, another desk and a spare chair that was facing your desk. And there were some spare supplies for you to decorate your office with. There was a metal locker and a projector. Stuff that would come into use. You were happy to see that the clock was working because it read that it was lunchtime. Heading down to the canteen you slung your lanyard that carried your badge and key on it around your neck and shut your door to lock it.

Just as you were turning round a red haired woman flashed passed your eyes at the bottom of the corridor. You didn’t see her face but you couldn’t shake the colour of her hair. She was only short and petite, she was dressed and seemed to move elegantly. It was a flash, a blur even, but she was making her way into Fox Mulders room. You tried to shake it off, tried to shake Scully off of your mind. It was your first day and you didn’t want to piss anyone off. Off to the canteen you went, with a redhead on your mind. You didn’t really eat dinner. It was a little much and after being out the military for 2 or 3 months it was too much compared to what you ate there, so you pushed it around. Thinking about Dana you felt happy, sad, and angry. She left you, she dropped you like it was nothing and never made any effort to contact you. You thought you would’ve received a letter, but nothing. She knew you joined the army and nothing. You felt betrayed but you promised yourself that even if you did work 4 doors down from her you wouldn’t let it affect you work. You were here for change, here for a new start. Just as you stood up with a full plate of food if it wasn’t for your reflexes you would’ve spilt the food all over yourself and the man standing in front of you. “Good reflexes, let me guess, ex-professional circus actor?” He chuckled but your face didn’t change. He held his badge up to you showing you his name ‘Fox Mulder’, you tilted your head and he clocked on that you knew his name. “Ahh I see you know me, have you seen my name in the papers, on awards, at the bottom of case files?” “No”, you stated. He awkwardly nodded his head but explained that he saw a new name on the door that he been empty and had been on the hunt for you. “How’d you know what I look like from my name?” You asked, “I didn’t know whatcha looked like, but I’ve asked a hundred other girls if they’re Agent L/n but it seems like I’ve hit the jackpot. Leave that there and I’ll come up and show you where I am”. “That’s not necessary Agent Mulder I already know”. You were putting your plate back down when he shouted back already walking off, “Just Mulder is fine, come on”.

You rolled your eyes, following a trail of sun seeds Mulder had dropped on the floor. Walking slightly behind him you pulled out a gold lighter and sparked up a cigarette to calm your nerves, remembering this was the same room the red haired woman walked into.

🤭

Part 2 coming soon

#dana scully #dana scully x reader #dana scully imagine #dana scully x files #dana scully x fem reader #x files #x files x reader #fox Mulder #Mulder

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slippinmickeys · 21 days

Note

Thank you for the Proof of Life prompt this morning! You've mentioned a wedding band and a wedding (I think??) in one of today's prompts. Um...Could you maybe write the wedding? Please?? I get if its too fluffy an ask, but I'm on my kneeeees I love this universe so much I want to live in it

1. She sits against the pillows of the bed, lounging like a limp doll, totally sapped of strength.

“How come all our assignments are to places that are hot?” she asks.

Mulder, at the end of the bed, his lap half covered in only a sheet, has his hands around her foot, which he raises to his face. He gives her toes a sniff and then presses them to his lips. “Are you lodging a complaint?” he mumbles through them.

There’s a sheen of sweat across her brow and tiny beads along the bridge of her nose.

“Perhaps” she says. “I’m experiencing a fair amount of thermal fatigue.”

Mulder looks out the window of the small bungalow and into the green beyond it. He has been in India for four months. Scully has been here for one.

“Maybe we should go somewhere colder,” he says.

2. He has been working with a journalist for the Washington Post on a story about an elephant sanctuary on the fringe of the remote Manas National Park. He has been staying on property for the last week and Scully arrived that morning to finally join him. Matthas, the journalist writing the piece, left the night before, and Mulder’s work for the article is done, though Scully doesn’t know this. He has arranged a rare day off for her, and the mahouts who live at the sanctuary are eager to show her a good time.

She has taken to dressing in brighter colors since her arrival here, and today wears a gauzy pink blouse over a bright green sarong, her hair a frizzy muzz on the top of her head. It is hard to look away from her.

Mulder, his camera in its ubiquitous place around his neck, is talking to Anand, one of the mahouts.

“Scully,” he calls out.

She is standing atop grass of virulent green reading one of the signs they have up for visitors, explaining the need for the camp in Assam.

She waves and he gives her a “come here,” gesture. She moves toward him.

“I don’t want to get in the way,” she says demurely, hanging back a bit.

“It’s fine,” he smiles at her. “I have a surprise for you.”

On a nod from Anand, he takes her hand and walks her over to the river, where another mahout, Davanesh, stands next to one of the sanctuary’s stars, Tara, who sways on soft feet, keeping a rhythm known only to her kind.

“Come and meet her,” Mulder says. He had met Tara upon his arrival and knows the beast to be kind-hearted and affectionate. He picked her specifically for this.

The river next to them is a purling brown, with the grass-cutter area beyond it. In the woods behind the river, one of the sanctuary elephants calls out and Tara answers with a short, happy trumpet.

Scully smiles at him nervously. “Is it safe?”

He shrugs and grins back. “Safe enough.”

The elephant turns her attention to the newcomer and lifts her trunk when Scully approaches, reaching out to touch her lightly on the shoulder, on her ponytail. Scully is delighted by the attention, if a little timid. Tara begins gently nosing Scully’s face. The elephant’s trunk is gray on top, the bottom the same delicate pink as Scully’s shirt. Her long eyelashes are soft and feather-like, gentle fans around intelligent eyes.

The mahout says something and Mulder interprets.

“You breathe into their trunk so they can get to know your scent,” he explains.

Scully, still a little skittish, does as prompted and then Tara takes a step back, swinging her trunk back and forth a few times before swinging it over to Davanesh, who smiles at Mulder and nods.

“Now hold out your hand,” Mulder says, butterflies set to wing in his stomach.

Tara takes a step forward and swings her trunk back at Scully, dropping something gently in her outstretched hand, her trunk as nimble as human fingers.

“What is…?” Scully says, and looks at her palm. There is a small turquoise satin bag sitting on it.

“Open it,” Mulder says softly, stepping up behind her.

She opens the bag and shakes out a delicate silver ring into her other palm. She gives a small gasp.

Mulder lowers himself to one knee beside her and Davanesh smiles widely, his teeth bright white against his dark skin.

“Mulder, you don’t have to-”

“It feels like the thing to do,” he smiles up at her. “Will you?”

