gillovny0809

[gillovny0809]

Attention Single Ladies! Today is The Feast of St. Thomas

For those of us singletons who may be in need of some divine intervention, today is the day for you.  Traditionally, The Feast of St. Thomas is celebrated on December 21st and is the day dedicated to completing your Christmas preparations.  I find it extremely fitting that this year the feast falls on the last Saturday before Christmas!  However, you might be wondering what this has to do with being single.  Well, in Austria it is believed that if a woman follows a few simple steps before she goes to bed on the night of The Feast of St. Thomas she will dream about her future husband.

Before I lay out the steps I do want to mention that while I originally learned of this tradition from a Hallmark movie, I have checked several different resources and the tradition seems to be legit.

How to Dream About Your Future Husband on the Feast of St. Thomas:

1. Climb into bed using a step-stool (I guess they traditionally have tall beds in Austria?)

2. Removed your shoes (Maybe the floors are cold there too)

3.  In the Hallmark movie she spins around three times after removing her shoes, however many sources I have found that explain The Feast of St. Thomas ritual exclude this step so it’s your call!

4. Throw the shoes at your bedroom door, toes first

5. Sleep with your head at the foot of the bed

Follow all of these instructions and you may dream of the man you are destined to marry.  Part of me thinks the result could be terrifying, but I may still give it a try.  I don’t necessarily want to be a half-drunk, single bridesmaid for the rest of my life.

If the above method is not to your liking, you may also try selecting a young rooster while a brood of chicks are sleeping.   There is also the English tradition of sleeping with a peeled onion wrapped in a handkerchief under your head.  The thought of having an onion under my head all night sounds disgusting and quite uncomfortable, but to each their own.

I hope this gives you some insight into the wonders that The Feast of St. Thomas may hold.  Be sure to let me know if it works! Happy Dreaming!

If you are a fan of Lifetime and Hallmark movies (or more likely, a person who watches them because they are so bad they are good) then you might enjoy a podcast my friend Stephanie and I do, Lifemark: A Made For TV Movie. Fair warning, we basically go through the movies and talk about all the ridiculous things in them, also this is not family friendly- adult language is used, because we are adults talking about crazy movies.

  Attention Single Ladies! Today is The Feast of St. Thomas was originally published on The Tipsy Verse

[gillovny0809]

"Mulder, you're nuts!" // "I'm not saying he isn't delusional, I'm just suggesting that his delusional state was triggered by something he actually witnessed that night."

[gillovny0809]

Good Morning

Rated X // 2300 words // Read on A03

tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr

Summary:

He loves her first thing in the morning.

Notes:

A little smutbiscuit for Kinktober 2023. Prompts: morning sex, frottage, (light) somno. I was 3 or 4 days into writing this fic when the painfully talented @msrafterdark posted this piece and it was like fate and the universe had come together.

He loves her first thing in the morning.

Well, he loves her all the time—volleying theories back and forth across the office over burnt coffee and crappy photocopies, singing along off-key to whatever radio station comes through the static three hours into a road trip from one corner of nowhere to another, lounging on a tiny motel bed with sharp springs and a pile of reports spread out like snow across scratchy blankets. He loves her on his couch sharing a beer after a long day, in her kitchen as they dole out boxes of takeaway (broccoli beef extra spicy for him, kung pao tofu for her, and she always nabs the carrots from his shrimp fried rice), nestled against him with her tiny feet propped up on the coffee table and a bad movie on TV. He loves her when she presses her sweet lips to his and breathes hot into his mouth, when she wraps her smooth white legs around his waist and whimpers “more,” when she clenches around him in the dark as she shatters on a gasp of his name. Oh yes, he definitely loves her then.

But he especially loves her first thing in the morning.

It’s something about how soft she is. Agent Scully is all crisp lines and barbed tongue, the creases of her suits pressed sharp enough to kill a man as she slices through the hallways of the Hoover Building like a red-headed sword of justice, eyes flashing blue steel. Agent Scully can unman the most cantankerous and blustering small-town sheriff with the twitch of one razored brow, can force Death itself at scalpel-point to surrender the most intimate secrets of the grave.

Agent Scully flashes through her days like a machete, too sharp to touch and so blindingly bright it hurts him to look at her sometimes. But Morning Scully. Oh Morning Scully…

Her edges blur in the evening, melting under his words and his mouth and his hands, but it takes until morning for her to grow butter-soft and creamy between the rumpled sheets of their bed—her bed or his, both are theirs, though this particular morning they’re secure behind door 42, the honeyed sunlight of a rare empty Sunday drizzling through the blinds and illuminating the intricate dance of the little dust motes that hang in the air. She sleeps on her side with her back to the window, the light catching her crimson hair in a nimbus that he thinks would inspire a better man to painting or poetry, but reduces him to gibbering wonderment.

He watches her sleep with something like awe. Her lips slack and slightly parted, still plump and red from kissing. Freckles sprinkled like cinnamon across her sleep-pinked cheeks, hair in a delightfully tousled disarray that makes him think of sunset clouds and cotton candy. There’s a little crease between her eyebrows as if she’s dreaming of something unpleasant, and he smoothes it oh so gently with his thumb. He doesn’t want to wake her; he’s not done looking yet. 

The sheets have shifted as they slept, revealing the hourglass curve of her side, the mole cradled just inside the firm crest of her hip. She had whimpered last night as he tongued it, a long detour on his slow journey to the oasis between her thighs. Her body is ripe with secrets to explore, his mental map of her slowly filling in as he traverses every hill and valley. He writes “here be monsters” beneath her ribs where she is too ticklish to touch, “here be angels” on the curve of her breast where the gentle scrape of his teeth makes her breath hitch. He finds heaven in the cradle of her hips, nirvana in the fragrant skin of her neck, paradise in the lush press of her lips.

Morning Scully may be soft, but Morning Mulder is getting decidedly less so by the minute.

She stirs slightly and rolls onto her back, the sheet slipping down the slope of her breast. One rosey nipple emerges into the cool morning air, pebbling quickly into a tantalizing peak, and he can’t resist anymore. He leans over her and circles it gently with his tongue, then pulls it into his mouth. He licks and sucks, feeling her flesh tighten even more, and when he scrapes his teeth against it, her chest jumps beneath him. She sucks in a breath, and her hands come up to card slowly through his hair. “Morning, Mulder,” she murmurs, her words still slurred with sleep.

“Good morning, Scully,” he answers as his mouth slides wetly to her other breast, on which he lavishes the same attention as the first, the slow and thorough consideration of his lips and teeth and tongue. Her breathing quickens, her pulse jumping visibly beneath the soft skin of her throat, and she moans low and long. He runs one hand up her leg, and her thighs part with a contented sigh; his fingers move higher until they brush against the curls of her sex, parting them to reach the hot, slick slit beneath. Morning Scully is always putty in his hands, her limbs loose and heavy, making love to him like something from a dream. “Sleep well?”

“Mmmhmm.” Her hips move in small circles as he plays between her legs, right on the line between soothing and arousing, and a blush blooms across her chest. “Wh-what time’s it?”

“Late.” He kisses his way up her neck, suckles on her earlobe until she whimpers softly. She still hasn’t opened her eyes. “I let you sleep in as long as I could stand it. Sorry.”

“S’okay.” His fingers skim her entrance and she twitches beneath him. “This is a nice way to wake up.”

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Her face scrunches adorably, and she makes a grumpy whining sound in her throat. “Maybe?”

He smiles into her skin, presses his fingers just barely inside her. “Do you want me to stop while you figure it out?”

Eyes still closed, lower lip between her teeth, she smiles and shakes her head. 

