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Deep down, Mulder knew that if they were entangled even more tightly, he’d eventually become more irritated than aroused by her voice. He’d hear it in reference to uneaten vegetables and unopened mail and unfolded laundry. That holy righteous rage of hers, that unquenchable fire that roared at him to be better and do better and live better, would illuminate not just his career but the entirety of his being. And he doubted he could live up to that scrutiny. After almost almost getting her killed any number of times, somehow Mulder knew that asking her to forgive more mundane betrayals would be the final straw. Abduction? Possession? Cannibalism? All in a day’s work. Leaving sunflower shells everywhere? That was a bridge too far. It was better, safer, sweeter, kinder to love each other the way they did. To keep some mystery alive, and with it her steadfast belief in him. Delaying consummation was delaying his inevitable disappointment of her.
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Inspired by Lepusarcticus' beautifully-written series "Incrementum," a series of interlinked, internally-consistent, episodic MSR vignettes in roughly canonical order.
OR
In which the author attempts to play Dave Filoni to Chris Carter's George Lucas.
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Bookmarked by Priyagreenleaf
19 Jan 2026
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What was supposed to be a night of drinking and escapism starts dripping sexual tension. Things escalate when Mulder starts to profile Scully. She, in fact, does not take this lightly. He, of course, knows this, because he’s an Oxford man.
Bookmarked by Priyagreenleaf
19 Jan 2026