He doesn’t actually say the words, and Scully doesn’t actually say yes, but she nods happily, a look crossing her face that Mulder interprets as the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. Before he can reach up to put the ring on her finger, Tara starts bumping him in the head with her trunk, unused to not being the center of attention. Scully lets out a sharp peel of laughter and Mulder finally stands, a thought occurring to him.

“Shit!” he says, someone indecorously. “I forgot to take a picture!”

3. “I’ll give you this,” Scully says as they walk past the building of the Consulate General, a ritual they do on their first day in any foreign country. “It’s certainly not too hot here.”

They are just down from the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, still on Princes Street. It’s early April in Scotland, and, Mulder has to admit, butt-fucking cold.

The American flag snaps and flaps in the cold breeze at the top of the building they stand in front of, and they nod at the Marine behind the gate before turning on their heel and heading back toward the castle. They are unlikely to need the services of the Consulate here, but have had the occasion, on no less than three separate instances, to yell “I’m an American!” while running full bore at embassy and consulate gates in other parts of the world, and every time, the young Marine (it’s always a young Marine) stationed there has snapped to attention and saved their hides.

Here, they’re more in danger of tripping over a cobblestone while walking to the closest coffee shop, but Scully said she was sick of the heat, and Mulder has an idea.

It started with listless boredom, as these things tend to, laid out in a tent near the equator, reading whatever English-language book that happened to be left behind by a colleague or visitor. In this case it was a Regency romance novel that Scully had burned through the weekend before and Mulder picked up on the working theory that you could actually die of boredom. At the time, all he thought was: needs must.

In the story, a young daughter of a marquess – madly in love with the blacksmith who’d heroically fixed the axle on her wayward carriage, eloped with her muscle-bound beau to Gretna Green and married only minutes before her viscous older brother arrived on scene with the cavalry of the ton at his back. The young couple slipped away and consummated the marriage (with many a heaving bosom) beneath a willow in the village square and what’s done was done and they lived happily ever after.

Mulder prefers the bed in their rented flat to the wet sod of a village green and they had consummated their relationship hundreds of times over at this point, but Gretna Green: now there was an idea.

He grabs her mittened hand, the ring around her finger a hard nub under his hand, and feels a swell of something like pride. That this incredible woman would choose him.

As they begin the walk up the Royal Mile, they pass coffee shops, gelato shops, store fronts hocking kitschy souvenirs. Mulder pulls up in front of one of probably twenty with a mannequin in the window wearing a kilt. It’s fitted out in the whole nine yards (literally—where the saying came from) of formal wear; hose with flashes, a sporran, Prince Charlie jacket. There’s even a sheathed dirk tucked into the waistband.

“So, I had a thought,” he says.

Scully turns her attention from the window to him.

“I was thinking we could elope.” She raises her eyebrows at this. “Here,” he goes on to explain.

A small smile creeps up her cheek.

“Do you remember that novel in Laos, the one that made the rounds through camp? The blacksmith and the wanton wallflower, something…” he trails off.

“I remember an outbreak of the clap not long after…”

Mulder stifles the urge to laugh.

“That’s the one.”

It takes Scully a moment to catch up. “You want to elope to Gretna Green?” Her eyebrows are sky high.

“Bad idea?” he says a little self-consciously.

“No, I-“ she turns back to the store window. “I kind of love it, actually.”

“We ran off to Gretna Green would make a great story,” he says.

She squeezes his hand. “I don’t think anything could top our meet-cute.”

He smiles at her, looks to the window himself.

“Would you wear a kilt?” she asks.

“Would you want me to?”

She half-turns her head to him, a sly little smile on her face.

4. Click.

He takes one picture before handing his camera over to the volunteer witness, who immediately turns the lens back on Mulder, an odd, curious feeling.

One he forgets the instant he turns to Scully.

She is in a simple white dress, her long hair brushed to a high shine and curled over one shoulder. She carries no flowers and is wearing only simple silver jewelry, and her hands are warm and dry and fit just right into his. She never once looks away.

They opted for a ceremony in the original marriage room of the old smithy, partly for the kitsch of it and partly as an inside joke, but Mulder doesn’t feel like laughing as they stand over the old anvil. There is an ethereal earthiness to the room, with its whitewashed stone walls and rough hewn low ceiling battened with old horseshoes.

As the officiant speaks of love being forged in an unbreakable bond, Mulder thinks of 1055, of their stringy hair and unwashed bodies, of the boot-steps of the men always lurking outside their door.

Love isn’t just forged in peace and bliss, he thinks, but in trial and turmoil too.

They hold hands and exchange rings and when the officiant pronounces them wed, he leans in to press his lips to hers and it’s all sun-dried linen and eucalyptus and that room on the 10th floor. Flowers come from dirt. Good things can come from bad. Love can come from anywhere if only you have the courage to hang onto it.

Click.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #au #prompt #proof of life universe

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freckleslikestars · 5 months

Text

March 6th

a look at some of Mulder and Scully’s anniversaries throughout the years, spanning from mid-Season One to post-Season Eleven

I wote this for the philefest zine and then completely forgot about it until right now.

2411 words, read here on AO3

March 6th 1994

She arrives, as usual, ten minutes early, a sweet smile and her hand tucked behind her back as she places two disposable coffee cups on the desk and drops her briefcase to the chair that’s unofficially become hers, ‘gotcha something.’

The twinkling mirth in her eyes is infectious, and he kicks his feet from where they’re resting on the edge of his desk and leans forward, elbows on the desk, ‘oh yeah?’ He’d called her in on a Sunday to go over their travel plans to Tennessee, and given that, he was mildly surprised that she was in such a good mood.

‘Mm-hm,’ she pulls her hand from behind her back, revealing a cupcake with a single candle in it. After a quick rummage in her pocket, she pulls out a disposable lighter and sparks a flame to life, ‘ta-da,’ her soft murmur, suddenly shy as she presents the little confection to him.

‘My birthday’s in October, Scully.’

‘Yeah, I, um...’ she swallows, clears her throat. ‘Today’s the- it’s March 6th. It’s been a year since I joined you on the X-Files. I figured...’ she shrugs and sighs, ‘I dunno, it’s stupid.’

‘No,’ Mulder shakes his head rapidly, smiling disarmingly, ‘no, it’s not stupid,’ he thinks about the box on his bookshelf at home that he’d agonised over whether to give her as he wrapped it the night before. ‘May I?’ he points at the candle, and she nods, clearing her throat again after he blows it out. ‘I, uh, I think I’ve got a knife here somewhere; we can split it?’

‘Sure,’ she ducks her chin, hiding her smile, as she passes it over.