Her body is sleep-warm and limp as he drags her thigh over his hip, opening her to him. His erection presses into the firm flesh of her ass as he strokes her, coaxing her arousal slowly to life. He slides his fingers through the slick folds of her sex, coating them in her wetness; some of it must be from last night, when he had pressed her into the cushions of the creaking leather couch and come inside her with a cry that made the upstairs neighbor bang on the ceiling—and then again, in this bed, as she rode him like a prize pony until they both came apart at the seams. She clenched around him like a vise as they came together, and the way he spasmed inside her only set her off again, until their orgasms seemed to feed off each other in an ouroboros of pleasure that felt endless and left them both gasping, shaking, too exhausted to even roll off the wet spot, let alone clean up properly.

She’s slick halfway down her thighs.

“Fuck, Scully, you’re so wet. You feel so good.” He slides his tongue into her ear and one finger into her slippery, aching heat, and her neck arches off the bed. “You felt good last night, too, especially the second time”—and now he scrapes his teeth along the shell of her ear, slides a second finger alongside the first—“when your pussy was already full of my cum, when I could feel it leaking out of you as I fucked you.”

“Jesus, Mulder,” she gasps, and spreads herself open even more, hooking her leg behind him and shifting a little onto her side. He holds her across her stomach and gathers her partly on top of him; her head falls back on his shoulder so he can tongue the soft column of her throat, nibble the sweet ridge along her collarbone. He ruts against her as his fingers pump slowly in and out, her clit hardening beneath his thumb. One arm is still trapped against the mattress, and he wriggles it free as best he can to fondle her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

She moans, squirming against him and pushing her ass deliciously against his hard length, begging for more. A quick shift of her hips, an awkward moment of fumbling, and then his cock is no longer trapped between their bodies but gliding between her slickened labia, and she brings a hand down to press him more tightly against her. He thrusts languidly, trapped between her hot little fingers and her even hotter cunt; he skims across her entrance with each stroke, rubs the head of his cock against her clit, her hips rolling in counterpoint to his sweet, unhurried rhythm. She reaches backward to grab his hair, whimpering, and his newly unoccupied hand busies itself at her other breast, groping and tweaking them in tandem.

“I love making you feel good, Scully.” His voice is velvet and gravel, his cock almost painfully hard against her molten core, and he talks to keep from embarrassing himself by coming before he’s even gotten inside her. “I love making you wet, feeling your clit pulse under my fingers, my tongue.” He licks her from shoulder to ear, leaving a glistening line of saliva along her skin, then sucks on the sensitive little spot where her jaw meets her throat. Soft little oh s spill from her lips as she grinds harder against his cock, and stars crowd his vision. “I love making you come, over and over. The sounds that you make, the way you smell, the way you squeeze me with your tight, wet cunt. ”

“Oh God.” Her whole body shudders and he feels a warm trickle of arousal coat his cock. Her face turns into the pillow, muffling the increasing volume of her moans. Greedy for the sound of her, he cups her jaw to pull her into a long, sloppy kiss, swallowing each whimper as she writhes against him with growing desperation.

“Are you awake yet, Scully?”

“Yes,” she pants helplessly against his mouth, his cock gliding between her soaked folds with almost no resistance. Soft, wet sounds fill the room, broken only by her breathy moans, his desperate panting. “More,” she manages to gasp. “God, more.”

His arm tightens around her stomach, and in one smooth move he drags her fully on top of him and scoots until his back is against the headboard. Her thighs fall to either side of his and he spreads her wide, his thick cock still thrusting along her slickened sex. She drops her head back against his shoulder and he growls, “Touch yourself,” into her ear.

A moment of hesitation, a deepening blush in her cheeks, and then she obeys. He watches her hand moving in quick tight circles over her clit, brushing the head of his cock as he slides it up and down the length of her. He slips just barely inside and she cries out, chasing him with her body when he withdraws, teasing her again and again. She gasps his name between casual blasphemies, notes in a symphony of moans and whimpers. “I want you inside me,” she finally begs. Her hand is slick with her own arousal as she wraps it around his cock, pumping him slowly, holding him against her entrance. She arches back to kiss him, plunges her tongue into his mouth, unable to stop the embarrassingly high-pitched whines coming from her throat. “Fuck, Mulder, I need you inside me when I come.”

“I live to serve,” he purrs against her mouth, and thrusts firmly upward, impaling her in one smooth motion. A loud cry pours from her throat—the neighbors are definitely going to complain again—and then she’s riding him for all she’s worth, her hips rolling and the muscles in her thighs clenching as she gallops toward release.

“Yes, oh God, Mulder, yes,” she gasps again and again, breathless and wanton, her tits bouncing in his hands as he pinches her nipples and her fingers making ever-more-frantic circles over her clit. “Close, so close, harder—”

Her words melt into a loud moan as he begins to plunge into her from below, his feet braced against the bed for leverage and his cock bumping against her cervix with every stroke. “Yes, Scully,” he hisses into her ear. “I want to feel it. Fuck me until you come.”

She’s tight and clenching around him, hotter than hell and slicker than sin, and his hand leaves her breast to join her fingers, stroking her clit together. He bites her nape, hard, and with a startled “ Oh! ” she shatters, her inner walls squeezing his cock in strong, rhythmic flutters as she gushes around him.

“Christ, Scully, did you just–?! Oh my god–!” Before she has a chance to answer or even catch her breath, he squeezes her tightly against his body and thrusts hard and fast, unable to hold back any longer. His ass lifts off the bed as he pistons in and out of her, desperate for release, and when she tightens around him again he comes with a roar—someone next door bangs on the wall—spurting hot inside her until his eyes roll back in his head and his vision goes red at the edges.

He comes down to find himself spooned against her, her ass cradled in the bowl of his hips as he softens inside her. They’ve made quite a mess, but his legs are burning like he’s been running for miles, and she’s gone completely limp against him; the last thing he can imagine is getting out of bed.

Still, he tries to be a gentleman.

“Want me to make some coffee? Then maybe a shower?”

She shakes her head against the pillow and pulls his arm tighter around her body. “I think I might be falling back asleep.”

He smiles into her hair. “Want me to wake you up a little later?”

“Absolutely.”

Hope you enjoyed! As always, comments will be printed and pasted into my little self-esteem scrapbook <3

[gillovny0809]

Talk Dirty to Me

Rated X / 1260 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

They’re just playing, the very definition of messing around. It’s early, too early even for the birds, and the warming blues seeping into the room make it feel like they are suspended in time. Mulder is exploring her by feel, grazing the tips of his fingers across the dimples at her lower back and the downy hairs on her thighs. Scully’s eyes are closed, her hair splayed out on the pillow and a smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. 

“You’re so soft,” he says against her hairline, carefully keeping his morning breath away from her nose. 

Her smile broadens and she nuzzles a little closer to him, sighing contentedly. He traces the bones of her kneecap, thinking about how she could name them for him if he asked. When he trails down her inner thigh she shifts it to the side a little, and he follows the seam between her leg and torso up to her hip bone and then back down between her thighs until it disappears into the flesh of her ass cheek. Experimentally, he brushes across her opening, and his eyebrow lift in pleasant surprise when he finds her wet to the touch. 

“From last night,” she tells him bashfully, and his mind flashes on her riding him roughly, her inhibitions lost somewhere along the road to her second orgasm. 

He wets his middle finger and slides it up her inner lips, feeling the wiry brush of the hairs on her outer lips tickle his knuckles along the way. 

“Would you prefer that I pull out?” he asks as he makes one loop around her clit and then ventures back down. 

She hesitates. 

“No, it’s okay,” she finally says.

He rests his finger against her opening, entering her only millimeters. 

“Do you like it when I come inside you?”

He feels a single pulse, her fleshy insides pushing up to meet him. 