On closer inspection, a grey fondant alien face tops the buttercream, and he grins up at her as he hands over her half, ‘happy first anniversary, Scully.’

March 6th 1995

He’d almost lost her. She’d been taken, and he almost hadn’t been able to get her back, and for three months, he’d been wracked with guilt and lost without her. But she was alive. She was still right there by his side, and he could see the determination that lined her face as she stuck by him, refusing to budge, refusing to leave him.

Their first year together was tame in comparison to the insanity that had befallen the two of them in their second year as partners, and he wonders idly if it was only going to get worse. He can’t imagine anything worse than sacrificing his sister for her.

He’s bought a cake, just a little one, from the grocery store round the corner from his apartment, and he’s stuck two candles wonkily in it. It’s less personal than the little alien cupcake Scully bought last year, but the store didn’t have anything more appropriate, and he knew how much Scully loved chocolate and how she wouldn’t have chosen it herself for some misguided belief that she needed to maintain her figure. So a decadent chocolate cake for six with wonky candles is what it’s going to be.

Her face lights up when she walks in and sees it, her grin widening further when she looks up at the shy smile on his face.

‘I think it’s your turn to blow them out this year,’ Mulder says as he strikes a match and lights the candles.

She nods as she sits down, blows them out and props her chin in her hand as she gazes longingly at the cake, ‘Mulder, do you think we’ll still be doing this next year? In five years’ time? Ten?’

He grins and cuts into the cake, daubing chocolate frosting on her nose before handing her a slice, ‘I think, Scully, that we’ll be doing this for another thirty years. Minimum. You’re not gonna get rid of me that quickly.’

March 6th 1998

‘We’ve got a detective coming in to talk to us about a dead drug dealer at ten,’ he says as she pushes through the door, a tray of cupcakes balanced in her hands. She’d been up most of the night trying to bake them, her mom on the phone as guidance. It was chemistry and physics, things she excelled at, but somehow baking was not her forte, and it had taken three attempts to get them right. But her mother’s pink lemonade cupcake recipe was always a crowd-pleaser, pink frosting and all, and she had wanted to do something special.

Five years. Five years in his basement office, chasing unbelievable things. Five years of missing time and abductions and cancer and sisters. Five years of surviving. That was something worth celebrating.

She nods in acknowledgement, depositing the tray on the desk and whipping out a pack of candles from her pocket, ‘well, that gives us two hours to enjoy cake, then.’

‘They look...good,’ he hesitates, and she rolls her eyes.

‘They’re rustic, okay. I’m not the most...artistic. Next year I’ll get my mother to make them.’

‘No, really, they look great. I’m sure they taste delicious.’

She smiles, lighting the candles, ‘I should hope so. I’ve been looking forward to this.’ They’d skipped cake last year, her appetite waning and neither of them in the mood to celebrate. With a flourish, she presents the candles to him, waiting for him to blow them out, and frowns when he hesitates.

‘I think you should be the one to blow them out. You missed your turn last year.’

She gives a small nod and breathes in, extinguishing the five flames in quick succession.

‘I, uh, I got you something,’ he says, clearing his throat and rummaging through his desk drawer.

‘Mulder, you didn’t have to get me anything.’

‘Actually, I got it for you a long time ago, but it never felt like the right time,’ he shrugs, pulling it out with a quiet ‘a-hah.’ He hands the box over, nervously biting his lip as she delicately opens it. ‘It’s, uh, it’s a snow globe.’

‘I can see that.’

‘It’s got a UFO in.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, it does,’ she smiles softly. She shakes it, watching glitter swirl around the little cartoony spaceship. ‘Thank you, Mulder, I love it. Happy five years.’

‘Happy five years, Scully.’

March 8th 2003

She’d been working the graveyard shift in a bar two towns over from the motel they were staying at that month, bringing in what little cash she could to fund their constant running, and time had started slipping. Neither of them had looked at a calendar in more than a month, her birthday having gone unnoticed and unrecognised, and it was only because he’d grabbed a paper from the motel reception that he even noted the date. So, whilst she was sleeping the day away, the curtains drawn and the rattly heater struggling to take the late-winter chill off the room, he donned his coat and baseball cap and headed out to the nearest store.

With gas station cookies and a disposable lighter, he perches on the edge of the bed and gently shakes her awake, brushes the back of his forefinger across her cheekbone when she stirs, ‘hey, Beautiful.’

‘Mmm, time is it?’

‘Just gone noon,’ he murmurs, smiling when she groans and rolls away, ‘it’s March, Baby.’

‘March?’

‘Yeah. We missed our anniversary.’

She buries her face in the coarse motel pillow, mumbling, ‘our anniversary was months ago, Mulder.’

He gives a sad chuff, nodding at the other anniversary they missed, ‘no, not that one. The day you came in and turned my life upside-down. We’re a couple of days late, but...’ She drags herself up, rubs her eyes and smiles blearily at him, cupping his scruffy cheek. ‘I couldn’t get cake or candles, but I got cookies, and you can blow this out,’ he flicks the lighter on, holding it out for her to blow out, and she gives a quiet chuckle.

‘Ten years, huh?’

‘Ten whole years. Happy anniversary, Baby.’

March 6th 2013

It’s dark out when she phones, and he’s been staring at the ceiling for an indefinite amount of time. He’s numb, unable to muster the energy to lie convincingly when she asks how he is; if he’s eating properly and getting enough sleep. He tries to feel something when he hears her sniffing and stifling a sob, tries to summon enough emotion to make his voice not sound flat when he tells her he misses her.

It’s not until he looks at the phone screen when she hangs up that he realises it’s twenty years since they met.

March 6th 2018

Her hair’s short again, almost the length it was twenty-five years ago, and though the laugh lines and the crease that permanently furrows her brow these days have deepened, her eyes still hold that same disbelieving mirth they twinkled with that first day as she held her hand out for him to shake.

‘You’re staring,’ she says, peering over the top of the case file she’s studying.

‘Am I?’

‘Mm-hm,’ she nods over at his laptop, ‘that expenditure report was due with Skinner yesterday – lingering over it isn’t going to help your case any.’

‘What makes you think I haven’t finished it?’

She smirks, ‘because I know you, and I know how much you hate expenditures. And because I’ve heard you type no more than ten words in the last two hours?’

He nods, still not taking his eyes off her, and shuts the lid of his laptop, ‘did you ever think, all those years ago, that we’d still be down here a quarter of a century later, filing motel and gas receipts?’

‘Honestly?’ he nods, and she sighs, shakes her head, ‘I don’t think I ever allowed myself that fantasy. We’ve overcome so much; the fact we’re even still talking is a miracle some days.’