“I don’t mind,” she says levelly. 

Her mouth and her cunt do not seem to be conveying the same message. 

He takes another loop up and around, and her hips shift a little as he passes by her clit before returning to her entrance. This time, he makes small circles with his finger, around and around without going inside, and he feels her tense in anticipation. 

“You don’t mind if I come inside your pussy?” he asks, taking a little risk, and he is rewarded with another throb under his finger, and a little hum of a breath that she quickly tries to mask by clearing her throat. “Does that word bother you? Pussy?” he asks. 

“No, it’s fine,” she says, keeping her eyes carefully closed. 

Such a good little actress. But her body cannot lie. 

He spends a few minutes mapping out the folds and crevices between her legs, fingering the little skin tag near her asshole and gently massaging her clit. She relaxes into him, sighing contentedly as wetness that is certainly not leftovers from last night coats first his finger, and then her vulva. Syrupy slick and swollen, she is fully awake, if only below the belt. 

“You feel good,” he tells her, sliding in to his second knuckle with one finger, then backing out to add a second. Scully whimpers and cants her hips, and he knows he has her. “You have such a tight little cunt.”

Her eyes snap open but she doesn’t pull away, and even as her face registers shock, she is fluttering around him. After a moment, she closes her eyes again and swallows. 

“Is that so?” she says softly, encouraging him. 

He nudges her head to the side and kisses her earlobe. 

“So tight. And so wet,” he coos, pressing the heel of his hand against her clit as he finger-fucks her steadily. 

“Oh?”

“I’m glad to hear you don’t mind me coming inside you,” he explains, his erection straining against her thigh. “Because I love it. I love knowing that my cum is inside you.”

She sucks in a breath, and her cunt grabs at his fingers. 

“That’s not my favorite part, though. You want to know my favorite part?” he asks, withdrawing to swirl his damp fingers around her clit before he delves back inside. 

“Uh huh,” she murmurs breathily. 

“I love feeling you come. You feel so good when you come, Scully.”

“Yes,” she whispers, either agreeing or affirming that she likes what he’s doing. 

Her hand fumbles between their bodies, reaching for his cock. He lets her wrap her fingers around it, lets her feel how hard he is, before he gently pulls it away. 

“What do you want?” he asks, and she whimpers. 

“Please,” she whines, reaching for him again. 

“You want to touch my cock? You want me to fuck you?”

“Mulder,” she pleads, wiggling her hips. 

He takes her hand and wraps it around his shaft, laying his over top of it and pumping slowly. 

“You feel how hard you make me?” he asks her, and she moans in response. 

“Please. I want you,” she admits, shifting her pelvis toward him and gently pulling on his dick. He takes the hint. 

He pushes her onto her back and settles his hips between her open legs, then runs his shaft over her slippery cunt several times as she writhes beneath him, attempting to route him inside. He knows he’s teasing her, knows that any moment she’ll become frustrated and lose her patience, but he’s too intoxicated by being wanted so desperately to stop. 

Abruptly, she loops her arm around his neck and pulls him closer, pressing her lips to his ear. 

“If you don’t fuck me immediately, I will shoot you,” she says sternly, reaching between her legs to grab hold of his cock. 

Mulder laughs and allows her to line him up, then slowly pushes inside. Scully drops back onto the pillow, sighing with relief. He follows her, bracketing her head with his arms and resting his cheek against hers. 

“Mmmmm,” he hums, fucking her in long, deep strokes. “You feel so good.”

She clenches around him and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, trying to hold off. Her hands are on his back, her legs wrapped around his waist, and her whole body is tensed, waiting. He has her right in the palm of his hand. 

“I want to feel you come,” he whispers, fucking her steadily, and her legs begin to quiver against his sides. “I want you come on my cock and make me come inside you. Can you be a good girl and do that for me?”

Her fingernails dig into his back, and her cunt strangles him. 

“Oh, fuck,” he chokes out, feeling himself unravel, completely unable to stop it. 

Scully groans, low and long, then sucks in a breath before letting out a stream of sounds that he’s never heard her make before. She’s coming so hard he’s overwhelmed by how tight she is around him, and he feels himself spilling out of her before he’s even had a chance to withdraw. It goes on for minutes, until he’s so oversensitized that he can’t take it anymore and he has to pull away. He collapses beside her, panting, then looks over to see her starting up at the ceiling, a look of awe on her face. 

“Good morning,” he says lightly, and she glances at him before her cheeks immediately go pink and she looks away. 

“Yes, it is,” she agrees, then grabs his hand.

He won’t make her talk. Just knowing that she’s willing to listen is more than enough.  

[gillovny0809]

Unbidden, Part Four

Rated X / 1635 words / Posted on AO3

He had watched her peel her pantyhose off not thirty minutes prior. Doing so in front of him was an uncharacteristic lapse in decorum not typical of her, but with the temperature pushing ninety-five degrees, he figured that desperate times called for desperate measures. She lifted her hips off the passenger seat, snaked her hands up under her skirt, and fished around until she returned with a fistful of bunched up nylon the color of wheat. She tucked it into her purse and cast him a sideways glance, but he kept his eyes trained straight ahead. 

Now she’s perched primly in an armchair, wagging a pen between her thumb and forefinger, while he sits directly across from her on his motel bed. She’s lost in thought, no doubt with images of faces frozen in horror dancing behind her eyelids. 

“We could try the shopkeeper again,” he offers, sensing her unrest.

Keep reading

[gillovny0809]

MSRAFTERDARK part 2

[gillovny0809]

MSR MAGIC ❤️❤️❤️

[gillovny0809]

The Best of You

Rated X | 6116 words | Read it here on AO3

This work was written for @monikafilefan for the @xfilesfanficexchange Jealousy Exchange.

“Thanks for coming by, Dana. I know you’re busy.”

“It’s no problem, Mom. I just wish you’d called me sooner.”

Scully slides a box marked “Japan” towards the front edge of the shelf in the basement, widening her stance on the step ladder as she eases it into her arms. The air is thick with dust and the damp funk of the subterranean.

“Oh, it’s fine. Tara didn’t say she had any specific time frame in mind. She just wanted some copies for her scrapbook,” Maggie says with a dismissive wave of her arm.

Scully carefully maneuvers down the ladder and then carries the box up the basement steps, her mother trailing behind her.

“Still, I don’t like the idea of you having to wait so long for something basic like this. You can always call Mulder, you know. His time is very…flexible,” she suggests.

She sets the box on the dining room table with a little grunt and peels off the yellowed tape that has held it closed since at least the seventies.

“I do call Fox sometimes, but he’s been busy with Anna and I didn’t want to bother him,” Maggie says as she reaches into the sagging box and pulls out stacks of thin photo prints held together with brittle rubber bands.

Scully pauses briefly, her heart leaping up into her throat. Maggie is sorting the contents of the box, oblivious to what she’s just inadvertently disclosed.

“Anna?” Scully repeats, and Maggie’s head snaps up, her eyes widening.

“Oh, Dana,” she says, laying a hand on her daughter’s forearm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Scully interrupts, busying herself with picking through the stacks on the table. “We’re not together. Mulder is free to see whomever he likes.”

Maggie sighs and waits, and eventually Scully lifts her head to regard her mother with wet eyes.

“It’s okay if it bothers you, honey,” Maggie says gently. “Even if it was your choice to part ways.”

Scully nods and sniffs, grabbing a stack of photos.

“Are these the ones from the market?” she asks, effectively changing the subject.