He nods contemplatively and stands up, idly noticing the crack of his knees and creek of his spine, and holds his hand out to her, ‘come on, Scully. There’s cake waiting for us at home.’

March 6th 2023

He lets her sleep in, turns her alarm off and leaves under cover of darkness, intercepts Sammi as she comes barrelling across the landing towards their bedroom, ‘woah, Kid, not today. Mommy’s sleeping in.’

‘She sick?’

He chuffs a laugh as he swings her up onto his shoulders, shaking his head as he lopes downstairs with her, ‘no, it’s just a special day today.’

‘Like Christmas?’

‘Not quite, Honey,’ he sits her on the kitchen counter and gets to work making pancakes, ‘today’s our anniversary.’

The pre-schooler mulls that over, her sleep-mussed curls bouncing as she tilts her head in contemplation, ‘what’s an anibersary?’

‘An anniversary is when we celebrate a special day in our lives – your birthday is an anniversary.’

‘My birthday’s in October.’

‘It sure is, Kid, like mine,’ he nods, ruffles her hair as he passes her a tumbler of milk, ‘but today is special, ‘cause we’re celebrating the day Mommy and I met.’

‘Was it a looooong time ago?’

‘It was. A super long time ago.’

‘How long?’

He smiles and starts flipping the pancakes, ‘you guess.’

‘Ummm, I don’t know. Three years ago.’

‘Three years ago? Nope. Shall we work it out together?’

‘Yeah,’ she bounces on the counter, and for a moment, he marvels at the little being he and Scully created, all life and energy and fluffy pyjamas with rubber duckies on.

‘Okay, well, how old are you?’

‘I’m four.’

‘Okay, so we have to have known each other for more than four years. And do you remember what Mommy said about how long it takes to make a baby?’

‘Nearly a whole year!’

‘Yeah, that’s right. So let’s round up to five years. What else do you know?’

‘Umm...’ she sticks her thumb in her mouth as her brow furrows, and he gently removes it before pointing to the picture of Jackson holding her on the fridge, ‘Jack-Jack!’

‘Yeah, you’re brother. So, do you remember how old Jackson is?’ she shakes her head and he smiles, ‘that’s okay. He’s twenty-one – nearly twenty-two. So we add a year onto that and we get...?’

‘Twenty-three.’

‘Good job. So, Mommy and I have definitely known one another for at least twenty-three years-‘

‘That’s a really long time.’

‘It is, but I’ll tell you a secret – it’s been even longer than that.’

‘How much longer?’

‘Seven years longer. Can you do that math there? What’s twenty-three plus seven?’

She counts on her fingers, her jaw dropping when she comes to an answer, ‘you’ve known Mommy for thirty years?’

‘Mm-hm. And meeting her was the best thing that ever happened to me.’

‘Even better than chocolate cake?’

He barks a laugh, stacking the pancakes onto a plate and sticking a candle in the top, ‘even better than chocolate cake.’

~ X ~

She wakes to a wet kiss on the nose and musical giggles, her daughter’s wide blue eyes pressed close to her own, ‘whatcha doing, Baby?’

‘It’s your anibersary.’

‘Mm, it is. Do you know what that means?’

‘It means Daddy’s got you a surprise,’ she whispers, and Scully cranes her neck to look over at Mulder sat at the end of the bed, giving him a coy smirk.

‘Oh, yeah? Daddy’s good at surprises.’

‘It’s pancakes.’

‘Pancakes?’

‘Uh-huh,’ Sammi sits up, dragging Scully to sitting, too, clapping her hands when Mulder presents the breakfast tray, complete with pancakes, hot tea and a flickering birthday candle. ‘Can I blow it out, Mommy?’

‘Sure, Baby,’ she smiles over at Mulder as their daughter huffs at the flame, mouthing ‘I love you’ at him.

‘I’m gonna get her dressed in a minute, then Jackson’s coming over to take her to school and bring her back later for dinner, which leaves the whole day just to ourselves.’

‘The whole day, huh?’ she spears a small triangle of pancake with her fork and holds it out for Sammi to take, finger-combing the tangles from the soft, downy hair of her baby bird.

‘The whole day, no interruptions, to do anything your heart desires.’

‘Whatever shall we do?’

‘Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something,’ he grins, his smile softening as he watches his girls sharing their syrupy breakfast, thinking back all those years ago, trying to remember if he knew – if he had even an inkling – that day she walked into his office in a too-big suit, just how important she was going to be to him.

tagging @today-in-fic

#does anyone know what happened with the philefest zine?#my writing #txf #xf fanfic #the x files #msr #x files fanfic #x files

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television-overload · 26 days

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 8/34 - fish and chips

[Read on AO3]

“So, can I buy my wife some dinner?” Mulder asks. His hands are shoved deep in his coat pockets now as they descend the steps of the courthouse, fighting back against the chill in the air. The tie comes untied practically as soon as they walk out the door, hanging listlessly around his neck.

Scully looks over at him, the word ‘wife’ somehow sounding different coming out of his mouth now that they’re outside in the real world. It does something funny to her heart.

“What do you have in mind?” she asks, maintaining her calm composure.

They’ve eaten together countless times before, in cities and towns all across the United States. On occasion, Mulder would even pick up the check, when he was feeling particularly chivalric. But this feels different. Not overtly so, but just enough to be noticeable.

They eventually settle on walking down by the harbor, where a few vendors are selling food to tourists visiting for the holidays. With a greasy basket of fish and chips each in hand, they continue walking until they hit the end of the pier, claiming for themselves a wooden bench overlooking the water.

“Some day, huh?” Mulder remarks, slathering a fry in ketchup before putting it in his mouth.

He’s a master of understatement, her partner. He would describe almost dying as a “minor injury” if she wasn’t there to give him the unwavering doctor stare. But his wry humor is one of the things she loves most about him. Among other things.

“No turning back now,” she comments, nudging his side with her shoulder. “You regret tying yourself down yet?”

He looks at her at that, his expression one of disbelief. “Never,” he answers. “You?”

“No, Mulder. I– I’m more grateful for this than you can imagine.”

His lips pull back in that easy smile she doesn’t get to see often enough, and he relaxes back against the bench. The wind coming in from the harbor is brisk, occasionally bringing a spray of mist with it. It makes his hair stick up in adorable little spikes, and she just wants to run her hands through it and smooth it down.

They’re the only ones crazy enough to be all the way out here for longer than the time it takes a tourist to snap a quick picture. The temperature is dropping quickly as nightfall approaches, and it wasn’t all that temperate to begin with, it being so close to January. Somehow, Scully still feels perfectly warm.

“So, why did you really want to get married on Christmas?” Mulder asks, after a few minutes more spent contemplating the darkening horizon.

He’s looking at her now, one arm draped casually over the back of the bench, now that he’s finished eating.

“I guess I just liked the idea of having something to remember this holiday for other than bad memories,” Scully answers, thoughts of her father and Emily filling her head. “And…”

“What?”

She pauses, wondering if she should share this somewhat embarrassing, personal detail with him. One look in his eyes and she feels her tongue loosening, and suddenly she wants to share everything with this man.

“Well, I always used to imagine a December wedding when I was a little girl,” she admits, preparing herself for the teasing she’s come to expect from her partner.

She and Missy had loved cutting pictures out of magazines and putting them in binders, concocting the perfect futures for themselves. Over the years, the specific details of her imaginings changed as her taste did, but one thing remained the same. A winter wedding, maybe with snow. Evergreen branches and little white and red berries adorning the bouquet. Lace sleeves on an elaborate wedding dress, its long train dragging behind her in a beautiful cathedral.

Missy was the complete opposite, filling her book instead with pictures of hot summer weather and wedding dresses that were just a little too revealing.

It’s been a long time since she’s thought of those binders, maybe still collecting dust somewhere in Maggie Scully’s house.

Mulder’s knee tilts toward hers, knocking against it affectionately. “Sorry it wasn’t quite the majestic fantasy wedding of little Dana Katherine Scully's dreams,” he says, giving that shy, apologetic half-smile she knows so well.

“I don't know…” she shrugs. “It wasn't too far off.”

He shakes his head, breathing a humorless laugh through his nose. “You don't have to lie to make me feel better,” he says.

“No, really,” she starts, turning toward him. “It– Maybe it wasn't in a big cathedral with lots of flowers and people there, but…” She looks into his eyes and then quickly glances away, hiding a blush. “Well, in a way, I married my knight in shining armor, didn’t I?”

She chances another look at him, and he’s smiling a big cheesy smile. Great, she inflated his ego.

“Oh yeah? And what armor would that be?” he asks, laughter in his voice.

She rolls her eyes. “A parka not quite warm enough for Antarctica and two layers of pants,” she answers dryly.

He tosses his head back, looking heavenward for a second and smiles. “Ah, don't forget my valiant steed: the Sno-Cat Model 2000.”

“Valiant,” she agrees, “but not the most dependable.”

As time passes, the sky fades into an inky dark blue. The harbor sparkles with the lights of countless boats, some far out on the horizon.

It’s funny. Sometimes when she looks out there, she can almost believe her father is on one of those boats, just waiting to come back to shore. She’d always thought Ahab would be there with her on her wedding day, smiling and proud of her and walking her down the aisle.

Now, she sort of feels like he was.

She looks over at the man next to her, contemplative as he usually is when he has nothing to say. Her father would have liked him, she thinks. Well, eventually. She has to think he would respect Mulder’s drive, and the way he cares for her. Maybe it’s foolish and idealistic, but the alternative, she doesn’t even want to consider. She’s said before that they are alike—devoted entirely to their cause. The important thing is that she’s happy, and their unconventional partnership works for them.

Nobody else’s opinion matters, only theirs. That’s the biggest lesson she’s learned in her time with Mulder.

On the way back to their car, he hands a couple dollars over to a vendor and procures two steaming cups of hot chocolate, citing that the unpleasant memory of the bone-deep chill they experienced in Antarctica was making him cold. When Scully brings the warm liquid to her lips, she catches sight again of the sparkling ring on her finger, and she stops to admire it.

“If you don’t like that one, we can trade it in,” Mulder says, taking a sip of his cocoa and watching her expectantly over the lid of his cup.

“It’s perfect, Mulder,” she says, hopefully putting any worries he might have to rest. “You didn’t have to… Just a simple wedding band would have been fine.”

He shrugs noncommittally, bouncing restlessly in place to keep warm, or maybe out of discomfort with this particular conversation. It’s a nervous tic she’s come to love, unless she’s extremely overtired, in which case it gets on her nerves quick.

“I figured it would be good to have them for interviews and stuff,” he adds, glancing around. “I mean, obviously we can’t wear them all the time, but—”

“Oh,” Scully says. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

She can only imagine what the rumor mill at the Hoover building would say, if they waltzed in one day wearing matching rings. Only this time, there’d be some undeniable truth to the claims.

“Not that…I don’t want to wear it, Scully,” Mulder assures her, absentmindedly twisting his own ring with his thumb. “It’s just—”

“Yeah.”

It’s a shame, in all honesty. She likes the weight of it on her finger. It feels right, somehow. And she likes the sight of him with his on, too. It’s a tangible thing, something to remind her that he’s made a commitment to her.

She can’t help but think that if, God forbid, another Diana ever arose, that ring would provide an assurance that would get her through it without the emotional distress she experienced the first time around. A token that validates the possessiveness she feels, warranted or not.

Mulder shifts his cup of hot chocolate from one hand to the other and digs in his pocket again. “I did pick these up, too,” he says, pulling out two long, silver chains and depositing one in her hand, “if you want to keep it somewhere safe when you’re not wearing it.”

For some reason, the fact that he’d thought of this ahead of time makes her throat clog up and her eyes sting with tears. He’s always been a bit of an odd gift-giver, bestowing her with bizarre little trinkets that either mean nothing or everything, and it's never easy to tell which. But this… It’s hard to picture him standing in a jewelry store, contemplating her taste in jewelry and the practicality of wearing it in their situation.

How much money had he spent on it? Did he worry he was being presumptive? Had it taken five minutes or five hours to make his decision? These are questions she never thought she’d be asking herself, and it’s just proof of how crazy her life has turned out.

She wonders if he’ll take his ring off now and slide it onto his necklace, but instead he places the chain back in his pocket, a choice that seems heavy with perceived meaning. She follows his lead, tucking hers away for the time being as they continue their walk.

Later. For now, she can enjoy the way it sparkles when the Christmas lights all around them catch it just right.

“Hey, Scully?” he says, glancing down at her beside him while they wait for the crosswalk to tell them to cross.

She looks up at him, his earnest expression setting off the butterflies in her stomach.

“I’m glad you said yes,” he finishes.

She smiles wistfully, looping her arm into his and leaning against his shoulder.

“Me too,” she agrees.

-.-.-

Bill is waiting up for them when they get back to Maggie Scully’s house well after it has gotten dark. The original plan had been to go their separate ways after their “errand” at the courthouse, but time had gotten away from them. She wasn’t about to send him home at this hour, only for him to have to drive back in the morning, no matter how much he protested that he would be fine.