__

For the majority of the drive she manages not to think about what she’s doing, much less why. Familiar landmarks whip by in her periphery: the alpaca farm, a long-abandoned fireworks stand, the scorched foundation of a house that burned down three summers ago. When she turns the sharp corner onto Wallace Road, fresh tears flood her eyes and the pit in her chest tightens. She has no right, absolutely no right to feel the way she does, but she lost the ability to stand firmly on logic while ignoring her feelings years ago. Somewhere around the same time that she admitted to herself that she was in love with Mulder.

She sees the mailbox in the distance, the once buttery yellow paint now faded and chipped. When they’d first moved here, she kept missing their driveway and having to double back when she hit the fork in the road that told her she’d gone too far. Mulder teased her mercilessly, identifying half a dozen ways she should have known she was almost there: the fallen tree, the fence that’s stained a horrific shade of orange, the pothole in the middle of the road. One night after a difficult shift at the hospital, she walked through the door sobbing over the extra fifteen minutes she’d added to her commute by missing the driveway yet again. He’d been surprised and concerned by her uncharacteristic emotional response, and immediately drew her a bath and poured her a glass of wine. When she came downstairs an hour later wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe and smiling with embarrassment, she found him waiting in front of a crackling fire. He spent the evening rubbing her tired feet and shoulders, listening patiently as she retold stories of overbearing priests and distressed patients, and the nagging feeling that she wasn’t cut out to practice medicine full time. When she’d let it all out, when she was relaxed and pliant with a belly full of wine, he peeled the robe from her body and kissed a trail from her mouth to her mons, pushing her thighs open wide and bathing her with the warm slip of his tongue until she came in his mouth. In the morning, he snuck out of bed at sunrise and painted the mailbox yellow. She never missed the driveway again.

It’s been nearly two years since she moved out, and theoretically moved on. Over a year since the last of her things were loaded into a moving truck while Mulder sat morosely on the porch swing and watched. Nine months since he invited her to have coffee and told her he was getting help, that he was doing much better. He’d never explicitly asked her to come home, never directly asked for another chance, but she could feel it in his touch and see it in his eyes. She didn’t have to tell him that it was too late; he knew by how tightly she hugged him when she said goodbye, and how sincerely she told him to take care of himself. Since then it’s been only phone calls here and there, and one occasion when they had to meet at the bank to deposit a check made out to both of them. It’s not that she doesn’t want to see him, but that she doesn’t trust herself. She’s always been so weak when it comes to Mulder, and for once she is trying to be strong enough to stay away.

Strong enough to stay, strong enough to leave, strong enough to protect her heart from being broken yet again. It’s taken every kind of strength imaginable to navigate life with him, and now without him. Strength she didn’t know she had within her, and strength she wished she’d never been forced to summon.

The day she finally left she felt weaker than ever, worn nearly to dust by the constant rub of his rejection. She knows he never meant to hurt her, but the lack of intent certainly didn’t make it hurt any less. He started coming to bed later and later, and then not at all. He left his office only to use the bathroom and fetch food from the kitchen, leaving his dirty dishes in the sink and apparently never wondering how they made their way into the dishwasher. Too many dinners were eaten alone at the table; too many formerly special occasions passed unacknowledged. She tried everything from subtly attempting to summon him with new lingerie, to directly asking him to come to bed, to begging him with tear-streaked cheeks and barking sobs, ultimatums pouring from her lips like water from an open dam. He was unmoved, perhaps unmoveable. He was gone, no longer the man she knew and fell in love with. She found that she no longer had the strength to keep trying.

He’s already stepping out the front door when she reaches the end of the driveway, the distinct sound of a vehicle pitching over the gravel one they both know well. He’s smiling a kind of surprised smirk, concurrently confused but happy to see her, and she feels a wave of nausea grip her belly. What is she doing? She parks just in front of the steps and cuts the engine.

“Hi,” she says as she pushes her car door closed and slowly approaches the porch.

He’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, his cheeks clean shaven and his hair shaggy. He looks good.

“Hey,” he replies, stepping down the last two stairs to meet her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She sucks in a deep breath, then realizes she hadn’t thought to come up with an excuse for stopping by. In the end, she just shrugs, and he nods.

“How have you been?” she asks, both a platitude and a loaded question. He could answer, “Fine,” or he could answer, “Fucking someone else.”

“Good,” he says, his eyes flicking over her dark wash jeans and navy blouse. “You?”

She nods in agreement of being good, and he cocks his head slightly towards the house.

“You wanna come in for a bit?” he asks, and she can hear the hidden hopefulness in his voice.

She almost asks him if he’s alone, but there are no other cars here besides his and hers, and even on his worst day she doesn’t think he’d stoop to surprising her with an introduction to his new girlfriend. She says yes and follows him inside, hovering near the bottom of the stairs.

The house is clean, surprisingly, and there are new knick knacks and pieces of furniture filling the vacancies she left. It smells woody and musky, but not bad. It smells a little like his apartment back at Hegal Place: distinctly masculine and a little bit neglected. For the first time since they moved in, the house doesn’t feel like hers. It no longer feels like home.

“You want a beer?” he asks, his back to her as he pads barefoot into the kitchen.

She doesn’t answer, but watches him retrieve two lagers from the fridge and set them on the counter above the silverware drawer before he begins digging around in search of the bottle opener.

“Who’s Anna?” she asks, the words coming up like vomit and surprising them both.

He pauses briefly, then resumes pushing utensils from one side of the drawer to the other with increasing frustration. She crosses the room cautiously, stepping up beside him and reaching across his body to pull out the can opener. He grunts his thanks and takes it, popping the tops on both the beers without looking at her. She accepts one and leans against the counter, taking a frothy swig that burns her throat. Mulder heaves a sigh and turns to face her, pushing the drawer closed with his hip.

“How’s Maggie doing?” he asks, briefly dodging the question. Scully shrugs.

“I think you’d know better than I would. Sounds like you two talk often,” she replies with a slight edge of irritation.

Mulder heaves a sigh and huffs a mirthless laugh.

“You’re free to remove me from your own life, Scully, but can I at least keep your mom? I’ve known her nearly as long as I’ve known you,” he teases, though she can see the hurt in his eyes.

“I didn’t remove you from my life, Mulder,” she objects, and he scoffs.

“Didn’t you?”

“Who’s Anna?” she asks again, her voice raspy and small.

He looks at her long and hard, like he has so many times before. It always precedes some kind of ultimatum or directive. It’s always how he looks at her before he says something she doesn’t want to hear.

“You left, Scully. That was your choice. I never wanted this,” he says defensively.

“I never wanted this either,” she replies, her throat thick with tears.

Mulder drops his head, poking at a knot in the wooden floorboards with his toe.

“You could have come back any time,” he says quietly. “You could come back now. You choose not to.” He lifts his head, his expression more defeated than it was moments ago. “That’s your choice. Don’t try to tell me this isn’t what you want.”

A fat tear slides down her cheek and she detects the slightest wince on his face, but he doesn’t reach for her. She sniffs loudly, runs the back of her hand across her face to wipe away the tear, and then sucks down half her beer in a long gulp. The carbonation swells in her belly and she remembers how he used to marvel at her ability to belch, always so enamored with the unrefined side of her that she rarely allowed anyone to see.

He liked to run his hands over her stubbled legs, watch her meticulously shape her eyebrows in the bathroom mirror, kiss her unmade face on Sunday mornings and tell her that her freckles tasted like cinnamon. He used to find her endlessly fascinating, until he suddenly lost all interest. He used to know her better than anyone, better than even herself, but now they feel like practical strangers. She turns her head to the side and burps quietly behind her hand.

“I met her at the bank,” he says, looking at her shoulder instead of her face. “It’s not serious or anything.”