After a brief confrontation in which Scully has to defend why her partner is still with her (“Mom invited him to Christmas, Bill”), he begrudgingly fetches a spare pillow and quilt and sets them on the couch in the living room, warning him that he’ll need to be up bright and early for present opening. Mulder salutes him sarcastically, earning a look of scorn that fizzles at Scully’s challenging stare.

“How’d the case go? You smell like seawater,” he says gruffly, hanging around far longer than needed or wanted.

“Nothing much we could do to help,” Mulder answers with their pre-prepared response. “They let us off the hook early.”

After a few more questions, which they expertly dodge, Bill disappears up the stairs to the room his family is staying in, and Mulder breathes a sigh of relief.

“Well, you did it, Scully. You successfully snuck back in without your mom finding out,” he says, cracking a smile.

“Didn’t even have to climb through a window or anything,” she adds with a straight face. “I’m kind of disappointed.”

The room falls silent, save for the sound of the heater running to keep the house warm. Somewhere in the kitchen, the ice maker rattles.

“Will you be okay down here?” Scully asks, looking over his shoulder at the couch and worrying her lip.

He glances behind himself, then turns back to her with a tender smile. “I think he probably found the quilt that smells the most like mothballs, but yeah, I’ll be fine,” he says jokingly.

She frowns. “I can get you a different blanket. There has to be more in the closet upstairs, I’ll just—”

“Scully, Scully, I was kidding,” he says, stopping her retreat by placing a hand on her upper arm. She immediately freezes, her eyes landing on the spot where his hand touches her, seemingly realizing for the first time how close they are standing.

For an instant, he reflexively pulls away as if burned, and she feels the loss like a phantom limb. But then he’s back, this time softer. Hesitant, but purposeful.

She shifts her gaze up to meet his.

“I’ll be fine,” he reiterates, his voice dropping to a murmur. It’s all she can do to nod, lost in the dim light of the room reflected in his eyes. His eyes scan her face, lingering for a moment on her lips, and then he whispers, “Goodnight, Scully.”

Before she knows what’s happening, he’s lowering his head, and she feels his lips press against her cheek. Although it’s not an altogether unfamiliar gesture, tonight it feels… significant. He pulls back with a soft smile and releases her, not that she could move if she wanted to. It’s like her feet are glued to the floor, and her cheeks burn at the thought of getting stuck in a daze like this from such a simple action.

Fortunately, her brother saves her from further embarrassment. “Dana, you coming?” he calls from upstairs, shaking her from her stupor.

“Yeah, be right up,” she answers distractedly, eyes unable to stray from Mulder’s. She blinks a few times and frees herself from his spell, taking a step back toward the hallway. “Um. There’s towels in the bathroom,” she states, taking another step. “I’ll be in the first room on the left upstairs, if you need anything.”

He nods quietly, smiling at her in that way that makes her stomach flip.

“Goodnight,” she says.

“Night, Mrs. Mulder.”

-.-.-

Sleep proves difficult, which probably shouldn’t surprise her. It’s a combination of things, really. The ceremony, the brief touch of his lips to hers in the courtroom, the kiss on her cheek before bed. ‘Mrs. Mulder,’ which is frankly, ridiculous, but endearing nonetheless. And a whole host of other moments from the day that she wants to commit to memory.

It hits her, as she’s lying in bed after her shower, that this is her wedding night. It’s not at all like she grew up expecting it to be, but given the circumstances, it would be weird if it was. Things are strange enough as it is, and that—well, that would complicate it even further.

She watches the clock on the nightstand turn to midnight, the blinking display of red numbers ushering in Christmas Day while the other side of her bed lays empty. His presence is felt, though, in the cool press of her ring to her chest, now looped around a chain and hidden beneath her clothes.

She tells herself she’s wearing it still because she doesn’t want anyone else to stumble upon it in the morning, but then she’s always been good at lying to herself. Her hand travels to it unconsciously, clutching it in a fist, reminding herself that it’s real.

She sighs, rolling over. Maybe Mulder’s insomnia is rubbing off on her. With another frustrated exhale, she sits up, lowering her feet to the floor. She gathers the knitted blanket from the foot of the bed and drags it with her, creeping to the door and prying it open slowly.

Maybe he’s still awake. They can stay up and just talk, or sneak some Christmas cookies from her mother’s tupperware. Either one would be preferable to laying awake up here all alone.

When she gets to the foot of the stairs, however, she hears the sound of steady, gentle breathing coming from the direction of the couch.

Figures, this is the one time he actually manages a good night’s rest.

She rounds the corner into the living room and glances down at the figure on the sofa. Sure enough, his arms are tucked up against his chest, his face relaxed and tranquil. He looks so young, like this. Younger even than the day she met him.

Oh, she loves him. Of course she does. How could she not?

The way his cheek is pressed up against the pillow makes her want to curl up next to him, but she settles for the worn La-Z-Boy recliner across the room. After draping her blanket over her lap, she tugs it over her shoulders and curls up, the overstuffed chair rocking back and forth with every movement. She watches him, in the dim light from the Christmas tree in the corner. His knees hang over the edge of the too-small couch, and yet he’s as peaceful as ever, his chest rising and falling in measured increments.

Beneath his thin, pale gray t-shirt, she sees a small, circular outline. His ring, resting right over his heart.

She closes her eyes, sending a wish to whoever might be listening that one day, that heart might belong to her, and hers to him.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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baronessblixen · 7 months

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Hi ! I have a prompt for you: Mulder and Scully sharing a bed during two nights in The Rain King. After a first awkard night, what happens during the second one after the party ?

Tooth-rotting fluff ahead. And bed-sharing. And kissing. (wc: 1,183)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 20: Shooting Stars

He’s still humming Somewhere Over The Rainbow in the car on their way back to the hotel. Every once in a while, he glances over at Scully and while she’s quiet, there’s a soft smile playing around her lips that makes him feel giddy. He’s felt giddy ever since he saw Holman and Sheila together, having found their way to each other after all. A happy ending. A beautiful one, too. If only all their cases could end in sunshine and rainbows.

“Mulder, look.” He’s just parked their car when Scully points at the sky. Mulder steps out of the car, lifting his head to the heavens in awe.

“Shooting stars,” he says, grinning. “I think it’s safe to say that Holman scored.”

“Mulder,” Scully scolds him, but she’s giggling. She’s actually giggling. He tears his eyes away from the sky, where white flaming stars continue to rain down on them, to look at Scully. She’s staring at the natural wonder with her mouth open as if she might catch one that way. She looks so young to him right now. Like she did that night on their first case. Before everything that happened to them.

He loses himself in her sight and in her memory. If only he could get that back. For her. That’s his wish. Standing out here, wishing upon a shooting star, he briefly closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he finds Scully staring at him.

“Catch a falling star, Scully” he says to her, pretending to do so, “and put it in your pocket. Save it for a rainy day.”

“I don’t have to,” she says. “Cause you just did.” He watches her walk to their hotel room, her eyes glancing up again and again. Mulder follows her, still wearing a grin.

“Did you wish for anything?” he asks once they’re both inside.

“Maybe,” she admits.

“What did you wish for?”

“You know I can’t tell you. It won’t come true if I do.” With that, she disappears into the bathroom. Mulder quickly undresses and lies down on the bed. Their bed. He glares at the cot in the corner that he was supposed to use but that gave out as soon as he got horizontal last night. They shared the bed as platonically as two FBI partners possibly could. While he doesn’t know what either of them did during the night, they were on their respective sides in the morning. It wasn’t awkward. It didn’t feel strange or wrong at all. So why should tonight be any different?

Scully comes out ten minutes later, wearing her pajamas. Her face is devoid of make-up and he can see her beauty mark. He secretly loves seeing her like this, when all her professional layers are gone. She trusts him enough to let him see her like this. Like Dana. She gets into bed, sighing happily. She smells minty-fresh and like vanilla. His nose is drawn to her; his whole body is. He catches himself before his nose lands in her hair.

“Bathroom is all yours,” she says with a smile and Mulder hops off the bed, getting his own business done. He’s quick in case Scully is tired and falls asleep before he’s back out. But he’s in luck. She’s still awake when he crawls into bed, unable to hide his grin. Scully turns off the light but there’s enough light from outside to not drape them in complete darkness. They’re facing each other and while Mulder can’t be sure, he thinks Scully is smiling at him.

“Interesting night, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Are you tired? I don’t want to keep you awake. I’m wired. Who knew someone else’s love life could be so… stimulating.” He hears Scully chuckle and remembers something.

“Hey, about what you said earlier.”

“What did I say? It was a long day, Mulder.”

“Me giving dating advice.”

“Hmm,” she replies.

“Why did you think that was funny?”

“I didn’t think it was funny.”

“Well, you thought it was something.”

“Unless there’s something I’m missing, I don’t think you’ve been on any date since I’ve known you.”

“I have been on dates,” he says, trying to remember one.

“When?” The sheets rustle and Scully sounds more awake now.

“Um.” He’s raking his brain. He must have been on a date in the last couple of years. At least one. He just doesn’t remember. “There was this woman,” he says, stalling.

“In this decade?” Scully asks, teasing him.

“Very funny. It worked out, didn’t it? So I couldn’t have been too far off.”

“Sheila did the final move, Mulder. If anything, I helped them.”

“What did you say to her?” On the other side of the bed, Scully squirms, piquing his interest even more. “Come on, Scully. Teach me something.” Suddenly, he finds himself much closer to her, unaware of how it happened. Has he moved closer? Has she?

“I don’t remember,” she says and Mulder knows it’s a blatant lie. “Just something about how she should give Holman a chance.”

“That’s what you said.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“I don’t believe you,” he whispers and she gasps because he’s that close. So close in fact that he’s sure they’re breathing the exact same air. But he doesn’t want to move away. And neither, it seems, does she.

“You can ask Sheila,” Scully says, her voice firm. “But be careful, in case she kisses you again.”

He groans. “You know I didn’t encourage her, right?”

“I know,” she says. “But you don’t need my permission to kiss people, Mulder.”

“I don’t?” he asks in a teasing voice.

“Of course not.”

“What if I wanted to kiss you?”

Scully is silent and he wonders if he’s gone too far. He got swept up in their closeness and the freedom of the darkness that makes him feel invincible. He’s about to apologize when she speaks again.

“Try it,” she says calmly. “Ask me and see what happens.” His heart is hammering so hard in his chest that he’s certain she must hear it, too. It doesn’t matter.

“Scully,” he says, his voice almost failing him. “Do I have permission to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Before he even takes his next breath, his lips are on hers. Their first kiss is soft and sweet and as surprising as the shooting stars they experienced outside. She claws at him, tugging him closer, and taking the lead. He just follows. And gladly so. They come up for air, their noses touching, and her hand in his hair.

“That was unexpected,” he says, out of breath.

“Did you think I’d say no?”

“I- I don’t know. No. I mean I thought I knew you wouldn’t, but-”

“You think too much,” she says, her lips brushing his.

“So I’ve been told.”

“This is what I wished for,” she says, sounding shy. “When we were standing outside. This is what I wanted.”

“Just this?” he asks.

“Not just this,” she says and tugs at his shirt. He hears her loud and clear. He’s going to shoot for the stars, too.

#fictober23 #i was in the mood for fluff #and this happened #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 year

Text

Spooky Family - Fox Mulder X Female Reader

Title: Spooky Family

Fox Mulder X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Scully, Jodie (OC), Charlie (OC), and Stevie (OC)

WC: 1,576

Warnings: X-File stuff mentioned, teasing, some super cute stuff going on here

Scully let out a sigh as she left the building, Mulder in tow. Her shoulders dropped in relief, digging her hand into her pocket to grab her keys. Scully and Mulder had just finished another X-File, it wasn't as bad as most of their cases had been over the years. But it was over, finally, and Scully was just ready to go home. But the thought of driving another four hours made her frown.

Mulder jogged up to walk beside her, bringing his hand out to her, palm up. "Keys." He spoke, as Scully looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"What, why Mulder? I thought I was driving back to D.C.?" She asked and Mulder shook his head.

"We need to make a quick stop." He spoke, before Scully reluctantly tossed him the keys as they made it to the car.

Opening the passenger side door, Scully paused, "Did you run out of sunflower seeds?" She asked and Mulder didn't say a word, just hopping in the driver's seat. Scully pursed his lips, sitting down and shutting the door. As Mulder began to drive, Scully tried to figure out where they were going. Asking Mulder wasn't really seemingly going anywhere. And now, looking down at the cup holders, Mulder still had half a bag of sunflower seeds left.

Glancing over at him, Mulder's eyes were squinted slightly from the sun, and Scully knew she'd get no answer from him. She sighed and looked forward again as they drove through the streets. The drive was long, but it was less than an hour when they entered a suburban neighborhood. This made Scully even more confused, but she kept her mouth shut as Mulder pulled to a halt in front of a quaint house. It was a nice gray, two-story house, with a three-car garage, and large windows for natural light. The lawn was freshly mowed, and small flowers and bushes littered the outside of the home, obviously well taken care of.