She nods, wondering what “not serious” means. Does it mean they’re just friends? Or maybe that it’s just sex? Maybe serious relationships are the ones where your very souls are stitched together, where you lose the ability to discern where one of you ends and the other begins. Maybe “not serious” means sleeping in late and going to the farmer’s market, then making love after lunch and reading together on the couch until dinner. Maybe “not serious” is everything she always wanted but could never pin down. Not with him, anyway.

“How old is she?” Scully asks, and he meets her eye with a questioning look. She isn’t sure why she asked.

“Is this why you came over?” he asks in reply, setting his beer on the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t want to be with me, but you don’t want me to be with anyone else either?”

His eyes are bright and the volume of his voice is slowly increasing. She feels the blood rushing through her veins, her heart thrumming. It’s been so long since he bothered to argue with her, since he cared enough to fight. She sets her beer down and steps forward, craning her neck up to look at him.

“All I ever wanted was to be with you, Mulder,” she spits back, her own voice dropping disastrously low. “I ruined my fucking life to be with you, and you left me. Again, and again, and again, you left.”

Angry tears fall freely, but her voice is steady. His jaw twitches and she sees him swallowing back things he knows he shouldn’t say. Things he can’t take back.

“I know I’m far from perfect,” he says, his tone much more measured. “I’ve made mistakes, many of them. But I never gave up on you. I never gave up on us.”

His words hit her with the force of a slap, and she recoils. One step back, then two, then several. She turns and strides towards the door, prepared to leave. This was a mistake. She should never have come here.

I never gave up on us.

She turns on her heel and marches back towards him, stopping just out of arm's reach. She’s so angry she’s afraid she may actually hit him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Maybe I’m the one who walked out the door, Mulder,” she says levelly, fighting for control. “But you’d given up long before that. You gave up on us years ago.”

He drops his head briefly, then looks at her with a wounded expression that softens her anger.

“That’s not fair, Scully,” he says, shaking his head. “I wasn’t well, mentally. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“I know that,” she whispers through a constricted throat. “I know it wasn’t your fault, Mulder. But you wouldn’t get help. Not even if it meant losing me.”

“I didn’t know—” he begins, and her anger comes charging back with breakneck speed.

“Yes you did!” she shouts, and he visibly startles. “You knew, Mulder. I told you. Hundreds of times, hundreds of ways. I tried so hard to make you understand.”

She’s sobbing in earnest at this point, her cheeks wet and her face contorted. She can feel moisture in her nostrils, and she looks around for a box of Kleenex.

“I didn’t think—” he starts again, but stops and grimaces a little.

She meets his eye, sees what is behind them. The truth that isn’t worth saying aloud, because it won’t help.

“You didn’t think I’d actually leave,” she finishes for him, and he looks away.

She turns from him, walking down the hall to the bathroom to blow her nose. She avoids her reflection, haphazardly tearing squares of toilet paper off the roll and noting that he still uses her brand, the one he always complained wasn’t worth the extra money. So many years, and so many small ways she improved his quality of life. Got him to eat more vegetables and get more sleep. Wear sunscreen and use fabric softener. Talk about his feelings instead of running until he can’t breathe and love someone instead of pushing them away to protect his own heart. It was all worth it, he was worth it, every second of heartache and pain. That’s what she used to think, anyway.

On the counter near the sink, she spots a small black circle and picks it up. It’s an elastic hair tie with one blonde strand looped tightly around it. The air evaporates from her lungs and it feels like someone socked her in the gut. It hurts. It’s embarrassing. It’s so fucking unfair. She stalks back down the hall, rage rising in her throat.

He sees her coming, and his face flashes on something between fear and confusion. She stops short of him, a million thoughts careening through her mind but none finding their way to her mouth. How he took her for granted from the beginning. How he consoled her with sweetness and grand gestures between stints of ditching her and risking both their lives and careers. How even after she gave up everything that mattered to her, including her own child, he continued to insist that she would be better off without him. By then, he was all that she had left.

“I hate you,” she says, small and bitter.

His eyes widen and his mouth drops open. She’s only ever said that to him once before, on a night a bit like this one where she allowed herself to take inventory of all that was lost. Where she was so bereft and detached from anything resembling normalcy that she just wanted to feel something. Where he was so far from her that she needed to pull him back, and anger was the only bait he would take.

He closes his mouth, sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, and considers her. She wants to run to him, to ask him to hold her, to beg for lazy mornings and farmers markets and afternoon lovemaking. She wants to punch him and scream and break every single item in this house that tells the story of a life that has moved on without her. She wants to make him understand how much it hurts to see that he did have the ability to get better, but that she wasn’t worth the effort. For all the years he was willing to die for her, living was too much to ask for.

“Why?” he asks, standing up a bit straighter as though preparing for battle. “Tell me why you hate me, Scully.”

Because I threw my entire life away for you, and you weren’t willing to fight for me.

Because I loved you at your worst, but this woman is getting the best version of you.

Because watching you fade away in front of me was worse than burying you.

Because I never stopped loving you for a single second, and it took every scrap of courage I had to walk away.

Because I’m so afraid of losing you like that again, I can’t bring myself to give us another chance.

Because I know I will never stop loving you. I will never truly let you go, and that makes it feel like my life is over.

She covers her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. She wants to disappear. From this house, from this life, from this planet.

She feels two strong hands rest gently on her shoulders, the weight of them increasing steadily as he waits to see if she’ll push him away. She should push him away, but instead she wraps her arms around his neck and lets him pull her close, his hands on her waist lifting her slightly off the floor. She presses her face into the side of his neck, and the familiar smell of his aftershave and the scrape of his shorn skin against her cheeks is the home she’d expected to find when she walked through the door. It was never the house; it was him. It’s always been him. She’s afraid it always will be.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, and he shushes her, rocking gently back and forth.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, Scully,” he says quietly, his breath warming the tip of her ear. “I am sorry, every day. It’s true that I didn’t think you’d really leave, not after everything. But even if I had, I don’t think it would have made a difference. It wasn’t about you, or anything you did or didn’t do. I had to be ready to get help, and I wasn’t there yet. I loved you — I love you — so much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Knowing that I fucked that up is probably my biggest regret in life, and I think we both know there’s quite a bit of competition for that title.”

She manages a weak, wet laugh at his joke, sniffing and pulling away from him slightly to wipe her cheeks. He sets her down, but maintains his hold on her waist so she can’t move away from him. She dabs at her eyes and glances up, finding him looking down at her with a soft, pained expression.

“I’m okay, Mulder,” she reassures him. “I’m sure I don’t look it, but I’m fine.”

“You look beautiful,” he says resolutely. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known.”

A memory comes crashing to the forefront of her mind, called forth by his hands on her waist and the melancholy in his eyes. A stolen weekend in Ocean City, their first non-work trip as a couple, standing like this on the shore with the sun setting in the hills behind them. Her hair kept whipping across her eyes and she laughed with embarrassment as the elements ruined what would have otherwise been a sweet, romantic moment. Mulder was looking at her just like he is now, like his heart was breaking.

“What?” she’d asked, pushing her hair behind her ears before the wind picked it up again and slashed it across her mouth.

He shook his head slightly in an attempt to dismiss her, and self-consciousness told her that something was wrong, that this wasn’t working out the way he’d hoped. That she wasn’t what he’d hoped.

She’d started to pull away, feeling her armor go up swiftly at the first sign of rejection, and he tightened his grip on her waist. She looked up at him, bronzed and beautiful in the light of the setting sun, as he screwed up his mouth in contemplation and then smiled shyly.

“You’re so perfect,” he said with awe. “I keep waiting for the moment you realize you’re way out of my league and kick me to the curb.”

She chuffed a surprised laugh and kissed him, their mouths gritty with sand and her windswept hair.

“I’m not going anywhere, Mulder. Relax.”

She wonders now if she was lying when she said that so many years ago. She’d certainly meant it at the time. And she did stay: she stayed and stayed and stayed. She waited for him: he always came back to her. Until he didn’t.

It’s she who pushes up on to the tips of her toes and tugs on his neck, but it’s he who presses his mouth to hers. She can remember with painful acuity the last time she kissed him, his mouth soft and non reciprocating. So many nights she’s tried to recall the last time he kissed her back, but the memory didn’t feel important enough at the time to retain, it seems. Now he is kissing her with all the passion she’s begged her body to forget, his eager lips coaxing hers apart and his tongue hot and wet against her teeth. He stoops and scoops her up, her legs around his waist and her hands on his jaw, and the taste of his kiss like a salve on her broken heart.

She didn’t register movement, but suddenly he is lowering her onto the couch and climbing over her, his mouth on her neck and his pelvis cradled between her thighs. The seam of his jeans presses against hers, and she feels that he’s hard. The realization makes her throat constrict anew, tears threatening her eyes. He wants her. Something she once took for granted and then mourned the loss of for years. She’d been shocked and disappointed to discover how tightly his wanting her was tied to her own self esteem, but it was, it is. And his arousal, his wanting, ignites in her something that she’d thought died along with their relationship.

She reaches for him, palming him over his jeans, and feels herself swell. He groans, flexing his hips in encouragement, and her fingers go to the button on his fly. For a split second, she remembers that he is not available, that he belongs to someone else, but she pushes the thought away. He is hers, has been hers since she walked into his office twenty plus years ago, will be hers until they take their last breaths, even if they wish it weren’t that way. She undoes the button, pushes the zipper down, and slides her hand under the cotton of his boxers.

“Fuck, Scully,” he mumbles, kissing her mouth sloppily.

She feels a slick of precum bead at the tip and she smears it over the head of his cock. He’s impressively stiff, the hard edges of the mushroom tip and corded veins in his shaft bulging and firm. She wants to see him, to taste him, to feel him. She wants him to want her, to take her, to make her whole. She needs this.

Urgent hands push and pull and tug, divesting them each of their shirts, their pants, her bra and panties flying over the back of the couch and his boxers falling to the floor. She kneels at his feet, grabbing the base of him and swallowing him whole as he cradles her head between his broad palms. She sucks him greedily, hungrily, wanting to make him come but also not wanting this to be over. Finally he pushes her away, saying “Please, I want to feel you.”

She climbs into his lap, draping her naked body over his and reveling in the hot press of his bare skin. She wriggles and arches, guiding him to her entrance without the use of hands, and sinks down onto him with a shuddering sigh.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he says proudly, one hand on her breast and the other on her hip, their open mouths meeting and parting as she rises and falls.

“You feel so good,” she whimpers, trying not to cry.

She doesn’t want this to be sad, if it’s to be the last time. She wants this to be a good memory that she can hold on to forever, after she lets go of the last remaining thread of hope that they can come back to each other again.

They slow, trading a frenzied fuck for a leisurely grind, one where they can kiss and touch and revel. Their bodies reacquaint themselves with one another, remembering just how and just where to touch, recalling how much pleasure they once sought and found together.

“I wanna come,” she confesses, and his thumb finds her clit.

She rocks against him, kisses him deeply, loves him so fully it hurts. She peaks and plummets, overcome by racking waves of bliss. He tells her how good she feels, how beautiful she is, how much he loves her. She feels the hot spurt of his orgasm and the tears come rushing back full force, wetting her cheeks and his as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

Weak-kneed and sated, he slowly turns and lowers them to lie down, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch to cover their nakedness. She rests her cheek on his chest and feels him slip out, then the wet rush of their combined fluids, but doesn’t move. He runs his hands over her back as the silence creeps from comfortable to tense, and she wonders whether he’s thinking about her. Anna.

“I get so lonely, Scully,” he says suddenly, startling her. “That’s all it is with Anna, just someone to spend time with.”

“But you’re more than just friends,” she counters, grateful that she can’t see his face.

“Supposed to be, yes,” he says tentatively.

“Supposed to be?” she repeats in a request for clarification.

“I don’t want to go into too much detail,” he offers, and she cringes at the idea of what the unabridged version might be. “But let’s just say that I was fairly confident that ED had finally found me before today.”

She can’t suppress the smile that stretches across her mouth, but it quickly falls.

“You deserve to have someone, Mulder. You deserve to be happy,” she says, hating the words as they leave her mouth but knowing that they are true.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he replies. “I won’t be happy with anyone else. I’m not saying that to guilt trip you or try to convince you to come back; I understand why the risk feels too great. It’s just a fact: it’s you, or it’s nobody.”

She heaves a sigh and lifts her head, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him. Crow’s feet are beginning to wrinkle the corners of his eyes and his persistent lack of sunscreen use is catching up to him, but he is still so much that tenacious young man who stole her heart and changed her life. She smiles weakly at him, and he lifts his arm to push her hair behind her ear.

“What do you want, Scully?” he asks gently, and she can see that he is both afraid of and desperately wants the answer.

“I don’t think that what I want is reasonable,” she says sadly.

“Tell me,” he encourages her.

“I don’t think I can just…go back to how it was,” she says tightly, and he nods in understanding. “But I know that I can’t imagine myself with anyone else. And I know that the idea of you with someone else —”

She cringes and he shakes his head, indicating that she shouldn’t continue.

“So, not together, but not seeing other people?” he asks, and she wrinkles her nose.

“That sounds really unreasonable.”

“Unconventional, yes,” he says with a nod. “But we’ve never really stuck too closely to convention, have we, G-Woman?”

She smiles broadly, and he returns it. For a fleeting moment, it feels like nothing changed.

“So…not together. Not seeing other people. Seeing each other?” she asks, gauging his reaction.

“I’d like to. But whatever you’re comfortable with is fine. I’ll take what I can get.”

“I’d like to see you,” she says hopefully, and he gives her a squeeze. “What about Anna?” she asks, and his mouth sinks into a frown.

“I’ll break things off with her. I don’t think she’ll be too surprised. I’ve been waiting for her to ask why I seem a bit—detached,” he says, struggling for words.

“Why are you? Detached?”

He sighs and trails his finger over the shell of her ear contemplatively.

“She’s a really nice person, but she has this one fatal flaw that I’ve found myself unable to look past,” he says somberly.

“She doesn’t believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?” she quips, and he huffs a little laugh through his nose.

“She’s not you,” he says fondly, meeting her eye.

She smiles at him, and they sit like that for a beat, absorbing this new plan for their next chapter.

“If you do decide at any point that you want to give it another shot, just let me know,” he says lightly, though she knows it’s anything but a lighthearted statement.

“What if I’m never ready?” she asks, feeling guilty and afraid.

He smiles at her affectionately, massaging her shoulder with one hand.

“Back in our prime, I was prepared to wait forever for you,” he says gently. “I’m glad I didn’t have to, but I would have. The sentiment still stands.”

She makes a face.

“I don’t want that for you, Mulder,” she objects.

“Well, let me clarify something,” he interjects. “This ‘not together but seeing each other’ thing, does it involve sex?”

She raises her eyebrows and then says, “I sure as hell hope so.”

“Well, then I can confidently say, Scully, that you don’t need to worry about me. I don’t need a label on it. I just need you.”

She bites her lip and nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he repeats, and she nods again. “Will you stay the night?” he asks cautiously, his eyes narrowing in a preemptive wince as he anticipates her declination.

“I’d like that,” she says softly, and the breadth of his smile is one she hasn’t seen on his face in years.