Scully's brow creased again as she watched Mulder walk up the steps onto the porch, unlocking the door. So many questions were racing through her mind. Who lived here? Did Mulder live here? But he had an apartment, she thought. Did he know someone who lived here? Friends? Family? Maybe a parent? Grandparents? As she hesitantly entered the home behind Mulder, she was surprised to see a smile on his face, a real smile.

"Honey, I'm home!" He exclaimed, and Scully's eyes widened as two little kids came barreling down from a hallway, launching themselves right into Mulder's arms; they couldn't have been more than seven years old.

"Dad! You're home!" The little boy in his arms cheered, looking like an exact replica of his father, and it was the same for the little girl tugging on his pant leg.

"Yeah, Dad, I thought you were coming home tomorrow." The little girl replied, her brown hair in pigtails as she pushed up her thick-framed glasses.

"Well, kiddos, I decided to surprise your mom today." He placed his son back on the ground, "Now, Jodie, Charlie, say 'hello' to Scully."

The two kids, Scully guessed that they were both twins, looked up at her with big smiles, "Hi, Scully." Both Jodie and Charlie spoke in unison, before looking back at their dad.

"Now, where is your mother?" Mulder then asked, and Jodie hopped in her spot, filled with excitement.

Jodie pointed to somewhere in the house, "Momma's with Stevie." And to that, Mulder nodded, bending down to get on eye level with his two oldest children.

"Well, will you two go get your momma for me?" He asked, and the two kids nodded, before running off across the hardwood floor; almost slipping as they did so. Mulder sighed, watching them go as he stood up. Glancing at Scully, he almost laughed at her face; her jaw dropped and her eyes widened slightly.

"You have a family?" She abruptly asked, and Mulder nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, sorry I didn't tell you... But with our job..."

Scully nodded, "I get it, Mulder." She smiled, looking off at the house around her, "I never thought you'd have a family." At her words, she instantly frowned, shaking her head, "No, I'm sorry. That was rude for me to say."

Mulder shook his own head, dismissing her with a wave of his hand, "No, no... I never thought I would have a family either. With the job I have. But... When I met Y/N..." He trailed off, not even finishing his sentence as a young woman, holding a small baby in her arms, walked out from another room, her two children trailing behind her.

You instantly smiled when you spotted your husband. "Fox, you're home early." You walked over, adjusting your baby boy Stevie in your arms, and pressing a kiss to his cheek. You then turned to meet Scully's gaze, giving her a smile, "And you must be Dana Scully. Fox has told me a lot about you." You spoke, offering your hand out to shake hers.

Scully let out a breathy laugh, shaking your hand, "All good things, I hope." She smiled, and you chuckled, nodding.

“Absolutely.”

Stevie suddenly babbled and reached out his little arms towards his dad, so you passed him off to Mulder. "Hi, Stevie," Mulder cooed softly, pressing a kiss to the baby's forehead, "How's my spooky baby?" He muttered, slowly walking off as his two kids followed after him, telling him about their day.

You watched as he left, letting out a happy, dreamy sigh. Looking back at your husband's co-worker, you felt your cheeks flush, "Here, come on in. Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to eat, or to drink?" You asked, walking further into your house, leading the woman to your kitchen where you gestured for her to sit at the kitchen island.

Sliding out a stool, Scully sat, clasping her hands together on the counter, "Oh, water would be great, thank you."

You nodded, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with tap water. Sliding the glass over to Scully, you grabbed yourself a water before sitting across from her.

"So, what is it like working with Fox? Do you believe in that extraterrestrial and supernatural stuff too?" You smirked, as Scully rolled her eyes and took a sip of her water.

"Well, I am definitely a skeptic. Though... My job is slowly changing my opinion." She then tilted her head, "What about you? Do you believe in the strange and unusual?" She asked and you shrugged.

"Sometimes. I used to be a skeptic, but after meeting Fox... He somehow convinced me." You sighed, glancing over at a family photo of you, Fox, and your children then hung on the wall. "He makes everything seem so much more possible."

Scully hummed quietly, taking another sip of her water. "Well, you have a wonderful family." She spoke, glancing over at you before smiling gently.

Smiling back at her, you nodded, "Thank you." You smiled down at the counter, "They are my life." You confessed, before resting your palm on your cheek, leaning your elbow on the counter. "Jodie and Charlie are twins, if you hadn't guessed, and they are a handful. Both of them are just like their father, believing in aliens and Bigfoot… Even Nessie..." You trailed off with a laugh, before continuing, "And Stevie, he's my youngest. Only a couple of months old. Fox is sure he's going to believe in aliens just like him and the twins. But, he’s got his own littler personality, but definitely a daddy’s boy." You chuckled, Scully nodding in response before she herself spoke.

"If I may ask, how did Mulder get a woman like you?" Scully began and you tilted your head slightly as she continued, “I mean, he’s a pretty… Odd guy…” She spoke slowly, uncertain.

You smirked, shrugging one shoulder, "Oh, you know, he just charmed his way into my life... Somehow."

"Hey!" Mulder entered the room, holding little Stevie in his arms as Jodie and Charlie clutched onto his jacket sleeves. "I heard that." He pointed at you.

"Hey, honey." You greeted Fox softly, learning a smile from the man. Your heart fluttering in your chest as you watched him.

Stepping over to you, he pecked your lips briefly before setting Stevie in his high chair. After settling the twins down, he leaned against the breakfast bar, crossing his arms. His brown hair was messy, and his shirt was a bit wrinkly, as he grinned lightly at the two women. "Been talking about me, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, standing as you picked up your empty glass. "All good things, my love, all good things." You then turned to Scully, "Would you like to stay for dinner?" You offered politely, and Scully's eyes widened.

"Oh, I don't want to impose." She stammered, but you waved a hand.

"Don't worry, I insist." You bumped your hip against Fox's, "Besides, Fox makes the best spaghetti." You winked, causing his cheeks to color a slight shade of pink as he glanced over at you. Smirking to yourself, you continued speaking to Scully, "Anyway, we usually have dinner around six thirty, why don't you join us? There will be plenty."

Scully glanced between you and Mulder, unsure of whether to accept or decline your invitation. Finally, she simply gave you a nod. "Alright. Thank you."

#xfiles #x-files #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x you #x y/n #fox mulder #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder x fem!reader #fox mulder x female reader #fox mulder x you #fox mulder x y/n #fluff #cute #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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