_

She wakes with a start to the snap of the screen door slamming closed and finds herself alone in the bedroom, the amber light of sunrise dappled across the comforter. She feels a wave of anxiety and fear, waking up alone in this bed. Muscle memory tells her to get up, get dressed, and start the coffee. The memories stored in her heart tell her that she will drink it alone, listening to the clack of Mulder’s keyboard from behind his office door.

When she exits the bedroom, the smell of freshly brewed coffee is wafting up from the kitchen, and she feels an unexpected swell of joy. She finds him at the table, two steaming mugs and an open newspaper sitting before him.

“Hi,” he says brightly, standing to greet her with a kiss and a long, tight hug. “How’d you sleep?”

“Really well, actually, though I’ll admit it was a bit strange waking up here,” she admits, taking the seat beside him.

He nods in acceptance of this, then pushes one of the mugs across the table top towards her.

“I hope I still remember how you take it,” he says shyly, and she offers him a warm smile.

“I can’t stay long,” she says, taking an experimental sip. “I have to get to work.”

She doesn’t miss the disappointment on his face, but he quickly hides it behind his coffee mug. His fingernails are caked with yellow, and she briefly wonders how she hadn’t noticed it the night before.

They chat and drink their coffee, and there are long goodbyes at the door, then at the bottom of the steps to the porch, and again beside the open door of her car. She promises to come back soon, and she sees the way he is concurrently hopeful and guarded, once bitten twice shy.

“Have a good day at work, honey,” he whispers in her ear before he pulls away, and it feels so familiar and so foreign at the same time, this easy way of being together.

She watches him in the rearview mirror as her car jumps and lurches over the potholes in the driveway, extending her arm out the window to return his wave before he disappears from sight. At the end of the driveway she sees the mailbox, shining with a fresh coat of buttery yellow paint. She sits there, the car unmoving, trying to talk herself out of running again. The risk feels so big, but so does the potential reward.

Her phone dings and she fishes it out of her purse, surprised to see a new text message from him.

I wanted to make sure you can always find your way home.

The pit rises in her chest, constricting her throat and squeezing at her tear ducts. She pulls onto Wallace Road, smiling as she passes familiar landmarks. The scorched foundation of a house that burned down three summers ago, an abandoned fireworks stand, the alpaca farm. She remembers summer nights with the windows down, singing along to the radio with a week's worth of groceries in the bed of the truck. She remembers the thrill of a life that stayed put. And it’s still there, waiting for her, whenever she’s ready to return to it.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[gillovny0809]

Sybarite

Rated X / 1244 words / Posted on AO3

“Mulder, this is too much.”

It’s at least the fourth time today that day she’s said it. He stopped arguing with her after the second. After all—this was precisely his goal: to go so over the top that she’s rendered speechless. Repeating the same sentence over and over is about as close to speechless as he imagines Scully can get. 

First there was the drive up the coast, then lunch and wine tasting. Next was a massage and facial at the resort spa, followed by a swim in the ocean. The secluded table for two on the otherwise deserted restaurant patio had cost him a pretty penny, but the look on her face was entirely worth it. Steak and lobster, more wine, and a sunset walk along the beach would have been the perfect end to the perfect night, but he wasn’t done. Far from it, in fact. 

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[gillovny0809]

Flip, Reverse

Rated X / 1390 words / Posted on AO3

“Oh god, I’m gonna come again.”

He grunts, gripping her hips and pushing his half-spent cock back inside in an attempt to draw it out. She rides wave after wave, her legs reduced to jello and her hips aching from her splayed knees-to-chest position. 

Finally, he slips out and she collapses onto the bed, panting and beyond sated. The vibrator buzzes rudely, unrelenting in its task, and she fumbles to switch it off with uncoordinated fingers. Mulder flops down on the bed beside her, the whites of his teeth shining in the low light. 

“Holy shit,” he says, a smile in his voice and his hand on her hip. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

She drags herself up off the mattress and slumps towards him, her cheek landing on his sweat-damp chest. He collects her with strong, steady arms and drapes her body over half of his. 

“Neither did I,” she admits, and the hand that was brushing broad circles over her back stills momentarily. 

“Really?” he asks, equally disbelieving and hopeful. “You don’t have to stroke my ego, Scully.”

“I would never,” she replies, smiling with heavy, dopamine soaked eyelids. “I’m serious, that’s never happened before.”

There is a long pause in which the rush of hormones begins to pull her steadily towards sleep. 

“Holy shit,” he says again, and that’s the last thing she hears before she drifts off.

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[gillovny0809]

Flip, Reverse

Rated X / 1390 words / Posted on AO3

“Oh god, I’m gonna come again.”

He grunts, gripping her hips and pushing his half-spent cock back inside in an attempt to draw it out. She rides wave after wave, her legs reduced to jello and her hips aching from her splayed knees-to-chest position. 

Finally, he slips out and she collapses onto the bed, panting and beyond sated. The vibrator buzzes rudely, unrelenting in its task, and she fumbles to switch it off with uncoordinated fingers. Mulder flops down on the bed beside her, the whites of his teeth shining in the low light. 

“Holy shit,” he says, a smile in his voice and his hand on her hip. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

She drags herself up off the mattress and slumps towards him, her cheek landing on his sweat-damp chest. He collects her with strong, steady arms and drapes her body over half of his. 

“Neither did I,” she admits, and the hand that was brushing broad circles over her back stills momentarily. 

“Really?” he asks, equally disbelieving and hopeful. “You don’t have to stroke my ego, Scully.”

“I would never,” she replies, smiling with heavy, dopamine soaked eyelids. “I’m serious, that’s never happened before.”

There is a long pause in which the rush of hormones begins to pull her steadily towards sleep. 

“Holy shit,” he says again, and that’s the last thing she hears before she drifts off.

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[gillovny0809]

Unbidden, Part Three

Rated X / Posted on AO3

She thinks sometimes about the way he tasted. The bleachy water at the pool or the clean bite of alfalfa sprouts on her sandwich call it to the tip of her tongue as though it were yesterday, though it’s been much longer than that. She wonders what he thinks of it, but he doesn’t say and she doesn’t ask. It’s like a dream, though one she can smell and taste when she slips her hand between her legs on her side of their shared motel room wall. 

They’re arguing now, about something stupid that neither is willing to acquiesce on, and she flips through the pages of the autopsy report in search of the document that will prove her point. 

“Fuck,” she spits as a page slices through the webbing between her fingers, drawing blood. 

She goes into the bathroom and flips on the faucet, not bothering with the light, and runs her hand under cold water to rinse away the bacteria that will lead to such a minor wound being a major inconvenience. Mulder follows her, standing just over her shoulder and looking into the sink. 

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[gillovny0809]

First

Rated X / 991 words / Posted on AO3

It’s the little details he never knew to conjure that stand out to him the most. The downy brush of the hairs on her inner thigh against his fingertips, the silky lap of her tongue across his lips, the little hums of anticipation and then satisfaction as she influences him toward where she wants him to be. 

Countless times he’s imagined this. At first shamefully and infrequently, but at some point it became the only way he can get off. Manufactured images of her writhing beneath him, the sounds she’d make as he drove into her. His mental image of Scully nude and wanton is, at times, more familiar to him than the fully clothed woman across his desk, arching her eyebrow at him over a case file. 

“Oh,” she breathes into his mouth, a little ghost of a sound that he swallows as his middle finger meets with the slickest cunt he has ever encountered in his thirty-seven years. 

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[gillovny0809]

I have multiple requests for X-Files undercover fics! Here are some very good fics with Mulder and Scully going undercover and posing as a couple. Though I cheated and included general undercover fics too. (“Arcadia” fics aren’t included even though being undercover is the episode’s premise. Same with “The Pine Bluff Variant” - look here for my PBV fic recs.) Across the Rubicon by Anne Haynes Once you cross the line, where do you go from there? Amish Country, part 1, part 2 by Lolabegood A serial rapist on the loose in Amish Country causes Mulder and Scully to go undercover and test the limits of their relationship. Amor Caritas, parts 1, 2, 3 by Marguerite The death of Mulder’s mother sends Scully undercover to unravel a mystery…and determine her own destiny. Controlled Substances by Kel Those nanites have to go. Skinner is willing to risk it all to be free of the microscopic parasites that Krycek uses to control him. Failure to Die by Kel An undercover assignment lands Agent Jerry Luskin and his colleagues in a “cursed” hospital. Can Dr. Scully handle an emergency without calling for the paramedics? Just watch. Five Years and One Night by Shalimar This starts post “Kitsunegari” and is full of spoilers including all of season 5. It deals with the events in “Emily”. (alt text file link) Grand Gestures by Revely Disappearing jocks, soaring temperatures and a sweaty Mulder and Scully. All of this and still safe for the underage! Hallowed by OnlyTheInevitable (@gaycrouton​) In order to get a dangerous, misogynistic cult shut down, Mulder and Scully have to go undercover as a married couple to destroy it from the inside. When they get a little too involved, how will they manage to come out alive? The Honeycruise by @wtfmulder  Mulder and Scully go undercover on a honeymoon cruise to investigate the deaths of two newlywed couples. In the Dark by @frangipanidownunder​ Silly semi casefile fic written for several reasons. For @leiascully’s XFWritingChallenge: Exercise and also for an anon prompt on Tumblr who asked for a story about Scully being given an undercover assignment as another agent’s wife. Little Green Women by Jean Robinson Scully’s undercover assignment poses unexpected challenges. The Marfa Murder Mysteries by Katie Phillips Mulder gets tied up working on a case with VCU so Scully is forced to go undercover on her own down in Texas investigating mysterious deaths involving the world famous Marfa Lights. Problems arise and Mulder also goes undercover to make sure his partner is safe. Midori No Me by FridaysAt9 When several couples go missing from a 55+ community in Florida, Mulder and Scully are once again assigned as an undercover married couple tasked with solving the case. Mulder can’t wait to play house as a retiree, but because of the nature of their relationship at its current state, Scully isn’t so sure. Set post Plus One. Miracle and Mystery by Tesla MSR (no summary provided) Never by Allison Kinney No clever summary. Smut biscuit, pure and simple. Secret World by Bonetree Scully goes deep undercover to find the secret behind a mysterious death. But with what she learns, will she ever be able to come in from the cold? (Part 2 of the Goshen Universe) She’s Beauty, She’s Grace by @sunflowerseedsandscience​ I was asked to write a Miss Congeniality/The X-Files mash-up… so here goes nothing. Sore Luck at the Luxor by Anubis (@rivkat​) MSR. Not enough plot to summarize. Sub Rosa by Parrotfish Mulder and Scully go undercover to rescue a kidnapped child from a white supremacist militia group. Success could mean the salvation of the duo’s partnership – if it doesn’t destroy them first. (Part 3 of the Caught in the Act series) Swingers by ScullyLovesQueequeg (@suitablyaggrieved) Mulder & Scully are assigned a case and have to pretend to be a couple to get into an exclusive swingers’ club. At first, Mulder isn’t fazed but when he notices that men are paying attention to Scully, Mulder starts to become jealous. Thank You, Drive Around by nevdull An undignified stake-out ruffles Scully’s feathers. This House is Burning by Tesla MSR casefile (no summary provided) Under Covers by Skinfull Mulder and Scully seem to be on the cusp of a change in their relationship when one of them is assigned undercover. We’re Married Now by Skinfull Mulder and Scully go undercover as a married couple to infiltrate a cult in Arizona. What Was Taken, What Was Lost by @sunflowerseedsandscience​ Mulder and Scully, still reeling from the events of Christmas, 1997, go undercover as a honeymooning couple at a romantic retreat in upstate New York to investigate a series of suspicious suicides and accidental deaths.

[gillovny0809]

December Writing Challenge: MSR Ficmas // Day 25 - Lazy Mornings

His muscles ache pleasantly as he shifts in a half stupor, cracking his eye open to see bright winter light leaking through Scully's bedroom blinds. She still appears to be fast asleep beside him, her forehead against his shoulder and one hand sweetly curled under her chin. As it has for the past few months when he awakens in this manner, a small flush of joy spreads through his chest as he watches her breathe. She stirs, almost as if she senses his wakefulness, and draws her arm across his chest.

"Timeisit?" She mumbles, barely even awake, let alone able to communicate. He adjusts her closer, encouraging her languid and cozy state. This is one of his favorite Danas: the one who's soft and sweet and lets him cuddle her. It's the same Dana who loves morning sex, who lets him kiss and touch every sun-drenched inch of her beautiful skin, who rides him slowly until they're both lethargic and dozy in misty sheets.

"A little after nine. Coffee?" He husks softly in her ear. She moans quietly, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck and he can feel her scowl a little.

"Mmsolate," she says disappointedly, and he has to chuckle to himself. Were it any other time she would have already been up, had breakfast and coffee, and would be on her way to the gym. But today she's warm and soft and in his arms in her bed. He's not ready to give that up just now.

"Don't get up yet," he drifts his nose over the lovely cluster of freckles on her cheekbone, "We've had a big week and we just got back. Obviously you needed the rest, relax a little."

"Have so much to do," she protests, but he notices she makes no motion to shift or move out of his embrace. If anything she burrows closer. He slides his hand down her spine and cups her sweet little ass, stroking her lower back.

She giggles softly, ticklish, and lifts her head to look at him dozily. Her eyes are sleepy but bright, her hair mussed and aflame in the morning light. She's so beautiful and he can't help but grin like an idiot.

"Mm...it was a good idea to take Monday off," she smiles, her hand petting his bare chest. It feels good and he sighs, feeling a pleasant stirring in his groin.

"Yeah, I agree," he says eagerly, cupping her ass again, "A little morning sex, maybe I go down in you in the shower, maybe a little handsy while we wait for the eggs to cook?"

"Mulder, I have all my laundry to do, I need to go grocery shopping...I'm sure you have stuff you need to take care of too before we go back to work."

He groans as she extracts herself from the loop of his arm, dramatically flopping on his back with his hands stretched out on either side of the mattress. As much as he would prefer to have a lazy day with Scully, she's right. He needs to clean out his fridge and his apartment could probably do with a dusting and vacuum. Maybe he can count her ribs with his tongue later this evening.

He's so busy feeling sorry for himself he almost misses Scully looking back at him in the bathroom doorway with a coy little tilt of her head.

"Well, are you going down on me in the shower this morning or what?"

[gillovny0809]

👽 Random X-Files Fic Rec

Scully goes undercover alone, Mulder of course ends up going undercover too, the two of them simply must pretend to be a couple, and then the “pretending” part gets kind of hard. YAY! Title: The Marfa Murder Mysteries Author: Katie Phillips Summary: Mulder gets tied up working on a case with VCU so Scully is forced to go undercover on her own down in Texas investigating mysterious deaths involving the world famous Marfa Lights. Problems arise and Mulder also goes undercover to make sure his partner is safe. Length: 129k (~22,450 words) Classification: MSR, casefile Rating: R Spoilers: None listed Favorite line: It didn’t matter how good it felt to be held by Mulder, or that they were acting undercover, they were still on a case, and they couldn’t very well follow up leads if they spent the entire evening gazing into each other’s eyes. Read the story!

[gillovny0809]

Merry Christmas and a happy New year! 😊🤗🎅🌲🎁🎄☃️❄️❄️❄️♥️♥️♥️